HOMESPUN TALES

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

Introduction

These three stories are now brought together under one cover becausethey have not quite outworn their welcome; but in their first estatetwo of them appeared as gift-books, with decorative borders and widemargins, a style not compatible with the stringent economies ofthe present moment. Luckily they belong together by reason of theirbackground, which is an imaginary village, any village you choose, within the confines, or on the borders of York County, in the State ofMaine. 

In the first tale the river, not "Rose, " is the principal character; noone realizes this better than I. If an author spends her summers onthe banks of Saco Water it fills the landscape. It flows from the WhiteMountains to the Atlantic in a tempestuous torrent, breaking here andthere into glorious falls of amber glimpsed through snowy foam; itsrapids dash through rocky cliffs crowned with pine trees, under whichblue harebells and rosy columbines blossom in gay profusion. There isthe glint of the mirror-like lake above the falls, and the sound of thesurging floods below; the witchery of feathery elms reflected in itsclear surfaces, and the enchantment of the full moon on its goldentorrents, never twice alike and always beautiful! How is one to forget, evade, scorn, belittle it, by leaving its charms untold; and who couldkeep such a river out of a book? It has flowed through many of mineand the last sound I expect to hear in life will be the faint, far-awaymurmur of Saco Water!

The old Tory Hill Meeting House bulks its way into the foreground of thenext story, and the old Peabody Pew (which never existed) has somehowassumed a quasi-historical aspect never intended by its author. Thereis a Dorcas Society, and there is a meeting house; my dedication assuresthe reader of these indubitable facts; and the Dorcas Society, in aseason of temporary bankruptcy, succeeding a too ample generosity, did scrub the pews when there was no money for paint. Rumors of ourstrenuous, and somewhat unique, activities spread through our parishto many others, traveling so far (even over seas) that we becameembarrassed at our easily won fame. The book was read and peopleoccasionally came to church to see the old Peabody Pew, rather resentingthe information that there had never been any Peabodys in the parishand, therefore, there could be no Peabody Pew. Matters became worsewhen I made, very reverently, what I suppose must be called a dramaticversion of the book, which we have played for several summers in the oldmeeting house to audiences far exceeding our seating capacity. Inasmuchas the imaginary love-tale of my so-called Nancy Wentworth and JustinPeabody had begun under the shadow of the church steeple, and after theten years of parting the happy reunion had come to them in the selfsameplace, it was possible to present their story simply and directly, without offense, in a church building. There was no curtain, no stage, no scenery, no theatricalism. The pulpit was moved back, and four youngpine trees were placed in front of it for supposed Christmas decoration. The pulpit platform, and the "wing pews" left vacant for the villageplayers, took the place of a stage; the two aisles served for exits andentrances; and the sexton with three rings of the church bell, announcedthe scenes. The Carpet Committee of the Dorcas Society furnished theexposition of the first act, while sewing the last breadths of the new, hardly-bought ingrain carpet. The scrubbing of the pews ends the act, with dialogue concerning men, women, ministers, church-members and theirways, including the utter failure of Justin Peabody, Nancy's hero, tomake a living anywhere, even in the West. The Dorcas members leave thechurch for their Saturday night suppers of beans and brown bread, butNancy returns with her lantern at nightfall to tack down the carpet inthe old Peabody pew and iron out the tattered, dog's eared leaves of thehymn-book from which she has so often sung "By cool Siloam's shady rill"with her lover in days gone by. He, still a failure, having waited foryears for his luck to turn, has come back to spend Christmas in the homeof his boyhood; and seeing a dim light in the church, he enters quietlyand surprises Nancy at her task of carpeting the Peabody Pew, so thatit shall look as well as the others at next day's services. The restis easy to imagine. One can deny the reality of a book, but when two orthree thousand people have beheld Justin Peabody and Nancy Wentworth inthe flesh, and have seen the paint of the old Peabody Pew wiped witha damp cloth, its cushion darned and its carpet tacked in place, it isuseless to argue; any more than it would be to deny the validity of theegg of Columbus or the apple of William Tell. 

As for "Susanna and Sue" the story would never have been written had Inot as a child and girl been driven once a year to the Shaker meeting atthe little village of Alfred, sixteen miles distant. The services werethen open to the public, but eventually permission to attend them waswithdrawn, because of the careless and sometimes irreverent behaviorof young people who regarded the Shaker costumes, the solemn dancesor marches, the rhythmic movements of the hands, the almost hypnoticcrescendo of the singing, as a sort of humorous spectacle. I learnedto know the brethren and sisters, and the Elder, as years went by, and often went to the main house to spend a day or two as the guest ofEldress Harriet, a saint, if ever there was one, or, later, with dearSister Lucinda. 

The shining cleanliness and order, the frugality and industry, theserenity and peace of these people, who had resigned the world and"life on the plane of Adam, " vowing themselves to celibacy, to publicconfession of sins, and the holding of goods in common, --all this hasalways had a certain exquisite and helpful influence upon my thought, and Mr. W. D. Howells paid a far more beautiful tribute to them in "TheUndiscovered Country. "

It is needless to say that I read every word of the book to my Shakerfriends before it was published. They took a deep interest in it, evincing keen delight in my rather facetious but wholly imaginaryportrait of "Brother Ansel, " a "born Shaker, " and sadly confessing thatmy two young lovers, "Hetty" and "Nathan, " who could not endure therigors of the Shaker faith and fled together in the night to marry andjoin the world's people, --that this tragedy had often occurred in theircommunity. 

Here, then, are the three simple homespun tales. I believe they are trueto life as I see it. I only wish my readers might hear the ripple of theMaine river running through them; breathe the fragrance of New Englandfor-ests, and though never for a moment getting, through my poor pen, the atmosphere of Maine's rugged cliffs and the tang of her salt seaair, they might at least believe for an instant that they had found amodest Mayflower in her pine woods. 

KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN. July, 1920. 

CONTENTS

 ROSE O' THE RIVER

 I. The Pine and the Rose II. The "Old Kennebec" III. The Edgewood "Drive" IV. "Blasphemious Swearin'" V. The Game of Jackstraws VI. Hearts and Other Hearts VII. The Little House VIII. The Garden of Eden IX. The Serpent X. The Turquoise Ring XI. Rose Sees the World XII. Gold and Pinchbeck XIII. A Country Chevalier XIV. Housebreaking XV. The Dream Room

 THE OLD PEABODY PEW

 SUSANNA AND SUE

 I. Mother Ann's Children II. A Son of Adam III. Divers Doctrines IV. Louisa's Mind V. The Little Quail Bird VI. Susanna Speaks in Meeting VII. "The Lower Plane" VIII. Concerning Backsliders IX. Love Manifold X. Brother and Sister XI. "The Open Door" XII. The Hills of Home

ROSE O' THE RIVER

I. The Pine And the Rose

It was not long after sunrise, and Stephen Waterman, fresh from hisdip in the river, had scrambled up the hillside from the hut in thealder-bushes where he had made his morning toilet. 

An early ablution of this sort was not the custom of the farmers alongthe banks of the Saco, but the Waterman house was hardly a stone's throwfrom the water, and there was a clear, deep swimming-hole in the WillowCove that would have tempted the busiest man, or the least cleanly, inYork County. Then, too, Stephen was a child of the river, born, reared, schooled on its very brink, never happy unless he were on it, or in it, or beside it, or at least within sight or sound of it. 

The immensity of the sea had always silenced and overawed him, left himcold in feeling. The river wooed him, caressed him, won his heart. It was just big enough to love. It was full of charms and changes, ofvarying moods and sudden surprises. Its voice stole in upon his ear witha melody far sweeter and more subtle than the boom of the ocean. Yet itwas not without strength, and when it was swollen with the freshets ofthe spring and brimming with the bounty of its sister streams, it coulddash and roar, boom and crash, with the best of them. 

Stephen stood on the side porch, drinking in the glory of the sunrise, with the Saco winding like a silver ribbon through the sweet lovelinessof the summer landscape. 

And the river rolled on toward the sea, singing its morning song, creating and nourishing beauty at every step of its onward path. Cradledin the heart of a great mountain-range, it pursued its gleaming way, here lying silent in glassy lakes, there rushing into tinkling littlefalls, foaming great falls, and thundering cataracts. Scores of bridgesspanned its width, but no steamers flurried its crystal depths. Here andthere a rough little rowboat, tethered to a willow, rocked to and fro insome quiet bend of the shore. Here the silver gleam of a rising perch, chub, or trout caught the eye; there a pickerel lay rigid in the clearwater, a fish carved in stone: here eels coiled in the muddy bottomof some pool; and there, under the deep shadows of the rocks, lay fat, sleepy bass, old, and incredibly wise, quite untempted by, and whollysuperior to, the rural fisherman's worm. 

The river lapped the shores of peaceful meadows; it flowed along banksgreen with maple, beech, sycamore, and birch; it fell tempestuously overdams and fought its way between rocky cliffs crowned with stately firs. It rolled past forests of pine and hemlock and spruce, now gentle, now terrible; for there is said to be an Indian curse upon the Saco, whereby, with every great sun, the child of a paleface shall be drawninto its cruel depths. Lashed into fury by the stony reefs that impededits progress, the river looked now sapphire, now gold, now white, nowleaden gray; but always it was hurrying, hurrying on its appointed wayto the sea. 

After feasting his eyes and filling his heart with a morning draughtof beauty, Stephen went in from the porch and, pausing at the stairway, called in stentorian tones: "Get up and eat your breakfast, Rufus! Theboys will be picking the side jams today, and I'm going down to work onthe logs. If you come along, bring your own pick-pole and peavey. " Then, going to the kitchen pantry, he collected, from the various shelves, a pitcher of milk, a loaf of bread, half an apple pie, and a bowl ofblueberries, and, with the easy methods of a household unswayed byfeminine rule, moved toward a seat under an apple tree and took hismorning meal in great apparent content. Having finished, and washed hisdishes with much more thoroughness than is common to unsuperintendedman, and having given Rufus the second call to breakfast with the vigorand acrimony that usually mark that unpleasant performance, he strode toa high point on the riverbank and, shading his eyes with his hand, gazedsteadily downstream. 

Patches of green fodder and blossoming potatoes melted into soft fieldsthat had been lately mown, and there were glimpses of tasseling cornrising high to catch the sun. Far, far down on the opposite bank of theriver was the hint of a brown roof, and the tip of a chimney that sent aslender wisp of smoke into the clear air. Beyond this, and farther backfrom the water, the trees apparently hid a cluster of other chimneys, for thin spirals of smoke ascended here and there. The little brownroof could never have revealed itself to any but a lover's eye; and thatdiscerned something even smaller, something like a pinkish speck, thatmoved hither and thither on a piece of greensward that sloped to thewaterside. 

"She's up!" Stephen exclaimed under his breath, his eyes shining, hislips smiling. His voice had a note of hushed exaltation about it, as if"she, " whoever she might be, had, in condescending to rise, conferred apriceless boon upon a waiting universe. If she were indeed "up" (so histone implied), then the day, somewhat falsely heralded by the sunrise, had really begun, and the human race might pursue its appointed tasks, inspired and uplifted by the consciousness of her existence. It mightproperly be grateful for the fact of her birth; that she had grown towoman's estate; and, above all, that, in common with the sun, the lark, the morning-glory, and other beautiful things of the early day, she wasup and about her lovely, cheery, heart-warming business. 

The handful of chimneys and the smoke-spirals rising here and thereamong the trees on the river-bank belonged to what was known as theBrier Neighborhood. There were only a few houses in all, scattered alonga side road leading from the river up to Liberty Center. There were nogreat signs of thrift or prosperity, but the Wiley cottage, the onlyone near the water, was neat and well cared for, and Nature had done herbest to conceal man's indolence, poverty, or neglect. 

Bushes of sweetbrier grew in fragrant little forests as tall as thefences. Clumps of wild roses sprang up at every turn, and over all thestone walls, as well as on every heap of rocks by the wayside, pricklyblackberry vines ran and clambered and clung, yielding fruit and thornsimpartially to the neighborhood children. 

The pinkish speck that Stephen Waterman had spied from his side of theriver was Rose Wiley of the Brier Neighborhood on the Edgewood side. Asthere was another of her name on Brigadier Hill, the Edgewood ministercalled one of them the climbing Rose and the other the brier Rose, orsometimes Rose of the river. She was well named, the pinkish speck. Shehad not only some of the sweetest attributes of the wild rose, but theparallel might have been extended as far as the thorns, for she hadwounded her scores, --hearts, be it understood, not hands. The woundingwas, on the whole, very innocently done; and if fault could be imputedanywhere, it might rightly have been laid at the door of the kind powerswho had made her what she was, since the smile that blesses a singleheart is always destined to break many more. 

She had not a single silk gown, but she had what is far better, afigure to show off a cotton one. Not a brooch nor a pair of earrings wasnumbered among her possessions, but any ordinary gems would have lookedrather dull and trivial when compelled to undergo comparison with herbright eyes. As to her hair, the local milliner declared it impossiblefor Rose Wiley to get an unbecoming hat; that on one occasion, beingin a frolicsome mood, Rose had tried on all the headgear in the villageemporium, --children's gingham "Shakers, " mourning bonnets for ageddames, men's haying hats and visored caps, --and she proved superiorto every test, looking as pretty as a pink in the best ones and simplyravishing in the worst. In fact, she had been so fashioned andfinished by Nature that, had she been set on a revolving pedestal in ashow-window, the bystanders would have exclaimed, as each new charm cameinto view: "Look at her waist! See her shoulders! And her neck and chin!And her hair!" While the children, gazing with raptured admiration, would have shrieked, in unison, "I choose her for mine. "

All this is as much as to say that Rose of the river was a beauty, yetit quite fails to explain, nevertheless, the secret of her power. Whenshe looked her worst the spell was as potent as when she looked herbest. Hidden away somewhere was a vital spark which warmed every onewho came in contact with it. Her lovely little person was a trifle belowmedium height, and it might as well be confessed that her soul, on themorning when Stephen Waterman saw her hanging out the clothes on theriver-bank, was not large enough to be at all out of proportion; butwhen eyes and dimples, lips and cheeks, enslave the onlooker, the soulis seldom subjected to a close or critical scrutiny. Besides, Rose Wileywas a nice girl, neat as wax, energetic, merry, amiable, economical. Shewas a dutiful granddaughter to two of the most irritating old peoplein the county; she never patronized her pug-nosed, pasty-faced girlfriends; she made wonderful pies and doughnuts; and besides, smallsouls, if they are of the right sort, sometimes have a way of growing, to the discomfiture of cynics and the gratification of the angels. 

So, on one bank of the river grew the brier rose, a fragile thing, swaying on a slender stalk and looking at its pretty reflection in thewater; and on the other a sturdy pine tree, well rooted against wind andstorm. And the sturdy pine yearned for the wild rose; and the rose, sofar as it knew, yearned for nothing at all, certainly not for ruggedpine trees standing tall and grim in rocky soil. If, in its presentstage of development, it gravitated toward anything in particular, itwould have been a well-dressed white birch growing on an irreproachablelawn. 

And the river, now deep, now shallow, now smooth, now tumultuous, now sparkling in sunshine, now gloomy under clouds, rolled on to theengulfing sea. It could not stop to concern itself with the pettycomedies and tragedies that were being enacted along its shores, else itwould never have reached its destination. Only last night, under a fullmoon, there had been pairs of lovers leaning over the rails of all thebridges along its course; but that was a common sight, like that of theardent couples sitting on its shady banks these summer days, lookingonly into each other's eyes, but exclaiming about the beauty of thewater. Lovers would come and go, sometimes reappearing with successiveinstallments of loves in a way wholly mysterious to the river. Meantimeit had its own work to do and must be about it, for the side jams wereto be broken and the boom "let out" at the Edgewood bridge. 

II. "Old Kennebec"

It was just seven o'clock that same morning when Rose Wiley smoothed thelast wrinkle from her dimity counterpane, picked up a shred of corn-huskfrom the spotless floor under the bed, slapped a mosquito on thewindow-sill, removed all signs of murder with a moist towel, and beforerunning down to breakfast cast a frowning look at her pincushion. Almira, otherwise "Mite, " Shapley had been in her room the afternoonbefore and disturbed with her careless hand the pattern of Rose's pins. They were kept religiously in the form of a Maltese cross; and if, whileshe was extricating one from her clothing, there had been an alarmof fire, Rose would have stuck the pin in its appointed place in thedesign, at the risk of losing her life. 

Entering the kitchen with her light step, she brought the morningsunshine with her. The old people had already engaged in differences ofopinion, but they commonly suspended open warfare in her presence. There were the usual last things to be done for breakfast, offices thatbelonged to her as her grandmother's assistant. She took yesterday'ssoda biscuits out of the steamer where they were warming and softening;brought an apple pie and a plate of seed cakes from the pantry; settledthe coffee with a piece of dried fish skin and an egg shell; andtransferred some fried potatoes from the spider to a covered dish. 

"Did you remember the meat, grandpa? We're all out, " she said, as shebegan buttoning a stiff collar around his reluctant neck. 

"Remember? Land, yes! I wish't I ever could forgit anything! The butchersays he's 'bout tired o' travelin' over the country lookin' for crittersto kill, but if he finds anything he'll be up along in the course of aweek. He ain't a real smart butcher, Cyse Higgins ain't. --Land, Rose, don't button that dickey clean through my epperdummis! I have to sportstarched collars in this life on account o' you and your gran'motherbein' so chock full o' style; but I hope to the Lord I shan't have towear 'em in another world!"

"You won't, " his wife responded with the snap of a dish towel, "or ifyou do, they'll wilt with the heat. "

Rose smiled, but the soft hand with which she tied the neckcloth aboutthe old man's withered neck pacified his spirit, and he smiled knowinglyback at her as she took her seat at the breakfast table spread near theopen kitchen door. She was a dazzling Rose, and, it is to be feared, a wasted one, for there was no one present to observe her clean pinkcalico and the still more subtle note struck in the green ribbon whichwas tied round her throat, --the ribbon that formed a sort of calyx, outof which sprang the flower of her face, as fresh and radiant as if ithad bloomed that morning. 

"Give me my coffee turrible quick, " said Mr. Wiley; "I must be down tothe bridge 'fore they start dog-warpin' the side jam. "

"I notice you're always due at the bridge on churnin' days, " remarkedhis spouse, testily. 

"'T ain't me as app'ints drivin' dates at Edgewood, " replied the oldman. "The boys'll hev a turrible job this year. The logs air ricked upjest like Rose's jack-straws; I never see 'em so turrible ricked up inall my exper'ence; an' Lije Dennett don' know no more 'bout pickin' ajam than Cooper's cow. Turrible sot in his ways, too; can't take amite of advice. I was tellin' him how to go to work on that bung that'sformed between the gre't gray rock an' the shore, --the awfullest placeto bung that there is between this an' Biddeford, --and says he: 'Lookhere, I've be'n boss on this river for twelve year, an' I'll be doggonedif I'm goin' to be taught my business by any man!' 'This ain't noriver, ' says I, 'as you'd know, ' says I, 'if you'd ever lived on theKennebec. ' 'Pity you hed n't stayed on it, ' says he. 'I wish to the landI hed, ' says I. An' then I come away, for my tongue's so turrible spryan' sarcustic that I knew if I stopped any longer I should stir upstrife. There's some folks that'll set on addled aigs year in an' yearout, as if there wa'n't good fresh ones bein' laid every day; an' LijeDennett's one of 'em, when it comes to river-drivin'. "

"There's lots o' folks as have made a good livin' by mindin' their ownbusiness, " observed the still sententious Mrs. Wiley, as she speared asoda biscuit with her fork. 

"Mindin' your own business is a turrible selfish trade, " respondedher husband loftily. "If your neighbor is more ignorant than what youare, --partic'larly if he's as ignorant as Cooper's cow, --you'd ought, as a Kennebec man an' a Christian, to set him on the right track, though it's always a turrible risky thing to do. " Rose's grandfather wascalled, by the irreverent younger generation, sometimes "Turrible Wiley"and sometimes "Old Kennebec, " because of the frequency with which thesewords appeared in his conversation. There were not wanting those of latewho dubbed him Uncle Ananias, for reasons too obvious to mention. Aftera long, indolent, tolerably truthful, and useless life, he had, atseventy-five, lost sight of the dividing line between fact and fancy, and drew on his imagination to such an extent that he almost staggeredhimself when he began to indulge in reminiscence. He was a feature ofthe Edgewood "drive, " being always present during the five or six daysthat it was in progress, sometimes sitting on the river-bank, sometimesleaning over the bridge, sometimes reclining against the butt-end ofa huge log, but always chewing tobacco and expectorating to incredibledistances as he criticized and damned impartially all the expedients inuse at the particular moment. 

"I want to stay down by the river this afternoon, " said Rose. "Everso many of the girls will be there, and all my sewing is done up. Ifgrandpa will leave the horse for me, I'll take the drivers' lunch tothem at noon, and bring the dishes back in time to wash them beforesupper. "

"I suppose you can go, if the rest do, " said her grandmother, "thoughit's an awful lazy way of spendin' an afternoon. When I was a girl therewas no such dawdlin' goin' on, I can tell you. Nobody thought o' lookin'at the river in them days; there was n't time. "

"But it's such fun to watch the logs!" Rose exclaimed. "Next to dancing, the greatest fun in the world. "

"'Specially as all the young men in town will be there, watchin', too, "was the grandmother's reply. "Eben Brooks an' Richard Bean got homeyesterday with their doctors' diplomas in their pockets. Mrs. Brookssays Eben stood forty-nine in a class o' fifty-five, an' seemedconsid'able proud of him; an' I guess it is the first time he ever stoodanywheres but at the foot. I tell you when these fifty-five new doctorsgit scattered over the country there'll be consid'able many folkskeepin' house under ground. Dick Bean's goin' to stop a spell with Rufean' Steve Waterman. That'll make one more to play in the river. "

"Rufus ain't hardly got his workin' legs on yit, " allowed Mr. Wiley, "but Steve's all right. He's a turrible smart driver, an' turriblereckless, too. He'll take all the chances there is, though to a manthat's lived on the Kennebec there ain't what can rightly be called anyturrible chances on the Saco. "

"He'd better be 'tendin' to his farm, " objected Mrs. Wiley. 

"His hay is all in, " Rose spoke up quickly, "and he only helps on theriver when the farm work is n't pressing. Besides, though it's all playto him, he earns his two dollars and a half a day. "

"He don't keer about the two and a half, " said her grandfather. "He jestcan't keep away from the logs. There's some that can't. When I firstmoved here from Gard'ner, where the climate never suited me--"

"The climate of any place where you hev regular work never did an'never will suit you, " remarked the old man's wife; but the interruptionreceived no comment: such mistaken views of his character were toofrequent to make any impression. 

"As I was sayin', Rose, " he continued, "when we first moved here fromGard'ner, we lived neighbor to the Watermans. Steve an' Rufus was littleboys then, always playin' with a couple o' wild cousins o' theirn, consid'able older. Steve would scare his mother pretty nigh to deathstealin' away to the mill to ride on the 'carriage, ' 'side o' the logthat was bein' sawed, hitchin' clean out over the river an' then jerkin'back 'most into the jaws o' the machinery. "

"He never hed any common sense to spare, even when he was a young one, "remarked Mrs. Wiley; "and I don't see as all the 'cademy educationhis father throwed away on him has changed him much. " And with thisobservation she rose from the table and went to the sink. 

"Steve ain't nobody's fool, " dissented the old man; "but he's kind o'daft about the river. When he was little he was allers buildin' dams inthe brook, an' sailin' chips, an' runnin' on the logs; allers choppin'up stickins an' raftin' 'em together in the pond. I cai'late Mis'Waterman died consid'able afore her time, jest from fright, lookin' outthe winders and seein' her boys slippin' between the logs an' gittin'their daily dousin'. She could n't understand it, an' there's a heap o'things women-folks never do an' never can understand, --jest because they_air_ women-folks. "

"One o' the things is men, I s'pose, " interrupted Mrs. Wiley. 

"Men in general, but more partic'larly husbands, " assented Old Kennebec;"howsomever, there's another thing they don't an' can't never take in, an' that's sport. Steve does river-drivin' as he would horse-racin' ortiger-shootin' or tight-rope dancin'; an' he always did from a boy. Whenhe was about twelve to fifteen, he used to help the river-drivers springand fall, reg'lar. He could n't do nothin' but shin up an' down therocks after hammers an' hatchets an' ropes, but he was turriblepleased with his job. 'Stepanfetchit, ' they used to call him themdays, --Stepanfetchit Waterman. "

"Good name for him yet, " came in acid tones from the sink. "He's stillsteppin' an' fetchin', only it's Rose that's doin' the drivin' now. "

"I'm not driving anybody, that I know of, " answered Rose, withheightened color, but with no loss of her habitual self-command. 

"Then, when he graduated from errants, " went on the crafty old man, whoknew that when breakfast ceased, churning must begin, "Steve used toget seventy-five cents a day helpin' clear up the river--if you can callthis here silv'ry streamlet a river. He'd pick off a log here an' therean' send it afloat, an' dig out them that hed got ketched in the rocks, and tidy up the banks jest like spring house-cleanin'. If he'd hed anykind of a boss, an' hed be'n trained on the Kennebec, he'd 'a' made aturrible smart driver, Steve would. "

"He'll be drownded, that's what'll become o' him, " prophesied Mrs. Wiley;"specially if Rose encourages him in such silly foolishness as ridin'logs from his house down to ourn, dark nights. "

"Seein' as how Steve built ye a nice pigpen last month, 'pears to meyou might have a good word for him now an' then, mother, " remarked OldKennebec, reaching for his second piece of pie. 

"I wa'n't a mite deceived by that pigpen, no more'n I was by Jed Towle'shencoop, nor Ivory Dunn's well-curb, nor Pitt Packard's shed-steps. Ifyou hed ever kep' up your buildin's yourself, Rose's beaux would n't hevto do their courtin' with carpenters' tools. "

"It's the pigpen an' the hencoop you want to keep your eye on, mother, not the motives of them as made 'em. It's turrible onsettlin' to inspeckfolks' motives too turrible close. "

"Riding a log is no more to Steve than riding a horse, so he says, "interposed Rose, to change the subject; "but I tell him that a horsedoes n't revolve under you, and go sideways at the same time that it isgoing forwards. "

"Log-ridin' ain't no trick at all to a man of sperit, " said Mr. Wiley. "There's a few places in the Kennebec where the water's too shaller tolet the logs float, so we used to build a flume, an' the logs would whizdown like arrers shot from a bow. The boys used to collect by the sideo' that there flume to see me ride a log down, an' I've watched 'em dropin a dead faint when I spun by the crowd; but land! you can't drowndsome folks, not without you tie nail-kags to their head an' feet an'drop 'em in the falls; I've rid logs down the b'ilin'est rapids o' theKennebec an' never lost my head. I remember well the year o' the gre'tfreshet, I rid a log from--"

"There, there, father, that'll do, " said Mrs. Wiley, decisively. "I'llput the cream in the churn, an' you jest work off' some o' your steam bybringin' the butter for us afore you start for the bridge. It don'tdo no good to brag afore your own women-folks; work goes consid'ablebetter'n stories at every place 'cept the loafers' bench at the tavern. "

And the baffled raconteur, who had never done a piece of work cheerfullyin his life, dragged himself reluctantly to the shed, where, beforelong, one could hear him moving the dasher up and down sedately to hisfavorite "churning tune" of

 Broad is the road that leads to death, And thousands walk together there; But Wisdom shows a narrow path, With here and there a traveler. 

III. The Edgewood "Drive"

Just where the bridge knits together the two little villages of PleasantRiver and Edgewood, the glassy mirror of the Saco broadens suddenly, sweeping over the dam in a luminous torrent. Gushes of pure amber markthe middle of the dam, with crystal and silver at the sides, and fromthe seething vortex beneath the golden cascade the white spray dashesup in fountains. In the crevices and hollows of the rocks the mad waterchurns itself into snowy froth, while the foam-flecked torrent, deep, strong, and troubled to its heart, sweeps majestically under the bridge, then dashes between wooded shores piled high with steep masses of rock, or torn and riven by great gorges. 

There had been much rain during the summer, and the Saco was veryhigh, so on the third day of the Edgewood drive there was considerableexcitement at the bridge, and a goodly audience of villagers from bothsides of the river. There were some who never came, some who had nofancy for the sight, some to whom it was an old story, some who weretoo busy, but there were many to whom it was the event of events, anever-ending source of interest. 

Above the fall, covering the placid surface of the river, thousands oflogs lay quietly "in boom" until the "turning out" process, on the lastday of the drive, should release them and give them their chanceof display, their brief moment of notoriety, their opportunity ofinteresting, amusing, exciting, and exasperating the onlookers by theirantics. 

Heaps of logs had been cast up on the rocks below the dam, where theylay in hopeless confusion, adding nothing, however, to the problem ofthe moment, for they too bided their time. If they had possessed wisdom, discretion, and caution, they might have slipped gracefully over thefalls and, steering clear of the hidden ledges (about which it wouldseem they must have heard whispers from the old pine trees along theriver), have kept a straight course and reached their destinationwithout costing the Edgewood Lumber Company a small fortune. Or, ifthey had inclined toward a jolly and adventurous career, they could havejoined one of the various jams or "bungs, " stimulated by the thoughtthat any one of them might be a key-log, holding for a time the entiremass in its despotic power. But they had been stranded early in thegame, and, after lying high and dry for weeks, would be picked off oneby one and sent downstream. 

In the tumultuous boil, the foaming hubbub and flurry at the foot ofthe falls, one enormous peeled log wallowed up and clown like a hugerhinoceros, greatly pleasing the children by its clumsy cavortings. Someconflict of opposing forces kept it ever in motion, yet never set itfree. Below the bridge were always the real battle-grounds, the scenesof the first and the fiercest conflicts. A ragged ledge of rock, standing well above the yeasty torrent, marked the middle of theriver. Stephen had been stranded there once, just at dusk, on a stormyafternoon in spring. A jam had broken under the men, and Stephen, havingtaken too great risks, had been caught on the moving mass, and, leapingfrom log to log, his only chance for life had been to find a footing onGray Rock, which was nearer than the shore. 

Rufus was ill at the time, and Mrs. Waterman so anxious and nervousthat processions of boys had to be sent up to the River Farm, giving thefrightened mother the latest bulletins of her son's welfare. Luckily, the river was narrow just at the Gray Rock, and it was a quite possibletask, though no easy one, to lash two ladders together and make a narrowbridge on which the drenched and shivering man could reach the shore. There were loud cheers when Stephen ran lightly across the slenderpathway that led to safety--ran so fast that the ladders had scarce timeto bend beneath his weight. He had certainly "taken chances, " but whendid he not do that? The logger's life is one of "moving accidents byflood and field, " and Stephen welcomed with wild exhilaration everyhazard that came in his path. To him there was never a dull hour fromthe moment that the first notch was cut in the tree (for he sometimesjoined the boys in the lumber camp just for a frolic) till the laterone when the hewn log reached its final destination. He knew nothingof "tooling" a four-in-hand through narrow lanes or crowdedthoroughfares, --nothing of guiding a horse over the hedges and throughthe pitfalls of a stiff bit of hunting country; his steed was therearing, plunging, kicking log, and he rode it like a river god. 

The crowd loves daring, and so it welcomed Stephen with bravos, but itknew, as he knew, that he was only doing his duty by the Company, onlyshowing the Saco that man was master, only keeping the old Waterman namein good repute. "Ye can't drownd some folks, " Old Kennebec had said, ashe stood in a group on the shore; "not without you tie sand-bags to 'eman' drop 'em in the Great Eddy. I'm the same kind; I remember when I wasstranded on jest sech a rock in the Kennebec, only they left me thereall night for dead, an' I had to swim the rapids when it come daylight. "

"We're well acquainted with that rock and them rapids, " exclaimed one ofthe river-drivers, to the delight of the company. 

Rose had reason to remember Stephen's adventure, for he had clamberedup the bank, smiling and blushing under the hurrahs of the boys, and, coming to the wagon where she sat waiting for her grandfather, hadseized a moment to whisper: "Did you care whether I came across safe, Rose? Say you did!"

Stephen recalled that question, too, on this August morning; perhapsbecause this was to be a red-letter day, and some time, when he had afree moment, --some time before supper, when he and Rose were sittingapart from the others, watching the logs, --he intended again to ask herto marry him. This thought trembled in him, stirring the deeps of hisheart like a great wave, almost sweeping him off his feet when he heldit too close and let it have full sway. It would be the fourth timethat he had asked Rose this question of all questions, but there wasno unerceptible difference in his excitement, for there was always thepossible chance that she might change her mind and say yes, if only forvariety. Wanting a thing continuously, unchangingly, unceasingly, yearafter year, he thought, --longing to reach it as the river longed toreach the sea, --such wanting might, in course of time, mean having. 

Rose drove up to the bridge with the men's luncheon, and the under bosscame up to take the baskets and boxes from the back of the wagon. 

"We've had a reg'lar tussle this mornin', Rose, " he said. "The logsare determined not to move. Ike Billings, that's the han'somest andfluentest all-round swearer on the Saco, has tried his best on the sidejam. He's all out o' cuss-words and there hain't a log budged. Now, stido' dog-warpin' this afternoon, an' lettin' the oxen haul off all themstubborn logs by main force, we're goin' to ask you to set up on thebank and smile at the jam. 'Land! she can do it!' says Ike a minute ago. 'When Rose starts smilin', ' he says, 'there ain't a jam nor a bung in_me_ that don't melt like wax and jest float right off same as the logsdo when they get into quiet, sunny water. '"

Rose blushed and laughed, and drove up the hill to Mite Shapley's, whereshe put up the horse and waited till the men had eaten their luncheon. The drivers slept and had breakfast and supper at the Billings house, amile down-river, but for several years Mrs. Wiley had furnished thenoon meal, sending it down piping hot on the stroke of twelve. The boysalways said that up or down the whole length of the Saco there wasno such cooking as the Wileys', and much of this praise was earned byRose's serving. It was the old grandmother who burnished the tinplates and dippers till they looked like silver; for--crotchety andsharp-tongued as she was--she never allowed Rose to spoil her hands withsoft soap and sand: but it was Rose who planned and packed, Rose whohemmed squares of old white table-cloths and sheets to line the basketsand keep things daintily separate, Rose, also, whose tarts and cakeswere the pride and admiration of church sociables and sewing societies. 

Where could such smoking pots of beans be found? A murmur of ecstaticapproval ran through the crowd when the covers were removed. Pieces ofsweet home-fed pork glistened like varnished mahogany on the top of thebeans, and underneath were such deeps of fragrant juice as come onlyfrom slow fires and long, quiet hours in brick ovens. Who else couldsteam and bake such mealy loaves of brown bread, brown as plum-pudding, yet with no suspicion of sogginess? Who such soda biscuits, big, feathery, tasting of cream, and hardly needing butter? And green-applepies! Could such candied lower crusts be found elsewhere, or moredelectable filling? Or such rich, nutty doughnuts?--doughnuts that hadspurned the hot fat which is the ruin of so many, and risen from itswaves like golden-brown Venuses. 

"By the great seleckmen!" ejaculated Jed Towle, as he swallowed hisfourth, "I'd like to hev a wife, two daughters, and four sisters likethem Wileys, and jest set still on the river-bank an' hev 'em cookvictuals for me. I'd hev nothin' to wish for then but a mouth as big asthe Saco's. "

"And I wish this custard pie was the size o' Bonnie Eagle Pond, " saidIke Billings. "I'd like to fall into the middle of it and eat my wayout!"

"Look at that bunch o' Chiny asters tied on t' the bail o' thatbiscuit-pail!" said Ivory Dunn. "That's the girl's doin's, you bet;women-folks don't seem to make no bo'quets after they git married. Let'sdivide 'em up an' wear 'em drivin' this afternoon; mebbe they'll ketchthe eye so 't our rags won't show so bad. Land! it's lucky my hundreddays is about up! If I don't git home soon, I shall be arrested forgoin' without clo'es. I set up 'bout all night puttin' these bluepatches in my pants an' tryin' to piece together a couple of oldred-flannel shirts to make one whole one. That's the worst o' drivin' inthese places where the pretty girls make a habit of comin' down to thebridge to see the fun. You hev to keep rigged up jest so stylish; youcan't git no chance at the rum bottle, an' you even hev to go a leetlemite light on swearin'. "

IV. "Blasphemious Swearin'"

"Steve Waterman's an awful nice feller, " exclaimed Ivory Dunn justthen. Stephen had been looking intently across the river, watching theShapleys' side door, from which Rose might issue at any moment; and atthis point in the discussion he had lounged away from the group, and, moving toward the bridge, began to throw pebbles idly into the water. 

"He's an awful smart driver for one that don't foller drivin' theyear round, " continued Ivory; "and he's the awfullest clean-spoken, soft-spoken feller I ever see. "

"There's be'n two black sheep in his family a'ready, an' Steve kindo' feels as if he'd ought to be extry white, " remarked Jed Towle. "Youfellers that belonged to the old drive remember Pretty Quick Watermanwell enough? Steve's mother brought him up. "

Yes; most of them remembered the Waterman twins, Stephen's cousins, nowboth dead, --Slow Waterman, so moderate in his steps and actions that youhad to fix a landmark somewhere near him to see if he moved; and PrettyQuick, who shone by comparison with his twin. "I'd kind o' forgot thatPretty Quick Waterman was cousin to Steve, " said the under boss; "henever worked with me much, but he wa'n't cut off the same piece o' goodsas the other Watermans. Great hemlock! but he kep' a cussin' dictionary, Pretty Quick did! Whenever he heard any new words he must 'a' writ 'emdown, an' then studied 'em all up in the winter-time, to use in thespring drive. "

"Swearin' 's a habit that hed ought to be practiced with turriblecaution, " observed old Mr. Wiley, when the drivers had finished luncheonand taken out their pipes. "There's three kinds o' swearin', --plainswearin', profane swearin', an' blasphemious swearin'. Logs air jestlike mules: there's times when a man can't seem to rip up a jam in goodstyle 'thout a few words that's too strong for the infant classes inSunday-schools; but a man hed n't ought to tempt Providence. When he'sridin' a log near the falls at high water, or cuttin' the key-log in ajam, he ain't in no place for blasphemious swearin'; jest a littleeasy, perlite 'damn' is 'bout all he can resk, if he don't want to gitdrownded an' hev his ghost walkin' the river-banks till kingdom come. 

"You an' I, Long, was the only ones that seen Pretty Quick go, wa'n'twe?" continued Old Kennebec, glancing at Long Abe Dennett (cousin toShort Abe), who lay on his back in the grass, the smoke-wreaths risingfrom his pipe, and the steel spikes in his heavy, calked-sole bootsshining in the sun. 

"There was folks on the bridge, " Long answered, "but we was the onlyones near enough to see an' hear. It was so onexpected, an' so soonover, that them as was watchin' upstream, where the men was to work onthe falls, would n't 'a' hed time to see him go down. But I did, an'nobody ain't heard me swear sence, though it's ten years ago. I allerssaid it was rum an' bravadder that killed Pretty Quick Waterman thatday. The boys hed n't give him a 'dare' that he hed n't took up. Heseemed like he was possessed, an' the logs was the same way; they wasfairly wild, leapin' around in the maddest kind o' water you ever see. The river was b'ilin' high that spring; it was an awful stubborn jam, an' Pretty Quick, he'd be'n workin' on it sence dinner. "

"He clumb up the bank more'n once to have a pull at the bottle that washid in the bushes, " interpolated Mr. Wiley. "Like as not; that was hisfailin'. Well, most o' the boys were on the other side o' the river, workin' above the bridge, an' the boss hed called Pretty Quick to comeoff an' leave the jam till mornin', when they'd get horses an' dog-warpit off, log by log. But when the boss got out o' sight, Pretty Quickjest stood right still, swingin' his axe, an' blasphemin' so it wouldfreeze your blood, vowin' he would n't move till the logs did, if hestayed there till the crack o' doom. Jest then a great, ponderous log, that hed be'n churnin' up an' down in the falls for a week, got free an'come blunderin' an' thunderin' down-river. Land! it was chock full o'water, an' looked 'bout as big as a church! It come straight along, butt-end foremost, an' struck that jam, full force, so 't every log init shivered. There was a crack, --the crack o' doom, sure enough, forPretty Quick, --an' one o' the logs le'p' right out an' struck him jestwhere he stood, with his axe in the air, blasphemin'. The jam kind o'melted an' crumbled up, an' in a second Pretty Quick was whirlin' in thewhite water. He never riz, --at least where we could see him, --an' we didn't find him for a week. That's the whole story, an' I guess Steve takesit as a warnin'. Anyway, he ain't no friend to rum nor swearin', Steveain't. He knows Pretty Quick's ways shortened his mother's life, an' younotice what a sharp lookout he keeps on Rufus. "

"He needs it, " Ike Billings commented tersely. 

"Some men seem to lose their wits when they're workin' on logs, "observed Mr. Wiley, who had deeply resented Long Dennett's telling of astory which he knew fully as well and could have told much better. "Now, nat'rally, I've seen things on the Kennebec--"

"Three cheers for the Saco! Hats off, boys!" shouted Jed Towle, and hisdirections were followed with a will. 

"As I was sayin', " continued the old man, peacefully, "I've seen thingson the Kennebec that would n't happen on a small river, an' I've be'n inturrible places an' taken turrible resks resks that would 'a' turned aSaco River man's hair white; but them is the times when my wits work thequickest. I remember once I was smokin' my pipe when a jam brokeunder me. 'T was a small jam, or what we call a small jam on theKennebec, --only about three hundred thousand pine logs. The first thingI knowed, I was shootin' back an' forth in the b'ilin' foam, hangin' ont' the end of a log like a spider. My hands was clasped round the log, and I never lost control o' my pipe. They said I smoked right along, jest as cool an' placid as a pond-lily. "

"Why 'd you quit drivin'?" inquired Ivory. 

"My strength wa'n't ekal to it, " Mr. Wiley responded sadly. "I was allskin, bones, an' nerve. The Comp'ny would n't part with me altogether, so they give me a place in the office down on the wharves. "

"That wa'n't so bad, " said Jed Towle; "why did n't you hang on to it, so's to keep in sight o' the Kennebec?"

"I found I could n't be confined under cover. My liver give all out, my appetite failed me, an' I wa'n't wuth a day's wages. I'd learnedengineerin' when I was a boy, an' I thought I'd try runnin' on the roada spell, but it did n't suit my constitution. My kidneys ain't turriblestrong, an' the doctors said I'd have Bright's disease if I did n't gitsome kind o' work where there wa'n't no vibrations. "

"Hard to find, Mr. Wiley; hard to find!" said Jed Towle. 

