THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER

By Kate Douglas Wiggin

CONTENTS

 SPRING

 I. SACO WATER II. THE SISTERS III. DEACON BAXTER'S WIVES IV. SOMETHING OF A HERO V. PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE VI. A KISS VII. WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

 SUMMER

 VIII. THE JOINER'S SHOP IX. CEPHAS SPEAKS X. ON TORY HILL XI. A JUNE SUNDAY XII. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER XIII. HAYING TIME XIV. UNCLE BART DISCOURSES XV. IVORY'S MOTHER XVI. LOCKED OUT

 AUTUMN

 XVII. A BRACE OF LOVERS XVIII. A STATE O' MAINE PROPHET XIX. AT THE BRICK STORE XX. THE ROD THAT BLOSSOMED XXI. LOIS BURIES HER DEAD XXII. HARVEST-TIME XXIII. AUNT ABBY'S WINDOW XXIV. PHOEBE TRIUMPHS XXV. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM

 WINTER

 XXVI. A WEDDING-RING XXVII. THE CONFESSIONAL XXVIII. PATTY IS SHOWN THE DOOR XXIX. WAITSTILL SPEAKS HER MIND XXX. A CLASH OF WILLS XXXI. SENTRY DUTY XXXII. THE HOUSE OF AARON XXXIII. AARON'S ROD XXXIV. THE DEACON'S WATERLOO XXXV. TWO HEAVENS

THE STORY OF WAITSTILL BAXTER

SPRING

I. SACO WATER

FAR, far up, in the bosom of New Hampshire's granite hills, the Saco hasits birth. As the mountain rill gathers strength it takes

 "Through Bartlett's vales its tuneful way, Or hides in Conway's fragrant brakes, Retreating from the glare of day. "

Now it leaves the mountains and flows through "green Fryeburg's woodsand farms. " In the course of its frequent turns and twists and bends, itmeets with many another stream, and sends it, fuller and stronger, alongits rejoicing way. When it has journeyed more than a hundred miles andis nearing the ocean, it greets the Great Ossipee River and accepts itscrystal tribute. Then, in its turn, the Little Ossipee joins forces, and the river, now a splendid stream, flows onward to Bonny Eagle, toModeration and to Salmon Falls, where it dashes over the dam like ayoung Niagara and hurtles, in a foamy torrent, through the ragged defilecut between lofty banks of solid rock. 

Widening out placidly for a moment's rest in the sunny reaches nearPleasant Point, it gathers itself for a new plunge at Union Falls, afterwhich it speedily merges itself in the bay and is fresh water no more. 

At one of the falls on the Saco, the two little hamlets of Edgewood andRiverboro nestle together at the bridge and make one village. The streamis a wonder of beauty just here; a mirror of placid loveliness abovethe dam, a tawny, roaring wonder at the fall, and a mad, white-fleckedtorrent as it dashes on its way to the ocean. 

The river has seen strange sights in its time, though the history ofthese two tiny villages is quite unknown to the great world outside. They have been born, waxed strong, and fallen almost to decay whileSaco Water has tumbled over the rocks and spent itself in its impetuousjourney to the sea. 

It remembers the yellow-moccasined Sokokis as they issued from theIndian Cellar and carried their birchen canoes along the wooded shore. It was in those years that the silver-skinned salmon leaped in itscrystal depths; the otter and the beaver crept with sleek wet skinsupon its shore; and the brown deer came down to quench his thirst at itsbrink while at twilight the stealthy forms of bear and panther and wolfwere mirrored in its glassy surface. 

Time sped; men chained the river's turbulent forces and ordered itto grind at the mill. Then houses and barns appeared along its banks, bridges were built, orchards planted, forests changed into farms, white-painted meetinghouses gleamed through the trees and distant bellsrang from their steeples on quiet Sunday mornings. 

All at once myriads of great hewn logs vexed its downward course, slender logs linked together in long rafts, and huge logs drifting downsingly or in pairs. Men appeared, running hither and thither like ants, and going through mysterious operations the reason for which the rivercould never guess: but the mill-wheels turned, the great saws buzzed, the smoke from tavern chimneys rose in the air, and the rattle andclatter of stage-coaches resounded along the road. 

Now children paddled with bare feet in the river's sandy coves andshallows, and lovers sat on its alder-shaded banks and exchanged theirvows just where the shuffling bear was wont to come down and drink. 

The Saco could remember the "cold year, " when there was a black frostevery month of the twelve, and though almost all the corn along itsshores shrivelled on the stalk, there were two farms where the vaporfrom the river saved the crops, and all the seed for the next seasoncame from the favored spot, to be known as "Egypt" from that dayhenceforward. 

Strange, complex things now began to happen, and the river played itsown part in some of these, for there were disastrous freshets, thesudden breaking-up of great jams of logs, and the drowning of men whowere engulfed in the dark whirlpool below the rapids. 

Caravans, with menageries of wild beasts, crossed the bridge now everyyear. An infuriated elephant lifted the side of the old Edgewood Tavernbarn, and the wild laughter of the roistering rum-drinkers who weretantalizing the animals floated down to the river's edge. The roar ofa lion, tearing and chewing the arm of one of the bystanders, and thecheers of the throng when a plucky captain of the local militia thrusta stake down the beast's throat, --these sounds displaced the formerwar-whoop of the Indians and the ring of the axe in the virgin forestsalong the shores. 

There were days, and moonlight nights, too, when strange sights andsounds of quite another nature could have been noted by the river as itflowed under the bridge that united the two little villages. 

Issuing from the door of the Riverboro Town House, and winding downthe hill, through the long row of teams and carriages that lined theroadside, came a procession of singing men and singing women. Convincedof sin, but entranced with promised pardon; spiritually intoxicated bythe glowing eloquence of the latter-day prophet they were worshipping, the band of "Cochranites" marched down the dusty road and across thebridge, dancing, swaying, waving handkerchiefs, and shouting hosannas. 

God watched, and listened, knowing that there would be other prophets, true and false, in the days to come, and other processions followingthem; and the river watched and listened too, as it hurried on towardsthe sea with its story of the present that was sometime to be thehistory of the past. 

When Jacob Cochrane was leading his overwrought, ecstatic band acrossthe river, Waitstill Baxter, then a child, was watching the strange, noisy company from the window of a little brick dwelling on the top ofthe Town-House Hill. 

Her stepmother stood beside her with a young baby in her arms, but whenshe saw what held the gaze of the child she drew her away, saying: "Wemustn't look, Waitstill; your father don't like it!"

"Who was the big man at the head, mother?"

"His name is Jacob Cochrane, but you mustn't think or talk about him; heis very wicked. "

"He doesn't look any wickeder than the others, " said the child. "Who wasthe man that fell down in the road, mother, and the woman that knelt andprayed over him? Why did he fall, and why did she pray, mother?"

"That was Master Aaron Boynton, the schoolmaster, and his wife. He onlymade believe to fall down, as the Cochranites do; the way they carry onis a disgrace to the village, and that's the reason your father won'tlet us look at them. "

"I played with a nice boy over to Boynton's, " mused the child. 

"That was Ivory, their only child. He is a good little fellow, but hismother and father will spoil him with their crazy ways. "

"I hope nothing will happen to him, for I love him, " said the childgravely. "He showed me a humming-bird's nest, the first ever I saw, andthe littlest!"

"Don't talk about loving him, " chided the woman. "If your father shouldhear you, he'd send you to bed without your porridge. "

"Father couldn't hear me, for I never speak when he's at home, " saidgrave little Waitstill. "And I'm used to going to bed without myporridge. "

II. THE SISTERS

THE river was still running under the bridge, but the current of timehad swept Jacob Cochrane out of sight, though not out of mind, for hehad left here and there a disciple to preach his strange and uncertaindoctrine. Waitstill, the child who never spoke in her father's presence, was a young woman now, the mistress of the house; the stepmother wasdead, and the baby a girl of seventeen. 

The brick cottage on the hilltop had grown only a little shabbier. Deacon Foxwell Baxter still slammed its door behind him every morning atseven o'clock and, without any such cheerful conventions as good-byes tohis girls, walked down to the bridge to open his store. 

The day, properly speaking, had opened when Waitstill and Patience hadleft their beds at dawn, built the fire, fed the hens and turkeys, andprepared the breakfast, while the Deacon was graining the horse andmilking the cows. Such minor "chores" as carrying water from the well, splitting kindling, chopping pine, or bringing wood into the kitchen, were left to Waitstill, who had a strong back, or, if she had not, hadnever been unwise enough to mention the fact in her father's presence. The almanac day, however, which opened with sunrise, had nothing to dowith the real human day, which always began when Mr. Baxter slammedthe door behind him, and reached its high noon of delight when hedisappeared from view. 

"He's opening the store shutters!" chanted Patience from the heights ofa kitchen chair by the window. "Now he's taken his cane and beaten offthe Boynton puppy that was sitting on the steps as usual, --I don't meanIvory's dog" (here the girl gave a quick glance at her sister), "butRodman's little yellow cur. Rodman must have come down to the bridgeon some errand for Ivory. Isn't it odd, when that dog has all the otherstore steps to sit upon, he should choose father's, when every bonein his body must tell him how father hates him and the whole Boyntonfamily. "

"Father has no real cause that I ever heard of; but some dogs neverknow when they've had enough beating, nor some people either. " saidWaitstill, speaking from the pantry. 

"Don't be gloomy when it's my birthday, Sis!--Now he's opened the doorand kicked the cat! All is ready for business at the Baxter store. "

"I wish you weren't quite so free with your tongue, Patty. "

"Somebody must talk, " retorted the girl, jumping down from the chairand shaking back her mop of red-gold curls. "I'll put this hateful, childish, round comb in and out just once more, then it will disappearforever. This very after-noon up goes my hair!"

"You know it will be of no use unless you braid it very plainly andneatly. Father will take notice and make you smooth it down. "

"Father hasn't looked me square in the face for years; besides, myhair won't braid, and nothing can make it quite plain and neat, thankgoodness! Let us be thankful for small mercies, as Jed Morrill said whenthe lightning struck his mother-in-law and skipped his wife. "

"Patty, I will not permit you to repeat those tavern stories; they arenot seemly on the lips of a girl!" And Waitstill came out of the pantrywith a shadow of disapproval in her eyes and in her voice. 

Patty flung her arms round her sister tempestuously, and pulled out thewaves of her hair so that it softened her face. --"I'll be good, " shesaid, "and oh, Waity! let's invent some sort of cheap happiness forto-day! I shall never be seventeen again and we have so many troubles!Let's put one of the cows in the horse's stall and see what will happen!Or let's spread up our beds with the head at the foot and put the chestof drawers on the other side of the room, or let's make candy! Do youthink father would miss the molasses if we only use a cupful? Couldn'twe strain the milk, but leave the churning and the dishes for an hour ortwo, just once? If you say 'yes' I can think of something wonderful todo!"

"What is it?" asked Waitstill, relenting at the sight of the girl'seager, roguish face. 

"PIERCE MY EARS!" cried Patty. "Say you will!"

"Oh! Patty, Patty, I am afraid you are given over to vanity! I daren'tlet you wear eardrops without father's permission. "

"Why not? Lots of church members wear them, so it can't be a mortal sin. Father is against all adornments, but that's because he doesn't want tobuy them. You've always said I should have your mother's coral pendantswhen I was old enough. Here I am, seventeen today, and Dr. Perry says Iam already a well-favored young woman. I can pull my hair over my earsfor a few days and when the holes are all made and healed, even fathercannot make me fill them up again. Besides, I'll never wear the earringsat home!"

"Oh! my dear, my dear!" sighed Waitstill, with a half-sob in her voice. "If only I was wise enough to know how we could keep from these littledeceits, yet have any liberty or comfort in life!"

"We can't! The Lord couldn't expect us to bear all that we bear, "exclaimed Patty, "without our trying once in a while to have a goodtime in our own way. We never do a thing that we are ashamed of, or thatother girls don't do every day in the week; only our pleasures alwayshave to be taken behind father's back. It's only me that's ever wrong, anyway, for you are always an angel. It's a burning shame and you onlytwenty-one yourself. I'll pierce your ears if you say so, and let youwear your own coral drops!"

"No, Patty; I've outgrown those longings years ago. When your motherdied and left father and you and the house to me, my girlhood died, too, though I was only thirteen. "

"It was only your inside girlhood that died, " insisted Patty stoutly, "The outside is as fresh as the paint on Uncle Barty's new ell. You'vegot the loveliest eyes and hair in Riverboro, and you know it; besides, Ivory Boynton would tell you so if you didn't. Come and bore my ears, there's a darling!"

"Ivory Boynton never speaks a word of my looks, nor a word that fatherand all the world mightn't hear. " And Waitstill flushed. 

"Then it's because he's shy and silent and has so many troubles of hisown that he doesn't dare say anything. When my hair is once up and thecoral pendants are swinging in my ears, I shall expect to hear somethingabout MY looks, I can tell you. Waity, after all, though we never havewhat we want to eat, and never a decent dress to our backs, nor a youngman to cross the threshold, I wouldn't change places with Ivory Boynton, would you?" Here Patty swept the hearth vigorously with a turkey wingand added a few corncobs to the fire. 

Waitstill paused a moment in her task of bread-kneading. "Well, " sheanswered critically, "at least we know where our father is. "

"We do, indeed! We also know that he is thoroughly alive!"

"And though people do talk about him, they can't say the things they sayof Master Aaron Boynton. I don't believe father would ever run away anddesert us. "

"I fear not, " said Patty. "I wish the angels would put the idea into hishead, though, of course, it wouldn't be the angels; they'd be above it. It would have to be the 'Old Driver, ' as Jed Morrill calls the Evil One;but whoever did it, the result would be the same: we should be deserted, and live happily ever after. Oh! to be deserted, and left with you aloneon this hilltop, what joy it would be!"

Waitstill frowned, but did not interfere further with Patty'sintemperate speech. She knew that she was simply serving as anescape-valve, and that after the steam was "let off" she would be morerational. 

"Of course, we are motherless, " continued Patty wistfully, "but poorIvory is worse than motherless. "

"No, not worse, Patty, " said Waitstill, taking the bread-board andmoving towards the closet. "Ivory loves his mother and she loves him, with all the mind she has left! She has the best blood of New Englandflowing in her veins, and I suppose it was a great come down for her tomarry Aaron Boynton, clever and gifted though he was. Now Ivory has toprotect her, poor, daft, innocent creature, and hide her away from thegossip of the village. He is surely the best of sons, Ivory Boynton!"

"She is a terrible care for him, and like to spoil his life, " saidPatty. 

"There are cares that swell the heart and make it bigger and warmer, Patty, just as there are cares that shrivel it and leave it tired andcold. Love lightens Ivory's afflictions but that is something you and Ihave to do without, so it seems. "

"I suppose little Rodman is some comfort to the Boyntons, even if he isonly ten. " Patty suggested. 

"No doubt. He's a good little fellow, and though it's rather hard forIvory to be burdened for these last five years with the support of achild who's no nearer kin than a cousin, still he's of use, minding Mrs. Boynton and the house when Ivory's away. The school-teacher says he iswonderful at his books and likely to be a great credit to the Boyntonssome day or other. "

"You've forgot to name our one great blessing, Waity, and I believe, anyway, you're talking to keep my mind off the earrings!"

"You mean we've each other? No, Patty, I never forget that, day ornight. 'Tis that makes me willing to bear any burden father choosesto put upon us. --Now the bread is set, but I don't believe I have thecourage to put a needle into your tender flesh, Patty; I really don't. "

"Nonsense! I've got the waxed silk all ready and chosen the right-sizedneedle and I'll promise not to jump or screech more than I can help. We'll make a tiny lead-pencil dot right in the middle of the lobe, thenyou place the needle on it, shut your eyes, and JAB HARD! I expect tofaint, but when I 'come to, ' we can decide which of us will pull theneedle through to the other side. Probably it will be you, I'm such acoward. If it hurts dreadfully, I'll have only one pierced to-day andtake the other to-morrow; and if it hurts very dreadfully, perhaps I'llgo through life with one ear-ring. Aunt Abby Cole will say it's just oddenough to suit me!"

"You'll never go through life with one tongue at the rate you use itnow, " chided Waitstill, "for it will never last you. Come, we'll takethe work-basket and go out in the barn where no one will see or hearus. "

"Goody, goody! Come along!" and Patty clapped her hands in triumph. "Have you got the pencil and the needle and the waxed silk? Then bringthe camphor bottle to revive me, and the coral pendants, too, just togive me courage. Hurry up! It's ten o'clock. I was born at sun-rise, soI'm 'going on' eighteen and can't waste any time!"

III. DEACON BAXTER'S WIVES

FOXWELL BAXTER was ordinarily called "Old Foxy" by the boys of thedistrict, and also, it is to be feared, by the men gathered for eveningconference at the various taverns, or at one of the rival villagestores. 

He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, with a pasture, a woodlot, and a hay-field, but the principal source of his income camefrom trading. His sign bore the usual legend: "WEST INDIA GOODS ANDGROCERIES, " and probably the most profitable articles in his stock wererum, molasses, sugar, and tobacco; but there were chests of rice, tea, coffee, and spices, barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cottonand woolen cloth on the shelves above the counters. His shop window, seldom dusted or set in order, held a few clay pipes, some glass jars ofpeppermint or sassafras lozenges, black licorice, stick-candy, and sugargooseberries. These dainties were seldom renewed, for it was only a verybold child, or one with an ungovernable appetite for sweets, who wouldhave spent his penny at Foxy Baxter's store. 

He was thought a sharp and shrewd trader, but his honesty was neverquestioned; indeed, the only trait in his character that ever came upfor general discussion was his extraordinary, unbelievable, colossalmeanness. This so eclipsed every other passion in the man, and loomedso bulkily and insistently in the foreground, that had he cherished asecond vice no one would have observed it, and if he really did possessa casual virtue, it could scarcely have reared its head in such uglycompany. 

It might be said, to defend the fair name of the Church, that Mr. Baxter's deaconhood did not include very active service in the courts ofthe Lord. He had "experienced religion" at fifteen and made professionof his faith, but all well-brought-up boys and girls did the samein those days; their parents saw to that! If change of conviction orbacksliding occurred later on, that was not their business! At theripe age of twenty-five he was selected to fill a vacancy and became adeacon, thinking it might be good for trade, as it was, for some years. He was very active at the time of the "Cochrane craze, " since anydefence of the creed that included lively detective work and incessantspying on his neighbors was particularly in his line; but for many yearsnow, though he had been regular in attendance at church, he had neverofficiated at communion, and his diaconal services had gradually lapsedinto the passing of the contribution-box, a task of which he neverwearied; it was such a keen pleasure to make other people yield theirpennies for a good cause, without adding any of his own!

Deacon Baxter had now been a widower for some years and the communityhad almost relinquished the idea of his seeking a fourth wife. This wasa matter of some regret, for there was a general feeling that it wouldbe a good thing for the Baxter girls to have some one to help with thehousework and act as a buffer between them and their grim and irascibleparent. As for the women of the village, they were mortified that theDeacon had been able to secure three wives, and refused to believe thatthe universe held anywhere a creature benighted enough to become hisfourth. 

The first, be it said, was a mere ignorant girl, and he a beardlessyouth of twenty, who may not have shown his true qualities so early inlife. She bore him two sons, and it was a matter of comment at thetime that she called them, respectively, Job and Moses, hoping that theendurance and meekness connected with these names might somehow helpthem in their future relations with their father. Pneumonia, coupledwith profound discouragement, carried her off in a few years to makeroom for the second wife, Waitstill's mother, who was of different fibreand greatly his superior. She was a fine, handsome girl, the orphandaughter of up-country gentle-folks, who had died when she was eighteen, leaving her alone in the world and penniless. 

Baxter, after a few days' acquaintance, drove into the dooryard of thehouse where she was a visitor and, showing her his two curly-headedboys, suddenly asked her to come and be their stepmother. She assented, partly because she had nothing else to do with her existence, so far asshe could see, and also because she fell in love with the children atfirst sight and forgot, as girls will, that it was their father whom shewas marrying. 

She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome, and shemade a brave fight of it with Foxy; long enough to bring a daughter intothe world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a little way on her lifejourney, --then she, too, gave up the struggle and died. Typhoid fever itwas, combined with complete loss of illusions, and a kind of despairingrage at having made so complete a failure of her existence. 

The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a goodyoung heifer if he would jog about the country a little and pick himup a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she proved energetic, economical, and amiable, be eventually raised to the proud position ofhis wife. If she was young, healthy, smart, tidy, capable, and a goodmanager, able to milk the cows, harness the horse, and make good butter, he would give a dollar and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may seem, she said "yes" when the Deacon (whose ardorwas kindled at having paid three months' wages) proposed a speedymarriage. The two boys by this time had reached the age of discretion, and one of them evinced the fact by promptly running away to partsunknown, never to be heard from afterwards; while the other, a recklessand unhappy lad, was drowned while running on the logs in the river. OldFoxy showed little outward sign of his loss, though he had brought theboys into the world solely with the view of having one of them work onthe farm and the other in the store. 

His third wife, the one originally secured for a housekeeper, bore hima girl, very much to his disgust, a girl named Patience, and great wasWaitstill's delight at this addition to the dull household. The motherwas a timid, colorless, docile creature, but Patience nevertheless was asparkling, bright-eyed baby, who speedily became the very centre of theuniverse to the older child. So the months and years wore on, drearilyenough, until, when Patience was nine, the third Mrs. Baxter succumbedafter the manner of her predecessors, and slipped away from a life thathad grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as "liver complaint, "but scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind words, hard work, andcontinual bullying may possibly have been contributory causes. Dr. Perrythought so, for he had witnessed three most contented deaths inthe Baxter house. The ladies were all members of the church and hadpresumably made their peace with God, but the good doctor fancied thattheir pleasure in joining the angels was mild compared with their reliefat parting with the Deacon. 

"I know I hadn't ought to put the care on you, Waitstill, and you onlythirteen, " poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, as the young girl was watching withher one night when the end seemed drawing near. "I've made out to livetill now when Patience is old enough to dress herself and help round, but I'm all beat out and can't try any more. "

"Do you mean I'm to take your place, be a mother to Patience, and keephouse, and everything?" asked Waitstill quaveringly. 

"I don't see but you'll have to, unless your father marries again. He'llnever hire help, you know that!"

"I won't have another mother in this house, " flashed the girl. "There'sbeen three here and that's enough! If he brings anybody home, I'll takePatience and run away, as Job did; or if he leaves me alone, I'll washand iron and scrub and cook till Patience grows up, and then we'll gooff together and hide somewhere. I'm fourteen; oh, mother, how sooncould I be married and take Patience to live with me? Do you thinkanybody will ever want me?"

"Don't marry for a home, Waitstill! Your own mother did that, and so didI, and we were both punished for it! You've been a great help and I'vehad a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I wouldn't go through itagain, not even for her! You're real smart and capable for your age andyou've done your full share of the work every day, even when you were atschool. You can get along all right. "

"I don't know how I'm going to do everything alone, " said the girl, forcing back her tears. "You've always made the brown bread, and minewill never suit father. I suppose I can wash, but don't know how to ironstarched clothes, nor make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a rooster, mother, it's no use to ask me to! I'm not big enough to be the head ofthe family. "

Mrs. Baxter turned her pale, tired face away from Waitstill's appealingeyes. 

"I know, " she said faintly. "I hate to leave you to bear the bruntalone, but I must!... Take good care of Patience and don't let her getinto trouble.... You won't, will you?"

"I'll be careful, " promised Waitstill, sobbing quietly; "I'll do mybest. "

"You've got more courage than ever I had; don't you s'pose you canstiffen up and defend yourself a little mite?... Your father'd ought tobe opposed, for his own good... But I've never seen anybody that dareddo it. " Then, after a pause, she said with a flash of spirit, --"Anyhow, Waitstill, he's your father after all. He's no blood relation of mine, and I can't stand him another day; that's the reason I'm willing todie. "

IV. SOMETHING OF A HERO

IVORY BOYNTON lifted the bars that divided his land from the highroadand walked slowly toward the house. It was April, but there were stillpatches of snow here and there, fast melting under a drizzling rain. Itwas a gray world, a bleak, black-and-brown world, above and below. Thesky was leaden; the road and the footpath were deep in a muddy oozeflecked with white. The tree-trunks, black, with bare branches, werelined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring had been on the way fora week, and a few sunny days would bring the yearly miracle for whichall hearts were longing. 

Ivory was season-wise and his quick eye had caught many a sign as hewalked through the woods from his schoolhouse. A new and different colorhaunted the tree-tops, and one had only to look closely at the elmbuds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins had beensunning about in the school-yard at noon, and sparrows had been chirpingand twittering on the fence-rails. Yes, the winter was over, and Ivorywas glad, for it had meant no coasting and skating and sleighing forhim, but long walks in deep snow or slush; long evenings, good forstudy, but short days, and greater loneliness for his mother. He couldsee her now as he neared the house, standing in the open doorway, herhand shading her eyes, watching, always watching, for some one who nevercame. 

"Spring is on the way, mother, but it isn't here yet, so don't standthere in the rain, " he called. "Look at the nosegay I gathered foryou as I came through the woods. Here are pussy willows and red mapleblossoms and Mayflowers, would you believe it?"

Lois Boynton took the handful of budding things and sniffed theirfragrance. 

"You're late to-night, Ivory, " she said. "Rod wanted his supper earlyso that he could go off to singing-school, but I kept something warm foryou, and I'll make you a fresh cup of tea. "

Ivory went into the little shed room off the kitchen, changed his muddyboots for slippers, and made himself generally tidy; then he came backto the living-room bringing a pine knot which he flung on the fire, waking it to a brilliant flame. 

"We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for springis coming, " he said, as he sat down to his meal. 

"I've been looking out more than usual this afternoon, " she replied. "There's hardly any snow left, and though the walking is so bad I'vebeen rather expecting your father before night. You remember hesaid, when he went away in January, that he should be back before theMayflowers bloomed?"

It did not do any good to say: "Yes, mother, but the Mayflowers havebloomed ten times since father went away. " He had tried that, gently andpersistently when first her mind began to be confused from long griefand hurt love, stricken pride and sick suspense. 

Instead of that, Ivory turned the subject cheerily, saying, "Well, we'resure of a good season, I think. There's been a grand snow-fall, andthat, they say, is the poor man's manure. Rod and I will put in morecorn and potatoes this year. I shan't have to work single-handed verylong, for he is growing to be quite a farmer. "

"Your father was very fond of green corn, but he never cared forpotatoes, " Mrs. Boynton said, vaguely, taking up her knitting. "I alwayshad great pride in my cooking, but I could never get your father torelish my potatoes. "

"Well, his son does, anyway, " Ivory replied, helping himself plentifullyfrom a dish that held one of his mother's best concoctions, potatoesminced fine and put together into the spider with thin bits of pork andall browned together. 

"I saw the Baxter girls to-day, mother, " he continued, not becausehe hoped she would give any heed to what he said, but from the sheerlonging for companionship. "The Deacon drove off with Lawyer Wilson, whowanted him to give testimony in some case or other down in Milltown. Theminute Patty saw him going up Saco Hill, she harnessed the old starvedBaxter mare and the girls started over to the Lower Corner to see somefriends. It seems it's Patty's birthday and they were celebrating. Imet them just as they were coming back and helped them lift the ricketywagon out of the mud; they were stuck in it up to the hubs of thewheels. I advised them to walk up the Town-House Hill if they everexpected to get the horse home. "

"Town-House Hill!" said Ivory's mother, dropping her knitting. "That waswhere we had such wonderful meetings! Truly the Lord was present inour midst, and oh, Ivory! the visions we saw in that place when JacobCochrane first unfolded his gospel to us. Was ever such a man!"

"Probably not, mother, " remarked Ivory dryly. 

"You were speaking of the Baxters. I remember their home, and the littlegirl who used to stand in the gateway and watch when we came out ofmeeting. There was a baby, too; isn't there a Baxter baby, Ivory?"

"She didn't stay a baby; she is seventeen years old to-day, mother. "

"You surprise me, but children do grow very fast. She had a strangename, but I cannot recall it. "

"Her name is Patience, but nobody but her father calls her anything butPatty, which suits her much better. "

"No, the name wasn't Patience, not the one I mean. "

"The older sister is Waitstill, perhaps you mean her?"--and Ivory satdown by the fire with his book and his pipe. 

"Waitstill! Waitstill! that is it! Such a beautiful name!"

"She's a beautiful girl. "

"Waitstill! 'They also serve who only stand and wait. ' 'Wait, I say, onthe Lord and He will give thee the desires of thy heart. '--Those werewonderful days, when we were caught up out of the body and mingledfreely in the spirit world. " Mrs. Boynton was now fully started on thetopic that absorbed her mind and Ivory could do nothing but let her tellthe story that she had told him a hundred times. 

"I remember when first we heard Jacob Cochrane speak. " (This was herusual way of beginning. ) "Your father was a preacher, as you know, Ivory, but you will never know what a wonderful preacher he was. Mygrandfather, being a fine gentleman, and a governor, would not give hisconsent to my marriage, but I never regretted it, never! Your fathersaw Elder Cochrane at a revival meeting of the Free Will Baptists inScarboro', and was much impressed with him. A few days later we went tothe funeral of a child in the same neighborhood. No one who was therecould ever forget it. The minister had made his long prayer when a mansuddenly entered the room, came towards the coffin, and placed his handon the child's forehead. The room, in an instant, was as still asthe death that had called us together. The stranger was tall andof commanding presence; his eyes pierced our very hearts, and hismarvellous voice penetrated to depths in our souls that had never beenreached before. "

"Was he a better speaker than my father?" asked Ivory, who dreadedhis mother's hours of complete silence even more than her periods ofreminiscence. 

"He spoke as if the Lord of Hosts had given him inspiration; as if theangels were pouring words into his mouth just for him to utter, " repliedMrs. Boynton. "Your father was spell-bound, and I only less so. When heceased speaking, the child's mother crossed the room, and swaying to andfro, fell at his feet, sobbing and wailing and imploring God to forgiveher sins. They carried her upstairs, and when we looked about after theconfusion and excitement the stranger had vanished. But we found himagain! As Elder Cochrane said: 'The prophet of the Lord can never behid; no darkness is thick enough to cover him!' There was a six weeks'revival meeting in North Saco where three hundred souls were converted, and your father and I were among them. We had fancied ourselves truebelievers for years, but Jacob Cochrane unstopped our ears so that wecould hear the truths revealed to him by the Almighty!--It was all sosimple and easy at the beginning, but it grew hard and grievousafterward; hard to keep the path, I mean. I never quite knew whether Godwas angry with me for backsliding at the end, but I could not alwaysaccept the revelations that Elder Cochrane and your father had!"

Lois Boynton's hands were now quietly folded over the knitting that layforgotten in her lap, but her low, thrilling voice had a note in it thatdid not belong wholly to earth. 

There was a long silence; one of many long silences at the Boyntonfireside, broken only by the ticking of the clock, the purring of thecat, and the clicking of Mrs. Boynton's needles, as, her paroxysm ofreminiscence over, she knitted ceaselessly, with her eyes on the windowor the door. 

"It's about time for Rod to be coming back, isn't it?" asked Ivory. 

"He ought to be here soon, but perhaps he is gone for good; it may bethat he thinks he has made us a long enough visit. I don't know whetheryour father will like the boy when he comes home. He never did fancycompany in the house. "

Ivory looked up in astonishment from his Greek grammar. This was anentirely new turn of his mother's mind. Often when she was more thanusually confused he would try to clear the cobwebs from her brain bygently questioning her until she brought herself back to a clearerunderstanding of her own thought. Thus far her vagaries had never madeher unjust to any human creature; she was uniformly sweet and gentle inspeech and demeanor. 

"Why do you talk of Rod's visiting us when he is one of the family?"Ivory asked quietly. 

"Is he one of the family? I didn't know it, " replied his motherabsently. 

"Look at me, mother, straight in the eye; that's right: now listen, dear, to what I say. "

Mrs. Boynton's hair that had been in her youth like an aureole ofcorn-silk was now a strange yellow-white, and her blue eyes looked outfrom her pale face with a helpless appeal. 

"You and I were living alone here after father went away, " Ivory began. "I was a little boy, you know. You and father had saved something, therewas the farm, you worked like a slave, I helped, and we lived, somehow, do you remember?"

"I do, indeed! It was cold and the neighbors were cruel. Jacob Cochranehad gone away and his disciples were not always true to him. When themagnetism of his presence was withdrawn, they could not follow all hisrevelations, and they forgot how he had awakened their spiritual lifeat the first of his preaching. Your father was always a stanch believer, but when he started on his mission and went to Parsonsfield to helpElder Cochrane in his meetings, the neighbors began to criticize him. They doubted him. You were too young to realize it, but I did, and italmost broke my heart. "

"I was nearly twelve years old; do you think I escaped all the gossip, mother?"

"You never spoke of it to me, Ivory. "

"No, there is much that I never spoke of to you, mother, but sometimewhen you grow stronger and your memory is better we will talktogether. --Do you remember the winter, long after father went away, thatParson Lane sent me to Fairfield Academy to get enough Greek and Latinto make me a schoolmaster?"

"Yes, " she answered uncertainly. 

"Don't you remember I got a free ride down-river one Friday and camehome for Sunday, just to surprise you? And when I got here I found youill in bed, with Mrs. Mason and Dr. Perry taking care of you. You couldnot speak, you were so ill, but they told me you had been up in NewHampshire to see your sister, that she had died, and that you hadbrought back her boy, who was only four years old. That was Rod. I tookhim into bed with me that night, poor, homesick little fellow, and, asyou know, mother, he's never left us since. "

"I didn't remember I had a sister. Is she dead, Ivory?" asked Mrs. Boynton vaguely. 

"If she were not dead, do you suppose you would have kept Rodman with uswhen we hadn't bread enough for our own two mouths, mother?" questionedIvory patiently. 

"No, of course not. I can't think how I can be so forgetful. It's worsesometimes than others. It 's worse to-day because I knew the Mayflowerswere blooming and that reminded me it was time for your father to comehome; you must forgive me, dear, and will you excuse me if I sit in thekitchen awhile? The window by the side door looks out towards the road, and if I put a candle on the sill it shines quite a distance. The laneis such a long one, and your father was always a sad stumbler in thedark! I shouldn't like him to think I wasn't looking for him when he'sbeen gone since January. "

Ivory's pipe went out, and his book slipped from his knee unnoticed. 

His mother was more confused than usual, but she always was when springcame to remind her of her husband's promise. Somehow, well used as hewas to her mental wanderings, they made him uneasy to-night. Hisfather had left home on a fancied mission, a duty he believed to be arevelation given by God through Jacob Cochrane. The farm did not misshim much at first, Ivory reflected bitterly, for since his fanaticalespousal of Cochranism his father's interest in such mundane mattersas household expenses had diminished month by month until they had nomeaning for him at all. Letters to wife and boy had come at first, but after six months--during which he had written from many places, continually deferring the date of his return-they had ceased altogether. The rest was silence. Rumors of his presence here or there came fromtime to time, but though Parson Lane and Dr. Perry did their best, noneof them were ever substantiated. 

Where had those years of wandering been passed, and had they all beengiven even to an imaginary and fantastic service of God? Was his fatherdead? If he were alive, what could keep him from writing? Nothing but avery strong reason, or a very wrong one, so his son thought, at times. 

Since Ivory had grown to man's estate, he understood that in thelater days of Cochrane's preaching, his "visions, " "inspirations, " and"revelations" concerning the marriage bond were a trifle startling fromthe old-fashioned, orthodox point of view. His most advanced discipleswere to hold themselves in readiness to renounce their former vows andseek "spiritual consorts, " sometimes according to his advice, sometimesas their inclinations prompted. 

Had Aaron Boynton forsaken, willingly, the wife of his youth, themother of his boy? If so, he must have realized to what straits hewas subjecting them. Ivory had not forgotten those first few years ofgrinding poverty, anxiety, and suspense. His mother's mind had stood thestrain bravely, but it gave way at last; not, however, until that fatalwinter journey to New Hampshire, when cold, exposure, and fatiguedid their worst for her weak body. Religious enthusiast, exalted andimpressionable, a natural mystic, she had probably always been, far moreso in temperament, indeed, than her husband; but although she left homeon that journey a frail and heartsick woman, she returned a differentcreature altogether, blurred and confused in mind, with clouded memoryand irrational fancies. 

She must have given up hope, just then, Ivory thought, and her love wasso deep that when it was uprooted the soil came with it. Now hope hadreturned because the cruel memory had faded altogether. She sat by thekitchen window in gentle expectation, watching, always watching. 

And this is the way many of Ivory Boynton's evenings were spent, whilethe heart of him, the five-and-twenty-year-old heart of him, was longingto feel the beat of another heart, a girl's heart only a mile or moreaway. The ice in Saco Water had broken up and the white blocks sailedmajestically down towards the sea; sap was mounting and the elm treeswere budding; the trailing arbutus was blossoming in the woods; therobins had come;-everything was announcing the spring, yet Ivory sawno changing seasons in his future; nothing but winter, eternal winterthere!

V. PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE

PATTY had been searching for eggs in the barn chamber, and coming downthe ladder from the haymow spied her father washing the wagon by thewell-side near the shed door. Cephas Cole kept store for him at mealhours and whenever trade was unusually brisk, and the Baxter yard was sohappily situated that Old Foxy could watch both house and store. 

There never was a good time to ask Deacon Baxter a favor, therefore thismoment would serve as well as any other, so, approaching him near enoughto be heard through the rubbing and splashing, but no nearer than wasnecessary Patty said:--

"Father, can I go up to Ellen Wilson's this afternoon and stay to tea? Iwon't start till I've done a good day's work and I'll come home early. "

"What do you want to go gallivantin' to the neighbors for? I never sawanything like the girls nowadays; highty-tighty, flauntin', traipsin', triflin' trollops, ev'ry one of 'em, that's what they are, and EllenWilson's one of the triflin'est. You're old enough now to stay to homewhere you belong and make an effort to earn your board and clothes, which you can't, even if you try. "

Spunk, real, Simon-pure spunk, started somewhere in Patty and coursedthrough her blood like wine. 

"If a girl's old enough to stay at home and work, I should think shewas old enough to go out and play once in a while. " Patty was still tootimid to make this remark more than a courteous suggestion, so far asits tone was concerned. 

"Don't answer me back; you're full of new tricks, and you've got to stop'em, right where you are, or there'll be trouble. You were whistlin'just now up in the barn chamber; that's one of the things I won't haveround my premises, --a whistlin' girl. "

"'T was a Sabbath-School hymn that I was whistling!" This with acreditable imitation of defiance. 

"That don't make it any better. Sing your hymns if you must make a noisewhile you're workin'. "

"It's the same mouth that makes the whistle and sings the song, so Idon't see why one's any wickeder than the other. "

"You don't have to see, " replied the Deacon grimly; "all you have to dois to mind when you're spoken to. Now run 'long 'bout your work. "

"Can't I go up to Ellen's, then?"

"What's goin' on up there?"

"Just a frolic. There's always a good time at Ellen's, and I would solike the sight of a big, rich house now and then!"

"'Just a frolic. ' Land o' Goshen, hear the girl! 'Sight of a big, richhouse, ' indeed!--Will there be any boys at the party?"

"I s'pose so, or 't wouldn't be a frolic, " said Patty with awful daring;"but there won't be many; only a few of Mark's friends. "

"Well, there ain't goin' to be no more argyfyin'! I won't have any girlo' mine frolickin' with boys, so that's the end of it. You're kindo' crazy lately, riggin' yourself out with a ribbon here and a flowerthere, and pullin' your hair down over your ears. Why do you want tocover your ears up? What are they for?"

"To hear you with, father, " Patty replied, with honey-sweet voice andeyes that blazed. 

"Well, I hope they'll never hear anything worse, " replied her father, flinging a bucket of water over the last of the wagon wheels. 

"THEY COULDN'T!" These words were never spoken aloud, but oh! how Pattylonged to shout them with a clarion voice as she walked away in perfectsilence, her majestic gait showing, she hoped, how she resented theoutcome of the interview. 

"I've stood up to father!" she exclaimed triumphantly as she entered thekitchen and set down her yellow bowl of eggs on the table. "I stood upto him, and answered him back three times!"