"You're right, " responded the old man feelingly. "I've tried all kindso' labor. Some of 'em don't suit my liver, some disagrees with mystomach, and the rest of 'em has vibrations; so here I set, high an' dryon the banks of life, you might say, like a stranded log. "

As this well-known simile fell upon the ear, there was a general stir inthe group, for Turrible Wiley, when rhetorical, sometimes grew tearful, and this was a mood not to be encouraged. 

"All right, boss, " called Ike Billings, winking to the boys; "we'll bethere in a jiffy!" for the luncheon hour had flown, and the work of theafternoon was waiting for them. "You make a chalk-mark where you leftoff, Mr. Wiley, an' we'll hear the rest tomorrer; only don't you forgitnothin'! Remember 't was the Kennebec you was talkin' about. "

"I will, indeed, " responded the old man. "As I was sayin' wheninterrupted, I may be a stranded log, but I'm proud that the mark o' theGard'ner Lumber Comp'ny is on me, so 't when I git to my journey's endthey'll know where I belong and send me back to the Kennebec. BeforeI'm sawed up I'd like to forgit this triflin' brook in the sight of agood-sized river, an' rest my eyes on some full-grown logs, 'stead o'these little damn pipestems you boys are playin' with!"

V. The Game of Jackstraws

There was a roar of laughter at the old man's boast, but in a moment allwas activity. The men ran hither and thither like ants, gathering theirtools. There were some old-fashioned pick-poles, straight, heavy leverswithout any "dog, " and there were modern pick-poles and peaveys, forevery river has its favorite equipment in these things. There was nodynamite in those days to make the stubborn jams yield, and the dog-warpwas in general use. Horses or oxen, sometimes a line of men, stood onthe river-bank. A long rope was attached by means of a steel spiketo one log after another, and it was dragged from the tangled mass. Sometimes, after unloading the top logs, those at the bottom would riseand make the task easier; sometimes the work would go on for hours withno perceptible progress, and Mr. Wiley would have opportunity to tellthe bystanders of a "turrible jam" on the Kennebec that had cost theLumber Company ten thousand dollars to break. 

There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers as well asamong the experts, as to the particular log which might be a key to theposition. The boss would study the problem from various standpoints, and the drivers themselves would pass from heated discussion into longconsultations. 

"They're paid by the day, " Old Kennebec would philosophize to thedoctor; "an' when they're consultin' they don't hev to be doggin', whichis a turrible sight harder work. "

Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out tothe under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of the prettygame of jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicate littlelengths of polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptied on thetable. Each jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shape of somesort of implement, --a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the pieceswere intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they fell, in ahopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny pick-pole, scarcelybigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wire on the end liftingoff the jackstraws one by one without stirring the pile or makingit tremble. When this occurred, you gave place to your opponent, whorelinquished his turn to you when ill fortune descended upon him, thegame, which was a kind of river-driving and jam-picking in miniature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and their value. Nowonder that the under boss asked Rose's advice as to the key-log. Shehad a fairy's hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces to be moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the heap, were lookedupon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It was a favoritepastime; and although a man's hand is ill adapted to it, beingover-large and heavy, the game has obvious advantages for a lover inbringing his head very close to that of his beloved adversary. Thejackstraws have to be watched with a hawk's eagerness, since the"trembling" can be discerned only by a keen eye; but there were momentswhen Stephen was willing to risk the loss of a battle if he could watchRose's drooping eyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and thefeathery curls that broke away from her hair. 

He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and Mite Shapley wereassisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates and tie the tin dipperstogether. Next she peered into one of the bean-pots, and seemed pleasedthat there was still something in its depths; then she gathered thefragments neatly together in a basket, and, followed by her friend, clambered down the banks to a shady spot where the Boomshers, otherwiseknown as the Crambry family, were "lined up" expectantly. 

It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community, howeversmall; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhat rarer. Everycounty, however, can boast of one fool-family, and York County isalways in the fashion, with fools as with everything else. Theunique, much-quoted, and undesirable Boomshers could not be claimedas indigenous to the Saco valley, for this branch was an offshoot of astill larger tribe inhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings wereshrouded in mystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, anda Gypsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried from timeimmemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native place had beenasked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and why the habit wasnot discouraged, he replied that he really did n't know; he s'posed theyfelt it would be kind of odd to go right out and marry a stranger. 

Lest "Boomsher" seem an unusual surname, it must be explained thatthe actual name was French and could not be coped with by Edgewood orPleasant River, being something as impossible to spell as topronounce. As the family had lived for the last few years somewherenear the Killick Cranberry Meadows, they were called--and completelydescribed in the calling--the Crambry fool-family. A talented and muchtraveled gentleman who once stayed over night at the Edgewood tavern, proclaimed it his opinion that Boomsher had been gradually corruptedfrom Beaumarchais. When he wrote the word on his visiting card andshowed it to Mr. Wiley, Old Kennebec had replied, that in the judgmentof a man who had lived in large places and seen a turrible lot o' life, such a name could never have been given either to a Christian or aheathen family, that the way in which the letters was thrown togetherinto it, and the way in which they was sounded when read out loud, wasentirely ag'in reason. It was true, he said, that Beaumarchais, bein'such a fool-name, might 'a' be'n invented a-purpose for a fool-family, but he would n't hold even with callin' 'em Boomsher; Crambry was wellenough for 'em an' a sight easier to speak. 

Stephen knew a good deal about the Crambrys, for he passed theirso-called habitation in going to one of his wood-lots. It was onlya month before that he had found them all sitting outside theirbroken-down fence, surrounded by decrepit chairs, sofas, tables, bedsteads, bits of carpet, and stoves. 

"What's the matter?" he called out from his wagon. 

"There ain't nothin' the matter, " said Alcestis Crambry. "Father'sdead, an' we're dividin' up the furnerchure. "

Alcestis was the pride of the Crambrys, and the list of his attainmentsused often to be on his proud father's lips. It was he who was thelargest, "for his size, " in the family; he who could tell his brothersPaul and Arcadus "by their looks"; he who knew a sour apple from a sweetone the minute he bit it; he who, at the early age of ten, was brightenough to point to the cupboard and say, "Puddin', dad!"

Alcestis had enjoyed, in consequence of his unusual intellectual powers, some educational privileges, and the Killick school-mistress wellremembered his first day at the village seat of learning. Reports ofwhat took place in this classic temple from day to day may have beenwafted to the dull ears of the boy, who was not thought ready for schooluntil he had attained the ripe age of twelve. It may even have beenthat specific rumors of the signs, symbols, and hieroglyphics usedin educational institutions had reached him in the obscurity of hiscranberry meadows. At all events, when confronted by the alphabet chart, whose huge black capitals were intended to capture the wandering eyesof the infant class, Alcestis exhibited unusual, almost unnatural, excitement. "That is 'A, ' my boy, " said the teacher genially, as shepointed to the first character on the chart. "Good God, is that 'A'!"cried Alcestis, sitting down heavily on the nearest bench. And neitherteacher nor scholars could discover whether he was agreeably surprisedor disappointed in the letter, --whether he had expected, if he everencountered it, to find it writhing in coils on the floor of a cage, orwhether it simply bore no resemblance to the ideal already establishedin his mind. 

Mrs. Wiley had once tried to make something of Mercy, the oldestdaughter of the family, but at the end of six weeks she announced thata girl who could n't tell whether the clock was going "forrards orbackwards, " and who rubbed a pocket-handkerchief as long as she did asheet, would be no help in her household. 

The Crambrys had daily walked the five or six miles from their home tothe Edgewood bridge during the progress of the drive, not only forthe social and intellectual advantages to be gained from the companypresent, but for the more solid compensation of a good meal. They alladored Rose, partly because she gave them food, and partly because shewas sparkling and pretty and wore pink dresses that caught their dulleyes. 

The afternoon proved a lively one. In the first place, one of theyounger men slipped into the water between two logs, part of a lotchained together waiting to be let out of the boom. The weight ofthe mass higher up and the force of the current wedged him in rathertightly, and when he had been "pried" out he declared that he felt likean apple after it had been squeezed in the cider-mill, so he drove home, and Rufus Waterman took his place. 

Two hours' hard work followed this incident, and at the end of that timethe "bung" that reached from the shore to Waterman's Ledge (the rockwhere Pretty Quick met his fate) was broken up, and the logs thatcomposed it were started down-river. There remained now only the greatside jam at Gray Rock. This had been allowed to grow, gathering logs asthey drifted past, thus making higher water and a stronger current onthe other side of the rock, and allowing an easier passage for the logsat that point. 

All was excitement now, for, this particular piece of work accomplished, the boom above the falls would be "turned out, " and the river would oncemore be clear and clean at the Edgewood bridge. 

Small boys, perching on the rocks with their heels hanging, hands andmouths full of red Astrakhan apples, cheered their favorites to theecho, while the drivers shouted to one another and watched the signs andsignals of the boss, who could communicate with them only in that way, so great was the roar of the water. 

The jam refused to yield to ordinary measures. It was a difficultproblem, for the rocky river-bed held many a snare and pitfall. Therewas a certain ledge under the water, so artfully placed that every logstriking under its projecting edges would wedge itself firmly there, attracting others by its evil example. 

"That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jam thismornin', " grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who was always hismost loyal and attentive listener. "But he would n't take no advice, notif Pharaoh nor Boaz nor Herod nor Nicodemus come right out o' the Biblean' give it to him. The logs air contrary today. Sometimes they'll goalong as easy as an old shoe, an' other times they'll do nothin' butbung, bung, bung! There's a log nestlin' down in the middle o' that jamthat I've be'n watchin' for a week. It's a cur'ous one, to begin with;an' then it has a mark on it that you can reco'nize it by. Did ye everhear tell o' George the Third, King of England, Alcestis, or ain't heknown over to the crambry medders? Well, once upon a time men used togo through the forests over here an' slash a mark on the trunks o' thebiggest trees. That was the royal sign, as you might say, an' meant thatthe tree was to be taken over to England to make masts an' yard-arms forthe King's ships. What made me think of it now is that the King's markwas an arrer, an' it's an arrer that's on that there log I'm showin'ye. Well, sir, I seen it fust at Milliken's Mills a Monday. It was introuble then, an' it's be'n in trouble ever sence. That's allers theway; there'll be one pesky, crooked, contrary, consarne'd log that can'tgo anywheres without gittin' into difficulties. You can yank it out an'set it afloat, an' before you hardly git your doggin' iron off of it, it'll be snarled up agin in some new place. From the time it's choppeddown to the day it gets to Saco, it costs the Comp'ny 'bout ten timesits pesky valler as lumber. Now they've sent over to Benson's for a teamof horses, an' I bate ye they can't git 'em. I wish i was the boss onthis river, Alcestis. "

"I wish I was, " echoed the boy. 

"Well, your head-fillin' ain't the right kind for a boss, Alcestis, an'you'd better stick to dry land. You set right down here while I go backa piece an' git the pipe out o' my coat pocket. I guess nothin' ain'tgoin' to happen for a few minutes. "

The surmise about the horses, unlike most of Old Kennebec's, provedto be true. Benson's pair had gone to Portland with a load of hay;accordingly the tackle was brought, the rope was adjusted to a log, andfive of the drivers, standing on the river-bank, attempted to drag itfrom its intrenched position. It refused to yield the fraction of aninch. Rufus and Stephen joined the five men, and the augmented crew ofseven were putting all their strength on the rope when a cry went upfrom the watchers on the bridge. The "dog" had loosened suddenly, andthe men were flung violently to the ground. For a second they werestunned both by the surprise and by the shock of the blow, but in thesame moment the cry of the crowd swelled louder. Alcestis Crambry hadstolen, all unnoticed, to the rope, and had attempted to use his feeblepowers for the common good. When the blow came he fell backward, and, making no effort to control the situation, slid over the bank and intothe water. 

The other Crambrys, not realizing the danger, laughed audibly, but therewas no jeering from the bridge. 

Stephen had seen Alcestis slip, and in the fraction of a moment hadtaken off his boots and was coasting down the slippery rocks behind him;in a twinkling he was in the water, almost as soon as the boy himself. 

"Doggoned idjut!" exclaimed Old Kennebec, tearfully. "Wuth the hullfool-family! If I hed n't 'a' be'n so old, I'd 'a' jumped in myself, foryou can't drownd a Wiley, not without you tie nail-kags to their headan' feet an' drop 'em in the falls. "

Alcestis, who had neither brains, courage, nor experience, had, betterstill, the luck that follows the witless. He was carried swiftly downthe current; but, only fifty feet away, a long, slender log, wedgedbetween two low rocks on the shore, jutted out over the water, almosttouching its surface. The boy's clothes were admirably adapted to thesituation, being full of enormous rents. In some way the end of the logcaught in the rags of Alcestis's coat and held him just seconds enoughto enable Stephen to swim to him, to seize him by the nape of the neck, to lift him on the log, and thence to the shore. It was a particularlybad place for a landing, and there was nothing to do but to lower ropesand drag the drenched men to the high ground above. 

Alcestis came to his senses in ten or fifteen minutes, and seemed asbright as usual, with a kind of added swagger at being the centralfigure in a dramatic situation. 

"I wonder you hed n't stove your brains out, when you landed so turriblesuddent on that rock at the foot of the bank, " said Mr. Wiley to him. 

"I should, but I took good care to light on my head, " respondedAlcestis; a cryptic remark which so puzzled Old Kennebec that he musedover it for some hours. 

VI. Hearts And Other Hearts

Stephen had brought a change of clothes, as he had a habit of beingducked once at least during the day; and since there was a halt in theproceedings and no need of his services for an hour or two, he foundRose and walked with her to a secluded spot where they could watch thelogs and not be seen by the people. 

"You frightened everybody almost to death, jumping into the river, "chided Rose. 

Stephen laughed. "They thought I was a fool to save a fool, I suppose. "

"Perhaps not as bad as that, but it did seem reckless. "

"I know; and the boy, no doubt, would be better off dead; but so shouldI be, if I could have let him die. "

Rose regarded this strange point of view for a moment, and then silentlyacquiesced in it. She was constantly doing this, and she often felt thather mental horizon broadened in the act; but she could not be sure thatStephen grew any dearer to her because of his moral altitudes. 

"Besides, " Stephen argued, "I happened to be nearest to the river, andit was my job. "

"How do you always happen to be nearest to the people in trouble, andwhy is it always your 'job'?"

"If there are any rewards for good conduct being distributed, I'm rightin line with my hand stretched out, " Stephen replied, with meaning inhis voice. 

Rose blushed under her flowery hat as he led the way to a bench under asycamore tree that overhung the water. 

She had almost convinced herself that she was as much in love withStephen Waterman as it was in her nature to be with anybody. He washandsome in his big way, kind, generous, temperate, well educated, andwell-to-do. No fault could be found with his family, for his mother hadbeen a teacher, and his father, though a farmer, a college graduate. Stephen himself had had one year at Bowdoin, but had been recalled, asthe head of the house, when his father died. That was a severe blow;but his mother's death, three years after, was a grief never to be quiteforgotten. Rose, too, was the child of a gently bred mother, and all herinstincts were refined. Yes; Stephen in himself satisfied her in all thelarger wants of her nature, but she had an unsatisfied hunger for theworld, --the world of Portland, where her cousins lived; or, betterstill, the world of Boston, of which she heard through Mrs. WealthyBrooks, whose nephew Claude often came to visit her in Edgewood. Lifeon a farm a mile and a half distant from post-office and stores; lifein the house with Rufus, who was rumored to be somewhat wild andunsteady, --this prospect seemed a trifle dull and uneventful to thetrivial part of her, though to the better part it was enough. The betterpart of her loved Stephen Waterman, dimly feeling the richness of hisnature, the tenderness of his affection, the strength of his character. Rose was not destitute either of imagination or sentiment. She did notrelish this constant weighing of Stephen in the balance: he was too goodto be weighed and considered. She longed to be carried out of herself ona wave of rapturous assent, but something seemed to hold her back, --someseed of discontent with the man's environment and circumstances, somegerm of longing for a gayer, brighter, more varied life. No amount ofself-searching or argument could change the situation. She always lovedStephen more or less: more when he was away from her, because she neverapproved his collars nor the set of his shirt bosom; and as he naturallywore these despised articles of apparel whenever he proposed to her, shewas always lukewarm about marrying him and settling down on the RiverFarm. Still, today she discovered in herself, with positive gratitude, a warmer feeling for him than she had experienced before. He wore a newand becoming gray flannel shirt, with the soft turn-over collar thatbelonged to it, and a blue tie, the color of his kind eyes. She knewthat he had shaved his beard at her request not long ago, and that whenshe did not like the effect as much as she had hoped, he had meeklygrown a mustache for her sake; it did seem as if a man could hardly domore to please an exacting ladylove. 

And she had admired him unreservedly when he pulled off his boots andjumped into the river to save Alcestis Crambry's life, without giving asingle thought to his own. 

And was there ever, after all, such a noble, devoted, unselfish fellow, or a better brother? And would she not despise herself for rejectinghim simply because he was countrified, and because she longed to see theworld of the fashion plates in the magazines?

"The logs are so like people!" she exclaimed as they sat down. "I couldname nearly every one of them for somebody in the village. Look at MiteShapley, that dancing little one, slipping over the falls and skimmingalong the top of the water, keeping out of all the deep places, andnever once touching the rocks. "

Stephen fell into her mood. "There's Squire Anderson coming downcrosswise and bumping everything in reach. You know he's always buyinglumber and logs without knowing what he is going to do with them. Theyjust lie and rot by the roadside. The boys always say that a toadstoolis the old Squire's 'mark' on a log. "

"And that stout, clumsy one is Short Dennett. --What are you doing, Stephen?"

"Only building a fence round this clump of harebells, " Stephen replied. "They've just got well rooted, and if the boys come skidding down thebank with their spiked shoes, the poor things will never hold up theirheads again. Now they're safe. --Oh, look, Rose! There come the ministerand his wife!"

A portly couple of peeled logs, exactly matched in size, cameponderously over the falls together, rose within a second of each other, joined again, and swept under the bridge side by side. 

"And--oh! oh!--Dr. And Mrs. Cram just after them! Isn't that funny?"laughed Rose, as a very long, slender pair of pines swam down, as closeto each other as if they had been glued in that position. Rose thought, as she watched them, who but Stephen would have cared what became of theclump of delicate harebells. How gentle such a man would be to a woman!How tender his touch would be if she were ill or in trouble!

Several single logs followed, --crooked ones, stolid ones, adventurousones, feeble swimmers, deep divers. Some of them tried to start a smalljam on their own account; others stranded themselves for good and all, as Rose and Stephen sat there side by side, with little Dan Cupid for aninvisible third on the bench. 

"There never was anything so like people, " Rose repeated, leaningforward excitedly. "And, upon my word, the minister and doctor couplesare still together. I wonder if they'll get as far as the fails atUnion? That would be an odd place to part, would n't it--Union?"

Stephen saw his opportunity, and seized it. 

"There's a reason, Rose, why two logs go downstream better than one, andget into less trouble. They make a wider path, create more force and abetter current. It's the same way with men and women. Oh, Rose, thereis n't a man in the world that's loved you as long, or knows how to loveyou any better than I do. You're just like a white birch sapling, andI'm a great, clumsy fir tree; but if you 'll only trust yourself to me, Rose, I'll take you safely down-river. "

Stephen's big hand closed on Rose's little one; she returned itspressure softly and gave him the kiss that with her, as with him, meanta promise for all the years to come. The truth and passion in the manhad broken the girl's bonds for the moment. Her vision was clearer, and, realizing the treasures of love and fidelity that were being offeredher, she accepted them, half unconscious that she was not returningthem in kind. How is the belle of two villages to learn that she should"thank Heaven, fasting, for a good man's love"?

And Stephen? He went home in the dusk, not knowing whether his feet weretouching the solid earth or whether he was treading upon rainbows. 

Rose's pink calico seemed to brush him as he walked in the path that waswide enough only for one. His solitude was peopled again when he fedthe cattle, for Rose's face smiled at him from the haymow; and when hestrained the milk, Rose held the pans. 

His nightly tasks over, he went out and took his favorite seat under theapple tree. All was still, save for the crickets' ceaseless chirp, the soft thud of an August sweeting dropping in the grass, and theswish-swash of the water against his boat, tethered in the Willow Cove. 

He remembered when he first saw Rose, for that must have been when hebegan to love her, though he was only fourteen and quite unconsciousthat the first seed had been dropped in the rich soil of his boyishheart. 

He was seated on the kerosene barrel in the Edgewood post-office, whichwas also the general country store, where newspapers, letters, molasses, nails, salt codfish, hairpins, sugar, liver pills, canned goods, beans, and ginghams dwelt in genial proximity. When she entered, just alittle pink-and-white slip of a thing with a tin pail in her hand and asunbonnet falling off her wavy hair, Stephen suddenly stopped swinginghis feet. She gravely announced her wants, reading them from a bit ofpaper, --1 quart molasses, 1 package ginger, 1 lb. Cheese, 2 pairs shoelaces, 1 card shirt buttons. 

While the storekeeper drew off the molasses she exchanged shy looks withStephen, who, clean, well-dressed, and carefully mothered as he was, felt all at once uncouth and awkward, rather as if he were some clumsylout pitch-forked into the presence of a fairy queen. He offered her thelittle bunch of bachelor's buttons he held in his hand, augury ofthe future, had he known it, --and she accepted them with a smile. Shedropped her memorandum; he picked it up, and she smiled again, doingstill more fatal damage than in the first instance. No words werespoken, but Rose, even at ten, had less need of them than most of hersex, for her dimples, aided by dancing eyes, length of lashes, and curveof lips, quite took the place of conversation. The dimples tempted, assented, denied, corroborated, deplored, protested, sympathized, whilethe intoxicated beholder cudgeled his brain for words or deeds whichshould provoke and evoke more and more dimples. 

The storekeeper hung the molasses pail over Rose's right arm and tuckedthe packages under her left, and as he opened the mosquito-netting doorto let her pass out she looked back at Stephen, perched on the kerosenebarrel, just a little girl, a little glance, a little dimple, andStephen was never quite the same again. The years went on, and the boybecame man, yet no other image had ever troubled the deep, placid watersof his heart. Now, after many denials, the hopes and longings of hisnature had been answered, and Rose had promised to marry him. He wouldsacrifice his passion for logging and driving in the future, and becomea staid farmer and man of affairs, only giving himself a river holidaynow and then. How still and peaceful it was under the trees, and howglad his mother would be to think that the old farm would wake from itssleep, and a woman's light foot be heard in the sunny kitchen!

Heaven was full of silent stars, and there was a moonglade on the waterthat stretched almost from him to Rose. His heart embarked on thatgolden pathway and sailed on it to the farther shore. The river was freeof logs, and under the light of the moon it shone like a silver mirror. The soft wind among the fir branches breathed Rose's name; the river, rippling against the shore, sang "Rose "; and as Stephen sat theredreaming of the future, his dreams, too, could have been voiced in oneword, and that word "Rose. "

VII. The Little House

The autumn days flew past like shuttles in a loom. The river reflectedthe yellow foliage of the white birch and the scarlet of the maples. Thewayside was bright with goldenrod, with the red tassels of the sumac, with the purple frost-flower and feathery clematis. 

If Rose was not as happy as Stephen, she was quietly content, andfelt that she had more to be grateful for than most girls, for Stephensurprised her with first one evidence and then another of thoughtfulgenerosity. In his heart of hearts he felt that Rose was not wholly his, that she reserved, withheld something; and it was the subjugation ofthis rebellious province that he sought. He and Rose had agreed to waita year for their marriage, in which time Rose's cousin would finishschool and be ready to live with the old people; meanwhile Stephen hadlearned that his maiden aunt would be glad to come and keep house forRufus. The work at the River Farm was too hard for a girl, so he hadpersuaded himself of late, and the house was so far from the villagethat Rose was sure to be lonely. He owned a couple of acres betweenhis place and the Edgewood bridge, and here, one afternoon only a monthafter their engagement, he took Rose to see the foundations of a littlehouse he was building for her. It was to be only a story-and-a-halfcottage of six small rooms, the two upper chambers to be finished offlater on. Stephen had placed it well back from the road, leaving spacein front for what was to be a most wonderful arrangement of flower-beds, yet keeping a strip at the back, on the river-brink, for a smallvegetable garden. There had been a house there years before-so manyyears that the blackened ruins were entirely overgrown; but a few elmsand an old apple-orchard remained to shade the new dwelling and givewelcome to the coming inmates. 

Stephen had fifteen hundred dollars in bank, he could turn his hand toalmost anything, and his love was so deep that Rose's plumb-line hadnever sounded bottom; accordingly he was able, with the help of twosteady workers, to have the roof on before the first of November. Theweather was clear and fine, and by Thanksgiving clapboards, shingles, two coats of brown paint, and even the blinds had all been added. Thisexhibition of reckless energy on Stephen's part did not wholly commenditself to the neighborhood. 

"Steve's too turrible spry, " said Rose's grandfather; "he'll triphimself up some o' these times. "

"_You_ never will, " remarked his better half, sagely. 

"The resks in life come along fast enough, without runnin' to meet 'em, "continued the old man. "There's good dough in Rose, but it ain't more'nhalf riz. Let somebody come along an' drop in a little more yeast, orset the dish a little mite nearer the stove, an' you'll see what 'llhappen. "

"Steve's kept house for himself some time, an' I guess he knows moreabout bread-makin' than you do. "

"There don't nobody know more'n I do about nothin', when my pipe'sdrawin' real good an' nobody's thornin' me to go to work, " replied Mr. Wiley; "but nobody's willin' to take the advice of a man that's seenthe world an' lived in large places, an' the risin' generation is in aturrible hurry. I don' know how 't is: young folks air allers settin'the clock forrard an' the old ones puttin' it back. "

"Did you ketch anything for dinner when you was out this mornin'?" askedhis wife. 

"No, I fished an' fished, till I was about ready to drop, an' I did gita few shiners, but land, they wa'n't as big as the worms I was ketchin''em with, so i pitched 'em back in the water an' quit. "

During the progress of these remarks Mr. Wiley opened the door under thesink, and from beneath a huge iron pot drew a round tray loaded with aglass pitcher and half a dozen tumblers, which he placed carefullyon the kitchen table. "This is the last day's option I've got on thislemonade-set, " he said, "an' if I'm goin' to Biddeford tomorrer I've gotto make up my mind here an' now. "

With this observation he took off his shoes, climbed in his stockingfeet to the vantage ground of a kitchen chair, and lifted a stone chinapitcher from a corner of the highest cup-board shelf where it had beenhidden. "This lemonade's gittin' kind o' dusty, " he complained. "Ical'lated to hev a kind of a spree on it when I got through choosin'Rose's weddin' present, but I guess the pig 'll hev to help me out. "The old man filled one of the glasses from the pitcher, pulled up thekitchen shades to the top, put both hands in his pockets, and walkedsolemnly round the table, gazing at his offering from every possiblepoint of view. There had been three lemonade-sets in the window of aBiddeford crockery store when Mr. Wiley chanced to pass by, and he hadbrought home the blue and green one on approval. To th': casual cyc itwould have appeared as quite uniquely hideous until the red and yellowor the purple and orange ones had been seen; after that, no humanbeing could have made a decision, where each was so unparalleled in itsugliness, and Old Kennebec's confusion of mind would have been perfectlyunderstood by the connoisseur. 

"How do you like it with the lemonade in, mother?" he inquired eagerly. "The thing that plagues me most is that the red an' yaller one I hedhome last week lights up better'n this, an' I believe I'll settle onthat; for as I was thinkin' last night in bed, lemonade is mostly anevenin' drink an' Rose won't be usin' the set much by daylight. Rootbeer looks the han'somest in this purple set, but Rose loves lemonadebetter'n beer, so I guess I'll pack up this one an' change it tomorrer. Mebbe when I get it out o' sight an' give the lemonade to the pig I'llbe easier in my mind. "

In the opinion of the community at large Stephen's forehandedness in thematter of preparations for his marriage was imprudence, and his desirefor neatness and beauty flagrant extravagance. The house itself was afoolish idea, it was thought, but there were extenuating circumstances, for the maiden aunt really needed a home, and Rufus was likely to marrybefore long and take his wife to the River Farm. It was to be hopedin his case that he would avoid the snares of beauty and choose agood stout girl who would bring the dairy back to what it was in Mrs. Waterman's time. 

All winter long Stephen labored on the inside of the cottage, mostlyby himself. He learned all trades in succession, Love being his onlymaster. He had many odd days to spare from his farm work, and if he hadnot found days he would have taken nights. Scarcely a nail was drivenwithout Rose's advice; and when the plastering was hard and dry, thewallpapers were the result of weeks of consultation. 

Among the quiet joys of life there is probably no other so deep, sosweet, so full of trembling hope and delight, as the building and makingof a home, --a home where two lives are to be merged in one and flow ontogether, a home full of mysterious and delicious possibilities, hiddenin a future which is always rose-colored. 

Rose's sweet little nature broadened under Stephen's influence; but shehad her moments of discontent and unrest, always followed quickly byremorse. 

At the Thanksgiving sociable some one had observed her turquoiseengagement ring, --some one who said that such a hand was worthy of adiamond, that turquoises were a pretty color, but that there wasonly one stone for an engagement ring, and that was a diamond. At theChristmas dance the same some one had said that her waltzing would makeher "all the rage" in Boston. She wondered if it were true, and wonderedwhether, if she had not promised to marry Stephen, some splendid beingfrom a city would have descended from his heights, bearing diamondsin his hand. Not that she would have accepted them; she only wondered. These disloyal thoughts came seldom, and she put them resolutely away, devoting herself with all the greater assiduity to her muslin curtainsand ruffled pillow-shams. Stephen, too, had his momentary pangs. Therewere times when he could calm his doubts only by working on the littlehouse. The mere sight of the beloved floors and walls and ceilingscomforted his heart, and brought him good cheer. 

The winter was a cold one, so bitterly cold that even the rapid water atthe Gray Rock was a mass of curdled yellow ice, something that hadonly occurred once or twice before within the memory of the oldestinhabitant. 

It was also a very gay season for Pleasant River and Edgewood. Never hadthere been so many card-parties, sleigh-rides, and tavern dances, andnever such wonderful skating. The river was one gleaming, glitteringthoroughfare of ice from Milliken's Mills to the dam at the Edgewoodbridge. At sundown bonfires were built here and there on the mirror-likesurface, and all the young people from the neighboring villages gatheredon the ice; while detachments of merry, rosy-cheeked boys and girls, those who preferred coasting, met at the top of Brigadier Hill, fromwhich one could get a longer and more perilous slide than from any otherpoint in the township. 

Claude Merrill, in his occasional visits from Boston, was very much inevidence at the Saturday evening ice parties. He was not an artistat the sport himself, but he was especially proficient in the art ofstrapping on a lady's skates, and murmuring, --as he adjusted the lastbuckle, --"The prettiest foot and ankle on the river!" It cannot bedenied that this compliment gave secret pleasure to the fair villagemaidens who received it, but it was a pleasure accompanied by electricshocks of excitement. A girl's foot might perhaps be mentioned, if afellow were daring enough, but the line was rigidly drawn at the ankle, which was not a part of the human frame ever alluded to in the politesociety of Edgewood at that time. 

Rose, in her red linsey-woolsey dress and her squirrel furs and cap, was the life of every gathering, and when Stephen took her hand and theyglided upstream, alone together in the crowd, he used to wish that theymight skate on and on up the crystal ice-path of the river, to the moonitself, whither it seemed to lead them. 

VIII. The Garden of Eden

But the Saco all this time was meditating one of its surprises. Thesnapping cold weather and the depth to which the water was frozen wereaiding it in its preparation for the greatest event of the season. Ona certain gray Saturday in March, after a week of mild temperature, itbegan to rain as if, after months of snowing, it really enjoyed a newform of entertainment. Sunday dawned with the very flood-gates of heavenopening, so it seemed. All day long the river was rising under its milesof unbroken ice, rising at the threatening rate of four inches an hour. 

Edgewood went to bed as usual that night, for the bridge at that pointwas set too high to be carried away by freshets, but at other villageswhose bridges were in less secure position there was little sleep andmuch anxiety. 

At midnight a cry was heard from the men watching at Milliken's Mills. The great ice jam had parted from Rolfe's Island and was swinging outinto the open, pushing everything before it. All the able-bodied men inthe village turned out of bed, and with lanterns in hand began to clearthe stores and mills, for it seemed that everything near the river-banksmust go before that avalanche of ice. 

Stephen and Rufus were there helping to save the property of theirfriends and neighbors; Rose and Mite Shapley had stayed the night witha friend, and all three girls were shivering with fear and excitement asthey stood near the bridge, watching the never-to-be-forgotten sight. It is needless to say that the Crambry family was on hand, for whateverinstincts they may have lacked, the instinct for being on the spotwhen anything was happening, was present in them to the most remarkableextent. The town was supporting them in modest winter quarters somewhatnearer than Killick to the center of civilization, and the first alarmbrought them promptly to the scene, Mrs. Crambry remarking at intervals:"If I'd known there'd be so many out I'd ought to have worn my bunnit;but I ain't got no bunnit, an' if I had they say I ain't got no head towear it on!"

By the time the jam neared the falls it had grown with itsaccumulations, until it was made up of tier after tier of huge icecakes, piled side by side and one upon another, with heaps of trees andbranches and drifting lumber holding them in place. Some of the blocksstood erect and towered like icebergs, and these, glittering in thelights of the twinkling lanterns, pushed solemnly forward, cracking, crushing, and cutting everything in their way. When the great massneared the planing mill on the east shore the girls covered their eyes, expecting to hear the crash of the falling building; but, impelled bythe force of some mysterious current, it shook itself ponderously, and then, with one magnificent movement, slid up the river-bank, tierfollowing tier in grand confusion. This left a water way for the maindrift; the ice broke in every direction, and down, down, down, fromBonnie Eagle and Moderation swept the harvest of the winter freezing. Itcame thundering over the dam, bringing boats, farming implements, posts, supports, and every sort of floating lumber with it; and cutting underthe flour mill, tipped it cleverly over on its side and went crashing onits way down-river. At Edgewood it pushed colossal blocks of ice up thebanks into the roadway, piling them end upon end ten feet in air. Then, tearing and rumbling and booming through the narrows, it covered theintervale at Pleasant Point and made a huge ice bridge below UnionFalls, a bridge so solid that it stood there for days, a sight for allthe neighboring villages. 

This exciting event would have forever set apart this winter from allothers in Stephen's memory, even had it not been also the winter whenhe was building a house for his future wife. But afterwards, in lookingback on the wild night of the ice freshet, Stephen remembered thatRose's manner was strained and cold and evasive, and that when he hadseen her talking with Claude Merrill, it had seemed to him that thatwhippersnapper had looked at her as no honorable man in Edgewood everlooked at an engaged girl. He recalled his throb of gratitude thatClaude lived at a safe distance, and his subsequent pang of remorse atdoubting, for an instant, Rose's fidelity. 

So at length April came, the Saco was still high, turbid, and angry, and the boys were waiting at Limington Falls for the "Ossipee drive"to begin. Stephen joined them there, for he was restless, and theriver called him, as it did every spring. Each stubborn log that heencountered gave him new courage and power of overcoming. The rush ofthe water, the noise and roar and dash, the exposure and danger, allmade the blood run in his veins like new wine. When he came back tothe farm, all the cobwebs had been blown from his brain, and his firstinterview with Rose was so intoxicating that he went immediately toPortland, and bought, in a kind of secret penitence for his formerfears, a pale pink-flowered wall-paper for the bedroom in the new home. It had once been voted down by the entire advisory committee. Mrs. Wileysaid that pink was foolish and was always sure to fade; and theborder, being a mass of solid roses, was five cents a yard, virtuallya prohibitive price. Mr. Wiley said he "should hate to hev a spell ofsickness an' lay abed in a room where there was things growin' all overthe place. " He thought "rough-plastered walls, where you could lay an'count the spots where the roof leaked, was the most entertainin'in sickness. " Rose had longed for the lovely pattern, but had sideddutifully with the prudent majority, so that it was with a feelingof unauthorized and illegitimate joy that Stephen papered the room atnight, a few strips at a time. 

On the third evening, when he had removed all signs of his work, helighted two kerosene lamps and two candles, finding the effect, underthis illumination, almost too brilliant and beautiful for belief. Roseshould never see it now, he determined, until the furniture was inplace. They had already chosen the kitchen and bedroom things, thoughthey would not be needed for some months; but the rest was to wait untilsummer, when there would be the hay-money to spend. 

Stephen did not go back to the River Farm till one o'clock that night;the pink bedroom held him in fetters too powerful to break. It lookedlike the garden of Eden, he thought. To be sure, it was only fifteenfeet square; Eden might have been a little larger, possibly, butotherwise the pink bedroom had every advantage. The pattern of rosesgrowing on a trellis was brighter than any flower-bed in June; and theborder--well, if the border had been five dollars a foot Stephen wouldnot have grudged the money when he saw the twenty running yards of rosybloom rioting under the white ceiling. 

Before he blew out the last light he raised it high above his head andtook one fond, final look. "It's the only place I ever saw, " he thought, "that is pretty enough for her. She will look just as if she was growinghere with all the other flowers, and I shall always think of it as thegarden of Eden. I wonder, if I got the license and the ring and took herby surprise, whether she'd be married in June instead of August? I couldbe all ready if I could only persuade her. "

At this moment Stephen touched the summit of happiness; and it is acurious coincidence that as he was dreaming in his garden of Eden, theserpent, having just arrived at Edgewood, was sleeping peacefully at thehouse of Mrs. Brooks. 

It was the serpent's fourth visit that season, and he explained toinquiring friends that his former employer had sold the business, andthat the new management, while reorganizing, had determined to enlargethe premises, the three clerks who had been retained having two weeks'vacation with half pay. 

It is extraordinary how frequently "wise serpents" are retained by themanagement on half, or even full, salary, while the services of the"harmless doves" are dispensed with, and they are set free to flutterwhere they will. 

IX. The Serpent

Rose Wiley had the brightest eyes in Edgewood. It was impossible tolook at her without realizing that her physical sight was perfect. Whatmysterious species of blindness is it that descends, now and then, upon human creatures, and renders them incapable of judgment ordiscrimination?

Claude Merrill was a glove salesman in a Boston fancy-goods store. Thecalling itself is undoubtedly respectable, and it is quite conceivablethat a man can sell gloves and still be a man; but Claude Merrill was amanikin. He inhabited a very narrow space behind a very short counter, but to him it seemed the earth and the fullness thereof. 

When, irreproachably neat and even exquisite in dress, he gave aNapoleonic glance at his array of glove-boxes to see if the femaleassistant had put them in proper order for the day, when, with thatwonderful eye for detail that had wafted him to his present heightof power, he pounced upon the powder-sprinklers and found them, ashe expected, empty; when, with masterly judgment, he had made up andticketed a basket of misfits and odd sizes to attract the eyes of womenwho were their human counterparts, he felt himself bursting with thepride and pomp of circumstance. His cambric handkerchief adjusted inhis coat with the monogram corner well displayed, a last touch tothe carefully trained lock on his forehead, and he was ready for hiscustomers. 

"Six, did you say, miss? I should have thought five and threequarters--Attend to that gentleman, Miss Dix, please; I am very busy. "

"Six-and-a-half gray sue'de? Here they are, an exquisite shade. ShallI try them on? The right hand, if you will. Perhaps you'd better removeyour elegant ring; I should n't like to have anything catch in thesetting. "

"Miss Dix! Six-and-a-half black glace'--upper shelf, third box--forthis lady. She's in a hurry. We shall see you often after this, I hope, madam. "

"No; we don't keep silk or lisle gloves. We have no call for them; ourcustomers prefer kid. "

Oh, but he was in his element, was Claude Merrill; though the glamourthat surrounded him in the minds of the Edgewood girls did not emanatewholly from his finicky little person: something of it was the glamourthat belonged to Boston, --remote, fashionable, gay, rich, almostinaccessible Boston, which none could see without the expenditure offive or six dollars in railway fare, with the added extravagance ofa night in a hotel, if one would explore it thoroughly and come homepossessed of all its illimitable treasures of wisdom and experience. 

When Claude came to Edgewood for a Sunday, or to spend a vacation withhis aunt, he brought with him something of the magic of a metropolis. Suddenly, to Rose's eye, Stephen looked larger and clumsier, his shoeswere not the proper sort, his clothes were ordinary, his neckties wereyears behind the fashion. Stephen's dancing, compared with Claude's, wasas the deliberate motion of an ox to the hopping of a neat little robin. When Claude took a girl's hand in the "grand right-and-left, " it wasas if he were about to try on a delicate glove; the manner in which he"held his lady" in the polka or schottische made her seem a queen. MiteShapley was so affected by it that when Rufus attempted to encircle herfor the mazurka she exclaimed, "Don't act as if you were spearing logs, Rufus!"

Of the two men, Stephen had more to say, but Claude said more. He wasthought brilliant in conversation; but what wonder, when one consideredhis advantages and his dazzling experiences! He had customers who wereworth their thousands; ladies whose fingers never touched dish-water;ladies who would n't buy a glove of anybody else if they wentbare-handed to the grave. He lived with his sister Maude Arthurlena in ahouse where there were twenty-two other boarders who could be seated atmeals all at the same time, so immense was the dining-room. He ate hisdinner at a restaurant daily, and expended twenty-five cents for itwithout blenching. He went to the theater once a week, and was oftenaccompanied by "lady friends" who were "elegant dressers. "

In a moment of wrath Stephen had called him a "counter-jumper, " but itwas a libel. So short and rough a means of exit from his place of powerwas wholly beneath Claude's dignity. It was with a "Pardon me, MissDix, " that, the noon hour having arrived, he squeezed by that slave andvictim, and raising the hinged board that separated his kingdom fromthat of the ribbon department, passed out of the store, hat in hand, serene in the consciousness that though other clerks might nibbleluncheon from a brown paper bag, he would speedily be indulging in anexpensive repast; and Miss Dix knew it, and it was a part of his almostinvincible attraction for her. 

It seemed flying in the face of Providence to decline the attentions ofsuch a gorgeous butterfly of fashion simply because one was engaged tomarry another man at some distant day. 

All Edgewood femininity united in saying that there never was sucha perfect gentleman as Claude Merrill; and during the time when hispopularity was at its height Rose lost sight of the fact that Stephencould have furnished the stuff for a dozen Claudes and have had enoughleft for an ordinary man besides. 

April gave place to May, and a veil hung between the lovers, --anintangible, gossamer-like thing, not to be seen with the naked eye, but, oh! so plainly to be felt. Rose hid herself thankfully behind it, while Stephen had not courage to lift a corner. She had twice been seendriving with Claude Merrill--that Stephen knew; but she had explainedthat there were errands to be done, that her grandfather had takenthe horse, and that Mr. Merrill's escort had been both opportune andconvenient for these practical reasons. Claude was everywhere present, the center of attraction, the observed of all observers. He wasirresistible, contagious, almost epidemic. Rose was now gay, now silent;now affectionate, now distant, now coquettish; in fine, everything thatwas capricious, mysterious, agitating, incomprehensible. 