Waitstill was busy with her Saturday morning cooking, but she turned inalarm. 

"Patty, what have you said and done? Tell me quickly!"

"I 'argyfied, ' but it didn't do any good; he won't let me go to Ellen'sparty. "

Waitstill wiped her floury hands and put them on her sister's shoulders. 

"Hear what I say, Patty: you must not argue with father, whatever hesays. We don't love him and so there isn't the right respect in ourhearts, but at least there can be respect in our manners. "

"I don't believe I can go on for years, holding in, Waitstill!" Pattywhimpered. 

"Yes, you can. I have!"

"You're different, Waitstill. "

"I wasn't so different at sixteen, but that's five years ago, and I'vegot control of my tongue and my temper since then. Sometime, perhaps, when I have a grievance too great to be rightly borne, sometime when youare away from here in a home of your own, I shall speak out to father;just empty my heart of all the disappointment and bitterness andrebellion. Somebody ought to tell him the truth, and perhaps it will beme!"

"I wish it could be me, " exclaimed Patty vindictively, and with an equaldisregard of grammar. 

"You would speak in temper, I'm afraid, Patty, and that would spoil all. I'm sorry you can't go up to Ellen's, " she sighed, turning back to herwork; "you don't have pleasure enough for one of your age; still, don'tfret; something may happen to change things, and anyhow the weather isgrowing warmer, and you and I have so many more outings in summer-time. Smooth down your hair, child; there are straws in it, and it's all roughwith the wind. I don't like flying hair about a kitchen. "

"I wish my hair was flying somewhere a thousand miles from here; or atleast I should wish it if it did not mean leaving you; for oh. I'm somiserable and disappointed and unhappy!"

Waitstill bent over the girl as she flung herself down beside the tableand smoothed her shoulder gently. 

"There, there, dear; it isn't like my gay little sister to cry. What isthe matter with you to-day, Patty?"

"I suppose it's the spring, " she said, wiping her eyes with her apronand smiling through her tears. "Perhaps I need a dose of sulphur andmolasses. "

"Don't you feel well as common?"

"Well? I feel too well! I feel as if I was a young colt shut up in anattic. I want to kick up my heels, batter the door down, and get outinto the pasture. It's no use talking, Waity;--I can't go on livingwithout a bit of pleasure and I can't go on being patient even foryour sake. If it weren't for you, I'd run away as Job did; and I neverbelieved Moses slipped on the logs; I'm sure he threw himself into theriver, and so should I if I had the courage!"

"Stop, Patty, stop, dear! You shall have your bit of pasture, at least. I'll do some of your indoor tasks for you, and you shall put on yoursunbonnet and go out and dig the dandelion greens for dinner. Take thebroken knife and a milkpan and don't bring in so much earth with them asyou did last time. Dry your eyes and look at the green things growing. Remember how young you are and how many years are ahead of you! Goalong, dear!"

Waitstill went about her work with rather a heavy heart. Was life goingto be more rather than less difficult, now that Patty was growing up?Would she he able to do her duty both by father and sister and keeppeace in the household, as she had vowed, in her secret heart, always todo? She paused every now and then to look out of the window and wave anencouraging hand to Patty. The girl's bonnet was off, and her uncoveredhead blazed like red gold in the sunlight. The short young grass wasdotted with dandelion blooms, some of them already grown to huge disksof yellow, and Patty moved hither and thither, selecting the youngerweeds, deftly putting the broken knife under their roots and poppingthem into the tin pan. Presently, for Deacon Baxter had finished thewagon and gone down the hill to relieve Cephas Cole at the counter, Patty's shrill young whistle floated into the kitchen, but with amischievous glance at the open window she broke off suddenly and beganto sing the words of the hymn with rather more emphasis and gusto thanstrict piety warranted. 

 "There'll be SOMEthing in heav-en for chil-dren to do, None are idle in that bless-ed land: There'll be WORK for the heart. There'll be WORK for the mind, And emPLOYment for EACH little hand. "There'll be SOME-thing to do, There'll be SOME-thing to do, There'll be SOME-thing for CHIL-dren to do! On that bright blessed shore where there's joy evermore, There'll be SOME-thing for CHIL-DREN to do. "

Patty's young existence being full to the brim of labor, this view ofheaven never in the least appealed to her and she rendered the hymn withlittle sympathy. The main part of the verse was strongly accented byjabs at the unoffending dandelion roots, but when the chorus came shebrought out the emphatic syllables by a beat of the broken knife on themilkpan. 

This rendition of a Sabbath-School classic did not meet Waitstill'sideas of perfect propriety, but she smiled and let it pass, planningsome sort of recreation for a stolen half-hour of the afternoon. Itwould have to be a walk through the pasture into the woods to see whathad grown since they went there a fortnight ago. Patty loved peoplebetter than Nature, but failing the one she could put up with the other, for she had a sense of beauty and a pagan love of color. There wouldbe pale-hued innocence and blue and white violets in the moist places, thought Waitstill, and they would have them in a china cup on thesupper-table. No, that would never do, for last time father had knockedthem over when he was reaching for the bread, and in a silent protestagainst such foolishness got up from the table and emptied theirs intothe kitchen sink. 

"There's a place for everything, " he said when he came back, "and theplace for flowers is outdoors. "

Then in the pine woods there would be, she was sure, Star of Bethlehem, Solomon's Seal, the white spray of groundnuts and bunchberries. Perhapsthey could make a bouquet and Patty would take it across the fieldsto Mrs. Boynton's door. She need not go in, and thus they would notbe disobeying their father's command not to visit that "crazy Boyntonwoman. "

Here Patty came in with a pan full of greens and the sisters sat down inthe sunny window to get them ready for the pot. 

"I'm calmer, " the little rebel allowed. "That's generally the way itturns out with me. I get into a rage, but I can generally sing it off!"

"You certainly must have got rid of a good deal of temper this morning, by the way your voice sounded. "

"Nobody can hear us in this out-of-the-way place. It's easy enough tosee that the women weren't asked to say anything when the men settledwhere the houses should be built! The men weren't content to stick themon the top of a high hill, or half a mile from the stores, but put themback to the main road, taking due care to cut the sink-window wheretheir wives couldn't see anything even when they were washing dishes. "

"I don't know that I ever thought about it in that way"; and Waitstilllooked out of the window in a brown study while her hands worked withthe dandelion greens. "I've noticed it, but I never supposed the men didit intentionally. "

"No, you wouldn't, " said Patty with the pessimism of a woman of ninety, as she stole an admiring glance at her sister. Patty's own face, irregular, piquant, tantalizing, had its peculiar charm, and herbrilliant skin and hair so dazzled the masculine beholder that he tooknote of no small defects; but Waitstill was beautiful; beautiful evenin her working dress of purple calico. Her single braid of hair, theFoxwell hair, that in her was bronze and in Patty pale auburn, was woundonce around her fine head and made to stand a little as it went acrossthe front. It was a simple, easy, unconscious fashion of her own, quitedifferent from anything done by other women in her time and place, andit just suited her dignity and serenity. It looked like a coronet, butit was the way she carried her head that gave you the fancy, there wassuch spirit and pride in the poise of it on the long graceful neck. Hereyes were as clear as mountain pools shaded by rushes, and the strengthof the face was softened by the sweetness of the mouth. 

Patty never let the conversation die out for many seconds at a time andnow she began again. "My sudden rages don't match my name very well, but, of course, mother didn't know how I was going to turn out when shecalled me Patience, for I was nothing but a squirming little bald, redbaby; but my name really is too ridiculous when you think about it. "

Waitstill laughed as she said: "It didn't take you long to change it!Perhaps Patience was a hard word for a baby to say, but the moment youcould talk you said, 'Patty wants this' and 'Patty wants that. "'

"Did Patty ever get it? She never has since, that's certain! And lookat your name: it's 'Waitstill, ' yet you never stop a moment. When you'renot in the shed or barn, or chicken-house, or kitchen or attic, orgarden-patch, you are working in the Sunday School or the choir. "

It seemed as if Waitstill did not intend to answer this arraignment ofher activities. She rose and crossed the room to put the pan of greensin the sink, preparing to wash them. 

Taking the long-handled dipper from the nail, she paused a moment beforeplunging it into the water pail; paused, and leaning her elbow on acorner of the shelf over the sink, looked steadfastly out into theorchard. 

Patty watched her curiously and was just going to offer a penny forher thoughts when Waitstill suddenly broke the brief silence by saying:"Yes, I am always busy; it's better so, but all the same, Patty, I'mwaiting, --inside! I don't know for what, but I always feel that I amwaiting!"

VI. A KISS

"SHALL we have our walk in the woods on the Edgewood side of the river, just for a change, Patty?" suggested her sister. "The water is so highthis year that the river will be splendid. We can gather our flowers inthe hill pasture and then you'll be quite near Mrs. Boynton's and cancarry the nosegay there while I come home ahead of you and get supper. I'll take to-day's eggs to father's store on the way and ask him if heminds our having a little walk. I've an errand at Aunt Abby's that wouldtake me down to the bridge anyway. "

"Very well, " said Patty, somewhat apathetically. "I always like a walkwith you, but I don't care what becomes of me this afternoon if I can'tgo to Ellen's party. "

The excursion took place according to Waitstill's plan, and at fouro'clock she sped back to her night work and preparations for supper, leaving Patty with a great bunch of early wildflowers for Ivory'smother. Patty had left them at the Boyntons' door with Rodman, who waspicking up chips and volunteered to take the nosegay into the house atonce. 

"Won't you step inside?" the boy asked shyly, wishing to be polite, but conscious that visitors, from the village very seldom crossed thethreshold. 

"I'd like to, but I can't this afternoon, thank you. I must run all theway down the hill now, or I shan't be in time to supper. "

"Do you eat meals together over to your house?" asked the boy. 

"We're all three at the table if that means together. "

"We never are. Ivory goes off early and takes lunch in a pail. So doI when I go to school. Aunt Boynton never sits down to eat; she juststands at the window and takes a bite of something now 'and then. Youhaven't got any mother, have you?"

"No, Rodman. "

"Neither have I, nor any father, nor any relations but Aunt Boyntonand Ivory. Ivory is very good to me, and when he's at home I'm neverlonesome. "

"I wish you could come over and eat with sister and me, " said Pattygently. "Perhaps sometime, when my father is away buying goods and weare left alone, you could join us in the woods, and we would havea picnic? We would bring enough for you; all sorts of good things;hard-boiled eggs, doughnuts, apple-turnovers, and bread spread withjelly. "

"I'd like it fine!" exclaimed Rodman, his big dark eyes sparkling withanticipation. "I don't have many boys to play with, and I never went toa picnic Aunt Boynton watches for uncle 'most all the time; she doesn'tknow he has been away for years and years. When she doesn't watch, sheprays. Sometimes she wants me to pray with her, but praying don't comeeasy to me. "

"Neither does it to me, " said Patty. 

"I'm good at marbles and checkers and back-gammon and jack-straws, though. "

"So am I, " said Patty, laughing, "so we should be good friends. I'll tryto get a chance to see you soon again, but perhaps I can't; I'm a gooddeal tied at home. "

"Your father doesn't like you to go anywheres, I guess, " interposedRodman. "I've heard Ivory tell Aunt Boynton things, but I wouldn'trepeat them. Ivory's trained me years and years not to tell anything, soI don't. "

"That's a good boy!" approved Patty. Then as she regarded him moreclosely, she continued, "I'm sorry you're lonesome, Rodman, I'd like tosee you look brighter. "

"You think I've been crying, " the boy said shrewdly. "So I have, butnot because I've been punished. The reason my eyes are so swollen up isbecause I killed our old toad by mistake this morning. I was trying tosee if I could swing the scythe so's to help Ivory in haying-time. I'veonly 'raked after' and I want to begin on mowing soon's I can. Thensomehow or other the old toad came out from under the steps; I didn'tsee him, and the scythe hit him square. I cried for an hour, that's whatI did, and I don't care who knows it except I wouldn't like the boysat school to hector me. I've buried the toad out behind the barn, and Ihope Ivory'll let me keep the news from Aunt Boynton. She cries enoughnow without my telling her there's been a death in the family. She setgreat store by the old toad, and so did all of us. "

"It's too bad; I'm sorry, but after all you couldn't help it. "

"No, but we should always look round every-wheres when we're cutting;that's what Ivory says. He says folks shouldn't use edged tools tillthey're old enough not to fool with 'em. "

And Rodman looked so wise and old-fashioned for his years that Pattydid not know whether to kiss him or cry over him, as she said: "Ivory'salways right, and now good-bye; I must go this very minute. Don't forgetthe picnic. "

"I won't!" cried the boy, gazing after her, wholly entranced withher bright beauty and her kindness. "Say, I'll bring something, too, --white-oak acorns, if you like 'em; I've got a big bagful upattic!"

Patty sped down the long lane, crept under the bars, and flew like alapwing over the high-road. 

"If father was only like any one else, things might be so different!"she sighed, her thoughts running along with her feet. "Nobody to makea home for that poor lonesome little boy and that poor lonesome bigIvory.... I am sure that he is in love with Waitstill. He doesn't knowit; she doesn't know it; nobody does but me, but I'm clever at guessing. I was the only one that surmised Jed Morrill was going to marryagain.... I should almost like Ivory for myself, he is so tall andhandsome, but of course he can never marry anybody; he is too poor andhas his mother to look after. I wouldn't want to take him from Waity, though, and then perhaps I couldn't get him, anyway.... If I couldn't, he'd be the only one! I've never tried yet, but I feel in my bones, somehow, that I could have any boy in Edgewood or Riverboro, by justcrooking my forefinger and beckoning to him.. .. I wish--I wish--theywere different! They don't make me want to beckon to them! My forefingerjust stays straight and doesn't feel like crooking!... There's CephasCole, but he's as stupid as an owl. I don't want a husband that keepshis mouth wide open whenever I'm talking, no matter whether it's senseor nonsense. There's Phil Perry, but he likes Ellen, and besides he'stoo serious for me; and there's Mark Wilson; he's the best dressed, and the only one that's been to college. He looks at me all the time inmeeting, and asked me if I wouldn't take a walk some Sunday afternoon. Iknow he planned Ellen's party hoping I'd be there!--Goodness gracious, I do believe that is his horse coming behind me! There's no other in thevillage that goes at such a gait!"

It was, indeed, Mark Wilson, who always drove, according to Aunt AbbyCole, "as if he was goin' for a doctor. " He caught up with Patty almostin the twinkling of an eye, but she was ready for him. She had takenoff her sunbonnet just to twirl it by the string, she was so warm withwalking, and in a jiffy she had lifted the clustering curls from herears, tucked them back with a single expert movement, and disclosed twocoral pendants just the color of her ear-tips and her glowing cheeks. 

"Hello, Patty!" the young man called, in brusque country fashion, as hereined up beside her. "What are you doing over here? Why aren't you onyour way to the party? I've been over to Limington and am breaking myneck to get home in time myself. "

"I am not going; there are no parties for me!" said Patty plaintively. "Not going! Oh! I say, what's the matter? It won't be a bit of funwithout you! Ellen and I made it up expressly for you, thinking yourfather couldn't object to a candy-pull!"

"I can't help it; I did the best I could. Wait-still always asks fatherfor me, but I wouldn't take any chances to-day, and I spoke to himmyself; indeed I almost coaxed him!"

"He's a regular old skinflint!" cried Mark, getting out of the wagon andwalking beside her. 

"You mustn't call him names, " Patty interposed with some dignity. "Icall him a good many myself, but I'm his daughter. "

"You don't look it, " said Mark admiringly. "Come and have a little ride, Won't you?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly, thank you. Some one would be sure to see us, and father's so strict. "

"There isn't a building for half a mile! Just jump in and have a spintill we come to the first house; then I'll let you out and you can walkthe rest of the way home. Come, do, and make up to me a little for mydisappointment. I'll skip the candy-pull if you say the word. "

It was an incredibly brief drive, at Mark's rate of speed; and asexciting and blissful as it was brief and dangerous, Patty thought. Did she imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon differentlyfrom--old Dr. Perry, for instance?

The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her cheeksa brighter color, while her breath came fast through her parted lips andher eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed pleasure. She felt sogrown up, so conscious of a new power as she sat enthroned on the littlewagon seat (Mark Wilson always liked his buggies "courtin' size" so theneighbors said), that she was almost courageous enough to agree to makea royal progress through the village; almost, but not quite. 

"Come on, let's shake the old tabbies up and start 'em talking, shallwe?" Mark suggested. "I'll give you the reins and let Nero have a flickof the whip. "

"No, I'd rather not drive, " she said. "I'd be afraid of this horse, and, anyway, I must get out this very minute; yes, I really must. If you holdNero I can just slip down between the wheels; you needn't help me. "

Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, saying gallantly, "I don'tmiss this pleasure, not by a jugful! Come along! Jump!"

Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, but Mark forestalled her byputting his arms around her and lifting her down. A second of time onlywas involved, but in that second he held; her close and kissed her warmcheek, her cheek that had never felt the touch of any lips but those ofWaitstill. She pulled her sunbonnet over her flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his horse afree rein. 

Patty never looked up from the road, but walked faster and faster, herheart beating at breakneck speed. It was a changed world that spun pasther; fright, triumph, shame, delight, a gratified vanity swam over herin turn. 

A few minutes later she heard once more the rumble of wheels on theroad. It was Cephas Cole driving towards her over the brow of Saco Hill. "He'll have seen Mark, " she thought, "but he can't know I've talked anddriven with him. Ugh! how stupid and common he looks!" "I heard yourfather blowin' the supper-horn jest as I come over the bridge, " remarkedCephas, drawing up in the road. "He stood in the door-yard blowin' likeBedlam. I guess you 're late to supper. "

"I'll be home in a few minutes, " said Patty, "I got delayed and am alittle behindhand. "

"I'll turn right round if you'll git in and lemme take you back-along apiece; it'll save you a good five minutes, " begged Cephas, abjectly. 

"All right; much obliged; but it's against the rules and you must dropme at the foot of our hill and let me walk up. "

"Certain; I know the Deacon 'n' I ain't huntin' for trouble any more'nyou be; though I 'd take it quick enough if you jest give me leave! Iain't no coward an' I could tackle the Deacon to-morrow if so be I hadanything to ask him. "

This seemed to Patty a line of conversation distinctly to be discouragedunder all the circumstances, and she tried to keep Cephas on the subjectof his daily tasks and his mother's rheumatism until she could escapefrom his over-appreciative society. 

"How do you like my last job?" he inquired as they passed his father'shouse. "Some think I've got the ell a little mite too yaller. Folks thatain't never handled a brush allers think they can mix paint better 'nthem that knows their trade. "

"If your object was to have everybody see the ell a mile away, you'vesucceeded, " said Patty cruelly. She never flung the poor boy a civilword for fear of getting something warmer than civility in return. 

"It'll tone down, " Cephas responded, rather crestfallen. "I wanted agood bright lastin' shade. 'T won't look so yaller when father lets mepaint the house to match, but that won't be till next year. He makesfun of the yaller color same as you; says a home's something you wantto forget when you're away from it. Mother says the two rooms of theell are big enough for somebody to set up housekeepin' in. What do youthink?"

"I never think, " returned Patty with a tantalizing laugh. "Good-night, Cephas; thank you for giving me a lift!"

VII. "WHAT DREAMS MAY COME"

SUPPER was over and the work done at last; the dishes washed, the beansput in soak, the hens shut up for the night, the milk strained andcarried down cellar. Patty went up to her little room with theone window and the slanting walls and Waitstill followed and saidgood-night. Her father put out the lights, locked the doors, and came upthe creaking stairs. There was never any talk between the sisters beforegoing to bed, save on nights when their father was late at the store, usually on Saturdays only, for the good talkers of the village, as wellas the gossips and loafers, preferred any other place to swap storiesthan the bleak atmosphere provided by old Foxy at his place of business. 

Patty could think in the dark; her healthy young body lying notuncomfortably on the bed of corn husks, and the patchwork comforterdrawn up under her chin. She could think, but for the first time shecould not tell her thoughts to Waitstill. She had a secret; a dazzlingsecret, just like Ellen Wilson and some of the other girls who wereseveral years older. Her afternoon's experience loomed as large in herinnocent mind as if it had been an elopement. 

"I hope I'm not engaged to be married to him, EVEN IF HE DID--" Thesentence was too tremendous to be finished, even in thought. "I don'tthink I can be; men must surely say something, and not take it forgranted you are in love with them and want to marry them. It is whatthey say when they ask that I should like much better than beingmarried, when I'm only just past seventeen. I wish Mark was a littledifferent; I don't like his careless ways! He admires me, I can tellone; that by the way he looks, but he admires himself just as much, andexpects me to do the same; still, I suppose none of them are perfect, and girls have to forgive lots of little things when they are engaged. Mother must have forgiven a good many things when she took father. Anyway, Mark is going away for a month on business, so I shan't haveto make up my mind just yet!" Here sleep descended upon the slightlypuzzled, but on the whole delightfully complacent, little creature, bringing her most alluring and untrustworthy dreams. 

The dear innocent had, indeed, no need of haste! Young Mr. Marquis deLafayette Wilson, Mark for short, was not in the least a gay deceiver orruthless breaker of hearts, and, so far as known, no scalps of villagebeauties were hung to his belt. He was a likable, light-weight youngchap, as indolent and pleasure-loving as the strict customs of thecommunity would permit; and a kiss, in his mind, most certainlynever would lead to the altar, else he had already been many times abridegroom. Miss Patience Baxter's maiden meditations and uncertaintiesand perplexities, therefore, were decidedly premature. She was anatural-born, unconsciously artistic, highly expert, and finishedcoquette. She was all this at seventeen, and Mark at twenty-four was byno means a match for her in this field of effort, yet!--but sometimes, in getting her victim into the net, the coquette loses her balance andfalls in herself. There wasn't a bit of harm in Marquis de Lafayette, but he was extremely agile in keeping out of nets!

Waitstill was restless, too, that night, although she could not havetold the reason. She opened her window at the back of the house andleaned out. The evening was mild with a soft wind blowing. She couldhear the full brook dashing through the edge of the wood-lot, and eventhe "ker-chug" of an occasional bull-frog. There were great misty starsin the sky, but no moon. 

There was no light in Aunt Abby Cole's kitchen, but a faint glimmershone through the windows of Uncle Bart's joiner's shop, showing thatthe old man was either having an hour of peaceful contemplation withno companion but his pipe, or that there might be a little group ofprivileged visitors, headed by Jed Morrill, busily discussing theaffairs of the nation. 

Waitstill felt troubled and anxious to-night; bruised by the littledaily torments that lessened her courage but never wholly destroyed it. Any one who believed implicitly in heredity might have been puzzled, perhaps, to account for her. He might fantastically picture her asmaking herself out of her ancestors, using a free hand, pickingand choosing what she liked best, with due care for the effect ofcombinations; selecting here and there and modifying, if advisable, a trait of Grandpa or Grandma Foxwell, of Great-Uncle or Great-AuntBaxter; borrowing qualities lavishly from her own gently born andgently bred mother, and carefully avoiding her respected father'sStock, except, perhaps, to take a dash of his pluck and an ounce of hispersistence. Jed Morrill remarked of Deacon Baxter once: "When Old Foxywants anything he'll wait till hell freezes over afore he'll give up. "Waitstill had her father's firm chin, but there the likeness ended. Theproud curve of her nostrils, the clear well-opened eye with its deepfringe of lashes, the earnest mouth, all these came from the mother whowas little more than a dim memory. 

Waitstill disdained any vague, dreary, colorless theory of life andits meaning. She had joined the church at fifteen, more or less becauseother girls did and the parson had persuaded her; but out of her hardlife she had somehow framed a courageous philosophy that kept her erectand uncrushed, no matter how great her difficulties. She had no ideaof bringing a poor, weak, draggled soul to her Maker at the last day, saying "Here is all I have managed to save out of what you gave me!"That would be something, she allowed, immeasurably something; butpitiful compared with what she might do if she could keep a brave, vigorous spirit and march to the last tribunal strengthened by battles, struggles, defeats, victories; by the defense of weaker human creatures, above all, warmed and vitalized by the pouring out and gathering in oflove. 

Patty slept sweetly on the other side of the partition, thecontemplation of her twopenny triumphs bringing a smile to her childishlips: but even so a good heart was there (still perhaps in the processof making), a quick wit, ready sympathy, natural charm; plenty, indeed, for the stronger sister to cherish, protect, and hold precious, as shedid, with all her mind and soul. 

There had always been a passionate loyalty in Waitstill's affection, wherever it had been bestowed. Uncle Bart delighted in telling aninstance of it that occurred when she was a child of five. Maine hadjust separated amicably from her mother, Massachusetts, and become anindependent state. It was in the middle of March, but there was no snowon the ground and the village boys had built a bonfire on a plot ofland near Uncle Bart's joiner's shop. There was a large gathering incelebration of the historic event and Waitstill crept down the hill withher homemade rag doll in her arms. She stood on the outskirts of thecrowd, a silent, absorbed little figure clad in a shabby woollen coat, with a blue knit hood framing her rosy face. Deborah, her beloved, heronly doll, was tightly clasped in her arms, for Debby, like her parent, had few pleasures and must not be denied so great a one as this. Suddenly, one of the thoughtless young scamps in the group, wishing tocreate a new sensation and add to the general excitement, caught thedoll from the child's arms, and running forward with a loud war-whoop, flung it into the flames. Waitstill did not lose an instant. She gavea scream Of anguish, and without giving any warning of her intentions, probably without realizing them herself, she dashed through the littlecrowd into the bonfire and snatched her cherished offspring from theburning pile. The whole thing was over in the twinkling of an eye, forUncle Bart was as quick as the child and dragged her out of the imminentdanger with no worse harm done than a good scorching. 

He led the little creature up the hill to explain matters and protecther from a scolding. She still held the doll against her heaving breast, saying, between her sobs: "I couldn't let my Debby burn up! I couldn't, Uncle Bart; she's got nobody but me! Is my dress scorched so much Ican't wear it? You'll tell father how it was, Uncle Bart, won't you?"

Debby bore the marks of her adventure longer than her owner, for she hadbeen longer in the fire, but, stained and defaced as she was, she wasnever replaced, and remained the only doll of Waitstill's childhood. Atthis very moment she lay softly and safely in a bureau drawer readyto be lifted out, sometime, Waitstill fancied, and shown tenderly toPatty's children. Of her own possible children she never thought. Therewas but one man in the world who could ever be the father of them andshe was separated from him by every obstacle that could divide two humanbeings. 

SUMMER

VIII. THE JOINER'S SHOP

VILLAGE "Aunts" and "Uncles" were elected to that relationship by thecommon consent of the community; their fitness being established bygreat age, by decided individuality or eccentricity of character, byuncommon lovableness, or by the possession of an abundant wit and humor. There was no formality about the thing; certain women were always called"Aunt Sukie, " or "Aunt Hitty, " or what not, while certain men weredistinguished as "Uncle Rish, " or "Uncle Pel, " without previousarrangement, or the consent of the high contracting parties. 

Such a couple were Cephas Cole's father and mother, Aunt Abby and UncleBart. Bartholomew Cole's trade was that of a joiner; as for Aunt Abby's, it can only be said that she made all trades her own by sovereignright of investigation, and what she did not know about her neighbor'soccupations was unlikely to be discovered on this side of Jordan. One ofthe villagers declared that Aunt Abby and her neighbor, Mrs. Abel Day, had argued for an hour before they could make a bargain about the methodof disseminating a certain important piece of news, theirs by exclusiveright of discovery and prior possession. Mrs. Day offered to give Mrs. Cole the privilege of Saco Hill and Aunt Betty-Jack's, she herself totake Guide-Board and Town-House Hills. Aunt Abby quickly proved theinjustice of this decision, saying that there were twice as manyfamilies living in Mrs. Day's chosen territory as there were in thatallotted to her, so the river road to Milliken's Mills was grudginglyawarded to Aunt Abby by way of compromise, and the ladies started onwhat was a tour of mercy in those days, the furnishing of a subject ofdiscussion for long, quiet evenings. 

Uncle Bart's joiner's shop was at the foot of Guide-Board Hill on theRiverboro side of the bridge, and it was the pleasantest spot inthe whole village. The shop itself had a cheery look, with itsweather-stained shingles, its small square windows, and its hospitabledoor, half as big as the front side of the building. The step was anold millstone too worn for active service, and the piles of chipsand shavings on each side of it had been there for so many years thatsweet-williams, clove pinks, and purple phlox were growing in among themin the most irresponsible fashion; while a morning-glory vine had creptup and curled around a long-handled rake that had been standing againstthe front of the house since early spring. There was an air of cosyand amiable disorder about the place that would have invited friendlyconfabulation even had not Uncle Bart's white head, honest, ruddy face, and smiling welcome coaxed you in before you were aware. A fine Nodheadapple tree shaded the side windows, and underneath it reposed all summera bright blue sleigh, for Uncle Bart always described himself as being"plagued for shed room" and kept things as he liked at the shop, havinga "p'ison neat" wife who did exactly the opposite at his house. 

The seat of the sleigh was all white now with scattered fruit blossoms, and one of Waitstill's earliest remembrances was of going downhill withPatty toddling at her side; of Uncle Bart's lifting them into the sleighand permitting them to sit there and eat the ripe red apples that hadfallen from the tree. Uncle Bart's son, Cephas (Patty's secret adorer), was a painter by trade, and kept his pots and cans and brushes in alittle outhouse at the back, while Uncle Bart himself stood every daybehind his long joiner's bench almost knee-deep in shavings. How thechildren loved to play with the white, satiny rings, making them intonecklaces, hanging them to their ears and weaving them into wreaths. 

Wonderful houses could always be built in the corner of the shop, out ofthe little odds and ends and "nubbins" of white pine, and Uncle Bart wasever ready to cut or saw a special piece needed for some great purpose. 

The sound of the plane was sweet music in the old joiner's ears. "Idon't hardly know how I'd a made out if I'd had to work in a mill, "he said confidentially to Cephas. "The noise of a saw goin' all day, coupled with your mother's tongue mornin's an' evenin's, would 'a' beentoo much for my weak head. I'm a quiet man, Cephas, a man that needs apeaceful shop where he can get away from the comforts of home now andthen, without shirkin' his duty nor causin' gossip. If you should evermarry, Cephas, --which don't look to me likely without you pick out adif'rent girl, --I 'd advise you not to keep your stock o' paints in thebarn or the shed, for it's altogether too handy to the house and thewomen-folks. Take my advice and have a place to yourself, even if it'sa small one. A shop or a barn has saved many a man's life and reasonCephas, for it's ag'in' a woman's nature to have you underfoot in thehouse without hectorin' you. Choose a girl same's you would a horsethat you want to hitch up into a span; 't ain't every two that'll stan'together without kickin'. When you get the right girl, keep out of herway consid'able an' there'll be less wear an' tear. "

It was June and the countryside was so beautiful it seemed as if noone could be unhappy, however great the cause. That was what WaitstillBaxter thought as she sat down on the millstone step for a word with theold joiner, her best and most understanding friend in all the village. 

"I've come to do my mending here with you, " she said brightly, as shetook out her well-filled basket and threaded her needle. "Isn't it awonderful morning? Nobody could look the world in the face and do awrong thing on such a day, could they, Uncle Bart?"

The meadows were a waving mass of golden buttercups; the shallow waterat the river's edge just below the shop was blue with spikes ofarrow-weed; a bunch of fragrant water-lilies, gathered from themill-pond's upper levels, lay beside Waitstill's mending-basket, andevery foot of roadside and field within sight was swaying withlong-stemmed white and gold daisies. The June grass, the friendly, humble, companionable grass, that no one ever praises as they do theflowers, was a rich emerald green, a velvet carpet fit for the feet ofthe angels themselves. And the elms and maples! Was there ever such ayear for richness of foliage? And the sky, was it ever so blue or soclear, so far away, or so completely like heaven, as you looked at itsreflection in the glassy surface of the river?

"Yes, it's a pretty good day, " allowed Uncle Bart judicially as he tooka squint at his T-square. "I don' know's I should want to start out an'try to beat it! The Lord can make a good many kinds o' weather in thecourse of a year, but when He puts his mind on to it, an' kind o' givesHimself a free hand, He can turn out a June morning that must make theDevil sick to his stomach with envy! All the same, Waity, my cow ain'tbehavin' herself any better'n usual. She's been rampagin' since sun-up. I've seen mother chasin' her out o' Mis' Day's garden-patch twicea'ready!--It seems real good an' homey to see you settin' there sewin'while I'm workin' at the bench. Cephas is down to the store, so I s'poseyour father's off somewheres?"

Perhaps the June grass was a little greener, the buttercups yellower, the foliage more lacey, the sky bluer, because Deacon Baxter hadtaken his luncheon in a pail under the wagon seat, and departed onan unwilling journey to Moderation, his object being to press thecollection of some accounts too long overdue. There was somethingtragic in the fact, Waitstill thought, that whenever her father leftthe village for a whole day, life at once grew brighter, easier, morehopeful. One could breathe freely, speak one's heart out, believe in thefuture, when father was away. 

The girls had harbored many delightful plans at early breakfast. As itwas Saturday, Patty could catch little Rod Boynton, if he came to thebridge on errands as usual; and if Ivory could spare him for an hourat noon they would take their luncheon and eat it together on theriver-bank as Patty had promised him. At the last moment, however, Deacon Baxter had turned around in the wagon and said: "Patience, you godown to the store and have a regular house-cleanin' in the stock-room. Git Cephas to lift what you can't lift yourself, move everything in theplace, sweep and dust it, scrub the floor, wash the winder, and makeroom for the new stuff that they'll bring up from Mill-town 'bout noon. If you have any time left over, put new papers on the shelves out front, and clean up and fix the show winder. Don't stand round gabbin' withCephas, and see't he don't waste time that's paid for by me. Tell him hemight clean up the terbaccer stains round the stove, black it, and coverit up for the summer if he ain't too busy servin' cust'mers. "

"The whole day spoiled!" wailed Patty, flinging herself down in thekitchen rocker. "Father's powers of invention beat anything I ever saw!That stock-room could have been cleaned any time this month and it'stoo heavy work for me anyway; it spoils my hands, grubbing around thosenasty, sticky, splintery boxes and barrels. Instead of being outof doors, I've got to be shut up in that smelly, rummy, tobacco-y, salt-fishy, pepperminty place with Cephas Cole! He won't have a pleasantmorning, I can tell you! I shall snap his head off every time he speaksto me. "

"So I would!" Waitstill answered composedly. "Everything is so clearlyhis fault that I certainly would work off my temper on Cephas! Still, I can think of a way to make matters come out right. I've got a greatbasket of mending that must be done, and you remember there's a choirrehearsal for the new anthem this afternoon, but anyway I can help alittle on the cleaning. Then you can make Rodman do a few of the oddjobs, it will be a novelty to him; and Cephas will work his fingersto the bone for you, as you well know, if you treat him like a humanbeing. "

"All right!" cried Patty joyously, her mood changing in an instant. "There's Rod coming over the bridge now! Toss me my gingham apron andthe scrubbing-brush, and the pail, and the tin of soft soap, andthe cleaning cloths; let's see, the broom's down there, so I've goteverything. If I wave a towel from the store, pack up luncheon forthree. You come down and bring your mending; then, when you see how I'mgetting on, we can consult. I'm going to take the ten cents I've savedand spend it in raisins. I can get a good many if Cephas gives mewholesale price, with family discount subtracted from that. Cephaswould treat me to candy in a minute, but if I let him we'd have to askhim to the picnic! Good-bye!" And the volatile creature darted down thehill singing, "There'll be something in heaven for children to do, " atthe top of her healthy young lungs. 

IX. CEPHAS SPEAKS

THE waving signal, a little later on, showed that Rodman could go to thepicnic, the fact being that he was having a holiday from eleven o'clockuntil two, and Ivory was going to drive to the bridge at noon, anyway, so his permission could then be asked. 

Patty's mind might have been thought entirely on her ugly task as sheswept and dusted and scrubbed that morning, but the reverse was true. Mark Wilson had gone away without saying good-bye to her. This was notsurprising, perhaps, as she was about as much sequestered in her hilltopprison as a Turkish beauty in a harem; neither was it astonishing thatMark did not write to her. He never had written to her, and as herfather always brought home the very infrequent letters that came to thefamily, Mark knew that any sentimental correspondence would be fraughtwith danger. No, everything was probably just as it should be, andyet, --well, Patty had expected during the last three weeks thatsomething would happen to break up the monotony of her former existence. She hardly knew what it would be, but the kiss dropped so lightly on hercheek by Mark Wilson still burned in remembrance, and made her sure thatit would have a sequel, or an explanation. 

Mark's sister Ellen and Phil Perry were in the midst of some form oflover's quarrel, and during its progress Phil was paying considerableattention to Patty at Sabbath School and prayer-meeting, occasions, itmust be confessed, only provocative of very indirect and long-distanceadvances. Cephas Cole, to the amazement of every one but his(constitutionally) exasperated mother, was "toning down" the ell of thefamily mansion, mitigating the lively yellow, and putting another freshcoat of paint on it, for no conceivable reason save that of pleasing theeye of a certain capricious, ungrateful young hussy, who would probablysay, when her verdict was asked, that she didn't see any particulardifference in it, one way or another. 

Trade was not especially brisk at the Deacon's emporium this sunny JuneSaturday morning. Cephas may have possibly lost a customer or two byleaving the store vacant while he toiled and sweated for Miss PatienceBaxter in the stockroom at the back, overhanging the river, but noman alive could see his employer's lovely daughter tugging at a keg ofshingle nails without trying to save her from a broken back, althoughCephas could have watched his mother move the house and barn withoutfeeling the slightest anxiety in her behalf. If he could ever get the"heft" of the "doggoned" cleaning out of the way so that Patty's mindcould be free to entertain his proposition; could ever secure oneprecious moment of silence when she was not slatting and banging, pushing and pulling things about, her head and ears out of sight under ashelf, and an irritating air of absorption about her whole demeanor;if that moment of silence could ever, under Providence, be simultaneouswith the absence of customers in the front shop, Cephas intended tooffer himself to Patience Baxter that very morning. 

Once, during a temporary lull in the rear, he started to meet his fatewhen Rodman Boynton followed him into the back room, and the boy was atonce set to work by Patty, who was the most consummate slave-driverin the State of Maine. After half an hour there was another Heavensentchance, when Rodman went up to Uncle Bart's shop with a message forWaitstill, but, just then, in came Bill Morrill, a boy of twelve, with arequest for a gallon of molasses; and would Cephas lend him a stone jugover Sunday, for his mother had hers soakin' out in soap-suds 'cause 'twa'n't smellin' jest right. Bill's message given, he hurried up the roadon another errand, promising to call for the molasses later. 

Cephas put the gallon measure under the spigot of the molasses hogsheadand turned on the tap. The task was going to be a long one and he grewimpatient, for the stream was only a slender trickle, scarcely more thanthe slow dripping of drops, so the molasses must be very never low, andwith his mind full of weightier affairs he must make a note to tell theDeacon to broach a new hogshead. Cephas feared that he could never makeout a full gallon, in which case Mrs. Morrill would be vexed, for shekept mill boarders and baked quantities of brown bread and gingerbreadand molasses cookies for over Sunday. He did wish trade would languishaltogether on this particular morning. The minutes dragged by and againthere was perfect quiet in the stock-room. As the door opened, Cephas, taking his last chance, went forward to meet Patty, who was turning downthe skirt of her dress, taking the cloth off her head, smoothing herhair, and tying on a clean white ruffed apron, in which she looked aspretty as a pink. 

"Patty!" stammered Cephas, seizing his golden opportunity, "Patty, keepyour mind on me for a minute. I've put a new coat o' paint on the elljust to please you; won't you get married and settle down with me? Ilove you so I can't eat nor drink nor 'tend store nor nothin'!"