One morning Alcestis Crambry went to the post-office for Stephen andbrought him back the newspapers and letters. He had hung about the RiverFarm so much that Stephen finally gave him bed and food in exchange fornumberless small errands. Rufus was temporarily confined in a dark roomwith some strange pain and trouble in his eyes, and Alcestis proved ofuse in many ways. He had always been Rose's slave, and had often broughtmessages and notes from the Brier Neighborhood, so that when Stephen sawa folded note among the papers his heart gave a throb of anticipation. 

The note was brief, and when he had glanced through it he said: "This isnot mine, Alcestis; it belongs to Miss Rose. Go straight back and giveit to her as you were told; and another time keep your wits about you, or I'll send you back to Killick. "

Alcestis Crambry's ideas on all subjects were extremely vague. ClaudeMerrill had given him a letter for Rose, but his notion was thatanything that belonged to her belonged to Stephen, and the Watermanplace was much nearer than the Wileys', particularly at dinner-time!

When the boy had slouched away, Stephen sat under the apple tree, now amass of roseate bloom, and buried his face in his hands. 

It was not precisely a love-letter that he had read, nevertheless itblackened the light of the sun for him. Claude asked Rose to meet himanywhere on the road to the station and to take a little walk, as he wasleaving that afternoon and could not bear to say good-bye to her inthe presence of her grandmother. "_Under the circumstances_, " he wrote, deeply underlining the words, "I cannot remain a moment longer inEdgewood, where I have been so happy and so miserable!" He did not referto the fact that the time limit on his return-ticket expired that day, for his dramatic instinct told him that such sordid matters have noplace in heroics. 

Stephen sat motionless under the tree for an hour, deciding on some planof action. He had work at the little house, but he did not dare go therelest he should see the face of dead Love looking from the windows of thepink bedroom; dead Love, cold, sad, merciless. His cheeks burned as hethought of the marriage license and the gold ring hidden away upstairsin the drawer of his shaving stand. What a romantic fool he had been, tothink he could hasten the glad day by a single moment! What a piece ofboyish folly it had been, and how it shamed him in his own eyes!

When train time drew near he took his boat and paddled downstream. If for the Finland lover's reindeer there was but one path in all theworld, and that the one that led to Her, so it was for Stephen's canoe, which, had it been set free on the river by day or by night, might havefloated straight to Rose. 

He landed at the usual place, a bit of sandy shore near the Wiley house, and walked drearily up the bank through the woods. Under the shadeof the pines the white stars of the hepatica glistened and the paleanemones were coming into bloom. Partridge-berries glowed red undertheir glossy leaves, and clumps of violets sweetened the air. Squirrelschattered, woodpeckers tapped, thrushes sang; but Stephen was blind anddeaf to all the sweet harbingers of spring. 

Just then he heard voices, realizing with a throb of delight that, atany rate, Rose had not left home to meet Claude, as he had asked her todo. Looking through the branches, he saw the two standing together, Mrs. Brooks's horse, with the offensive trunk in the back of the wagon, beinghitched to a tree near by. There was nothing in the tableau to stirStephen to fury, but he read between the lines and suffered as heread--suffered and determined to sacrifice himself if he must, so thatRose could have what she wanted, this miserable apology for a man. Hehad never been the husband for Rose; she must take her place in a largercommunity, worthy of her beauty and charm. 

Claude was talking and gesticulating ardently. Rose's head was bent andthe tears were rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly Claude raised his hat, and with a passionate gesture of renunciation walked swiftly to thewagon, and looking back once, drove off with the utmost speed of whichthe Brooks's horse was capable, --Rose waving him a farewell with onehand and wiping her eyes with the other. 

X. The Turquoise Ring

Stephen stood absolutely still in front of the opening in the trees, andas Rose turned she met him face to face. She had never dreamed his eyescould be so stern, his mouth so hard, and she gave a sob like a child. 

"You seem to be in trouble, " Stephen said in a voice so cold she thoughtit could not be his. 

"I am not in trouble, exactly, " Rose stammered, concealing herdiscomfiture as well as possible. "I am a little unhappy because Ihave made some one else unhappy; and now that you know it, you will beunhappy too, and angry besides, I suppose, though you've seen everythingthere was to see. "

"There is no occasion for sorrow, " Stephen said. "I did n't mean tobreak in on any interview; I came over to give you back your freedom. If you ever cared enough for me to marry me, the time has gone by. I amwilling to own that I over-persuaded you, but I am not the man to take agirl against her inclinations, so we will say good-bye and end the thinghere and now. I can only wish"--here his smothered rage at fate almostchoked him--"that, when you were selecting another husband, you hadchosen a whole man!"

Rose quivered with the scorn of his tone. "Size is n't everything!" sheblazed. 

"Not in bodies, perhaps; but it counts for something in hearts andbrains, and it is convenient to have a sense of honor that's at least asbig as a grain of mustard-seed. "

"Claude Merrill is not dishonorable, " Rose exclaimed impetuously; "orat least he is n't as bad as you think: he has never asked me to marryhim. "

"Then he probably was not quite ready to speak, or perhaps you were notquite ready to hear, " retorted Stephen, bitterly; "but don't let us havewords, -there'll be enough to regret without adding those. I have seen, ever since New Year's, that you were not really happy or contented; onlyI would n't allow it to myself; I kept hoping against hope that I wasmistaken. There have been times when I would have married you, willingor unwilling, but I did n't love you so well then; and now that there'sanother man in the case, it's different, and I'm strong enough to do theright thing. Follow your heart and be happy; in a year or two I shall beglad I had the grit to tell you so. Good-bye, Rose!"

Rose, pale with amazement, summoned all her pride, and drawing theturquoise engagement ring from her finger, handed it silently toStephen, hiding her face as he flung it vehemently down the river-bank. His dull eyes followed it and half uncomprehendingly saw it settle andglisten in a nest of brown pine-needles. Then he put out his hand for alast clasp and strode away without a word. 

Presently Rose heard first the scrape of his boat on the sand, thenthe soft sound of his paddles against the water, then nothing butthe squirrels and the woodpeckers and the thrushes, then not eventhese, --nothing but the beating of her own heart. 

She sat down heavily, feeling as if she were wide awake for the firsttime in many weeks. How had things come to this pass with her?

Claude Merrill had flattered her vanity and given her some moments ofrestlessness and dissatisfaction with her lot; but he had not untiltoday really touched her heart or tempted her, even momentarily, fromher allegiance to Stephen. His eyes had always looked unspeakablethings; his voice had seemed to breathe feelings that he had never daredput in words; but today he had really stirred her, for although he hadstill been vague, it was easy to see that his love for her had passedall bounds of discretion. She remembered his impassioned farewells, hisdespair, his doubt as to whether he could forget her by plunging intothe vortex of business, or whether he had better end it all in theriver, as so many other broken-hearted fellows had done. She had beentouched by his misery, even against her better judgment; and she hadintended to confess it all to Stephen sometime, telling him that sheshould never again accept attentions from a stranger, lest a tragedylike this should happen twice in a lifetime. 

She had imagined that Stephen would be his large-minded, great-hearted, magnanimous self, and beg her to forget this fascinatingwill-o'-the-wisp by resting in his deeper, serener love. She had meantto be contrite and faithful, praying nightly that poor Claude might livedown his present anguish, of which she had been the innocent cause. 

Instead, what had happened? She had been put altogether in the wrong. Stephen had almost cast her off, and that, too, without argument. Hehad given her her liberty before she had asked for it, taking it forgranted, without question, that she desired to be rid of him. Insteadof comforting her in her remorse, or sympathizing with her for sonobly refusing to shine in Claude's larger world of Boston, Stephen hadassumed that she was disloyal in every particular. 

And pray how was she to cope with such a disagreeable and complicatedsituation?

It would not be long before the gossips rolled under their tongues thedelicious morsel of a broken engagement, and sooner or later she mustbrave the displeasure of her grandmother. 

And the little house--that was worse than anything. Her tears flowedfaster as she thought of Stephen's joy in it, of his faithful labor, ofthe savings he had invested in it. She hated and despised herselfwhen she thought of the house, and for the first time in her life sherealized the limitations of her nature, the poverty of her ideals. 

What should she do? She had lost Stephen and ruined his life. Now, inorder that she need not blight a second career, must she contrive toreturn Claude's love? To be sure, she thought, it seemed indecent tomarry any other man than Stephen, when they had built a house together, and chosen wallpapers, and a kitchen stove, and dining-room chairs; butwas it not the only way to evade the difficulties?

Suppose that Stephen, in a fit of pique, should ask somebody else toshare the new cottage?

As this dreadful possibility came into view, Rose's sobs actuallyfrightened the birds and the squirrels. She paced back and forth underthe trees, wondering how she could have been engaged to a man for eightmonths and know so little about him as she seemed to know about StephenWaterman today. Who would have believed he could be so autocratic, sosevere, SS so unapproachable? Who could have foreseen that she, RoseWiley, would ever be given up to another man, --handed over as coolly asif she had been a bale of cotton? She wanted to return Claude Merrill'slove because it was the only way out of the tangle; but at the momentshe almost hated him for making so much trouble, for hurting Stephen, for abasing her in her own eyes, and, above all, for giving her rusticlover the chance of impersonating an injured emperor. 

It did not simplify the situation to have Mite Shapley come in duringthe evening and run upstairs, uninvited, to sit on the foot of her bedand chatter. 

Rose had closed her blinds and lay in the dark, pleading a headache. Mite was in high feather. She had met Claude Merrill going to thestation that afternoon. He was much too early for the train, which thestation agent reported to be behind time, so he had asked her to takea drive. She did n't know how it happened, for he looked at his watchevery now and then; but, anyway, they got to laughing and "carrying on, "and when they came back to the station the train had gone. Was n't thatthe greatest joke of the season? What did Rose suppose they did next?

Rose did n't know and did n't care; her head ached too badly. 

Well, they had driven to Wareham, and Claude had hired a livery teamthere, and had been taken into Portland with his trunk, and she hadbrought Mrs. Brooks's horse back to Edgewood. Was n't that ridiculous?And had n't she cut out Rose where she least expected?

Rose was distinctly apathetic, and Mite Shapley departed after a verybrief call, leaving behind her an entirely new train of thought. 

If Claude Merrill were so love-blighted that he could only by thegreatest self-control keep from flinging himself into the river, howcould he conceal his sufferings so completely from Mite Shapley, --littleshallow-pated, scheming coquette?

"So that pretty Merrill feller has gone, has he, mother?" inquired OldKennebec that night, as he took off his wet shoes and warmed his feetat the kitchen oven. "Well, it ain't a mite too soon. I allers distrustthat pink-an'-white, rosy-posy kind of a man. One of the most turriblethings that ever happened in Gard'ner was brought about by jest secha feller. Mothers hed n't hardly ought to name their boy babies Claudewithout they expect 'em to play the dickens with the girls. I don' knownothin' 'bout the fust Claude, there ain't none of 'em in the Bible, airthey, but whoever he was, I bate ye he hed a deceivin' tongue. If ithed n't be'n for me, that Claude in Gard'ner would 'a' run away withmy brother's fust wife; an' I'll tell ye jest how I contrived to put aspoke in his wheel. "

But Mrs. Wiley, being already somewhat familiar with the circumstances, had taken her candle and retired to her virtuous couch. 

XI. Rose Sees the World

Was this the world, after all? Rose asked herself; and, if so, whatwas amiss with it, and where was the charm, the bewilderment, theintoxication, the glamour?

She had been glad to come to Boston, for the last two weeks in Edgewoodhad proved intolerable. She had always been a favorite heretofore, fromthe days when the boys fought for the privilege of dragging her sledup the hills, and filling her tiny mitten with peppermints, down tothe year when she came home from the Wareham Female Seminary, anacknowledged belle and beauty. Suddenly she had felt her popularitydwindling. There was no real change in the demeanor of heracquaintances, but there was a certain subtle difference of atmosphere. Everybody sympathized tacitly with Stephen, and she did not wonder, forthere were times when she secretly took his part against herself. Onlya few candid friends had referred to the rupture openly in conversation, but these had been blunt in their disapproval. 

It seemed part of her ill fortune that just at this time Rufus shouldbe threatened with partial blindness, and that Stephen's heart, alreadysore, should be torn with new anxieties. She could hardly bear to seethe doctor's carriage drive by day after day, and hear night after nightthat Rufus was unresigned, melancholy, half mad; while Stephen, as thedoctor said, was brother, mother, and father in one, as gentle as awoman, as firm as Gibraltar. 

These foes to her peace of mind all came from within; but without wasthe hourly reproach of her grandmother, whose scorching tongue touchedevery sensitive spot in the girl's nature and burned it like fire. 

Finally a way of escape opened. Mrs. Wealthy Brooks, who had always beenrheumatic, grew suddenly worse. She had heard of a "magnetic" physicianin Boston, also of one who used electricity with wonderful effect, andshe announced her intention of taking both treatments impartially andalternately. The neighbors were quite willing that Wealthy Ann Brooksshould spend the deceased Ezra's money in any way she pleased, --shehad earned it, goodness knows, by living with him for twenty-fiveyears, --but before the day for her departure arrived her right armand knee became so much more painful that it was impossible for her totravel alone. 

At this juncture Rose was called upon to act as nurse and companion ina friendly way. She seized the opportunity hungrily as a way out of herpresent trouble; but, knowing what Mrs. Brooks's temper was in time ofhealth, she could see clearly what it was likely to prove when pain andanguish wrung the brow. 

Rose had been in Boston now for some weeks, and she was sitting in theJoy Street boarding-house, --Joy Street, forsooth! It was nearly bedtime, and she was looking out upon a huddle of roofs and back yards, upona landscape filled with clothes-lines, ash-barrels, and ill-fed cats. There were no sleek country tabbies, with the memory in their eyes oftasted cream, nothing but city-born, city-bred, thin, despairing cats ofthe pavement, cats no more forlorn than Rose herself. 

She had "seen Boston, " for she had accompanied Mrs. Brooks in thehorse-cars daily to the two different temples of healing where thatlady worshiped and offered sacrifices. She had also gone with MaudeArthurlena to Claude Merrill's store to buy a pair of gloves, and hadoverheard Miss Dix (the fashionable "lady assistant" before mentioned)say to Miss Brackett of the ribbon department, that she thought Mr. Merrill must have worn his blinders that time he stayed so long inEdgewood. This bit of polished irony was unintelligible to Rose atfirst, but she mastered it after an hour's reflection. She was n'tlooking her best that day, she knew; the cotton dresses that seemedso pretty at home were common and countrified here, and her best blackcashmere looked cheap and shapeless beside Miss Dix's brilliantine. MissDix's figure was her strong point, and her dressmaker was particularlyskillful in the arts of suggestion, concealment, and revelation. Beautyhas its chosen backgrounds. Rose in white dimity, standing knee deep inher blossoming brier bushes, the river running at her feet, dark pinetrees behind her graceful head, sounded depths and touched heights ofharmony forever beyond the reach of the modish Miss Dix, but she was outof her element and suffered accordingly. 

Rose had gone to walk with Claude one evening when she first arrived. Hehad shown her the State House and the Park Street Church, and sat withher on one of the benches in the Common until nearly ten. She knew thatMrs. Brooks had told her nephew of the broken engagement, but he made noreference to the matter, save to congratulate her that she was rid ofa man who was so clumsy, so dull and behind the times, as StephenWaterman, saying that he had always marveled she could engage herself toanybody who could insult her by offering her a turquoise ring. 

Claude was very interesting that evening, Rose thought, butrather gloomy and unlike his former self. He referred to his graveresponsibilities, to the frail health of Maude Arthurlena, and to thevicissitudes of business. He vaguely intimated that his daily life inthe store was not so pleasant as it had been formerly; that therewere "those" (he would speak no more plainly) who embarrassed him withundesired attentions, "those" who, without the smallest shadow of right, vexed him with petty jealousies. 

Rose dared not ask questions on so delicate a topic, but she rememberedin a flash Miss Dix's heavy eyebrows, snapping eyes, and high color. Claude seemed very happy that Rose had come to Boston, though he wassurprised, knowing what a trial his aunt must be, now that she was sohelpless. It was unfortunate, also, that Rose could not go on excursionswithout leaving his aunt alone, or he should have been glad to offer hisescort. He pressed her hand when he left her at her door, telling hershe could never realize what a comfort her friendship was to him;could never imagine how thankful he was that she had courageously freedherself from ties that in time would have made her wretched. His heartwas full, he said, of feelings he dared not utter; but in the nearfuture, when certain clouds had rolled by, he would unlock itstreasures, and then--but no more tonight: he could not trust himself. 

Rose felt as if she were assuming one of the characters in a mysteriousromance, such as unfolded itself only in books or in Boston; butthrilling as it was, it was nevertheless extremely unsatisfactory. 

Convinced that Claude Merrill was passionately in love with her, one ofher reasons for coming to Boston had been to fall more deeply in lovewith him, and thus heal some, at least, of the wounds she had inflicted. It may have been a foolish idea, but after three weeks it seemed stillworse, --a useless one; for after several interviews she felt herselfdrifting farther and farther from Claude; and if he felt any burningambition to make her his own, he certainly concealed it with admirableart. Given up, with the most offensive magnanimity, by Stephen, and notgreatly desired by Claude, --that seemed the present status of proud RoseWiley of the Brier Neighborhood. 

It was June, she remembered, as she leaned out of the open window; atleast it was June in Edgewood, and she supposed for convenience' sakethey called it June in Boston. Not that it mattered much what the poorcity prisoners called it. How beautiful the river would be at home, withthe trees along the banks in full leaf! How she hungered and thirstedfor the river, --to see it sparkle in the sunlight; to watch themoonglade stretching from one bank to the other; to hear the soft lapof the water on the shore, and the distant murmur of the falls at thebridge! And the Brier Neighborhood would be at its loveliest, for thewild roses were in blossom by now. And the little house! How sweet itmust look under the shade of the elms, with the Saco rippling at theback! Was poor Rufus still lying in a darkened room, and was Stephennursing him, --disappointed Stephen, dear, noble old Stephen?

XII. Gold and Pinchbeck

Just then Mrs. Brooks groaned in the next room and called Rose, who wentin to minister to her real needs, or to condole with her fancied ones, whichever course of action appeared to be the more agreeable at themoment. 

Mrs. Brooks desired conversation, it seemed, or at least she desired anaudience for a monologue, for she recognized no antiphonal obligationson the part of her listeners. The doctors were not doing her a speck ofgood, and she was just squandering money in a miserable boarding-house, when she might be enjoying poor health in her own home; and she did n'tbelieve her hens were receiving proper care, and she had forgottento pull down the shades in the spare room, and the sun would fade thecarpet out all white before she got back, and she did n't believe Dr. Smith's magnetism was any more use than a cat's foot, nor Dr. Robinson'selectricity any better than a bumblebee's buzz, and she had a great mindto go home and try Dr. Lord from Bonnie Eagle; and there was a letterfor Rose on the bureau, which had come before supper, but the shiftless, lazy, worthless landlady had forgotten to send it up till just now. 

The letter was from Mite Shapley, but Rose could read only half of it toMrs. Brooks, little beside the news that the Waterman barn, the finestbarn in the whole township, had been struck by lightning and burnedto the ground. Stephen was away at the time, having taken Rufus toPortland, where an operation on his eyes would shortly be performed atthe hospital, and one of the neighbors was sleeping at the River Farmand taking care of the cattle; still the house might not have been savedbut for one of Alcestis Crambry's sudden bursts of common sense, whichoccurred now quite regularly. He succeeded not only in getting thehorses out of the stalls, but gave the alarm so promptly that the wholeneighborhood was soon on the scene of action. Stephen was the only man, Mite reminded Rose, who ever had any patience with, or took any pains toteach, Alcestis, but he never could have expected to be rewarded in thispractical way. The barn was only partly insured; and when she had metStephen at the station next day, and condoled with him on his loss, he had said: "Oh, well, Mite, a little more or less does n't make muchdifference just now. "

"The rest would n't interest you, Mrs. Brooks, " said Rose, precipitatelypreparing to leave the room. 

"Something about Claude, I suppose, " ventured that astute lady. "I thinkMite kind of fancied him. I don't believe he ever gave her any realencouragement; but he'd make love to a pump, Claude Merrill would, andso would his father before him. How my sister Abby made out to land himwe never knew, for they said he'd proposed to every woman in the townof Bingham, not excepting the wooden Indian girl in front of thecigar-store, and not one of 'em but our Abby ever got a chance to namethe day. Abby was as set as the everlastin' hills, and if she'd made upher mind to have a man he could n't wriggle away from her nohow inthe world. It beats all how girls do run after these slick-haired, sweet-tongued, Miss Nancy kind o' fellers, that ain't but little good asbeaux an' worth less than nothing as husbands. "

Rose scarcely noticed what Mrs. Brooks said, she was too anxious to readthe rest of Mite Shapley's letter in the quiet of her own room. 

 Stephen looks thin and pale [so it ran on], but he does not allow anybody to sympathize with him. I think you ought to know something that I have n't told before for fear of hurting your feelings; but if I were in your place I'd like to hear everything, and then you'll know how to act when you come home. Just after you left, Stephen ploughed up all the land in front of your new house, --every inch of it, all up and down the road, between the fence and the front doorstep, --and then he planted corn where you were going to have your flower-beds. He has closed all the blinds and hung a "To Let" sign on the large elm at the gate. Stephen never was spiteful in his life, but this looks a little like spite. Perhaps he only wanted to save his self-respect and let people know that everything between you was over forever. Perhaps he thought it would stop talk once and for all. But you won't mind, you lucky girl, staying nearly three months in Boston! [So Almira purled on in violet ink, with shaded letters. ] How I wish it had come my way, though I'm not good at rubbing rheumatic patients, even when they are _his_ aunt. Is _he_ as devoted as ever? And when will _it_ be? How do you like the theater? Mother thinks you won't attend; but, by what he used to say, I am sure church members in Boston always go to amusements. 

 Your loving friend, Almira Shapley. 

 P. S. They say Rufus's doctor's bills here, and the operation and hospital expenses in Portland, will mount up to five hundred dollars. Of course Stephen will be dreadfully hampered by the toss of his barn, and maybe he wants to let your house that was to be, because he really needs money. In that case the dooryard won't be very attractive to tenants, with corn planted right up to the steps and no path left! It's two feet tall now, and by August (just when you were intending to move in) it will hide the front windows. Not that you'll care, with a diamond on your engagement finger!

The letter was more than flesh and blood could stand, and Rose flungherself on her bed to think and regret and repent, and, if possible, tosob herself to sleep. 

She knew now that she had never admired and respected Stephen so muchas at the moment when, under the reproach of his eyes, she had given himback his ring. When she left Edgewood and parted with him forever shehad really loved him better than when she had promised to marry him. 

Claude Merrill, on his native Boston heath, did not appear the romantic, inspiring figure he had once been in her eyes. A week ago she distrustedhim; tonight she despised him. 

What had happened to Rose was the dilation of her vision. She saw thingsunder a wider sky and in a clearer light. Above all, her heart was wrungwith pity for Stephen--Stephen, with no comforting woman's hand to helphim in his sore trouble; Stephen, bearing his losses alone, his burdensand anxieties alone, his nursing and daily work alone. Oh, how she feltherself needed! Needed! that was the magic word that unlocked her betternature. "Darkness is the time for making roots and establishing plants, whether of the soil or of the soul, " and all at once Rose had become awoman: a little one, perhaps, but a whole woman--and a bit of an angel, too, with healing in her wings. When and how had this metamorphosis comeabout? Last summer the fragile brier-rose had hung over the river andlooked at its pretty reflection in the placid surface of the water. Itsfew buds and blossoms were so lovely, it sighed for nothing more. Thechanges in the plant had been wrought secretly and silently. In somemysterious way, as common to soul as to plant life, the roots hadgathered in more nourishment from the earth, they had stored up strengthand force, and all at once there was a marvelous fructifying of theplant, hardiness of stalk, new shoots everywhere, vigorous leafage, anda shower of blossoms. 

But everything was awry: Boston was a failure; Claude was a weakling anda flirt; her turquoise ring was lying on the river-bank; Stephen didnot love her any longer; her flower-beds were ploughed up and planted incorn; and the cottage that Stephen had built and she had furnished, thatbeloved cottage, was to let. 

She was in Boston; but what did that amount to, after all? What wasthe State House to a bleeding heart, or the Old South Church to a pridewounded like hers?

At last she fell asleep, but it was only by stopping her ears to thenoises of the city streets and making herself imagine the sound ofthe river rippling under her bedroom windows at home. The backyards ofBoston faded, and in their place came the banks of the Saco, strewnwith pine-needles, fragrant with wild flowers. Then there was the bit ofsunny beach, where Stephen moored his boat. She could hear the sound ofhis paddle. Boston lovers came a-courting in the horse-cars, but hershad floated downstream to her just at dusk in a birch-bark canoe, orsometimes, in the moonlight, on a couple of logs rafted together. 

But it was all over now, and she could see only Stephen's stern face ashe flung the despised turquoise ring down the river-bank. 

XIII. A Country Chevalier

It was early in August when Mrs. Wealthy Brooks announced her speedyreturn from Boston to Edgewood. 

"It's jest as well Rose is comin' back, " said Mr. Wiley to his wife. "Inever favored her goin' to Boston, where that rosy-posy Claude felleris. When he was down here he was kep' kind o' tied up in a box-stall, but there he's caperin' loose round the pastur'. "

"I should think Rose would be ashamed to come back, after the way she'scarried on, " remarked Mrs. Wiley, "but if she needed punishment I guessshe's got it bein' comp'ny-keeper to Wealthy Ann Brooks. Bein' a churchmember in good an' reg'lar standin', I s'pose Wealthy Ann'll go toheaven, but I can only say that it would be a sight pleasanter place fora good many if she did n't. "

"Rose has be'n foolish an' flirty an' wrong-headed, " allowed hergrandfather; "but it won't do no good to treat her like a hardenedcriminile, same's you did afore she went away. She ain't hardly got herwisdom teeth cut, in love affairs! She ain't broke the laws of theState o' Maine, nor any o' the ten commandments; she ain't disgraced thefamily, an' there's a chance for her to reform, seein' as how she ain'ttwenty year old yet. I was turrible wild an' hot-headed myself afore youketched me an' tamed me down. "

"You ain't so tame now as I wish you was, " Mrs. Wiley replied testily. 

"If you could smoke a clay pipe 't would calm your nerves, mother, an'help you to git some philosophy inter you; you need a little philosophyturrible bad. "

"I need patience consid'able more, " was Mrs. Wiley's withering retort. 

"That's the way with folks, " said Old Kennebec reflectively, as he wenton peacefully puffing. "If you try to indoose 'em to take an int'rest ina bran'-new virtue, they won't look at it; but they 'll run down a sidestreet an' buy half a yard more o' some turrible old shop-worn traito' character that they've kep' in stock all their lives, an' thateverybody's sick to death of. There was a man in Gard'ner--"

But alas! the experiences of the Gardiner man, though told in the samedelightful fashion that had won Mrs. Wiley's heart many yearsbefore, now fell upon the empty air. In these years of Old Kennebec's"anecdotage, " his pipe was his best listener and his truest confidant. 

Mr. Wiley's constant intercessions with his wife made Rose's home-comingsomewhat easier, and the sight of her own room and belongings soothedher troubled spirit, but the days went on, and nothing happened tochange the situation. She had lost a lover, that was all, and there wereplenty more to choose from, or there always had been; but the only oneshe wanted was the one who made no sign. She used to think that shecould twist Stephen around her little finger; that she had only tobeckon to him and he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Now fearhad entered her heart. She no longer felt sure, because she no longerfelt worthy, of him, and feeling both uncertainty and unworthiness, herlips were sealed and she was rendered incapable of making any bid forforgiveness. 

So the little world of Pleasant River went on, to all outward seeming, as it had ever gone. On one side of the stream a girl's heart waslonging, and pining, and sickening, with hope deferred, and growing, too, with such astonishing rapidity that the very angels marveled! Andon the other, a man's whole vision of life and duty was widening anddeepening under the fructifying influence of his sorrow. 

The corn waved high and green in front of the vacant riverside cottage, but Stephen sent no word or message to Rose. He had seen her once, butonly from a distance. She seemed paler and thinner, he thought, --theresult, probably, of her metropolitan gayeties. He heard no rumor of anyengagement and he wondered if it were possible that her love for ClaudeMerrill had not, after all, been returned in kind. This seemed a wildimpossibility. His mind refused to entertain the supposition that anyman on earth could resist falling in love with Rose, or, having fallenin, that he could ever contrive to climb out. So he worked on at hisfarm harder than ever, and grew soberer and more careworn daily. Rufushad never seemed so near and dear to him as in these weeks when he hadlived under the shadow of threatened blindness. The burning of the barnand the strain upon their slender property brought the brothers togethershoulder to shoulder. 

"If you lose your girl, Steve, " said the boy, "and I lose my eyesight, and we both lose the barn, why, it'll be us two against the world, for aspell!"

The "To Let" sign on the little house was an arrant piece of hypocrisy. Nothing but the direst extremity could have caused him to allow an alienstep on that sacred threshold. The ploughing up of the flower-beds andplanting of the corn had served a double purpose. It showed the toocurious public the finality of his break with Rose and her absolutefreedom; it also prevented them from suspecting that he still enteredthe place. His visits were not many, but he could not bear to let thedust settle on the furniture that he and Rose had chosen together; andwhenever he locked the door and went back to the River Farm, he thoughtof a verse in the Bible: "Therefore the Lord God sent him forth from theGarden of Eden, to till the ground from whence he was taken. "

It was now Friday of the last week in August. 

The river was full of logs, thousands upon thousands of them coveringthe surface of the water from the bridge almost up to the BrierNeighborhood. The Edgewood drive was late, owing to a long drought andlow water; but it was to begin on the following Monday, and Lije Dennettand his under boss were looking over the situation and planning thecampaign. As they leaned over the bridge-rail they saw Mr. Wiley drivingclown the river road. When he caught sight of them he hitched the oldwhite horse at the corner and walked toward them, filling his pipe thewhile in his usual leisurely manner. "We're not busy this forenoon, "said Lije Dennett. "S'pose we stand right here and let Old Kennebec havehis say out for once. We've never heard the end of one of his stories, an' he's be'n talkin' for twenty years. "

"All right, " rejoined his companion, with a broad grin at the idea. "I'mwillin', if you are; but who's goin' to tell our fam'lies the reasonwe've deserted 'em? I bate yer we shan't budge till the crack o' doom. The road commissioner'll come along once a year and mend the bridgeunder our feet, but Old Kennebec'll talk straight on till the day o'jedgment. "

Mr. Wiley had one of the most enjoyable mornings of his life, and feltthat after half a century of neglect his powers were at last appreciatedby his fellow citizens. 

He proposed numerous strategic movements to be made upon the logs, whereby they would move more swiftly than usual. He described severalsuccessful drives on the Kennebec, when the logs had melted down theriver almost by magic, owing to his generalship; and he paid a tribute, in passing, to the docility of the boss, who on that occasion had nevermoved a single log without asking his advice. 

From this topic he proceeded genially to narrate the life-historiesof the boss, the under boss, and several Indians belonging to thecrew, --histories in which he himself played a gallant and conspicuouspart. The conversation then drifted naturally to the exploits ofriver-drivers in general, and Mr. Wiley narrated the sorts of feats inlog-riding, pick-pole-throwing, and the shooting of rapids that he haddone in his youth. These stories were such as had seldom been heard bythe ear of man; and, as they passed into circulation instantaneously, weare probably enjoying some of them to this day. 

They were still being told when a Crambry child appeared on the bridge, bearing a note for the old man. Upon reading it he moved off rapidly inthe direction of the store, ejaculating: "Bless my soul! I clean forgotthat saleratus, and mother's settin' at the kitchen table with the bowlin her lap, waitin' for it! Got so int'rested in your list'nin' I neverthought o' the time. "

The connubial discussion that followed this breach of discipline beganon the arrival of the saleratus, and lasted through supper; and Rosewent to bed almost immediately afterward for very dullness and apathy. Her life stretched out before her in the most aimless and monotonousfashion. She saw nothing but heartache in the future; and that sherichly deserved it made it none the easier to bear. 

Feeling feverish and sleepless, she slipped on her gray Shaker cloakand stole quietly downstairs for a breath of air. Her grandfather andgrandmother were talking on the piazza, and good humor seemed to havebeen restored. "I was over to the tavern tonight, " she heard him say, as she sat down at a little distance. "I was over to the tavern tonight, an' a feller from Gorham got to talkin' an' braggin' 'bout what a stocko' goods they kep' in the store over there. 'An', ' says I, 'I bate yedollars to doughnuts that there hain't a darn thing ye can ask for atBill Pike's store at Pleasant River that he can't go down cellar, or upattic, or out in the barn chamber an' git for ye. ' Well, sir, he took meup, an' I borrered the money of Joe Dennett, who held the stakes, an'we went right over to Bill Pike's with all the boys follerin' on behind. An' the Gorham man never let on what he was going to ask for till thehull crowd of us got inside the store. Then says he, as p'lite as abasket o' chips, 'Mr. Pike, I'd like to buy a pulpit if you can obligeme with one. '

"Bill scratched his head an' I held my breath. Then says he, ''Pears tome I'd ought to hev a pulpit or two, if I can jest remember where I keep'em. I don't never cal'late to be out o' pulpits, but I'm so plagued forroom I can't keep 'em in here with the groc'ries. Jim (that's his newstore boy), you jest take a lantern an' run out in the far corner o' theshed, at the end o' the hickory woodpile, an' see how many pulpits we'vegot in stock!' Well, Jim run out, an' when he come back he says, 'We'vegot two, Mr. Pike. Shall I bring one of 'em in?'

"At that the boys all bust out laughin' an' hollerin' an' tauntin' theGorham man, an' he paid up with a good will, I tell ye!"

"I don't approve of bettin', " said Mrs. Wiley grimly, "but I'll try tosanctify the money by usin' it for a new wash-boiler. "

"The fact is, " explained Old Kennebec, somewhat confused, "that the boysmade me spend every cent of it then an' there. "

Rose heard her grandmother's caustic reply, and then paid no furtherattention until her keen ear caught the sound of Stephen's name. It wasa part of her unhappiness that since her broken engagement no onewould ever allude to him, and she longed to hear him mentioned, so thatperchance she could get some inkling of his movements. 

"I met Stephen tonight for the first time in a week, " said Mr. Wiley. "He kind o' keeps out o' my way lately. He's goin' to drive his spaninto Portland tomorrow mornin' and bring Rufus home from the hospitalSunday afternoon. The doctors think they've made a success of their job, but Rufus has got to be bandaged up a spell longer. Stephen is goin' tojoin the drive Monday mornin' at the bridge here, so I'll get the latestnews o' the boy. Land! I'll be turrible glad if he gets out with hiseyesight, if it's only for Steve's sake. He's a turrible good fellow, Steve is! He said something tonight that made me set more store by himthan ever. I told you I hed n't heard an unkind word ag'in' Rose senceshe come home from Boston, an' no more I hev till this evenin'. Therewas two or three fellers talkin' in the post-office, an' they did n'tsuspicion I was settin' on the steps outside the screen door. That JimJenkins, that Rose so everlastin'ly snubbed at the tavern dance, spokeup, an' says he: 'This time last year Rose Wiley could 'a' hed thechoice of any man on the river, an' now I bet ye she can't get naryone. '

"Steve was there, jest goin' out the door, with some bags o' coffee an'sugar under his arm. 

"'I guess you're mistaken about that, ' he says, speakin' up jest likelightnin'; 'so long as Stephen Waterman's alive, Rose Wiley can havehim, for one; and that everybody's welcome to know. '

"He spoke right out, loud an' plain, jest as if he was readin' theDeclaration of Independence. I expected the boys would everlastin'lypoke fun at him, but they never said a word. I guess his eyes flashed, for he come out the screen door, slammin' it after him, and stalked byme as if he was too worked up to notice anything or anybody. I did n'tfoller him, for his long legs git over the ground too fast for me, butthinks I, 'Mebbe I'll hev some use for my lemonade-set after all. '"

"I hope to the land you will, " responded Mrs. Wiley, "for I'm about sicko' movin' it round when I sweep under my bed. And I shall be glad ifRose an' Stephen do make it up, for Wealthy Ann Brooks's gossip is toomuch for a Christian woman to stand. "

XIV. Housebreaking

Where was the pale Rose, the faded Rose, that crept noiselessly downfrom her room, wanting neither to speak nor to be spoken to? Nobody everknew. She vanished forever, and in her place a thing of sparkles anddimples flashed up the stairway and closed the door softly. There wasa streak of moon-shine lying across the bare floor, and a merry ghost, with dressing-gown held prettily away from bare feet, danced a gayfandango among the yellow moonbeams. There were breathless flights tothe open window, and kisses thrown in the direction of the River Farm. There were impressive declamations at the looking-glass, where a radiantcreature pointed to her reflection and whispered, "Worthless little pig, he loves you, after all!"

Then, when quiet joy had taken the place of mad delight, there was aswoop down upon the floor, an impetuous hiding of brimming eyes in thewhite counterpane, and a dozen impassioned promises to herself and tosomething higher than herself, to be a better girl. 

The mood lasted, and deepened, and still Rose did not move. Her heartwas on its knees before Stephen's faithful love, his chivalry, hisstrength. Her troubled spirit, like a frail boat tossed about in therapids, seemed entering a quiet harbor, where there were protectingshores and a still, still evening star. Her sails were all tornand drooping, but the harbor was in sight, and the poor littleweather-beaten craft could rest in peace. 

A period of grave reflection now ensued, under the bedclothes, where onecould think better. Suddenly an inspiration seized her, an inspirationso original, so delicious, and above all so humble and praiseworthy, that it brought her head from her pillow, and she sat bolt upright, clapping her hands like a child. 

"The very thing!" she whispered to herself gleefully. "It will takecourage, but I'm sure of my ground after what he said before them all, and I'll do it. Grandma in Biddeford buying church carpets, Stephen inPortland--was ever such a chance?"

The same glowing Rose came downstairs, two steps at a time, nextmorning, bade her grandmother goodbye with suspicious pleasure, and senther grandfather away on an errand which, with attendant conversation, would consume half the day. Then bundles after bundles and baskets afterbaskets were packed into the wagon, --behind the seat, beneath the seat, and finally under the lap-robe. She gave a dramatic flourish to thewhip, drove across the bridge, went through Pleasant River village, and up the leafy road to the little house, stared the "To Let" signscornfully in the eye, alighted, and ran like a deer through the aislesof waving corn, past the kitchen windows, to the back door. 

"If he has kept the big key in the old place under the stone, wherewe both used to find it, then he has n't forgotten me--or anything, "thought Rose. 

The key was there, and Rose lifted it with a sob of gratitude. It wasbut five minutes' work to carry all the bundles from the wagon to theback steps, and another five to lead old Tom across the road into thewoods and tie him to a tree quite out of the sight of any passer-by. 

When, after running back, she turned the key in the lock, her heartgave a leap almost of terror, and she started at the sound of her ownfootfall. Through the open door the sunlight streamed into the darkroom. She flew to tables and chairs, and gave a rapid sweep of the handover their surfaces. 

"He has been dusting here, --and within a few days, too, " she thoughttriumphantly. 

The kitchen was perfection, as she always knew it would be, with onedoor opening to the shaded road and the other looking on the river;windows, too, framing the apple-orchard and the elms. She had chosenthe furniture, but how differently it looked now that it was actuallyin place! The tiny shed had piles of split wood, with great boxes ofkindlings and shavings, all in readiness for the bride, who would do herown cooking. Who but Stephen would have made the very wood ready for awoman's home-coming; and why had he done so much in May, when theywere not to be married until August? Then the door of the bedroom wasstealthily opened, and here Rose sat down and cried for joy and shameand hope and fear. The very flowered paper she had refused as tooexpensive! How lovely it looked with the white chamber set! She broughtin her simple wedding outfit of blankets, bed-linen, and counterpanes, and folded them softly in the closet; and then for the rest of themorning she went from room to room, doing all that could remainundiscovered, even to laying a fire in the new kitchen stove. 

This was the plan. Stephen must pass the house on his way from the RiverFarm to the bridge, where he was to join the river-drivers on Mondaymorning. She would be out of bed by the earliest peep of dawn, put onStephen's favorite pink calico, leave a note for her grandmother, runlike a hare down her side of the river and up Stephen's, steal intothe house, open blinds and windows, light the fire, and set the kettleboiling. Then with a sharp knife she would cut down two rows of corn, and thus make a green pathway from the front kitchen steps to the road. Next, the false and insulting "To Let" sign would be forcibly tweakedfrom the tree and thrown into the grass. She would then lay the tablein the kitchen, and make ready the nicest breakfast that two people eversat down to. And oh, would two people sit down to it; or would one gooff in a rage and the other die of grief and disappointment?

Then, having done all, she would wait and palpitate, and palpitate andwait, until Stephen came. Surely no property-owner in the universe coulddrive along a road, observe his corn leveled to the earth, his signremoved, his house open, and smoke issuing from his chimney, withoutgoing in to surprise the rogue and villain who could be guilty of suchvandalism. 

And when he came in?

Oh, she had all day Sunday in which to forecast, with mingled dread andgladness and suspense, that all-important, all-decisive first moment!All day Sunday to frame and unframe penitent speeches. All day Sunday!Would it ever be Monday? If so, what would Tuesday bring? Would the sunrise happy on Mrs. Stephen Waterman of Pleasant River, or miserable MissRose Wiley of the Brier Neighborhood?

XV. The Dream Room

Long ago, when Stephen was a boy of fourteen or fifteen, he had gonewith his father to a distant town to spend the night. After an earlybreakfast next morning his father had driven off for a businessinterview, and left the boy to walk about during his absence. Hewandered aimlessly along a quiet side street, and threw himself down onthe grass outside a pretty garden to amuse himself as best he could. 

After a few minutes he heard voices, and, turning, peeped through thebars of the gate in idle, boyish curiosity. It was a small brown house;the kitchen door was open, and a table spread with a white cloth was setin the middle of the room. There was a cradle in a far corner, and a manwas seated at the table as though he might be waiting for his breakfast. 

There is a kind of sentiment about the kitchen in New England, a kind ofsentiment not provoked by other rooms. Here the farmer drops in to spenda few minutes when he comes back from the barn or field on an errand. Here, in the great, clean, sweet, comfortable place, the busy housewifelives, sometimes rocking the cradle, sometimes opening and shuttingthe oven door, sometimes stirring the pot, darning stockings, paringvegetables, or mixing goodies in a yellow bowl. The children sit onthe steps, stringing beans, shelling peas, or hulling berries; the catsleeps on the floor near the wood-box; and the visitor feels exiled ifhe stays in sitting-room or parlor, for here, where the mother is alwaysbusy, is the heart of the farmhouse. 