"Oh, I--I--couldn't, Cephas, thank you; I just couldn't, --don't ask me, "cried Patty, as nervous as Cephas himself now that her first offer hadreally come; "I'm only seventeen and I don't feel like settling down, Cephas, and father wouldn't think of letting me get married. "

"Don't play tricks on me, Patty, and keep shovin' me off so, an' givin'wrong reasons, " pleaded Cephas. "What's the trouble with me? I knowmother's temper's onsartain, but we never need go into the main housedaytimes and father'd allers stand up ag'in' her if she didn't treatyou right. I've got a good trade and father has a hundred dollars o' mysavin's that I can draw out to-morrer if you'll have me. "

"I can't, Cephas; don't move; stay where you are; no, don't come anynearer; I'm not fond of you that way, and, besides, --and, besides--"

Her blush and her evident embarrassment gave Cephas a new fear. 

"You ain't promised a'ready, be you?" he asked anxiously; "when thereain't a feller anywheres around that's ever stepped foot over yourfather's doorsill but jest me?"

"I haven't promised anything or anybody, "

Patty answered sedately, gaining her self-control by degrees, "but Iwon't deny that I'm considering; that's true!"

"Considerin' who?" asked Cephas, turning pale. 

"Oh, --SEVERAL, if you must know the truth"; and Patty's tone was cruelin its jauntiness. 

"SEVERAL!" The word did not sound like ordinary work-a-day RiverboroEnglish in Cephas's ears. He knew that "several" meant more than one, but he was too stunned to define the term properly in its presentstrange connection. 

"Whoever 't is wouldn't do any better by you'n I would. I'd take alickin' for you any day, " Cephas exclaimed abjectly, after a long pause. 

"That wouldn't make any difference, Cephas, " said Patty firmly, movingtowards the front door as if to end the interview. "If I don't love youUNlicked, I couldn't love you any better licked, now, could I?--Goodnessgracious, what am I stepping in? Cephas, quick! Something has beenrunning all over the floor. My feet are sticking to it. "

"Good Gosh! It's Mis' Morrill's molasses!" cried Cephas, brought to hissenses suddenly. 

It was too true! Whatever had been the small obstruction in the tap, it had disappeared. The gallon measure had been filled to the brim tenminutes before, and ever since, the treacly liquid had been overflowingthe top and spreading in a brown flood, unnoticed, over the floor. Patty's feet were glued to it, her buff calico skirts lifted high toescape harm. 

"I can't move, " she cried. "Oh! You stupid, stupid Cephas, how could youleave the molasses spigot turned on? See what you've done! You've wastedquarts and quarts! What will father say, and how will you ever clean upsuch a mess? You never can get the floor to look so that he won't noticeit, and he is sure to miss the molasses. You've ruined my shoes, and Isimply can't bear the sight of you!"

At this Cephas all but blubbered in the agony of his soul. It was badenough to be told by Patty that she was "considering several, " buthis first romance had ended in such complete disaster that he saw ina vision his life blasted; changed in one brief moment from that of aprosperous young painter to that of a blighted and despised bungler, whose week's wages were likely to be expended in molasses to make goodthe Deacon's loss. 

"Find those cleaning-cloths I left in the hack room, " ordered Patty witha flashing eye. "Get some blocks, or bits of board, or stones, for me towalk on, so that I can get out of your nasty mess. Fill Bill Morrill'sjug, quick, and set it out on the steps for him to pick up. I don't knowwhat you'd do without me to plan for you! Lock the front door and hangfather's sign that he's gone to dinner on the doorknob. Scoop up all themolasses you can with one of those new trowels on the counter. Scoop, and scrape, and scoop, and scrape; then put a cloth on your oldestbroom, pour lots of water on, pail after pail, and swab! When you'veswabbed till it won't do any more good, then scrub! After that, Ishouldn't wonder if you had to fan the floor with a newspaper or it'llnever get dry before father comes home. I'll sit on the flour barrel alittle while and advise, but I can't stay long because I'm going to apicnic. Hurry up and don't look as if you were going to die any minute!It's no use crying over spilt molasses. You don't suppose I'm going totell any tales after you've made me an offer of marriage, do you? I'mnot so mean as all that, though I may have my faults. "

It was nearly two o'clock before the card announcing Deacon Baxter'sabsence at dinner was removed from the front doorknob, and when thestore was finally reopened for business it was a most dejected clerk whodealt out groceries to the public. The worst feature of the affair wasthat every one in the two villages suddenly and contemporaneously wantedmolasses, so that Cephas spent the afternoon reviewing his misery bycontinually turning the tap and drawing off the fatal liquid. Then, too, every inquisitive boy in the neighborhood came to the back of the storeto view the operation, exclaiming: "What makes the floor so wet? Hain'tbeen spillin' molasses, have yer? Bet yer have! Good joke on Old Foxy!"

X. ON TORY HILL

It had been a heavenly picnic the little trio all agreed as to that; andwhen Ivory saw the Baxter girls coming up the shady path that led alongthe river from the Indian Cellar to the bridge, it was a merry group anda transfigured Rodman that caught his eye. The boy, trailing on behindwith the baskets and laden with tin dippers and wildflowers, seemedanother creature from the big-eyed, quiet little lad he saw every day. He had chattered like a magpie, eaten like a bear, is torn his jacketgetting wild columbines for Patty, been nicely darned by Waitstill, andwas in a state of hilarity that rendered him quite unrecognizable. 

"We've had a lovely picnic!" called Patty; "I wish you had been withus!"

"You didn't ask me!" smiled Ivory, picking up Waitstill's mending-basketfrom the nook in the trees where she had hidden it for safe-keeping. 

"We've played games, Ivory, " cried the boy. "Patty made them up herself. First we had the 'Landing of the Pilgrims, ' and Waitstill made believebe the figurehead of the Mayflower. She stood on a great boulder andsang:--

 'The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast'--

and, oh! she was splendid! Then Patty was Pocahontas and I was Cap'nJohn Smith, and look, we are all dressed up for the Indian wedding!"

Waitstill had on a crown of white birch bark and her braid of hair, twined with running ever-green, fell to her waist. Patty was wreathedwith columbines and decked with some turkey feathers that she had putin her basket as too pretty to throw away. Waitstill looked ratherconscious in her unusual finery, but Patty sported it with the recklessease and innocent vanity that characterized her. 

"I shall have to run into father's store to put myself tidy, " Waitstillsaid, "so good-bye, Rodman, we'll have another picnic some day. Patty, you must do the chores this afternoon, you know, so that I can go tochoir rehearsal. "

Rodman and Patty started up the hill gayly with their burdens, and Ivorywalked by Waitstill's side as she pulled off her birch-bark crown andtwisted her braid around her head with a heightened color at beingwatched. 

"I'll say good-bye now, Ivory, but I'll see you at the meeting-house, "she said, as she neared the store. "I'll go in here and brush the pineneedles off, wash my hands, and rest a little before rehearsal. That's apuzzling anthem we have for to-morrow. "

"I have my horse here; let me drive you up to the church. "

"I can't, Ivory, thank you. Father's orders are against my driving outwith any one, you know. "

"Very well, the road is free, at any rate. I'll hitch my horse down herein the woods somewhere and when you start to walk I shall follow andcatch up with you. There's luckily only one way to reach the church fromhere, and your father can't blame us if we both take it!"

And so it fell out that Ivory and Waitstill walked together in the coolof the afternoon to the meeting-house on Tory Hill. Waitstill kept thebeaten path on one side and Ivory that on the other, so that the widthof the country road, deep in dust, was between them, yet their nearnessseemed so tangible a thing that each could feel the heart beating inthe other's side. Their talk was only that of tried friends, a talkinterrupted by long beautiful silences; silences that come only to aman and woman whose understanding of each other is beyond question andanswer. Not a sound broke the stillness, yet the very air, it seemedto them, was shedding meanings: the flowers were exhaling a lovesecret with their fragrances, the birds were singing it boldly from thetree-tops, yet no word passed the man's lips or the girl's. Patty wouldhave hung out all sorts of signals and lures to draw the truth fromIvory and break through the walls of his self-control, but Waitstill, never; and Ivory Boynton was made of stuff so strong that he would notspeak a syllable of love to a woman unless he could say all. He was onlyfive-and-twenty, but he had been reared in a rigorous school, and hadlearned in its poverty, loneliness, and anxiety lessons of self-denialand self-control that bore daily fruit now. He knew that Deacon Baxterwould never allow any engagement to exist between Waitstill and himself;he also knew that Waitstill would never defy and disobey her father ifit meant leaving her younger sister to fight alone a dreary battle forwhich she was not fitted. If there was little hope on her side thereseemed even less on his. His mother's mental illness made her peculiarlydependent upon him, and at the same time held him in such strict bondagethat it was almost impossible for him to get on in the world or even togive her the comforts she needed. In villages like Riverboro in thoseearly days there was no putting away, even of men or women so dementedas to be something of a menace to the peace of the household; but LoisBoynton was so gentle, so fragile, so exquisite a spirit, that sheseemed in her sad aloofness simply a thing to be sheltered and shieldedsomehow in her difficult life journey. Ivory often thought how sorelyshe needed a daughter in her affliction. If the baby sister had onlylived, the home might have been different; but alas! there was only ason, --a son who tried to be tender and sympathetic, but after all wasnothing but a big, clumsy, uncomprehending man-creature, who ought tobe felling trees, ploughing, sowing, reaping, or at least studying law, making his own fortune and that of some future wife. Old Mrs. Mason, agarrulous, good-hearted grandame, was their only near neighbor, and hervisits always left his mother worse rather than better. How such a girlas Waitstill would pour comfort and beauty and joy into a lonely houselike his, if only he were weak enough to call upon her strength and putit to so cruel a test. God help him, he would never do that, especiallyas he could not earn enough to keep a larger family, bound down as hewas by inexorable responsibilities. Waitstill, thus far in life, hadsuffered many sorrows and enjoyed few pleasures; marriage ought to bringher freedom and plenty, not carking care and poverty. He stole longlooks at the girl across the separating space that was so helpless toseparate, --feeding his starved heart upon her womanly graces. Her quick, springing step was in harmony with the fire and courage of hermien. There was a line or two in her face, --small wonder; but an"unconquerable soul" shone in her eyes; shone, too, in no uncertainway, but brightly and steadily, expressing an unshaken joy in living. Valiant, splendid, indomitable Waitstill! He could never tell her, alas!but how he gloried in her!

It is needless to say that no woman could be the possessor of such alove as Ivory Boynton's and not know of its existence. Waitstill neverheard a breath of it from Ivory's lips; even his eyes were under controland confessed nothing; nor did his hand ever clasp hers, to show by atell-tale touch the truth he dared not utter; nevertheless she felt thatshe was beloved. She hid the knowledge deep in her heart and covered itsoftly from every eye but her own; taking it out in the safe darknesssometimes to wonder over and adore in secret. Did her love for Ivoryrest partly on a sense of vocation?--a profound, inarticulate diviningof his vast need of her? He was so strong, yet so weak because of theyoke he bore, so bitterly alone in his desperate struggle with life, that her heart melted like wax whenever she thought of him. When shecontemplated the hidden mutiny in her own heart, she was awestrucksometimes at the almost divine patience of Ivory's conduct as a son. 

"How is your mother this summer, Ivory?" she asked as they sat down onthe meeting-house steps waiting for Jed Morrill to open the door. "Thereis little change in her from year to year, Waitstill. --By the way, whydon't we get out of this afternoon sun and sit in the old graveyardunder the trees? We are early and the choir won't get here for half anhour. --Dr. Perry says that he does not understand mother's case in theleast, and that no one but some great Boston physician could give aproper opinion on it; of course, that is impossible at present. "

They sat down on the grass underneath one of the elms and Waitstill tookoff her hat and leaned back against the tree-trunk. 

"Tell me more, " she said; "it is so long since we talked togetherquietly and we have never really spoken of your mother. "

"Of course, " Ivory continued, "the people of the village all think andspeak of mother's illness as religious insanity, but to me it seemsnothing of the sort. I was only a child when father first fell ill withJacob Cochrane, but I was twelve when father went away from home onhis 'mission, ' and if there was any one suffering from delusions in ourfamily it was he, not mother. She had altogether given up going to theCochrane meetings, and I well remember the scene when my father told herof the revelation he had received about going through the state and intoNew Hampshire in order to convert others and extend the movement. Shehad no sympathy with his self-imposed mission, you may be sure, thoughnow she goes back in her memory to the earlier days of her married life, when she tried hard, poor soul, to tread the same path that father wastreading, so as to be by his side at every turn of the road. 

"I am sure" (here Ivory's tone was somewhat dry and satirical) "thatfather's road had many turns, Waitstill! He was a schoolmaster in Saco, you know, when I was born but he soon turned from teaching to preaching, and here my mother followed with entire sympathy, for she was intensely, devoutly religious. I said there was little change in her, but there isone new symptom. She has ceased to refer to her conversion to Cochranismas a blessed experience. Her memory of those first days seems tohave faded, As to her sister's death and all the circumstances of herbringing Rodman home, her mind is a blank. Her expectation of father'sreturn, on the other hand, is much more intense than ever. "

"She must have loved your father dearly, Ivory, and to lose him in thisterrible way is much worse than death. Uncle Bart says he had a greatgift of language!"

"Yes, and it was that, in my mind, that led him astray. I fear that theSpirit of God was never so strong in father as the desire to influencepeople by his oratory. That was what drew him to preaching in the firstplace, and when he found in Jacob Cochrane a man who could move anaudience to frenzy, lift them out of the body, and do with their spiritsas he willed, he acknowledged him as master. Whether his gospel was apure and undefiled religion I doubt, but he certainly was a master ofmesmeric control. My mother was beguiled, entranced, even bewitched atfirst, I doubt not, for she translated all that Cochrane said into herown speech, and regarded him as the prophet of a new era. But Cochrane'slast 'revelations' differed from the first, and were of the earth, earthy. My mother's pure soul must have revolted, but she was not strongenough to drag father from his allegiance. Mother was of better familythan father, but they were both well educated and had the best schoolingto be had in their day. So far as I can judge, mother always had more'balance' than father, and much better judgment, --yet look at her now!"

"Then you think it was your father's disappearance that really causedher mind to waver?" asked Waitstill. 

"I do, indeed. I don't know what happened between them in the way ofreligious differences, nor how much unhappiness these may have caused. Iremember she had an illness when we first came here to live and I wasa little chap of three or four, but that was caused by the loss of achild, a girl, who lived only a few weeks. She recovered perfectly, andher head was as clear as mine for a year or two after father went away. As his letters grew less frequent, as news of him gradually ceased tocome, she became more and more silent, and retired more completely intoherself. She never went anywhere, nor entertained visitors, because shedid not wish to hear the gossip and speculation that were going onin the village. Some of it was very hard for a wife to bear, and sheresented it indignantly; yet never received a word from father withwhich to refute it. At this time, as nearly as I can judge, she wasa recluse, and subject to periods of profound melancholy, but nothingworse. Then she took that winter journey to her sister's deathbed, brought home the boy, and, hastened by exposure and chill and grief, Isuppose, her mind gave way, --that's all!" And Ivory sighed drearilyas he stretched himself on the greensward, and looked off towards thesnow-clad New Hampshire hills. "I've meant to write the story of the'Cochrane craze' sometime, or such part of it as has to do with myfamily history, and you shall read it if you like. I should set down mychild-hood and my boyhood memories, together with such scraps of villagehearsay as seem reliable. You were not so much younger than I, but Iwas in the thick of the excitement, and naturally I heard more thanyou, having so bitter a reason for being interested. Jacob Cochrane hasaltogether disappeared from public view, but there's many a family inMaine and New Hampshire, yes, and in the far West, that will feel hisinfluence for years to come. "

"I should like very much to read your account. Aunt Abby's version, forinstance, is so different from Uncle Bart's that one can scarcely findthe truth between the two; and father's bears no relation to that of anyof the others. "

"Some of us see facts and others see visions, " replied Ivory, "and thesedifferences of opinion crop up in the village every day when anythingnoteworthy is discussed. I came upon a quotation in my reading lastevening that described it:

 'One said it thundered... Another that an angel spake'"

"Do you feel as if your father was dead, Ivory?"

"I can only hope so! That thought brings sadness with it, as oneremembers his disappointment and failure, but if he is alive he is atraitor. "

There was a long pause and they could see in the distance HumphreyBarker with his clarionet and Pliny Waterhouse with his bass violdriving up to the churchyard fence to hitch their horses. The sun wasdipping low and red behind the Town-House Hill on the other side of theriver. 

"What makes my father dislike the very mention of yours?" askedWaitstill. "I know what they say: that it is because the two men hadhigh words once in a Cochrane meeting, when father tried to interferewith some of the exercises and was put out of doors. It doesn't seem asif that grievance, seventeen or eighteen years ago, would influence hisopinion of your mother, or of you. "

"It isn't likely that a man of your father's sort would forget orforgive what he considered an injury; and in refusing to have anythingto do with the son of a disgraced man and a deranged woman, he is wellwithin his rights. "

Ivory's cheeks burned red under the tan, and his hand trembled a littleas he plucked bits of clover from the grass and pulled them to piecesabsent-mindedly. "How are you getting on at home these days, Waitstill?"he asked, as if to turn his own mind and hers from a too painfulsubject. 

"You have troubles enough of your own without hearing mine, Ivory, andanyway they are not big afflictions, heavy sorrows, like those you haveto bear. Mine are just petty, nagging, sordid, cheap little miseries, like gnat-bites;--so petty and so sordid that I can hardly talk to Godabout them, much less to a human friend. Patty is my only outlet andI need others, yet I find it almost impossible to escape from thenarrowness of my life and be of use to any one else. " The girl'svoice quivered and a single tear-drop on her cheek showed that she wasspeaking from a full heart. "This afternoon's talk has determined me inone thing, " she went on. "I am going to see your mother now and then. Ishall have to do it secretly, for your sake, for hers, and for my own, but if I am found out, then I will go openly. There must be times whenone can break the lower law, and yet keep the higher. Father's law, inthis case, is the lower, and I propose to break it. "

"I can't have you getting into trouble, Waitstill, " Ivory objected. "You're the one woman I can think of who might help my mother; all thesame, I would not make your life harder; not for worlds!"

"It will not be harder, and even if it was I should 'count it all joy'to help a woman bear such sorrow as your mother endures patiently dayafter day"; and Waitstill rose to her feet and tied on her hat as onewho had made up her mind. 

It was almost impossible for Ivory to hold his peace then, so full ofgratitude was his soul and so great his longing to pour out the feelingthat flooded it. He pulled himself together and led the way out of thechurchyard. To look at Waitstill again would be to lose his head, but tohis troubled heart there came a flood of light, a glory from that lampthat a woman may hold up for a man; a glory that none can take from him, and none can darken; a light by which he may walk and live and die. 

XI. A JUNE SUNDAY

IT was a Sunday in June, and almost the whole population ofRiverboro and Edgewood was walking or driving in the direction of themeeting-house on Tory Hill. 

Church toilettes, you may well believe, were difficult of attainment byDeacon Baxter's daughters, as they had been by his respective helpmatesin years gone by. When Waitstill's mother first asked her husband to buyher a new dress, and that was two years after marriage, he simply said:"You look well enough; what do you want to waste money on finery for, these hard times? If other folks are extravagant, that ain't anyreason you should be. You ain't obliged to take your neighbors for anexample:--take 'em for a warnin'!"

"But, Foxwell, my Sunday dress is worn completely to threads, " urged thesecond Mrs. Baxter. 

"That's what women always say; they're all alike; no more idea o' savin'anything than a skunk-blackbird! I can't spare any money for gew-gaws, and you might as well understand it first as last. Go up attic and openthe hair trunk by the winder; you'll find plenty there to last you foryears to come. "

The second Mrs. Baxter visited the attic as commanded, and in turningover the clothes in the old trunk, knew by instinct that they hadbelonged to her predecessor in office. Some of the dresses were neat, though terribly worn and faded, but all were fortunately far too shortand small for a person of her fine proportions. Besides, her very soulshrank from wearing them, and her spirit revolted both from the insultto herself and to the poor dead woman she had succeeded, so she camedownstairs to darn and mend and patch again her shabby wardrobe. Waitstill had gone through the same as her mother before her, but indespair, when she was seventeen, she began to cut over the old garmentsfor herself and Patty. Mercifully there were very few of them, and theyhad long since been discarded. At eighteen she had learned to dye yarnswith yellow oak or maple bark and to make purples from elder and sumacberries; she could spin and knit as well as any old "Aunt" of thevillage, and cut and shape a garment as deftly as the Edgewoodtailoress, but the task of making bricks without straw was a hard one, indeed. 

She wore a white cotton frock on this particular Sunday. It was starchedand ironed with a beautiful gloss, while a touch of distinction wasgiven to her costume by a little black sleeveless "roundabout" madeout of the covering of an old silk umbrella. Her flat hat had a singlewreath of coarse daisies around the crown, and her mitts were darned inmany places, nevertheless you could not entirely spoil her; God had useda liberal hand in making her, and her father's parsimony was a sort ofboomerang that flew back chiefly upon himself. 

As for Patty, her style of beauty, like Cephas Cole's ell had to betoned down rather than up, to be effective, but circumstances had beencruelly unrelenting in this process of late. Deacon Baxter had given thegirls three or four shopworn pieces of faded yellow calico that had beenrepudiated by the village housewives as not "fast" enough in colorto bear the test of proper washing. This had made frocks, aprons, petticoats, and even underclothes, for two full years, and Patty'sweekly objurgations when she removed her everlasting yellow dress fromthe nail where it hung were not such as should have fallen from the lipsof a deacon's daughter. Waitstill had taken a piece of the same yellowmaterial, starched and ironed it, cut a curving, circular brim from it, sewed in a pleated crown, and lo! a hat for Patty! What inspired Pattyto put on a waist ribbon of deepest wine color, with a little band ofthe same on the pale yellow hat, no one could say. 

"Do you think you shall like that dull red right close to the yellow, Patty?" Waitstill asked anxiously. 

"It looks all right on the columbines in the Indian Cellar, " repliedPatty, turning and twisting the hat on her head. "If we can't get a peekat the Boston fashions, we must just find our styles where we can!"

The various roads to Tory Hill were alive with vehicles on this brightSunday morning. Uncle Bart and Abel Day, with their respective wives onthe back seat of the Cole's double wagon, were passed by Deacon Baxterand his daughters, Waitstill being due at meeting earlier than others byreason of her singing in the choir. The Deacon's one-horse, two-wheeled"shay" could hold three persons, with comfort on its broad seat, andthe twenty-year-old mare, although she was always as hollow as a gourd, could generally do the mile, uphill all the way, in half an hour, ifurged continually, and the Deacon, be it said, if not good at feeding, was unsurpassed at urging. 

Aunt Abby Cole could get only a passing glimpse of Patty in the depthsof the "shay, " but a glimpse was always enough for her, as her opinionof the girl's charms was considerably affected by the forlorn conditionof her son Cephas, whom she suspected of being hopelessly in lovewith the young person aforesaid, to whom she commonly alluded as "thatred-headed bag-gage. "

"Patience Baxter's got the kind of looks that might do well enough at atavern dance, or a husking, but they're entirely unsuited to the Sabbathday or the meetin'-house, " so Aunt Abby remarked to Mrs. Day in theway of backseat confidence. "It's unfortunate that a deacon's daughtershould be afflicted with that bold style of beauty! Her hair's all butred; in fact, you might as well call it red, when the sun shines on it:but if she'd ever smack it down with bear's grease she might darken itsome; or anyhow she'd make it lay slicker; but it's the kind of hairthat just matches that kind of a girl, --sort of up an' comin'! Then herskin's so white and her cheeks so pink and her eyes so snappy that she'dattract attention without half trying though I guess she ain't abovemakin' an effort. "

"She's innocent as a kitten, " observed Mrs. Day impartially. 

"Oh, yes, she's innocent enough an' I hope she'll keep so! Waitstill'sa sight han'somer, if the truth was told; but she's the sort of girlthat's made for one man and the rest of em never look at her. The otherone's cut out for the crowd, the more the merrier. She's a kind ofman-trap, that girl is!--Do urge the horse a little mite, Bartholomew!It makes me kind o' hot to be passed by Deacon Baxter. It's MissionarySunday, too, when he gen'ally has rheumatism too bad to come out. "

"I wonder if he ever puts anything into the plate, " said Mrs. Day. "Noone ever saw him, that I know of. "

"The Deacon keeps the Thou Shalt Not commandments pretty well, " was AuntAbby's terse response. "I guess he don't put nothin' into the plate, but I s'pose we'd ought to be thankful he don't take nothin' out. TheBaptists are gettin' ahead faster than they'd ought to, up to the Mills. Our minister ain't no kind of a proselyter, Seems as if he didn't carehow folks got to heaven so long as they got there! The other church ishavin' a service this afternoon side o' the river, an' I'd kind o' liketo go, except it would please 'em too much to have a crowd there tosee the immersion. They tell me, but I don't know how true, that thatTillman widder woman that come here from somewheres in Vermont wanted tobe baptized to-day, but the other converts declared THEY wouldn't be, ifshe was!"

"Jed Morrill said they'd have to hold her under water quite a spell todo any good, " chuckled Uncle Bart from the front seat. 

"Well, I wouldn't repeat it, Bartholomew, on the Sabbath day; not if hedid say it. Jed Morrill's responsible for more blasphemious jokesthan any man in Edgewood. I don't approve of makin' light of anybody'sreligious observances if they're ever so foolish, " said Aunt Abbysomewhat enigmatically. "Our minister keeps remindin' us that theBaptists and Methodists are our brethren, but I wish he'd be a littlemore anxious to have our S'ceity keep ahead of the others. "

"Jed's 'bout right in sizin' up the Widder Tillman, " was Mr. Day's timidcontribution to the argument. "I ain't a readin' man, but from whatfolks report I should think she was one o' them critters that set onrocks bewilderin' an' bedevilin' men-folks out o' their senses--SYREENS, I think they call 'em; a reg'lar SYREEN is what that woman is, I guess!"

"There, there, Abel, you wouldn't know a syreen if you found one in yourbaked beans, so don't take away a woman's character on hearsay. " AndMrs. Day, having shut up her husband as was her bounden duty as a wifeand a Christian, tied her bonnet strings a little tighter and lookeddistinctly pleased with herself. 

"Abel ain't startin' any new gossip, " was Aunt Abby's opinion, as shesprung to his rescue. "One or two more holes in a colander don't makemuch dif'rence. --Bartholomew, we're certainly goin' to be late thismornin'; we're about the last team on the road"; and Aunt Abby glancednervously behind. "Elder Boone ain't begun the openin' prayer, though, or we should know it. You can hear him pray a mile away, when the wind'sright. I do hate to be late to meetin'. The Elder allers takes notice;the folks in the wing pews allers gapes an' stares, and the choir peeksthrough the curtain, takin' notes of everything you've got on your back. I hope to the land they'll chord and keep together a little mite better'n they've done lately, that's all I can say! If the Lord is right inour midst as the Bible says, He can't think much of our singers thissummer!"

"They're improvin', now that Pliny Waterhouse plays his fiddle, " Mrs. Day remarked pacifically. "There was times in the anthem when they kepttogether consid'able well last Sunday. They didn't always chord, butthere, they chorded some!--we're most there now, Abby, don't fret!Cephas won't ring the last bell till he knows his own folks is crossin'the Common!"

Those were days of conscientious church-going and every pew in the housewas crowded. The pulpit was built on pillars that raised it six feethigher than the floor; the top was cushioned and covered with red velvetsurmounted by a huge gilt-edged Bible. There was a window in the towerthrough which Cephas Cole could look into the church, and while tollingthe bell could keep watch for the minister. Always exactly on time, hewould come in, walk slowly up the right-hand aisle, mount the pulpitstairs, enter and close the door after him. Then Cephas would giveone tremendous pull to warn loiterers on the steps; a pull that meant, "Parson's in the pulpit!" and was acted upon accordingly. Opening thebig Bible, the minister raised his right hand impressively, and saying, "Let us pray, " the whole congregation rose in their pews with a greatrustling and bowed their heads devoutly for the invocation. 

Next came the hymn, generally at that day one of Isaac Watts's. Thesingers, fifteen or twenty in number, sat in a raised gallery oppositethe pulpit, and there was a rod in front hung with red curtains tohide them when sitting down. Any one was free to join, which perhapsaccounted for Aunt Abby's strictures as to time and tune. Jed Morrill, "blasphemious" as he was considered by that acrimonious lady, was theleader, and a good one, too. There would be a great whispering andbuzzing when Deacon Sumner with his big fiddle and Pliny Waterhouse withhis smaller one would try to get in accord with Humphrey Baker andhis clarionet. All went well when Humphrey was there to give the surekey-note, but in his absence Jed Morrill would use his tuning-fork. Whenthe key was finally secured by all concerned, Jed would raise hisstick, beat one measure to set the time, and all joined in, or fell in, according to their several abilities. It was not always a perfect thingin the way of a start, but they were well together at the end of thefirst line, and when, as now, the choir numbered a goodly number ofvoices, and there were three or four hundred in the pews, nothing moreinspiring in its peculiar way was ever heard, than the congregationalsinging of such splendid hymns as "Old Hundred, " "Duke Street, " or"Coronation. "

Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivory was at the far end of the choir inthe basses, but each was conscious of the other's presence. This morninghe could hear her noble voice rising a little above, or, perhaps fromits quality, separating itself somehow, ever so little, from the others. How full of strength and hope it was, her voice! How steadfast to thepitch; how golden its color; how moving in its crescendos! How the wordsflowed from her lips; not as if they had been written years ago, butas if they were the expression of her own faith. There were many in thecongregation who were stirred, they knew not why, when there chanced tobe only a few "carrying the air" and they could really hear WaitstillBaxter singing some dear old hymn, full of sacred memories, like:--

 "While Thee I seek, protecting Power, Be my vain wishes stilled! And may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled. "

"There may be them in Boston that can sing louder, and they may be ableto run up a little higher than Waitstill, but the question is, could anyof 'em make Aunt Abby Cole shed tears?" This was Jed Morrill's tributeto his best soprano. 

There were Sunday evening prayer-meetings, too, held at "earlycandlelight, " when Waitstill and Lucy Morrill would make a duet of "Bycool Siloam's Shady Rill, " or the favorite "Naomi, " and the two freshyoung voices, rising and falling in the tender thirds of the old tunes, melted all hearts to new willingness of sacrifice. 

 "Father, whate'er of earthly bliss Thy sov'reign will denies, Accepted at Thy Throne of grace Let this petition rise!

 "Give me a calm, a thankful heart, From every murmur free! The blessing of Thy grace impart And let me live to Thee!"

How Ivory loved to hear Waitstill sing these lines! How they eased hisburden as they were easing hers, falling on his impatient, longing heartlike evening dew on thirsty grass!

XII. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER

"WHILE Thee I seek, protecting Power, " was the first hymn on thisparticular Sunday morning, and it usually held Patty's rather vagrantattention to the end, though it failed to do so to-day. The Baxtersoccupied one of the wing pews, a position always to be envied, as onecould see the singers without turning around, and also observe everybodyin the congregation, --their entrance, garments, behavior, and especiallytheir bonnets, --without being in the least indiscreet, or seeming tohave a roving eye. 

Lawyer Wilson's pew was the second in front of the Baxters in the samewing, and Patty, seated decorously but unwillingly beside her father, was impatiently awaiting the entrance of the family, knowing that Markwould be with them if he had returned from Boston. Timothy Grant, theparish clerk, had the pew in between, and afforded a most edifyingspectacle to the community, as there were seven young Grants of achurch-going age, and the ladies of the congregation were alwayscounting them, reckoning how many more were in their cradles at homeand trying to guess from Mrs. Grant's lively or chastened countenancewhether any new ones had been born since the Sunday before. 

Patty settled herself comfortably, and put her foot on the wooden"cricket, " raising her buff calico a little on the congregation side, just enough to show an inch or two of petticoat. The petticoat wasas modestly long as the frock itself, and disclosing a bit of it wasnothing more heinous than a casual exhibition of good needlework. Deacon Baxter furnished only the unbleached muslin for his daughters'undergarments; but twelve little tucks laboriously done by hand, elaborate inch-wide edging, crocheted from white spool cotton, and daysof bleaching on the grass in the sun, will make a petticoat that can beshown in church with some justifiable pride. 

The Wilsons came up the aisle a moment later than was their usualhabit, just after the parson had ascended the pulpit. Mrs. Wilson alwaysentered the pew first and sat in the far end. Patty had looked at heradmiringly, and with a certain feeling of proprietorship, for severalSundays. There was obviously no such desirable mother-in-law in themeeting-house. Her changeable silk dress was the latest mode; her shawlof black llama lace expressed wealth in every delicate mesh, and herbonnet had a distinction that could only have emanated from Portland orBoston. Ellen Wilson usually came in next, with as much of a smile toPatty in passing as she dared venture in the Deacon's presence, andafter her sidled in her younger sister Selina, commonly called "Silly, "and with considerable reason. 

Mark had come home! Patty dared not look up, but she felt his approachbehind the others, although her eyes sought the floor, and her cheekshung out signals of abashed but certain welcome. She heard the familysettle in their seats somewhat hastily, the click of the pew door andthe sound of Lawyer Wilson's cane as he stood it in the corner; thenthe parson rose to pray and Patty closed her eyes with the rest of thecongregation. 

Opening them when Elder Boone rose to announce the hymn, theyfell--amazed, resentful, uncomprehending--on the spectacle of MarkWilson finding the place in the book for a strange young woman who satbeside him. Mark himself had on a new suit and wore a seal ring thatPatty had never observed before; while the dress, pelisse, and hatof the unknown were of a nature that no girl in Patty's position, andparticularly of Patty's disposition, could have regarded without adesire to tear them from her person and stamp them underfoot; or betterstill, flaunt them herself and show the world how they should be worn!

Mark found the place in the hymn-book for the--creature, shared it withher, and once, when the Grant twins wriggled and Patty secured a betterview, once, Mark shifted his hand on the page so that his thumb touchedthat of his pretty neighbor, who did not remove hers as if she foundthe proximity either unpleasant or improper. Patty compared her ownmiserable attire with that of the hated rival in front, and alsocontrasted Lawyer Wilson's appearance with that of her father; theformer, well dressed in the style of a gentleman of the time, inbroadcloth, with fine linen, and a tall silk hat carefully placed on thefloor of the pew; while Deacon Baxter wore homespun made of wool fromhis own sheep, spun and woven, dyed and finished, at the fulling-mill inthe village, and carried a battered felt hat that had been a matter ofridicule these dozen years. (The Deacon would be buried in two coats, Jed Morrill always said, for he owned just that number, and would be toomean to leave either of 'em behind him!)

The sermon was fifty minutes long, time enough for a deal of thinking. Many a housewife, not wholly orthodox, cut and made over all herchildren's clothes, in imagination; planned the putting up of her fruit, the making of her preserves and pickles, and arranged her meals forthe next week, during the progress of those sermons. Patty watched theparson turn leaf after leaf until the final one was reached. Then camethe last hymn, when the people stretched their aching limbs, and rising, turned their backs on the minister and faced the choir. Patty lookedat Waitstill and wished that she could put her throbbing head on hersisterly shoulder and cry, --mostly with rage. The benediction was said, and with the final "Amen" the pews were opened and the worshipperscrowded into the narrow aisles and moved towards the doors. 

Patty's plans were all made. She was out of her pew before the Wilsonscould possibly leave theirs, and in her progress down the aisle securelyannexed her great admirer, old Dr. Perry, as well as his son Philip. Passing the singing-seats she picked up the humble Cephas and carriedhim along in her wake, chatting and talking with her little party whileher father was at the horse-sheds, making ready to go home betweenservices as was his habit, a cold bite being always set out on thekitchen table according to his orders. By means of these clevermanoeuvres Patty made herself the focus of attention when the Wilsonparty came out on the steps, and vouchsafed Mark only a nonchalant nod, airily flinging a little greeting with the nod, --just a "How d'ye do, Mark? Did you have a good time in Boston?"

Patty and Waitstill, with some of the girls who had come long distances, ate their luncheon in a shady place under the trees behind themeeting-house, for there was an afternoon service to come, a servicewith another long sermon. They separated after the modest meal to walkabout the Common or stray along the road to the Academy, where there wasa fine view. 

Two or three times during the summer the sisters always went quietlyand alone to the Baxter burying-lot, where three grassgrown graves laybeside one another, unmarked save by narrow wooden slabs so short thatthe initials painted on them were almost hidden by the tufts of clover. The girls had brought roots of pansies and sweet alyssum, and with aknife made holes in the earth and planted them here and there to makethe spot a trifle less forbidding. They did not speak to each otherduring this sacred little ceremony; their hearts were too full when theyremembered afresh the absence of headstones, the lack of care, in theplace where the three women lay who had ministered to their father, borne him children, and patiently endured his arbitrary and lovelessrule. Even Cleve Flanders' grave, --the Edgewood shoemaker, who laynext, --even his resting-place was marked and, with a touch of some one'simagination marked by the old man's own lapstone twenty-five pounds inweight, a monument of his work-a-day life. 

Waitstill rose from her feet, brushing the earth from her hands, andPatty did the same. The churchyard was quiet, and they were alone withthe dead, mourned and unmourned, loved and unloved. 

"I planted one or two pansies on the first one's grave, " said Waitstillsoberly. "I don't know why we've never done it before. There are nochildren to take notice of and remember her; it's the least we can do, and, after all, she belongs to the family. "

"There is no family, and there never was!" suddenly cried Patty. "Oh!Waity, Waity, we are so alone, you and I! We've only each other in allthe world, and I'm not the least bit of help to you, as you are to me!I'm a silly, vain, conceited, ill-behaved thing, but I will be better, I will! You won't ever give me up, will you, Waity, even if I'm not likeyou? I haven't been good lately!"

"Hush, Patty, hush!" And Waitstill came nearer to her sister with amotherly touch of her hand. "I'll not have you say such things; youthat are the helpfullest and the lovingest girl that ever was, and thecleverest, too, and the liveliest, and the best company-keeper!"

"No one thinks so but you!" Patty responded dolefully, although shewiped her eyes as if a bit consoled. 

It is safe to say that Patty would never have given Mark Wilson a secondthought had he not taken her to drive on that afternoon in early May. The drive, too, would have quickly fled from her somewhat fickle memoryhad it not been for the kiss. The kiss was, indeed, a decisive factorin the situation, and had shed a rosy, if somewhat fictitious light ofromance over the past three weeks. Perhaps even the kiss, had it neverbeen repeated, might have lapsed into its true perspective, in duecourse of time, had it not been for the sudden appearance of thestranger in the Wilson pew. The moment that Patty's gaze fell upon thatfashionably dressed, instantaneously disliked girl, Marquis Wilson'sstock rose twenty points in the market. She ceased, in a jiffy, to weighand consider and criticize the young man, but regarded him with whollynew eyes. His figure was better than she had realized, his smile moreinteresting, his manners more attractive, his eyelashes longer; ina word, he had suddenly grown desirable. A month ago she could haveobserved, with idle and alien curiosity, the spectacle of his thumbdrawing nearer to another (feminine) thumb, on the page of the Watts andSelect Hymn book; now, at the morning service, she had wished nothing somuch as to put Mark's thumb back into his pocket where it belonged, andslap the girl's thumb smartly and soundly as it deserved. 

The ignorant cause of Patty's distress was a certain Annabel Franklin, the daughter of a cousin of Mrs. Wilson's. Mark had stayed at theFranklin house during his three weeks' visit in Boston, where he hadgone on business for his father. The young people had naturally seenmuch of each other and Mark's inflammable fancy had been so kindled byAnnabel's doll-like charms that he had persuaded her to accompany him tohis home and get a taste of country life in Maine. Such is man, such ishuman nature, and such is life, that Mark had no sooner got the whilomobject of his affections under his own roof than she began to pall. 

Annabel was twenty-three, and to tell the truth she had palled before, more than once. She was so amiable, so well-finished, --with her smoothflaxen hair, her neat nose, her buttonhole of a mouth, and her trimshape, --that she appealed to the opposite sex quite generally andirresistibly as a worthy helpmate. The only trouble was that she beganto bore her suitors somewhat too early in the game, and they nevergot far enough to propose marriage. Flaws in her apparent perfectionappeared from day to day and chilled the growth of the various youngloves that had budded so auspiciously. She always agreed with everybodyand everything in sight, even to the point of changing her mind on theinstant, if circumstances seemed to make it advisable. Her instinctivepoint of view, when she went so far as to hold one, was somewhat cut anddried; in a word, priggish. She kept a young man strictly on his goodbehavior, that much could be said in her favor; the only criticism thatcould be made on this estimable trait was that no bold youth was evertempted to overstep the bounds of discretion when in her presence. Nounruly words of love ever rose to his lips; his hand never stole outinvoluntarily and imprudently to meet her small chilly one; the sight ofher waist never even suggested an encircling arm; and as a fellow neverdesired to kiss her, she was never obliged to warn or rebuke or strikehim off her visiting list. Her father had an ample fortune and someone would inevitably turn up who would regard Annabel as an altogetherworthy and desirable spouse. That was what she had seemed to Mark Wilsonfor a full week before he left the Franklin house in Boston, but therewere moments now when he regretted, fugitively, that he had ever removedher from her proper sphere. She did not seem to fit in to the conditionsof life in Edgewood, and it may even be that her most glaring faulthad been to describe Patty Baxter's hair at this very Sunday dinneras "carroty, " her dress altogether "dreadful, " and her style of beauty"unladylike. " Ellen Wilson's feelings were somewhat injured by thesecriticisms of her intimate friend, and in discussing the matterprivately with her brother he was inclined to agree with her. 

And thus, so little do we know of the prankishness of the blind god, thus was Annabel Franklin working for her rival's best interests; andinstead of reviling her in secret, and treating her with disdain inpublic, Patty should have welcomed her cordially to all the delights ofRiverboro society. 

XIII. HAYING-TIME

EVERYBODY in Riverboro, Edgewood, Milliken's Mills, Spruce Swamp, DuckPond, and Moderation was "haying. " There was a perfect frenzy of haying, for it was the Monday after the "Fourth, " the precise date in July whenthe Maine farmer said good-bye to repose, and "hayed" desperately andunceasingly, until every spear of green in his section was mowed downand safely under cover. If a man had grass of his own, he cut it, andif he had none, he assisted in cutting that of some other man, for "tohay, " although an unconventional verb, was, and still is, a very activeone, and in common circulation, although not used by the grammarians. 

Whatever your trade, and whatever your profession, it counted as naughtin good weather. The fish-man stopped selling fish, the meat-man ceasedto bring meat; the cobbler, as well as the judge, forsook the bench; andeven the doctor made fewer visits than usual. The wage for work in thehay-fields was a high one, and every man, boy, and horse in a villagewas pressed into service. 

When Ivory Boynton had finished with his own small crop, he commonlywent at once to Lawyer Wilson, who had the largest acreage of hay-landin the township. Ivory was always in great demand, for he was a mightyworker in the field, and a very giant at "pitching, " being able to pickup a fair-sized hay-cock at one stroke of the fork and fling it onto the cart as if it were a feather. Lawyer Wilson always took a handhimself if signs of rain appeared, and Mark occasionally visited thescene of action when a crowd in the field made a general jollification, or when there was an impending thunderstorm. In such cases even womenand girls joined the workers and all hands bent together to the task ofgetting a load into the barn and covering the rest. 

Deacon Baxter was wont to call Mark Wilson a "worthless, whey-faced, lily-handed whelp, " but the description, though picturesque, wasdecidedly exaggerated. Mark disliked manual labor, but having imbibedenough knowledge of law in his father's office to be an excellent clerk, he much preferred travelling about, settling the details of small cases, collecting rents and bad bills, to any form of work on a farm. This sortof life, on stage-coaches and railway trains, or on long driving tripswith his own fast trotter, suited his adventurous disposition and gavehim a sense of importance that was very necessary to his peace of mind. He was not especially intimate with Ivory Boynton, who studied law withhis father during all vacations and in every available hour of leisureduring term time, as did many another young New England schoolmaster. Mark's father's praise of Ivory's legal ability was a little too warmto please his son, as was the commendation of one of the County Courtjudges on Ivory's preparation of a brief in a certain case in the Wilsonoffice. Ivory had drawn it up at Mr. Wilson's request, merely to showhow far he understood the books and cases he was studying, and he had noidea that it differed in any way from the work of any other student; allthe same, Mark's own efforts in a like direction had never received anyspecial mention. When he was in the hay-field he also kept as far aspossible from Ivory, because there, too, he felt a superiority thatmade him, for the moment, a trifle discontented. It was no particularpleasure for him to see Ivory plunge his fork deep into the heart of ahay-cock, take a firm grasp of the handle, thrust forward his foot tosteady himself, and then raise the great fragrant heap slowly, and swingit up to the waiting haycart amid the applause of the crowd. Rodmanwould be there, too, helping the man on top of the load and gettingnearly buried each time, as the mass descended upon him, but doing hisslender best to distribute and tread it down properly, while his youngheart glowed with pride at Cousin Ivory's prowess. 

Independence Day had passed, with its usual gayeties for the youngpeople, in none of which the Baxter family had joined, and now, ateleven o'clock on this burning July morning, Waitstill was driving theold mare past the Wilson farm on her way to the river field. Her fatherwas working there, together with the two hired men whom he took on for afortnight during the height of the season. If mowing, raking, pitching, and carting of the precious crop could only have been done at odd timesduring the year, or at night, he would not have embittered the monthof July by paying out money for labor: but Nature was inexorable in theripening of hay and Old Foxy was obliged to succumb to the inevitable. Waitstill had a basket packed with luncheon for three and a greatdemijohn of cool ginger tea under the wagon seat. Other farmerssometimes served hard cider, or rum, but her father's principles weredead against this riotous extravagance. Temperance, in any and alldirections, was cheap, and the Deacon was a very temperate man, save inlanguage. 

The fields on both sides of the road were full of haymakers andeverywhere there was bustle and stir. There would be three or four men, one leading, the others following, slowly swinging their way through anoble piece of grass, and the smell of the mown fields in the sunshinewas sweeter than honey in the comb. There were patches of black-eyedSusans in the meadows here and there, while pink and white hardhack grewby the road, with day lilies and blossoming milkweed. The bobolinks werefluting from every tree; there were thrushes in the alder bushes andorioles in the tops of the elms, and Waitstill's heart overflowed withjoy at being in such a world of midsummer beauty, though life, duringthe great heat and incessant work of haying-time, was a little morerigorous than usual. The extra food needed for the hired men alwayskept her father in a state of mind closely resembling insanity. Comingdownstairs to cook breakfast she would find the coffee or tea measuredout for the pot. The increased consumption of milk angered him beyondwords, because it lessened the supply of butter for sale. Everythingthat could be made with buttermilk was ordered so to be done, andnothing but water could be used in mixing the raised bread. The corncakemust never have an egg; the piecrust must be shortened only with lard, or with a mixture of beef-fat and dripping; and so on, and so on, eternally. 

When the girls were respectively seventeen and thirteen, Waitstillhad begged a small plot of ground for them to use as they liked, andbeginning at that time they had gradually made a little garden, with acouple of fruit trees and a thicket of red, white, and black currantsraspberry and blackberry bushes. For several summers now they had soldenough of their own fruit to buy a pair of shoes or gloves, a scarf ora hat, but even this tiny income was beginning to be menaced. The Deaconpositively suffered as he looked at that odd corner of earth, not anybigger than his barn floor, and saw what his girls had done with notools but a spade and a hoe and no help but their own hands. He hadno leisure (so he growled) to cultivate and fertilize ground for smallfruits, and no money to pay a man to do it, yet here was food grownunder his very eye, and it did not belong to him! The girls worked intheir garden chiefly at sunrise in spring and early summer, or aftersupper in the evening; all the same Waitstill had been told by herfather the day before that she was not only using ground, but time, thatbelonged to him, and that he should expect her to provide "pie-filling"out of her garden patch during haying, to help satisfy the ravenousappetites of that couple of "great, gorming, greedy lubbers" that he washiring this year. He had stopped the peeling of potatoes before boilingbecause he disapproved of the thickness of the parings he found in thepig's pail, and he stood over Patty at her work in the kitchen untilWaitstill was in daily fear of a tempest of some sort. 

Coming in from the shed one morning she met her father just issuing fromthe kitchen where Patty was standing like a young Fury in front of thesink. "Father's been spying at the eggshells I settled the coffee with, and said I'd no business to leave so much good in the shell when I brokean egg. I will not bear it; he makes me feel fairly murderous! You'dbetter not leave me alone with him when I'm like this. Oh! I know thatI'm wicked, but isn't he wicked too, and who was wicked first?"

Patty's heart had been set on earning and saving enough pennies for awhite muslin dress and every day rendered the prospect more uncertain;this was a sufficient grievance in itself to keep her temper at theboiling point had there not been various other contributory causes. Waitstill's patience was flagging a trifle, too, under the stress of thehot days and the still hotter, breathless nights. The suspicion crossedher mind now and then that her father's miserliness and fits of tempermight be caused by a mental malady over which he now had little or nocontrol, having never mastered himself in all his life. Her power ofendurance would be greater, she thought, if only she could be certainthat this theory was true, though her slavery would be just as galling. 

It would be so easy for her to go away and earn a living; she who hadnever had a day of illness in her life; she who could sew, knit, spin, weave, and cook. She could make enough money in Biddeford or Portsmouthto support herself, and Patty, too, until the proper work was found forboth. But there would be a truly terrible conflict of wills, and suchfierce arraignment of her unfilial conduct, such bitter and causticargument from her father, such disapproval from the parson and theneighbors, that her very soul shrank from the prospect. If she could goalone, and have no responsibility over Patty's future, that would be alittle more possible, but she must think wisely for two. 

And how could she leave Ivory when there might perhaps come a crisis inhis life where she could be useful to him? How could she cut herself offfrom those Sundays in the choir, those dear fugitive glimpses of him inthe road or at prayer-meeting? They were only sips of happiness, where her thirsty heart yearned for long, deep draughts, but they wereimmeasurably better than nothing. Freedom from her father's heavy yoke, freedom to work, and read, and sing, and study, and grow, --oh! how shelonged for this, but at what a cost would she gain it if she had toharbor the guilty conscience of an undutiful and rebellious daughter, and at the same time cut herself off from the sight of the one being sheloved best in all the world. 

She felt drawn towards Ivory's mother to-day. Three weeks had passedsince her talk with Ivory in the churchyard, but there had been nopossibility of an hour's escape from home. She was at liberty thisafternoon--relatively at liberty; for although her work, as usual, waslaid out for her, it could be made up somehow or other before nightfall. She could drive over to the Boynton's place, hitch her horse in thewoods near the house, make her visit, yet be in plenty of time to go upto the river field and bring her father home to supper. Patty was overat Mrs. Abel Day's, learning a new crochet stitch and helping her tostart a log-cabin quilt. Ivory and Rodman, she new, were both away inthe Wilson hay-field; no time would ever be more favorable; so insteadof driving up Town-House Hill when she returned to the village she kepton over the bridge. 

XIV. UNCLE BART DISCOURSES

UNCLE BART and Cephas were taking their nooning hour under the Nodheadapple tree as Waitstill passed the joiner's shop and went over thebridge. 

"Uncle Bart might somehow guess where I am going, " she thought, "buteven if he did he would never tell any one. "

"Where's Waitstill bound this afternoon, I wonder?" drawled Cephas, rising to his feet and looking after the departing team. "That remindsme, I'd better run up to Baxter's and see if any-thing's wanted before Iopen the store. "

"If it makes any dif'rence, " said his father dryly, as he filled hispipe, "Patty's over to Mis' Day's spendin' the afternoon. Don't s'poseyou want to call on the pig, do you? He's the only one to home. "

Cephas made no remark, but gave his trousers a hitch, picked up a chip, opened his jack-knife, and sitting down on the greensward began idlywhittling the bit of wood into shape. 

"I kind o' wish you'd let me make the new ell two-story, father; 'twouldn't be much work, take it in slack time after hayin'. "

"Land o' Liberty! What do you want to do that for, Cephas? You 'boutpestered the life out o' me gittin' me to build the ell in the firstplace, when we didn't need it no more'n a toad does a pocketbook. Thennothin' would do but you must paint it, though I shan't be able to havethe main house painted for another year, so the old wine an' thenew bottle side by side looks like the Old Driver, an' makes us alaughin'-stock to the village;--and now you want to change the thinginto a two-story! Never heerd such a crazy idee in my life. "

"I want to settle down, " insisted Cephas doggedly. 

"Well, settle; I'm willin'! I told you that, afore you painted the ell. Ain't two rooms, fourteen by fourteen, enough for you to settle down in?If they ain't, I guess your mother'd give you one o' the chambers in themain part. "

"She would if I married Phoebe Day, but I don't want to marry Phoebe, "argued Cephas. "And mother's gone and made a summer kitchen for herselfout in the ell, a'ready. I bet yer she'll never move out if I shouldwant to move in on a 'sudden. "

"I told you you was takin' that risk when you cut a door through fromthe main part, " said his father genially. "If you hadn't done that, yourmother would 'a' had to gone round outside to git int' the ell and mebbeshe'd 'a' stayed to home when it stormed, anyhow. Now your wife'll haveher troopin' in an' out, in an' out, the whole 'durin' time. "

"I only cut the door through to please so't she'd favor my gittin'married, but I guess 't won't do no good. You see, father, what I wasthinkin' of is, a girl would mebbe jump at a two-story, four-roomed ellwhen she wouldn't look at a smaller place. "

"Pends upon whether the girl's the jumpin' kind or not! Hadn't youbetter git everything fixed up with the one you've picked out, afore youtake your good savin's and go to buildin' a bigger place for her?"

"I've asked her once a'ready, " Cephas allowed, with a burning face. "Idon't s'pose you know the one I mean?"

"No kind of an idee, " responded his father, with a quizzical wink thatwas lost on the young man, as his eyes were fixed upon his whittling. "Does she belong to the village?"

"I ain't goin' to let folks know who I've picked out till I git a littlemite forrarder, " responded Cephas craftily. "Say, father, it's all rightto ask a girl twice, ain't it?

"Certain it is, my son. I never heerd there was any special limit tothe number o' times you could ask 'em, and their power o' sayin' 'No' islike the mercy of the Lord; it endureth forever. --You wouldn't considera widder, Cephas? A widder'd be a good comp'ny-keeper for your mother. "

"I hain't put my good savin's into an ell jest to marry a comp'ny-keeperfor mother, " responded Cephas huffily. "I want to be number one with mygirl and start right in on trainin' her up to suit me. "

"Well, if trainin' 's your object you'd better take my advice an' keepit dark before marriage, Cephas. It's astonishin' how the female sectdespises bein' trained; it don't hardly seem to be in their nature tomake any changes in 'emselves after they once gits started. "

"How are you goin' to live with 'em, then?" Cephas inquired, looking upwith interest coupled with some incredulity. 

"Let them do the training, " responded his father, peacefully puffing outthe words with his pipe between his lips. "Some of 'em's mild and gentlein discipline, like Parson Boone's wife or Mis' Timothy Grant, andothers is strict and firm like your mother and Mis' Abel Day. If youhappen to git the first kind, why, do as they tell you, and thank theLord 't ain't any worse. If you git the second kind, jest let 'em putthe blinders on you and trot as straight as you know how, without shyingnor kickin' over the traces, nor bolting 'cause they've got control o'the bit and 't ain't no use fightin' ag'in' their superior strength. --Sofur as you can judge, in the early stages o' the game, my son, --whichain't very fur, --which kind have you picked out?"

Cephas whittled on for some moments without a word, but finally, with asigh drawn from the very toes of his boots, he responded gloomily, --

"She's awful spunky, the girl is, anybody can see that; but she's ayoung thing, and I thought bein' married would kind o' tame her down!"

"You can see how much marriage has tamed your mother down, " observedUncle Bart dispassionately; "howsomever, though your mother can't becalled tame, she's got her good p'ints, for she's always to be countedon. The great thing in life, as I take it, Cephas, is to know exactlywhat to expect. Your mother's gen'ally credited with an onsartintemper, but folks does her great injustice in so thinking for in a longexperience I've seldom come across a temper less onsartin than yourmother's. You know exactly where to find her every mornin' at sun-up andevery night at sundown. There ain't nothin' you can do to put her outo' temper, cause she's all out aforehand. You can jest go about yourreg'lar business 'thout any fear of disturbin' her any further thanshe's disturbed a'ready, which is consid'rable. I don't mind it a mitenowadays, though, after forty years of it. It would kind o' gall me tokeep a stiddy watch of a female's disposition day by day, wonderin'when she was goin' to have a tantrum. A tantrum once a year's an awfulupsettin' kind of a thing in a family, my son, but a tantrum everytwenty-four hours is jest part o' the day's work. " There was a moment'ssilence during which Uncle Bart puffed his pipe and Cephas whittled, after which the old man continued: "Then, if you happen to marry atemper like your mother's, Cephas, look what a pow'ful worker yougen'ally get! Look at the way they sweep an' dust an' scrub an' clean!Watch 'em when they go at the dish-washin', an' how they whack therollin'-pin, an' maul the eggs, an' heave the wood int' the stove, an'slat the flies out o' the house! The mild and gentle ones enough, willbe settin' in the kitchen rocker read-in' the almanac when there ain'tno wood in the kitchen box, no doughnuts in the crock, no pies on theswing shelf in the cellar, an' the young ones goin' round without asecond shift to their backs!"

Cephas's mind was far away during this philosophical dissertation on theways of women. He could see only a sunny head fairly rioting with curls;a pair of eyes that held his like magnets, although they never gave hima glance of love; a smile that lighted the world far better than thesun; a dimple into which his heart fell headlong whenever he looked atit!

"You're right, father; 'tain't no use kickin' ag'in 'em, " he said as herose to his feet preparatory to opening the Baxter store. "When I saidthat 'bout trainin' up a girl to suit me, I kind o' forgot the one I'vepicked out. I'm considerin' several, but the one I favor most-well, I believe she'd fire up at the first sight o' training and that's thegospel truth. "

"Considerin' several, be you, Cephas?" laughed Uncle Bart. "Well, allI hope is, that the one you favor most--the girl you've asked oncea'ready--is considerin' you!"

Cephas went to the pump, and wetting a large handkerchief put it in thecrown of his straw hat and sauntered out into the burning heat of theopen road between his father's shop and Deacon Baxter's store. 

"I shan't ask her the next time till this hot spell's over, " he thought, "and I won't do it in that dodgasted old store ag'in, neither; I ain'tso tongue-tied outdoors an' I kind o' think I'd be more in the sperit ofit after sundown, some night after supper!"

XV. IVORY'S MOTHER

WAITSTILL found a cool and shady place in which to hitch the old mare, loosening her check-rein and putting a sprig of alder in her headstallto assist her in brushing off the flies. 

One could reach the Boynton house only by going up a long grass-grownlane that led from the high-road. It was a lonely place, and AaronBoynton had bought it when he moved from Saco, simply because he securedit at a remarkable bargain, the owner having lost his wife and goneto live in Massachusetts. Ivory would have sold it long ago hadcircumstances been different, for it was at too great a distance fromthe schoolhouse and from Lawyer Wilson's office to be at all convenient, but he dreaded to remove his mother from the environment to which shewas accustomed, and doubted very much whether she would be able to carefor a house to which she had not been wonted before her mind becameaffected. Here in this safe, secluded corner, amid familiar andthoroughly known conditions, she moved placidly about her daily tasks, performing them with the same care and precision that she had used fromthe beginning of her married life. All the heavy work was done for herby Ivory and Rodman; the boy in particular being the fleetest-footed, the most willing, and the neatest of helpers; washing dishes, sweepingand dusting, laying the table, as deftly and quietly as a girl. Mrs. Boynton made her own simple dresses of gray calico in summer, or darklinsey-woolsey in winter by the same pattern that she had used whenshe first came to Edgewood: in fact there were positively no externalchanges anywhere to be seen, tragic and terrible as had been those thathad wrought havoc in her mind. 

Waitstill's heart beat faster as she neared the Boynton house. She hadnever so much as seen Ivory's mother for years. How would she be met?Who would begin the conversation, and what direction would it take? Whatif Mrs. Boynton should refuse to talk to her at all? She walked slowlyalong the lane until she saw a slender, gray-clad figure stooping overa flower-bed in front of the cottage. The woman raised her head with afawn-like gesture that had something in it of timidity rather than fear, picked some loose bits of green from the ground, and, quietly turningher back upon the on coming stranger, disappeared through the open frontdoor. 

There could be no retreat on her own part now, thought Waitstill. Shewished for a moment that she had made this first visit under Ivory'sprotection, but her idea had been to gain Mrs. Boynton's confidence andhave a quiet friendly talk, such a one as would be impossible in thepresence of a third person. Approaching the steps, she called throughthe doorway in her clear voice: "Ivory asked me to come and see you oneday, Mrs. Boynton. I am Waitstill Baxter, the little girl on Town HouseHill that you used to know. "

Mrs. Boynton came from an inner room and stood on the threshold. Thename "Waitstill" had always had a charm for her ears, from the time shefirst heard it years ago, until it fell from Ivory's lips this summer;and again it caught her fancy. 

"'WAITSTILL!"' she repeated softly; "'WAITSTILL!' Does Ivory know you?"

"We've known each other for ever so long; ever since we went to thebrick school together when we were girl and boy. And when I was a childmy stepmother brought me over here once on an errand and Ivory showed mea humming-bird's nest in that lilac bush by the door. "

Mrs. Boynton smiled "Come and look!" she whispered. "There is always ahumming-bird's nest in our lilac. How did you remember?"

The two women approached the bush and Mrs. Boynton carefully parted theleaves to show the dainty morsel of a home thatched with soft gray-greenand lined with down. "The birds have flown now, " she said. "They werelike little jewels when they darted off in the sunshine. "

Her voice was faint and sweet, as if it came from far away, and her eyeslooked, not as if they were seeing you, but seeing something throughyou. Her pale hair was turned back from her paler face, where theveins showed like blue rivers, and her smile was like the flitting of amoonbeam. She was standing very close to Waitstill, closer than shehad been to any woman for many years, and she studied her a little, wistfully, yet courteously, as if her attention was attracted bysomething fresh and winning. She looked at the color, ebbing and flowingin the girl's cheeks; at her brows and lashes; at her neck, as whiteas swan's-down; and finally put out her hand with a sudden impulse andtouched the knot of wavy bronze hair under the brimmed hat. 

"I had a daughter once, " she said. "My second baby was a girl, but shelived only a few weeks. I need her very much, for I am a great care toIvory. He is son and daughter both, now that Mr. Boynton is away fromhome. --You did not see any one in the road as you turned in from thebars, I suppose?"

"No, " answered Waitstill, surprised and confused, "but I didn't reallynotice; I was thinking of a cool place for my horse to stand. "

"I sit out here in these warm afternoons, " Mrs. Boynton continued, shading her eyes and looking across the fields, "because I can see sofar down the lane. I have the supper-table set for my husband already, and there is a surprise for him, a saucer of wild strawberries I pickedfor him this morning. If he does not come, I always take away the plateand cup before Ivory gets here; it seems to make him unhappy. "

"He doesn't like it when you are disappointed, I suppose, " Waitstillventured. "I have brought my knitting, Mrs. Boynton, so that I needn'tkeep you idle if you wish to work. May I sit down a few minutes? Andhere is a cottage cheese for Ivory and Rodman, and a jar of plums foryou, preserved from my own garden. "

Mrs. Boynton's eyes searched the face of this visitor from a world shehad almost forgotten and finding nothing but tenderness there, said withjust a trace of bewilderment: "Thank you yes, do sit down; my workbasketis just inside the door. Take that rocking-chair; I don't have anotherone out here because I have never been in the habit of seeing visitors. "

"I hope I am not intruding, " stammered Waitstill, seating herself andbeginning her knitting, to see if it would lessen the sense of strainbetween them. 

"Not at all. I always loved young and beautiful people, and so did myhusband. If he comes while you are here, do not go away, but sit withhim while I get his supper. If Elder Cochrane should be with him, you would see two wonderful men. They went away together to do somemissionary work in Maine and New Hampshire and perhaps they will comeback together. I do not welcome callers because they always ask so manydifficult questions, but you are different and have asked me none atall. "

"I should not think of asking questions, Mrs. Boynton. "

"Not that I should mind answering them, " continued Ivory's mother, "except that it tires my head very much to think. You must not imagine Iam ill; it is only that I have a very bad memory, and when people ask meto remember something, or to give an answer quickly, it confuses me themore. Even now I have forgotten why you came, and where you live; but Ihave not forgotten your beautiful name. "

"Ivory thought you might be lonely, and I wanted so much to know youthat I could not keep away any longer, for I am lonely and unhappy too. I am always watching and hoping for what has never come yet. I have nomother, you have lost your daughter; I thought--I thought--perhaps wecould be a comfort to each other!" And Waitstill rose from her chairand put out her hand to help Mrs. Boynton down the steps, she lookedso frail, so transparent, so prematurely aged. "I could not come veryoften--but if I could only smooth your hair sometimes when your headaches, or do some cooking for you, or read to you, or any little thinglike that, as I would fer my own mother--if I could, I should be soglad!"

Waitstill stood a head higher than Ivory's mother and the glowing healthof her, the steadiness of her voice, the warmth of her hand-clasp musthave made her seem like a strong refuge to this storm-tossed derelict. The deep furrow between Lois Boynton's eyes relaxed a trifle, the bloodin her veins ran a little more swiftly under the touch of the young handthat held hers so closely. Suddenly a light came into her face and herlip quivered. 

"Perhaps I have been remembering wrong all these years, " she said. "Itis my great trouble, remembering wrong. Perhaps my baby did not die as Ithought; perhaps she lived and grew up; perhaps" (her pale cheek burnedand her eyes shone like stars) "perhaps she has come back!"

Waitstill could not speak; she put her arm round the trembling figure, holding her as she was wont to hold Patty, and with the same protectiveinstinct. The embrace was electric in its effect and set altogethernew currents of emotion in circulation. Something in Lois Boynton'sperturbed mind seemed to beat its wings against the barriers that hadheretofore opposed it, and, freeing itself, mounted into clearer air andwent singing to the sky. She rested her cheek on the girl's breast witha little sob. "Oh! let me go on remembering wrong, " she sighed, fromthat safe shelter. "Let me go on remembering wrong! It makes me sohappy!"

Waitstill gently led her to the rocking-chair and sat down beside heron the lowest step, stroking her thin hand. Mrs. Boynton's eyes wereclosed, her breath came and went quickly, but presently she began tospeak hurriedly, as if she were relieving a surcharged heart. 

"There is something troubling me, " she began, "and it would ease my mindif I could tell it to some one who could help. Your hand is so warm andso firm! Oh, hold mine closely and let me draw in strength as longas you can spare it; it is flowing, flowing from your hand into mine, flowing like wine.... My thoughts at night are not like my thoughts byday, these last weeks.... I wake suddenly and feel that my husband hasbeen away a long time and will never come back.... Often, at night, too, I am in sore trouble about something else, something I have never toldIvory, the first thing I have ever hidden from my dear son, but I thinkI could tell you, if only I could be sure about it. "

"Tell me if it will help you; I will try to understand, " said Waitstillbrokenly. 

"Ivory says Rodman is the child of my dead sister. Some one must havetold him so; could it have been I? It haunts me day and night, forunless I am remembering wrong again, I never had a sister. I can call tomind neither sister nor brother. "

"You went to New Hampshire one winter, " Waitstill reminded her gently, as if she were talking to a child. "It was bitter cold for you to takesuch a hard journey. Your sister died, and you brought her little boy, Rodman, back, but you were so ill that a stranger had to take care ofyou on the stage-coach and drive you to Edgewood next day in his ownsleigh. It is no wonder you have forgotten something of what happened, for Dr. Perry hardly brought you through the brain fever that followedthat journey. "

"I seem to think, now, that it is not so!" said Mrs. Boynton, openingher eyes and looking at Waitstill despairingly. "I must grope and gropein the dark until I find out what is true, and then tell Ivory. God willpunish false speaking! His heart is closed against lies and evil-doing!"

"He will never punish you if your tired mind remembers wrong, " saidWaitstill. "He knows, none better, how you have tried to find Him andhold Him, through many a tangled path. I will come as often as I can andwe will try to frighten away these worrying thoughts. "

"If you will only come now and then and hold my hand, " said Ivory'smother, --"hold my hand so that your strength will flow into my weakness, perhaps I shall puzzle it all out, and God will help me to rememberright before I die. "

"Everything that I have power to give away shall be given to you, "promised Waitstill. "Now that I know you, and you trust me, you shallnever be left so alone again, --not for long, at any rate. When I stayaway you will remember that I cannot help it, won't you?"

"Yes, I shall think of you till I see you again I shall watch the longlane more than ever now. Ivory sometimes takes the path across thefields but my dear husband will come by the old road, and now there willbe you to look for!"

XVI. LOCKED OUT

AT the Baxters the late supper was over and the girls had not sat at thetable with their father, having eaten earlier, by themselves. The hiredmen had gone home to sleep. Patty had retired to the solitude of herbedroom almost at dusk, quite worn out with the heat, and Waitstill satunder the peach tree in the corner of her own little garden, tatting, and thinking of her interview with Ivory's mother. She sat there untilnearly eight o'clock, trying vainly to put together the puzzling detailsof Lois Boynton's conversation, wondering whether the perplexities thatvexed her mind were real or fancied, but warmed to the heart by theaffection that the older woman seemed instinctively to feel for her. "She did not know me, yet she cared for me at once, " thought Waitstilltenderly and proudly; "and I for her, too, at the first glance. "

She heard her father lock the barn and shed and knew that he would begoing upstairs immediately, so she quickly went through the side yardand lifted the latch of the kitchen door. It was fastened. She went tothe front door and that, too, was bolted, although it had been standingopen all the evening, so that if a breeze should spring up, it mightblow through the house. Her father supposed, of course, that she wasin bed, and she dreaded to bring him downstairs for fear of his anger;still there was no help for it and she rapped smartly at the sidedoor. There was no answer and she rapped again, vexed with her owncarelessness. Patty's face appeared promptly behind her screen ofmosquito netting in the second story, but before she could exchange aword with her sister, Deacon Baxter opened the blinds of his bedroomwindow and put his head out. 

"You can try sleepin' outdoors, or in the barn to-night, " he called. "Ididn't say anything to you at supper-time because I wanted to see whereyou was intendin' to prowl this evenin'. "

"I haven't been 'prowling' anywhere, father, " answered Waitstill; "I'vebeen out in the garden cooling off; it's only eight o'clock. "

"Well, you can cool off some more, " he shouted, his temper now fullyaroused; "or go back where you was this afternoon and see if they'lltake you in there! I know all about your deceitful tricks! I come hometo grind the scythes and found the house and barn empty Cephas saidyou'd driven up Saco Hill and I took his horse and followed you and sawwhere you went Long's you couldn't have a feller callin' on you here tohome, you thought you'd call on him, did yer, you bold-faced hussy?"

"I am nothing of the sort, " the girl answered him quietly; "IvoryBoynton was not at his house, he was in the hay-field. You know it, andyou know that I knew it. I went to see a sick, unhappy woman who has noneighbors. I ought to have gone long before. I am not ashamed of it, andI don't regret it. If you ask unreasonable things of me, you must expectto be disobeyed once in a while. 

"Must expect to be disobeyed, must I?" the old man cried, his facepositively terrifying in its ugliness. "We'll see about that! If youwa'n't callin' on a young man, you were callin' on a crazy woman, and Iwon't have it, I tell you, do you hear? I won't have a daughter o' mineconsortin' with any o' that Boynton crew. Perhaps a night outdoors willteach you who's master in this house, you imperdent, shameless girl!We'll try it, anyway!" And with that he banged down the window anddisappeared, gibbering and jabbering impotent words that she could hearbut not understand. 

Waitstill was almost stunned by the suddenness of this catastrophe. Shestood with her feet rooted to the earth for several minutes and thenwalked slowly away out of sight of the house. There was a chair besidethe grindstone under the Porter apple tree and she sank into it, crossedher arms on the back, and bowing her head on them, burst into a fit ofweeping as tempestuous and passionate as it was silent, for although herbody fairly shook with sobs no sound escaped. 

The minutes passed, perhaps an hour; she did not take account of time. The moon went behind clouds, the night grew misty and the stars fadedone by one. There would be rain to-morrow and there was a great deal ofhay cut, so she thought in a vagrant sort of way. 

Meanwhile Patty upstairs was in a state of suppressed excitement andterror. It was a quarter of an hour before her father settled him-selfin bed; then an age, it seemed to her, before she heard his heavybreathing. When she thought it quite safe, she slipped on a printwrapper, took her shoes in her hand, and crept noiselessly downstairs, out through the kitchen and into the shed. Lifting the heavy bar thatheld the big doors in place she closed them softly behind her, steppedout, and looked about her in the darkness. Her quick eye espied in thedistance, near the barn, the bowed figure in the chair, and she flewthrough the wet grass without a thought of her bare feet till shereached her sister's side and held her in a close embrace. 

"My darling, my own, own, poor darling!" she cried softly, the tearsrunning down her cheeks. "How wicked, how unjust to serve my dearestsister so! Don't cry, my blessing, don't cry; you frighten me! I'll takecare of you, dear! Next time I'll interfere; I'll scratch and bite; yes, I'll strangle anybody that dares to shame you and lock you out of thehouse! You, the dearest, the patientest, the best!"

Waitstill wiped her eyes. "Let us go farther away where we can talk, "she whispered. 

"Where had we better sleep?" Patty asked. "On the hay, I think, thoughwe shall stifle with the heat"; and Patty moved towards the barn. 

"No, you must go back to the house at once, Patty dear; father mightwake and call you, and that would make matters worse. It's beginning todrizzle, or I should stay out in the air. Oh! I wonder if father's mindis going, and if this is the beginning of the end! If he is in his sobersenses, he could not be so strange, so suspicious, so unjust. "

"He could be anything, say anything, do anything, " exclaimed Patty. "Perhaps he is not responsible and perhaps he is; it doesn't make muchdifference to us. Come along, blessed darling! I'll tuck you in, andthen I'll creep back to the house, if you say I must. I'll go down andmake the kitchen fire in the morning; you stay out here and see whathappens. A good deal will happen, I'm thinking, if father speaks tome of you! I shouldn't be surprised to see the fur flying in alldirections; I'll seize the first moment to bring you out a cup of coffeeand we'll consult about what to do. I may tell you now, I'm all forrunning away!"

Waitstill's first burst of wretchedness had subsided and she hadrecovered her balance. "I'm afraid we must wait a little longer, Patty, "she advised. "Don't mention my name to father, but see how he acts inthe morning. He was so wild, so unlike himself, that I almost hope hemay forget what he said and sleep it off. Yes, we must just wait. "

"No doubt he'll be far calmer in the morning if he remembers that, if heturns you out, he faces the prospect of three meals a day cooked by me, "said Patty. "That's what he thinks he would face, but as a matter offact I shall tell him that where you sleep I sleep, and where you eatI eat, and when you stop cooking I stop! He won't part with two unpaidservants in a hurry, not at the beginning of haying. " And Patty, givingWaitstill a last hug and a dozen tearful kisses, stole reluctantly backto the house by the same route through which he had left it. 

Patty was right. She found the fire lighted when she went down into thekitchen next morning, and without a word she hurried breakfast on to thetable as fast as she could cook and serve it. Waitstill was safe in thebarn chamber, she knew, and would be there quietly while her father wasfeeding the horse and milking the cows; or perhaps she might go up inthe woods and wait until she saw him driving away. 

The Deacon ate his breakfast in silence, looking and acting very muchas usual, for he was generally dumb at meals. When he left the house, however, and climbed into the wagon, he turned around and said in hisordinary gruff manner: "Bring the lunch up to the field yourself to-day, Patience. Tell your sister I hope she's come to her senses in the courseof the night. You've got to learn, both of you, that my 'say-so' must belaw in this house. You can fuss and you can fume, if it amuses you any, but 't won't do no good. Don't encourage Waitstill in any whinin' norblubberin'. Jest tell her to come in and go to work and I'll overlookwhat she done this time. And don't you give me any more of youreye-snappin' and lip-poutin' and head-in-the-air imperdence! You'reunder age, and if you don't look out, you'll get something that's goodfor what ails you! You two girls jest aid an' abet one another that'swhat you do, aid an' abet one another, an if you carry it any furtherI'll find some way o' separatin' you, do you hear?"

Patty spoke never a word, nor fluttered an eyelash. She had a properspirit, but now her heart was cold with a new fear, and she felt, withWaitstill, that her father must be obeyed and his temper kept withinbounds, until God provided them a way of escape. 

She ran out to the barn chamber and, not finding Waitstill, lookedacross the field and saw her coming through the path from the woods. Patty waved her hand, and ran to meet her sister, joy at the mere factof her existence, of being able to see her again, and of hearing herdear voice, almost choking her in its intensity. When they reached thehouse she helped her upstairs as if she were a child, brought her coolwater to wash away the dust of the haymow, laid out some clean clothesfor her, and finally put her on the lounge in the darkened sitting-room. 

"I won't let anybody come near the house, " she said, "and you must havea cup of tea and a good sleep before I tell you all that father said. Just comfort yourself with the thought that he is going to 'overlook it'this time! After I carry up his luncheon, I shall stop at the store andask Cephas to come out on the river bank for a few minutes. Then I shallproceed to say what I think of him for telling father where you wentyesterday afternoon. "

"Don't blame Cephas!" Waitstill remonstrated. "Can't you see just howit happened? He and Uncle Bart were sitting in front of the shop when Idrove by. When father came home and found the house empty and the horsenot in the stall, of course he asked where I was, and Cephas probablysaid he had seen me drive up Saco Hill. He had no reason to think thatthere was any harm in that. "

"If he had any sense he might know that he shouldn't tell anything tofather except what happens in the store, " Patty insisted. "Were youfrightened out in the barn alone last night, poor dear?"

"I was too unhappy to think of fear and I was chiefly nervous about you, all alone in the house with father. "

"I didn't like it very much, myself! I buttoned my bedroom door and satby the window all night, shivering and bristling at the least sound. Everybody calls me a coward, but I'm not! Courage isn't not beingfrightened; it's not screeching when you are frightened. Now, whathappened at the Boyntons'?"

"Patty, Ivory's mother is the most pathetic creature I ever saw!" AndWaitstill sat up on the sofa, her long braids of hair hanging over hershoulders, her pale face showing the traces of her heavy weeping. "Inever pitied any one so much in my whole life! To go up that long, longlane; to come upon that dreary house hidden away in the trees; to feelthe loneliness and the silence; and then to know that she is livingthere like a hermit-thrush in a forest, without a woman to care for her, it is heart-breaking!"

"How does the house look, --dreadful?"

"No: everything is as neat as wax. She isn't 'crazy, ' Patty, as weunderstand the word. Her mind is beclouded somehow and it almost seemsas if the cloud might lift at any moment. She goes about like somebodyin a dream, sewing or knitting or cooking. It is only when she talks, and you notice that her eyes really see nothing, but are looking beyondyou, that you know there is anything wrong. "

"If she appears so like other people, why don't the neighbors go to seeher once in a while?"

"Callers make her unhappy, she says, and Ivory told me that he dared notencourage any company in the house for fear of exciting her, and makingher an object of gossip, besides. He knows her ways perfectly and thatshe is safe and content with her fancies when she is alone, which isseldom, after all. "

"What does she talk about?" asked Patty. 

"Her husband mostly. She is expecting him to come back daily. We knewthat before, of course, but no one can realize it till they see hersetting the table for him and putting a saucer of wild strawberries byhis plate; going about the kitchen softly, like a gentle ghost. "

"It gives me the shudders!" said Patty. "I couldn't bear it! If shenever sees strangers, what in the world did she make of you? How did youbegin?"

"I told her I had known Ivory ever since we were school children. Shewas rather strange and indifferent at first, and then she seemed to takea fancy to me. "

"That's queer!" said Patty, smiling fondly and giving Waitstill's hairthe hasty brush of a kiss. 

"She told me she had had a girl baby, born two or three years afterIvory, and that she had always thought it died when it was a few weeksold. Then suddenly she came closer to me--

"Oh! Waity, weren't you terrified?"