There was an open back door to this kitchen, a door framed inmorning-glories, and the woman (or was she only girl?) standing at thestove was pretty, --oh, so pretty in Stephen's eyes! His boyish heartwent out to her on the instant. She poured a cup of coffee andwalked with it to the table; then an unexpected, interesting thinghappened--something the boy ought not to have seen, and never forgot. The man, putting out his hand to take the cup, looked up at the prettywoman with a smile, and she stooped and kissed him. 

Stephen was fifteen. As he looked, on the instant he became a man, witha man's hopes, desires, ambitions. He looked eagerly, hungrily, and thescene burned itself on the sensitive plate of his young heart, so that, as he grew older, he could take the picture out in the dark, from timeto time, and look at it again. When he first met Rose, he did not knowprecisely what she was to mean to him; but before long, when he closedhis eyes and the old familiar picture swam into his field of vision, behold, by some spiritual chemistry, the pretty woman's face had givenplace to that of Rose!

All such teasing visions had been sternly banished during this sorrowfulsummer, and it was a thoughtful, sober Stephen who drove along the roadon this mellow August morning. The dust was deep; the goldenrod wavedits imperial plumes, making the humble waysides gorgeous; the riverchattered and sparkled till it met the logs at the Brier Neighborhood, and then, lapsing into silence, flowed steadily under them till it founda vent for its spirits in the dashing and splashing of the falls. 

Haying was over; logging was to begin that day; then harvesting; thenwood-cutting; then eternal successions of ploughing, sowing, reaping, haying, logging, harvesting, and so on, to the endless end of his days. Here and there a red or a yellow branch, painted only yesterday, caughthis eye and made him shiver. He was not ready for winter; his heartstill craved the summer it had missed. 

Hello! What was that? Corn-stalks prone on the earth? Sign torn down andlying flat in the grass? Blinds open, fire in the chimney?

He leaped from the wagon, and, flinging the reins to Alcestis Crambry, said, "Stay right here out of sight, and don't you move till I callyou!" And striding up the green pathway, he flung open the kitchen door. 

A forest of corn waving in the doorway at the back, morning-gloriesclambering round and round the window-frames, the table with shiningwhite cloth, the kettle humming and steaming, something bubbling in apan on the stove, the fire throwing out sweet little gleams of welcomethrough the open damper. All this was taken in with one incredulous, rapturous twinkle of an eye; but something else, too: Rose of all roses, Rose of the river, Rose of the world, standing behind a chair, with herhand pressed against her heart, her lips parted, her breath coming andgoing! She was glowing like a jewel--glowing with the extraordinarybrilliancy that emotion gives to some women. She used to be happy in agay, sparkling way, like the shallow part of the stream as it chattersover white pebbles and bright sands. Now it was a broad, steady, fullhappiness like the deeps of the river under the sun. 

"Don't speak, Stephen, till you hear what I have to say. It takes a gooddeal of courage for a girl to do as I am doing; but I want to show howsorry I am, and it's the only way. " She was trembling, and the wordscame faster and faster. "I've been very wrong and foolish, and made youvery unhappy, but I have n't done what you would have hated most. I haven't been engaged to Claude Merrill; he has n't so much as asked me. I amhere to beg you to forgive me, to eat breakfast with me, to drive me tothe minister's and marry me quickly, quickly, before anything happensto prevent us, and then to bring me home here to live all the days of mylife. Oh, Stephen dear, honestly, honestly, you have n't lost anythingin all this long, miserable summer. I've suffered, too, and I'm betterworth loving than I was. Will you take me back?"

Rose had a tremendous power of provoking and holding love, and Stephenof loving. His was too generous a nature for revilings and complaintsand reproaches. 

The shores of his heart were strewn with the wreckage of the troubledsummer, but if the tide of love is high enough, it washes such thingsout of remembrance. He just opened his arms and took Rose to his heart, faults and all, with joy and gratitude; and she was as happy as a childwho has escaped the scolding it richly deserves, and who determines, forvery thankfulness' sake, never to be naughty again. 

"You don't know what you've done for me, Stephen, " she whispered, withher face hidden on his shoulder. "I was just a common little pricklyrosebush when you came along like a good gardener and 'grafted in'something better; the something better was your love, Stephen dear, andit's made everything different. The silly Rose you were engaged to longago has disappeared somewhere; I hope you won't be able to find herunder the new leaves. "

"She was all I wanted, " said Stephen. 

"You thought she was, " the girl answered, "because you did n't see theprickles, but you'd have felt them some time. The old Rose was a selfishthing, not good enough for you; the new Rose is going to be your wife, and Rufus's sister, and your mother's daughter, all in one. "

Then such a breakfast was spread as Stephen, in his sorry years ofbachelor existence, had forgotten could exist; but before he broke hisfast he ran out to the wagon and served the astonished Alcestis with hiswedding refreshments then and there, bidding him drive back to theRiver Farm and bring him a package that lay in the drawer of hisshaving-stand, --a package placed there when hot youth and love andlonging had inspired him to hurry on the marriage day. 

"There's an envelope, Alcestis, " he cried, "a long envelope, way, wayback in the corner, and a small box on top of it. Bring them both and mywallet too, and if you find them all and get them to me safely you shallbe bridesmaid and groomsman and best man and usher and maid of honor ata wedding, in less than an hour! Off with you! Drive straight and usethe whip on Dolly!"

When he re-entered the kitchen, flushed with joy and excitement, Roseput the various good things on the table and he almost tremblingly tookhis seat, fearing that contact with the solid wood might wake him fromthis entrancing vision. 

"I'd like to put you in your chair like a queen and wait on you, " hesaid with a soft boyish stammer; "but I am too dazed with happiness tobe of any use. "

"It's my turn to wait upon you, and I--Oh! how I love to have youdazed, " Rose answered. "I'll be at the table presently myself; but wehave been housekeeping only three minutes, and we have nothing but thetin coffee-pot this morning, so I'll pour the coffee from the stove. "

She filled a cup with housewifely care and brought it to Stephen's side. As she set it down and was turning, she caught his look, --a look so fullof longing that no loving woman, however busy, could have resisted it;then she stooped and kissed him fondly, fervently. 

Stephen put his arm about her, and, drawing her down to his knee, restedhis head against her soft shoulder with a sigh of comfort, like thatof a tired child. He had waited for it ten years, and at last the dreamroom had come true. 

THE OLD PEABODY PEW

A Christmas Romance of a Country Church

DEDICATION

To a certain handful of dear New England women of names unknown to theworld, dwelling in a certain quiet village, alike unknown:--

We have worked together to make our little corner of the great universea pleasanter place in which to live, and so we know, not only oneanother's names, but something of one another's joys and sorrows, caresand burdens, economies, hopes, and anxieties. 

We all remember the dusty uphill road that leads to the green churchcommon. We remember the white spire pointing upward against a backgroundof blue sky and feathery elms. We remember the sound of the bellthat falls on the Sabbath morning stillness, calling us across thedaisy-sprinkled meadows of June, the golden hayfields of July, or thedazzling whiteness and deep snowdrifts of December days. The littlecabinet-organ that plays the Doxology, the hymn-books from which we sing"Praise God from whom all blessings flow, " the sweet freshness of theold meeting-house, within and without, --how we have toiled to secure andpreserve these humble mercies for ourselves and our children!

There really is a Dorcas Society, as you and I well know, and onenot unlike that in these pages; and you and I have lived through manydiscouraging, laughable, and beautiful experiences while we emulated theBible Dorcas, that woman "full of good works and alms deeds. "

There never was a Peabody Pew in the Tory Hill Meeting-House, andNancy's love story and Justin's never happened within its century-oldwalls, but I have imagined only one of the many romances that have hadtheir birth under the shadow of that steeple, did we but realize it. 

As you have sat there on open-windowed Sundays, looking across purpleclover-fields to blue distant mountains, watching the palm-leaf fansswaying to and fro in the warm stillness before sermon time, did not theplace seem full of memories, for has not the life of two villages ebbedand flowed beneath that ancient roof? You heard the hum of droningbees and followed the airy wings of butterflies fluttering overthe grave-stones in the old churchyard, and underneath almost everymoss-grown tablet some humble romance lies buried and all but forgotten. 

If it had not been for you, I should never have written this story, so Igive it back to you tied with a sprig from Ophelia's nosegay; a sprig of"rosemary, that's for remembrance. "

K. D. W. 

August, 1907

I. The Old Peabody Pew

Edgewood, like all the other villages along the banks of the Saco, is full of sunny slopes and leafy hollows. There are little, rounded, green-clad hillocks that might, like their scriptural sisters, "skipwith joy"; and there are grand, rocky hills tufted with gaunt pinetrees--these leading the eye to the splendid heights of a neighborState, where snow-crowned peaks tower in the blue distance, sweeping thehorizon in a long line of majesty. 

Tory Hill holds its own among the others for peaceful beauty and fairprospect, and on its broad, level summit sits the white-painted OrthodoxMeeting-House. This faces a grassy common where six roads meet, as ifthe early settlers had determined that no one should lack salvationbecause of a difficulty in reaching its visible source. 

The old church has had a dignified and fruitful past, dating from thatday in 1761 when young Paul Coffin received his call to preach at astipend of fifty pounds sterling a year; answering "that never havingheard of any Uneasiness among the people about his Doctrine or manner oflife, he declared himself pleased to Settle as Soon as might be JudgedConvenient. "

But that was a hundred and fifty years ago, and much has happened sincethose simple, strenuous old days. The chastening hand of time has beenlaid somewhat heavily on the town as well as on the church. Some ofher sons have marched to the wars and died on the field of honor; some, seeking better fortunes, have gone westward; others, wearying of villagelife, the rocky soil, and rigors of farm-work, have become entangledin the noise and competition, the rush and strife, of cities. When thesexton rings the bell nowadays, on a Sunday morning, it seems to havelost some of its old-time militant strength, something of its hope andcourage; but it still rings, and although the Davids and Solomons, the Matthews, Marks, and Pauls of former congregations have left fewdescendants to perpetuate their labors, it will go on ringing as long asthere is a Tabitha, a Dorcas, a Lois, or a Eunice left in the community. 

This sentiment had been maintained for a quarter of a century, but itwas now especially strong, as the old Tory Hill Meeting-House had beenundergoing for several years more or less extensive repairs. In pointof fact, the still stronger word, "improvements, " might be usedwith impunity; though whenever the Dorcas Society, being female, andtherefore possessed of notions regarding comfort and beauty, suggestedany serious changes, the finance committees, which were inevitablymale in their composition, generally disapproved of making any impiousalterations in a tabernacle, chapel, temple, or any other building usedfor purposes of worship. The majority in these august bodies assertedthat their ancestors had prayed and sung there for a century and aquarter, and what was good enough for their ancestors was entirelysuitable for them. Besides, the community was becoming less and lessprosperous, and church-going was growing more and more lamentablyuncommon, so that even from a business standpoint, any sums expendedupon decoration by a poor and struggling parish would be worse thanwasted. 

In the particular year under discussion in this story, the valiantand progressive Mrs. Jeremiah Burbank was the president of the DorcasSociety, and she remarked privately and publicly that if her ancestorsliked a smoky church, they had a perfect right to the enjoyment of it, but that she did n't intend to sit through meeting on winter Sundays, with her white ostrich feather turning gray and her eyes smarting andwatering, for the rest of her natural life. 

Whereupon, this being in a business session, she then and there proposedto her already hypnotized constituents ways of earning enough money tobuild a new chimney on the other side of the church. 

An awe-stricken community witnessed this beneficent act of vandalism, and, finding that no thunderbolts of retribution descended fromthe skies, greatly relished the change. If one or two aged personscomplained that they could not sleep as sweetly during sermon-time inthe now clear atmosphere of the church, and that the parson's eyewas keener than before, why, that was a mere detail, and could notbe avoided; what was the loss of a little sleep compared with thediscoloration of Mrs. Jere Burbank's white ostrich feather and thesmarting of Mrs. Jere Burbank's eyes?

A new furnace followed the new chimney, in due course, and as a sense ofcomfort grew, there was opportunity to notice the lack of beauty. Twice in sixty years had some well-to-do summer parishioner painted theinterior of the church at his own expense; but although the roof hadbeen many times reshingled, it had always persisted in leaking, so thatthe ceiling and walls were disfigured by unsightly spots and stains andstreaks. The question of shingling was tacitly felt to be outside thefeminine domain, but as there were five women to one man in the churchmembership, the feminine domain was frequently obliged to extend itslimits into the hitherto unknown. Matters of tarring and waterproofingwere discussed in and out of season, and the very school-childrenimbibed knowledge concerning lapping, over-lapping, and cross-lapping, and first and second quality of cedar shingles. Miss Lobelia Brewster, who had a rooted distrust of anything done by mere man, created strifeby remarking that she could have stopped the leak in the belfry towerwith her red flannel petticoat better than the Milltown man with hisnew-fangled rubber sheeting, and that the last shingling could have beenmore thoroughly done by a "female infant babe"; whereupon the personcriticized retorted that he wished Miss Lobelia Brewster had a fewinfant babes to "put on the job he'd like to see 'em try. " Meantimeseveral male members of the congregation, who at one time or another hadsat on the roof during the hottest of the dog-days to see that shinglingoperations were conscientiously and skillfully performed, were verypessimistic as to any satisfactory result ever being achieved. 

"The angle of the roof--what they call the 'pitch'--they say that that'salways been wrong, " announced the secretary of the Dorcas in a businesssession. 

"Is it that kind of pitch that the Bible says you can't touch withoutbeing defiled? If not, I vote that we unshingle the roof and alter thepitch!" This proposal came from a sister named Maria Sharp, who hadvaliantly offered the year before to move the smoky chimney with her ownhands, if the "menfolks" would n't. 

But though the incendiary suggestion of altering the pitch was receivedwith applause at the moment, subsequent study of the situation provedthat such a proceeding was entirely beyond the modest means of thesociety. Then there arose an ingenious and militant carpenter ina neighboring village, who asserted that he would shingle themeeting-house roof for such and such a sum, and agree to drink everydrop of water that would leak in afterward. This was felt by all partiesto be a promise attended by extraordinary risks, but it was acceptednevertheless, Miss Lobelia Brewster remarking that the rash carpenter, being already married, could not marry a Dorcas anyway, and even if hedied, he was not a resident of Edgewood, and therefore could be moreeasily spared, and that it would be rather exciting, just for a change, to see a man drink himself to death with rain-water. The expectedtragedy never occurred, however, and the inspired shingler fulfilledhis promise to the letter, so that before many months the DorcasSociety proceeded, with incredible exertion, to earn more money, and theinterior of the church was neatly painted and made as fresh as a rose. With no smoke, no rain, no snow nor melting ice to defile it, the goodold landmark that had been pointing its finger Heavenward for over acentury would now be clean and fragrant for years to come, and the wearysisters leaned back in their respective rocking-chairs and drew deepbreaths of satisfaction. 

These breaths continued to be drawn throughout an unusually arduoushaying season; until, in fact, a visitor from a neighboring city washeard to remark that the Tory Hill Meeting-House would be one of thebest preserved and pleasantest churches in the whole State of Maine, ifonly it were suitably carpeted. 

This thought had secretly occurred to many a Dorcas in her hoursof pie-making, preserving, or cradle-rocking, but had been promptlyextinguished as flagrantly extravagant and altogether impossible. Nowthat it had been openly mentioned, the contagion of the idea spread, andin a month every sort of honest machinery for the increase of funds hadbeen set in motion: harvest suppers, pie sociables, old folks' concerts, apron sales, and, as a last resort, a subscription paper, for thechurch floor measured hundreds of square yards, and the carpet committeeannounced that a good ingrain could not be purchased, even with thechurch discount, for less than ninety-seven cents a yard. 

The Dorcases took out their pencils, and when they multiplied thesurface of the floor by the price of the carpet per yard, each Dorcasattaining a result entirely different from all the others, there was ashriek of dismay, especially from the secretary, who had included in hermathematical operation certain figures in her possession representingthe cubical contents of the church and the offending pitch of the roof, thereby obtaining a product that would have dismayed a Croesus. Timesped and efforts increased, but the Dorcases were at length obliged toclip the wings of their desire and content themselves with carpetingthe pulpit and pulpit steps, the choir, and the two aisles, leaving thefloor in the pews until some future year. 

How the women cut and contrived and matched that hardly-bought redingrain carpet, in the short December afternoons that ensued after itspurchase; so that, having failed to be ready for Thanksgiving, it couldbe finished for the Christmas festivities!

They were sewing in the church, and as the last stitches were beingtaken, Maria Sharp suddenly ejaculated in her impulsive fashion:--

"Would n't it have been just perfect if we could have had the pewsrepainted before we laid the new carpet!"

"It would, indeed, " the president answered; "but it will take us allwinter to pay for the present improvements, without any thought of freshpaint. If only we had a few more men-folks to help along!"

"Or else none at all!" was Lobelia Brewster's suggestion. "It's havin'so few that keeps us all stirred up. If there wa'n't any anywheres, we'd have women deacons and carpenters and painters, and get along firstrate; for somehow the supply o' women always holds out, same as it doeswith caterpillars an' flies an' grasshoppers!"

Everybody laughed, although Maria Sharp asserted that she for one wasnot willing to be called a caterpillar simply because there were toomany women in the universe. 

"I never noticed before how shabby and scarred and dirty the pews are, "said the minister's wife, as she looked at them reflectively. 

"I've been thinking all the afternoon of the story about the poor oldwoman and the lily, " and Nancy Wentworth's clear voice broke into thediscussion. "Do you remember some one gave her a stalk of Easter liliesand she set them in a glass pitcher on the kitchen table? After lookingat them for a few minutes, she got up from her chair and washed thepitcher until the glass shone. Sitting down again, she glanced atthe little window. It would never do; she had forgotten how dusty andblurred it was, and she took her cloth and burnished the panes. Then shescoured the table, then the floor, then blackened the stove before shesat down to her knitting. And of course the lily had done it all, justby showing, in its whiteness, how grimy everything else was. "

The minister's wife, who had been in Edgewood only a few months, lookedadmiringly at Nancy's bright face, wondering that five-and-thirty yearsof life, including ten of school-teaching, had done so little to mar itsserenity. 

"The lily story is as true as the gospel!" she exclaimed, "and I can seehow one thing has led you to another in making the church comfortable. But my husband says that two coats of paint on the pews would cost aconsiderable sum. "

"How about cleaning them? I don't believe they've had a good hardwashing since the flood. " The suggestion came from Deacon Miller's wifeto the president. 

"They can't even be scrubbed for less than fifteen or twenty dollars, for I thought of that and asked Mrs. Simpson yesterday, and she saidtwenty cents a pew was the cheapest she could do it for. "

"We've done everything else, " said Nancy Wentworth, with a twitch of herthread; "why don't we scrub the pews? There's nothing in the Orthodoxcreed to forbid, is there?"

"Speakin' o' creeds, " and here old Mrs. Sargent paused in her work, "Elder Ransom from Acreville stopped with us last night, an' he tellsme they recite the Euthanasian Creed every few Sundays in the EpiscopalChurch. I did n't want him to know how ignorant I was, but I looked upthe word in the dictionary. It means easy death, and I can't see anysense in that, though it's a terrible long creed, the Elder says, an'if it's any longer 'n ourn, I should think anybody _might_ easy dielearnin' it!"

"I think the word is Athanasian, " ventured the minister's wife. 

"Elder Ransom's always plumb full o' doctrine, " asserted Miss Brewster, pursuing the subject. "For my part, I'm glad he preferred Acreville toour place. He was so busy bein' a minister, he never got round to bein'a human creeter. When he used to come to sociables and picnics, alwayslookin' kind o' like the potato blight, I used to think how completehe'd be if he had a foldin' pulpit under his coat-tails; they makefoldin' beds nowadays, an' I s'pose they could make foldin' pulpits, ifthere was a call. "

"Land sakes, I hope there won't be!" exclaimed Mrs. Sargent. "An'the Elder never said much of anything either, though he was alwayspreachin'! Now your husband, Mis' Baxter, always has plenty to say afteryou think he's all through. There's water in his well when the others isall dry!"

"But how about the pews?" interrupted Mrs. Burbank. "I think Nancy'sidea is splendid, and I want to see it carried out. We might make it apicnic, bring our luncheons, and work all together; let every woman inthe congregation come and scrub her own pew. "

"Some are too old, others live at too great a distance, " and theminister's wife sighed a little; "indeed, most of those who once ownedthe pews or sat in them seem to be dead, or gone away to live in busierplaces. "

"I've no patience with 'em, gallivantin' over the earth, " and hereLobelia rose and shook the carpet threads from her lap. "I should n'twant to live in a livelier place than Edgewood, seem's though! We washand hang out Mondays, iron Tuesdays, cook Wednesdays, clean house andmend Thursdays and Fridays, bake Saturdays, and go to meetin' Sundays. Idon't hardly see how they can do any more'n that in Chicago!"

"Never mind if we have lost members!" said the indomitable Mrs. Burbank. "The members we still have left must work all the harder. We'll eachclean our own pew, then take a few of our neighbors', and then hire Mrs. Simpson to do the wainscoting and floor. Can we scrub Friday and lay thecarpet Saturday? My husband and Deacon Miller can help us at the end ofthe week. All in favor manifest it by the usual sign. Contrary-minded?It is a vote. "

There never were any contrary-minded when Mrs. Jere Burbank was in thechair. Public sentiment in Edgewood was swayed by the Dorcas Society, but Mrs. Burbank swayed the Dorcases themselves as the wind sways thewheat. 

II. The old meeting-house wore an animated aspect when the eventfulFriday came, a cold, brilliant, sparkling December day, with goodsleighing, and with energy in every breath that swept over the dazzlingsnowfields. The sexton had built a fire in the furnace on the way tohis morning work--a fire so economically contrived that it would lastexactly the four or five necessary hours, and not a second more. Ateleven o'clock all the pillars of the society had assembled, havingfinished their own household work and laid out on their respectivekitchen tables comfortable luncheons for the men of the family, if theywere fortunate enough to number any among their luxuries. Water washeated upon oil-stoves set about here and there, and there was a bravearray of scrubbing-brushes, cloths, soap, and even sand and soda, for ithad been decided and manifested-by-the-usual-sign-and-no-contrary-minded-and-it-was--a-vote that the dirt was to come off, whether thepaint came with it or not. Each of the fifteen women present selected ablock of seats, preferably one in which her own was situated, and allfell busily to work. 

"There is nobody here to clean the right-wing pews, " said NancyWentworth, "so I will take those for my share. "

"You're not making a very wise choice, Nancy, " and the minister's wifesmiled as she spoke. "The infant class of the Sunday-School sits there, you know, and I expect the paint has had extra wear and tear. Familiesdon't seem to occupy those pews regularly nowadays. "

"I can remember when every seat in the whole church was filled, wings an' all, " mused Mrs. Sargent, wringing out her washcloth in areminiscent mood. "The one in front o' you, Nancy, was always called the'deef pew' in the old times, and all the folks that was hard o' hearin'used to congregate there. "

"The next pew has n't been occupied since I came here, " said theminister's wife. 

"No, " answered Mrs. Sargent, glad of any opportunity to retailneighborhood news. "'Squire Bean's folks have moved to Portland tobe with the married daughter. Somebody has to stay with her, and herhusband won't. The 'Squire ain't a strong man, and he's most too old togo to meetin' now. The youngest son just died in New York, so I hear. "

"What ailed him?" inquired Maria Sharp. 

"I guess he was completely wore out takin' care of his health, " returnedMrs. Sargent. "He had a splendid constitution from a boy, but he wasalways afraid it would n't last him. The seat back o' 'Squire Bean'sis the old Peabody pew--ain't that the Peabody pew you're scrubbin', Nancy?"

"I believe so, " Nancy answered, never pausing in her labors. "It's solong since anybody sat there, it's hard to remember. "

"It is the Peabodys', I know it, because the aisle runs right up facin'it. I can see old Deacon Peabody settin' in this end same as if 't wasyesterday. "

"He had died before Jere and I came back here to live, " said Mrs. Burbank. "The first I remember, Justin Peabody sat in the end seat;the sister that died, next, and in the corner, against the wall, Mrs. Peabody, with a crape shawl and a palmleaf fan. They were a handsomefamily. You used to sit with them sometimes, Nancy; Esther was greatfriends with you. "

"Yes, she was, " Nancy replied, lifting the tattered cushion from itsplace and brushing it; "and I with her. What is the use of scrubbing andcarpeting, when there are only twenty pew-cushions and six hassocks inthe whole church, and most of them ragged? How can I ever mend this?"

"I should n't trouble myself to darn other people's cushions!" Thisunchristian sentiment came in Mrs. Miller's ringing tones from the rearof the church. 

"I don't know why, " argued Maria Sharp. "I'm going to mend my AuntAchsa's cushion, and we haven't spoken for years; but hers is the nextpew to mine, and I'm going to have my part of the church look decent, even if she is too stingy to do her share. Besides, there are n'tany Peabodys left to do their own darning, and Nancy was friends withEsther. "

"Yes, it's nothing more than right, " Nancy replied, with a note ofrelief in her voice, "considering Esther. "

"Though he don't belong to the scrubbin' sex, there is one Peabodyalive, as you know, if you stop to think, Maria; for Justin's alive, andlivin' out West somewheres. At least, he's as much alive as ever he was;he was as good as dead when he was twenty-one, but his mother was alwaystoo soft-hearted to bury him. "

There was considerable laughter over this sally of the outspoken Mrs. Sargent, whose keen wit was the delight of the neighborhood. 

"I know he's alive and doing business in Detroit, for I got his addressa week or ten days ago, and wrote, asking him if he'd like to give acouple of dollars toward repairing the old church. "

Everybody looked at Mrs. Burbank with interest. 

"Has n't he answered?" asked Maria Sharp. Nancy Wentworth held herbreath, turned her face to the wall, and silently wiped the paint of thewainscoting. The blood that had rushed into her cheeks at Mrs. Sargent'sjeering reference to Justin Peabody still lingered there for any one whoran to read, but fortunately nobody ran; they were too busy scrubbing. 

"Not yet. Folks don't hurry about answering when you ask them for acontribution, " replied the president, with a cynicism common to personswho collect funds for charitable purposes. "George Wickham sent metwenty-five cents from Denver. When I wrote him a receipt, I said thankyou same as Aunt Polly did when the neighbors brought her a piece ofbeef: 'Ever so much obleeged, but don't forget me when you come to killa pig. '--Now, Mrs. Baxter, you shan't clean James Bruce's pew, or whatwas his before he turned Second Advent. I'll do that myself, for he usedto be in my Sunday-School class. "

"He's the backbone o' that congregation now, " asserted Mrs. Sargent, "and they say he's goin' to marry Mrs. Sam Peters, who sings in theirchoir, as soon as his year is up. They make a perfect fool of him inthat church. "

"You can't make a fool of a man that nature ain't begun with, " arguedMiss Brewster. "Jim Bruce never was very strong-minded, but I declare itseems to me that when men lose their wives, they lose their wits! Iwas sure Jim would marry Hannah Thompson that keeps house for him. Isuspected she was lookin' out for a life job when she hired out withhim. "

"Hannah Thompson may keep Jim's house, but she'll never keep Jim, that'scertain!" affirmed the president; "and I can't see that Mrs. Peters willbetter herself much. "

"I don't blame her, for one!" came in no uncertain tones from theleft-wing pews, and the Widow Buzzell rose from her knees and approachedthe group by the pulpit. "If there's anything duller than cookin' threemeals a day for yourself, and settin' down and eatin' 'em by yourself, and then gettin' up and clearin' 'em away after yourself, I'd like toknow it! I should n't want any good-lookin', pleasant-spoken man tooffer himself to me without he expected to be snapped up, that's all!But if you've made out to get one husband in York County, you can thankthe Lord and not expect any more favors. I used to think Tom was poorcomp'ny and complain I could n't have any conversation with him, butland, I could talk at him, and there's considerable comfort in that. And I could pick up after him! Now every room in my house is clean, andevery closet and bureau drawer, too; I can't start drawin' in anotherrug, for I've got all the rugs I can step foot on. I dried so manyapples last year I shan't need to cut up any this season. My jelly andpreserves ain't out, and there I am; and there most of us are, in thisvillage, without a man to take steps for and trot 'round after! There'sjust three husbands among the fifteen women scrubbin' here now, and therest of us is all old maids and widders. No wonder the men-folks die, ormove away, like Justin Peabody; a place with such a mess o' women-folksain't healthy to live in, whatever Lobelia Brewster may say. "

III. Justin Peabody had once faithfully struggled with the practicaldifficulties of life in Edgewood, or so he had thought, in those olddays of which Nancy Wentworth was thinking when she wiped the paintof the Peabody pew. Work in the mills did not attract him; he had nocapital to invest in a stock of goods for store-keeping; school-teachingoffered him only a pittance; there remained then only the farm, if hewere to stay at home and keep his mother company. 

"Justin don't seem to take no holt of things, " said the neighbors. 

"Good Heavens!" It seemed to him that there were no things to take holdof! That was his first thought; later he grew to think that the troubleall lay in himself, and both thoughts bred weakness. 

The farm had somehow supported the family in the old Deacon's time, butJustin seemed unable to coax a competence from the soil. He could, anddid, rise early and work late; till the earth, sow crops; but he couldnot make the rain fall nor the sun shine at the times he needed them, and the elements, however much they might seem to favor his neighbors, seldom smiled on his enterprises. The crows liked Justin's corn betterthan any other in Edgewood. It had a richness peculiar to itself, aquality that appealed to the most jaded palate, so that it was reallyworth while to fly over a mile of intervening fields and pay it thedelicate compliment of preference. 

Justin could explain the attitude of caterpillars, worms, grasshoppers, and potato-bugs toward him only by assuming that he attracted them asthe magnet in the toy boxes attracts the miniature fishes. 

"Land o' liberty! look at 'em congregate!" ejaculated Jabe Slocum, whenhe was called in for consultation. "Now if you'd gone in for breedin'insecks, you could be as proud as Cuffy an' exhibit 'em at the CountyFair! They'd give yer prizes for size an' numbers an' speed, I guess!Why, say, they're real crowded for room--the plants ain't give 'emenough leaves to roost on! Have you tried 'Bug Death'?"

"It acts like a tonic on them, " said Justin gloomily. 

"Sho! you don't say so! Now mine can't abide the sight nor smell of it. What 'bout Paris green?"

"They thrive on it; it's as good as an appetizer. "

"Well, " said Jabe Slocum, revolving the quid of tobacco in his mouthreflectively, "the bug that ain't got no objection to p'ison is a bugthat's got ways o' thinkin' an' feelin' an' reasonin' that I ain't ableto cope with! P'r'aps it's all a leadin' o' Providence. Mebbe it showsyou'd ought to quit farmin' crops an' take to raisin' live stock!"

Justin did just that, as a matter of fact, a year or two later; butstock that has within itself the power of being "live" has also rarequalification for being dead when occasion suits, and it generallydid suit Justin's stock. It proved prone not only to all the generaldiseases that cattle-flesh is heir to, but was capable even of suicide. At least, it is true that two valuable Jersey calves, tied to stakes onthe hillside, had flung themselves violently down the bank and strangledthemselves with their own ropes in a manner which seemed to show thatthey found no pleasure in existence, at all events on the Peabody farm. 

These were some of the little tragedies that had sickened young JustinPeabody with life in Edgewood, and Nancy Wentworth, even then, realizedsome of them and sympathized without speaking, in a girl's poor, helpless way. 

Mrs. Simpson had washed the floor in the right wing of the church andNancy had cleaned all the paint. Now she sat in the old Peabody pewdarning the forlorn, faded cushion with gray carpet-thread; thread asgray as her own life. 

The scrubbing-party had moved to its labors in a far corner of thechurch, and two of the women were beginning preparations for the basketluncheons. Nancy's needle was no busier than her memory. Long years agoshe had often sat in the Peabody pew, sometimes at first as a girl ofsixteen when asked by Esther, and then, on coming home from school ateighteen, "finished, " she had been invited now and again by Mrs. Peabodyherself, on those Sundays when her own invalid mother had not attendedservice. 

Those were wonderful Sundays--Sundays of quiet, trembling peace andmaiden joy. 

Justin sat beside her, and she had been sure then, but had long sincegrown to doubt the evidence of her senses, that he, too, vibrated withpleasure at the nearness. Was there not a summer morning when his handtouched her white lace mitt as they held the hymn-book together, and thelines of the

 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace, became blurred on the page and melted into something indistinguishablefor a full minute or two afterward? Were there not looks, and looks, and looks? Or had she some misleading trick of vision in those days?Justin's dark, handsome profile rose before her: the level brows andfine lashes; the well-cut nose and lovable mouth--the Peabody mouth andchin, somewhat too sweet and pliant for strength, perhaps. Then the eyesturned to hers in the old way, just for a fleeting glance, as they hadso often done at prayer-meeting, or sociable, or Sunday service. Wasit not a man's heart she had seen in them? And oh, if she could only besure that her own woman's heart had not looked out from hers, drawn fromits maiden shelter in spite of all her wish to keep it hidden!

Then followed two dreary years of indecision and suspense, when Justin'seyes met hers less freely; when his looks were always gloomy andanxious; when affairs at the Peabody farm grew worse and worse; when hismother followed her husband, the old Deacon, and her daughter Esther tothe burying-ground in the churchyard. Then the end of all things came, the end of the world for Nancy: Justin's departure for the West in avery frenzy of discouragement over the narrowness and limitation andinjustice of his lot; over the rockiness and barrenness and unkindnessof the New England soil; over the general bitterness of fate and the"bludgeonings of chance. "

He was a failure, born of a family of failures. If the world owed him aliving, he had yet to find the method by which it could be earned. Allthis he thought and uttered, and much more of the same sort. In thesedays of humbled pride self was paramount, though it was a self hedespised. There was no time for love. Who was he for a girl to leanupon?--he who could not stand erect himself!

He bade a stiff goodbye to his neighbors, and to Nancy he vouchsafedlittle more. A handshake, with no thrill of love in it such as mighthave furnished her palm, at least, some memories to dwell upon; a fewstilted words of leave-taking; a halting, meaningless sentence ortwo about his "botch" of life--then he walked away from the Wentworthdoorstep. But halfway down the garden path, where the shriveledhollyhocks stood like sentinels, did a wave of something different sweepover him--a wave of the boyish, irresponsible past when his heart hadwings and could fly without fear to its mate--a wave of the pastthat was rushing through Nancy's mind, wellnigh burying her in itsbitter-sweet waters. For he lifted his head, and suddenly retracing hissteps, he came toward her, and, taking her hand again, said forlornly:"You 'll see me back when my luck turns, Nancy. "

Nancy knew that the words might mean little or much, according to themanner in which they were uttered, but to her hurt pride and sore, shamed woman-instinct, they were a promise, simply because there was achoking sound in Justin's voice and tears in Justin's eyes. "You 'll seeme back when my luck turns, Nancy"; this was the phrase upon which shehad lived for more than ten years. Nancy had once heard the old parsonsay, ages ago, that the whole purpose of life was the growth of thesoul; that we eat, sleep, clothe ourselves, work, love, all to give thesoul another day, month, year, in which to develop. She used to wonderif her soul could be growing in the monotonous round of her dull dutiesand her duller pleasures. She did not confess it even to herself;nevertheless she knew that she worked, ate, slept, to live untilJustin's luck turned. Her love had lain in her heart a bird withouta song, year after year. Her mother had dwelt by her side and neverguessed; her father, too; and both were dead. The neighbors also, lynx-eyed and curious, had never suspected. If she had suffered, no onein Edgewood was any the wiser, for the maiden heart is not commonly wornon the sleeve in New England. If she had been openly pledged to JustinPeabody, she could have waited twice ten years with a decent show ofself-respect, for long engagements were viewed rather as a matter ofcourse in that neighborhood. The endless months had gone on since thatgray November day when Justin had said goodbye. It had been just beforeThanksgiving, and she went to church with an aching and ungratefulheart. The parson read from the eighth chapter of St. Matthew, a mostunexpected selection for that holiday. "If you can't find anything elseto be thankful for, " he cried, "go home and be thankful you are not aleper!"

Nancy took the drastic counsel away from the church with her, and itwas many a year before she could manage to add to this slender storeanything to increase her gratitude for mercies given, though all thetime she was outwardly busy, cheerful, and helpful. 

Justin had once come back to Edgewood, and it was the bitterest dropin her cup of bitterness that she was spending that winter in Berwick(where, so the neighbors told him, she was a great favorite in society, and was receiving much attention from gentlemen), so that she had neverheard of his visit until the spring had come again. Parted friendsdid not keep up with one another's affairs by means of epistolarycommunication, in those days, in Edgewood; it was not the custom. Spokenwords were difficult enough to Justin Peabody, and written words werequite impossible, especially if they were to be used to define hishalf-conscious desires and his fluctuations of will, or to recount hisdisappointments and discouragements and mistakes. 

IV. It was Saturday afternoon, the 24th of December, and the wearysisters of the Dorcas band rose from their bruised knees and removedtheir little stores of carpet-tacks from their mouths. This was afeminine custom of long standing, and as no village dressmaker hadever died of pins in the digestive organs, so were no symptoms ofcarpet-tacks ever discovered in any Dorcas, living or dead. Men wonderedat the habit and reviled it, but stood confounded in the presence of itsindubitable harmlessness. 

The red ingrain carpet was indeed very warm, beautiful, and comfortingto the eye, and the sisters were suitably grateful to Providence, anddevoutly thankful to themselves, that they had been enabled to buy, sew, and lay so many yards of it. But as they stood looking at theircompleted task, it was cruelly true that there was much left to do. 

The aisles had been painted dark brown on each side of the red stripsleading from the doors to the pulpit, but the rest of the church floorwas "a thing of shreds and patches. " Each member of the carpet committeehad paid (as a matter of pride, however ill she could afford it) threedollars and sixty-seven cents for sufficient carpet to lay in her ownpew; but these brilliant spots of conscientious effort only made thestretches of bare, unpainted floor more evident. And that was not all. Traces of former spasmodic and individual efforts desecrated thepresent ideals. The doctor's pew had a pink-and-blue Brussels on it; thelawyer's, striped stair-carpeting; the Browns from Deerwander sportedstraw matting and were not abashed; while the Greens, the Whites, theBlacks, and the Grays displayed floor coverings as dissimilar as theirnames. 

"I never noticed it before!" exclaimed Maria Sharp, "but it ain'tChristian, that floor! it's heathenish and ungodly!"

"For mercy's sake, don't swear, Maria, " said Mrs. Miller nervously. "We've done our best, and let's hope that folks will look up and notdown. It is n't as if they were going to set in the chandelier; they'llhave something else to think about when Nancy gets her hemlock branchesand white carnations in the pulpit vases. This morning my Abner pickedoff two pinks from a plant I've been nursing in my dining-room forweeks, trying to make it bloom for Christmas. I slapped his hands good, and it's been haunting me ever since to think I had to correct him theday before Christmas. --Come, Lobelia, we must be hurrying!"

"One thing comforts me, " exclaimed the Widow Buzzell, as she took herhammer and tacks preparatory to leaving; "and that is that the Methodistmeetin'-house ain't got any carpet at all. "

"Mrs. Buzzell, Mrs. Buzzell!" interrupted the minister's wife, with asmile that took the sting from her speech. "It will be like punishinglittle Abner Miller; if we think those thoughts on Christmas Eve, weshall surely be haunted afterward. "

"And anyway, " interjected Maria Sharp, who always saved the situation, "you just wait and see if the Methodists don't say they'd rather haveno carpet at all than have one that don't go all over the floor. I know'em!" and she put on her hood and blanket-shawl as she gave one lastfond look at the improvements. 

"I'm going home to get my supper, and come back afterward to lay thecarpet in my pew; my beans and brown bread will be just right by now, and perhaps it will rest me a little; besides, I must feed 'Zekiel. "

As Nancy Wentworth spoke, she sat in a corner of her own modest rearseat, looking a little pale and tired. Her waving dark hair hadloosened and fallen over her cheeks, and her eyes gleamed from under itwistfully. Nowadays Nancy's eyes never had the sparkle of gazing intothe future, but always the liquid softness that comes from lookingbackward. 

"The church will be real cold by then, Nancy, " objected Mrs. Burbank. --"Good-night, Mrs. Baxter. "

"Oh, no! I shall be back by half-past six, and I shall not work long. Do you know what I believe I'll do, Mrs. Burbank, just through theholidays? Christmas and New Year's both coming on Sunday this year, there'll be a great many out to church, not counting the strangersthat'll come to the special service tomorrow. Instead of putting down myown pew carpet that'll never be noticed here in the back, I'll lay itin the old Peabody pew, for the red aisle-strip leads straight up to it;the ministers always go up that side, and it does look forlorn. "

"That's so! And all the more because my pew, that's exactly opposite inthe left wing, is new carpeted and cushioned, " replied the president. "I think it's real generous of you, Nancy, because the Riverboro folks, knowing that you're a member of the carpet committee, will be sure tonotice, and think it's queer you have n't made an effort to carpet yourown pew. "

"Never mind!" smiled Nancy wearily. "Riverboro folks never go to bed onSaturday nights without wondering what Edgewood is thinking about them!"

The minister's wife stood at her window watching Nancy as she passed theparsonage. 

"How wasted! How wasted!" she sighed. "Going home to eat her lonelysupper and feed 'Zekiel.... I can bear it for the others, but not forNancy.... Now she has lighted her lamp, ... Now she has put fresh pineon the fire, for new smoke comes from the chimney. Why should I sit downand serve my dear husband, and Nancy feed 'Zekiel?"

There was some truth in Mrs. Baxter's feeling. Mrs. Buzzell, forinstance, had three sons; Maria Sharp was absorbed in her lame fatherand her Sunday-School work; and Lobelia Brewster would not haveconsidered matrimony a blessing, even under the most favorableconditions. But Nancy was framed and planned for other things, and'Zekiel was an insufficient channel for her soft, womanly sympathy andher bright activity of mind and body. 

'Zekiel had lost his tail in a mowing-machine; 'Zekiel had the asthma, and the immersion of his nose in milk made him sneeze, so he was wontto slip his paw in and out of the dish and lick it patiently for fiveminutes together. Nancy often watched him pityingly, giving him kindand gentle words to sustain his fainting spirit, but tonight she paid noheed to him, although he sneezed violently to attract her attention. 

She had put her supper on the lighted table by the kitchen window andwas pouring out her cup of tea, when a boy rapped at the door. "Here'sa paper and a letter, Miss Wentworth, " he said. "It's the second thisweek, and they think over to the store that that Berwick widower must besettin' up and takin' notice!"

She had indeed received a letter the day before, an unsignedcommunication, consisting only of the words, --

 Second Epistle of John. Verse x2. 

She had taken her Bible to look out the reference and found it to be:--

 Having many tilings to write unto you, I would not write with paper and ink: but I trust to come unto you, and speak face to face, that our joy may be full. 

The envelope was postmarked New York, and she smiled, thinking that Mrs. Emerson, a charming lady who had spent the summer in Edgewood, andhad sung with her in the village choir, was coming back, as she hadpromised, to have a sleigh ride and see Edgewood in its winter dress. Nancy had almost forgotten the first letter in the excitements of herbusy day, and now here was another, from Boston this time. She openedthe envelope and found again only a simple sentence, printed, notwritten. (Lest she should guess the hand, she wondered?)

 Second Epistle of John. Verse 5. -- And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we had from the beginning, that we love one another. 

Was it Mrs. Emerson? Could it be--any one else? Was it? No, it mighthave been, years ago; but not now; not now!--And yet; he was always sodifferent from other people; and once, in church, he had handed her thehymn-book with his finger pointing to a certain verse. 

She always fancied that her secret fidelity of heart rose from thefact that Justin Peabody was "different. " From the hour of their firstacquaintance, she was ever comparing him with his companions, and alwaysto his advantage. So long as a woman finds all men very much alike (asLobelia Brewster did, save that she allowed some to be worse!), she isin no danger. But the moment in which she perceives and discriminatessubtle differences, marveling that there can be two opinions about aman's superiority, that moment the miracle has happened. 

 And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we had from the beginning, that we love one another. 

No, it could not be from Justin. She drank her tea, played with herbeans abstractedly, and nibbled her slice of steaming brown bread. 

 Not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee. 

No, not a new one; twelve, fifteen years old, that commandment!

 That we love one another. 

Who was speaking? Who had written these words? The first letter soundedjust like Mrs. Emerson, who had said she was a very poor correspondent, but that she should just "drop down" on Nancy one of these days; butthis second letter never came from Mrs. Emerson. --Well, there would bean explanation some time; a pleasant one; one to smile over, and tell'Zekiel and repeat to the neighbors; but not an unexpected, sacred, beautiful explanation, such a one as the heart of a woman could imagine, if she were young enough and happy enough to hope. She washed her cupand plate; replaced the uneaten beans in the brown pot, and put themaway with the round loaf, folded the cloth (Lobelia Brewster saidNancy always "set out her meals as if she was entertainin' company fromPortland"), closed the stove dampers, carried the lighted lamp to asafe corner shelf, and lifted 'Zekiel to his cushion on the high-backedrocker, doing all with the nice precision of long habit. Then shewrapped herself warmly, and locking the lonely little house behind her, set out to finish her work in the church. 

V. At this precise moment Justin Peabody was eating his own beansand brown bread (articles of diet of which his Detroit landlady waslamentably ignorant) at the new tavern, not far from the meeting-house. 

It would not be fair to him to say that Mrs. Burbank's letter hadbrought him back to Edgewood, but it had certainly accelerated hissteps. 

For the first six years after Justin Peabody left home, he had driftedabout from place to place, saving every possible dollar of his uncertainearnings in the conscious hope that he could go back to New Englandand ask Nancy Wentworth to marry him. The West was prosperous andprogressive, but how he yearned, in idle moments, for the grimmer andmore sterile soil that had given him birth!

Then came what seemed to him a brilliant chance for a lucky turn of hissavings, and he invested them in an enterprise which, wonderfully asit promised, failed within six months and left him penniless. At thatmoment he definitely gave up all hope, and for the next few years he putNancy as far as possible out of his mind, in the full belief that he wasacting an honorable part in refusing to drag her into his tangled andfruitless way of life. If she ever did care for him, --and he could notbe sure, she was always so shy, --she must have outgrown the feeling longsince, and be living happily, or at least contentedly, in her ownway. He was glad in spite of himself when he heard that she had nevermarried; but at least he had n't it on his conscience that _he_ had kepther single!

On the 17th of December, Justin, his business day over, was walkingtoward the dreary house in which he ate and slept. As he turned thecorner, he heard one woman say to another, as they watched a manstumbling sorrowfully down the street: "Going home will be the worst ofall for him--to find nobody there!" That was what going home had meantfor him these ten years, but he afterward felt it strange that thisthought should have struck him so forcibly on that particular day. Entering the boarding-house, he found Mrs. Burbank's letter with itsEdgewood postmark on the hall table, and took it up to his room. Hekindled a little fire in the air-tight stove, watching the flame creepfrom shavings to kindlings, from kindlings to small pine, and from smallpine to the round, hardwood sticks; then when the result seemed certain, he closed the stove door and sat down to read the letter. Whereupon allmanner of strange things happened in his head and heart and flesh andspirit as he sat there alone, his hands in his pockets, his feet bracedagainst the legs of the stove. 

It was a cold winter night, and the snow and sleet beat against thewindows. He looked about the ugly room: at the washstand with its squareof oilcloth in front and its detestable bowl and pitcher; at the rigorsof his white iron bedstead, with the valley in the middle of thelumpy mattress and the darns in the rumpled pillowcases; at the dullphotographs of the landlady's hideous husband and children enshrined onthe mantelshelf; looked at the abomination of desolation surrounding himuntil his soul sickened and cried out like a child's for something morelike home. It was as if a spring thaw had melted his ice-bound heart, and on the crest of a wave it was drifting out into the milder waters ofsome unknown sea. He could have laid his head in the kind lap of a womanand cried: "Comfort me! Give me companionship or I die!"

The wind howled in the chimney and rattled the loose window-sashes; thesnow, freezing as it fell, dashed against the glass with hard, cuttinglittle blows; at least, that is the way in which the wind and snowflattered themselves they were making existence disagreeable to JustinPeabody when he read the letter; but never were elements more mistaken. 

It was a June Sunday in the boarding-house bedroom; and for that matterit was not the boarding-house bedroom at all: it was the old Orthodoxchurch on Tory Hill in Edgewood. The windows were wide open, and thesmell of the purple clover and the humming of the bees were driftinginto the sweet, wide spaces within. Justin was sitting in the end of thePeabody pew, and Nancy Wentworth was beside him; Nancy, cool and restfulin her white dress; dark-haired Nancy under the shadow of her shirredmuslin hat. 

 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace. 

The melodeon gave the tune, and Nancy and he stood to sing, taking thebook between them. His hand touched hers, and as the music of the hymnrose and fell, the future unrolled itself before his eyes: a future inwhich Nancy was his wedded wife; and the happy years stretched on andon in front of them until there was a row of little heads in the oldPeabody pew, and mother and father could look proudly along the line atthe young things they were bringing into the house of the Lord. 

The recalling of that vision worked like magic in Justin's blood. His soul rose and stretched its wings and "traced its better portion"vividly, as he sprang to his feet and walked up and down the bedroomfloor. He would get a few days' leave and go back to Edgewood forChristmas, to join, with all the old neighbors, in the service at themeetinghouse; and in pursuance of this resolve, he shook his fist inthe face of the landlady's husband on the mantelpiece and dared him toprevent. 

He had a salary of fifty dollars a month, with some very slight prospectof an increase after January. He did not see how two persons could eat, and drink, and lodge, and dress on it in Detroit, but he proposedto give Nancy Wentworth the refusal of that magnificent future, thatbrilliant and tempting offer. He had exactly one hundred dollars inthe bank, and sixty or seventy of them would be spent in the journeys, counting two happy, blessed fares back from Edgewood to Detroit; and ifhe paid only his own fare back, he would throw the price of the otherinto the pond behind the Wentworth house. He would drop another tendollars into the plate on Christmas Day toward the repairs on thechurch; if he starved, he would do that. He was a failure. Everythinghis hand touched turned to naught. He looked himself full in the face, recognizing his weakness, and in this supremest moment of recognitionhe was a stronger man than he had been an hour before. His droopingshoulders had straightened; the restless look had gone from his eyes;his somber face had something of repose in it, the repose of a settledpurpose. He was a failure, but perhaps if he took the risks (andif Nancy would take them--but that was the trouble, women were sounselfish, they were always willing to take risks, and one ought not tolet them!), perhaps he might do better in trying to make a living fortwo than he had in working for himself alone. He would go home, tellNancy that he was an unlucky good-for-naught, and ask her if she wouldtry her hand at making him over. 

VI. These were the reasons that had brought Justin Peabody to Edgewoodon the Saturday afternoon before Christmas, and had taken him to the newtavern on Tory Hill, near the meeting-house. 

Nobody recognized him at the station or noticed him at the tavern, andafter his supper he put on his overcoat and started out for a walk, aimlessly hoping that he might meet a friend, or failing that, intendingto call on some of his old neighbors, with the view of hearing thevillage news and securing some information which might help him todecide when he had better lay himself and his misfortunes at NancyWentworth's feet. They were pretty feet! He remembered that fact wellenough under the magical influence of familiar sights and sounds andodors. He was restless, miserable, anxious, homesick--not for Detroit, but for some heretofore unimagined good; yet, like Bunyan's shepherd boyin the Valley of humiliation, he carried "the herb called Heartsease inhis bosom, " for he was at last loving consciously. 

How white the old church looked, and how green the blinds! It musthave been painted very lately: that meant that the parish was fairlyprosperous. There were new shutters in the belfry tower, too; heremembered the former open space and the rusty bell, and he liked thechange. Did the chimney use to be in that corner? No; but his father hadalways said it would have drawn better if it had been put there in thebeginning. New shingles within a year: that was evident to a practicedeye. He wondered if anything had been done to the inside of thebuilding, but he must wait until the morrow to see, for, of course, thedoors would be locked. No; the one at the right side was ajar. He openedit softly and stepped into the tiny square entry that he recalled sowell--the one through which the Sunday-School children ran out to thesteps from their catechism, apparently enjoying the sunshine after aspell of orthodoxy; the little entry where the village girls congregatedwhile waiting for the last bell to ring--they made a soft blur of pinkand blue and buff, a little flutter of curls and braids and fans andsun-shades, in his mind's eye, as he closed the outer door behind himand gently opened the inner one. The church was flooded with moon-lightand snowlight, and there was one lamp burning at the back of the pulpit;a candle, too, on the pulpit steps. There was the tip-tap-tip of atack-hammer going on in a distant corner. Was somebody hanging Christmasgarlands? The new red carpet attracted his notice, and as he grewaccustomed to the dim light, it carried his eye along the aisle he hadtrod so many years of Sundays, to the old familiar pew. The sound of thehammer ceased, and a woman rose from her knees. A stranger was doing forthe family honor what he ought himself to have done. The woman turnedto shake her skirt, and it was Nancy Wentworth. He might have known it. Women were always faithful; they always remembered old land-marks, olddays, old friends, old duties. His father and mother and Esther were allgone; who but dear Nancy would have made the old Peabody pew right andtidy for the Christmas festival? Bless her kind, womanly heart!

She looked just the same to him as when he last saw her. Mercifullyhe seemed to have held in remembrance all these years not so muchher youthful bloom as her general qualities of mind and heart: hercheeriness, her spirit, her unflagging zeal, her bright womanliness. Hergray dress was turned up in front over a crimson moreen petticoat. Shehad on a cozy jacket, a fur turban of some sort with a red breast in it, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. "Sweet records, and promisesas sweet, " had always met in Nancy's face, and either he had forgottenhow pretty she was, or else she had absolutely grown prettier during hisabsence. 

Nancy would have chosen the supreme moment of meeting very differently, but she might well have chosen worse. She unpinned her skirt and brushedthe threads off, smoothed the pew cushions carefully, and took alast stitch in the ragged hassock. She then lifted the Bible and thehymn-book from the rack, and putting down a bit of flannel on the pulpitsteps, took a flatiron from an oil-stove, and opening the ancient books, pressed out the well-thumbed leaves one by one with infinite care. Afterreplacing the volumes in their accustomed place, she first extinguishedthe flame of her stove, which she tucked out of sight, and then blew outthe lamp and the candle. The church was still light enough for objectsto be seen in a shadowy way, like the objects in a dream, and Justin didnot realize that he was a man in the flesh, looking at a woman; spying, it might be, upon her privacy. He was one part of a dream and sheanother, and he stood as if waiting, and fearing, to be awakened. 

Nancy, having done all, came out of the pew, and standing in the aisle, looked back at the scene of her labors with pride and content. And asshe looked, some desire to stay a little longer in the dear old placemust have come over her, or some dread of going back to her lonelycottage, for she sat down in Justin's corner of the pew with foldedhands, her eyes fixed dreamily on the pulpit and her ears hearing:--

 Not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we had from the beginning. 

Justin's grasp on the latch tightened as he prepared to close the doorand leave the place, but his instinct did not warn him quickly enough, after all, for, obeying some uncontrollable impulse, Nancy suddenly fellon her knees in the pew and buried her face in the cushions. The dreambroke, and in an instant Justin was a man--worse than that, he wasan eavesdropper, ashamed of his unsuspected presence. He felt himselfstanding, with covered head and feet shod, in the holy temple of awoman's heart. 

But his involuntary irreverence brought abundant grace with it. The glimpse and the revelation wrought their miracles silently andirresistibly, not by the slow processes of growth which Nature demandsfor her enterprises, but with the sudden swiftness of the spirit. Inan instant changes had taken place in Justin's soul which his so-called"experiencing religion" twenty-five years back had been powerless toeffect. He had indeed been baptized then, but the recording angel couldhave borne witness that this second baptism fructified the first, andbecame the real herald of the new birth and the new creature. 

VII. Justin Peabody silently closed the inner door, and stood in theentry with his head bent and his heart in a whirl until he should hearNancy rise to her feet. He must take this Heaven-sent chance of tellingher all, but how do it without alarming her?

A moment, and her step sounded in the stillness of the empty church. 

Obeying the first impulse, he passed through the outer door, andstanding on the step, knocked once, twice, three times; then, openingit a little and speaking through the chink, he called, "Is Miss NancyWentworth here?"

"I'm here!" in a moment came Nancy's answer; and then, with a littlewondering tremor in her voice, as if a hint of the truth had alreadydawned: "What's wanted?"

"You're wanted, Nancy, wanted badly, by Justin Peabody, come back fromthe West. "

The door opened wide, and Justin faced Nancy standing halfway downthe aisle, her eyes brilliant, her lips parted. A week ago Justin'sapparition confronting her in the empty meeting-house after nightfall, even had she been prepared for it as now, by his voice, would haveterrified her beyond measure. Now it seemed almost natural andinevitable. She had spent these last days in the church where both ofthem had been young and happy together; the two letters had brought himvividly to mind, and her labor in the old Peabody pew had been onelong excursion into the past in which he was the most prominent and thebest-loved figure. 

"I said I'd come back to you when my luck turned, Nancy. "

These were so precisely the words she expected him to say, should sheever see him again face to face, that for an additional moment they butheightened her sense of unreality. 

"Well, the luck hasn't turned, after all, but I could n't wait anylonger. Have you given a thought to me all these years, Nancy?"

"More than one, Justin. " For the very look upon his face, the tendernessof his voice, the attitude of his body, outran his words and told herwhat he had come home to say, told her that her years of waiting wereover at last. 

"You ought to despise me for coming back again with only myself and myempty hands to offer you. "

How easy it was to speak his heart out in this dim and quiet place! Howtongue-tied he would have been, sitting on the black hair-cloth sofa inthe Wentworth parlor and gazing at the open soapstone stove!

"Oh, men are such fools!" cried Nancy, smiles and tears strugglingtogether in her speech, as she sat down suddenly in her own pew and puther hands over her face. 

"They are, " agreed Justin humbly; "but I've never stopped loving you, whenever I've had time for thinking or loving. And I was n't sure thatyou really cared anything about me; and how could I have asked you whenI had n't a dollar in the world?"

"There are other things to give a woman besides dollars, Justin. "

"Are there? Well, you shall have them all, every one of them, Nancy, ifyou can make up your mind to do without the dollars; for dollars seem tobe just what I can't manage. "

Her hand was in his by this time, and they were sitting side by side, in the cushionless, carpetless Wentworth pew. The door stood open; thewinter moon shone in upon them. That it was beginning to grow cold inthe church passed unnoticed. The grasp of the woman's hand seemedto give the man new hope and courage, and Justin's warm, confiding, pleading pressure brought balm to Nancy, balm and healing for the woundsher pride had suffered; joy, too, half-conscious still, that her lifeneed not be lived to the end in unfruitful solitude. She had waited, "as some gray lake lies, full and smooth, awaiting the star below thetwilight. "

Justin Peabody might have been no other woman's star, but he wasNancy's! "Just you sitting beside me here makes me feel as if I'd beenasleep or dead all these years, and just born over again, " saidJustin. "I've led a respectable, hard-working, honest life, Nancy, " hecontinued, "and I don't owe any man a cent; the trouble is that no manowes me one. I've got enough money to pay two fares back to Detroit onMonday, although I was terribly afraid you would n't let me do it. It'llneed a good deal of thinking and planning, Nancy, for we shall be verypoor. "

Nancy had been storing up fidelity and affection deep, deep in the hiveof her heart all these years, and now the honey of her helpfulness stoodready to be gathered. 

"Could I keep hens in Detroit?" she asked. "I can always make them pay. "

"Hens--in three rooms, Nancy?"

Her face fell. "And no yard?"

"No yard. "

A moment's pause, and then the smile came. "Oh, well, I've had yards andhens for thirty-five years. Doing without them will be a change. I cantake in sewing. "

"No, you can't, Nancy. I need your backbone and wits and pluck andingenuity, but if I can't ask you to sit with your hands folded for therest of your life, as I'd like to, you shan't use them for other people. You're marrying me to make a man of me, but I'm not marrying you to makeyou a drudge. "

His voice rang clear and true in the silence, and Nancy's heart vibratedat the sound. 

"O Justin, Justin! there's something wrong somewhere, " she whispered, "but we'll find it out together, you and I, and make it right. You'renot like a failure. You don't even look poor, Justin; there is n't a manin Edgewood to compare with you, or I should be washing his dishes anddarning his stockings this minute. And I am not a pauper! There'll bethe rent of my little house and a carload of my furniture, so you canput the three-room idea out of your mind, and your firm will offer you alarger salary when you tell them you have a wife to take care of. Oh, Isee it all, and it is as easy and bright and happy as can be!"

Justin put his arm around her and drew her close, with such a throb ofgratitude for her belief and trust that it moved him almost to tears. There was a long pause; then he said:--

"Now I shall call for you tomorrow morning after the last bell hasstopped ringing, and we will walk up the aisle together and sit in theold Peabody pew. We shall be a nine days' wonder anyway, but this willbe equal to an announcement, especially if you take my arm. We don'teither of us like to be stared at, but this will show without a wordwhat we think of each other and what we've promised to be to each other, and it's the only thing that will make me feel sure of you and settledin my mind after all these mistaken years. Have you got the courage, Nancy?"

"I should n't wonder! I guess if I've had courage enough to wait foryou, I've got courage enough to walk up the aisle with you and marryyou besides!" said Nancy. --"Now it is too late for us to stay here anylonger, and you must see me only as far as my gate, for perhaps you haven't forgotten yet how interested the Brewsters are in their neighbors. "

They stood at the little Wentworth gate for a moment, hand close claspedin hand. The night was clear, the air was cold and sparkling, but withnothing of bitterness in it, the sky was steely blue, and the eveningstar glowed and burned like a tiny sun. Nancy remembered the shepherd'ssong she had taught the Sunday-School children, and repeated softly:--

 For I my sheep was watching Beneath the silent skies, When sudden, far to eastward, I saw a star arise; Then all the peaceful heavens With sweetest music rang, And glory, glory, glory! The happy angels sang. 

 So I this night am joyful, Though I can scarce tell why, It seemeth me that glory Hath met us very nigh; And we, though poor and humble, Have part in heavenly plan, For, born tonight, the Prince of Peace Shall rule the heart of man. 

Justin's heart melted within him like wax to the woman's vision and thewoman's touch. 

"Oh, Nancy, Nancy!" he whispered. "If I had brought my bad luck to youlong, long ago, would you have taken me then, and have I lost years ofsuch happiness as this?"

"There are some things it is not best for a man to be certain about, "said Nancy, with a wise smile and a last goodnight. 

VIII. Ring out, sweet bells

 Ring out, sweet bells, O'er woods and dells Your lovely strains repeat, While happy throngs With joyous songs Each accent gladly greet. 

Christmas morning in the old Tory Hill Meeting-House was felt by allof the persons who were present in that particular year to be a mostexciting and memorable occasion. 

The old sexton quite outdid himself, for although he had rung the bellfor more than thirty years, he had never felt greater pride or joy inhis task. Was not his son John home for Christmas, and John's wife, and a grand-child newly named Nathaniel for himself? Were there notspareribs and turkeys and cranberries and mince pies on the pantryshelves, and barrels of rosy Baldwins in the cellar and bottles ofmother's root beer just waiting to give a holiday pop? The bell itselfforgot its age and the suspicion of a crack that dulled its voice ona damp day, and, inspired by the bright, frosty air, the sexton'sinspiring pull, and the Christmas spirit, gave out nothing but joyoustones. 

_Ding-dong_! _Ding-dong_! It fired the ambitions of star scholars aboutto recite hymns and sing solos. It thrilled little girls expecting dollsbefore night. It excited beyond bearing dozens of little boys beingbuttoned into refractory overcoats. _Ding-dong_! _Ding-dong_! Mothers'fingers trembled when they heard it, and mothers' voices cried: "If thatis the second bell, the children will never be ready in time! Whereare the overshoes? Where are the mittens? Hurry, Jack! Hurry, Jennie!"_Ding-dong_! _Ding-dong_! "Where's Sally's muff? Where's father's furcap? Is the sleigh at the door? Are the hot soapstones in? Have all ofyou your money for the contribution box?" _Ding-dong_! _Ding-dong_! Itwas a blithe bell, a sweet, true bell, a holy bell, and to Justin pacinghis tavern room, as to Nancy trembling in her maiden chamber, it rang aChristmas message:--

 Awake, glad heart! Arise and sing; It is the birthday of thy King!

The congregation filled every seat in the old meeting-house. As MariaSharp had prophesied, there was one ill-natured spinster from a rivalvillage who declared that the church floor looked like Joseph's coatlaid out smooth; but in the general chorus of admiration, approval, andgoodwill, this envious speech, though repeated from mouth to mouth, leftno sting. 

Another item of interest long recalled was the fact that on that augustand unapproachable day the pulpit vases stood erect and empty, thoughNancy Wentworth had filled them every Sunday since any one couldremember. This instance, though felt at the time to be of mysterioussignificance if the cause were ever revealed, paled into nothingnesswhen, after the ringing of the last bell, Nancy Wentworth walked up theaisle on Justin Peabody's arm, and they took their seats side by side inthe old family pew. 

("And consid'able close, too, though there was plenty o' room!")

("And no one that I ever heard of so much as suspicioned that they hadever kept company!")

("And do you s'pose she knew Justin was expected back when she scrubbedhis pew a-Friday? ")

("And this explains the empty pulpit vases! ")

("And I always said that Nancy would make a real handsome couple if sheever got anybody to couple with!")

During the unexpected and solemn procession of the two up the aislethe soprano of the village choir stopped short in the middle of theDoxology, and the three other voices carried it to the end without anytreble. Also, among those present there were some who could not rememberafterward the precise petitions wafted upward in the opening prayer. 

And could it be explained otherwise than by cheerfully acknowledging thebounty of an overruling Providence that Nancy Wentworth should have hada new winter dress for the first time in five years--a winter dress ofdark brown cloth to match her beaver muff and victorine? The existenceof this toilette had been known and discussed in Edgewood for a monthpast, and it was thought to be nothing more than a proper tokenof respect from a member of the carpet committee to the generalmagnificence of the church on the occasion of its reopening afterrepairs. Indeed, you could have identified every member of the DorcasSociety that Sunday morning by the freshness of her apparel. The browndress, then, was generally expected; but why the white cashmere waistwith collar and cuffs of point lace, devised only and suitable only forthe minister's wedding, where it first saw the light?

"The white waist can only be explained as showing distinct hope!"whispered the minister's wife during the reading of the church notices. 

"To me it shows more than hope; I am very sure that Nancy would nevertake any wear out of that lace for hope; it means certainty!" answeredMaria, who was always strong in the prophetic line. 

Justin's identity had dawned upon most of the congregation by sermontime. A stranger to all but one or two at first, his presence in thePeabody pew brought his face and figure back, little by little, to theminds of the old parishioners. 

When the contribution plate was passed, the sexton always began at theright-wing pews, as all the sextons before him had done for a hundredyears. Every eye in the church was already turned upon Justin andNancy, and it was with almost a gasp that those in the vicinity saw aten-dollar bill fall in the plate. The sexton reeled, or, if that is toointemperate a word for a pillar of the church, the good man tottered, but caught hold of the pew rail with one hand, and, putting the thumbof his other over the bill, proceeded quickly to the next pew, lestthe stranger should think better of his gift, or demand change, as hadoccasionally been done in the olden time. 

Nancy never fluttered an eyelash, but sat quietly by Justin's side withher bosom rising and falling under the beaver fur and her coldhands clasped tight in the little brown muff. Far from grudging thisappreciable part of their slender resources, she thrilled with pride tosee Justin's offering fall in the plate. 

Justin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice anything, buthis munificent contribution had a most unexpected effect upon hisreputation, after all; for on that day, and on many another later one, when his sudden marriage and departure with Nancy Wentworth were underdiscussion, the neighbors said to one another:--"Justin must be makingmoney fast out West! He put ten dollars in the contribution platea-Sunday, and paid the minister ten more next day for marryin' him toNancy; so the Peabody luck has turned at last!"--which as a matter offact, it had. 

"And all the time, " said the chairman of the carpet committee to thetreasurer of the Dorcas Society--"all the time, little as she realizedit, Nancy was laying the carpet in her own pew. Now she's married toJustin, she'll be the makin' of him, or I miss my guess. You can't do athing with men-folks without they're right alongside where you can keepyour eye and hand on 'em. Justin's handsome and good and stiddy; all heneeds is some nice woman to put starch into him. The Edgewood Peabodysnever had a mite o' stiffenin' in 'em, --limp as dishrags, every blessedone! Nancy Wentworth fairly rustles with starch. Justin had n't beenengaged to her but a few hours when they walked up the aisle together, but did you notice the way he carried his head? I declare I thought 'twould fall off behind! I should n't wonder a mite but they prospered andcome back every summer to set in the Old Peabody Pew. "

SUSANNA AND SUE

I. Mother Ann's Children

It was the end of May, when "spring goeth all in white. " The apple treeswere scattering their delicate petals on the ground, dropping themover the stone walls to the roadsides, where in the moist places of theshadows they fell on beds of snowy innocence. Here and there a singletree was tinged with pink, but so faintly, it was as if the white wereblushing. Now and then a tiny white butterfly danced in the sun andpearly clouds strayed across the sky in fleecy flocks. 

Everywhere the grass was of ethereal greenness, a greenness drenchedwith the pale yellow of spring sunshine. Looking from earth to skyand from blossom to blossom, the little world of the apple orchards, shedding its falling petals like fair-weather snow, seemed made ofalabaster and porcelain, ivory and mother-of-pearl, all shimmering on abackground of tender green. 

After you pass Albion village, with its streets shaded by elms andmaples and its outskirts embowered in blossoming orchards, you windalong a hilly country road that runs between grassy fields. Here thewhiteweed is already budding, and there are pleasant pastures dottedwith rocks and fringed with spruce and fir; stretches of woodland, too, where the road is lined with giant pines and you lift your facegratefully to catch the cool balsam breath of the forest. Coming fromout this splendid shade, this silence too deep to be disturbed by lightbreezes or vagrant winds, you find yourself on the brow of a descendinghill. The first thing that strikes the eye is a lake that might be agreat blue sapphire dropped into the verdant hollow where it lies. Whenthe eye reluctantly leaves the lake on the left, it turns to restupon the little Shaker Settlement on the right--a dozen or so largecomfortable white barns, sheds, and houses, standing in the wide orderlyspaces of their own spreading acres of farm and timber land. Thereagain the spring goeth all in white, for there is no spot to fleck thedazzling quality of Shaker paint, and their apple, plum, and pear treesare so well cared for that the snowy blossoms are fairly hiding thebranches. 

The place is very still, although there are signs of labor in alldirections. From a window of the girls' building a quaint littlegray-clad figure is beating a braided rug; a boy in homespun, with hishair slightly long in the back and cut in a straight line across theforehead, is carrying milk-cans from the dairy to one of the Sisters'Houses. Men in broad-brimmed hats, with clean-shaven, ascetic faces, areploughing or harrowing here and there in the fields, while a group ofSisters is busy setting out plants and vines in some beds near a clusterof noble trees. That cluster of trees, did the eye of the strangerrealize it, was the very starting-point of this Shaker Community, forin the year 1785, the valiant Father James Whittaker, one of Mother AnnLee's earliest English converts, stopped near the village of Albionon his first visit to Maine. As he and his Elders alighted from theirhorses, they stuck into the ground the willow withes they had used aswhips, and now, a hundred years later, the trees that had grown fromthese slender branches were nearly three feet in diameter. 

From whatever angle you look upon the Settlement, the first andstrongest impression is of quiet order, harmony, and a kind of austereplenty. Nowhere is the purity of the spring so apparent. Nothing isout of place; nowhere is any confusion, or appearance of loose ends, orneglected tasks. As you come nearer, you feel the more surely that herethere has never been undue haste nor waste; no shirking, no putting offtill the morrow what should have been done today. Whenever a shingle ora clapboard was needed it was put on, where paint was required it wasused, --that is evident; and a look at the great barns stored with hayshows how the fields have been conscientiously educated into giving afull crop. 

To such a spot as this might any tired or sinful heart come forrest; hoping somehow, in the midst of such frugality and thrift, suchself-denying labor, such temperate use of God's good gifts, such shiningcleanliness of outward things, to regain and wear "the white flower ofa blameless life. " The very air of the place breathed peace, so thoughtSusanna Hathaway; and little Sue, who skipped by her side, thoughtnothing at all save that she was with mother in the country; that it hadbeen rather a sad journey, with mother so quiet and pale, and that shewould be very glad to see supper, should it rise like a fairy banquet inthe midst of these strange surroundings. 

It was only a mile and a half from the railway station to the ShakerSettlement, and Susanna knew the road well, for she had driven over itmore than once as child and girl. A boy would bring the little trunkthat contained their simple necessities later on in the evening, soshe and Sue would knock at the door of the house where visitors wereadmitted, and be undisturbed by any gossiping company while they werepleading their case. 

"Are we most there, Mardie?" asked Sue for the twentieth time. "Look atme! I'm being a butterfly, or perhaps a white pigeon. No, I'd rather bea butterfly, and then I can skim along faster and move my wings!"

The airy little figure, all lightness and brightness, danced along theroad, the white cotton dress rising and falling, the white-stockingedlegs much in evidence, the arms outstretched as if in flight, straw hatfalling off yellow hair, and a little wisp of swansdown scarf floatingout behind like the drapery of a baby Mercury. 

"We are almost there, " her mother answered. "You can see the buildingsnow, if you will stop being a butterfly. Don't you like them?"

"Yes, I 'specially like them all so white. Is it a town, Mardie?"

"It is a village, but not quite like other villages. I have told youoften about the Shaker Settlement, where your grandmother brought meonce when I was just your age. There was a thunder-storm; they keptus all night, and were so kind that I never forgot them. Then yourgrandmother and I stopped off once when we were going to Boston. I wasten then, and I remember more about it. The same sweet Eldress was thereboth times. "

"What is an El-der-ess, Mardie?"

"A kind of everybody's mother, she seemed to be, " Susanna responded, with a catch in her breath. 

"I'd 'specially like her; will she be there now, Mardie?"

"I'm hoping so, but it is eighteen years ago. I was ten and she wasabout forty, I should think. "

"Then o' course she'll be dead, " said Sue, cheerfully, "or either she'llhave no teeth or hair. "

"People don't always die before they are sixty, Sue. "

"Do they die when they want to, or when they must?"

"Always when they must; never, never when they want to, " answered Sue'smother. 

"But o' course they would n't ever want to if they had any little girlsto be togedder with, like you and me, Mardie?" And Sue looked up witheyes that were always like two interrogation points, eager by turns andby turns wistful, but never satisfied. 

"No, " Susanna replied brokenly, "of course they would n't, unlesssometimes they were wicked for a minute or two and forgot. "

"Do the Shakers shake all the time, Mardie, or just once in a while? Andshall I see them do it?"

"Sue, dear, I can't explain everything in the world to you while you areso little; you really must wait until you're more grown up. The Shakersdon't shake and the Quakers don't quake, and when you're older, I'lltry to make you understand why they were called so and why they kept thename. "

"Maybe the El-der-ess can make me understand right off now; I'd'specially like it. " And Sue ran breathlessly along to the gate wherethe North Family House stood in its stately, white-and-green austerity. 

Susanna followed, and as she caught up with the impetuous Sue, the frontdoor of the house opened and a figure appeared on the threshold. Motherand child quickened their pace and went up the steps, Susanna witha hopeless burden of fear and embarrassment clogging her tongue anddragging at her feet; Sue so expectant of new disclosures and freshexperiences that her face beamed like a full moon. 

Eldress Abby (for it was Eldress Abby) had indeed survived the heavyweight of her fifty-five or sixty summers, and looked as if she mightreach a yet greater age. She wore the simple Shaker afternoon dress ofdrab alpaca; an irreproachable muslin surplice encircled her straight, spare shoulders, while her hair was almost entirely concealed by thestiffly wired, transparent white-net cap that served as a frame to thetranquil face. The face itself was a network of delicate, fine wrinkles;but every wrinkle must have been as lovely in God's sight as it was inpoor unhappy Susanna Hathaway's. Some of them were graven by self-denialand hard work; others perhaps meant the giving up of home, of parentsand brothers or sisters; perhaps some worldly love, the love that FatherAdam bequeathed to the human family, had been slain in Abby's youth, andthe scars still remained to show the body's suffering and the spirit'striumph. At all events, whatever foes had menaced her purity or hertranquillity had been conquered, and she exhaled serenity as the rosesheds fragrance. 

"Do you remember the little Nelson girl and her mother that stayed hereall night, years ago?" asked Susanna, putting out her hand timidly. 

"Why, seems to me I do, " assented Eldress Abby, genially. "So manycomes and goes it's hard to remember all. Did n't you come once in athunder-storm?"

"Yes, one of your barns was struck by lightning and we sat up allnight. " "Yee, yee. (1) I remember well! Your mother was a beautifulspirit. I could n't forget her. "

 (1)"Yea" is always thus pronounced by the Shakers. 

"And we came once again, mother and I, and spent the afternoon with you, and went strawberrying in the pasture. "

"Yee, yee, so we did; I hope your mother continues in health. "

"She died the very next year, " Susanna answered in a trembling voice, for the time of explanation was near at hand and her heart failed her. 

"Won't you come into the sittingroom and rest a while? You must be tiredwalking from the deepot. "

"No, thank you, not just yet. I'll step into the front entry aminute. --Sue, run and sit in that rocking-chair on the porch and watchthe cows going into the big barn. --Do you remember, Eldress Abby, thesecond time I came, how you sat me down in the kitchen with a bowl ofwild strawberries to hull for supper? They were very small and ripe; Idid my best, for I never meant to be careless, but the bowl slipped andfell, my legs were too short to reach the floor, and I could n't make alap, so in trying to pick up the berries I spilled juice on nay dress, and on the white apron you had tied on for me. Then my fingers werestained and wet and the hulls kept falling in with the soft berries, and when you came in and saw me you held up your hands and said, 'Dear, dear! you _have_ made a mess of your work!' Oh, Eldress Abby, they'vecome back to me all day, those words. I've tried hard to be good, butsomehow I've made just such a mess of my life as I made of hulling theberries. The bowl is broken, I have n't much fruit to show, and I amall stained and draggled. I should n't have come to Albion on the fiveo'clock train--that was an accident; I meant to come at noon, when youcould turn me away if you wanted to. "

"Nay, that is not the Shaker habit, " remonstrated Abby. "You and thechild can sleep in one of the spare chambers at the Office Building andbe welcome. "

"But I want much more than that, " said Susanna, tearfully. "I want tocome and live here, where there is no marrying nor giving in marriage. I am so tired with my disappointments and discouragements and failuresthat it is no use to try any longer. I am Mrs. Hathaway, and Sue is mychild, but I have left my husband for good and all, and I only wantto spend the rest of my days here in peace and bring up Sue to a moretranquil life than I have ever had. I have a little money, so that Ishall not be a burden to you, and I will work from morning to night atany task you set me. "

"I will talk to the Family, " said Eldress Abby gravely; "but there are agood many things to settle before we can say yee to all you ask. "

"Let me confess everything freely and fully, " pleaded Susanna, "and ifyou think I'm to blame, I will go away at once. "

"Nay, this is no time for that. It is our duty to receive all and tryall; then if you should be gathered in, you would unburden your heart toGod through the Sister appointed to receive your confession. "

"Will Sue have to sleep in the children's building away from me?"

"Nay, not now; you are company, not a Shaker, and anyway you could keepthe child with you till she is a little older; that's not forbiddenat first, though there comes a time when the ties of the flesh must bebroken! All you've got to do now's to be 'pure and peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated, and without hypocrisy. ' That's about all there isto the Shaker creed, and that's enough to keep us all busy. "

Sue ran in from the porch excitedly and caught her mother's hand. 

"The cows have all gone into the barn, " she chattered; "and the Shakergentlemen are milking them, and not one of them is shaking the leastbit, for I 'specially noticed; and I looked in through the porch window, and there is nice supper on a table--bread and butter and milk and driedapple sauce and gingerbread and cottage cheese. Is it for us, Mardie?"

Susanna's lip was trembling and her face was pale. She lifted herswimming eyes to the Sister's and asked, "Is it for us, Eldress Abby?"

"Yee, it's for you, " she answered; "there's always a Shaker supper onthe table for all who want to leave the husks and share the feast. Comeright in and help yourselves. I will sit down with you. "

Supper was over, and Susanna and Sue were lying in a little upperchamber under the stars. It was the very one that Susanna had slept inas a child, or that she had been put to bed in, for there was littlesleep that night for any one. She had leaned on the windowsill with hermother and watched the pillar of flame and smoke ascend from the burningbarn; and once in the early morning she had stolen out of bed, and, kneeling by the open window, had watched the two silent Shaker brotherswho were guarding the smouldering ruins, fearful lest the wind shouldrise and bear any spark to the roofs of the precious buildings they hadlabored so hard to save. 

The chamber was spotless and devoid of ornament. The paint was robin'segg blue and of a satin gloss. The shining floor was of the same color, and neat braided rugs covered exposed places near the bureau, washstand, and bed. Various useful articles of Shaker manufacture interested Suegreatly: the exquisite straw-work that covered the whisk-broom; themending-basket, pincushion, needle-book, spool- and watch-cases, hair-receivers, pin-trays, might all have been put together by fairyfingers. 

Sue's prayers had been fervent, but a trifle disjointed, covering allsubjects from Jack and Fardie, to Grandma in heaven and Aunt Louisaat the farm, with special references to El-der-ess Abby and the Shakercows, and petitions that the next day be fair so that she could see themmilked. Excitement at her strange, unaccustomed surroundings had put thechild's mind in a very whirl, and she had astonished her mother with avery new and disturbing version of the Lord's Prayer, ending: "God giveus our debts and help us to forget our debtors and theirs shall be theglory, Amen. " Now she lay quietly on the wall side of the clean, narrowbed, while her mother listened to hear the regular breathing that wouldmean that she was off for the land of dreams. The child's sleep wouldleave the mother free to slip out of bed and look at the stars; free topray and long and wonder and suffer and repent, not wholly, but in part, for she was really at peace in all but the innermost citadel of herconscience. She had left her husband, and for the moment, at all events, she was fiercely glad; but she had left her boy, and Jack was only ten. Jack was not the helpless, clinging sort; he was a little piece of hisfather, and his favorite. Aunt Louisa would surely take him, and Jackwould scarcely feel the difference, for he had never shown any specialaffection for anybody. Still he was her child, nobody could possiblyget around that fact, and it was a stumbling-block in the way offorgetfulness or ease of mind. Oh, but for that, what unspeakablecontent she could feel in this quiet haven, this self-respectingsolitude! To have her thoughts, her emotions, her words, her self, to herself once more, as she had had them before she was married atseventeen. To go to sleep in peace, without listening for a step she hadonce heard with gladness, but that now sometimes stumbled unsteadily onthe stair; or to dream as happy women dreamed, without being roused bythe voice of the present John, a voice so different from that of thepast John that it made the heart ache to listen to it. 

Sue's voice broke the stillness: "How long are we going to stay here, Mardie?"

"I don't know, Sue; I think perhaps as long as they'll let us. "

"Will Fardie come and see us?"

"I don't expect him. "

"Who'll take care of Jack, Mardie?"

"Your Aunt Louisa. "

"She'll scold him awfully, but he never cries; he just says, 'Pooh! whatdo I care?' Oh, I forgot to pray for that very nicest Shaker gentlemanthat said he'd let me help him feed the calves! Had n't I better get outof bed and do it? I'd 'specially like to. "

"Very well, Sue; and then go to sleep. "

Safely in bed again, there was a long pause, and then the eager littlevoice began, "Who'll take care of Fardie now?"

"He's a big man; he does n't need anybody. "

"What if he's sick?"

"We must go back to him, I suppose. "

"Tomorrow 's Sunday; what if he needs us tomorrow, Mardie?"

"I don't know, I don't know! Oh, Sue, Sue, don't ask your wretchedmother any more questions, for she cannot bear them tonight. Cuddleup close to her; love her and forgive her and help her to know what'sright. "

II. A Son of Adam

When Susanna Nelson at seventeen married John Hathaway, she had theusual cogent reasons for so doing, with some rather more unusual onesadded thereto. She was alone in the world, and her life with an uncle, her mother's only relative, was an unhappy one. No assistance in thehousehold tasks that she had ever been able to render made her a welcomemember of the family or kept her from feeling a burden, and she belongedno more to the little circle at seventeen than she did when she became apart of it at twelve. The hope of being independent and earning her ownliving had sustained her through the last year; but it was a very timid, self-distrustful, love-starved little heart that John Hathaway stormedand carried by assault. Her girl's life in a country school and heruncle's very rigid and orthodox home had been devoid of emotion orexperience; still, her mother had early sown seeds in her mind andspirit that even in the most arid soil were certain to flower intobeauty when the time for flowering came; and intellectually Susanna wasthe clever daughter of clever parents. She was very immature, because, after early childhood, her environment had not been favorable to herdevelopment. At seventeen she began to dream of a future as brightas the past had been dreary and uneventful. Visions of happiness, ofgoodness, and of service haunted her, and sometimes, gleaming throughthe mists of dawning womanhood, the figure, all luminous, of The Man!