"No, not in the least. Neither would you have been if you had beenthere. She put her arms round me and all at once I understood that thepoor thing mistook me just for a moment for her own daughter come backto life. It was a sudden fancy and I don't think it lasted, but I didn'tknow how to deal with it, or contradict it, so I simply tried to sootheher and let her ease her heart by talking to me. She said when I lefther: 'Where is your house? I hope it is near! Do come again and sit withme. Strength flows into my weakness when you hold my hand!' I somehowfeel, Patty, that she needs a woman friend even more than a doctor. Andnow, what am I to do? How can I forsake her; and yet here is this newdifficulty with father?"

"I shouldn't forsake her; go there when you can, but be more carefulabout it. You told father that you didn't regret what you had done, andthat when he ordered you to do unreasonable things, you should disobeyhim. After all, you are not a black slave. Father will never think ofthat particular thing again, perhaps, any more than he ever alluded tomy driving to Saco with Mrs. Day after you had told him it was necessaryfor one of us to go there occasionally. He knows that if he is too hardon us, Dr. Perry or Uncle Bart would take him in hand. They would havedone it long ago if we had ever given any one even a hint of what wehave to endure. You will be all right, because you only want to do kind, neighborly things. I am the one that will always have to suffer, becauseI can't prove that it's a Christian duty to deceive father and steal offto a dance or a frolic. Yet I might as well be a nun in a convent forall the fun I get! I want a white book-muslin dress; I want a pair ofthin shoes with buckles; I want a white hat with a wreath of yellowroses; I want a volume of Byron's poems; and oh! nobody knows--nobodybut the Lord could understand--how I want a string of gold beads. "

"Patty, Patty! To hear you chatter anybody would imagine you thought ofnothing but frivolities. I wish you wouldn't do yourself such injustice;even when nobody hears you but me, it is wrong. "

"Sometimes when you think I'm talking nonsense it's really the gospeltruth, " said Patty. "I'm not a grand, splendid character, Waitstill, and it's no use your deceiving yourself about me; if you do, you'll bedisappointed. "

"Go and parboil the beans and get them into the pot, Patty. Pick up someof the windfalls and make a green-apple pie, and I'll be with you in thekitchen myself before long. I never expect to be disappointed in you, Patty, only continually surprised and pleased. "

"I thought I'd begin making some soft soap to-day, " said Pattymischievously, as she left the room. "We have enough grease saved up. Wedon't really need it yet, but it makes such a disgusting smell thatI'd rather like father to have it with his dinner. It's not much of apunishment for our sleepless night. "

AUTUMN

XVII. A BRACE OF LOVERS

HAYING was over, and the close, sticky dog-days, too, and August wasslipping into September. There had been plenty of rain all the seasonand the countryside was looking as fresh and green as an emerald. Thehillsides were already clothed with a verdant growth of new grass and

 "The red pennons of the cardinal flowers Hung motionless upon their upright staves. "

How they gleamed in the meadow grasses and along the brooksides likebrilliant flecks of flame, giving a new beauty to the nosegays thatWaitstill carried or sent to Mrs. Boynton every week. 

To the eye of the casual observer, life in the two little villages bythe river's brink went on as peacefully as ever, but there were subtlechanges taking place nevertheless. Cephas Cole had "asked" the secondtime and again had been refused by Patty, so that even a very idiot forhopefulness could not urge his father to put another story on the ell. 

"If it turns out to be Phoebe Day, " thought Cephas dolefully, "two roomsis plenty good enough, an' I shan't block up the door that leads fromthe main part, neither, as I thought likely I should. If so be it's gotto be Phoebe, not Patty, I shan't care whether mother troops out 'n' inor not. " And Cephas dealt out rice and tea and coffee with so languid anair, and made such frequent mistakes in weighing the sugar, that he drewupon himself many a sharp rebuke from the Deacon. 

"Of course I'd club him over the head with a salt fish twice a day underord'nary circumstances, " Cephas confided to his father with a valiantair that he never wore in Deacon Baxter's presence; "but I've got areason, known to nobody but myself, for wantin' to stan' well with theold man for a spell longer. If ever I quit wantin' to stan' well withhim, he'll get his comeuppance, short an sudden!"

"Speakin' o' standin' well with folks, Phil Perry's kind o' makin' up toPatience Baxter, ain't he, Cephas?" asked Uncle Bart guardedly. "Mebbeyou wouldn't notice it, hevin' no partic'lar int'rest, but yourmother's kind o got the idee into her head lately, an' she's turriblefar-sighted. "

"I guess it's so!" Cephas responded gloomily. "It's nip an' tuck 'tweenhim an' Mark Wilson. That girl draws 'em as molasses does flies! Shedoes it 'thout liftin' a finger, too, no more 'n the molasses does. Shejust sets still an' IS! An' all the time she's nothin' but a flightylittle red-headed spitfire that don't know a good husband when she seesone. The feller that gits her will live to regret it, that's my opinion!"And Cephas thought to himself: "Good Lord, don't I wish I wasregrettin' it this very minute!"

"I s'pose a girl like Phoebe Day'd be consid'able less trouble to livewith?" ventured Uncle Bart. 

"I never could take any fancy to that tow hair o' hern! I like the colorwell enough when I'm peeling it off a corn cob, but I don't like it on agirl's head, " objected Cephas hypercritically. "An' her eyes hain'tgot enough blue in 'em to be blue: they're jest like skim-milk. An' shekeeps her mouth open a little mite all the time, jest as if there wa'n'tno good draught through, an' she was a-tryin' to git air. An' 't wasme that begun callin' her 'Feeble Phoebe in school, an' the scholars'llnever forgit it; they'd throw it up to me the whole 'durin' time if Ishould go to work an' keep company with her!"

"Mebbe they've forgot by this time, " Uncle Bart responded hopefully;"though 't is an awful resk when you think o' Companion Pike! Samuel hewas baptized and Samuel he continued to be, 'till he married the WidderBixby from Waterboro. Bein' as how there wa'n't nothin' partic'lyattractive 'bout him, --though he was as nice a feller as everlived, --somebody asked her why she married him, an' she said her cathed jest died an' she wanted a companion. The boys never let go o' thatstory! Samuel Pike he ceased to be thirty year ago, an' Companion Pikehe's remained up to this instant minute!"

"He ain't lived up to his name much, " remarked Cephas. "He's to home forhis meals, but I guess his wife never sees him between times. "

"If the cat hed lived mebbe she'd 'a' been better comp'ny on thewhole, " chuckled Uncle Bart. "Companion was allers kind o' dreamyan' absent-minded from a boy. I remember askin' him what his wife'sChristian name was (she bein' a stranger to Riverboro) an' he said hedidn't know! Said he called her Mis' Bixby afore he married her an' Mis'Pike afterwards!"

"Well, there 's something turrible queer 'bout this marryin' business, "and Cephas drew a sigh from the heels of his boots. "It seems's if a manhedn't no natcheral drawin' towards a girl with a good farm 'n' stockthat was willin' to have him! Seems jest as if it set him ag'in' hersomehow! And yet, if you've got to sing out o' the same book with a girlyour whole lifetime, it does seem's if you'd ought to have a kind of afancy for her at the start, anyhow!"

"You may feel dif'rent as time goes on, Cephas, an' come to seeFeeble--I would say Phoebe--as your mother does. 'The best fire don'tflare up the soonest, ' you know. " But old Uncle Bart saw that his son'sheart was heavy and forbore to press the subject. 

Annabel Franklin had returned to Boston after a month's visit and to hersurprise had returned as disengaged as she came. Mark Wilson, thoroughlybored by her vacuities of mind, longed now for more intercourse withPatty Baxter, Patty, so gay and unexpected; so lively to talk with, sopiquing to the fancy, so skittish and difficult to manage, so temptinglypretty, with a beauty all her own, and never two days alike. 

There were many lions in the way and these only added to the zestof pursuit. With all the other girls of the village opportunitiesmultiplied, but he could scarcely get ten minutes alone with Patty. TheDeacon's orders were absolute in regard to young men. His daughters werenever to drive or walk alone with them, never go to dances or "routs" ofany sort, and never receive them at the house; this last mandatebeing quite unnecessary, as no youth in his right mind would have gonea-courtin' under the Deacon's forbidding gaze. And still there weresudden, delicious chances to be seized now and then if one had hiseyes open and his wits about him. There was the walk to or from thesinging-school, when a sentimental couple could drop a few feet, at least, behind the rest and exchange a word or two in comparativeprivacy; there were the church "circles" and prayer-meetings, and theintervals between Sunday services when Mark could detach Patty a momentfrom the group on the meeting-house steps. More valuable than allthese, a complete schedule of Patty's various movements here and there, together with a profound study of Deacon Baxter's habits, which wereordinarily as punctual as they were disagreeable, permitted Mark manystolen interviews, as sweet as they were brief. There was never a secondkiss, however, in these casual meetings and partings. The first, inspringtime, had found Patty a child, surprised, unprepared. She was awoman now; for it does not take years to achieve that miracle; monthswill do it, or days, or even hours. Her summer's experience with CephasCole had wonderfully broadened her powers, giving her an assurance sadlylacking before, as well as a knowledge of detail, a certain finishedskill in the management of a lover, which she could ably use on any onewho happened to come along. And, at the moment, any one who happened tocome along served the purpose admirably, Philip Perry as well as MarquisWilson. 

Young Perry's interest in Patty, as we have seen, began with hisalienation from Ellen Wilson, the first object of his affections, andit was not at the outset at all of a sentimental nature. Philip was apillar of the church, and Ellen had proved so entirely lacking in thereligious sense, so self-satisfied as to her standing with the heavenlypowers, that Philip dared not expose himself longer to her society, lest he find himself "unequally yoked together with an unbeliever, " thusdefying the scriptural admonition as to marriage. 

Patty, though somewhat lacking in the qualities that go to the makingof trustworthy saints, was not, like Ellen, wholly given over to thefleshpots and would prove a valuable convert, Philip thought; one whowould reflect great credit upon him if he succeeded in inducing her tosubscribe to the stern creed of the day. 

Philip was a very strenuous and slightly gloomy believer, dwellingconsiderably on the wrath of God and the doctrine of eternal punishment. There was an old "pennyroyal" hymn much in use which describes thegeneral tenor of his meditation:--

 "My thoughts on awful subjects roll, Damnation and the dead. What horrors seize the guilty soul Upon a dying bed. "

(No wonder that Jacob Cochrane's lively songs, cheerful, hopeful, militant, and bracing, fell with a pleasing sound upon the ear of thebeliever of that epoch. ) The love of God had, indeed, entered Philip'ssoul, but in some mysterious way had been ossified after it got there. He had intensely black hair, dark skin, and a liver that disposed himconstitutionally to an ardent belief in the necessity of hell for mostof his neighbors, and the hope of spending his own glorious immortalityin a small, properly restricted, and prudently managed heaven. He waseloquent at prayer-meeting and Patty's only objection to him there wasin his disposition to allude to himself as a "rebel worm, " with frequentreferences to his "vile body. " Otherwise, and when not engaged intheological discussion, Patty liked Philip very much. His own father, although an orthodox member of the fold in good and regular standing, had "doctored" Phil conscientiously for his liver from his youth up, hoping in time to incite in him a sunnier view of life, for the doctorwas somewhat skilled in adapting his remedies to spiritual maladies. JedMorrill had always said that when old Mrs. Buxton, the champion convertof Jacob Cochrane, was at her worst, --keeping her whole family awakenights by her hysterical fears for their future, --Dr. Perry had givenher a twelfth of a grain of tartar emetic, five times a day until shehad entire mental relief and her anxiety concerning the salvation of herhusband and children was set completely at rest. 

The good doctor noted with secret pleasure his son's growing fondnessfor the society of his prime favorite, Miss Patience Baxter. "He'llbegin by trying to save her soul, " he thought; "Phil always begins thatway, but when Patty gets him in hand he'll remember the existence ofhis heart, an organ he has never taken into consideration. A love affairwith a pretty girl, good but not too pious, will help Phil considerable, however it turns out. "

There is no doubt but that Phil was taking his chances and that underPatty's tutelage he was growing mellower. As for Patty, she was onlyamusing herself, and frisking, like a young lamb, in pastures where shehad never strayed before. Her fancy flew from Mark to Phil and from Philback to Mark again, for at the moment she was just a vessel of emotion, ready to empty herself on she knew not what. Temperamentally, she wouldtake advantage of currents rather than steer at any time, and it wouldbe the strongest current that would finally bear her away. Her ideahad always been that she could play with fire without burning her ownfingers, and that the flames she kindled were so innocent and mild thatno one could be harmed by them. She had fancied, up to now, that shecould control, urge on, or cool down a man's feeling forever and a day, if she chose, and remain mistress of the situation. Now, after someweeks of weighing and balancing her two swains, she found herselfconfronting a choice, once and for all. Each of them seemed to beapproaching the state of mind where he was likely to say, somewhatviolently: "Take me or leave me, one or the other!" But she did not wishto take them, and still less did she wish to leave them, with no otherlover in sight but Cephas Cole, who was almost, though not quite, worsethan none. 

If matters, by lack of masculine patience and self-control, did come toa crisis, what should she say definitely to either of her suitors? Herfather despised Mark Wilson a trifle more than any young man on theriver, and while he could have no objection to Phil Perry's characteror position in the world, his hatred of old Dr. Perry amounted to adisease. When the doctor had closed the eyes of the third Mrs. Baxter, he had made some plain and unwelcome statements that would rankle inthe Deacon's breast as long as he lived. Patty knew, therefore, that thechance of her father's blessing falling upon her union with eitherof her present lovers was more than uncertain, and of what use was anengagement, if there could not be a marriage?

If Patty's mind inclined to a somewhat speedy departure from herfather's household, she can hardly be blamed, but she felt that shecould not carry any of her indecisions and fears to her sister forsettlement. Who could look in Waitstill's clear, steadfast eyes andsay: "I can't make up my mind which to marry"? Not Patty. She felt, instinctively, that Waitstill's heart, if it moved at all, would rushout like a great river to lose itself in the ocean, and losing itselfforget the narrow banks through which it had flowed before. Patty knewthat her own love was at the moment nothing more than the note of achild's penny flute, and that Waitstill was perhaps vibrating secretlywith a deeper, richer music than could ever come to her. Still, musicof some sort she meant to feel. "Even if they make me decide one way oranother before I am ready, " she said to herself, "I'll never say 'yes'till I'm more in love than I am now!"

There were other reasons why she did not want to ask Waitstill's advice. Not only did she shrink from the loving scrutiny of her sister's eyes, and the gentle probing of her questions, which would fix her own motiveson a pin-point and hold them up unbecomingly to the light; but she hada foolish, generous loyalty that urged her to keep Waitstill quite alooffrom her own little private perplexities. 

"She will only worry herself sick, " thought Patty. "She won't let memarry without asking father's permission, and she'd think she ought notto aid me in deceiving him, and the tempest would be twice as dreadfulif it fell upon us both! Now, if anything happens, I can tell fatherthat I did it all myself and that Waitstill knew nothing about itwhatever. Then, oh, joy! if father is too terrible, I shall be a marriedwoman and I can always say: 'I will not permit such cruelty! Waitstillis dependent upon you no longer, she shall come at once to my husbandand me!'"

This latter phrase almost intoxicated Patty, so that there were momentswhen she could have run up to Milliken's Mills and purchased herself ahusband at any cost, had her slender savings permitted the best in themarket; and the more impersonal the husband the more delightedly Pattyrolled the phrase under her tongue. 

"I can never be 'published' in church, " she thought, "and perhaps nobodywill ever care enough about me to brave father's displeasure and insiston running away with me. I do wish somebody would care 'frightfully'about me, enough for that; enough to help me make up my mind; so that Icould just drive up to father's store some day and say: 'Good afternoon, father! I knew you'd never let me marry--'" (there was always a dashhere, in Patty's imaginary discourses, a dash that could be filled inwith any Christian name according to her mood of the moment)"'so I justmarried him anyway; and you needn't be angry with my sister, for sheknew nothing about it. My husband and I are sorry if you are displeased, but there's no help for it; and my husband's home will always be open toWaitstill, whatever happens. '"

Patty, with all her latent love of finery and ease, did not weigh theworldly circumstances of the two men, though the reflection that shewould have more amusement with Mark than with Philip may have crossedher mind. She trusted Philip, and respected his steady-going, seriousview of life; it pleased her vanity, too, to feel how her nonsense andfun lightened his temperamental gravity, playing in and out and over itlike a butterfly in a smoke bush. She would be safe with Philip always, but safety had no special charm for one of her age, who had neverbeen in peril. Mark's superior knowledge of the world, moreover, hiscareless, buoyant manner of carrying himself, his gay, boyish audacity, all had a very distinct charm for her;--and yet--

But there would be no "and yet" a little later. Patty's heart wouldblaze quickly enough when sufficient heat was applied to it, and Markwas falling more and more deeply in love every day. As Patty vacillated, his purpose strengthened; the more she weighed, the more he ceased toweigh, the difficulties of the situation; the more she unfolded herselfto him, the more he loved and the more he respected her. She began bydelighting his senses; she ended by winning all that there was in him, and creating continually the qualities he lacked, after the manner oftrue women even when they are very young and foolish. 

XVIII. A STATE O' MAINE PROPHET

SUMMER was dying hard, for although it had passed, by the calendar, Mother Nature was still keeping up her customary attitude. 

There had been a soft rain in the night and every spear of grass wasbrilliantly green and tipped with crystal. The smoke bushes in thegarden plot, and the asparagus bed beyond them, looked misty as the sunrose higher, drying the soaked earth and dripping branches. Spiders'webs, marvels of lace, dotted the short grass under the apple trees. Every flower that had a fragrance was pouring it gratefully into theair; every bird with a joyous note in its voice gave it more joyouslyfrom a bursting throat; and the river laughed and rippled in thedistance at the foot of Town House Hill. Then dawn grew into fullmorning and streams of blue smoke rose here and there from the Edgewoodchimneys. The world was alive, and so beautiful that Waitstill felt likegoing down on her knees in gratitude for having been born into it andgiven a chance of serving it in any humble way whatsoever. 

Wherever there was a barn, in Riverboro or Edgewood, one could haveheard the three-legged stools being lifted from the pegs, and thenwould begin the music of the milk-pails; first the resonant sound of thestream on the bottom of the tin pail, then the soft delicious purring ofthe cascade into the full bucket, while the cows serenely chewed theircuds and whisked away the flies with swinging tails. Deacon Baxter wastaking his cows to a pasture far over the hill, the feed having growntoo short in his own fields. Patty was washing dishes in the kitchen andWaitstill was in the dairy-house at the butter-making, one of her chiefdelights. She worked with speed and with beautiful sureness, patting, squeezing, rolling the golden mass, like the true artist she was, thenturning the sweet-scented waxen balls out of the mould on to the bigstone-china platter that stood waiting. She had been up early and forthe last hour she had toiled with devouring eagerness that she mighthave a little time to herself. It was hers now, for Patty would be busywith the beds after she finished the dishes, so she drew a foldedpaper from her pocket, the first communication she had ever received inIvory's handwriting, and sat down to read it. 

MY DEAR WAITSTILL:--

Rodman will take this packet and leave it with you when he findsopportunity. It is not in any real sense a letter, so I am in no dangerof incurring your father's displeasure. You will probably have heard newrumors concerning my father during the past few days, for Peter Morrillhas been to Enfield, New Hampshire, where he says letters have beenreceived stating that my father died in Cortland, Ohio, more than fiveyears ago. I shall do what I can to substantiate this fresh report as Ihave always done with all the previous ones, but I have little hope ofsecuring reliable information at this distance, and after this lengthof time. I do not know when I can ever start on a personal quest myself, for even had I the money I could not leave home until Rodman is mucholder, and fitted for greater responsibility. Oh! Waitstill, how youhave helped my poor, dear mother! Would that I were free to tell you howI value your friendship! It is something more than mere friendship! Whatyou are doing is like throwing a life-line to a sinking human being. Two or three times, of late, mother has forgotten to set out the supperthings for my father. Her ten years' incessant waiting for him seems tohave subsided a little, and in its place she watches for you. [Ivoryhad written "watches for her daughter" but carefully erased the last twowords. ] You come but seldom, but her heart feeds on the sight of you. What she needed, it seems, was the magical touch of youth and health andstrength and sympathy, the qualities you possess in such great measure. 

If I had proof of my father's death I think now, perhaps, that I mighttry to break it gently to my mother, as if it were fresh news, and seeif possibly I might thus remove her principal hallucination. You seenow, do you not, how sane she is in many, indeed in most ways, --howsweet and lovable, even how sensible?

To help you better to understand the influence that has robbed me ofboth father and mother and made me and mine the subject of town andtavern gossip for years past, I have written for you just a sketch ofthe "Cochrane craze"; the romantic story of a man who swayed thewills of his fellow-creatures in a truly marvellous manner. Some localhistorian of his time will doubtless give him more space; my wish is tohave you know something more of the circumstances that have made mea prisoner in life instead of a free man; but prisoner as I am at themoment, I am sustained just now by a new courage. I read in my copy ofOvid last night: "The best of weapons is the undaunted heart. " This willhelp you, too, in your hard life, for yours is the most undaunted heartin all the world. 

IVORY BOYNTON

The chronicle of Jacob Cochrane's career in the little villages nearthe Saco River has no such interest for the general reader as it had forWaitstill Baxter. She hung upon every word that Ivory had written andrealized more clearly than ever before the shadow that had followed himsince early boyhood; the same shadow that had fallen across his mother'smind and left, continual twilight there. 

No one really knew, it seemed, why or from whence Jacob Cochrane hadcome to Edgewood. He simply appeared at the old tavern, a stranger, withsatchel in hand, to seek entertainment. Uncle Bart had often describedthis scene to Waitstill, for he was one of those sitting about the greatopen fire at the time. The man easily slipped into the group andsoon took the lead in conversation, delighting all with his agreeablepersonality, his nimble tongue and graceful speech. At supper-time thehostess and the rest of the family took their places at the long table, as was the custom, and he astonished them by his knowledge not only oftown history, but of village matters they had supposed unknown to anyone. 

When the stranger had finished his supper and returned to the bar-room, he had to pass through a long entry, and the landlady, whispering to herdaughter, said:--

"Betsy, you go up to the chamber closet and get the silver and bring itdown. This man is going to sleep there and I am afraid of him. He mustbe a fortune-teller, and the Lord only knows what else!"

In going to the chamber the daughter had to pass through the bar-room. As she was moving quietly through, hoping to escape the notice of thenewcomer, he turned in his chair, and looking her full in the face, suddenly said:--

"Madam, you needn't touch your silver. I don't want it. I am agentleman. "

Whereupon the bewildered Betsy scuttled back to her mother and told herthe strange guest was indeed a fortune-teller. 

Of Cochrane's initial appearance as a preacher Ivory had told Waitstillin their talk in the churchyard early in the summer. It was at a child'sfuneral that the new prophet created his first sensation and there, too, that Aaron and Lois Boynton first came under his spell. The wholecountryside had been just then wrought up to a state of religiousexcitement by revival meetings and Cochrane gained the benefit of thisdefinite preparation for his work. He claimed that all his sayingswere from divine inspiration and that those who embraced his doctrinereceived direct communication from the Almighty. He disdained formalcreeds and all manner of church organizations, declaring sectarian namesto be marks of the beast and all church members to be in Babylon. Heintroduced re-baptism as a symbolic cleansing from sectarian stains, andafter some months advanced a proposition that his flock hold all thingsin common. He put a sudden end to the solemn "deaconing-out" and droningof psalm tunes and grafted on to his form of worship lively singingand marching accompanied by clapping of hands and whirling in circles;during the progress of which the most hysterical converts, or the mostfully "Cochranized, " would swoon upon the floor; or, in obeying theirleader's instructions to "become as little children, " would sometimes gothrough the most extraordinary and unmeaning antics. 

It was not until he had converted hundreds to the new faith that headded more startling revelations to his gospel. He was in turn bold, mystical, eloquent, audacious, persuasive, autocratic; and even when hisself-styled communications from the "Almighty" controverted all that hishearers had formerly held to be right, he still magnetized or hypnotizedthem into an unwilling assent to his beliefs. There was finally aproclamation to the effect that marriage vows were to be annulled whenadvisable and that complete spiritual liberty was to follow; a libertyin which a new affinity might be sought, and a spiritual union begunupon earth, a union as nearly approximate to God's standards as faultyhuman beings could manage to attain. 

Some of the faithful fell away at this time, being unable to accept thefull doctrine, but retained their faith in Cochrane's original power toconvert sinners and save them from the wrath of God. Storm-clouds beganto gather in the sky however, as the delusion spread, month by monthand local ministers everywhere sought to minimize the influence of thedangerous orator, who rose superior to every attack and carriedhimself like some magnificent martyr-at-will among the crowds that nowcriticized him here or there in private and in public. 

"What a picture of splendid audacity he must have been, " wrote Ivory, "when he entered the orthodox meeting-house at a huge gathering wherehe knew that the speakers were to denounce his teachings. Old ParsonBuzzell gave out his text from the high pulpit: Mark XIII, 37, 'AND WHATI SAY UNTO YOU I SAY UNTO ALL, WATCH!' Just here Cochrane stepped in atthe open door of the church and heard the warning, meant, he knew, forhimself, and seizing the moment of silence following the reading ofthe text, he cried in his splendid sonorous voice, without so much asstirring from his place within the door-frame: "'Behold I stand at thedoor and knock. If any man hear my voice I will come in to him and willsup with him, --I come to preach the everlasting gospel to every one thatheareth, and all that I want here is my bigness on the floor. '"

"I cannot find, " continued Ivory on another page, "that my father ormother ever engaged in any of the foolish and childish practices whichdisgraced the meetings of some of Cochrane's most fanatical followersand converts. By my mother's conversations (some of which I haverepeated to you, but which may be full of errors, because of herconfusion of mind), I believe she must have had a difference of opinionwith my father on some of these views, but I have no means of knowingthis to a certainty; nor do I know that the question of choosingspiritual consorts' ever came between or divided them. This part of thedelusion always fills me with such unspeakable disgust that I have neverliked to seek additional light from any of the older men and women whomight revel in giving it. That my mother did not sympathize with myfather's going out to preach Cochrane's gospel through the country, thisI know, and she was so truly religious, so burning with zeal, that hadshe fully believed in my father's mission she would have spurred him on, instead of endeavoring to detain him. "

"You know the retribution that overtook Cochrane at last, " wrote Ivoryagain, when he had shown the man's early victories and his enormousinfluence. "There began to be indignant protests against his doctrinesby lawyers and doctors, as well as by ministers; not from all sideshowever; for remember, in extenuation of my father's and my mother'sespousal of this strange belief, that many of the strongest and wisestmen, as well as the purest and finest women in York county came underthis man's spell for a time and believed in him implicitly, some of themeven unto the end. 

"Finally there was Cochrane's arrest and examination, the order for himto appear at the Supreme Court, his failure to do so, his recapture andtrial, and his sentence of four years imprisonment on several counts, inall of which he was proved guilty. Cochrane had all along said that theAnointed of the Lord would never be allowed to remain in jail, buthe was mistaken, for he stayed in the State's Prison at Charlestown, Massachusetts, for the full duration of his sentence. Here (I am againtrying to plead the cause of my father and mother), here he receivedmuch sympathy and some few visitors, one of whom walked all the way fromEdgewood to Boston, a hundred and fifteen miles, with a petition forpardon, a petition which was delivered, and refused, at the Boston StateHouse. Cochrane issued from prison a broken and humiliated man, butif report says true, is still living, far out of sight and knowledge, somewhere in New Hampshire. He once sent my father an epitaph of his ownselection, asking him to have it carved upon his gravestone should hedie suddenly when away from his friends. My mother often repeats it, notrealizing how far from the point it sounds to us who never knew him inhis glory, but only in his downfall. 

 "'He spread his arms full wide abroad His works are ever before his God, His name on earth shall long remain, Through envious sinners fret in vain. '"

"We are certain, " concluded Ivory, "that my father preached withCochrane in Limington, Limerick, and Parsonsfield; he also wrote fromEnfield and Effingham in New Hampshire; after that, all is silence. Various reports place him in Boston, in New York, even as far west asOhio, whether as Cochranite evangelist or what not, alas! we can neverknow. I despair of ever tracing his steps. I only hope that he diedbefore he wandered too widely, either from his belief in God or hisfidelity to my mother's long-suffering love. "

Waitstill read the letter twice through and replaced it in her dressto read again at night. It seemed the only tangible evidence of Ivory'slove that she had ever received and she warmed her heart with what shefelt that he had put between the lines. 

"Would that I were free to tell you how I value your friendship!" "Mymother's heart feeds on the sight of you!" "I want you to know somethingof the circumstances that have made me a prisoner in life, instead of afree man. " "Yours is the most undaunted heart in all the world!" Thesesentences Waitstill rehearsed again and again and they rang in her earslike music, converting all the tasks of her long day into a deep andsilent joy. 

XIX. AT THE BRICK STORE

THERE were two grand places for gossip in the community; the old tavernon the Edgewood side of the bridge and the brick store in Riverboro. Thecompany at the Edgewood Tavern would be a trifle different in character, more picturesque, imposing, and eclectic because of the transient gueststhat gave it change and variety. Here might be found a judge or lawyeron his way to court; a sheriff with a handcuffed prisoner; a farmer ortwo, stopping on the road to market with a cartful of produce; andan occasional teamster, peddler, and stage-driver. On winter nightschampion story-tellers like Jed Morrill and Rish Bixby would drop inthere and hang their woollen neck-comforters on the pegs along thewall-side, where there were already hats, topcoats, and fur mufflers, as well as stacks of whips, canes, and ox-goads standing in the corners. They would then enter the room, rubbing their hands genially, and, nodding to Companion Pike, Cephas Cole, Phil Perry and others, ensconcethemselves snugly in the group by the great open fireplace. The landlordwas always glad to see them enter, for their stories, though old to him, were new to many of the assembled company and had a remarkable greet onthe consumption of liquid refreshment. 

On summer evenings gossip was languid in the village, and if anyoccurred at all it would be on the loafer's bench at one or the otherside of the bridge. When cooler weather came the group of local witsgathered in Riverboro, either at Uncle Bart's joiner's shop or atthe brick store, according to fancy. The latter place was perhaps thefavorite for Riverboro talkers. It was a large, two-story, square, brickbuilding with a big-mouthed chimney and an open fire. When every housein the two villages had six feet of snow around it, roads would alwaysbe broken to the brick store, and a crowd of ten or fifteen men would begathered there talking, listening, betting, smoking, chewing, bragging, playing checkers, singing, and "swapping stories. "

Some of the men had been through the War of 1812 and could displaywounds received on the field of valor; others were still prouder ofscars won in encounters with the Indians, and there was one old codger, a Revolutionary veteran, Bill Dunham by name, who would add bloodytales of his encounters with the "Husshons. " His courage had been soextraordinary and his slaughter so colossal that his hearers marvelledthat there was a Hessian left to tell his side of the story, and Billhimself doubted if such were the case. 

"'T is an awful sin to have on your soul, " Bill would say from his placein a dark corner, where he would sit with his hat pulled down over hiseyes till the psychological moment came for the "Husshons" to be trottedout. "'T is an awful sin to have on your soul, --the extummination ofa race o' men; even if they wa'n't nothin' more 'n so many ignorantcockroaches. Them was the great days for fightin'! The Husshons wasthe biggest men I ever seen on the field, most of 'em standin' six feeteight in their stockin's, --but Lord! how we walloped 'em! Once we had acannon mounted an' loaded for 'em that was so large we had to draw theball into it with a yoke of oxen!"

Bill paused from force of habit, just as he had paused for the lasttwenty years. There had been times when roars of incredulous laughterhad greeted this boast, but most of this particular group had heard theyarn more than once and let it pass with a smile and a wink, rememberingthe night that Abel Day had asked old Bill how they got the oxen out ofthe cannon on that most memorable occasion. 

"Oh!" said Bill, "that was easy enough; we jest unyoked 'em an' turned'em out o' the primin'-hole!"

It was only early October, but there had been a killing frost, and EzraSimms, who kept the brick store, flung some shavings and small wood onthe hearth and lighted a blaze, just to induce a little trade and startconversation on what threatened to be a dull evening. Peter Morrill, Jed's eldest brother, had lately returned from a long trip through thestate and into New Hampshire, and his adventures by field and flood werealways worth listening to. He went about the country mending clocks, andmany an old time-piece still bears his name, with the date of repairing, written in pencil on the inside of its door. 

There was never any lack of subjects at the brick store, theidiosyncrasies of the neighbors being the most prolific source ofanecdote and comment. Of scandal about women there was little, thoughthere would be occasional harmless pleasantries concerning village loveaffairs; prophecies of what couple would be next "published" in theblack-walnut frame up at the meeting-house; a genial comment on thenumber and chances of Patience Baxter's various beaux; and whenever allelse failed, the latest story of Deacon Baxter's parsimony, in which thevillage traced the influence of heredity. 

"He can't hardly help it, inheritin' it on both sides, " was Abel Day'sopinion. "The Baxters was allers snug, from time 'memorial, and Foxy'sthe snuggest of 'em. When I look at his ugly mug an' hear his snarlin'voice, I thinks to myself, he's goin' the same way his father did. Whenold Levi Baxter was left a widder-man in that house o' his'n up river, he grew wuss an' wuss, if you remember, till he wa'n't hardly humanat the last; and I don't believe Foxy even went up to his own father'sfuneral. "

"'T would 'a' served old Levi right if nobody else had gone, " said RishBixby. "When his wife died he refused to come into the house till thelast minute. He stayed to work in the barn until all the folks hadassembled, and even the men were all settin' down on benches in thekitchen. The parson sent me out for him, and I'm blest if the old skunkdidn't come in through the crowd with his sleeves rolled up, --went tothe sink and washed, and then set down in the room where the coffin was, as cool as a cowcumber. "

"I remember that funeral well, " corroborated Abel Day. "An' Mis' Dayheerd Levi say to his daughter, as soon as they'd put poor old Mrs. Baxter int' the grave: 'Come on, Marthy; there 's no use cryin' overspilt milk; we'd better go home an' husk out the rest o' that corn. 'Old Foxy could have inherited plenty o' meanness from his father, that'scertain, an' he's added to his inheritance right along, like the thriftyman he is. I hate to think o' them two fine girls wearin' their fingersto the bone for his benefit. "

"Oh, well! 't won't last forever, " said Rish Bixby. "They're thehandsomest couple o' girls on the river an' they'll get husbands aforemany years. Patience'll have one pretty soon, by the looks. She neverbudges an inch but Mark Wilson or Phil Perry are follerin' behind, withCephas Cole watchin' his chance right along, too. Waitstill don't seemto have no beaux; what with flyin' around to keep up with the Deacon, an' bein' a mother to Patience, her hands is full, I guess. "

"If things was a little mite dif'rent all round, I could prognosticatewho Waitstill could keep house for, " was Peter Morrill's opinion. 

"You mean Ivory Boynton? Well, if the Deacon was asked he'd never givehis consent, that's certain; an' Ivory ain't in no position to keepa wife anyways. What was it you heerd 'bout Aaron Boynton up to NewHampshire, Peter?" asked Abel Day. 

"Consid'able, one way an' another; an' none of it would 'a' been anycomfort to Ivory. I guess Aaron 'n' Jake Cochrane was both of 'em moreinterested in savin' the sisters' souls than the brothers'! Aaron was afine-appearin' man, and so was Jake for that matter, 'n' they both hadthe gift o' gab. There's nothin' like a limber tongue if you want toplease the women-folks! If report says true, Aaron died of a fever outin Ohio somewheres; Cortland's the place, I b'lieve. Seems's if he hidhis trail all the way from New Hampshire somehow, for as a usual thing, a man o' book-larnin' like him would be remembered wherever he went. Wouldn't you call Aaron Boynton a turrible larned man, Timothy?"

Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had just entered the store on anerrand, but being directly addressed, and judging that the subject underdiscussion was a discreet one, and that it was too early in the eveningfor drinking to begin, he joined the group by the fireside. He hadpreached in Vermont for several years as an itinerant Methodistminister before settling down to farming in Edgewood, only giving uphis profession because his quiver was so full of little Grants that awandering life was difficult and undesirable. When Uncle Bart Colehad remarked that Mis' Grant had a little of everything in the wayof baby-stock now, --black, red, an' yaller-haired, dark and lightcomplected, fat an' lean, tall an' short, twins an' singles, --JedMorrill had observed dryly: "Yes, Mis' Grant kind o' reminds me ofcharity. "

"How's that?" inquired Uncle Bart. 

"She beareth all things, " chuckled Jed. 

"Aaron Boynton was, indeed, a man of most adhesive larnin', " agreedTimothy, who had the reputation of the largest and most unusualvocabulary in Edgewood. "Next to Jacob Cochrane I should say Aaron hadmore grandeloquence as an orator than any man we've ever had in theseparts. It don't seem's if Ivory was goin' to take after his father thatway. The little feller, now, is smart's a whip, an' could talk the tailoff a brass monkey. "

"Yes, but Rodman ain't no kin to the Boyntons, " Abel reminded him. "Heinhails from the other side o' the house. "

"That's so; well, Ivory does, for certain, an' takes after his mother, right enough, for she hain't spoken a dozen words in as many years, Iguess. Ivory's got a sight o' book-knowledge, though, an' they do say hecould talk Greek an' Latin both, if we had any of 'em in the communityto converse with. I've never paid no intention to the dead languages, bein' so ocker-pied with other studies. "

"Why do they call 'em the dead languages, Tim?" asked Rish Bixby. 

"Because all them that ever spoke 'em has perished off the face o' theland, " Timothy answered oracularly. "Dead an' gone they be, lock, stock, an' barrel; yet there was a time when Latins an' Crustaceans an' Hebrewsan' Prooshians an' Australians an' Simesians was chatterin' away intheir own tongues, an' so pow'ful that they was wallopin' the wholeearth, you might say. "

"I bet yer they never tried to wallop these here United States, "interpolated Bill Dunham from the dark corner by the molasses hogs-head. 

"Is Ivory in here?" The door opened and Rodman Boynton appeared on thethreshold. 

"No, sonny, Ivory ain't been in this evening, " replied Ezra Simms. "I hopethere ain't nothin' the matter over to your house?"

"No, nothing particular, " the boy answered hesitatingly; "only AuntBoynton don't seem so well as common and I can't find Ivory anywhere. "

"Come along with me; I'll help you look for him an' then I'll go as furas the lane with yer if we don't find him. " And kindly Rish Bixby tookthe boy's hand and left the store. 

"Mis' Boynton had a spell, I guess!" suggested the storekeeper, peeringthrough the door into the darkness. "'T ain't like Ivory to be outnights and leave her to Rod. "

"She don't have no spells, " said Abel Day. "Uncle Bart sees consid'ableof Ivory an' he says his mother is as quiet as a lamb. --Couldn't you gitno kind of a certif'cate of Aaron's death out o' that Enfield feller, Peter? Seems's if that poor woman'd oughter be stopped watchin' for adead man; tuckerin' herself all out, an' keepin' Ivory an' the boy allnerved up. "

"I've told Ivory everything I could gether up in the way of information, and give him the names of the folks in Ohio that had writ back toNew Hampshire. I didn't dialate on Aaron's goin's-on in Effingham an'Portsmouth, cause I dassay 't was nothin' but scandal. Them as hatesthe Cochranites'll never allow there's any good in 'em, whereas I've metsome as is servin' the Lord good an' constant, an' indulgin' in no kindof foolishness an' deviltry whatsoever. "

"Speakin' o' Husshons, " said Bill Dunham from his corner, "I remember--"

"We wa'n't alludin' to no Husshons, " retorted Timothy Grant. "We wasdealin' with the misfortunes of Aaron Boynton, who never fit valoriouslyon the field o' battle, but perished out in Ohio of scarlit fever, ifwhat they say in Enfield is true. "

"Tis an easy death, " remarked Bill argumentatively. "Scarlit fever don'tseem like nothin' to me! Many's the time I've been close enough tofire at the eyeball of a Husshon, an' run the resk o' bein' blown tosmithereens!--calm and cool I alters was, too! Scarlit fever is an easydeath from a warrior's p'int o' view!"

"Speakin' of easy death, " continued Timothy, "you know I'm a great onefor words, bein' something of a scholard in my small way. Mebbe younoticed that Elder Boone used a strange word in his sermon last Sunday?Now an' then, when there's too many yawnin' to once in the congregation, Parson'll out with a reg'lar jaw-breaker to wake 'em up. The word asnear as I could ketch it was 'youthinasia. ' I kep' holt of it tillnoontime an' then I run home an' looked through all the y's in thedictionary without findin' it. Mebbe it's Hebrew, I thinks, for Hebrew'slike his mother's tongue to Parson, so I went right up to him atafternoon meetin' an' says to him: 'What's the exact meanin' of"youthinasia"? There ain't no sech word in the Y's in my Webster, ' saysI. 'Look in the E's, Timothy; "euthanasia"' says he, 'means easy death';an' now, don't it beat all that Bill Dunham should have brought thatexpression of 'easy death' into this evenin's talk?"

"I know youth an' I know Ashy, " said Abel Day, "but blessed if I knowwhy they should mean easy death when they yoke 'em together. " "That'sbecause you ain't never paid no 'tention to entomology, " said Timothy. "Aaron Boynton was master o' more 'ologies than you could shake a stickat, but he used to say I beat him on entomology. Words air cur'ousthings sometimes, as I know, hevin' had consid'able leisure time to readwhen I was joggin' 'bout the country an' bein' brought into contack withmen o' learnin'. The way I worked it out, not wishin' to ask Parson anymore questions, bein' something of a scholard myself, is this: The youthin Ashy is a peculiar kind o' youth, 'n' their religion disposes 'em tolay no kind o' stress on huming life. When anything goes wrong with'em an' they get a set-back in war, or business, or affairs withwomen-folks, they want to die right off; so they take a sword an' stan'it straight up wherever they happen to be, in the shed or the barn, orthe henhouse, an' they p'int the sharp end right to their waist-line, where the bowels an' other vital organisms is lowcated; an' then theyfall on to it. It runs 'em right through to the back an' kills 'em likea shot, and that's the way I cal'late the youth in Ashy dies, if myentomology is correct, as it gen'ally is. "

"Don't seem an easy death to me, " argued Okra, "but I ain't no scholard. What college did thou attend to, Tim?"

"I don't hold no diaploma, " responded Timothy, "though I attended toWareham Academy quite a spell, the same time as your sister was goin' toWareham Seminary where eddication is still bein' disseminated though ofan awful poor kind, compared to the old times. "

"It's live an' larn, " said the storekeeper respectfully. "I neverthought of a Seminary bein' a place of dissemination before, but you cansee the two words is near kin. "

"You can't alters tell by the sound, " said Timothy instructively. "Sometimes two words'll start from the same root, an' branch outdiff'rent, like 'critter' an' 'hypocritter. ' A 'hypocritter' mustnatcherally start by bein' a 'critter, ' but a critter ain't obliged tobe a 'hypocritter' 'thout he wants to. "

"I should hope not, " interpolated Abel Day, piously. "Entomology must bean awful interest-in' study, though I never thought of observin' wordsmyself, kept to avoid vulgar language an' profanity. "

"Husshon's a cur'ous word for a man, " inter-jected Bill Dunham with alast despairing effort. "I remember seein' a Husshon once that--"

"Perhaps you ain't one to observe closely, Abel, " said Timothy, nottaking note of any interruption, simply using the time to direct astream of tobacco juice to an incredible distance, but landing it neatlyin the exact spot he had intended. "It's a trade by itself, you mightsay, observin' is, an' there's another sing'lar corraption! The Whigsin foreign parts, so they say, build stone towers to observe the evilmachinations of the Tories, an' so the word 'observatory' come intogeneral use! All entomology; nothin' but entomology. "

"I don't see where in thunder you picked up so much larnin', Timothy!"It was Abel Day's exclamation, but every one agreed with him. 

XX. THE ROD THAT BLOSSOMED

IVORY BOYNTON had taken the horse and gone to the village on an errand, a rare thing for him to do after dark, so Rod was thinking, as he satin the living-room learning his Sunday-School lesson on the same eveningthat the men were gossiping at the brick store. His aunt had requiredhim, from the time when he was proficient enough to do so, to readat least a part of a chapter in the Bible every night. Beginning withGenesis he had reached Leviticus and had made up his mind that the Biblewas a much more difficult book than "Scottish Chiefs, " not withstandingthe fact that Ivory helped him over most of the hard places. At thepresent juncture he was vastly interested in the subject of "rods"as unfolded in the book of Exodus, which was being studied by hisSunday-School class. What added to the excitement was the fact thathis uncle's Christian name, Aaron, kept appearing in the chronicle, asfrequently as that of the great lawgiver Moses himself; and there weremany verses about the wonder-working rods of Moses and Aaron that had astrange effect upon the boy's ear, when he read them aloud, as he lovedto do whenever he was left alone for a time. When his aunt was in theroom his instinct kept him from doing this, for the mere mention of thename of Aaron, he feared, might sadden his aunt and provoke in her thatdangerous vein of reminiscence that made Ivory so anxious. 

"It kind o' makes me nervous to be named 'Rod, ' Aunt Boynton, " said theboy, looking up from the Bible. "All the rods in these Exodus chaptersdo such dreadful things! They become serpents, and one of them swallowsup all the others: and Moses smites the waters with a rod and theybecome blood, and the people can't drink the water and the fish die!Then they stretch a rod across the streams and ponds and bring a plagueof frogs over the land, with swarms of flies and horrible insects. "

"That was to show God's power to Pharaoh, and melt his hard heart toobedience and reverence, " explained Mrs. Boynton, who had known theBible from cover to cover in her youth and could still give chapter andverse for hundreds of her favorite passages. 

"It took an awful lot of melting, Pharaoh's heart!" exclaimed the boy. "Pharaoh must have been worse than Deacon Baxter! I wonder if they evertried to make him good by being kind to him! I've read and read, but Ican't find they used anything on him but plagues and famines and boilsand pestilences and thunder and hail and fire!--Have I got a middlename, Aunt Boynton, for I don't like Rod very much?"

"I never heard that you had a middle name; you must ask Ivory, " said hisaunt abstractedly. 

"Did my father name me Rod, or my mother?'

"I don't really know; perhaps it was your mother, but don't askquestions, please. "

"I forgot, Aunt Boynton! Yes, I think perhaps my mother named me. Mothers 'most always name their babies, don't they? My mother wasn'tlike you; she looked just like the picture of Pocahontas in my History. She never knew about these Bible rods, I guess. "

"When you go a little further you will find pleasanter things aboutrods, " said his aunt, knitting, knitting, intensely, as was her habit, and talking as if her mind were a thousand miles away. "You know theywere just little branches of trees, and it was only God's power thatmade them wonderful in any way. "

"Oh! I thought they were like the singing-teacher's stick he keeps timewith. "

"No; if you look at your Concordance you'll finds it gives you achapter in Numbers where there's something beautiful about rods. I haveforgotten the place; it has been many years since I looked at it. Find it and read it aloud to me. " The boy searched his Concordance andreadily found the reference in the seventeenth chapter of Numbers. 

"Stand near me and read, " said Mrs. Boynton. "I like to hear the Bibleread aloud!"

Rodman took his Bible and read, slowly and haltingly, but with clearnessand understanding:

1. AND THE LORD SPAKE UNTO MOSES, SAYING, 2. SPEAK UNTO THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL, AND TAKE OF EVERY ONE OF THEMA ROD ACCORDING TO THE HOUSE OF THEIR FATHERS, OF ALL THEIR PRINCESACCORDING TO THE HOUSE OF THEIR FATHERS TWELVE RODS: WRITE THOU EVERYMAN'S NAME UPON HIS ROD. 

Through the boy's mind there darted the flash of a thought, a sadthought. He himself was a Rod on whom no man's name seemed to bewritten, orphan that he was, with no knowledge of his parents!

Suddenly he hesitated, for he had caught sight of the name of Aaron inthe verse that he was about to read, and did not wish to pronounce it inhis aunt's hearing. 

"This chapter is most too hard for me to read out loud, Aunt Boynton, "he stammered. "Can I study it by myself and read it to Ivory first?" "Goon, go on, you read very sweetly; I can not remember what comes and Iwish to hear it. "

The boy continued, but without raising his eyes from the Bible. 

3. AND THOU SHALT WRITE AARON'S NAME UPON THE ROD OF LEVI: FOR ONE RODSHALL BE FOR THE HEAD OF THE HOUSE OF THEIR FATHERS. 

4. AND THOU SHALT LAY THEM UP IN THE TABERNACLE OF THE CONGREGATIONBEFORE THE TESTIMONY, WHERE I WILL MEET WITH YOU. 

5. AND IT SHALL COME TO PASS THAT THE MAN'S ROD, WHOM I SHALL CHOOSE, SHALL BLOSSOM: AND I WILL MAKE TO CEASE FROM ME THE MURMURINGS OF THECHILDREN OF ISRAEL, WHEREBY THEY MURMUR AGAINST YOU. 

Rodman had read on, absorbed in the story and the picture it presentedto his imagination. He liked the idea of all the princes having a rodaccording to the house of their fathers; he liked to think of the littlebranches being laid on the altar in the tabernacle, and above all hethought of the longing of each of the princes to have his own rod chosenfor the blossoming. 

6. AND MOSES SPOKE UNTO THE CHILDREN OF ISRAEL, AND EVERY ONE OF THEIRPRINCES GAVE HIM A ROD A PIECE, FOR EACH PRINCE ONE, ACCORDING TO THEIRFATHER'S HOUSES, EVEN TWELVE RODS; AND THE ROD OF AARON WAS AMONG THEIRRODS. 

Oh! how the boy hoped that Aaron's branch would be the one chosen toblossom! He felt that his aunt would be pleased, too; but he read onsteadily, with eyes that glowed and breath that came and went in a verypalpitation of interest. 

7. AND MOSES LAID UP THE RODS BEFORE THE LORD IN THE TABERNACLE OFWITNESS. 

8. AND IT CAME TO PASS, THAT ON THE MORROW MOSES WENT INTO THETABERNACLE OF WITNESS; AND, BEHOLD, THE ROD OF AARON WAS BUDDED ANDBROUGHT FORTH BUDS, AND BLOOMED BLOSSOMS, AND YIELDED ALMONDS. 

It was Aaron's rod, then, and was an almond branch! How beautiful, for the blossoms would have been pink; and how the people must havemarvelled to see the lovely blooming thing on the dark altar; firstbudding, then blossoming, then bearing nuts! And what was the rod chosenfor? He hurried on to the next verse. 

9. AND MOSES BROUGHT OUT ALL THE RODS FROM BEFORE THE LORD UNTO ALL THECHILDREN OF ISRAEL: AND THEY LOOKED, AND TOOK EVERY MAN HIS ROD. 

10. AND THE LORD SAID UNTO MOSES, BRING AARON'S ROD AGAIN BEFORE THETESTIMONY TO BE KEPT FOR A TOKEN AGAINST THE REBELS; AND THOU SHALTQUITE TAKE AWAY THEIR MURMURINGS FROM ME, THAT THEY DIE NOT. 

"Oh! Aunt Boynton!" cried the boy, "I love my name after I've heardabout the almond rod! Aren't you proud that it's Uncle's name that waswritten on the one that blossomed?"

He turned swiftly to find that his aunt's knitting had slipped on thefloor; her nerveless hands drooped by her side as if there were no lifein them, and her head had fallen against the back of her chair. The boywas paralyzed with fear at the sight of her closed eyes and the deathlypallor of her face. He had never seen her like this before, and Ivorywas away. He flew for a bottle of spirit, always kept in the kitchencupboard for emergencies, and throwing wood on the fire in passing, heswung the crane so that the tea-kettle was over the flame. He knew onlythe humble remedies that he had seen used here or there in illness, and tried them timidly, praying every moment that he might hear Ivory'sstep. He warmed a soapstone in the embers, and taking off Mrs. Boynton'sshoes, put it under her cold feet. He chafed her hands and gently poureda spoonful of brandy between her pale lips. Then sprinkling camphor ona handkerchief he held it to her nostrils and to his joy she stirred inher chair; before many minutes her lids fluttered, her lips moved, andshe put her hand to her heart. 

"Are you better, Aunt dear?" Rod asked in a very wavering and tearfulvoice. 

She did not answer; she only opened her eyes and looked at him. Atlength she whispered faintly, "I want Ivory; I want my son. "

"He's out, Aunt dear. Shall I help you to bed the way Ivory does? Ifyou'll let me, then I'll run to the bridge 'cross lots, like lightning, and bring him back. "

She assented, and leaning heavily on his slender shoulder, walked feeblyinto her bedroom off the living-room. Rod was as gentle as a motherand he was familiar with all the little offices that could be of anycomfort; the soapstone warmed again for her feet, the bringing of hernightgown from the closet, and when she was in bed, another spoonfulof brandy in hot milk; then the camphor by her side, an extra homespunblanket over her, and the door left open so that she could see the openfire that he made into a cheerful huddles contrived so that it would notsnap and throw out dangerous sparks in his absence. 

All the while he was doing this Mrs. Boynton lay quietly in the bedtalking to herself fitfully, in the faint murmuring tone that washabitual to her. He could distinguish scarcely anything, only enough toguess that her mind was still on the Bible story that he was reading toher when she fainted. "THE ROD OF AARON WAS AMONG THE OTHER RODS, " heheard her say; and, a moment later, "BRING AARON'S ROD AGAIN BEFORE THETESTIMONY. "

Was it his uncle's name that had so affected her, wondered the boy, almost sick with remorse, although he had tried his best to evade hercommand to read the chapter aloud? What would Ivory, his hero, hispattern and example, say? It had always seen Rod's pride to carry hislittle share of every burden that fell to Ivory, to be faithful andhelpful in every task given to him. He could walk through fire withoutflinching, he thought, if Ivory told him to, and he only prayed that hemight not be held responsible for this new calamity. 

"I want Ivory!" came in a feeble voice from the bedroom. 

"Does your side ache worse?" Rod asked, tip-toeing to the door. 

"No, I am quite free from pain. "

"Would you be afraid to stay alone just for a while if I lock both doorsand run to find Ivory and bring him back?"

"No, I will sleep, " she whispered, closing her eyes. "Bring him quicklybefore I forget what I want to say to him. "

Rod sped down the lane and over the fields to the brick store whereIvory usually bought his groceries. His cousin was not there, but one ofthe men came out and offered to take his horse and drive over the bridgeto see if he were at one of the neighbors' on that side of the river. Not a word did Rod breathe of his aunt's illness; he simply said thatshe was lonesome for Ivory, and so he came to find him. In five minutesthey saw the Boynton horse hitched to a tree by the road-side, and in atrice Rod called him and, thanking Mr. Bixby, got into Ivory's wagon towait for him. He tried his best to explain the situation as they drovealong, but finally concluded by saying: "Aunt really made me read thechapter to her, Ivory. I tried not to when I saw Uncle's name in mostevery verse, but I couldn't help it. "

"Of course you couldn't! Now you jump out and hitch the horse while Irun in and see that nothing has happened while she's been left alone. Perhaps you'll have to go for Dr. Perry. "

Ivory went in with fear and trembling, for there was no sound save theticking of the tall clock. The fire burned low upon the hearth, and thedoor was open into his mother's room. He lifted a candle that Rodhad left ready on the table and stole softly to her bedside. She wassleeping like a child, but exhaustion showed itself in every line of herface. He felt her hands and feet and found the soapstone in the bed; sawthe brandy bottle and the remains of a cup of milk on the light-stand;noted the handkerchief, still strong of camphor on the counterpane, andthe blanket spread carefully over her knees, and then turned approvinglyto meet Rod stealing into the room on tiptoe, his eyes big with fear. 

"We won't wake her, Rod. I'll watch a while, then sleep on thesitting-room lounge. "

"Let me watch, Ivory! I'd feel better if you'd let me, honest I would!"

The boy's face was drawn with anxiety. Ivory's attention was attractedby the wistful eyes and the beauty of the forehead under the darkhair. He seemed something more than the child of yesterday--a care andresponsibility and expense, for all his loving obedience; he seemed allat once different to-night; older, more dependable, more trustworthy; infact, a positive comfort and help in time of trouble. 

"I did the best I knew how; was anything wrong?" asked the boy, as Ivorystood regarding him with a friendly smile. 

"Nothing wrong, Rod! Dr. Perry couldn't have done any better with whatyou had on hand. I don't know how I should get along without you, boy!"Here Ivory patted Rod's shoulder. "You're not a child any longer, Rod;you're a man and a brother, that's what you are; and to prove it I'lltake the first watch and call you up at one o'clock to take the second, so that I can be ready for my school work to-morrow! How does that suityou?"

"Tip-top!" said the boy, flushing with pride. "I'll lie down with myclothes on; it's only nine o'clock and I'll get four hours' sleep;that's a lot more than Napoleon used to have!"

He carried the Bible upstairs and just before he blew out his candlehe looked again at the chapter in Numbers, thinking he would show it toIvory privately next day. Again the story enchanted him, and again, likea child, he put his own name and his living self among the rods in thetabernacle. 

"Ivory would be the prince of our house, " he thought. "Oh! how I'd liketo be Ivory's rod and have it be the one that was chosen to blossom andkeep the rebels from murmuring!"

XXI. LOIS BURIES HER DEAD

THE replies that Ivory had received from his letters of inquiryconcerning his father's movements since leaving Maine, and his possibledeath in the West, left no reasonable room for doubt. Traces of AaronBoynton in New Hampshire, in Massachusetts, in New York, and finallyin Ohio, all pointed in one direction, and although there were gaps anddiscrepancies in the account of his doings, the fact of his death seemedto be established by two apparently reliable witnesses. 

That he was not unaccompanied in his earliest migrations seemed clear, but the woman mentioned as his wife disappeared suddenly from thereports, and the story of his last days was the story of a broken-down, melancholy, unfriended man, dependent for the last offices on strangers. He left no messages and no papers, said Ivory's correspondent, and nevermade mention of any family connections whatsoever. He had no propertyand no means of defraying the expenses of his illness after he wasstricken with the fever. No letters were found among his poor effectsand no article that could prove his identity, unless it were a smallgold locket, which bore no initials or marks of any kind, but whichcontained two locks of fair and brown hair, intertwined. The tinytrinket was enclosed in the letter, as of no value, unless some onerecognized it as a keepsake. Ivory read the correspondence with a heavyheart, inasmuch as it corroborated all his worst fears. He had sometimessecretly hoped that his father might return and explain the reason ofhis silence; or in lieu of that, that there might come to lightthe story of a pilgrimage, fanatical, perhaps, but innocent of evilintention, one that could be related to his wife and his former friends, and then buried forever with the death that had ended it. 

Neither of these hopes could now ever be realized, nor his father'smemory made other than a cause for endless regret, sorrow, and shame. His father, who had begun life so handsomely, with rare gifts of mindand personality, a wife of unusual beauty and intelligence, and whilestill young in years, a considerable success in his chosen profession. His poor father! What could have been the reasons for so complete adownfall?

Ivory asked Dr. Perry's advice about showing one or two of the brieferletters and the locket to his mother. After her fainting fit and theexhaustion that followed it, Ivory begged her to see the old doctor, butwithout avail. Finally, after days of pleading he took her hands in hisand said: "I do everything a mortal man can do to be a good son to you, mother; won't you do this to please me, and trust that I know what isbest?" Whereupon she gave a trembling assent, as if she were agreeingto something indescribably painful, and indeed this sight of a formerfriend seemed to frighten her strangely. 

After Dr. Perry had talked with her for a half-hour and examined hersufficiently to make at least a reasonable guess as to her mental andphysical condition, he advised Ivory to break the news of her husband'sdeath to her. 

"If you can get her to comprehend it, " he said, "it is bound to be arelief from this terrible suspense. "

"Will there be any danger of making her worse? Mightn't the shock Causetoo violent emotion?" asked Ivory anxiously. 

"I don't think she is any longer capable of violent emotion, " the doctoranswered. "Her mind is certainly clearer than it was three years ago, buther body is nearly burned away by the mental conflict. There is scarcelyany part of her but is weary; weary unto death, poor soul. One cannotlook at her patient, lovely face without longing to lift some part ofher burden. Make a trial, Ivory; it's a justifiable experiment andI think it will succeed. I must not come any oftener myself than isabsolutely necessary; she seemed afraid of me. "

The experiment did succeed. Lois Boynton listened breathlessly, withparted lips, and with apparent comprehension, to the story Ivory toldher. Over and over again he told her gently the story of her husband'sdeath, trying to make it sink into her mind clearly, so that thereshould be no consequent bewilderment She was calm and silent, though herface showed that she was deeply moved. She broke down only when Ivoryshowed her the locket. 

"I gave it to my husband when you were born, my son!" she sobbed. "Afterall, it seems no surprise to me that your father is dead. He said hewould come back when the Mayflowers bloomed, and when I saw the autumnleaves I knew that six months must have gone and he would never stayaway from us for six months without writing. That is the reason I haveseldom watched for him these last weeks. I must have known that it wasno use!"

She rose from her rocking-chair and moved feebly towards her bedroom. "Can you spare me the rest of the day, Ivory?" she faltered, as sheleaned on her son and made her slow progress from the kitchen. "I mustbury the body of my grief and I want to be alone at first... If onlyI could see Waitstill! We have both thought this was coming: she has awoman's instinct... She is younger and stronger than I am, and she saidit was braver not to watch and pine and fret as I have done... But tohave faith in God that He would send me a sign when He was ready.... Shesaid if I could manage to be braver you would be happier too... . "Here she sank on to her bed exhausted, but still kept up her murmuringfaintly and feebly, between long intervals of silence. 

"Do you think Waitstill could come to-morrow?" she asked. "I am so muchbraver when she is here with me.... After supper I will put away yourfather's cup and plate once and for all, Ivory, and your eyes need neverfill with tears again, as they have, sometimes, when you have seen mewatching.... You needn't worry about me; I am remembering better thesedays, and the bells that ring in my ears are not so loud. If only thepain in my side were less and I were not so pressed for breath, I shouldbe quite strong and could see everything clearly at last. ... There issomething else that remains to be remembered. I have almost caught itonce and it must come to me again before long.... Put the locket undermy pillow, Ivory; close the door, please, and leave me to myself.... Ican't make it quite clear, my feeling about it, but it seems just as ifI were going to bury your father and I want to be alone. "

XXII. HARVEST-TIME

NEW ENGLAND'S annual pageant of autumn was being unfolded day by day inall its accustomed splendor, and the feast and riot of color, the almostunimaginable glory, was the common property of the whole countryside, rich and poor, to be shared alike if perchance all eyes were equallyalive to the wonder and the beauty. 

Scarlet days and days of gold followed fast one upon the other; SacoWater flowing between quiet woodlands that were turning red and russetand brown, and now plunging through rocky banks all blazing withcrimson. 

Waitstill Baxter went as often as she could to the Boynton farm, thoughnever when Ivory was at home, and the affection between the youngerand the older woman grew closer and closer, so that it almost brokeWaitstill's heart to leave the fragile creature, when her presenceseemed to bring such complete peace and joy. 

"No one ever clung to me so before, " she often thought as she washurrying across the fields after one of her half-hour visits. "But theend must come before long. Ivory does not realize it yet, nor Rodman, but it seems as if she could never survive the long winter. ThanksgivingDay is drawing nearer and nearer, and how little I am able to do for asingle creature, to prove to God that I am grateful for my existence! Icould, if only I were free, make such a merry day for Patty and Mark andtheir young friends. Oh! what joy if father were a man who would let meset a bountiful table in our great kitchen; would sit at the head andsay grace, and we could bow our heads over the cloth, a united family!Or, if I had done my duty in my home and could go to that other where Iam so needed--go with my father's blessing! If only I could live in thatsad little house and brighten it! I would trim the rooms with evergreenand creeping-Jenny; I would put scarlet alder berries and whiteever-lastings and blue fringed gentians in the vases! I would put thelast bright autumn leaves near Mrs. Boynton's bed and set out a traywith a damask napkin and the best of my cooking; then I would go out tothe back door where the woodbine hangs like a red waterfall and blow thedinner-horn for my men down in the harvest-field! All the woman in me iswasting, wasting! Oh! my dear, dear man, how I long for him! Oh! my owndear man, my helpmate, shall I ever live by his side? I love him, I wanthim, I need him! And my dear little unmothered, unfathered boy, howhappy I could make him! How I should love to cook and sew for them alland wrap them in comfort! How I should love to smooth my dear mother'slast days, --for she is my mother, in spirit, in affection, in desire, and in being Ivory's!"

Waitstill's longing, her discouragement, her helplessness, overcame herwholly, and she flung herself down under a tree in the pasture in a verypassion of sobbing, a luxury in which she could seldom afford to indulgeherself. The luxury was short-lived, for in five minutes she heardRodman's voice, and heard him running to meet her as he often did whenshe came to their house or went away from it, dogging her footsteps orPatty's whenever or wherever he could waylay them. 

"Why, my dear, dear Waity, did you tumble and hurt yourself?" the boycried. 

"Yes, dreadfully, but I'm better now, so walk along with me and tell methe news, Rod. "

"There isn't much news. Ivory told you I'd left school and am studyingat home? He helps me evenings and I'm 'way ahead of the class. "

"No, Ivory didn't tell me. I haven't seen him lately. "

"I said if the big brother kept school, the little brother ought to keephouse, " laughed the boy. 

"He says I can hire out as a cook pretty soon! Aunt Boynton's 'mostalways up to get dinner and supper, but I can make lots of things now, --things that Aunt Boynton can eat, too. "

"Oh, I cannot bear to have you and Ivory cooking for yourselves!"exclaimed Waitstill, the tears starting again from her eyes. "I mustcome over the next time when you are at home, Rod, and I can help youmake something nice for supper. 

"We get along pretty well, " said Rodman contentedly. "I lovebook-learning like Ivory and I'm going to be a schoolmaster or apreacher when Ivory's a lawyer. Do you think Patty'd like a schoolmasteror a preacher best, and do you think I'd be too young to marry her byand by, if she would wait for me?"

"I didn't think you had any idea of marrying Patty, " laughed Waitstillthrough her tears. "Is this something new?"

"It's not exactly new, " said Rod, jumping along like a squirrel in thepath. "Nobody could look at Patty and not think about marrying her. I'd love to marry you, too, but you re too big and grand for a boy. Ofcourse, I'm not going to ask Patty yet. Ivory said once you should neverask a girl until you can keep her like a queen; then after a minutehe said: 'Well, maybe not quite like a queen, Rod, for that would meanlonger than a man could wait. Shall we say until he could keep her likethe dearest lady in the land?' That 's the way he said it. --You do crydreadfully easy to-day, Waity; I'm sure you barked your leg or skinnedyour knee when you fell down. --Don't you think the 'dearest lady in theland' is a nice-sounding sentence?"

"I do, indeed!" cried Waitstill to herself as she turned the words overand over trying to feed her hungry heart with them. 

"I love to hear Ivory talk; it's like the stories in the books. We haveour best times in the barn, for I'm helping with the milking, now. Ouryellow cow's name is Molly and the red cow used to be Dolly, but wechanged her to Golly, 'cause she's so troublesome. Molly's an easy cowto milk and I can get almost all there is, though Ivory comes after meand takes the strippings. Golly swishes her tail and kicks the minuteshe hears us coming; then she stands stiff-legged and grits her teethand holds on to her milk HARD, and Ivory has to pat and smooth and coaxher every single time. Ivory says she's got a kind of an attachmentinside of her that she shuts down when he begins to milk. "

"We had a cross old cow like that, once, " said Waitstill absently, loving to hear the boy's chatter and the eternal quotations from hisbeloved hero. 

"We have great fun cooking, too, " continued Rod. "When Aunt Boynton wasfirst sick she stayed in bed more, and Ivory and I hadn't got used tothings. One morning we bound up each other's burns. Ivory had threefingers and I two, done up in buttery rags to take the fire out. Ivorycalled us 'Soldiers dressing their Wounds after the Battle. ' Sausagesspatter dreadfully, don't they? And when you turn a pancake it flops ontop of the stove. Can you flop one straight, Waity?"

"Yes, I can, straight as a die; that's what girls are made for. Now runalong home to your big brother, and do put on some warmer clothes underyour coat; the weather's getting colder. "

"Aunt Boynton hasn't patched our thick ones yet, but she will soon, andif she doesn't, Ivory'll take this Saturday evening and do them himself;he said so. "

"He shall not!" cried Waitstill passionately. "It is not seemly forIvory to sew and mend, and I will not allow it. You shall bring me thosethings that need patching without telling any one, do you hear, and Iwill meet you on the edge of the pasture Saturday afternoon and givethem back to you. You are not to speak of it to any one, you understand, or perhaps I shall pound you to a jelly. You'd make a sweet rosy jellyto eat with turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, you dear, comforting littleboy!"

Rodman ran towards home and Waitstill hurried along, scarcely noticingthe beauties of the woods and fields and waysides, all glowing massesof goldenrod and purple frost flowers. The stone walls were coveredwith wild-grape and feathery clematis vines. Everywhere in sight thecornfields lay yellow in the afternoon sun and ox carts heavily loadedwith full golden ears were going home to the barns to be ready forhusking. 

A sudden breeze among the orchard boughs as she neared the house wasfollowed by a shower of russets, and everywhere the red Baldwins gleamedon the apple-tree boughs, while the wind-falls were being gathered andtaken to the cider mills. There was a grove of maples on the top ofTown-House Hill and the Baxters' dooryard was a blaze of brilliantcolor. To see Patty standing under a little rock maple, her brownlinsey-woolsey in I one with the landscape, and the hood of her browncape pulled over her bright head, was a welcome for anybody. She lookedflushed and excited as she ran up to her sister and said, "Waity, darling, you've been crying! Has father been scolding you?"

"No, dear, but my heart is aching to-day so that I can scarcely bearit. A wave of discouragement came over me as I was walking throughthe woods, and I gave up to it a bit. I remembered how soon it will beThanksgiving Day, and I'll so like to make it happier for you and a fewothers that I love. "

Patty could have given a shrewd guess as to the chief cause of theheartache, but she forebore to ask any questions. "Cheer up, Waity, " shecried. "You never can tell; we may have a thankful Thanksgiving, afterall! Who knows what may happen? I'm 'strung up' this afternoon and ina fighting mood. I've felt like a new piece of snappy white elasticall day; it's the air, just like wine, so cool and stinging and fullof courage! Oh, yes, we won't give up hope yet awhile, Waity, not untilwe're snowed in!"

"Put your arms round me and give me a good hug, Patty! Love me hard, HARD, for, oh! I need it badly just now!"

And the two girls clung together for a moment and then went into thehouse with hands close-locked and a kind of sad, desperate courage intheir young hearts. What would either of them have done, each of themthought, had she been forced to endure alone the life that went on dayafter day in Deacon Baxter's dreary house?

XXIII. AUNT ABBY'S WINDOW

MRS. ABEL DAY had come to spend the afternoon with Aunt Abby Cole andthey were seated at the two sitting-room windows, sweeping the landscapewith eagle eyes in the intervals of making patchwork. 

"The foliage has been a little mite too rich this season, " remarked AuntAbby. "I b'lieve I'm glad to see it thinin' out some, so 't we can havesome kind of an idee of what's goin' on in the village. "

"There's plenty goin' on, " Mrs. Day answered unctuously; "some of itaboveboard an' some underneath it. "

"An' that's jest where it's aggravatin' to have the leaves so thick andthe trees so high between you and other folks' houses. Trees are goodfor shade, it's true, but there's a limit to all things. There was atime when I could see 'bout every-thing that went on up to Baxters', and down to Bart's shop, and, by goin' up attic, consid'able many thingsthat happened on the bridge. Bart vows he never planted that plum treeat the back door of his shop; says the children must have hove out plumstones when they was settin' on the steps and the tree come up of itsown accord. He says he didn't take any notice of it till it got quite astart and then 't was such a healthy young bush he couldn't bear to rootit out. I tell him it's kind O' queer it should happen to come up jestwhere it spoils my view of his premises. Men folks are so exasperatin'that sometimes I wish there was somebody different for us to marry, butthere ain't, --so there we be!"

"They are an awful trial, " admitted Mrs. Day. "Abel never sympathizeswith my head-aches. I told him a-Sunday I didn't believe he'd mind if Idied the next day, an' all he said was: 'Why don't you try it an' see, Lyddy?' He thinks that's humorous. "

"I know; that's the way Bartholomew talks; I guess they all do. You cansee the bridge better 'n I can, Lyddy; has Mark Wilson drove over senceyou've been settin' there? He's like one o' them ostriches that hidestheir heads in the sand when the bird-catchers are comin' along, thinkin' 'cause they can't see anything they'll never BE seen! He knowsfolks would never tell tales to Deacon Baxter, whatever the girls done;they hate him too bad. Lawyer Wilson lives so far away, he can't keepany watch o' Mark, an' Mis' Wilson's so cityfied an' purse-proud nobodyever goes to her with any news, bad or good; so them that's the mostconcerned is as blind as bats. Mark's consid'able stiddier'n he used tobe, but you needn't tell me he has any notion of bringin' one o' thatBaxter tribe into his family. He's only amusin' himself. "

"Patty'll be Mrs. Wilson or nothin', " was Mrs. Day's response. "Both o'them girls is silk purses an' you can't make sows' ears of 'em. Weain't neither of us hardly fair to Patty, an' I s'pose it 's because shedidn't set any proper value on Cephas. "

"Oh, she's good enough for Mark, I guess, though I ain't so sure of hisintentions as you be. She's nobody's fool, Patty ain't, I allow that, though she did treat Cephas like the dirt in the road. I'm thankful he'scome to his senses an' found out the diff'rence between dross an' gold. "

"It's very good of you to put it that way, Abby, " Mrs. Day respondedgratefully, for it was Phoebe, her own offspring, who was alluded to asthe most precious of metals. "I suppose we'd better have the publishingnotice put up in the frame before Sunday? There'll be a great crowd outthat day and at Thanksgiving service the next Thursday too!"

"Cephas says he don't care how soon folks hears the news, now all'ssettled, " said his mother. "I guess he's kind of anxious that thevillage should know jest how little truth there is in the gossip 'bouthim bein' all upset over Patience Baxter. He said they took consid'ablenotice of him an' Phoebe settin' together at the Harvest Festival lastevenin'. He thought the Baxter girls would be there for certain, but Is'pose Old Foxy wouldn't let 'em go up to the Mills in the evenin', norspend a quarter on their tickets. "

"Mark could have invited Patty an' paid for her ticket, I should think;or passed her in free, for that matter, when the Wilsons got up theentertainment; but, of course, the Deacon never allows his girls to goanywheres with men-folks. "

"Not in public; so they meet 'em side o' the river or round the cornerof Bart's shop, or anywhere they can, when the Deacon's back's turned. If you tied a handkerchief over Waitstill's eyes she could find her wayblindfold to Ivory Boynton's house, but she's good as gold, Waitstillis; she'll stay where her duty calls her, every time! If any misfortuneor scandal should come near them two girls, the Deacon will have no-bodybut himself to thank for it, that's one sure thing!"

"Young folks can't be young but once, " sighed Mrs. Day. "I thought wehad as handsome a turn-out at the entertainment last evenin' as anyvillage on the Saco River could 'a' furnished: an' my Phoebe an' yourCephas, if I do say so as shouldn't, was about the best-dressed an'best-appearin' couple there was present. Also, I guess likely, they'restartin' out with as good prospects as any bride an' groom that's walkedup the middle aisle o' the meetin'-house for many a year.... How'd youlike that Boston singer that the Wilsons brought here, Abby?--Wait aminute, is Cephas, or the Deacon, tendin' store this after-noon?"

"The Deacon; Cephas is paintin' up to the Mills. "

"Well, Mark Wilson's horse an' buggy is meanderin' slowly down AuntBetty-Jack's hill, an' Mark is studyin' the road as if he was lookin'for a four-leafed clover. "

"He'll hitch at the tavern, or the Edgewood store, an' wait his chanceto get a word with Patience, " said Aunt Abby. "He knows when she takesmilk to the Morrills', or butter to the parsonage; also when she eatsan' drinks an' winks her eye an' ketches her breath an' lifts herfoot. Now he's disappeared an' we'll wait.. .. Why, as to that Bostonsinger, --an' by the way, they say Ellen Wilson's goin' to take lessonsof her this winter, --she kind o' bewildered me, Lyddy! Of course, Iain't never been to any cities, so I don't feel altogether free tocriticise; but what did you think of her, when she run up so high there, one time? I don't know how high she went, but I guess there wa'n't nohigher to go!"

"It made me kind o' nervous, " allowed Mrs. Day. 

"Nervous! Bart' an' I broke out in a cold sweat! He said she couldn'thold a candle to Waitstill Baxter. But it's that little fly-away Wilsongirl that'll get the lessons, an' Waitstill will have to use her voicecallin' the Deacon home to dinner. Things ain't divided any too well inthis world, Lyddy. "

"Waitstill's got the voice, but she lacks the trainin'. The Bostonsinger knows her business, I'll say that for her, " said Mrs. Day. 

"She's got good stayin' power, " agreed Aunt Abby. "Did you notice howshe held on to that high note when she'd clumb where she wanted to git?She's got breath enough to run a gristmill, that girl has! And how'd shecome down, when she got good and ready to start? Why, she zig-zagged an'saw-toothed the whole way! It kind o' made my flesh creep!"

"I guess part o' the trouble's with us country folks, " Mrs. Dayresponded, "for folks said she sung runs and trills better'n any womanup to Boston. "

"Runs an' trills, " ejaculated Abby scornfully. "I was talkin' 'boutsingin' not runnin'. My niece Ella up to Parsonfield has taken threeterms on the pianner an' I've heerd her practise. Scales has got to bedone, no doubt, but they'd ought to be done to home, where they belong;a concert ain't no place for 'em... . There, what did I tell yer?Patience Baxter's crossin' the bridge with a pail in her hand. She's gotthat everlastin' yeller-brown, linsey-woolsey on, an' a white 'cloud'wrapped around her head with con'sid'able red hair showin' as usual. Youcan always see her fur's you can a sunrise! And there goes Rod Boynton, chasin' behind as usual. Those Baxter girls make a perfect fool o' thatboy, but I don't s'pose Lois Boynton's got wit enough to make much fussover the poor little creeter!"

Mark Wilson could certainly see Patty Baxter as far as he could asunrise, although he was not intimately acquainted with that naturalphenomenon. He took a circuitous route from his watch-tower, and, knowing well the point from which there could be no espionage fromDeacon Baxter's store windows, joined Patty in the road, took the pailfrom her hand, and walked up the hill beside her. Of course, the villagecould see them, but, as Aunt Abby had intimated, there wasn't a man, woman, or child on either side of the river who wouldn't have taken thepart of the Baxter girls against their father. 

XXIV. PHOEBE TRIUMPHS

MEANTIME Feeble Phoebe Day was driving her father's horse up to theMills to bring Cephas Cole home. It was a thrilling moment, a sort ofoutward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual tie, for theirbanns were to be published the next day, so what did it matter if thecommunity, nay, if the whole universe, speculated as to why she wasdrawing her beloved back from his daily toil? It had been an eventfulautumn for Cephas. After a third request for the hand of Miss PatienceBaxter, and a refusal of even more than common decision and energy, Cephas turned about face and employed the entire month of September in adetermined assault upon the affections of Miss Lucy Morrill, but with nobetter avail. His heart was not ardently involved in this second wooing, but winter was approaching, he had moved his mother out of her summerquarters back to the main house, and he doggedly began papering the elland furnishing the kitchen without disclosing to his respected parentsthe identity of the lady for whose comfort he was so hospitablypreparing. 

Cephas's belief in the holy state of matrimony as being the only oneproper for a man, really ought to have commended him to the opposite(and ungrateful) sex more than it did, and Lucy Morrill held asrespectful an opinion of the institution and its manifold advantages asCephas himself, but she was in a very unsettled frame of mind and not atall susceptible to wooing. She had a strong preference for Philip Perry, and held an opinion, not altogether unfounded in human experience, thatin course of time, when quite deserted by Patty Baxter, his heart mightpossibly be caught on the rebound. It was only a chance, but Lucy wouldalmost have preferred remaining unmarried, even to the withering ageof twenty-five, rather than not be at liberty to accept Philip Perry incase she should be asked. 