When John Hathaway appeared on the horizon, she promptly clothed him inall the beautiful garments of her dreams; they were a grotesque misfit, but when we intimate that women have confused the dream and the realitybefore, and may even do so again, we make the only possible excuse forpoor little Susanna Nelson. 

John Hathaway was the very image of the outer world that lay beyondSusanna's village. He was a fairly prosperous, genial, handsome youngmerchant, who looked upon life as a place furnished by Providence inwhich to have "a good time. " His parents had frequently told him thatit was expedient for him to "settle down, " and he supposed that he mightfinally do so, if he should ever find a girl who would tempt him torelinquish his liberty. (The line that divides liberty and license wasa little vague to John Hathaway!) It is curious that he should nothave chosen for his life-partner some thoughtless, rosy, romping youngperson, whose highest conception of connubial happiness would have beento drive twenty miles to the seashore on a Sunday, and having partakenof all the season's delicacies, solid and liquid, to come home hilariousby moonlight. That, however, is not the way the little love-imps dotheir work in the world; or is it possible that they are not imps at allwho provoke and stimulate and arrange these strange marriages not imps, but honest, chastening little character-builders? In any event, themoment that John Hathaway first beheld Susanna Nelson was the momentof his surrender; yet the wooing was as incomprehensible as that of afragile, dainty little hummingbird by a pompous, greedy, big-breastedrobin. 

Susanna was like a New England anemone. Her face was oval in shape andas smooth and pale as a pearl. Her hair was dark, not very heavy, and assoft as a child's. Her lips were delicate and sensitive, her eyes a coolgray, --clear, steady, and shaded by darker lashes. When John Hathawaymet her shy, maidenly glance and heard her pretty, dovelike voice, itis strange he did not see that there was a bit too much saint in her tomake her a willing comrade of his gay, roistering life. But as a matterof fact, John Hathaway saw nothing at all; nothing but that SusannaNelson was a lovely girl and he wanted her for his own. The type wasone he had never met before, one that allured him by its mysteries andpiqued him by its shy aloofness. 

John had "a way with him, " a way that speedily won Susanna; and afterall there was a best to him as well as a worst. He had a twinklingeye, an infectious laugh, a sweet disposition, and while he wasover-susceptible to the charm of a pretty face, he had a chivalrousadmiration for all women, coupled, it must be confessed, with a decidedlack of discrimination in values. His boyish lightheartedness had acharm for everybody, including Susanna; a charm that lasted until shediscovered that his heart was light not only when it ought to be light, but when it ought to be heavy. He was very much in love with her, but there was nothing particularly exclusive, unique, individual, orinteresting about his passion at that time. It was of the everyday sortwhich carries a well-meaning man to the altar, and sometimes, in casesof exceptional fervor and duration, even a little farther. Stock sizesof this article are common and inexpensive, and John Hathaway's lovewhen he married Susanna was, judged by the highest standards, aboutas trivial an affair as Cupid ever put upon the market or a man everoffered to a woman. Susanna on the same day offered John, or the woodenidol she was worshiping as John, her whole self--mind, body, heart, and spirit. So the couple were united, and smilingly signed themarriage-register, a rite by which their love for each other wassupposed to be made eternal. 

 "Will you love me?" said he. "Will you love me?" said she. Then they answered together: "Through foul and fair weather, From sunrise to moonrise, From moonrise to sunrise, By heath and by harbour, In orchard or arbour, In the time of the rose, In the time of the snows, Through smoke and through smother We'll love one another!"

Cinderella, when the lover-prince discovers her and fits the crystalslipper to her foot, makes short work of flinging away her rags; andin some such pretty, airy, unthinking way did Susanna fling aside thedullness, inhospitality, and ugliness of her uncle's home and depart ina cloud of glory on her wedding journey. She had been lonely, now shewould have companionship. She had been of no consequence, now she wouldbe queen of her own small domain. She had been last with everybody, nowshe would be first with one, at least. She had worked hard and receivedneither compensation nor gratitude; henceforward her service would begladly rendered at an altar where votive offerings would not be takenas a matter of course. She was only a slip of a girl now; marriage andhousewifely cares would make her a woman. Some time perhaps the lastgreat experience of life would come to her, and then what a crown ofjoys would be hers, --love, husband, home, children! What a vision itwas, and how soon the chief glory of it faded!

Never were two beings more hopelessly unlike than John Hathawaysingle and John Hathaway married, but the bliss lasted a few years, nevertheless: partly because Susanna's charm was deep and penetrating, the sort to hold a false man for a time and a true man forever; partlybecause she tried, as a girl or woman has seldom tried before, to do herduty and to keep her own ideal unshattered. 

John had always been convivial, but Susanna at seventeen had been atonce too innocent and too ignorant to judge a man's tendencies truly, or to rate his character at its real worth. As time went on, his earlierleanings grew more definite; he spent on pleasure far more than he couldafford, and his conduct became a byword in the neighborhood. His boyhe loved. He felt on a level with Jack, could understand him, playwith him, punish him, and make friends with him; but little Sue wasdifferent. She always seemed to him the concentrated essence of hermother's soul, and when unhappy days came, he never looked in herradiant, searching eyes without a consciousness of inferiority. Thelittle creature had loved her jolly, handsome, careless father at first, even though she feared him; but of late she had grown shy, silent, andtimid, for his indifference chilled her and she flung herself uponher mother's love with an almost unchildlike intensity. This unhappyrelation between the child and the father gave Susanna's heart newpangs. She still loved her husband, not dearly, but a good deal; andover and above that remnant of the old love which still endured she gavehim unstinted care and hopeful maternal tenderness. 

The crash came in course of time. John transcended the bounds of hiswife's patience more and more. She made her last protests; then she tookone passionate day to make up her mind, a day when John and the boywere away together; a day of complete revolt against everything she wasfacing in the present, and, so far as she could see, everything that shehad to face in the future. Prayer for light left her in darkness, andshe had no human creature to advise her. Conscience was overthrown; shecould see no duty save to her own outraged personality. Often and oftenduring the year just past she had thought of the peace, the gratefulsolitude and shelter of that Shaker Settlement hidden among New Englandorchards; that quiet haven where there was neither marrying nor givingin marriage. Now her bruised heart longed for such a life of nunlikesimplicity and consecration, where men and women met only as brothersand sisters, where they worked side by side with no thought of personalpassion or personal gain, but only for the common good of the community. 

Albion village was less than three hours distant by train. She hastilygathered her plainest clothes and Sue's, packed them in a smalltrunk, took her mother's watch, her own little store of money and thetwenty-dollar gold piece John's senior partner had given Sue on her lastbirthday, wrote a letter of goodbye to John, and went out of her cottagegate in a storm of feeling so tumultuous that there was no room forreflection. Besides, she had reflected, and reflected, for monthsand months, so she would have said, and the time had come for action. Susanna was not unlettered, but she certainly had never read Meredith orshe would have learned that "love is an affair of two, and only for twothat can be as quick, as constant in intercommunication as are sun andearth, through the cloud, or face to face. They take their breath oflife from each other in signs of affection, proofs of faithfulness, incentives to admiration. But a solitary soul dragging a log must makethe log a God to rejoice in the burden. " The demigod that poor, blindSusanna married had vanished, and she could drag the log no longer, butshe made one mistake in judging her husband, in that she regarded him, at thirty-two, as a finished product, a man who was finally this andthat, and behaved thus and so, and would never be any different. 

The "age of discretion" is a movable feast of extraordinary uncertainty, and John Hathaway was a little behindhand in overtaking it. As a matterof fact, he had never for an instant looked life squarely in the face. He took a casual glance at it now and then, after he was married, but itpresented no very distinguishable features, nothing to make him stopand think, nothing to arouse in him any special sense of responsibility. Boys have a way of "growing up, " however, sooner or later, at leastmost of them have, and that possibility was not sufficiently in theforeground of Susanna's mind when she finished what she considered anexhaustive study of her husband's character. 

I am leaving you, John [she wrote], to see if I can keep the little loveI have left for you as the father of my children. I seem to have lostall the rest of it living with you. I am not perfectly sure that Iam right in going, for everybody seems to think that women, mothersespecially, should bear anything rather than desert the home. I couldnot take Jack away, for you love him and he will be a comfort to you. Acomfort to you, yes, but what will you be to him now that he is growingolder? That is the thought that troubles me, yet I dare not take himwith me when he is half yours. You will not miss me, nor will the lossof Sue make any difference. Oh, John! how can you help loving thatblessed little creature, so much better and so much more gifted thaneither of us that we can only wonder how we came to be her father andmother? Your sin against her is greater than that against me, for atleast you are not responsible for bringing me into the world. I knowLouisa will take care of Jack, and she lives so near that you can seehim as often as you wish. I shall let her know my address, which I haveasked her to keep to herself. She will write to me if you or Jack shouldbe seriously ill, but not for any other reason. 

As for you, there is nothing more that I can say except to confessfreely that I was not the right wife for you and that mine was not theonly mistake. I have tried my very best to meet you in everything thatwas not absolutely wrong, and I have used all the arguments I couldthink of, but it only made matters worse. I thought I knew you, John, in the old days. How comes it that we have traveled so far apart, wewho began together? It seems to me that some time you must come to yoursenses and take up your life seriously, for this is not life, the sorrything you have lived lately, but I cannot wait any longer! I am tired, tired, tired of waiting and hoping, too tired to do anything but dragmyself away from the sight of your folly. You have wasted our children'ssubstance, indulged your appetites until you have lost the respect ofyour best friends, and you have made me--who was your choice, your wife, the head of your house, the woman who brought your children into theworld--you have made me an object of pity; a poor, neglected thing whocould not meet her neighbors' eyes without blushing. 

When Jack and his father returned from their outing at eight o'clock inthe evening, having had supper at a wayside hotel, the boy went to bedphilosophically, lighting his lamp for himself, the conclusion beingthat the two other members of the household were a little late, butwould be in presently. 

The next morning was bright and fair. Jack waked at cockcrow, and aftercalling to his mother and Sue, jumped out of bed, ran into their roomsto find them empty, then bounced down the stairs two at a time, goingthrough the sitting-room on his way to find Ellen in the kitchen. Hisfather was sitting at the table with the still-lighted student lamp onit; the table where lessons had been learned, books read, stories told, mending done, checkers and dominoes played; the big, round walnut tablethat was the focus of the family life--but mother's table, not father's. 

John Hathaway had never left his chair nor taken off his hat. His caneleaned against his knee, his gloves were in his left hand, while theright held Susanna's letter. 

He was asleep, although his lips twitched and he stirred uneasily. Hisface was haggard, and behind his closed lids, somewhere in the centerof thought and memory, a train of fiery words burned in an ever-wideningcircle, round and round and round, ploughing, searing their way throughsome obscure part of him that had heretofore been without feeling, butwas now all quick and alive with sensation. 

You have made me--who was your choice, your wife, the head of yourhouse, the woman who brought your children into the world--you have mademe an object of pity; a poor, neglected thing who could not meet herneighbors' eyes without blushing. 

Any one who wished to pierce John Hathaway's armor at that period of hislife would have had to use a very sharp and pointed arrow, for he waswell wadded with the belief that a man has a right to do what he likes. Susanna's shaft was tipped with truth and dipped in the blood of heroutraged heart. The stored-up force of silent years went into thespeeding of it. She had never shot an arrow before, and her skill wasinstinctive rather than scientific, but the powers were on her side andshe aimed better than she knew--those who took note of John Hathaway'sbehavior that summer would have testified willingly to that. It was thesummer in which his boyish irresponsibility slipped away from himonce and for all; a summer in which the face of life ceased to be anindistinguishable mass of meaningless events and disclosed an order, a reason, a purpose hitherto unseen and undefined. The boy "grew up, "rather tardily it must be confessed. His soul had not added a cubit toits stature in sunshine, gayety, and prosperity; it took the shock ofgrief, hurt pride, solitude, and remorse to make a man of John Hathaway. 

III. Divers Doctrines

It was a radiant July morning in Albion village, and when Sue firstbeheld it from the bedroom window at the Shaker Settlement, she hadwished ardently that it might never, never grow dark, and that Jack andFardie might be having the very same sunshine in Farnham. It was notnoon yet, but experience had in some way tempered the completeness ofher joy, for the marks of tears were on her pretty little face. She hadneither been scolded nor punished, but she had been dragged away froma delicious play without any adequate reason. She had disappeared afterbreakfast, while Susanna was helping Sister Tabitha with the beds andthe dishes, but as she was the most docile of children, her mother neverthought of anxiety. At nine o'clock Eldress Abby took Susanna to thelaundry house, and there under a spreading maple were Sue and the twoyoungest little Shakeresses, children of seven and eight respectively. Sue was directing the plays: chattering, planning, ordering, andsuggesting expedients to her slower-minded and less experiencedcompanions. They had dragged a large box from one of the sheds and setit up under the tree. The interior had been quickly converted intoa commodious residence, one not in the least of a Shaker type. Smallbluing-boxes served for bedstead and dining-table, bits of brokenchina for the dishes, while tiny flat stones were the seats, and fourclothes-pins, tastefully clad in handkerchiefs, surrounded the table. 

"Do they kneel in prayer before they eat, as all Believers do?" askedShaker Mary. 

"I don't believe Adam and Eve was Believers, 'cause who would havetaught them to be?" replied Sue; "still we might let them pray, anyway, though clothespins don't kneel nicely. "

"I've got another one all dressed, " said little Shaker Jane. 

"We can't have any more; Adam and Eve did n't have only two children inmy Sunday-School lesson, Cain and Abel, " objected Sue. 

"Can't this one be a company?" pleaded Mary, anxious not to waste theclothespin. 

"But where could comp'ny come from?" queried Sue. "There was n't anymore people anywheres but just Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel. Put theclothespin in your apron-pocket, Jane, and bimeby we'll let Eve have alittle new baby, and I'll get Mardie to name it right out of the Bible. Now let's begin. Adam is awfully tired this morning; he says, 'Eve, I'vebeen workin' all night and I can't eat my breakfuss. ' Now, Mary, you beCain, he's a little boy, and you must say, 'Fardie, play a little withme, please!' and Fardie will say, 'Child'en should n't talk at the--'"

What subjects of conversation would have been aired at the Adamic familyboard before breakfast was finished will never be known, for EldressAbby, with a firm but not unkind grasp, took Shaker Jane and Mary bytheir little hands and said, "Morning's not the time for play; run overto Sister Martha and help her shell the peas; then there'll be yourseams to oversew. "

Sue watched the disappearing children and saw the fabric of her dreamfade into thin air; but she was a person of considerable individualityfor her years. Her lip quivered, tears rushed to her eyes and flowedsilently down her cheeks, but without a glance at Eldress Abby or a wordof comment she walked slowly away from the laundry, her chin high. 

"Sue meant all right, she was only playing the plays of the world, " saidEldress Abby, "but you can well understand, Susanna, that we can't letour Shaker children play that way and get wrong ideas into their headsat the beginning. We don't condemn an honest, orderly marriage as aworldly institution, but we claim it has no place in Christ's kingdom;therefore we leave it to the world, where it belongs. The world's peoplelive on the lower plane of Adam; the Shakers try to live on the Christplane, in virgin purity, longsuffering, meekness, and patience. "

"I see, I know, " Susanna answered slowly, with a little glance atinjured Sue walking toward the house, "but we need n't leave thechildren unhappy this morning, for I can think of a play that willcomfort them and please you. Come back, Sue! Wait a minute, Mary andJane, before you go to Sister Martha! We will play the story that SisterTabitha told us last week. Do you remember about Mother Ann Lee in theEnglish prison? The soapbox will be her cell, for it was so small shecould not lie down in it. Take some of the shingles, Jane, and closeup the open side of the box. Do you see the large brown spot in one ofthem, Mary? Push that very hard with a clothespin and there 'll be ahole through the shingle; that's right! Now, Sister Tabitha said thatMother Ann was kept for days without food, for people thought she was awicked, dangerous woman, and they would have been willing to let herdie of starvation. But there was a great keyhole in the door, and JamesWhittaker, a boy of nineteen, who loved Mother Ann and believed in her, put the stem of a clay pipe in the hole and poured a mixture of wine andmilk through it. He managed to do this day after day, so that when thejailer opened the cell door, expecting to find Mother Ann dying for lackof food, she walked out looking almost as strong and well as when sheentered. You can play it all out, and afterwards you can make the shipthat brought Mother Ann and the other Shakers from Liverpool to NewYork. The clothes-pins can be who will they be, Jane?"

"William Lee, Nancy Lee, James Whittaker, and I forget the others, "recited Jane, like an obedient parrot. 

"And it will be splendid to have James Whittaker, for he really came toAlbion, " said Mary. 

"Perhaps he stood on this very spot more than once, " mused Abby. "It wasMother Ann's vision that brought them to this land, a vision of a largetree with outstretching branches, every leaf of which shone with thebrightness of a burning torch! Oh! if the vision would only come true!If Believers would only come to us as many as the leaves on the tree, "she sighed, as she and Susanna moved away from the group of chatteringchildren, all as eager to play the history of Shakerism as they had beento dramatize the family life of Adam and Eve. 

"There must be so many men and women without ties, living useless lives, with no aim or object in them, " Susanna said, "I wonder that more ofthem do not find their way here. The peace and goodness and helpfulnessof the life sink straight into my heart. The Brothers and Sisters are sofriendly and cheery with one another; there is neither gossip nor hardwords; there is pleasant work, and your thoughts seem to be all soconcentrated upon right living that it is like heaven below, only I feelthat the cross is there, bravely as you all bear it. "

 "There are roses on my cross most beautiful to see, As I turn from all the dross from which it sets me free, "

quoted Eldress Abby, devoutly. 

"It is easy enough for me, " continued Susanna, "for it was no crossfor me to give up my husband at the time; but oh, if a woman had aconsiderate, loving man to live with, one who would strengthen her andhelp her to be good, one who would protect and cherish her, one whowould be an example to his children and bring them up in the fear of theLord--that would be heaven below, too; and how could she bear to giveit all up when it seems so good, so true, so right? Might n't two peoplewalk together to God if both chose the same path?"

"It's my belief that one can find the road better alone than whensomebody else is going alongside to distract them. Not that the Lordis going to turn anybody away, not even when they bring Him a lot ofburned-out trash for a gift, " said Eldress Abby, bluntly. "But don't youbelieve He sees the difference between a person that comes to Him whenthere is nowhere else to turn--a person that's tried all and found itwanting--and one that gives up freely pleasure, and gain, and husband, and home, to follow the Christ life?"

"Yes, He must, He must, " Susanna answered faintly. "But the children, Eldress Abby! If you had n't any, you could perhaps keep yourself fromwanting them; but if you had, how could you give them up? Jesus was thegreat Saviour of mankind, but next to Him it seems as if the childrenhad been the little saviours, from the time the first one was born untilthis very day!"

"Yee, I've no doubt they keep the worst of the world's people, thosethat are living in carnal marriage without a thought of godliness, I'veno doubt children keep that sort from going to the lowest perdition, "allowed Eldress Abby; "and those we bring up in the Community make thebest converts; but to a Shaker, the greater the sacrifice, the greaterthe glory. I wish you was gathered in, Susanna, for your hands and feetare quick to serve, your face is turned toward the truth, and your heartis all ready to receive the revelation. "

"I wish I need n't turn my back on one set of duties to take upanother, " murmured Susanna, timidly. 

"Yee; no doubt you do. Your business is to find out which are the higherduties, and then do those. Just make up your mind whether you'd ratherreplenish earth, as you've been doing, or replenish heaven, as we'retrying to do. But I must go to my work; ten o'clock in the morning'sa poor time to be discussing doctrine! You're for weeding, Susanna, Isuppose?"

Brother Ansel was seated at a grindstone under the apple trees, teaching(intermittently) a couple of boys to grind a scythe, when Susanna cameto her work in the herb-garden, Sue walking discreetly at her heels. 

Ansel was a slow-moving, humorously-inclined, easygoing Brother, who wasdrifting into the kingdom of heaven without any special effort on hispart. 

"I'd 'bout as lives be a Shaker as anything else, " had been his ratherdubious statement of faith when he requested admittance into the bandof Believers. "No more crosses, accordin' to my notion, an' consid'ablemore chance o' crowns!"

His experience of life "on the Adamic plane, " the holy estate ofmatrimony, being the chief sin of this way of thought, had disposedhim to regard woman as an apparently necessary, but not especiallydesirable, being. The theory of holding property in common had noterrors for him. He was generous, unambitious, frugal-minded, somewhatlacking in energy, and just as actively interested in his brother'swelfare as in his own, which is perhaps not saying much. Shakerism wasto him not a craving of the spirit, not a longing of the soul, but asimple, prudent theory of existence, lessening the various risks thatman is exposed to in his journey through this vale of tears. 

"Womenfolks makes splendid Shakers, " he was wont to say. "They're allright as Sisters, 'cause their belief makes 'em safe. It kind o' shears'em o' their strength; tames their sperits; takes the sting out of 'eman' keeps 'em from bein' sassy an' domineerin'. Jest as long as theythink marriage is right, they'll marry ye spite of anything ye can do orsay--four of 'em married my father one after another, though he fit 'emoff as hard as he knew how. But if ye can once get the faith o' MotherAnn into 'em, they're as good afterwards as they was wicked afore. There's no stoppin' women-folks once ye get 'em started; they don't keerwhether it's heaven or the other place, so long as they get where theywant to go!"

Elder Daniel Gray had heard Brother Ansel state his religious theoriesmore than once when he was first "gathered in, " and secretly lamentedthe lack of spirituality in the new convert. The Elder was an instrumentmore finely attuned; sober, humble, pure-minded, zealous, consecrated tothe truth as he saw it, he labored in and out of season for the faithhe held so dear; yet as the years went on, he noted that Ansel, notwithstanding his eccentric views, lived an honest, temperate, Godfearing life, talking no scandal, dwelling in unity with his brethrenand sisters, and upholding the banner of Shakerism in his own peculiarway. 

As Susanna approached him, Ansel called out, "The yairbs are all readyfor ye, Susanna; the weeds have been on the rampage sence yesterday'srain. Seems like the more uselesser a thing is, the more it flourishes. The yairbs grow; oh, yes, they make out to _grow_; but you don't see 'emcome leapin' an' tearin' out o' the airth like weeds. Then there's thebirds! I've jest been stoppin' my grindin' to look at 'em carry on. Take 'em all in all, there ain't nothin' so lazy an' aimless an'busy 'bout nothin' as birds. They go kitin' 'roun' from tree to tree, hoppin' an' chirpin', flyin' here an' there 'thout no airthly objeck'ceptin' to fly back ag'in. There's a heap o' useless critters inthe univarse, but I guess birds are 'bout the uselessest, 'less it'sgrasshoppers, mebbe. "

"I don't care what you say about the grasshoppers, Ansel, but you shan'tabuse the birds, " said Susanna, stooping over the beds of tansy andsage, thyme and summer savory. "Weeds or no weeds, we're going to have agreat crop of herbs this year, Ansel!"

"Yee, so we be! We sowed more'n usual so's to keep the two jiners atwork long's we could. --Take that scythe over to the barn, Jacob, an'fetch me another, an' step spry. "

"What's a 'jiner, ' Ansel?"

"Winter Shakers, I call 'em. They're reg'lar constitooshanaldyed-in-the-wool jiners, jinin' most anything an' hookin' on mostanywheres. They jine when it comes on too cold to sleep outdoors, an'they onjine when it comes on spring. Elder Gray's always hopin' togather in new souls, so he gives the best of 'em a few months' trial. How are ye, Hannah?" he called to a Sister passing through the orchardto search for any possible green apples under the trees. "Make us a goodold-fashioned deep-dish pandowdy an' we'll all do our best to eat it!"

"I suppose the 'jiners' get discouraged and fear they can't keep up tothe standard. Not everybody is good enough to lead a self-denying Shakerlife, " said Susanna, pushing back the close sunbonnet from her warmface, which had grown younger, smoother, and sweeter in the last fewweeks. 

"Nay, I s'pose likely; 'less they're same as me, a born Shaker, " Anselreplied. "I don't hanker after strong drink; don't like tobaccer(always could keep my temper 'thout smokin'), ain't partic'lar 'boutmeat-eatin', don't keer 'bout heapin' up riches, can't 'stand the wayso' worldly women-folks, jest as lives confess my sins to the Elder asnot, 'cause I hain't sinned any to amount to anything sence I made myfirst confession; there I be, a natural follerer o' Mother Ann Lee. "

Susanna drew her Shaker bonnet forward over her eyes and turned herback to Brother Ansel under the pretense of reaching over to the rows ofsweet marjoram. She had never supposed it possible that she could laughagain, and indeed she seldom felt like it, but Ansel's interpretationsof Shaker doctrine were almost too much for her latent sense of humor. 

"What are you smiling at, and me so sad, Mardie?" quavered Sue, piteously, from the little plot of easy weeding her mother had given herto do. "I keep remembering my game! It was such a _Christian_ game, too. Lots nicer than Mother Ann in prison; for Jane said her motherand father was both Believers, and nobody was good enough to pour milkthrough the keyhole but her. I wanted to give the clothes-pins storynames, like Hilda and Percy, but I called them Adam and Eve and Cain andAbel just because I thought the Shakers would 'specially like a Bibleplay. I love Elderess Abby, but she does stop my happiness, Mardie. That's the second time today, for she took Moses away from me when I waskissing him because he pinched his thumb in the window. "

"Why did you do that, Sue?" remonstrated her mother softly, rememberingAnsel's proximity. "You never used to kiss strange little boys at homein Farnham. "

"Moses is n't a boy; he's only six, and that's a baby; besides, I likehim better than any little boys at home, and that's the reason I kissedhim; there's no harm in boy-kissing, is there, Mardie?"

"You don't know anybody here very well yet; not well enough tokiss them, " Susanna answered, rather hopeless as to the best way ofinculcating the undesirability of the Adamic plane of thought at thisearly age. "While we stay here, Sue, we ought both to be very careful todo exactly as the Shakers do. "

By this time mother and child had reached the orchard end of a row, and Brother Ansel was thirstily waiting to deliver a little more of theinformation with which his mind was always teeming. 

"Them Boston people that come over to our public meetin' last Sunday, "he began, "they was dretful scairt 'bout what would become o' the humanrace if it should all turn Shakers. 'I guess you need n't worry, ' Isays; 'it'll take consid'able of a spell to convert all you city folks, 'I says, 'an' after all, what if the world should come to an end?' Isays. 'If half we hear is true 'bout the way folks carry on in New Yorkand Chicago, it's 'bout time it stopped, ' I says, 'an' I guess theLord could do a consid'able better job on a second one, ' I says, 'afterfindin' out the weak places in this. ' They can't stand givin' up theirpossessions, the world's folks; that's the principal trouble with 'em!If you don't have nothin' to give up, like some o' the tramps thathappen along here and convince the Elder they're jest bustin' with thefear o' God, why, o' course 't ain't no trick at all to be a Believer. "

"Did you have much to give up, Brother Ansel?" Susanna asked. "'Bout'smuch as any sinner ever had that jined this Community, " replied Ansel, complacently. "The list o' what I consecrated to this Society when I wasgathered in was: One horse, one wagon, one two-year-old heifer, one axe, one saddle, one padlock, one bed and bedding, four turkeys, eleven hens, one pair o' plough-irons, two chains, and eleven dollars in cash. Canyou beat that?"

"Oh, yes, things, " said Susanna, absent-mindedly. "I was thinking offamily and friends, pleasures and memories and ambitions and hopes. "

"I guess it don't pinch you any worse to give up a hope than it would agood two-year-old heifer, " retorted Ansel; "but there, you can't nevertell what folks'll hang on to the hardest! The man that drove themBoston folks over here last Sunday, did you notice him? the one that hadthe sister with a bright red dress an' hat on?--Land! I could think justhow hell must look whenever my eye lighted on that girl's gitup!--Well, I done my best to exhort that driver, bein' as how we had a good chanceto talk while we was hitchin' an' unhitchin' the team; an' Elder Grayalways says I ain't earnest enough in preachin' the faith;--but he didn't learn anything from the meetin'. Kep' his eye on the Shaker bunnits, an' took notice o' the marchin' an' dancin', but he did n't care nothin''bout doctrine. 

"'I draw the line at bein' a cerebrate, ' he says. 'I'm willin' to sellall my goods an' divide with the poor, ' he says, 'but I ain't goin'to lie no cerebrate. If I don't have no other luxuries, I will have awife, ' he says. 'I've hed three, an' if this one don't last me out, I'llget another, if it's only to start the kitchen fire in the mornin' an'put the cat in the shed nights!'"

IV. Louisa's Mind

Louisa, otherwise Mrs. Adlai Banks, the elder sister of Susanna shusband, was a rock-ribbed widow of forty-five summers, --forty-fivewinters would seem a better phrase in which to assert her age, --whoresided on a small farm twenty miles from the manufacturing town ofFarnham. 

When the Fates were bestowing qualities of mind and heart upon theHathaway babies, they gave the more graceful, genial, likable ones toJohn, not realizing, perhaps, what bad use he would make of them, --andendowed Louisa with great deposits of honesty, sincerity, energy, piety, and frugality, all so mysteriously compounded that they turned togranite in her hands. If she had been consulted, it would have been allthe same. She would never have accepted John's charm of personality atthe expense of being saddled with his weaknesses, and he would not havetaken her cast-iron virtues at any price whatsoever. 

She was sweeping her porch on that day in May when Susanna and Suehad wakened in the bare upper chamber at the Shaker Settlement--Sueclear-eyed, jubilant, expectant, unafraid; Susanna pale from her fitfulsleep, weary with the burden of her heart. 

Looking down the road, Mrs. Banks espied the form of her brother Johnwalking in her direction and leading Jack by the hand. 

This was a most unusual sight, for John's calls had been uncommonly fewof late years, since a man rarely visits a lady relative for the merepurpose of hearing "a piece of her mind. " This piece, large, solid, highly flavored with pepper, and as acid as mental vinegar could makeit, was Louisa Banks's only contribution to conversation when she mether brother. She could not stop for any airy persiflage about weather, crops, or politics when her one desire was to tell him what she thoughtof him. 

"Good-morning, Louisa. Shake hands with your aunt, Jack. "

"He can't till I'm through sweeping. Good-morning, John; what brings youhere?"

John sat down on the steps, and Jack flew to the barn, where therewas generally an amiable hired man and a cheerful cow, both infinitelybetter company than his highly respected and wealthy aunt. 

"I came because I had to bring the boy to the only relation I've got inthe world, " John answered tersely. "My wife's left me. "

"Well, she's been a great while doing it, " remarked Louisa, diggingher broom into the cracks of the piazza floor and making no pause forreflection. "If she had n't had the patience of Job and the meekness ofMoses, she'd have gone long before. Where'd she go?"

"I don't know; she did n't say. "

"Did you take the trouble to look through the house for her? I ain'tcertain you fairly know her by sight nowadays, do you?"

John flushed crimson, but bit his lip in an attempt to keep his temper. "She left a letter, " he said, "and she took Sue with her. "

"That was all right; Sue's a nervous little thing and needs at leastone parent; she has n't been used to more, so she won't miss anything. Jack's like most of the Hathaways; he'll grow up his own way, withoutanybody's help or hindrance. What are you going to do with him?"

"Leave him with you, of course. What else could I do?" "Very well, I'lltake him, and while I'm about it I'd like to give you a piece of mymind. "

John was fighting for selfcontrol, but he was too wretched andremorseful for rage to have any real sway over him. 

"Is it the same old piece, or a different one?" he asked, setting histeeth grimly. "I should n't think you'd have any mind left, you've givenso many pieces of it to me already. "

"I have some left, and plenty, too, " answered Louisa, dashing into thehouse, banging the broom into a corner, coming out again like a breeze, and slamming the door behind her. "You can leave the boy here andwelcome; I'll take good care of him, and if you don't send me twentydollars a month for his food and clothes, I'll turn him outdoors. Themore responsibility other folks rid you of, the more you'll let 'em, and I won't take a feather's weight off you for fear you'll sink intoeverlasting perdition. "

"I did n't expect any sympathy from you, " said John, drearily, pullinghimself up from the steps and leaning against the honeysuckle trellis. "Susanna's just the same. Women are all as hard as the nether millstone. They're hard if they're angels, and hard if they're devils; it does n'tmake much difference. "

"I guess you've found a few soft ones, if report says true, " returnedLouisa, bluntly. "You'd better go and get some of their sympathy, thekind you can buy and pay for. The way you've ruined your life turnsme fairly sick. You had a good father and mother, good education andadvantages, enough money to start you in business, the best of wives, and two children any man could be proud of, one of 'em especially. You've thrown 'em all away, and what for? Horses and cards and gaycompany, late suppers, with wine, and for aught I know, whiskey, youthe son of a man who did n't know the taste of ginger beer! You've spentyour days and nights with a pack of carousing men and women that wouldtake your last cent and not leave you enough for honest burial. "

"It's a pity we did n't make a traveling preacher of you!" exclaimedJohn, bitterly. "Lord Almighty, I wonder how such women as you can livein the world, you know so little about it, and so little about men. "

"I know all I want to about 'em, " retorted Louisa, "and preciouslittle that's good. They 're a gluttonous, self-indulgent, extravagant, reckless, pleasure-loving lot! My husband was one of the best of 'em, and he would n't have amounted to a hill of beans if I had n't devotedfifteen years to disciplining, uplifting, and strengthening him!"

"You managed to strengthen him so that he died before he was fifty!"

"It don't matter when a man dies, " said the remorseless Mrs. Banks, "ifhe's succeeded in living a decent, Godfearing life. As for you, JohnHathaway, I'll tell you the truth if you are my brother, for Susanna'stoo much of a saint to speak out. "

"Don't be afraid; Susanna's spoken out at last, plainly enough to pleaseeven you!"

"I'm glad of it, for I did n't suppose she had spunk enough to resentanything. I shall be sorry tomorrow, 's likely as not, for freeingmy mind as much as I have, but my temper's up and I'm going to be thehumble instrument of Providence and try to turn you from the error ofyour ways. You've defaced and degraded the temple the Lord built foryou, and if He should come this minute and try to turn out the crowd ofevildoers you've kept in it, I doubt if He could!"

"I hope He'll approve of the way you've used your 'temple, '" said John, with stinging emphasis. "I should n't want to live in such a noisy onemyself; I'd rather be a bat in a belfry. Goodbye; I've had a pleasantcall, as usual, and you've been a real sister to me in my trouble. You shall have the twenty dollars a month. Jack's clothes are in thatvalise, and there'll be a trunk tomorrow. Susanna said she'd write andlet you know her whereabouts. "

So saying, John Hathaway strode down the path, closed the gate behindhim, and walked rapidly along the road that led to the station. It wasa quiet road and he met few persons. He had neither dressed nor shavedsince the day before; his face was haggard, his heart was like a lump oflead in his breast. Of what use to go to the empty house in Farnham whenhe could stifle his misery by a night with his friends?

No, he could not do that, either! The very thought of them brought asense of satiety and disgust; the craving for what they would give himwould come again in time, no doubt, but for the moment he was sickto the very soul of all they stood for. The feeling of completehelplessness, of desertion, of being alone in mid-ocean without a sailor a star in sight, mounted and swept over him. Susanna had been hissail, his star, although he had never fully realized it, and he hadcut himself adrift from her pure, steadfast love, blinding himself withcheap and vulgar charms. 

The next train to Farnham was not due for an hour. His steps faltered;he turned into a clump of trees by the wayside and flung himself on theground to cry like a child, he who had not shed a tear since he was aboy of ten. If Susanna could have seen that often longed-for burst ofdespair and remorse, that sudden recognition of his sins against himselfand her, that gush of penitent tears, her heart might have softenedonce again; a flicker of flame might have lighted the ashes of her dyinglove; she might have taken his head on her shoulder, and said, "Nevermind, John! Let's forget, and begin all over again!"

Matters did not look any brighter for John the next week, for his seniorpartner, Joel Atterbury, requested him to withdraw from the firm as soonas matters could be legally arranged. He was told that he had not beendoing, nor earning, his share; that his way of living during theyear just past had not been any credit to "the concern, " and that he, Atterbury, sympathized too heartily with Mrs. John Hathaway to take anypleasure in doing business with Mr. John. 

John's remnant of pride, completely humbled by this last withdrawal ofconfidence, would not suffer him to tell Atterbury that he had cometo his senses and bidden farewell to the old life, or so he hoped andbelieved. To lose a wife and child in a way infinitely worse thandeath; to hear the unwelcome truth that as a husband you have grown sooffensive as to be beyond endurance; to have your own sister tell youthat you richly deserve such treatment; to be virtually dismissed from avaluable business connection, all this is enough to sober any man abovethe grade of a moral idiot, and John was not that; he was simply aself-indulgent, pleasure-loving, thoughtless, willful fellow, withoutany great amount of principle. He took his medicine, however, saidnothing, and did his share of the business from day to day doggedly, keeping away from his partner as much as possible. 

Ellen, the faithful maid of all work, stayed on with him at the oldhome; Jack wrote to him every week, and often came to spend Sunday withhim. 

"Aunt Louisa's real good to me, " he told his father, "but she's not likemother. Seems to me mother's kind of selfish staying away from us solong. When do you expect her back?"

"I don't know; not before winter, I'm afraid; and don't call herselfish, I won't have it! Your mother never knew she had a self. "

"If she'd only left Sue behind, we could have had more good times, wethree together!"

"No, our family is four, Jack, and we can never have any good times, one, two, or three of us, because we're four! When one's away, whicheverit is, it's wrong, but it's the worst when it's mother. Does your AuntLouisa write to her?"

"Yes, sometimes, but she never lets me post the letters. "

"Do you write to your mother? You ought to, you know, even if you don'thave time for me. You could ask your aunt to enclose your letters inhers. "

"Do you write to her, father?"

"Yes, I write twice a week, " John answered, thinking drearily of thesemi-weekly notes posted in Susanna's empty worktable upstairs. Wouldshe ever read them? He doubted it, unless he died, and she came back tosettle his affairs; but of course he would n't die, no such good luck. Would a man die who breakfasted at eight, dined at one, supped at six, and went to bed at ten? Would a man die who worked in the garden anhour every afternoon, with half a day Saturday; that being the task mostdisagreeable to him and most appropriate therefore for penance?

Susanna loved flowers and had always wanted a garden, but John had beentoo much occupied with his own concerns to give her the needed help ormoney so that she could carry out her plans. The last year she had lostheart in many ways, so that little or nothing had been accomplishedof all she had dreamed. It would have been laughable, had it not beenpathetic, to see John Hathaway dig, delve, grub, sow, water, weed, transplant, generally at the wrong moment, in that dream-gardenof Susanna's. He asked no advice and read no books. With feverishintensity, with complete ignorance of Nature's laws and small sympathywith their intricacies, he dug, hoed, raked, fertilized, and plantedduring that lonely summer. His absentmindedness caused some expensivefailures, as when the wide expanse of Susanna's drying ground, whichwas to be velvety lawn, "came up" curly lettuce; but he rooted out hisfrequent mistakes and patiently planted seeds or roots or bulbs over andover and over and over, until something sprouted in his beds, whetherit was what he intended or not. While he weeded the brilliant orangenasturtiums, growing beside the magenta portulacca in a friendlyproximity that certainly would never have existed had the mistress ofthe house been the head-gardener, he thought of nothing but his wife. Heknew her pride, her reserve, her sensitive spirit; he knew her love oftruth and honor and purity, the standards of life and conduct she hadtried to hold him to so valiantly, and which he had so dragged in thedust during the blindness and the insanity of the last two years. 

He, John Hathaway, was a deserted husband; Susanna had crept away allwounded and resentful. Where was she living and how supporting herselfand Sue, when she could not have had a hundred dollars in the world?Probably Louisa was the source of income; conscientious, infernallydisagreeable Louisa!

Would yet the rumor of his changed habit of life reach her by some meansin her place of hiding, sooner or later? Would she not yearn for a sightof Jack? Would she not finally give him a chance to ask forgiveness, orhad she lost every trace of affection for him, as her letter seemed toimply? He walked the garden paths, with these and other unanswerablequestions, and when he went to his lonely room at night, he held thelamp up to a bit of poetry that he had cut from a magazine and pinned tothe looking-glass. If John Hathaway could be brought to the readingof poetry, he might even glance at the Bible in course of time, Louisawould have said. It was in May that Susanna had gone, and the first lineof verse held his attention. 

 May comes, day comes, One who was away comes; All the earth is glad again, Kind and fair to me. 

 May comes, day comes, One who was away comes; Set her place at hearth and board As it used to be. 

 May comes, day comes, One who was away comes; Higher are the hills of home, Bluer is the sea. 

The Hathaway house was in the suburbs, on a rise of ground, and as Johnturned to the window he saw the full moon hanging yellow in the sky. It shone on the verdant slopes and low wooded hills that surrounded thetown, and cast a glittering pathway on the ocean that bathed the beachesof the nearby shore. 

"How long shall I have to wait, " he wondered, "before my hills of homelook higher, and my sea bluer, because Susanna has come back to 'hearthand board'!"

V. The Little Quail Bird

Susanna had helped at various household tasks ever since her arrival atthe Settlement, for there was no room for drones in the Shaker hive; butafter a few weeks in the kitchen with Martha, the herb-garden had beenassigned to her as her particular province, the Sisters thinking herbetter fitted for it than for the preserving and pickling of fruit, orthe basket-weaving that needed special apprenticeship. 

The Shakers were the first people to raise, put up, and sell gardenseeds in our present-day fashion, and it was they, too, who began thepreparation of botanical medicines, raising, gathering, drying, andpreparing herbs and roots for market; and this industry, driven fromthe field by modern machinery, was still a valuable source of income inSusanna's day. Plants had always grown for Susanna, and she lovedthem like friends, humoring their weakness, nourishing their strength, stimulating, coaxing, disciplining them, until they could do no lessthan flourish under her kind and hopeful hand. 

Oh, that sweet, honest, comforting little garden of herbs, with itswholesome fragrances! Healing lay in every root and stem, in every leafand bud, and the strong aromatic odors stimulated her flagging spirit orher aching head, after the sleepless nights in which she tried to decideher future life and Sue's. 

The plants were set out in neat rows and clumps, and she soon learned toknow the strange ones--chamomile, lobelia, bloodroot, wormwood, lovage, boneset, lemon and sweet balm, lavender and rue, as well as she knewthe old acquaintances familiar to every country-bred child--pennyroyal, peppermint or spearmint, yellow dock, and thoroughwort. 