Cephas therefore, by the middle of October, could be picturesquely andalliteratively described as being raw from repeated rejections. His bruised heart and his despised ell literally cried out for theappreciation so long and blindly withheld. Now all at once Phoebedisclosed a second virtue; her first and only one, hitherto, in the eyesof Cephas, having been an ability to get on with his mother, a feat inwhich many had made an effort and few indeed had succeeded. Phoebe, itseems, had always secretly admired, respected, and loved Cephas Cole!Never since her pale and somewhat glassy blue eye had opened on life hadshe beheld a being she could so adore if encouraged in the attitude. 

The moment this unusual and unexpected poultice was really applied toCephas's wounds, they began to heal. In the course of a month the mostordinary observer could have perceived a physical change in him. Hecringed no more, but held his head higher; his back straightened; hisvoice developed a gruff, assertive note, like that of a stern Romanfather; he let his moustache grow, and sometimes, in his most recklessmoments, twiddled the end of it. Finally he swaggered; but that was onlyafter Phoebe had accepted him and told him that if a girl traversed theentire length of the Saco River (which she presumed to be the longest inthe world, the Amazon not being familiar to her), she could not hope tofind his equal as a husband. 

And then congratulations began to pour in! Was ever marriage sofortuitous! The Coles' farm joined that of the Days and the unionbetween the two only children would cement the friendship between thefamilies. The fact that Uncle Bart was a joiner, Cephas a painter, andAbel Day a mason and bricklayer made the alliance almost providential inits business opportunities. Phoebe's Massachusetts aunt sent a completeoutfit of gilt-edged china, a clock, and a mahogany chamber set. AuntAbby relinquished to the young couple a bedroom and a spare chamber inthe "main part, " while the Days supplied live-geese feathers and tableand bed-linen with positive prodigality. Aunt Abby trod the air like oneinspired. "Balmy" is the only adjective that could describe her. 

"If only I could 'a' looked ahead, " smiled Uncle Bart quizzically tohimself, "I'd 'a' had thirteen sons and daughters an' married off oneof 'em every year. That would 'a' made Abby's good temper kind o'permanent. "

Cephas was content, too. There was a good deal in being settled andhaving "the whole doggoned business" off your hands. Phoebe looked avery different creature to him in these latter days. Her eyes were justas pale, of course, but they were brighter, and they radiated lovefor him, an expression in the female eye that he had thus far beensingularly unfortunate in securing. She still held her mouth slightlyopen, but Cephas thought that it might be permissible, perhaps afterthree months of wedded bliss, to request her to be more careful inclosing it. He believed, too, that she would make an effort to do sojust to please him; whereas a man's life or property would not be safefor a single instant if he asked Miss Patience Baxter to close hermouth, not if he had been married to her for thirty times three months!

Cephas did not think of Patty any longer with bitterness, in these days, being of the opinion that she was punished enough in observing his owngrowing popularity and prosperity. 

"If she should see that mahogany chamber set going into the ell I guessshe'd be glad enough to change her tune!" thought Cephas, exultingly;and then there suddenly shot through his mind the passing fancy--"Iwonder if she would!" He promptly banished the infamous suggestionhowever, reinforcing his virtue with the reflection that the chamberset was Phoebe's, anyway, and the marriage day appointed, and theinvitations given out, and the wedding-cake being baked, a loaf at atime, by his mother and Mrs. Day. 

As a matter of fact Patty would have had no eyes for Phoebe'smagnificent mahogany, even had the cart that carried it passed her onthe hill where she and Mark Wilson were walking. Her promise to marryhim was a few weeks old now, and his arm encircled her slender waistunder the brown homespun cape. That in itself was a new sensation andgave her the delicious sense of belonging to somebody who valued herhighly, and assured her of his sentiments clearly and frequently, bothby word and deed. Life, dull gray life, was going to change its hue forher presently, and not long after, she hoped, for Waitstill, too! Itneeded only a brighter, a more dauntless courage; a little faith thatnettles, when firmly grasped, hurt the hand less, and a fairer futurewould dawn for both of them. The Deacon was a sharper nettle than shehad ever meddled with before, but in these days, when the actual contacthad not yet occurred, she felt sure of herself and longed for the momentwhen her pluck should be tested and proved. 

The "publishing" of Cephas and his third choice, their dull walk up theaisle of the meeting-house before an admiring throng, on the Sunday whenPhoebe would "appear bride, " all this seemed very tame as compared withthe dreams of this ardent and adventurous pair of lovers who had goneabout for days harboring secrets greater and more daring, they thought, than had ever been breathed before within the hearing of Saco Water. 

XXV. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAMS

IT was not an afternoon for day-dreams, for there was a chill in the airand a gray sky. Only a week before the hills along the river might havebeen the walls of the New Jerusalem, shining like red gold; now theglory had departed and it was a naked world, with empty nests hanging toboughs that not long ago had been green with summer. The old elm by thetavern, that had been wrapped in a bright trail of scarlet woodbine, wasstripped almost bare of its autumn beauty. Here and there a maple showeda remnant of crimson, and a stalwart oak had some rags of russet stillclinging to its gaunt boughs. The hickory trees flung out a few yellowflags from the ends of their twigs, but the forests wore a tattered anddishevelled look, and the withered leaves that lay in dried heaps uponthe frozen ground, driven hither and thither by every gust of the northwind, gave the unthinking heart a throb of foreboding. Yet the gladsummer labor of those same leaves was finished according to the lawthat governed them, and the fruit was theirs and the seed for the comingyear. No breeze had been strong enough to shake them from the tree tillthey were ready to forsake it. Now they had severed the bond that hadheld them so tightly and fluttered down to give the earth all theirseason's earnings. On every hillside, in every valley and glen, theleaves that had made the summer landscape beautiful, lay contentedly:

 "Where the rain might rain upon them, Where the sun might shine upon them, Where the wind might sigh upon them, And the snow might die upon them. "

Brown, withered, dead, buried in snow they might be, yet they wereministering to all the leaves of the next spring-time, bequeathing tothem in turn the beauty that had been theirs; the leafy canopies forcountless song birds, the grateful shade for man and beast. 

Young love thought little of Nature's miracles, and hearts that beathigh and fast were warm enough to forget the bleak wind and gatheringclouds. If there were naked trees, were there not full barrels of applesin every cellar? If there was nothing but stubble in the frozen fields, why, there was plenty of wheat and corn at the mill all ready forgrinding. The cold air made one long for a cheery home and fireside, thecrackle of a hearth-log, the bubbling of a steaming kettle; and Pattyand Mark clung together as they walked along, making bright images of alife together, snug, warm, and happy. 

Patty was a capricious creature, but all her changes were sudden andendearing ones, captivating those who loved her more than a monotonousand unchanging virtue. Any little shower, with Patty, always ended witha rainbow that made the landscape more enchanting than before. Of lateher little coquetries and petulances had disappeared as if by magic. Shehad been melted somehow from irresponsible girlhood into womanhood, andthat, too, by the ardent affection of a very ordinary young man who hadno great gift save that of loving Patty greatly. The love had served itspurpose, in another way, too, for under its influence Mark's own manhoodhad broadened and deepened. He longed to bind Patty to him for good andall, to capture the bright bird whose fluttering wings and burnishedplumage so captured his senses and stirred his heart, but his longingshad changed with the quality of his love and he glowed at the thoughtof delivering the girl from her dreary surroundings and giving her thetenderness, the ease and comfort, the innocent gayety, that her naturecraved. 

"You won't fail me, Patty darling?" he was saying at this moment. "Nowthat our plans are finally made, with never a weak point any where asfar as I can see, my heart is so set upon carrying them out that everyhour of waiting seems an age!"

"No, I won't fail, Mark; but I never know the day that father will goto town until the night before. I can always hear him making hispreparations in the barn and the shed, and ordering Waitstill hereand there. He is as excited as if he was going to Boston instead ofMilltown. "

"The night before will do. I will watch the house every evening till youhang a white signal from your window. "

"It won't be white, " said Patty, who would be mischievous on herdeathbed; "my Sunday-go-to-meetin' petticoat is too grand, andeverything else that we have is yellow. "

"I shall see it, whatever color it is, you can be sure of that!" saidMark gallantly. "Then it's decided that next morning I'll wait at thetavern from sunrise, and whenever your father and Waitstill have drivenup Saco Hill, I'll come and pick you up and we 'll be off like a streakof lightning across the hills to New Hampshire. How lucky that Riverborois only thirty miles from the state line!--It looks like snow, and howI wish it would be something more than a flurry; a regular whizzing, whirring storm that would pack the roads and let us slip over them withour sleigh-bells ringing!"

"I should like that, for they would be our only wedding-bells. Oh! Mark!What if Waitstill shouldn't go, after all: though I heard father tellher that he needed her to buy things for the store, and that theywouldn't be back till after nightfall. Just to think of being marriedwithout Waitstill!"

"You can do without Waitstill on this one occasion, better than you canwithout me, " laughed Mark, pinching Patty's cheek. "I've given the townclerk due notice and I have a friend to meet me at his office. He isgoing to lend me his horse for the drive home, and we shall change backthe next week. That will give us a fresh horse each way, and we'll flylike the wind, snow or no snow, When we come down Guide Board Hill thatnight, Patty, we shall be man and wife; isn't that wonderful?"

"We shall be man and wife in New Hampshire, but not in Maine, you say, "Patty reminded him dolefully. "It does seem dreadful that we can't bemarried in our own state, and have to go dangling about with this secreton our minds, day and night; but it can't be helped! You'll try not toeven think of me as your wife till we go to Portsmouth to live, won'tyou?"

"You're asking too much when you say I'm not to think of you as mywife, for I shall think of nothing else, but I've given you my solemnpromise, " said Mark stoutly, "and I'll keep it as sure as I live. We'llbe legally married by the laws of New Hampshire, but we won't think ofit as a marriage till I tell your father and mine, and we drive awayonce more together. That time it will be in the sight of everybody, withour heads in the air. I've got the little house in Portsmouth all ready, Patty: it's small, but it's in a nice part of the town. Portsmouth is apretty place, but it'll be a great deal prettier when it has Mrs. MarkWilson living in it. We can be married over again in Maine, afterwards, if your heart is set upon it. I'm willing to marry you in every state ofthe Union, so far as I am concerned. "

"I think you've been so kind and good and thoughtful, Mark dear, " saidPatty, more fondly and meltingly than she had ever spoken to him before, "and so clever too! I do respect you for getting that good positionin Portsmouth and being able to set up for yourself at your age. Ishouldn't wonder a bit if you were a judge some day, and then what aproud girl I shall be!"

Patty's praise was bestowed none too frequently, and it sounded verysweet in the young man's ears. 

"I do believe I can get on, with you to help me, Patty, " he said, pressing her arm more closely to his side, and looking down ardentlyinto her radiant face. "You're a great deal cleverer than I am, but Ihave a faculty for the business of the law, so my father says, and afaculty for money-making, too. And even if we have to begin in a smallway, my salary will be a certainty, and we'll work up together. I cansee you in a yellow satin dress, stiff enough to stand alone!"

"It must be white satin, if you please, not yellow! After having useda hundred and ten yards of shop-worn yellow calico on myself within twoyears, I never want to wear that color again. If only I could come toyou better provided, " she sighed, with the suggestion of tears in hervoice. "If I'd been a common servant I could have saved something frommy wages to be married on; I haven't even got anything to be marriedIN!"

"I'll get you anything you want in Portland to-morrow. "

"Certainly not; I'd rather be married in rags than have you spend yourmoney upon me beforehand!"

"Remember to have a box of your belongings packed and slipped under theshed somewhere. You can't be certain what your father will say or dowhen the time comes for telling him, and I want you to be ready to leaveon a moment's notice. "

"I will; I'll do everything you say, Mark, but are you sure that we havethought of every other way? I do so hate being underhanded. "

"Every other way! I am more than willing to ask your father, but we knowhe would treat me with contempt, for he can't bear the sight of me! Hewould probably lock you up and feed you on bread and water. That beingthe state of things, how can I tell our plans to my own father? He neverwould look with favor on my running away with you; and mother is, bynature, set upon doing things handsomely and in proper order. Fatherwould say our elopement would be putting us both wrong before thecommunity, and he'd advise me to wait. 'You are both young'--I can hearhim announcing his convictions now, as clearly as if he was standinghere in the road--'You are both young and you can well afford to waituntil something turns up. ' As if we hadn't waited and waited from alleternity!"

"Yes, we have been engaged to be married for at least five weeks, " saidPatty, with an upward glance peculiar to her own sparkling face, --onethat always intoxicated Mark. "I am seventeen and a half; your fathercouldn't expect a confirmed old maid like me to waste any more time. But I never would do this--this--sudden, unrespectable thing, if therewas any other way. Everything depends on my keeping it secret fromWaitstill, but she doesn't suspect anything yet. She thinks of me asnothing but a child still. Do you suppose Ellen would go with us, justto give me a little comfort?"

"She might, " said Mark, after reflecting a moment. "She is very devotedto you, and perhaps she could keep a secret; she never has, but there'salways a first time. You can't go on adding to the party, though, asif it was a candy-pull! We cannot take Lucy Morrill and Phoebe Day andCephas Cole, because it would be too hard on the horse; and besides, I might get embarrassed at the town clerk's office and marry the wronggirl; or you might swop me off for Cephas! But I'll tell Ellen if yousay so; she's got plenty of grit. "

"Don't joke about it, Mark, don't. I shouldn't miss Waitstill so much ifI had Ellen, and how happy I shall be if she approves of me for a sisterand thinks your mother and father will like me in time. "

"There never was a creature born into the world that wouldn't love you, Patty!"

"I don't know; look at Aunt Abby Cole!" said Patty pensively. "Well, itdoes not seem as if a marriage that isn't good in Riverboro was reallydecent! How tiresome of Maine to want all those days of public notice;people must so often want to get married in a minute. If I think aboutanything too long I always get out of the notion. "

"I know you do; that's what I'm afraid of!"--and Mark's voice showeddecided nervousness. "You won't get out of the notion of marrying me, will you, Patty dear?"

"Marrying you is more than a 'notion, ' Mark, " said Patty soberly. "I'm only a little past seventeen, but I'm far older because of thedifficulties I've had. I don't wonder you speak of my 'notions. ' I wasas light as a feather in all my dealings with you at first. "

"So was I with you! I hadn't grown up, Patty. "

"Then I came to know you better and see how you sympathized withWaitstill's troubles and mine. I couldn't love anybody, I couldn't marryanybody, who didn't feel that things at our house can't go on as theyare! Father has had a good long trial! Three wives and two daughtershave done their best to live with him, and failed. I am not willing todie for him, as my mother did, nor have Waitstill killed if I can helpit. Sometimes he is like a man who has lost his senses and sometimeshe is only grim and quiet and cruel. If he takes our marriage without aterrible scene, Mark, perhaps it will encourage Waitstill to break herchains as I have mine. "

"There's sure to be an awful row, " Mark said, as one who had forecastedall the probabilities. "It wouldn't make any difference if you marriedthe Prince of Wales; nothing would suit your father but selecting theman and making all the arrangements; and then he would never choose anyone who wouldn't tend the store and work on the farm for him withoutwages. "

"Waitstill will never run away; she isn't like me. She will sit and sitthere, slaving and suffering, till doomsday; for the one that loves herisn't free like you!"

"You mean Ivory Boynton? I believe he worships the ground she walks on. I like him better than I used, and I understand him better. Oh! but I'ma lucky young dog to have a kind, liberal father and a bit of money putby to do with as I choose. If I hadn't, I'd be eating my heart out likeIvory!"

"No, you wouldn't eat your heart out; you'd always get what you wantedsomehow, and you wouldn't wait for it either; and I'm just the same. I'mnot built for giving up, and enduring, and sacrificing. I'm naturallyjust a tuft of thistle-down, Mark; but living beside Waitstill allthese years I've grown ashamed to be so light, blowing about hither andthither. I kept looking at her and borrowing some of her strength, justenough to make me worthy to be her sister. Waitstill is like a bit ofPlymouth Rock, only it's a lovely bit on the land side, with earth inthe crevices, and flowers blooming all over it and hiding the granite. Oh! if only she will forgive us, Mark, I won't mind what father says ordoes. "

"She will forgive us, Patty darling; don't fret, and cry, and make yourpretty eyes all red. I'll do nothing in all this to make either of yougirls ashamed of me, and I'll keep your father and mine ever before mymind to prevent my being foolish or reckless; for, you know, Patty, I'mheels over head in love with you, and it's only for your sake I'm takingall these pains and agreeing to do without my own wedded wife for weeksto come!"

"Does the town clerk, or does the justice of the peace give awedding-ring, just like the minister?" Patty asked. "I shouldn't feelmarried without a ring. "

"The ring is all ready, and has 'M. W. To P. B. ' engraved in it, with theplace for the date waiting; and here is the engagement ring if you'llwear it when you're alone, Patty. My mother gave it to me when shethought there would be something between Annabel Franklin and me. Themoment I looked at it--you see it's a topaz stone--and noticed theyellow fire in it, I said to myself: 'It is like no one but PattyBaxter, and if she won't wear it, no other girl shall!' It's the colorof the tip ends of your curls and it's just like the light in your eyeswhen you're making fun!"

"It's heavenly!" cried Patty. "It looks as if it had been made of theyellow autumn leaves, and oh! how I love the sparkle of it! But neverwill I take your mother's ring or wear it, Mark, till I've proved myselfher loving, dutiful daughter. I'll do the one wrong thing of runningaway with you and concealing our marriage, but not another if I can helpit. "

"Very well, " sighed Mark, replacing the ring in his pocket with rathera crestfallen air. "But the first thing you know you'll be too good forme, Patty! You used to be a regular will-o'-the-wisp, all nonsense andfun, forever laughing and teasing, so that a fellow could never be sureof you for two minutes together. "

"It's all there underneath, " said Patty, putting her hand on his arm andturning her wistful face up to his. "It will come again; the girl in meisn't dead; she isn't even asleep; but she's all sobered down. Shecan't laugh just now, she can only smile; and the tears are waitingunderneath, ready to spring out if any one says the wrong word. ThisPatty is frightened and anxious and her heart beats too fast frommorning till night. She hasn't any mother, and she cannot say a word toher dear sister, and she's going away to be married to you, that'salmost a stranger, and she isn't eighteen, and doesn't know what'scoming to her, nor what it means to be married. She dreads her father'sanger, and she cannot rest till she knows whether your family will loveher and take her in; and, oh! she's a miserable, worried girl, not a bitlike the old Patty. "

Mark held her close and smoothed the curls under the loose brown hood. "Don't you fret, Patty darling! I'm not the boy I was last week. Everyword you say makes me more of a man. At first I would have run away justfor the joke; anything to get you away from the other fellows and proveI was the best man, but now' I'm sobered down, too. I'll do nothingrash; I'll be as staid as the judge you want me to be twenty yearslater. You've made me over, Patty, and if my love for you wasn't theright sort at first, it is now. I wish the road to New Hampshire wasfull of lions and I could fight my way through them just to show you howstrong I feel!"

"There'll be lions enough, " smiled Patty through her tears, "though theywon't have manes and tails; but I can imagine how father will roar, andhow my courage will ooze out of the heels of my boots!"

"Just let me catch the Deacon roaring at my wife!" exclaimed Mark witha swelling chest. "Now, run along, Patty dear, for I don't want youscolded on my account. There's sure to be only a day or two of waitingnow, and I shall soon see the signal waving from your window. I'll soundEllen and see if she's brave enough to be one of the eloping party. Good-night! Good-night! Oh! How I hope our going away will be to-morrow, my dearest, dearest Patty!"

WINTER

XXVI. A WEDDING-RING

THE snow had come. It had begun to fall softly and steadily at thebeginning of the week, and now for days it had covered the ground deeperand deeper, drifting about the little red brick house on the hilltop, banking up against the barn, and shrouding the sheds and the smallerbuildings. There had been two cold, still nights; the windows werecovered with silvery landscapes whose delicate foliage made everypane of glass a leafy bower, while a dazzling crust bediamonded thehillsides, so that no eye could rest on them long without becomingsnow-blinded. 

Town-House Hill was not as well travelled as many others, and DeaconBaxter had often to break his own road down to the store, withoutwaiting for the help of the village snow-plough to make things easierfor him. Many a path had Waitstill broken in her time, and it was byno means one of her most distasteful tasks--that of shovelling into thedrifts of heaped-up whiteness, tossing them to one side or the other, and cutting a narrow, clean-edged track that would pack down into thehardness of marble. 

There were many "chores" to be done these cold mornings before anyhousehold could draw a breath of comfort. The Baxters kept but one cowin winter, killed the pig, --not to eat, but to sell, --and reduced theflock of hens and turkeys; but Waitstill was always as busy in thebarn as in her own proper domain. Her heart yearned for all the dumbcreatures about the place, intervening between them and her father'sscanty care; and when the thermometer descended far below zero shewould be found stuffing hay into the holes and cracks of the barnand hen-house, giving the horse and cow fresh beddings of straw and amouthful of extra food between the slender meals provided by the Deacon. 

It was three o'clock in the afternoon and a fire in the Baxters' kitchensince six in the morning had produced a fairly temperate climate inthat one room, though the entries and chambers might have been used forrefrigerators, as the Deacon was as parsimonious in the use of fuelas in all other things, and if his daughters had not been hardy youngcreatures, trained from their very birth to discomforts and exposures ofevery sort, they would have died long ago. 

The Baxter kitchen and glittered in all its accustomed cleanliness andorder. Scrubbing and polishing were cheap amusements, and nobody grudgedthem to Waitstill. No tables in Riverboro were whiter, no tins morelustrous, no pewter brighter, no brick hearths ruddier than hers. Thebeans and brown bread and Indian pudding were basking in the warmth ofthe old brick oven, and what with the crackle and sparkle of the fire, the gleam of the blue willow-ware on the cupboard shelves, and thescarlet geraniums blooming on the sunny shelf above the sink, there werefew pleasanter place to be found in the village than that same Baxterkitchen. Yet Waitstill was ill at ease this afternoon; she hardly knewwhy. Her father had just put the horse into the pung and driven upto Milliken's Mills for some grain, and Patty was down at the storeinstructing Bill Morrill (Cephas Cole's successor) in his novel taskof waiting on customers and learning the whereabouts of things; no easytask in the bewildering variety of stock in a country store; wherepins, treacle, gingham, Epsom salts, Indian meal, shoestrings, shovels, brooms, sulphur, tobacco, suspenders, rum, and indigo may be demanded inrapid succession. 

Patty was quiet and docile these days, though her color was morebrilliant than usual and her eyes had all their accustomed sparkle. Shewent about her work steadily, neither ranting nor railing at fate, norbewailing her lot, but even in this Waitstill felt a sense of change anddifference too subtle to be put in words. She had noted Patty's summerflirtations, but regarded them indulgently, very much as if they hadbeen the irresponsible friskings of a lamb in a meadow. Waitstill hadmore than the usual reserve in these matters, for in New England at thattime, though the soul was a subject of daily conversation, the heartwas felt to be rather an indelicate topic, to be alluded to as seldom aspossible. Waitstill certainly would never have examined Patty closelyas to the state of her affections, intimate as she was with her sister'sthoughts and opinions about life; she simply bided her time untilPatty should confide in her. She had wished now and then that Patty'scapricious fancy might settle on Philip Perry, although, indeed, whenshe considered it seriously, it seemed like an alliance between abutterfly and an owl. Cephas Cole she regarded as quite beneath Patty'srightful ambitions, and as for Mark Wilson, she had grown up in thebelief, held in the village generally, that he would marry money andposition, and drift out of Riverboro into a gayer, larger world. Herdevotion to her sister was so ardent, and her admiration so sincere, that she could not think it possible that Patty would love anywherein vain; nevertheless, she had an instinct that her affections werecrystallizing somewhere or other, and when that happened, the uncertainand eccentric temper of her father would raise a thousand obstacles. 

While these thoughts coursed more or less vagrantly through Waitstill'smind, she suddenly determined to get her cloak and hood and run overto see Mrs. Boynton. Ivory had been away a good deal in the woods sinceearly November chopping trees and helping to make new roads. He couldnot go long distances, like the other men, as he felt constrained tocome home every day or two to look after his mother and Rodman, but thework was too lucrative to be altogether refused. With Waitstill's help, he had at last overcome his mother's aversion to old Mrs. Mason, their nearest neighbor; and she, being now a widow with very slenderresources, went to the Boyntons' several times each week to put theforlorn household a little on its feet. 

It was all uphill and down to Ivory's farm, Waitstill reflected, andshe could take her sled and slide half the way, going and coming, or shecould cut across the frozen fields on the crust. She caught up her shawlfrom a hook on the kitchen door, and, throwing it over her head andshoulders to shield herself from the chill blasts on the stairway, ranup to her bedroom to make herself ready for the walk. 

She slipped on a quilted petticoat and warmer dress, braided her hairfreshly, while her breath went out in a white cloud to meet the freezingair; snatched her wraps from her closet, and was just going down thestairs when she remembered that an hour before, having to bind up a cutfinger for her father, she had searched Patty's bureau drawer for an oldhandkerchief, and had left things in disorder while she ran to answerthe Deacon's impatient call and stamp upon the kitchen floor. 

"Hurry up and don't make me stan' here all winter!" he had shouted. "Ifyou ever kept things in proper order, you wouldn't have to hunt all overthe house for a piece of rag when you need it!"

Patty was very dainty about her few patched and darned belongings;also very exact in the adjustment of her bits of ribbon, her collars ofcrocheted thread, her adored coral pendants, and her pile of neat cottonhandkerchiefs, hem-stitched by her own hands. Waitstill, accordingly, with an exclamation at her own unwonted carelessness, darted intoher sister's room to replace in perfect order the articles shehad disarranged in her haste. She knew them all, these poor littletrinkets, --humble, pathetic evidences of Patty's feminine vanity anddesire to make her bright beauty a trifle brighter. 

Suddenly her hand and her eye fell at the same moment on somethinghidden in a far corner under a white "fascinator, " one of thosehead-coverings of filmy wool, dotted with beads, worn by the girls ofthe period. She drew the glittering, unfamiliar object forward, and thenlifted it wonderingly in her hand. It was a string of burnished goldbeads, the avowed desire of Patty's heart; a string of beads witha brilliant little stone in the fastening. And, as if that were notmystery enough, there was something slipped over the clasped necklaceand hanging from it, as Waitstill held it up to the light--a circlet ofplain gold, a wedding-ring!

Waitstill stood motionless in the cold with such a throng of bewilderingthoughts, misgivings, imaginings, rushing through her head that theywere like a flock of birds beating their wings against her ears. Theimaginings were not those of absolute dread or terror, for she knew herPatty. If she had seen the necklace alone she would have been anxious, indeed, for it would have meant that the girl, urged on by ungoverneddesire for the ornament, had accepted present from one who should nothave given it to her secretly; but the wedding-ring meant some-thingdifferent for Patty, --something more, something certain, somethingunescapable, for good or ill. A wedding-ring could stand for nothing butmarriage. Could Patty be married? How, when, and where could so great athing happen without her knowledge? It seemed impossible. How had such achild surmounted the difficulties in the path? Had she been led awayby the attractions of some stranger? No, there had been none in thevillage. There was only one man who had the worldly wisdom or the meansto carry Patty off under the very eye of her watchful sister; only onewith the reckless courage to defy her father; and that was Mark Wilson. His name did not bring absolute confidence to Waitstill's mind. Hewas gay and young and thoughtless; how had he managed to do this wildthing?--and had he done all decently and wisely, with consideration forthe girl's good name? The thought of all the risks lying in the trainof Patty's youth and inexperience brought a wail of anguish fromWaitstill's lips, and, dropping the beads and closing the drawer, shestumbled blindly down the stairway to the kitchen, intent upon onethought only--to find her sister, to look in her eyes, feel the touch ofher hand, and assure herself of her safety. 

She gave a dazed look at the tall clock, and was beginning to put on hercloak when the door opened and Patty entered the kitchen by way of theshed; the usual Patty, rosy, buoyant, alert, with a kind of childlikeinnocence that could hardly be associated with the possession ofwedding-rings. 

"Are you going out, Waity? Wrap up well, for it's freezing cold. Waity, Waity, dear! What's the matter?" she cried, coming closer to her sisterin alarm. 

Waitstill's face had lost its clear color, and her eyes had the lookof some dumb animal that has been struck and wounded. She sank into theflag-bottomed rocker by the window, and leaning back her head, utteredno word, but closed her eyes and gave one long, shivering sigh and a drysob that seemed drawn from the very bottom of her heart. 

XXVII. THE CONFESSIONAL

"WAITY, I know what it is; you have found out about me! Who has beenwicked enough to tell you before I could do so--tell me, who?"

"Oh, Patty, Patty!" cried Waitstill, who could no longer hold back hertears. "How could you deceive me so? How could you shut me out of yourheart and keep a secret like this from me, who have tried to be motherand sister in one to you ever since the day you were born? God has sentme much to bear, but nothing so bitter as this--to have my sister takethe greatest step of her life without my knowledge or counsel!"

"Stop, dear, stop, and let me tell you!"

"All is told, and not by you as it should have been. We've never hadanything separate from each other in all our lives, and when I looked inyour bureau drawer for a bit of soft cotton--it was nothing more thanI have done a hundred times--you can guess now what I stumbled upon;a wedding-ring for a hand I have held ever since it was a baby's. Mysister has a husband, and I am not even sure of his name!

"Waity, Waity, don't take it so to heart!" and Patty flung herself onher knees beside Waitstill's chair. "Not till you hear everything! WhenI tell you all, you will dry your eyes and smile and be happy about me, and you will know that in the whole world there is no one else in mylove or my life but you and my--my husband. "

"Who is the husband?" asked Waitstill dryly, as she wiped her eyes andleaned her elbow on the table. 

"Who could it be but Mark? Has there ever been any one but Mark?"

"I should have said that there were several, in these past few months. "

Waitstill's tone showed clearly that she was still grieved and hurtbeyond her power to conceal. "I have never thought of marrying any onebut Mark, and not even of marrying him till a little while ago, " saidPatty. "Now do not draw away from me and look out of the window as if wewere not sisters, or you will break my heart. Turn your eyes to mine andbelieve in me, Waity, while I tell you everything, as I have so longedto do all these nights and days. Mark and I have loved each other fora long, long time. It was only play at first, but we were young andfoolish and did not understand what was really happening between us. "

"You are both of you only a few months older than when you were 'youngand foolish, '" objected Waitstill. 

"Yes, we are--years and years! Five weeks ago I promised Mark that Iwould marry him; but how was I ever to keep my word publicly? Youhave noticed how insultingly father treats him of late, passing him bywithout a word when he meets him in the street? You remember, too, thathe has never gone to Lawyer Wilson for advice, or put any business inhis hands since spring?"

"The Wilsons are among father's aversions, that is all you can say;it is no use to try and explain them or rebel against them, " Waitstillanswered wearily. 

"That is all very well, and might be borne like many another cross; butI wanted to marry this particular 'aversion, '" argued Patty. "Would youhave helped me to marry Mark secretly if I had confided in you?"

"Never in the world--never!"

"I knew it, " exclaimed Patty triumphantly. "We both said so! And whatwas Mark to do? He was more than willing to come up here and ask for melike a man, but he knew that he would be ordered off the premises as ifhe were a thief. That would have angered Mr. And Mrs. Wilson, and madematters worse. We talked and talked until we were hoarse; we thought andthought until we nearly had brain fever from thinking, but there seemedto be no way but to take the bull by the horns. "

"You are both so young, you could well have bided awhile. "

"We could have bided until we were gray, nothing would have changedfather; and just lately I couldn't make Mark bide, " confessed Pattyingenuously. "He has been in a rage about father's treatment of you andme. He knows we haven't the right food to eat, nothing fit to wear, andnot an hour of peace or freedom. He has even heard the men at the storesay that our very lives might be in danger if we crossed father's will, or angered him beyond a certain point. You can't blame a man who lovesa girl, if he wants to take her away from such a wretched life. His lovewould be good for nothing if he did not long to rescue her!"

"I would never have left you behind to bear your slavery alone, while Islipped away to happiness and comfort--not for any man alive would II have done it!" This speech, so unlike Waitstill in its ungenerousreproach, was repented of as soon as it left her tongue. "Oh, I did notmean that, my darling!" she cried. "I would have welcomed any change foryou, and thanked God for it, if only it could have come honorably andaboveboard. "

"But, don't you see, Waity, how my marriage helps everything? Thatis what makes me happiest; that now I shall have a home and it can beyours. Father has plenty of money and can get a housekeeper. He is onlysixty-five, and as hale and hearty as a man can be. You have served yourtime, and surely you need not be his drudge for the rest of your life. Mark and I thought you would spend half the year with us. "

Waitstill waived this point as too impossible for discussion. "When andwhere were you married, Patty?" she asked. 

"In Allentown, New Hampshire, last Monday, the day you and father wentto Saco. Ellen went with us. You needn't suppose it was much fun for me!Girls that think running away to be married is nothing but a lark, donot have to deceive a sister like you, nor have a father such as mine toreckon with afterwards. "

"You thought of all that before, didn't you, child?"

"Nobody that hasn't already run away to be married once or twice couldtell how it was going to feel! Never did I pass so unhappy a day! IfMark was not everything that is kind and gentle, he would have tipped meout of the sleigh into a snowbank and left me by the roadside tofreeze. I might have been murdered instead of only married, by the way Ibehaved; but Mark and Ellen understood. Then, the very next day, Mark's father sent him up to Bridgton on business, and he had to go toAllentown first to return a friend's horse, so he couldn't break thenews to father at once, as he intended. "

"Does a New Hampshire marriage hold good in Maine?" asked Waitstill, still intent on the bare facts at the bottom of the romance. 

"Well, of course, " stammered Patty, some-what confused, "Maine hasher own way of doing things, and wouldn't be likely to fancy NewHampshire's. But nothing can make it wicked or anything but accordingto law. Besides, Mark considered all the difficulties. He is wonderfullyclever, and he has a clerkship in a Portsmouth law office waiting forhim; and that's where we are going to live, in New Hampshire, where wewere married, and my darling sister will come soon and stay months andmonths with us. "

"When is Mark coming back to arrange all this?"

"Late to-night or early to-morrow morning. Where did you go afteryou were married?"

"Where did I go?" echoed Patty, in a childish burst of tears. "Wherecould I go? It took all day to be married--all day long, working anddriving hard from sunrise to seven o'clock in the evening. Then when wereached the bridge, Mark dropped me, and I walked up home in the dark, and went to bed without any supper, for fear that you and father wouldcome back and catch me at it and ask why I was so late. "

"My poor, foolish dear!" sighed Waitstill. 

Patty's tears flowed faster at the first sound of sympathy inWaitstill's voice, for self-pity is very enfeebling. She fairly sobbedas she continued:--

"So my only wedding-journey was the freezing drive back from Allentown, with Ellen crying all the way and wishing that she hadn't gone with us. Mark and I both say we'll never be married again so long as we live!"

"Where have you seen your husband from that day to this?"

"I haven't laid eyes on him!" said Patty, with a fresh burst of woe. "Ihave a certificate-thing, and a wedding-ring and a beautiful frock andhat that Mark bought in Boston, but no real husband. I'm no more marriedthan ever I was! Don't you remember I said that Mark was sent away onTuesday morning? And this is Thursday. I've had three letters from him;but I don't know, till we see how father takes it, when we can tellthe Wilsons and start for Portsmouth. We shan't really call ourselvesmarried till we get to Portsmouth; we promised each other that from thefirst. It isn't much like being a bride, never to see your bridegroom;to have a father who will fly into a passion when he hears that you aremarried; not to know whether your new family will like or despise you;and to have your only sister angered with you for the first time in herlife!"

Waitstill's heart melted, and she lifted Patty's tear-stained face tohers and kissed it. "Well, dear, I would not have had you do this forthe world, but it is done, and Mark seems to have been as wise as a mancan be when he does an unwise thing. You are married, and you love eachother. That's the comforting thing to me. "

"We do, " sobbed Patty. "No two people ever loved each other better thanwe; but it's been all spoiled for fear of father. "

"I must say I dread to have him hear the news"; and Waitstill knittedher brows anxiously. "I hope it may be soon, and I think I ought to behere when he is told. Mark will never under-stand or bear with him, andthere may be trouble that I could avert. "

"I'll be here, too, and I'm not afraid!" And Patty raised her headdefiantly. "Father can unmarry us, that's why we acted in thismiserable, secret, underhanded way. Somehow, though I haven't seen Marksince we went to Allentown, I am braver than I was last week, for nowI've got somebody to take my part. I've a good mind to go upstairs andput on my gold beads and my wedding-ring, just to get used to them andto feel a little more married. --No: I can't, after all, for there isfather driving up the hill now, and he may come into the house. Whatbrings him home at this hour?"

"I was expecting him every moment"; and Waitstill rose and stirred thefire. "He took the pung and went to the Mills for grain. "

"He hasn't anything in the back of the pung--and, oh, Waity! he isstanding up now and whipping the horse with all his might. I never sawhim drive like that before: what can be the matter? He can't have seenmy wedding-ring, and only three people in all the world know about mybeing married. "

Waitstill turned from the window, her heart beating a little faster. "What three people know, three hundred are likely to know sooner orlater. It may be a false alarm, but father is in a fury about something. He must not be told the news until he is in a better humor!"

XXVIII. PATTY IS SHOWN THE DOOR

DEACON BAXTER drove into the barn, and flinging a blanket over thewheezing horse, closed the door behind him and hurried into the housewithout even thinking to lay down his whip. 

Opening the kitchen door and stopping outside long enough to kick thesnow from his heavy boots, he strode into the kitchen and confrontedthe two girls. He looked at them sharply before he spoke, scanning theirflushed faces and tear-stained eyes; then he broke out savagely:--

"Oh! you're both here; that's lucky. Now stan' up and answer to me. What's this I hear at the Mills about Patience, --common talk outside thestore?"

The time had come, then, and by some strange fatality, when Mark was toofar away to be of service. 

"Tell me what you heard, father, and I can give you a better answer, "Patty replied, hedging to gain time, and shaking inwardly. 

"Bill Morrill says his brother that works in New Hampshire reports youas ridin' through the streets of Allentown last Monday with a youngman. "

There seemed but one reply to this, so Patty answered tremblingly: "Hesays what's true; I was there. "

"WHAT!" And it was plain from the Deacon's voice that he had reallydisbelieved the rumor. A whirlwind of rage swept through him and shookhim from head to foot. 

"Do you mean to stan' there an' own up to me that you was thirty milesaway from home with a young man?" he shouted. 

"If you ask me a plain question, I've got to tell you the truth, father:I was. "

"How dare you carry on like that and drag my name into scandal, youworthless trollop, you? Who went along with you? I'll skin the hide offhim, whoever 't was!"

Patty remained mute at this threat, but Waitstill caught her hand andwhispered: "Tell him all, dear; it's got to come out. Be brave, and I'llstand by you. "

"Why are you interferin' and puttin' in your meddlesome oar?" the Deaconsaid, turning to Waitstill. "The girl would never 'a' been there ifyou'd attended to your business. She's nothin' but a fool of a youngfilly, an' you're an old cart-horse. It was your job to look out forher as your mother told you to. Anybody might 'a' guessed she neededwatchin'!"

"You shall not call my sister an old cart-horse! I'll not permit it!"cried Patty, plucking up courage in her sister's defence, and as usualcomporting herself a trifle more like a spitfire than a true heroine oftragedy. 

"Hush, Patty! Let him call me anything that he likes; it makes nodifference at such a time. "

"Waitstill knew nothing of my going away till this afternoon, " continuedPatty. "I kept it secret from her on purpose, because I was afraid shewould not approve. I went with Mark Wilson, and--and--I married him inNew Hampshire because we couldn't do it at home without every-body'sknowledge. Now you know all. "

"Do you mean to tell me you've gone an' married that reckless, wuthless, horse-trottin', card-playin' sneak of a Wilson boy that's courted everygirl in town? Married the son of a man that has quarrelled with me andinsulted me in public? By the Lord Harry, I'll crack this whip over yourshoulders once before I'm done with you! If I'd used it years ago youmight have been an honest woman to-day, instead of a--"

Foxwell Baxter had wholly lost control of himself, and the temper, thathad never been governed or held in check, lashed itself into a fury thatmade him for the moment unaccountable for his words or actions. 