There was hoeing and weeding before the gathering and drying came; thenBrother Calvin, who had charge of the great press, would moisten thedried herbs and press them into quarter- and half-pound cakes ready forSister Martha, who would superintend the younger Shakeresses in paperingand labeling them for the market. Last of all, when harvesting was over, Brother Ansel would mount the newly painted seed-cart and leave on hisdriving trip through the country. Ansel was a capital salesman, butBrother Issachar, who once took his place and sold almost nothing, brought home a lad on the seed-cart, who afterward became a shininglight in the Community. ("Thus, " said Elder Gray, "does God teach us thediversity of gifts, whereby all may be unashamed. ")

If the Albion Shakers were honest and ardent in faith, Susanna thoughtthat their "works" would indeed bear the strictest examination. TheBrothers made brooms, floor and dish-mops, tubs, pails, and churns, andindeed almost every trade was represented in the various New EnglandCommunities. Physicians there were, a few, but no lawyers, sheriffs, policemen, constables, or soldiers, just as there were no courts orsaloons or jails. Where there was perfect equality of possession and noprivate source of gain, it amazed Susanna to see the cheery labor, oftencontinued late at night from the sheer joy of it, and the earnest desireto make the Settlement prosperous. While the Brothers were hammering, nailing, planing, sawing, ploughing, and seeding, the Sisters werecarding and spinning cotton, wool, and flax, making kerchiefs of linen, straw Shaker bonnets, and dozens of other useful marketable things, notforgetting their famous Shaker apple sauce. 

Was there ever such a busy summer, Susanna wondered; yet with all theearly rising, constant labor, and simple fare, she was stronger andhardier than she had been for years. The Shaker palate was never tickledwith delicacies, yet the food was well cooked and sufficiently varied. At first there had been the winter vegetables: squash, yellow turnips, beets, and parsnips, with once a week a special Shaker dinner of saltcodfish, potatoes, onions, and milk gravy. Each Sister served herturn as cook, but all alike had a wonderful hand with flour, and thewholewheat bread, cookies, ginger cake, and milk puddings were marvelsof lightness. Martha, in particular, could wean the novitiate Shakerfrom a too riotous devotion to meat-eating better than most people, forevery dish she sent to the table was delicate, savory, and attractive. 

Dear, patient, devoted Martha! How Susanna learned to love her asthey worked together in the big sunny, shining kitchen, where thecooking-stove as well as every tin plate and pan and spoon might haveserved as a mirror! Martha had joined the Society in her mother's arms, being given up to the Lord and placed in "the children's order" beforeshe was one year old. 

"If you should unite with us, Susanna, " she said one night after theearly supper, when they were peeling apples together, "you'd be thankfulyou begun early with your little Sue, for she's got a natural attractionto the world, and for it. Not but that she's a tender, loving, obedientlittle soul; but when she's among the other young ones, there's aflyaway look about her that makes her seem more like a fairy than achild. "

"She's having rather a hard time learning Shaker ways, but she'll dobetter in time, " sighed her mother. "She came to me of her own accordyesterday and asked: 'Bettent I have my curls cut off, Mardie?'"

"I never put that idea into her head, " Martha interrupted. "She's avisitor and can wear her hair as she's been brought up to wear it. "

"I know, but I fear Sue was moved by other than religious reasons. 'Iget up so early, Mardie, ' she said, 'and it takes so long to unsnarl anduntangle me, and I get so hot when I'm helping in the hayfield, and thenI have to be curled for dinner, and curled again for supper, and so itseems like wasting both our times!' Her hair would be all the strongerfor cutting, I thought, as it's so long for her age; but I could n'tput the shears to it when the time came, Martha. I had to take her toEldress Abby. She sat up in front of the little looking-glass as stillas a mouse, while the curls came off, but when the last one fell intoAbby's apron, she suddenly put her hands over her face and cried:'Oh, Mardie, we shall never be the same togedder, you and I, afterthis!'--She seemed to see her 'little past, ' her childhood, slippingaway from her, all in an instant. I did n't let her know that I criedover the box of curls last night!"

"You did wrong, " rebuked Martha. "You should n't make an idol of yourchild or your child's beauty. "

"You don't think God might put beauty into the world just to give Hischildren joy, Martha?"

Martha was no controversialist. She had taken her opinions, ready-made, from those she considered her superiors, and although she was willing tomake any sacrifice for her religion, she did not wish to be confused bytoo many opposing theories of God's intentions. 

"You know I never argue when I've got anything baking, " she said; andtaking the spill of a corn-broom from a table-drawer, she opened theoven door and delicately plunged it into the loaf. Then, gazing at thestraw as she withdrew it, she said: "You must talk doctrine with EldressAbby, Susanna, not with me; but I guess doctrine won't help you so muchas thinking out your life for yourself. 

 "No one can sing my psalm for me, Reward must come from labor, I'll sow for peace, and reap in truth God's mercy and his favor!"

Martha was the chief musician of the Community, and had composed manyhymns and tunes--some of them under circumstances that she believedmight entitle them to be considered directly inspired. Her clear fullvoice filled the kitchen and floated out into the air after Susanna, asshe called Sue and, darning-basket in hand, walked across the road tothe great barn. 

The herb-garden was one place where she could think out her life, although no decision had as yet been born of those thoughtful mornings. 

Another spot for meditation was the great barn, relic of the wonderfulearlier days, and pride of the present Settlement. A hundred andseventy-five feet long and three and a half stories high, it dominatedthe landscape. First, there was the cellar, where all the refuse fell, to do its duty later on in fertilizing the farm lands; then came thefirst floor, where the stalls for horses, oxen, and cows lined the wallson either side. Then came the second floor, where hay was kept, and toreach this a bridge forty feet long was built on stone piers ten feetin height, sloping up from the ground to the second story. Over the easyslope of this bridge the full haycarts were driven, to add their severalburdens to the golden haymows. High at the top was an enormous grainroom, where mounds of yellow corn-ears reached from floor to ceiling;and at the back was a great window opening on Massabesic Pond andKnights' Hill, with the White Mountains towering blue or snow-capped inthe distance. There was an old-fashioned, list-bottomed, straight-backedShaker chair in front of the open window, a chair as uncomfortable asShaker doctrines to the daughter of Eve, and there Susanna often satwith her sewing or mending, Sue at her feet building castles out ofcorncobs, plaiting the husks into little mats, or taking out bastingthreads from her mother's work. 

"My head feels awfully undressed without my curls, Mardie, " she said. "I'm most afraid Fardie won't like the looks of me; do you think weought to have asked him before we shingled me?--He does _despise_unpretty things so!"

"I think if we had asked him he would have said, 'Do as you thinkbest. '"

"He always says that when he does n't care what you do, " observed Sue, with one of her startling bursts of intuition. "Sister Martha has aprinted card on the wall in the children's diningroom, and I've gotto learn all the poetry on it because I need it worse than any of theothers:--

 "What we deem good order, we're willing to state, Eat hearty and decent, and clear out your plate; Be thankful to heaven for what we receive, And not make a mixture or compound to leave. 

 "We often find left on the same China dish, Meat, apple sauce, pickle, brown bread and minced fish: Another's replenished with butter and cheese, With pie, cake, and toast, perhaps, added to these. "

"You say it very nicely, " commended Susanna. 

"There's more:--

 "Now if any virtue in this can be shown, By peasant, by lawyer, or king on the throne; We freely will forfeit whatever we've said, And call it a virtue to waste meat and bread. 

"There's a great deal to learn when you're being a Shaker, " sighed Sue, as she finished her rhyme. 

"There's a great deal to learn everywhere, " her mother answered. "Whatverse did Eldress Abby give you today?"

 "For little tripping maids may follow God Along the ways that saintly feet have trod, "

quoted the child. "Am I a tripping maid, Mardie?" she continued. 

"Yes, dear. " "If I trip too much, might n't I fall?"

"Yes, I suppose so. "

"Is tripping the same as skipping?"

"About the same. "

"Is it polite to trip an' skip when you're following God?"

"It could n't be impolite if you meant to be good. A tripping maid meansjust a young one. "

"What is a maid?"

"A little girl. "

"When a maid grows up, what is she?"

"Why she's a maiden, I suppose. "

"When a maiden grows up, what is she?"

"Just a woman, Sue. "

"What is saintly feet?"

"Feet like those of Eldress Abby or Elder Gray; feet of people who havealways tried to do right. "

"Are Brother Ansel's feet saintly?"

"He's a good, kind, hardworking man. "

"Is good, kind, hardworking, same as saintly?"

"Well, it's not so very different, perhaps. Now, Sue, I've asked youbefore, don't let your mind grope, and your little tongue wag, everyinstant; it is n't good for you, and it certainly is n't good for me!"

"All right; but 'less I gropeanwag sometimes, I don't see how I'll everlearn the things I 'specially want to know?" sighed Sue the insatiable. 

"Shall I tell you a Shaker story, one that Eldress Abby told me lastevening?"

"Oh, do, Mardie!" cried Sue, crossing her feet, folding her hands, andlooking up into her mother's face expectantly. 

"Once there was a very good Shaker named Elder Calvin Green, and someone wrote him a letter asking him to come a long distance and founda Settlement in the western part of New York State. He and some otherElders and Eldresses traveled five days, and stopped at the house ofa certain Joseph Pelham to spend Sunday and hold a meeting. OnMonday morning, very tired, and wondering where to stay and begin hispreaching, the Elder went out into the woods to pray for guidance. Whenhe rose from his knees, feeling stronger and lighter-hearted, a youngquail came up to him so close that he picked it up. It was not a bitafraid, neither did the old parent birds who were standing near byshow any sign of fear, though they are very timid creatures. The Eldersmoothed the young bird's feathers a little while and then let it go, but he thought an angel seemed to say to him, 'The quail is a sign; youwill know before night what it means, and before tomorrow people will becoming to you to learn the way to God. '

"Soon after, a flock of these shy little birds alighted on JosephPelham's house, and the Elders were glad, and thought it signified theflock of Believers that would gather in that place; for the Shakers seemore in signs than other people. Just at night a young girl of twelveor thirteen knocked at the door and told Elder Calvin that she wanted tobecome a Shaker, and that her father and mother were willing. 

"'Here is the little quail!' cried the Elder, and indeed she was thefirst who flocked to the meetings and joined the new Community. 

"On their return to their old home across the state the Elders tookthe little quail girl with them. It was November then, and the canalsthrough which they traveled were clogged with ice. One night, havingbeen ferried across the Mohawk River, they took their baggage and walkedfor miles before they could find shelter. Finally, when they were withinthree miles of their home, Elder Calvin shortened the way by goingacross the open fields through the snow, up and down the hills andthrough the gullies and over fences, till they reached the house atmidnight, safe and sound, the brave little quail girl having trudgedbeside them the whole distance, carrying her tin pail. "

Sue was transported with interest, her lips parted, her eyes shining, her hands clasped. "Oh, I wish I could be a brave little quail girl, Mardie! What became of her?"

"Her name was Polly Reed, and when she grew up, she became a teacher ofthe Shaker school, then an Eldress, and even a preacher. I don't knowwhat kind of a little quail girl you would make, Sue; do you think youcould walk for miles through the ice and snow uncomplainingly?"

"I don' know's I could, " sighed Sue; "but, " she added hopefully, "perhaps I could teach or preach, and then I could gropeanwag as muchas ever I liked. " Then, after a lengthy pause, in which her mind workedfeverishly, she said, "Mardie, I was just groping a little bit, but Iwon't do it any more tonight. If the old quail birds in the woods whereElder Calvin prayed, if those old birds had been Shaker birds, therewould n't have been any little quail birds, would there, because Shakersdon't have children, and then perhaps there would n't have been anylittle Polly Reed. "

Susanna rose hurriedly from the list-bottomed chair and folded her work. "I'll go up and help you undress now, " she said; "it's seven o'clock, and I must go to the family meeting. "

VI. Susanna Speaks in Meeting

It was the Sabbath day and the Believers were gathered in themeetinghouse, Brethren and Sisters seated quietly on their separatebenches, with the children by themselves in their own place. As the menentered the room they removed their hats and coats and hung them uponwooden pegs that lined the sides of the room, while the women took offtheir bonnets; then, after standing for a moment of perfect silence, they seated themselves. 

In Susanna's time the Sunday costume for the men included trousers ofdeep blue cloth with a white line and a vest of darker blue, exposinga full-bosomed shirt that had a wide turned-down collar fastened withthree buttons. The Sisters were in pure white dresses, with neck andshoulders covered with snowy kerchiefs, their heads crowned with theirwhite net caps, and a large white pocket handkerchief hung over theleft arm. Their feet were shod with curious pointed-toed cloth shoes ofultramarine blue--a fashion long since gone by. 

Susanna had now become accustomed to the curious solemn march or dancein which of course none but the Believers ever joined, and found inher present exalted mood the songs and the exhortations strangelyinteresting and not unprofitable. 

Tabitha, the most aged of the group of Albion Sisters, confessed thatshe missed the old times when visions were common, when the Spiritmanifested itself in extraordinary ways, and the gift of tonguesdescended. Sometimes, in the Western Settlement where she was gatheredin, the whole North Family would march into the highway in the freshmorning hours, and while singing some sacred hymn, would pass on to theCenter Family, and together in solemn yet glad procession they wouldmount the hillside to "Jehovah's Chosen Square, " there to sing and dancebefore the Lord. 

"I wish we could do something like that now!" sighed Hetty Arnold, a pretty young creature who had moments of longing for the pomps andvanities. "If we have to give up all worldly pleasures, I think we mighthave more religious ones!"

"We were a younger church in those old times of which Sister Tabithaspeaks, " said Eldress Abby. "You must remember, Hetty, that we werechildren in faith, and needed signs and manifestations, pictures andobject-lessons. We've been trained to think and reason now, and we'veput away some of our picture-books. There have been revelations to tellus we needed movements and exercises to quicken our spiritual powers, and to give energy and unity to our worship, and there have beenrevelations telling us to give them up; revelations bidding us to singmore, revelations telling us to use wordless songs. Then anthems weregiven us, and so it has gone on, for we have been led of the Spirit. "

"I'd like more picture-books, " pouted Hetty under her breath. 

Today the service began with a solemn song, followed by speaking andprayer from a visiting elder. Then, after a long and profound silence, the company rose and joined in a rhythmic dance which signified theonward travel of the soul to full redemption; the opening and closing ofthe hands meaning the scattering and gathering of blessing. There wasno accompaniment, and both the music and the words were the artlessexpression of fervent devotion. 

Susanna sat in her corner beside the aged Tabitha, who would never danceagain before the Lord, though her quavering voice joined in the chorus. The spring floor rose and fell under the quick rhythmic tread of theworshipers, and with each revolution about the room the song gained inpower and fervor. 

 I am never weary bringing my life unto God, I am never weary singing His way is good. With the voice of an angel with power from above, I would publish the blessing of soul-saving love. 

The steps grew slower and more sedate, the voices died away, the armssank slowly by the sides, and the hands ceased their movement. 

Susanna rose to her feet, she knew not how or why. Her cheeks wereflushed, her head bent. 

"Dear friends, " she said, "I have now been among you for nearly threemonths, sharing your life, your work, and your worship. You may wellwish to know whether I have made up my mind to join this Community, andI can only say that although I have prayed for light, I cannot yet seemy way clearly. I am happy here with you, and although I have beena church member for years, I have never before longed so ardently topresent my body and soul as a sacrifice unto the Lord. I have tried notto be a burden to you. The small weekly sum that I put into the treasuryI will not speak of, lest I seem to think that the 'gift of God may bepurchased with money, ' as the Scriptures say; but I have endeavored tobe loyal to your rules and customs, your aims and ideals, and to theconfidence you have reposed in me. Oh, my dear Sisters and Brothers, pray for me that I be enabled to see my duty more plainly. It is notthe fleshpots that will call me back to the world; if I go, it will bebecause the duties I have left behind take such shape that they draw meout of his shelter in spite of myself. I thank you for the help you havegiven me these last weeks; God knows my gratitude can never be spoken inwords. "

Elder Gray's voice broke the silence that followed Susanna's speech. "I only echo the sentiments of the Family when I say that our SisterSusanna shall have such time as she requires before deciding to unitewith this body of Believers. No pressure shall be brought to bear uponher, and she will be, as she ever has been, a welcome guest under ourroof. She has been an inspiration to the children, a comfort and aid tothe Sisters, an intelligent comrade to the Brethren, and a sincere andearnest student of the truth. May the Spirit draw her into the VirginChurch of the New Creation!"

"Yee and amen!" exclaimed Eldress Abby, devoutly: "'For thus saith theLord of hosts: I will shake the heavens, and the earth, and the sea, and the dry land; and I will shake all nations, and the desire of allnations shall come: and I will fill this house with glory, saith theLord of hosts. '"

 "O Virgin Church, how great the light, What cloud can dim thy way?"

sang Martha from her place at the end of a bench; and all the voicestook up the hymn softly as the company sat with bowed heads. 

Then Brother Issachar rose from his corner, saying: "Jesus called uponhis disciples to give up everything: houses, lands, relationships, andeven the selfishness of their own lives. They could not call theirlives their own. 'Lo! we have left all and followed thee, ' said Peter;'fathers, mothers, wives, children, houses, lands, and even our ownlives also. ' It is a great price to pay, but we buy Heaven with it!"

"Yee, we do, " said Brother Thomas Scattergood, devoutly. "To him thatovercometh shall the great prize be given. "

"God help the weaker brethren!" murmured young Brother Nathan, in solow a voice that few could hear him. Moved by the same impulse, Tabitha, Abby, and Martha burst into one of the most triumphant of the Shakersongs, one that was never sung save when the meeting was "full of theSpirit":--

 "I draw no blank nor miss the prize, I see the work, the sacrifice, And I'll be loyal, I'll be wise, A faithful overcomer!"

The company rose and began again to march in a circle around the centerof the room, the Brethren two abreast leading the column, the Sistersfollowing after. There was a waving movement of the hands by drawinginward as if gathering in spiritual good and storing it up for futureneed. In the marching and countermarching the worshipers frequentlychanged their positions, ultimately forming into four circles, symbolical of the four dispensations as expounded in Shakerism, thefirst from Adam to Abraham; the second from Abraham to Jesus; the thirdfrom Jesus to Mother Ann Lee; and the fourth the millennial era. 

The marching grew livelier; the bodies of the singers swayed lightlywith emotion, the faces glowed with feeling. 

Over and over the hymn was sung, gathering strength and fullness asthe Believers entered more and more into the spirit of their worship. Whenever the refrain came in with its militant fervor, crude, butsincere and effective, the singers seemed faith-intoxicated; and SisterMartha in particular might have been treading the heavenly streetsinstead of the meetinghouse floor, so complete was her absorption. Thevoices at length grew softer, and the movement slower, and after a fewmoments' reverent silence the company filed out of the room solemnly andwithout speech. 

 I am as sure that heav'n is mine As though my vision could define Or pencil draw the boundary line Where love and truth shall conquer. 

"The Lord ain't shaken Susanna hard enough yet, " thought Brother Anselshrewdly from his place in the rear. "She ain't altogether gatheredin, not by no manner o' means, because of that unregenerate son of Adamshe's left behind; but there's the makin's of a pow'ful good Shaker inSusanna, if she finally takes holt!"

"What manner of life is my husband living, now that I have deserted him?Who is being a mother to Jack?" These were the thoughts that troubledSusanna Hathaway's soul as she crossed the grass to her own building. 

VII. "The Lower Plane"

Brother Nathan Bennett was twenty years old and Sister Hetty Arnoldwas eighteen. They had been left with the Shakers by their respectiveparents ten years before, and, growing up in the faith, they formallyjoined the Community when they reached the age of discretion. Thus theyhad known each other from early childhood, never in the familiar waycommon to the children of the world, but with the cool, cheerful, casual, wholly impersonal attitude of Shaker friendship, a relationseemingly outside of and superior to sex, a relation more like that oftwo astral bodies than the more intimate one of a budding Adam and Eve. 

When and where had this relationship changed its color and meaning?Neither Nathan nor Hetty could have told. For years Nathan had sat athis end of the young men's bench at the family or the public meeting, with Hetty exactly opposite him at the end of the girls' row, and foryears they had looked across the dividing space at each other withunstirred pulses. The rows of Sisters sat in serene dignity, one benchbehind another, and each Sister was like unto every other in Nathan'svague, dreamy, boyishly indifferent eyes. Some of them were seventyand some seventeen, but each modest figure sat in its place with quietfolded hands. The stiff caps hid the hair, whether it was silver orgold; the white surplices covered the shoulders and concealed beautifulcurves as well as angular outlines; the throats were scarcely visible, whether they were yellow and wrinkled or young and white. The Sisterswere simply sisters to fair-haired Nathan, and the Brothers were butbrothers to little black-eyed Hetty. 

Once--was it on a Sunday morning?--Nathan glanced across the separatingspace that is the very essence and sign of Shakerism. The dance had justceased, and there was a long, solemn stillness when God indeed seemed tobe in one of His holy temples and the earth was keeping silence beforeHim. Suddenly Hetty grew to be something more than one of the figures ina long row: she chained Nathan's eye and held it. 

"Through her garments the grace of her glowed. " He saw that, in spiteof the way her hair had been cut and stretched back from the forehead, a short dusky tendril, softened and coaxed by the summer heat, had madeits way mutinously beyond the confines of her cap. Her eyes werecast down, but the lashes that swept her round young cheek were quitedifferent from any other lashes in the Sisters' row. Her breath came andwent softly after the exertion of the rhythmic movements, stirring thewhite muslin folds that wrapped her from throat to waist. He looked andlooked, until his body seemed to be all eyes, absolutely unaware of anychange in himself; quite oblivious of the fact that he was regarding thegirl in any new and dangerous way. 

The silence continued, long and profound, until suddenly Hetty raisedher beautiful lashes and met Nathan's gaze, the gaze of a boy justturned to man: ardent, warm, compelling. There was a startled moment ofrecognition, a tremulous approach, almost an embrace, of regard; eachsent an electric current across the protective separating space, thetwo pairs of eyes met and said, "I love you, " in such clear tones thatNathan and Hetty marveled that the Elder did not hear them. Somebodysays that love, like a scarlet spider, can spin a thread between twohearts almost in an instant, so fine as to be almost invisible, yet itwill hold with the tenacity of an iron chain. The thread had been spun;it was so delicate that neither Nathan nor Hetty had seen the scarletspider spinning it, but the strength of both would not avail to snap thebond that held them together. 

The moments passed. Hetty's kerchief rose and fell, rose and felltumultuously, while her face was suffused with color. Nathan's kneesquivered under him, and when the Elder rose, and they began the sacredmarch, the lad could hardly stand for trembling. He dreaded the momentwhen the lines of Believers would meet, and he and Hetty would walk thelength of the long room almost beside each other. Could she hear hisheart beating, Nathan wondered; while Hetty was palpitating with fearlest Nathan see her blushes and divine their meaning. Oh, the joy of it, the terror of it, the strange exhilaration and the sudden sensation ofsin and remorse!

The meeting over, Nathan flung himself on the haymow in the great barn, while Hetty sat with her "Synopsis of Shaker Theology" at an open windowof the girls' building, seeing nothing in the lines of print butvisions that should not have been there. It was Nathan who felt mostand suffered most and was most conscious of sin, for Hetty, at first, scarcely knew whither she was drifting. 

She went into the herb-garden with Susanna one morning during theweek that followed the fatal Sunday. Many of the plants to be used forseasoning--sage, summer savory, sweet marjoram, and the like--were quiteready for gathering. As the two women were busy at work, Susanna as fullof her thoughts as Hetty of hers, the sound of a step was heard brushingthe grass of the orchard. Hetty gave a nervous start; her cheeks grew socrimson and her breath so short that Susanna noticed the change. 

"It will be Brother Ansel coming along to the grindstone, " Hettystammered, burying her head in the leaves. 

"No, " Susanna answered, "it is Nathan. He has a long pole with a saw onthe end. He must be going to take the dead branches off the apple trees;I heard Ansel tell him yesterday to do it. "

"Yee, that will be it, " said Hetty, bending over the plants as if shewere afraid to look elsewhere. 

Nathan came nearer to the herb-garden. He was a tall, stalwart, handsomeenough fellow, even in his quaint working garb. As the Sisters spun andwove the cloth as well as cut and made the men's garments, and as theBrothers themselves made the shoes, there was naturally no great airof fashion about the Shaker raiment; but Nathan carried it better thanmost. His skin was fair and rosy, the down on his upper lip showeddawning manhood, and when he took off his broad-brimmed straw hat andstretched to his full height to reach the upper branches of the appletrees, he made a picture of clean, wholesome, vigorous youth. 

Suddenly Susanna raised her head and surprised Hetty looking at the ladwith all her heart in her eyes. At the same moment Nathan turned, andbefore he could conceal the telltale ardor of his glance, it had sped toHetty. With the instinct of self-preservation he stooped instantly as ifto steady the saw on the pole, but it was too late to mend matters: histale was told so far as Susanna was concerned; but it was better sheshould suspect than one of the Believers or Eldress Abby. 

Susanna worked on in silent anxiety. The likelihood of such crises asthis had sometimes crossed her mind, and knowing how frail human natureis, she often marveled that instances seemed so infrequent. Her instincttold her that in every Community the risk must exist, even though allwere doubly warned and armed against the temptations that flesh is heirto; yet no hint of danger had showed itself during the months in whichshe had been a member of the Shaker family. She had heard the Elder'splea to the young converts to take up "a full cross against the flesh";she had listened to Eldress Abby when she told them that the naturallife, its thoughts, passions, feelings, and associations, must be turnedagainst once and forever; but her heart melted in pity for the twopoor young things struggling helplessly against instincts of which theyhardly knew the meaning, so cloistered had been the life they lived. The kind, conscientious hands that had fed them would now seem hard andunrelenting; the place that had been home would turn to a prison; thelife that Elder Gray preached, "the life of a purer godliness than canbe attained by marriage, " had seemed difficult, perhaps, but possible;and now how cold and hopeless it would appear to these two young, undisciplined, flaming hearts!

"Hetty dear, talk to me!" whispered Susanna, softly touching hershoulder, and wondering if she could somehow find a way to counsel thegirl in her perplexity. 

Hetty started rebelliously to her feet as Nathan moved away farther intothe orchard. "If you say a single thing to me, or a word about me toEldress Abby, I'll run away this very day. Nobody has any right to speakto me, and I just want to be let alone! It's all very well for you, "she went on passionately. "What have you had to give up? Nothing but ahusband you did n't love and a home you did n't want to stay in. Likeas not you'll be a Shaker, and they'll take you for a saint; but anywayyou'll have had your life. "

"You are right, Hetty, " said Susanna, quietly; "but oh! my dear, theworld outside isn't such a Paradise for young girls like you, motherlessand fatherless and penniless. You have a good home here; can't you learnto like it?"

"Out in the world people can do as they like and nobody thinks ofcalling them wicked!" sobbed Hetty, flinging herself down, and puttingher head in Susanna's aproned lap. "Here you've got to live like anangel, and if you don't, you've got to confess every wrong thoughtyou've had, when the time comes. "

"Whatever you do, Hetty, be open and aboveboard; don't be hasty andfoolish, or you may be sorry forever afterwards. "

Hetty's mood changed again suddenly to one of mutiny, and she rose toher feet. 

"You have n't got any right to interfere with me anyway, Susanna; and ifyou think it's your duty to tell tales, you'll only make matters worse";and so saying she took her basket and fled across the fields like ahunted hare. 

That evening, as Hetty left the infirmary, where she had been sentwith a bottle of liniment for the nursing Sisters, she came upon Nathanstanding gloomily under the spruce trees near the back of the building. It was eight o'clock and quite dark. It had been raining during the lateafternoon and the trees were still dripping drearily. Hetty came uponNathan so suddenly, that, although he had been in her thoughts, she gavea frightened little cry when he drew her peremptorily under the shadowof the branches. The rules that govern the Shaker Community are verystrict, but in reality the true Believer never thinks of them as rules, nor is trammeled by them. They are fixed habits of the blood, as common, as natural, as sitting or standing, eating or drinking. No Brother isallowed to hold any lengthy interview with a Sister, nor to work, walk, or drive with her alone; but these protective customs, which all arebound in honor to keep, are too much a matter of everyday life to bestrange or irksome. 

"I must speak to you, Hetty, " whispered Nathan. "I cannot bear it anylonger alone. What shall we do?"

"Do?" echoed Hetty, trembling. 

"Yes, _do_. " There was no pretense of asking her if she loved orsuffered, or lived in torture and suspense. They had not uttered a wordto each other, but their eyes had "shed meanings. "

"You know we can't go on like this, " he continued rapidly. "We can't eattheir food, stay alongside of them, pray their prayers and act a lie allthe time, we can't!"

"Nay, we can't!" said Hetty. "Oh, Nathan, shall we confess all and seeif they will help us to resist temptation? I know that's what Susannawould want me to do, but oh! I should dread it. "

"Nay, it is too late, " Nathan answered drearily. "They could not helpus, and we should be held under suspicion forever after. "

"I feel so wicked and miserable and unfaithful, I don't know what todo!" sobbed Hetty. 

"Yee, so do I!" the lad answered. "And I feel bitter against my father, too. He brought me here to get rid of me, because he did n't dare leaveme on somebody's doorstep. He ought to have come back when I was growna man and asked me if I felt inclined to be a Shaker, and if I was goodenough to be one!"

"And my stepfather would n't have me in the house, so my mother had togive me away; but they're both dead, and I'm alone in the world, thoughI've never felt it, because the Sisters are so kind. Now they will hateme--though they don't hate anybody. "

"You've got me, Hetty! We must go away and be married. We'd better gotonight to the minister in Albion. "

"What if he would n't do it?"

"Why should n't he? Shakers take no vows, though I feel bound, hand andfoot, out of gratitude. If any other two young folks went to him, hewould marry them; and if he refuses, there are two other ministers inAlbion, besides two more in Buryfield, five miles farther. If they won'tmarry us tonight, I'll leave you in some safe home and we 'll walkto Portland tomorrow. I'm young and strong, and I know I can earn ourliving somehow. "

"But we have n't the price of a lodging or a breakfast between us, "Hetty said tearfully. "Would it be sinful to take some of my basketworkand send back the money next week?"

"Yee, it would be so, " Nathan answered sternly. "The least we can do isto go away as empty-handed as we came. I can work for our breakfast. "

"Oh, I can't bear to disappoint Eldress Abby, " cried Hetty, breakinganew into tears. "She'll say we've run away to live on the lower planeafter agreeing to crucify Nature and follow the angelic life!"

"I know; but there are five hundred people in Albion all living inmarriage, and we shan't be the only sinners!" Nathan argued. "Oh, SisterHetty, dear Hetty, keep up your spirits and trust to me!"

Nathan's hand stole out and met Hetty's in its warm clasp, the firsthand touch that the two ignorant young creatures had ever felt. Nathan'sknowledge of life had been a journey to the Canterbury Shakers in NewHampshire with Brother Issachar; Hetty's was limited to a few drivesinto Albion village, and half a dozen chats with the world's people whocame to the Settlement to buy basketwork. 

"I am not able to bear the Shaker life!" sighed Nathan. "Elder Grayallows there be such!"

"Nor I, " murmured Hetty. "Eldress Harriet knows I am no saint!"

Hetty's head was now on Nathan's shoulder. The stiff Shaker caphad resisted bravely, but the girl's head had yielded to the sweetproximity. Youth called to youth triumphantly; the Spirit was unheard, and all the theories of celibacy and the angelic life that had beenpoured into their ears vanished into thin air. The thick shade of thespruce tree hid the kiss that would have been so innocent, had theynot given themselves to the Virgin Church; the drip, drip, drip of thebranches on their young heads passed unheeded. 

Then, one following the other silently along the highroad, hurryingalong in the shadows of the tall trees, stealing into the edge of thewoods, or hiding behind a thicket of alders at the fancied sound of afootstep or the distant rumble of a wagon, Nathan and Hetty forsook thefaith of Mother Ann and went out into the world as Adam and Eve left thegarden, with the knowledge of good and evil implanted in their hearts. The voice of Eldress Abby pursued Hetty in her flight like the voicein a dream. She could hear its clear impassioned accents, saying, "Thechildren of this world marry; but the children of the resurrection donot marry, for they are as the angels. " The solemn tones grew fainterand fainter as Hetty's steps led her farther and farther away from thequiet Shaker village and its drab-clad Sisters, and at last they almostdied into silence, because Nathan's voice was nearer and Nathan's voicewas dearer. 

VIII. Concerning Backsliders

There was no work in the herb-garden now, but there was never a momentfrom dawn till long after dusk when the busy fingers of the ShakerSisters were still. When all else failed there was the knitting: socksfor the Brothers and stockings for the Sisters and socks and stockingsof every size for the children. One of the quaint sights of theSettlement to Susanna was the clump of young Sisters on the porch of thegirls' building, knitting, knitting, in the afternoon sun. Even littleShaker Jane and Mary, Maria and Lucinda, had their socks in hand, andplied their short knitting-needles soberly and not unskillfully. Thesight of their industry incited the impetuous Sue to effort, and underthe patient tutelage of Sister Martha she mastered the gentle art. Susanna never forgot the hour when, coming from her work in theseed-room, she crossed the grass with a message to Martha, and saw thegroup of children and girls on the western porch, a place that caughtevery ray of afternoon sun, the last glint of twilight, and the firsthint of sunset glow. Sister Martha had been reading the Sabbath-Schoollesson for the next day, and as Susanna neared the building, Martha'svoice broke into a hymn. Falteringly the girls' voices followed thelead, uncertain at first of words or tune, but gaining courage andstrength as they went on:--

 "As the waves of the mighty ocean Gospel love we will circulate, And as we give, in due proportion, We of the heavenly life partake. Heavenly Life, Glorious Life, Resurrecting, Soul-Inspiring, Regenerating Gospel Life, It leadeth away from all sin and strife. "

The clear, innocent treble sounded sweetly in the virgin stillness andsolitude of the Settlement, and as Susanna drew closer she stoppedunder a tree to catch the picture--Sister Martha, grave, tall, discreet, singing with all her soul and marking time with her hands, so accustomedto the upward and downward movement of the daily service. The straight, plain dresses were as fresh and smooth as perfect washing could makethem, and the round childlike faces looked quaint and sweet with thecropped hair tucked under the stiff little caps. Sue was seated withMary and Jane on the steps, and Susanna saw with astonishment that herneedles were moving to and fro and she was knitting as serenely andcorrectly as a mother in Israel; singing, too, in a delicate littletreble that was like a skylark's morning note. Susanna could hear herdistinctly as she delightedly flung out the long words so dear to hersoul and so difficult to dull little Jane and Mary:--

 "Resurrecting, Soul-Inspiring, Regenerating Gospel Life, It leadeth away from all sin and strife. "

Jane's cap was slightly unsettled, causing its wearer to stop knittingnow and then and pull it forward or push it back; and in one of theselittle feminine difficulties Susanna saw Sue reach forward and deftlytransfer the cap to her own head. Jane was horrified, but rather slow towrath and equally slow in ingenuity. Sue looked a delicious Shaker withher delicate face, her lovely eyes, and her yellow hair grown into softrings; and quite intoxicated with her cap, her knitting, and the generalair of holiness so unexpectedly emanating from her, she moved her littlehands up and down, as the tune rose and fell, in a way that wouldhave filled Eldress Abby with joy. Susanna's heart beat fast, and shewondered for a moment, as she went back to her room, whether she couldever give Sue a worldly childhood more free from danger than the lifeshe was now living. She found letters from Aunt Louisa and Jack onreaching her room, and they lay in her lap under a pile of towels, tobe read and reread while her busy needle flew over the coarse crash. Suestole in quietly, kissed her mother's cheek, and sat down on her stoolby the window, marveling, with every "under" of the needle and "over" ofthe yarn, that it was she, Sue Hathaway, who was making a real stocking. 

Jack's pen was not that of an especially ready writer, but he had apractical way of conveying considerable news. His present contributions, when freed from their phonetic errors and spelled in Christian fashion, read somewhat as follows:

Father says I must write to you every week, even if I make him dowithout, so I will. I am well, and so is Aunt Louisa, and any boy thatlives with her has to toe the mark, I tell you; but she is good and hasfine things to eat every meal. What did Sue get for her birthday? I gota book from father and one from Aunt Louisa and the one from you thatyou told her to buy. It is queer that people will give a boy books whenhe has only one knife, and that a broken one. There's a book prize tobe given at the school, and I am pretty afraid I will get that, too; itwould be just my luck. Teachers think about nothing but books and whatgood they do, but I heard of a boy that had a grand knife with fivesharp blades and a corkscrew, and in a shipwreck he cut all the ropes, so the sail came down that was carrying them on to the rocks, and thenby boring a hole with his corkscrew all the water leaked out of theship that had been threatening to sink the sailors. I could use a littlepocket money, as Aunt Louisa keeps me short. ... I have been spendingSunday with father, and had a pretty good time, not so very. Father willtake me about more when he stops going to the store, which will benext week for good. The kitchen floor is new painted, and Ellen says itsticks, and Aunt Louisa is going to make Ellen clean house in caseyou come home. Do you like where you are? Our teacher told the girls'teacher it seemed a long stay for any one who had a family, and the boysat school call me a half orphan and say my mother has left me and so myfather has to board me in the country. My money is run out again. I satdown in a puddle this afternoon, but it dried up pretty quick anddid n't hurt my clothes, so no more from your son

JACK. 

This was the sort of message that had been coming to Susanna of late, bringing up little pictures of home duties and responsibilities, homelytasks and trials. "John giving up the store for good"; what did thatmean? Had he gone from bad to worse in the solitude that she had hopedmight show him the gravity of his offenses, the error of his ways?In case she should die, what then would become of the children? WouldLouisa accept the burden of Jack, for whom she had never cared? Wouldthe Shakers take Sue? She would be safe; perhaps she would alwaysbe happy; but brother and sister would be divided and brought up asstrangers. Would little Sue, grown to big Sue, say some time or other, "My mother renounced the world for herself, but what right had she torenounce it for me? Why did she rob me of the dreams of girlhood and thenatural hopes of women, when I was too young to give consent?" These andother unanswerable questions continually drifted through Susanna's mind, disturbing its balance and leaving her like a shuttlecock bandied to andfro between conflicting blows. 

"Mardie, " came a soft little voice from across the room; "Mardie, whatis a backslider?"

"Where did you hear that long word, Sue?" asked Susanna, rousing herselffrom her dream. 

"'T is n't so long as 'regenerating' and more easier. "

"Regenerating means 'making over, ' you know. "

"There'd ought to be children's words and grownup words, --that's what Ithink, " said Sue, decisively; "but what does 'backslider' mean?"

"A backslider is one who has been climbing up a hill and suddenly beginsto slip back. "

"Does n't his feet take hold right, or why does he slip?"

"Perhaps he can't manage his feet;--perhaps they just won't climb. " 295

"Yes, or p'raps he just does n't want to climb any more; but it must befrightensome, sliding backwards. "

"I suppose it is. "

"Is it wicked?"

"Why, yes, it is, generally; perhaps always. "

"Brother Nathan and Sister Hetty were backsliders; Sister Tabitha saidso. She told Jane never to speak their names again any more than if theywas dead. "

"Then you had better not speak of them, either. "

"There's so many things better not to speak of in the world, sometimes Ithink 't would be nicer to be an angel. "

"Nicer, perhaps, but one has to be very good to be an angel. "

"Backsliders could n't be angels, I s'pose?"

"Not while they were backsliders; but perhaps they'd begin to climbagain, and then in time they might grow to be angels. "

"I should n't think likely, " remarked Sue, decisively, clicking herneedles as one who could settle most spiritual problems in a jiffy. "Ithink the sliding kind is diff'rent from the climbing kind, and theydon't make easy angels. "

A long pause followed this expression of opinion, this simple divisionof the human race, at the start, into sheep and goats. Then presentlythe untiring voice broke the stillness again. 

"Nathan and Hetty slid back when they went away from here. Did webackslide when we left Fardie and Jack?"

"I'm not sure but that we did, " said poor Susanna. 

"There's children-Shakers, and brother-and-sister Shakers, but nofather-and-mother Shakers?"

"No; they think they can do just as much good in the world without beingmothers and fathers. "

"Do you think so?"

"Ye-es, I believe I do. "

"Well, are you a truly Shaker, or can't you be till you wear a cap?"

"I'm not a Shaker yet, Sue. "

"You're just only a mother?"

"Yes, that's about all. "

"Maybe we'd better go back to where there's not so many Sisters and moremothers, so you 'll have somebody to climb togedder with?"

"I could climb here, Sue, and so could you. "

"Yes, but who'll Fardie and Jack climb with? I wish they'd come and seeus. Brother Ansel would make Fardie laugh, and Jack would love farmwork, and we'd all be so happy. I miss Fardie awfully! He did n't speak tome much, but I liked to look at his curly hair and think how lovely itwould be if he did take notice of me and play with me. "

A sob from Susanna brought Sue, startled, to her side. 

"You break my heart, Sue! You break it every day with the things yousay. Don't you love me, Sue?"

"More'n tongue can tell!" cried Sue, throwing herself into her mother'sarms. "Don't cry, darling Mardie! I won't talk any more, not for daysand days! Let me wipe your poor eyes. Don't let Elder Gray see youcrying, or he'll think I've been naughty. He's just going in downstairsto see Eldress Abby. Was it wrong what I said about backsliding, orwhat, Mardie? We'll help each udder climb, an' then we'll go home an'help poor lonesome Fardie; shall we?"

"Abby!" called Elder Gray, stepping into the entry of the OfficeBuilding. 

"Yee, I'm coming, " Eldress Abby answered from the stairway. "Go rightout and sit down on the bench by the door, where I can catch a fewminutes' more light for my darning; the days seem to be growingshort all to once. Did Lemuel have a good sale of basket-work at themountains? Rosetta has n't done so well for years at Old Orchard. Weseem to be prospering in every material direction, Daniel, but myheart is heavy somehow, and I have to be instant in prayer to keep fromdiscouragement. "

"It has n't been an altogether good year with us spiritually, " confessedDaniel; "perhaps we needed chastening. "

"If we needed it, we've received it, " Abby ejaculated, as she pushed herdarning-ball into the foot of a stocking. "Nothing has happened since Icame here thirty years ago that has troubled me like the running away ofNathan and Hetty. If they had been new converts, we should have thoughtthe good seed had n't got fairly rooted, but those children were broughtto us when Nathan was eleven and Hetty nine. "

"I well remember, for the boy's father and the girl's mother came onthe same train; a most unusual occurrence to receive two children in oneday. "

"I have cause to remember Hetty in her first month, for she was as wildas a young hawk. She laughed in meeting the first Sunclay, and when shecame back, I told her to sit behind me in silence for half an hour whileI was reading my Bible. 'Be still now, Hetty, and labor to repent, ' Isaid. When the time was up, she said in a meek little mite of avoice, 'I think I'm least in the Kingdom now, Eldress Abby!' 'Then runoutdoors, ' I said. She kicked up her heels like a colt and was throughthe door in a second. Not long afterwards I put my hands behind me totie my apron tighter, and if that child had n't taken my small scissorslying on the table and cut buttonholes all up and down my strings, hundreds of them, while she was 'laboring to repent. '"

Elder Gray smiled reminiscently, though he had often heard the storybefore. "Neither of the children came from godly families, " he said, "but at least the parents never interfered with us nor came here puttingfalse ideas into their children's heads. "

"That's what I say, " continued Abby; "and now, after ten years' trainingand discipline in the angelic life, Hetty being especially promising, to think of their going away together, and worse yet, being married inAlbion village right at our very doors; I don't hardly dare to go to bednights for fear of hearing in the morning that some of the other youngfolks have been led astray by this foolish performance of Hetty's; Iknow it was Hetty's fault; Nathan never had ingenuity enough to thinkand plan it all out. "

"Nay, nay, Abby, don't be too hard on the girl; I've watched Nathanclosely, and he has been in a dangerous and unstable state, even as longago as his last confession; but this piece of backsliding, grievous asit is, does n't cause me as much sorrow as the fall of Brother Ephraim. To all appearance he had conquered his appetite, and for five years hehas led a sober life. I had even great hopes of him for the ministry, and suddenly, like a great cloud in the blue sky, has come this terriblevisitation, this reappearance of the old Adam. 'Ephraim has returned tohis idols. '"

"How have you decided to deal with him, Daniel?"

"It is his first offense since he cast in his lot with us; we mustrebuke, chastise, and forgive. "

"Yee, yee, I agree to that; but how if he makes us the laughing-stock ofthe community and drags our sacred banner in the dust? We can't affordto have one of our order picked up in the streets by the world'speople. "

"Have the world's people found an infallible way to keep those of theirorder out of the gutters?" asked Elder Gray. "Ephraim seems repentant;if he is willing to try again, we must be willing to do as much. "

"Yee, Daniel, you are right. Another matter that causes me anxiety isSusanna. I never yearned for a soul as I yearn for hers! She has had theadvantage of more education and more reading than most of us have everenjoyed; she's gifted in teaching and she wins the children. She'sdiscreet and spiritually minded; her life in the world, even withthe influence of her dissipated husband, has n't really stained, onlyhumbled her; she would make such a Shaker, if she was once 'convinced, 'as we have n't gathered in for years and years; but I fear she'sslipping, slipping away, Daniel!"

"What makes you feel so now, particularly?"

"She's diff'rent as time goes on. She's had more letters from that placewhere her boy is; she cries nights, and though she does n't relax a mitewith her work, she drags about sometimes like a bird with one wing. "

Elder Daniel took off his broadbrimmed hat to cool his forehead andhair, lifting his eyes to the first pale stars that were trembling inthe sky, hesitating in silver and then quietly deepening into gold. 

Brother Ansel was a Believer because he had no particular love for theworld and no great susceptibility to its temptations; but what had drawnDaniel Gray from the open sea into this quiet little backwater of aShaker Settlement? After an adventurous early life, in which, as ifyouth-intoxicated, he had plunged from danger to danger, experience toexperience, he suddenly found himself in a society of which he had neverso much as heard, a company of celibate brothers and sisters holding allgoods and possessions in common, and trying to live the "angelic life"on earth. Illness detained him for a month against his will, but at theend of that time he had joined the Community; and although it had beentwenty-five years since his gathering in, he was still steadfast in thefaith. 

His character was of puritanical sternness; he was a strictdisciplinarian, and insisted upon obedience to the rules of Shaker life, "the sacred laws of Zion, " as he was wont to term them. He magnifiedhis office, yet he was of a kindly disposition easily approached bychildren, and not without a quaint old-time humor. 

There was a long pause while the two faithful leaders of the littleflock were absorbed in thought; then the Elder said: "Susanna's all yousay, and the child, well, if she could be purged of her dross, I neversaw a creature better fitted to live the celestial life; but we must notharbor any divided hearts here. When the time comes, we must dismiss herwith our blessing. "

"Yee, I suppose so, " said Eldress Abby, loyally, but it was with a sigh. Had she and Tabitha been left to their own instincts, they would havegone out into the highways and hedges, proselyting with the fervor ofMother Ann's day and generation. 

"After all, Abby, " said the Elder, rising to take his leave, still ina sort of mild trance, "after all, Abby, I suppose the Shakers don'town the whole of heaven. I'd like to think so, but I can't. It's a bigplace, and it belongs to God. "

IX. Love Manifold

The woods on the shores of Massabesic Pond were stretches of tapestry, where every shade of green and gold, olive and brown, orange andscarlet, melted the one into the other. The somber pines made adeep-toned background; patches of sumach gave their flaming crimson;the goldenrod grew rank and tall in glorious profusion, and the maplesoutside the Office Building were balls of brilliant carmine. The air waslike crystal, and the landscape might have been bathed in liquid amber, it was so saturated with October yellow. 

Susanna caught her breath as she threw her chamber window wider open inthe early morning; for the greater part of the picture had been paintedduring the frosty night. 

"Throw your little cape round your shoulders and come quickly, Sue!" sheexclaimed. 

The child ran to her side. "Oh, what a goldy, goldy morning!" she cried. 

One crimson leaf with a long heavy stem that acted as a sort of rudder, came down to the windowsill with a sidelong scooping flight, while twoor three gayly painted ones, parted from the tree by the same breeze, floated airily along as if borne on unseen wings, finally alighting onSue's head and shoulders like tropical birds. 

"You cried in the night, Mardie!" said Sue. "I heard you snifferlingand getting up for your hank'chief; but I did n't speak 'cause it's sodreadful to be _catched_ crying. "

"Kneel down beside me and give me part of your cape, " her motheranswered. "I'm going to let my sad heart fly right out of the windowinto those beautiful trees. "

"And maybe a glad heart will fly right in!" the child suggested. 

"Maybe. Oh! we must cuddle close and be still; Elder Gray's going to sitdown under the great maple; and do you see, all the Brothers seem to beup early this morning, just as we are?"

"More love, Elder Gray!" called Issachar, on his way to the toolhouse. 

"More love, Brother Issachar!"

"More love, Brother Ansel!"

"More love, Brother Calvin!"

"More love!.... More love!.... More love!" So the quaint but notuncommon Shaker greeting passed from Brother to Brother; and as Tabithaand Martha and Rosetta met on their way to dairy and laundry andseed-house, they, too, hearing the salutation, took up the refrain, and Susanna and Sue heard again from the women's voices that beautifulmorning wish, "More love! More love!" speeding from heart to heart andlip to lip. 

Mother and child were very quiet. 

"More love, Sue!" said Susanna, clasping her closely. 

"More love, Mardie!" whispered the child, smiling and entering into thespirit of the salutation. "Let's turn our heads Farnham way! I'll takeJack and you take Fardie, and we'll say togedder, 'More love'; shallwe?"

"More love, John. "

"More love, Jack. "

The words floated out over the trees in the woman's trembling voice andthe child's treble. 

"Elder Gray looks tired though he's just got up, " Sue continued. 

"He is not strong, " replied her mother, remembering Brother Ansel'sstatement that the Elder "wa'n't diseased anywheres, but did n't have nodurability. "

"The Elder would have a lovely lap, " Sue remarked presently. 

"_What_?"

"A nice lap to sit in. Fardie has a nice lap, too, and Uncle JoelAtterbury, but not Aunt Louisa; she lets you slide right off; it's abony, hard lap. I love Elder Gray, and I climbed on his lap one day. Heput me right down, but I'm sure he likes children. I wish I could takeright hold of his hand and walk all over the farm, but he would n't letme, I s'pose. -- _More love, Elder Gray_!" she cried suddenly, bobbingup above the windowsill and shaking her fairy hand at him. 

The Elder looked up at the sound of the glad voice. No human creaturecould have failed to smile back into the roguish face or have treatedchurlishly the sweet, confident little greeting. The heart of a real manmust have an occasional throb of the father, and when Daniel Gray rosefrom his seat under the maple and called, "More love, child!" there wassomething strange and touching in his tone. He moved away from thetree to his morning labors with the consciousness of something newto conquer. Long, long ago he had risen victorious above many of thetemptations that flesh is heir to. Women were his good friends, hiscomrades, his sisters; they no longer troubled the waters of his soul;but here was a child who stirred the depths; who awakened the potentialfather in him so suddenly and so strongly that he longed for thesweetness of a human tie that could bind him to her. But the current ofthe Elder's being was set towards sacrifice and holiness, and the commonjoys of human life he felt could never and must never be his; so hewent to the daily round, the common task, only a little paler, a littlesoberer than was his wont. 

"More love, Martha!" said Susanna when she met Martha a little later inthe day. 

"More love, Susanna!" Martha replied cheerily. "You heard our Shakergreeting, I see! It was the beautiful weather, the fine air and gloriouscolors, that brought the inspiration this morning, I guess! It took usall out of doors, and then it seemed to get into the blood. Besides, tomorrow's the Day of Sacrifice, and that takes us all on to themountaintops of feeling. There have been times when I had to own up to alack of love. "

"You, Martha, who have such wonderful influence over the children, suchpatience, such affection!"

"It was n't always so. When I was first put in charge of the children, Idid n't like the work. They did n't respond to me somehow, and when theywere out of my sight they were ugly and disobedient. My natural mother, Maria Holmes, took care of the girls' clothing. One day she said to me, 'Martha, do you love the girls?'

"'Some of them are very unlovely, ' I replied. 

"'I know that, ' she said, 'but you can never help them unless you lovethem. '

"I thought mother very critical, for I strove scrupulously to do myduty. A few days after this the Elder said to me: 'Martha, do you lovethe girls?' I responded, 'Not very much. '

"'You cannot save them unless you love them, ' he said. Then I answered, 'I will labor for a gift of love. '

"When the work of the day was over, and the girls were in bed, I wouldtake off my shoes and spend several hours of the night walking thefloor, kneeling in prayer that I might obtain the coveted gift. For fiveweeks I did this without avail, when suddenly one night when the moonwas full and I was kneeling by the window, a glory seemed to overshadowthe crest of a high mountain in the distance. I thought I heard a voicesay: '_Martha, I baptize you into the spirit of love!_' I sat theretrembling for more than an hour, and when I rose, I felt that I couldlove the meanest human being that ever walked the earth. I have neverhad any trouble with children since that night of the vision. They seemdifferent to me, and I dare say I am different to them. "

"I wish I could see visions!" exclaimed Susanna. "Oh, for a glorythat would speak to me and teach me truth and duty! Life is all mist, whichever way I turn. I'd like to be lifted on to a high place where Icould see clearly. "

She leaned against the frame of the open kitchen door, her delicateface quivering with emotion and longing, her attitude simplicity andunconsciousness itself. The baldest of Shaker prose turned to purestpoetry when Susanna dipped it in the alembic of her own imagination. 

"Labor for the gift of sight!" said Martha, who believed implicitly inspirits and visions. "Labor this very night. "

It must be said for Susanna that she had never ceased laboring in herown way for many days. The truth was that she felt herself turning frommarriage. She had lived now so long in the society of men and women whoregarded it as an institution not compatible with the highest spiritualdevelopment that unconsciously her point of view had changed; changedall the more because she had been so unhappy with the man she hadchosen. Curiously enough, and unfortunately enough for SusannaHathaway's peace of mind, the greater aversion she felt towards theburden of the old life, towards the irksomeness of guiding a weakersoul, towards the claims of husband on wife, the stronger those claimsappeared. If they had never been assumed!--Ah, but they had; there wasthe rub! One sight of little Sue sleeping tranquilly beside her; onememory of rebellious, faulty Jack; one vision of John, either as needingor missing her, the rightful woman, or falling deeper in the wiles ofthe wrong one for very helplessness;--any of these changed Susanna thewould-be saint, in an instant, into Susanna the wife and mother. 

"_Speak to me for Thy Compassion's sake_, " she prayed from the littlebook of Confessions that her mother had given her. "_I will follow afterThy Voice!_"

"Would you betray your trust?" asked conscience. 

"No, not intentionally. "

"Would you desert your post?"

"Never, willingly. "

"You have divided the family; taken a little quail bird out of thehome-nest and left sorrow behind you. Would God justify you in that?"

For the first time Susanna's "No" rang clearly enough for her to hear itplainly; for the first time it was followed by no vague misgivings, nobewilderment, no unrest or indecision. "_I turn hither and hither; Thypurposes are hid from me, but I commend my soul to Thee_!"

Then a sentence from the dear old book came into her memory: "_And thydead things shall revive, and thy weak things shall be made whole_. "

She listened, laying hold of every word, till the nervous clenchingof her hands subsided, her face relaxed into peace. Then she lay downbeside Sue, creeping close to her for the warmth and comfort and healingof her innocent touch, and, closing her eyes serenely, knew no more tillthe morning broke, the Sabbath morning of Confession Day. 

X. Brother and Sister

If Susanna's path had grown more difficult, more filled with anxieties, so had John Hathaway's. The protracted absence of his wife made thegossips conclude that the break was a final one. Jack was only halfcontented with his aunt, and would be fairly mutinous in the winter, while Louisa's general attitude was such as to show clearly that sheonly kept the boy for Susanna's sake. 

Now and then there was a terrifying hint of winter in the air, and thedays of Susanna's absence seemed eternal to John Hathaway. Yet he was aman about whom there would have been but one opinion: that when deprivedof a rather superior and high-minded wife and the steadying influenceof home and children, he would go completely "to the dogs, " whither heseemed to be hurrying when Susanna's wifely courage failed. That he haddone precisely the opposite and the unexpected thing, shows us perhapsthat men are not on the whole as capable of estimating the forcesof their fellow men as is God the maker of men, who probably expectssomething of the worst of them up to the very last. 

It was at the end of a hopeless Sunday when John took his boy back tohis aunt's towards night. He wondered drearily how a woman dealt with aten-year-old boy who from sunrise to sunset had done every mortal thinghe ought not to have done, and had left undone everything that he hadbeen told to do; and, as if to carry out the very words of the churchservice, neither was there any health in him; for he had an inflamedthroat and a whining, irritable, discontented temper that could be borneonly by a mother, a father being wholly inadequate and apparently neverdestined for the purpose. 

It was a mild evening late in October, and Louisa sat on the porch withher pepper-and-salt shawl on and a black wool "rigolette" tied over herhead. Jack, very sulky and unresigned, was dispatched to bed under thecare of the one servant, who was provided with a cupful of vinegar, salt, and water, for a gargle. John had more than an hour to wait fora returning train to Farnham, and although ordinarily he would havepreferred to spend the time in the silent and unreproachful cemeteryrather than in the society of his sister Louisa, he was too tired andhopeless to do anything but sit on the steps and smoke fitfully in thesemidarkness. Louisa was much as usual. She well knew--who better?--herbrother's changed course of life, but neither encouragement norcompliment were in her line. Why should a man be praised for living arespectable life? That John had really turned a sort of moral somersaultand come up a different creature, she did not realize in the least, northe difficulties surmounted in such a feat; but she did give him creditsecretly for turning about face and behaving far more decently than shecould ever have believed possible. She had no conception of his mentaltorture at the time, but if he kept on doing well, she privatelyintended to inform Susanna and at least give her a chance of trying himagain, if absence had diminished her sense of injury. One thing thatshe did not know was that John was on the eve of losing his partnership. When Jack had said that his father was not going back to the storethe next week, she thought it meant simply a vacation. Divided hearts, broken vows, ruined lives she could bear the sight of these withconsiderable philosophy, but a lost income was a very different, a verytangible thing. She almost lost her breath when her brother knocked theashes from his meerschaum and curtly told her of the proposed change inhis business relations. 

"I don't know what I shall do yet, " he said, "whether I shall set up formyself in a small way or take a position in another concern, --that is, if I can get one--my stock of popularity seems to be pretty low just nowin Farnham. I'd move away tomorrow and cut the whole gossipy, deceitful, hypocritical lot of 'em if I was n't afraid of closing the house and solosing Susanna, if she should ever feel like coming back to us. "

These words and the thought back of them were too much for John'sself-control. The darkness helped him and his need of comfort wasabject. Suddenly he burst out, "Oh, Louisa, for heaven's sake, give me alittle crumb of comfort, if you have any! How can you stand like a stoneall these months and see a man suffering as I have suffered, withoutgiving him a word?"

"You brought it on yourself, " said Louisa, in self-exculpation. 

"Does that make it any easier to bear?" cried John. "Don't you supposeI remember it every hour, and curse myself the more? You know perfectlywell that I'm a different man today. I don't know what made me change;it was as if something had been injected into my blood that turned meagainst everything I had liked best before. I hate the sight of the menand the women I used to go with, not because they are any worse, butbecause they remind me of what I have lost. I have reached the point nowwhere I have got to have news of Susanna or go and shoot myself. "

"That would be about the only piece of foolishness you have n'tcommitted already!" replied Louisa, with a biting satire that wouldhave made any man let go of the trigger in case he had gone so far as tobegin pulling it. 

"Where is she?" John went on, without anger at her sarcasm. "Where isshe, how is she, what is she living on, is she well, is she just asbitter as she was at first, does she ever speak of coming back? Tell mesomething, tell me anything. I will know something. I say I _will_!"

Louisa's calm demeanor began to show a little agitation, for she was notused to the sight of emotion. "I can't tell you where Susanna is, for Imade her a solemn promise I would n't unless you or Jack were in dangerof some kind; but I don't mind telling you this much, that she's welland in the safest kind of a shelter, for she's been living from thefirst in a Shaker Settlement. "

"Shaker Settlement!" cried John, starting up from his seat on thesteps. "What's that? I know Shaker egg-beaters and garden-seedsand rocking-chairs and oh, yes, I remember their religion's againstmarriage. That's the worst thing you could have told me; that ends allhope; if they once get hold of a woman like Susanna, they'll neverlet go of her; if they don't believe in a woman's marrying a good man, they'd never let her go back to a bad one. Oh, if I had only knownthis before; if only you'd told me, Louisa, perhaps I could have donesomething. Maybe they take vows or sign contracts, and so I have losther altogether. "

"I don't know much about their beliefs, and Susanna never explainedthem, " returned Louisa, nervously "but now that you've got somethingto offer her, why don't you write and ask her to come back to you? I'llsend your letter to her. "

"I don't dare, Louisa, I don't dare, " groaned John, leaning his headagainst one of the pillars of the porch. "I can't tell you the fear Ihave of Susanna after the way I've neglected her this last year. If sheshould come in at the gate this minute, I could n't meet her eyes; ifyou'd read the letter she left me, you'd feel the same way. I deservedit, to the last word, but oh, it was like so many separate strokes oflightning, and every one of them burned. It was nothing but the truth, but it was cut in with a sharp sword. Unless she should come back to meof her own accord, and she never will, I have n't got the courage toask her; just have n't got the courage, that's all there is to say aboutit. " And here John buried his head in his hands. 

A very queer thing happened to Louisa Banks at this moment. Ahalf-second before she would have murmured:

 "This rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I!"

when all at once, and without warning, a strange something occurred inthe organ which she had always regarded and her opinion had never yetbeen questioned as a good, tough, love-tight heart. First there was aflutter and a tremor running all along her spine; then her eyes filled;then a lump rose in her throat and choked her; then words trembled onher tongue and refused to be uttered; then something like a bird--couldit have been the highly respectable good-as-new heart?--throbbed underher black silk Sunday waist; then she grew like wax from the crownof her head to the soles of her feet; then in a twinkling, and sounconsciously as to be unashamed of it, she became a sister. 

You have seen a gray November morning melt into an Indian summer noon?Louisa Banks was like that, when, at the sight of a man in sore trouble, sympathy was born in her to soften the rockiness of her original makeup. 

"There, there, John, don't be so downhearted, " she stammered, drawingher chair closer and putting her hand on his shoulder. "We'll bring itround right, you see if we don't. You've done the most yourself already, for I'm proud of the way you've acted, stiffening right up like anhonest man and showing you've got some good sensible Hathaway stuff inyou, after all, and ain't ashamed to turn your back on your evil ways. Susanna ain't one to refuse forgiveness. "

"She forgave for a long time, but she refused at last. Why should shechange now?" John asked. 

"You remember she has n't heard a single word from you, nor about you, in that out-of-the-way place where she's been living, " said Louisa, consolingly. "She thinks you're the same as you were, or worse, maybe. Perhaps she's waiting for you to make some sign through me, for shedon't know that you care anything about her, or are pining to have herback. "

"Such a woman as Susanna must know better than that!" cried John. "Sheought to know that when a man got used to living with anybody like her, he could never endure any other kind. "

"How should she know all that? Jack's been writing to her and tellingher the news for the last few weeks, though I have n't said a word aboutyou because I did n't know how long your reformation was going to holdout; but I won't let the grass grow under my feet now, till I tell herjust how things stand!"

"You're a good woman, Louisa; I don't see why I never noticed itbefore. "

"It's because I've been concealing my goodness too much. Stay here withme tonight and don't go back to brood in that dismal, forsaken house. We'll see how Jack is in the morning, and if he's all right, take himalong with you, so's to be all there together if Susanna comes back thisweek, as I kind of hope she will. Make Ellen have the house all niceand cheerful from top to bottom, with a good supper ready to put on thetable the night she comes. You'd better pick your asters and take 'em infor the parlor, then I'll cut the chrysanthemums for you in the middleof the week. The day she comes I'll happen in, and stay to dinner ifyou find it's going to be mortifying for you; but if everything is as Iexpect it will be, and the way Susanna always did have things, I'llmake for home and leave you to yourselves. Susanna ain't one to nag andhector and triumph over a man when he's repented. "

John hugged Louisa, pepper-and-salt shawl, black rigolette, and all, when she finished this unprecedented speech; and when he went to sleepthat night in the old north chamber, the one he and Louisa had beenborn in, the one his father and mother had died in, it was with a littlesmile of hope on his lips. 

 Set her place at hearth and board As it used to be!

These were the last words that crossed his waking thoughts. Before Louisa went to her own bed, she wrote one of her brief andcharacteristic epistles to Susanna, but it did not reach her, for the"hills of home" had called John's wife so insistently on that Sunday, that the next day found her on her way back to Farnham. 

Dear Susanna [so the letter read], There's a new man in your house atFarnham. His name is John Hathaway, but he's made all over and it washigh time. I say it's the hand of God! He won't own up that it is, butI'm letting him alone, for I've done quarreling, though I don't like tosee a man get religion and deny it, for all the world like Peter inthe New Testament. If you have n't used up the last one of yourseventy-times-sevens, I think you'd better come back and forgive yourhusband. If you don't, you'd better send for your son. I'm willing tobear the burdens the Lord intends specially for me, but Jack belongs toyou, and a good-sized heavy burden he is, too, for his age. I can't denythat, if he is a Hathaway. I think he's the kind of a boy that ought tobe put in a barrel and fed through the bunghole till he grows up; but ofcourse I'm not used to children's ways. 

Be as easy with John at first as you can. I know you 'll say _I_ neverwas with my husband, but he was different, he got to like a bracingtreatment, Adlai did. Many's the time he said to me, "Louisa, when youmake up our minds, I'm always contented. " But John is n't made that way. He's a changed man; now, what we've got to do is to _keep_ him changed. He does n't bear you any grudge for leaving him, so he won't reproachyou. 

Hoping to see you before long, I am, Yours as usual, Louisa Banks. 

XI. "The Open Door"

On the Saturday evening before the yearly Day of Sacrifice the spiritualheads of each Shaker family called upon all the Believers to enterheartily next day into the humiliations and blessings of openconfession. 

The Sabbath dawns upon an awed and solemn household. Footfalls arehushed, the children's chatter is stilled, and all go to the morningmeal in silence. There is a strange quiet, but it is not sadness; itis a hush, as when in Israel's camp the silver trumpets sounded and thepeople stayed in their tents. "Then, " Elder Gray explained to Susanna, "a summons comes to each Believer, for all have been searching the heartand scanning the life of the months past. Softly the one called goesto the door of the one appointed by the Divine Spirit, the humanrepresentative who is to receive the gift of the burdened soul. Womanconfesses to woman, man to man; it is the open door that leads to God. "

Susanna lifted Eldress Abby's latch and stood in her strong, patientpresence; then all at once she knelt impulsively and looked up into herserene eyes. 

"Do you come as a Believer, Susanna?" tremblingly asked the Eldress. 

"No, Eldress Abby. I come as a child of the world who wants to go backto her duty, and hopes to do it better than she ever did before. Sheought to be able to, because you have chastened her pride, taught herthe lesson of patience, strengthened her will, purified her spirit, andcleansed her soul from bitterness and wrath. I waited till afternoonwhen all the confessions were over. May I speak now?"

Eldress Abby bowed, but she looked weak and stricken and old. 

"I had something you would have called a vision last night, but I thinkof it as a dream, and I know just what led to it. You told me PollyReed's story, and the little quail bird had such a charm for Sue thatI've repeated it to her more than once. In my sleep I seemed to see amother quail with a little one beside her. The two were always together, happily flying or hopping about under the trees; but every now and thenI heard a sad little note, as of a deserted bird somewhere in the wood. I walked a short distance, and parting the branches, saw on the openground another parent bird and a young one by its side darting hitherand thither, as if lost; they seemed to be restlessly searching forsomething, and always they uttered the soft, sad note, as if the nesthad disappeared and they had been parted from the little flock. Ofcourse my brain had changed the very meaning of the Shaker story andtranslated it into different terms, but when I woke this morning, Icould think of nothing but my husband and my boy. The two of them seemedto me to be needing me, searching for me in the dangerous open country, while I was hidden away in the safe shelter of the wood--I and the otherlittle quail bird I had taken out of the nest. "

"Do you think you could persuade your husband to unite with us?" askedAbby, wiping her eyes. 

The tension of the situation was too tightly drawn for mirth, or Susannacould have smiled, but she answered soberly, "No; if John could developthe best in himself, he could be a good husband and father, a goodneighbor and citizen, and an upright business man, but never a Shaker. "

"Did n't he insult your wifely honor and disgrace your home?" "Yes, inthe last few weeks before I left him. All his earlier offenses were moreagainst himself than me, in a sense. I forgave him many a time, but I amnot certain it was the seventy times seven that the Bible bids us. Iam not free from blame myself. I was hard the last year, for I had losthope and my pride was trailing in the dust. I left him a bitter letter, one without any love or hope or faith in it, just because at the momentI believed I ought, once in my life, to let him know how I felt towardhim. "

"How can you go back and live under his roof with that feeling? It'sdegradation. "

"It has changed. I was morbid then, and so wounded and weak that I couldnot fight any longer. I am rested now, and calm. My pluck has come back, and my strength. I've learned a good deal here about casting out my owndevils; now I am going home and help him to cast out his. Perhaps hewon't be there; perhaps he does n't want me, though when he was hisvery best self he loved me dearly; but that was long, long ago!" sighedSusanna, drearily. 

"Oh, this thing the world's people call love!" groaned Abby. 

"There is love and love, even in the world outside; for if it is Adam'sworld it is God's, too, Abby! The love I gave my husband was good, Ithink, but it failed somewhere, and I am going back to try again. I amnot any too happy in leaving you and taking up, perhaps, heavier burdensthan those from which I escaped. "

"Night after night I've prayed to be the means of leading you to thecelestial life, " said the Eldress, "but my plaint was not worthy tobe heard. Oh, that God would increase our numbers and so revive ourdrooping faith! We work, we struggle, we sacrifice, we pray, we defy theworld and deny the flesh, yet we fail to gather in Believers. "

"Don't say you 've failed, dear, dear Abby!" cried Susanna, pressingthe Eldress's work-stained hands to her lips. "God speaks to you in onevoice, to me in another. Does it matter so much as long as we both hearHim? Surely it's the hearing and the obeying that counts most! Wish mewell, dear friend, and help me to say goodbye to the Elder. "

The two women found Elder Gray in the office, and Abby, stillunresigned, laid Susanna's case before him. 

"The Great Architect has need of many kinds of workmen in His building, "said the Elder. "There are those who are willing to put aside the tiesof flesh for the kingdom of heaven's sake; 'he that is able to receiveit, let him receive it!'"

"There may also he those who are willing to take up the ties of theflesh for the kingdom of heaven's sake, " answered Susanna, gently, butwith a certain courage. 

Her face glowed with emotion, her eyes shone, her lips were parted. Itwas a new thought. Abby and Daniel gazed at her for a moment withoutspeaking, then Daniel said: "It's a terrible cross to some of theBrethren and Sisters to live here outside of the world, but maybe it'smore of a cross for such as you to live in it, under such conditions ashave surrounded you of late years. To pursue good and resist evil, tobear your cross cheerfully and to grow in grace and knowledge of truthwhile you're bearing it that's the lesson of life, I suppose. If youfind you can't learn it outside, come back to us, Susanna. "

"I will, " she promised, "and no words can speak my gratitude for whatyou have all done for me. Many a time it will come back to me and keepme from faltering. "

She looked back at him from the open doorway, timidly. 

"Don't forget us, Sue and me, altogether, " she said, her eyes fillingwith tears. "Come to Farnham, if you will, and see if I am a credit toShaker teaching! I shall never be here again, perhaps, and somehow itseems to me as if you, Elder Gray, with your education and your gifts, ought to be leading a larger life than this. "

"I've hunted in the wild Maine forests, in my young days; I've spearedsalmon in her rivers and shot rapids ill a birchbark canoe, " said theElder, looking up from the pine table that served as a desk. "I've beenbefore the mast and seen strange countries; I've fought Indians; I'vefaced perils on land and sea; but this Shaker life is the greatestadventure of all!"

"Adventure?" echoed Susanna, uncomprehendingly. 

"Adventure!" repeated the Elder, smiling at his own thoughts. "Whether Ifail, or whether I succeed, it's a splendid adventure in ethics. "

Abby and Daniel looked at each other when Susanna passed out of theoffice door. 

"'They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had beenof us, they would have continued with us, '" he quoted quietly. 

Abby wiped her eyes with her apron. "It's a hard road to travelsometimes, Daniel!" she said. 

"Yee; but think where it leads, Abby, think where it leads! You're notgoing to complain of dust when you're treading the King's Highway!"

Susanna left the office with a drooping head, knowing the sadness thatshe had left behind. Brother Ansel sat under the trees near by, and hisshrewd eye perceived the drift of coming events. 

"Well, Susanna, " he drawled, "you're goin' to leave us, like most o' theother 'jiners. ' I can see that with one eye shut. "

"Yes, " she replied with a half smile; "but you see, Ansel, I 'jined'John Hathaway before I knew anything about Shaker doctrines. "

"Yee; but what's to prevent your onjinin' him? They used to tie upmarried folks in the old times so't they could n't move an inch. Whenthey read the constitution and bylaws over 'em they used to put in 'tilldeath do us part. ' That's the way my father was hitched to his threewives, but death _did_ 'em part--fortunately for him!"

"'Till death us do part' is still in the marriage service, " Susannasaid, "and I think of it very often. "

"I want to know if that's there yit!" exclaimed Ansel, with apparentsurprise; "I thought they must be leavin' it out, there's so muchonjinin' nowadays! Well, accordin' to my notions, if there is anythingwuss 'n marriage, it's hevin' it hold till death, for then menfolksdon't git any chance of a speritual life till afterwards. They certainlydon't when they're being dragged down by women-folks an' young ones. "

"I think the lasting part of the bargain makes it all the more solemn, "Susanna argued. 

"Oh, yes, it's solemn enough, but so's a prayer meetin', an' consid'ablemore elevatin' "; and here Ansel regarded the surrounding scenery withfrowning disapproval, as if it left much to be desired. 

"Don't you think that there are any agreeable and pleasant women, Ansel?" ventured Susanna. 

"Land, yes; heaps of 'em; but they all wear Shaker bunnits!"

"I suppose you know more about the women in the outside world than mostof the Brothers, on account of traveling so much?"

"I guess anybody 't drives a seed-cart or peddles stuff along theroad knows enough o' women to keep clear of 'em. They 'll come out thekitchen door, choose their papers o' seasonin' an' bottles o' flavorin', worry you 'bout the price an' take the aidge off every dime, make up an'then onmake their minds 'bout what they want, ask if it's pure, an' whenby good luck you git your cart out o' the yard, they come runnin' alongthe road after ye to git ye to swap a bottle o' vanilla for some sprucegum an' give 'em back the change. "

Susanna could not help smiling at Ansel's arraignment of her sex. "Doyou think they follow you for the pleasure of shopping, or the pleasureof your conversation, Ansel?" she asked slyly. 

"A little o' both, mebbe; though the pleasure's all on their side, "returned the unchivalrous Ansel. "But take them same women, cut theirhair close to their heads (there's a heap o' foolishness in hair, somehow), purge 'em o' their vanity, so they won't be lookin' in theglass all the time, make 'em depend on one another for sassiety, so theywon't crave no conversation with menfolks, an' you git an article that's'bout as good and 'bout as stiddy as a man!"

"You never seem to remember that men are just as dangerous towomen's happiness and goodness as women are to men's, " said Susanna, courageously. 

"It don't seem so to me! Never see a man, hardly, that could stick tothe straight an' narrer if a woman wanted him to go the other way. Weakan' unstable as water, menfolks are, an' women are pow'ful strong. "

"Have your own way, Ansel! I'm going back to the world, but no man shallever say I hindered him from being good. You'll see women clearer inanother world. "

"There'll be precious few of 'em to see!" retorted Ansel. "You're aboutthe best o' the lot, but even you have a kind of a managin' way withye, besides fillin' us all full o' false hopes that we'd gathered in auseful Believer, one cal'lated to spread the doctrines o' Mother Ann!"

"I know, I know, Ansel, and oh, how sorry I am! You would never believehow I long to stay and help you, never believe how much you have helpedme! Goodbye, Ansel; you've made me smile when my heart was breaking. Ishan't forget you!"

XII. The Hills of Home

Susanna had found Sue in the upper chamber at the Office Building, andbegan to make the simple preparations for her homeward journey. It wasthe very hour when John Hathaway was saying:--

 "Set her place at hearth and board As it used to be. "

Sue interfered with the packing somewhat by darting to and fro, bringingher mother sacred souvenirs given her by the Shaker sisters andthe children--needle-books, pin-balls, thimble-cases, packets offlower-seeds, polished pebbles, bottles of flavoring extract. 

"This is for Fardie, " she would say, "and this for Jack and this forEllen and this for Aunt Louisa--the needle-book, 'cause she's so useful. Oh, I'm glad we're going home, Mardie, though I do love it here, and Iwas most ready to be a truly Shaker. It's kind of pityish to have yourhair shingled and your stocking half-knitted and know how to say 'yee'and then have it all wasted. "

Susanna dropped a tear on the dress she was folding. The child was goinghome, as she had come away from it, gay, irresponsible, and merry; itwas only the mothers who hoped and feared and dreaded. The very universewas working toward Susanna's desire at that moment, but she was allunaware of the happiness that lay so near. She could not see thefreshness of the house in Farnham, the new bits of furniture here andthere; the autumn leaves in her own bedroom; her worktable full ofthe records of John's sorrowful summer; Jack handsomer and taller, andsofter, also, in his welcoming mood; Ellen rosy and excited. She did notknow that Joel Atterbury had said to John that day, "I take it all back, old man, and I hope you'll stay on in the firm!" nor that Aunt Louisa, who was putting stiff, short-stemmed chrysanthemums in cups and tumblershere and there through the house, was much more flexible and human thanwas natural to her; nor that John, alternating between hope and despair, was forever humming:

 "Set her place at hearth and board As it used to be: Higher are the hills of home, Bluer is the sea!"

It is often so. They who go weeping to look for the dead body of asorrow, find a vision of angels where the body has lain. 

"I hope Fardie 'll be glad to see us and Ellen will have gingerbread, "Sue chattered; then, pausing at the window, she added, "I'm sorry toleave the hills, 'cause I 'specially like them, don't you, Mardie?"

"We are leaving the Shaker hills, but we are going to the hills ofhome, " her mother answered cheerily. "Don't you remember the Farnhamhills, dear?"

"Yes, I remember, " and Sue looked thoughtful; "they were farther off andcovered with woods; these are smooth and gentle. And we shall miss thelake, Mardie. "

"Yes; but we can look at the blue sea from your bedroom window, Sue!"

"And we'll tell Fardie about Polly Reed and the little quail bird, won'twe?"

"Yes; but he and Jack will have a great deal to say to us, and we mustn't talk all the time about the dear, kind Shakers, you know!"

"You're all '_buts_, ' Mardie!" at which Susanna smiled through hertears. 

Twilight deepened into dusk, and dusk into dark, and then the moon roseover the poplar trees outside the window where Susanna and Sue weresleeping. The Shaker Brethren and Sisters were resting serenely aftertheir day of confession. It was the aged Tabitha's last Sabbath onearth, but had she known, it would have made no difference; if ever asoul was ready for heaven, it was Tabitha's. 

There was an Irish family at the foot of the long hill that lay betweenthe Settlement and the village of Albion; father, mother, and childrenhad prayed to the Virgin before they went to bed; and the gray-hairedminister in the low-roofed parsonage was writing his communion sermon ona text sacred to the orthodox Christian world. The same moon shone overall, and over millions of others worshiping strange idols and holdingstrange beliefs in strange far lands, yet none of them owned the wholeof heaven; for as Elder Gray said, "It is a big place and belongs toGod. "

Susanna Hathaway went back to John thinking it her plain duty, and to meit seems beautiful that she found waiting for her at the journey's end anew love that was better than the old; found a husband to whom she couldsay in that first sacred hour when they were alone together, "Nevermind, John! Let's forget, and begin all over again. "

When Susanna and Sue alighted at the little railway station at Farnham, and started to walk through the narrow streets that led to the suburbs, the mother's heart beat more and more tumultuously as she realized thatthe issues of four lives would be settled before nightfall. 

Little did Sue reck of life issues, skipping like a young roe from oneside of the road to the other. "There are the hills, not a bit changed, Mardie!" she cried; "and the sea is just where it was!... Here's thehouse with the parrot, do you remember? Now the place where the dogbarks and snarls is coming next... P'raps he'll be dead.. , or p'rapshe'll be nicer... Keep close to me till we get past the gate... He didn't come out, so p'raps he is dead or gone a-visiting.... There's that'specially lazy cow that's always lying down in the Buxtons' field.... I don't b'lieve she's moved since we came away.... Do you s'pose shestands up to be milked, Mardie? There's the old bridge over the brook, just the same, only the woodbine's red.... There's... There's... Oh, Mardie, look, look!... I do b'lieve it's our Jacky!"

Sue flew over the ground like a swallow, calling "Jack-y! Jack-y! It'sme and Mardie come home!"

Jack extricated himself from his sister's strangling hug and settled hiscollar. "I'm awful glad to see you, Sukey, " he said, "but I'm gettingtoo big to be kissed. Besides, my pockets are full of angleworms andfishhooks. "

"Are you too big to be kissed even by mother?" called Susanna, hurryingto her boy, who submitted to her embrace with better grace. "O Jack, Jack! say you're glad to see mother! Say it, say it; I can't wait, Jack!"

"'Course I'm glad! Why would n't I be? I tell you I'm tired of AuntLouisa, though she's easier than she was. Time and again I've packed mylunch basket and started to run away, but I always made it a picnic andwent back again, thinking they'd make such a row over me. "

"Aunt Louisa is always kind when you're obedient, " Susanna urged, "Sheain't so stiff as she was. Ellen is real worried about her and thinksshe's losing her strength, she's so easy to get along with. "

"How's... Father... ?"

"Better'n he was. "

"Has n't he been well?"

"Not so very; always quiet and won't eat, nor play, nor anything. I'mhome with him since Sunday. "

"What is the matter with your clothes?" asked Susanna, casting amaternal eye over him while she pulled him down here and up there, withanxious disapproving glances. "You look so patched, and wrinkled, andgrubby. "

"Aunt Louisa and father make me keep my best to put on for you, if youshould come. I clean up and dress every afternoon at train time, only Iforgot today and came fishing. "

"It's too cold to fish, sonny. "

"It ain't too cold to fish, but it's too cold for 'em to bite, "corrected Jack. 

"Why were you expecting us just now?" asked Susanna. "I did n't writebecause... Because, I thought... Perhaps... It would be better tosurprise you. "

"Father's expecting you every day, not just this one, " said Jack. 

Susanna sank down on a stone at the end of the bridge, and leaning herhead against the railing, burst into tears. In that moment the worst ofher fears rolled away from her heart like the stone from the mouth of asepulcher. If her husband had looked for her return, he must have missedher, regretted her, needed her, just a little. His disposition wassweet, even if it were thoughtless, and he might not meet her withreproaches after all. There might not be the cold greeting she had oftenfeared--"_Well, you've concluded to come back, have you_? _It was abouttime_!" If only John were a little penitent, a little anxious to meether on some common ground, she felt her task would be an easier one. 

"Have you got a pain, Mardie?" cried Sue, anxiously bending over hermother. 

"No, dear, " she answered, smiling through her tears and stretching ahand to both children to help her to her feet. "No, dear, I've lostone!"

"I cry when anything aches, not when it stops, " remarked Jack, as thethree started again on their walk. "Say, Sukey, you look bigger andfatter than you did when you went away, and you've got short curls'stead of long ones. Do you see how I've grown? Two inches!"

"I'm inches and inches bigger and taller, " Sue boasted, standing ontiptoe and stretching herself proudly. "And I can knit, and pull maplecandy, and say Yee, and sing 'O Virgin Church, how great thy light. '"

"Pooh, " said Jack, "I can sing 'A sailor's life's the life for me, Yoho, yo ho!' Step along faster, mummy dear; it's 'most supper time. AuntLouisa won't scold if you're with me. There's the house, see? Father 'llbe working in the garden covering up the asters, so they won't freezebefore you come. "

"There is no garden, Jack. What do you mean?" "Wait till you see ifthere's no garden! Hurrah! there's father at the window, side of AuntLouisa. Won't he be pleased I met you halfway and brought you home!"

Oh! it was beautiful, the autumn twilight, the smoke of her ownhearth-side rising through the brick chimneys! She thought she had leftthe way of peace behind her, but no, the way of peace was here, whereher duty was, and her husband and children. 

The sea was deep blue; the home hills rolled softly along the horizon;the little gate that Susanna had closed behind her in anger and miserystood wide open; shrubs, borders, young hedgerows, beds of late autumnflowers greeted her eyes and touched her heart. A foot sounded on thethreshold; the home door opened and smiled a greeting; and then a voicechoked with feeling, glad with welcome, called her name. 

Light-footed Sue ran with a cry of joy into her father's outstretchedarms, and then leaping down darted to Ellen, chattering like a magpie. Husband and wife looked at each other for one quivering moment, and thenclasped each other close. 

"Forgive! O Susanna, forgive!"

John's eyes and lips and arms made mute appeals, and it was then Susannasaid, "Never mind, John! Let's forget, and begin all over again!"