Waitstill took a step forward in front of Patty. "Put down that whip, father, or I'll take it from you and break it across my knee!" Her eyesblazed and she held her head high. "You've made me do the work of aman, and, thank God, I've got the muscle of one. Don't lift a finger toPatty, or I'll defend her, I promise you! The dinner-horn is in the sideentry and two blasts will bring Uncle Bart up the hill, but I'd rathernot call him unless you force me to. "

The Deacon's grasp on the whip relaxed, and he fell back a little insheer astonishment at the bravado of the girl, ordinarily so quietand self-contained. He was speechless for a second, and then recoveredbreath enough to shout to the terrified Patty: "I won't use the whiptill I hear whether you've got any excuse for your scandalous behavior. Hear me tell you one thing: this little pleasure-trip o' yourn won't doyou no good, for I'll break the marriage! I won't have a Wilson in myfamily if I have to empty a shot-gun into him; but your lies and yourlow streets are so beyond reason I can't believe my ears. What's yourexcuse, I say?"

"Stop a minute, Patty, before you answer, and let me say a few thingsthat ought to have been said before now, " interposed Waitstill. "IfPatty has done wrong, father, you've no one but yourself to thank forit, and it's only by God's grace that nothing worse has happened to her. What could you expect from a young thing like that, with her merry heartturned into a lump in her breast every day by your cruelty? Did shedeceive you? Well, you've made her afraid of you ever since she was ababy in the cradle, drawing the covers over her little head when sheheard your step. Whatever crop you sow is bound to come up, father;that's Nature's law, and God's, as well. "

"You hold your tongue, you, --readin' the law to your elders an'betters, " said the old man, choking with wrath. "My business is withthis wuthless sister o' yourn, not with you!--You've got your coat andhood on, miss, so you jest clear out o' the house; an' if you're tooslow about it, I'll help you along. I've no kind of an idea you'rerightly married, for that young Wilson sneak couldn't pay so high foryou as all that; but if it amuses you to call him your husband, go an'find him an' stay with him. This is an honest house, an' no place forsuch as you!"

Patty had a good share of the Baxter temper, not under such control asWaitstill's, and the blood mounted into her face. 

"You shall not speak to me so!" she said intrepidly, while keeping adiscreet eye on the whip. "I'm not a--a--caterpillar to be stepped on, I'm a married woman, as right as a New Hampshire justice can make me, with a wedding-ring and a certificate to show, if need be. And you shallnot call my husband names! Time will tell what he is going to be, andthat's a son-in-law any true father would be proud to own!"

"Why are you set against this match, father?" argued Waitstill, strivingto make him hear reason. "Patty has married into one of the bestfamilies in the village. Mark is gay and thought-less, but never has hebeen seen the worse for liquor, and never has he done a thing forwhich a wife need hang her head. It is something for a young fellowof four-and-twenty to be able to provide for a wife and keep her incomfort; and when all is said and done, it is a true love-match. "

Patty seized this inopportune moment to forget her father's presence, and the tragic nature of the occasion, and, in her usual impetuousfashion, flung her arms around Waitstill's neck and gave her the hug ofa young bear. 

"My own dear sister, " she said. "I don't mind anything, so long as youstand up for us. "

"Don't make her go to-night, father, " pleaded Waitstill. "Don't sendyour own child out into the cold. Remember her husband is away fromhome. "

"She can find another up at the Mills as good as he is, or better. Offwith you, I say, you trumpery little baggage, you!"

"Go, then, dear, it is better so; Uncle Bart will keep you overnight;run up and get your things"; and Waitstill sank into a chair, realizingthe hopelessness of the situation. 

"She'll not take anything from my house. It's her husband's business tofind her in clothes. "

"They'll be better ones than ever you found me, " was Patty's response. 

No heroics for her; no fainting fits at being disowned; no hysterics atbeing turned out of house and home; no prayers for mercy, but a quickretort for every gibe from her father; and her defiant attitude enragedthe Deacon the more. 

"I won't speak again, " he said, in a tone that could not be mistaken. "Into the street you go, with the clothes you stand up in, or I'll dowhat I said I'd do. "

"Go, Patty, it's the only thing to be done. Don't tremble, for nobodyshall touch a hair of your head. I can trust you to find shelterto-night, and Mark will take care of you to-morrow. "

Patty buttoned her shabby coat and tied on her hood as she walked fromthe kitchen through the sitting-room towards the side door, her heartheaving with shame and anger, and above all with a child's sense ofhelplessness at being parted from her sister. 

"Don't tell the neighbors any more lies than you can help, " called herfather after her retreating form; "an' if any of 'em dare to come uphere an' give me any of their imperdence, they'll be treated same asyou. Come back here, Waitstill, and don't go to slobberin' any good-byesover her. She ain't likely to get out o' the village for some time ifshe's expectin' Mark Wilson to take her away. "

"I shall certainly go to the door with my sister, " said Waitstillcoldly, suiting the action to the word, and following Patty out on thesteps. "Shall you tell Uncle Bart everything, dear, and ask him to letyou sleep at his house?"

Both girls were trembling with excitement; Waitstill pale as a ghost, Patty flushed and tearful, with defiant eyes and lips that quiveredrebelliously. 

"I s'pose so, " she answered dolefully; "though Aunt Abby hates me, onaccount of Cephas. I'd rather go to Dr. Perry's, but I don't like tomeet Phil. There doesn't seem to be any good place for me, but it 'sonly for a night. And you'll not let father prevent your seeing Mark andme to-morrow, will you? Are you afraid to stay alone? I'll sit on thesteps all night if you say the word. "

"No, no, run along. Father has vented his rage upon you, and I shall nothave any more trouble. God bless and keep you, darling. Run along!"

"And you're not angry with me now, Waity? You still love me? And you'llforgive Mark and come to stay with us soon, soon, soon?"

"We'll see, dear, when all this unhappy business is settled, and you aresafe and happy in your own home. I shall have much to tell you when wemeet to-morrow. "

XXIX. WAITSTILL SPEAKS HER MIND

Patty had the most ardent love for her elder sister, and something thatresembled reverence for her unselfishness, her loyalty, and her strengthof character; but if the truth were told she had no great opinion ofWaitstill's ability to feel righteous wrath, nor of her power to avengeherself in the face of rank injustice. It was the conviction of her ownsuperior finesse and audacity that had sustained patty all through herlate escapade. She felt herself a lucky girl, indeed, to achieve libertyand happiness for herself, but doubly lucky if she had chanced to open away of escape for her more docile and dutiful sister. 

She would have been a trifle astonished had she surmised the existenceof certain mysterious waves that had been sweeping along the coasts ofWaitstill's mind that afternoon, breaking down all sorts of defencesand carrying her will along with them by sheer force: but it is a truismthat two human beings can live beside each other for half a century andyet continue strangers. 

Patty's elopement with the youth of her choice, taking into account allits attendant risks, was Indeed an exhibition of courage and initiativenot common to girls of seventeen; but Waitstill was meditating a mutinymore daring yet--a mutiny, too, involving a course of conduct mostunusual in maidens of puritan descent. 

She walked back into the kitchen to find her father sitting placidly inthe rocking-chair by the window. He had lighted his corn-cob pipe, inwhich he always smoked a mixture of dried sweet-fern as being cheaperthan tobacco, and his face wore something resembling a smile--a foxysmile--as he watched his youngest-born ploughing down the hill throughthe deep snow, while the more obedient Waitstill moved about the room, setting supper on the table. 

Conversation was not the Deacon's forte, but it seemed proper forsome one to break the ice that seemed suddenly to be very thick in theimmediate vicinity. 

"That little Jill-go-over-the-ground will give the neighbors a pleasantevenin' tellin' 'em 'bout me, " he chuckled. "Aunt Abby Cole will run thestreets o' the three villages by sun-up to-morrer; but nobody pays any'tention to a woman whose tongue is hung in the middle and wags at bothends. I wa'n't intending to use the whip on your sister, Waitstill, "continued the Deacon, with a crafty look at his silent daughter, "thougha trouncin' would 'a' done her a sight o' good; but I was only tryin'to frighten her a little mite an' pay her up for bringin' disgrace onus the way she's done, makin' us the talk o' the town. Well, she's gone, an' good riddance to bad rubbish, say I! One less mouth to feed, an' oneless body to clothe. You'll miss her jest at first, on account o' therebein' no other women-folks on the hill, but 't won't last long. I'llhave Bill Morrill do some o' your outside chores, so 't you can take onyour sister's work, if she ever done any. "

This was a most astoundingly generous proposition on the Deacon's part, and to tell the truth he did not himself fully understand his mentalprocesses when he made it; but it seemed to be drawn from him by a kindof instinct that he was not standing well in his elder daughter's books. Though the two girls had never made any demonstration of their affectionin his presence, he had a fair idea of their mutual dependence upon eachother. Not that he placed the slightest value on Waitstill's opinion ofhim, or cared in the smallest degree what she, or any one else inthe universe, thought of his conduct; but she certainly did appear toadvantage when contrasted with the pert little hussy who had just leftthe premises. Also, Waitstill loomed large in his household comfortsand economies, having a clear head, a sure hand, and being one of thesteady-going, reliable sort that can be counted on in emergencies, not, like Patty, going off at half-cock at the smallest provocation. Yes, Waitstill, as a product of his masterly training for the last sevenyears, had settled down, not without some trouble and friction, into atolerably dependable pack-horse, and he intended in the future to usesome care in making permanent so valuable an aid and ally. She did notpursue nor attract the opposite sex, as his younger daughter apparentlydid; so by continuing his policy of keeping all young men rigidly ata distance he could count confidently on having', Waitstill servehis purposes for the next fifteen or twenty years, or as long as he, himself, should continue to ornament and enrich the earth. He would goto Saco the very next day, and cut Patty out of his will, arranging hisproperty so that Waitstill should be the chief legatee as long as shecontinued to live obediently under his roof. He intended to make thelast point clear if he had to consult every lawyer in York County; forhe wouldn't take risks on any woman alive. 

If he must leave his money anywhere--and it was with a bitter pang thathe faced the inexorable conviction that he could neither live forever, nor take his savings with him to the realms of bliss prepared formembers of the Orthodox Church in good and regular standing--if he mustleave his money behind him, he would dig a hole in the ground andbury it, rather than let it go to any one who had angered him in hislifetime. 

These were the thoughts that caused him to relax his iron grip and smileas he sat by the window, smoking his corn-cob pipe and taking one of hisvery rare periods of rest. 

Presently he glanced at the clock. "It's only quarter-past four, " hesaid. "I thought 't was later, but the snow makes it so light you can'tjedge the time. The moon fulls to-night, don't it? Yes; come to thinkof it, I know it does. Ain't you settin' out supper a little mite early, Waitstill?" This was a longer and more amiable speech than he hadmade in years, but Waitstill never glanced at him as she said: "It is alittle early, but I want to get it ready before I leave. "

"Be you goin' out? Mind, I won't have you follerin' Patience round;you'll only upset what I've done, an' anyhow I want you to keep awayfrom the neighbors for a few days, till all this blows over. "

He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he still had the uneasyfeeling that he stood on the brink of a volcano; and, as a matter offact, he tumbled into it the very next moment. 

The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold; soda biscuits, adried-apple pie, and the usual brown teapot were in evidence; and as herfather ceased speaking Waitstill opened the door of the brick oven wherethe bean-pot reposed, set a chair by the table, and turning, took upher coat (her mother's old riding-cloak, it was), and calmly put it on, reaching then for her hood and her squirrel tippet. 

"You are goin' out, then, spite o' what I said?" the Deacon inquiredsternly. 

"Did you really think, father, that I would sleep under your roof afteryou had turned my sister out into the snow to lodge with whoever mighttake her in--my seventeen year-old-sister that your wife left to mycare; my little sister, the very light of my life?"

Waitstill's voice trembled a trifle, but other-wise she was quite calmand free from heroics of any sort. 

The Deacon looked up in surprise. "I guess you're kind o' hystericky, "he said. "Set down--set down an' talk things over. I ain't got nothin'ag'in' you, an' I mean to treat you right. Set down!"

The old man was decidedly nervous, and intended to keep his temper untilthere was a safer chance to let it fly. 

Waitstill sat down. "There's nothing to talk over, " she said. "I havedone all that I promised my stepmother the night she died, and now I amgoing. If there's a duty owed between daughter and father, it ought towork both ways. I consider that I have done my share, and now I intendto seek happiness for myself. I have never had any, and I am starvingfor it. "

"An' you'd leave me to git on the best I can, after what I've donefor you?" burst out the Deacon, still trying to hold down his growingpassion. 

"You gave me my life, and I'm thankful to you for that, but you've givenme little since, father. "

"Hain't I fed an' clothed you?"

"No more than I have fed and clothed you. You've provided the raw food, and I've cooked and served it. You've bought and I have made shirts andoveralls and coats for you, and knitted your socks and comforters andmittens. Not only have I toiled and saved and scrimped away my girlhoodas you bade me, but I've earned for you. Who made the butter, and tookcare of the hens, and dried the apples, and 'drew in' the rugs? Whoraised and ground the peppers for sale, and tended the geese that youmight sell the feathers? No, father, I don't consider that I'm in yourdebt!"

XXX. A CLASH OF WILLS

DEACON FOXWELL BAXTER was completely non-plussed for the first time inhis life. He had never allowed "argyfyin'" in his household, and therehad never been a clash of wills before this when he had not come offswiftly and brutally triumphant. This situation was complicated by thefact that he did not dare to apply the brakes as usual, since therewere more issues involved than ever before. He felt too stunned to dealproperly with this daughter, having emptied all the vials of his wrathupon the other one, and being, in consequence, somewhat enfeebled. Itwas always easy enough to cope with Patty, for her impertinence evokedsuch rage that the argument took care of itself; but this grave youngwoman was a different matter. There she sat composedly on the edge ofher wooden chair, her head lifted high, her color coming and going, her eyes shining steadily, like fixed stars; there she sat, calmlyannouncing her intention of leaving her father to shift for himself;yet the skies seemed to have no thought of falling! He felt that he mustmake another effort to assert his authority. 

"Now, you take off your coat, " he said, the pipe in his hand tremblingas he stirred nervously in his chair. "You take your coat right offan' set down to the supper-table, same as usual, do you hear? Eatyour victuals an' then go to your bed an' git over this crazy fit thatPatience has started workin' in you. No more nonsense, now; do as I tellyou!"

"I have made up my mind, father, and it's no use arguing. All who try tolive with you fail, sooner or later. You have had four children, father. One boy ran away; the other did not mind being drowned, I fear, sincelife was so hard at home. You have just turned the third child out fora sin of deceit and disobedience she would never have committed--for hernature is as clear as crystal--if you had ever loved her or consideredher happiness. So I have done with you, unless in your old age Godshould bring you to such a pass that no one else will come to yourassistance; then I'd see somehow that you were cared for and nursed andmade comfortable. You are not an old man; you are strong and healthy, and you have plenty of money to get a good house-keeper. I should decidedifferently, perhaps, if all this were not true. "

"You lie! I haven't got plenty of money!" And the Deacon struck thetable a sudden blow that made the china in the cupboard rattle. "You'veno notion what this house costs me, an' the feed for the stock, an' youtwo girls, an' labor at the store, an' the hay-field, an' the taxes an'insurance! I've slaved from sunrise to sunset but I ain't hardly beenable to lay up a cent. I s'pose the neighbors have been fillin' you fullo' tales about my mis'able little savin's an' makin' 'em into a fortune. Well, you won't git any of 'em, I promise you that!"

"You have plenty laid away; everybody knows, so what's the use ofdenying it? Anyway, I don't want a penny of your money, father, sogood-bye. There's enough cooked to keep you for a couple of days"; andWaitstill rose from her chair and drew on her mittens. 

Father and daughter confronted each other, the secret fury of the manmet by the steady determination of the girl. The Deacon was baffled, almost awed, by Waitstill's quiet self-control; but at the very momentthat he was half-uncomprehendingly glaring at her, it dawned upon himthat he was beaten, and that she was mistress of the situation. 

Where would she go? What were her plans?--for definite plans she had, or she could not meet his eye with so resolute a gaze. If she did leavehim, how could he contrive to get her back again, and so escape thescorn of the village, the averted look, the lessened trade?

"Where are you goin' now?" he asked, and though he tried his best hecould not for the life of him keep back one final taunt. "I s'pose, like your sister, you've got a man in your eye?" He chose this, to him, impossible suggestion as being the most insulting one that he couldinvent at the moment. 

"I have, " replied Waitstill, "a man in my eye and in my heart. We shouldhave been husband and wife before this had we not been kept apart byobstacles too stubborn for us to overcome. My way has chanced to openfirst, though it was none of my contriving. "

Had the roof fallen in upon him, the Deacon could not have been moredumbfounded. His tongue literally clove to the roof of his mouth; hisface fell, and his mean, piercing eyes blinked under his shaggy brows asif seeking light. 

Waitstill stirred the fire, closed the brick oven and put the teapot onthe back of the stove, hung up the long-handled dipper on its accustomednail over the sink, and went to the door. 

Her father collected his scattered wits and pulled himself to his feetby the arms of the high-backed rocker. "You shan't step outside this306 room till you tell me where you're goin', " he said when he found hisvoice. 

"I have no wish to keep it secret: I am going to see if Mrs. Mason willkeep me to-night. To-morrow I shall walk down river and get work at themills, but on my way I shall stop at the Boyntons' to tell Ivory I amready to marry him as soon as he's ready to take me. "

This was enough to stir the blood of the Deacon into one last fury. 

"I might have guessed it if I hadn't been blind as a bat an' deaf as anadder!" And he gave the table another ringing blow before he leaned onit to gather strength. "Of course, it would be one o' that crazy Boyntoncrew you'd take up with, " he roared. "Nothin' would suit either o' yougirls but choosin' the biggest enemies I've got in the whole village!"

"You've never taken pains to make anything but enemies, so what could wedo?"

"You might as well go to live on the poor-farm! Aaron Boynton was adisrep'table hound; Lois Boynton is as crazy as a loon; the boy is ano-body's child, an' Ivory's no better than a common pauper. "

"Ivory's a brave, strong, honorable man, and a scholar, too. I can workfor him and help him earn and save, as I have you. "

"How long's this been goin' on?" The Deacon was choking, but he meant toget to the bottom of things while he had the chance. 

"It has not gone on at all. He has never said a word to me, and I havealways obeyed your will in these matters; but you can't hide love, anymore than you can hide hate. I know Ivory loves me, so I'm going to tellhim that my duty is done here and I am ready to help him. "

"Goin' to throw yourself at his head, be you?" sneered the Deacon. "By the Lord, I don' know where you two girls got these loose ways o'think-in' an' acting mebbe he won't take you, an' then where'll you be?You won't git under my roof again when you've once left it, you can makeup your mind to that!"

"If you have any doubts about Ivory's being willing to take me, you'dbetter drive along behind me and listen while I ask him. "

Waitstill's tone had an exultant thrill of certainty in it. She threwup her head, glorying in what she was about to do. If she laid aside herusual reserve and voiced her thoughts openly, it was not in the hope ofconvincing her father, but for the bliss of putting them into words andintoxicating herself by the sound of them. 

"Come after me if you will, father, and watch the welcome I shall get. Oh! I have no fear of being turned out by Ivory Boynton. I can hardlywait to give him the joy I shall be bringing! It 's selfish to rob himof the chance to speak first, but I'll do it!" And before Deacon Baxtercould cross the room, Waitstill was out of the kitchen door into theshed, and flying down Town-House Hill like an arrow shot free from thebow. 

The Deacon followed close behind, hardly knowing why, but he was nomatch for the girl, and at last he stood helpless on the steps of theshed, shaking his fist and hurling terrible words after her, words thatit was fortunate for her peace of mind she could not hear. 

"A curse upon you both!" he cried savagely. "Not satisfied withdisobeyin' an' defyin' me, you've put me to shame, an' now you'llbe settin' the neighbors ag'in' me an' ruinin' my trade. If you wasfreezin' in the snow I wouldn't heave a blanket to you! If you wasstarvin' I wouldn't fling either of you a crust! Never shall you darkenmy doors again, an' never shall you git a penny o' my money, not if Ihave to throw it into the river to spite you!"

Here his breath failed, and he stumbled out into the barn whimperingbetween his broken sentences like a whipped child. 

"Here I am with nobody to milk, nor feed the hens; nobody to churnto-morrow, nor do the chores; a poor, mis'able creeter, deserted by mychildren, with nobody to do a hand's turn 'thout bein' paid for everystep they take! I'll give 'em what they deserve; I don' know what, butI'll be even with 'em yet. " And the Deacon set his Baxter jaw in a waythat meant his determination to stop at nothing. 

XXXI. SENTRY DUTY

IVORY BOYNTON drove home from the woods that same afternoon by way ofthe bridge, in order to buy some provisions at the brick store. When hewas still a long distance from the bars that divided the lane fromthe highroad, he espied a dark-clad little speck he knew to beRodman leaning over the fence, waiting and longing as usual for hishome-coming, and his heart warmed at the thought of the boyish welcomethat never failed. 

The sleigh slipped quickly over the hard-packed, shining road, and thebells rang merrily in the clear, cold air, giving out a joyous soundthat had no echo in Ivory's breast that day. He had just had a visionof happiness through another man's eyes. Was he always to stand outsidethe banqueting-table, he wondered, and see others feasting while hehungered. 

Now the little speck bounded from the fence, flew down the road to meetthe sleigh, and jumped in by the driver's side. 

"I knew you'd come to-night, " Rodman cried eagerly. "I told Aunt Boyntonyou'd come. "

"How is she, well as common?"

"No, not a bit well since yesterday morning, but Mrs. Mason says it'snothing worse than a cold. Mrs. Mason has just gone home, and we've hada grand house-cleaning to-day. She's washed and ironed and baked, andwe've put Aunt Boynton in clean sheets and pillow-cases, and her room'snice and warm, and I carried the eat in and put it on her bed to keepher company while I came to watch for you. Aunt Boynton let Mrs. Masonbraid her hair, and seemed to like her brushing it. It's been dreadfullonesome, and oh! I am glad you came back, Ivory. Did you find any morespruce gum where you went this time?"

"Pounds and pounds, Rod; enough to bring me in nearly a hundred dollars. I chanced on the greatest place I've found yet. I followed the wake ofan old whirlwind that had left long furrows in the forest, --I've toldyou how the thing works, --and I tracked its course by the gum that hadformed wherever the trees were wounded. It's hard, lonely work, Rod, butit pays well. "

"If I could have been there, maybe we could have got more. I'm good atshinning up trees. "

"Yes, sometime we'll go gum-picking together. We'll climb the trees likea couple of cats, and take our knives and serape off the precious lumpsthat are worth so much money to the druggists. You've let down the bars, I see. "

"'Cause I knew you'd come to-night, " said Rodman. "I felt it in mybones. We're going to have a splendid supper. "

"Are we? That's good news. " Ivory tried to make his tone bright andinterested, though his heart was like a lump of lead in his breast. "It's the least I can do for the poor little chap, " he thought, "whenhe stays as caretaker in this lonely spot. --I wonder if I hadn't betterdrive into the barn, Rod, and leave the harness on Nick till I go in andsee mother? Guess I will. "

"She's hot, Aunt Boynton is, hot and restless, but Mrs. Mason thinksthat's all. "

Ivory found his mother feverish, and her eyes were unnaturally bright;but she was clear in her mind and cheerful, too, sitting up in bed tobreathe the better, while the Maltese cat snuggled under her arm andpurred peacefully. 

"The cat is Rod's idea, " she said smilingly but in a very weak voice. "He is a great nurse I should never have thought of the cat myself butshe gives me more comfort than all the medicine. "

Ivory and Rodman drew up to the supper table, already set in thekitchen, but before Ivory took his seat he softly closed the door thatled into the living-room. They ate their beans and brown bread and themince pie that had been the "splendid" feature of the meal, as reportedby the boy; and when they had finished, and Rodman was clearing thetable, Ivory walked to the window, lighting his pipe the while, andstood soberly looking out on the snowy landscape. One could scarcelytell it was twilight, with such sweeps of whiteness to catch every gleamof the dying day. 

"Drop work a minute and come here, Rod, " he said at length. "Can youkeep a secret?"

"'Course I can! I'm chock full of 'em now, and nobody could dig one of'em out o' me with a pickaxe!"

"Oh, well! If you're full you naturally couldn't hold another!"

"I could try to squeeze it in, if it's a nice one, " coaxed the boy. 

"I don't know whether you'll think it's a nice one, Rod, for it breaksup one of your plans. I'm not sure myself how nice it is, but it's avery big, unexpected, startling one. What do you think? Your favoritePatty has gone and got married. "

"Patty! Married!" cried Rod, then hastily putting his hand over hismouth to hush his too-loud speaking. 

"Yes, she and Mark Wilson ran away last Monday, drove over to Allentown, New Hampshire, and were married without telling a soul. Deacon Baxterdiscovered everything this afternoon, like the old fox that he is, andturned Patty out of the house. "

"Mean old skinflint!" exclaimed Rod excitedly, all the incipientmanhood rising in his ten-year-old breast. "Is she gone to live with theWilsons?"

"The Wilsons don't know yet that Mark is married to her, but I met himdriving like Jehu, just after I had left Patty, and told him everythingthat had happened, and did my best to cool him down and keep him frommurdering his new father-in-law by showing him it would serve no realpurpose now. "

"Did he look married, and all different?" asked Rod curiously. 

"Yes, he did, and more like a man than ever he looked before in hislife. We talked everything over together, and he went home at onceto break the news to his family, without even going to take a peep atPatty. I couldn't bear to have them meet till he had something cheerfulto say to the poor little soul. When I met her by Uncle Bart's shop, she was trudging along in the snow like a draggled butterfly, and cryinglike a baby. "

Sympathetic tears dimmed Rodman's eyes. "I can't bear to see girls cry, Ivory. I just can't bear it, especially Patty. "

"Neither can I, Rod. I came pretty near wiping her eyes, but pulled up, remembering she wasn't a child but a married lady. Well, now we come tothe point. "

"Isn't Patty's being married the point?"

"No, only part of it. Patty's being sent away from home leaves Waitstillalone with the Deacon, do you see? And if Patty is your favorite, Waitstill is mine--I might as well own up to that. "

"She's mine, too, " cried Rod. "They're both my favorites, but I alwaysthought Patty was the suitablest for me to marry if she'd wait for me. Waitstill is too grand for a boy!"

"She's too grand for anybody, Rod. There isn't a man alive that's worthyto strap on her skates. "

"Well, she's too grand for anybody except--" and here Rod's shy, wistfulvoice trailed off into discreet silence. 

"Now I had some talk with Patty, and she thinks Waitstill will have notrouble with her father just at present. She says he lavished so muchrage upon her that there'll be none left for anybody else for a dayor two. And, moreover, that he will never dare to go too far withWaitstill, because she's so useful to him. I'm not afraid of his beatingor injuring her so long as he keeps his sober senses, if he's everrightly had any; but I don't like to think of his upbraiding her andbreaking her heart with his cruel talk just after she's lost the sisterthat's been her only companion. " And Ivory's hand trembled as hefilled his pipe. He had no confidant but this quaint, tender-hearted, old-fashioned little lad, to whom he had grown to speak his mind as ifhe were a man of his own age; and Rod, in the same way, had graduallylearned to understand and sympathize. 

"It's dreadful lonesome on Town-House Hill, " said the boy in a hushedtone. 

"Dreadful lonesome, " echoed Ivory with a sigh; "and I don't dare leavemother until her fever dies down a bit and she sleeps. Now do youremember the night that she was taken ill, and we shared the watch?"

Rodman held his breath. "Do you mean you 're going to let me help justas if I was big?" he asked, speaking through a great lump in his throat. 

"There are only two of us, Rod. You're rather young for this piece ofwork, but you're trusty--you 're trusty!"

"Am I to keep watch on the Deacon?"

"That's it, and this is my plan: Nick will have had his feed; you 'reto drive to the bridge when it gets a little darker and hitch in UncleBart's horse-shed, covering Nick well. You're to go into the brickstore, and while you're getting some groceries wrapped up, listen toanything the men say, to see if they know what's happened. When you'vehung about as long as you dare, leave your bundle and say you'll callin again for it. Then see if Baxter's store is open. I don't believe itwill be, and if it Isn't, look for a light in his kitchen window, andprowl about till you know that Waitstill and the Deacon have gone up totheir bedrooms. Then go to Uncle Bart's and find out if Patty is there. "

Rod's eyes grew bigger and bigger: "Shall I talk to her?" he asked; "andwhat'll I say?"

"No, just ask if she's there. If she's gone, Mark has made it right withhis family and taken her home. If she hasn't, why, God knows how thatmatter will be straightened out. Anyhow, she has a husband now, and heseems to value her; and Waitstill is alone on the top of that wind-swepthill!"

"I'll go. I'll remember everything, " cried Rodman, in the seventh heavenof delight at the responsibilities Ivory was heaping upon him. 

"Don't stay beyond eight o'clock; but come back and tell me everythingyou've learned. Then, if mother grows no worse, I'll walk back to UncleBart's shop and spend the night there, just--just to be near, that'sall. "

"You couldn't hear Waitstill, even if she called, " Rod said. 

"Couldn't I? A man's ears are very sharp under certain circumstances. Ibelieve if Waitstill needed help I could hear her--breathe! Besides, I shall be up and down the hill till I know all's well; and at sunriseI'll go up and hide behind some of Baxter's buildings till I see himget his breakfast and go to the store. Now wash your dishes"; and Ivorycaught up his cap from a hook behind the door. 

"Are you going to the barn?" asked Rodman. 

"No, only down to the gate for a minute. Mark said that if he had agood chance he'd send a boy with a note, and get him to put it under thestone gate-post. It's too soon to expect it, perhaps, but I can't seemto keep still. "

Rodman tied a gingham apron round his waist, carried the tea-kettle tothe sink, and poured the dishpan full of boiling water; then dipped thecups and plates in and out, wiped them and replaced them on the table'gave the bean-platter a special polish, and set the half mince pie andthe butter-dish in the cellar-way. 

"A boy has to do most everything in this family!" He sighed to himself. "I don't mind washing dishes, except the nasty frying-pan and the stickybean-pot; but what I'm going to do to-night is different. " Here heglowed and tingled with anticipation. "I know what they call it in thestory-books--it's sentry duty; and that's braver work for a boy thandish-washing!"

Which, however, depends a good deal upon circumstances, and somewhat onthe point of view. 

XXXII. THE HOUSE OF AARON

A FEELING that the day was to bring great things had dawned uponWaitstill when she woke that morning, and now it was coming true. 

Climbing Saco Hill was like climbing the hill of her dreams; life andlove beckoned to her across the snowy slopes. 

At rest about Patty's future, though troubled as to her sorry plightat the moment, she was conscious chiefly of her new-born freedom. Sherevelled in the keen air that tingled against her cheek, and drew infresh hope with every breath. As she trod the shining pathway she wasfull of expectancy, her eyes dancing, her heart as buoyant as her step. Not a vestige of confusion or uncertainty vexed her mind. She knew Ivoryfor her true mate, and if the way to him took her through dark places itwas lighted by a steadfast beacon of love. 

At the top of the hill she turned the corner breathlessly, and facedthe length of road that led to the Boynton farm. Mrs. Mason's house wasbeyond, and oh, how she hoped that Ivory would be at home, and that sheneed not wait another day to tell him all, and claim the gift she knewwas hers before she asked it. She might not have the same exaltationto-morrow, for now there were no levels in her heart and soul. She had asense of mounting from height to height and lighting fires on every peakof her being. She took no heed of the road she was travelling; she wasconscious only of a wonderful inward glow. 

The house was now in sight, and a tall figure was issuing from the sidedoor, putting on a fur cap as it came out on the steps and down thelane. Ivory was at home, then, and, best of all, he was unconsciouslycoming to meet her--although their hearts had been coming to meet eachother, she thought, ever since they first began to beat. 

As she neared the bars she called Ivory's name. His hands were in thepockets of his great-coat, and his eyes were fixed on the ground. Sombrehe was, distinctly sombre, in mien and gait; could she make him smileand flush and glow, as she was smiling and flushing and glowing? As heheard her voice he raised his head quickly and uncomprehendingly. 

"Don't come any nearer, " she said, "until I have told you something!"His mind had been so full of her that the sight of her in the flesh, standing twenty feet away, bewildered him. 

She took a few steps nearer the gate, near enough now for him to see herrosy face framed in a blue hood, and to catch the brightness of hereyes under their lovely lashes. Ordinarily they were cool and limpid andgrave, Waitstill's eyes; now a sunbeam danced in each of them. And herlips, almost always tightly closed, as if she were holding back hernatural speech, --her lips were red and parted, and the soul of her, freeat last, shone through her face, making it luminous with a new beauty. 

"I have left home for good and all, " she said. "I'll tell you more ofthis later on, but I have left my father's house with nothing to my namebut the clothes I stand in. I am going to look for work in the millsto-morrow, but I stopped here to say that I'm ready to marry youwhenever you want me--if you do want me. "

Ivory was bewildered, indeed, but not so much so that he failed toapprehend, and instantly, too, the real significance of this speech. 

He took a couple of long strides, and before Waitstill had any idea ofhis intentions he vaulted over the bars and gathered her in his arms. 

"Never shall you go to the mills, never shall you leave my sight fora single hour again, my one-woman-in-all-the-world! Come to me, to beloved and treasured all your life long! I've worshipped you ever since Iwas a boy; I've kept my heart swept and garnished for you and no other, hoping I might win you at last. "

How glorious to hear all this delicious poetry of love, and to feelIvory's arms about her, making the dream seem surer!

"Oh, how like you to shorten the time of my waiting!" he went on, hiswords fairly chasing one another in their eagerness to be spoken. "Howlike you to count on me, to guess my hunger for your love, to realizethe chains that held me back, and break them yourself with your owndear, womanly hands! How like you, oh, wonderful Waitstill!"

Ivory went on murmuring phrases that had been lying in his heart unsaidfor years, scarcely conscious of what he was saying, realizing only thatthe miracle of miracles had happened. 

Waitstill, for her part, was almost dumb with joy to be lying so closeto his heart that she could hear it beating; to feel the passionatetenderness of his embrace and his kiss falling upon her hair. 

"I did not know a girl could be so happy!" she whispered. "I've dreamedof it, but it was nothing like this. I am all a-tremble with it. "

Ivory held her off at arm's length for a moment, reluctantly, grudgingly. "You took me fairly off my feet, dearest, " he said, "andforgot everything but the one supreme fact you were telling me. Had Ibeen on guard I should have told you that I am no worthy husband foryou, Waitstill. I haven't enough to offer such a girl as you. "

"You're too late, Ivory! You showed me your heart first, and now you aresearching your mind for bugbears to frighten me. "

"I am a poor man. "

"No girl could be poorer than I am. "

"After what you've endured, you ought to have rest and comfort. "

"I shall have both--in you!" This with eyes, all wet, lifted to Ivory's. 

"My mother is a great burden--a very dear and precious, but a grievousone. "

"She needs a daughter. It is in such things that I shall be yourhelpmate. "

"Will not the boy trouble you and add to your cares?"

"Rod? I love him; he shall be my little brother. "

"What if my father were not really dead?--I think of this sometimes inthe night!--What if he should wander back, broken in spirit, feeble inbody, empty in purse?"

"I do not come to you free of burdens. If my father is deserted byall, I must see that he is made comfortable. He never treated me like adaughter, but I acknowledge his claim. "

"Mine is such a gloomy house!"

"Will it be gloomy when I am in it?" and Waitstill, usually so grave, laughed at last like a care-free child. 

Ivory felt himself hidden in the beautiful shelter of the girl's love. It was dark now, or as dark as the night ever is that has moonlight andsnow. He took Waitstill in his arms again reverently, and laid his cheekagainst her hair. "I worship God as well as I know how, " he whispered;"worship him as the maker of this big heaven and earth that surroundsus. But I worship you as the maker of my little heaven and earth, and myheart is saying its prayers to you at this very moment!"

"Hush, my dear! hush! and don't value me too much, or I shall lose myhead--I that have never known a sweet word in all my life save thosethat my sister has given me. --I must tell you all about Patty now. "

"I happen to know more than you, dear. I met her at the bridge when Iwas coming home from the woods, and I saw her safely to Uncle Bart'sdoor. --I don't know why we speak of it as Uncle Bart's when it is reallyAunt Abby's!--I next met Mark, who had fairly flown from Bridgton on thewings of love, arriving hours ahead of time. I managed to keep him fromavenging the insults heaped upon his bride, and he has driven tothe Mills to confide in his father and mother. By this time Patty isprobably the centre of the family group, charming them all as is hercustom. "

"Oh, I am so glad Mark is at home! Now I can be at rest about Patty. AndI must not linger another moment, for I am going to ask Mrs. Mason tokeep me overnight, " cried Waitstill, bethinking herself suddenly of timeand place. 

"I will take you there myself and explain everything. And the momentI've lighted a fire in Mrs. Mason's best bedroom and settled you there, what do you think I am going to do? I shall drive to the town clerk'shouse, and if he is in bed, rout him out and have the notice of ourintended marriage posted in a public place according to law. PerhapsI shall save a day out of the fourteen I've got to wait for my wife. 'Mills, ' indeed! I wonder at you, Waitstill! As if Mrs. Mason's housewas not far enough away, without your speaking of 'mills. '"

"I only suggested mills in case you did not want to marry me, " saidWaitstill. 

"Walk up to the door with me, " begged Ivory. 

"The horse is all harnessed, and Rod will slip him into the sleigh in ajiffy. "

"Oh, Ivory! do you realize what this means?"--and Waitstill clung to hisarm as they went up the lane together--"that whatever sorrow, whateverhardship comes to us, neither of us will ever have to bear it aloneagain?"

"I believe I do realize it as few men could, for never in myfive-and-twenty years have I had a human creature to whom I could pourmyself out, in whom I could really confide, with whom I could takecounsel. You can guess what it will be to have a comprehending womanat my side. Shall we tell my mother? Do say 'yes'; I believe she willunderstand. --Rod, Rod! come and see who's stepping in the door this veryminute!"

Rodman was up in his bedroom, attiring himself elaborately for sentryduty. His delight at seeing Waitstill was perhaps slightly temperedby the thought that flashed at once through his mind, --that if she wassafe, he would not be required to stand guard in the snow for hoursas he had hoped. But this grief passed when he fully realized whatWaitstill's presence at the farm at this unaccustomed hour reallymeant. After he had been told, he hung about her like the child that hewas, --though he had a bit of the hero in him, at bottom, too, --embracingher waist fondly, and bristling with wondering questions. 

"Is she really going to stay with us for always, Ivory?" he asked. 

"Every day and all the days; every night and all the nights. 'Praise Godfrom whom all blessings flow!'" said Ivory, taking off his fur cap andopening the door of the living-room. "But we've got to wait for her awhole fortnight, Rod. Isn't that a ridiculous snail of a law?"

"Patty didn't wait a fortnight. "

"Patty never waited for anything, " Ivory responded with a smile; "butshe had a good reason, and, alas! we haven't, or they'll say that wehaven't. And I am very grateful to the same dear little Patty, for whenshe got herself a husband she found me a wife!"

Rodman did not wholly understand this, but felt that there were manymysteries attending the love affairs of grown-up people that were toocomplicated for him to grasp; and it did not seem to be just the rightmoment for questions. 

Waitstill and Ivory went into Mrs. Boynton's room quietly, hand in hand, and when she saw Waitstill she raised herself from her pillow and heldout her arms with a soft cry of delight. 

"I haven't had you for so long, so long!" she said, touching the girl'scheek with her frail hand. 

"You are going to have me every day now, dear, " whispered Waitstill, with a sob in her voice; for she saw a change in the face, a newtransparency, a still more ethereal look than had been there before. 

"Every day?" she repeated, longingly. Waitstill took off her hood, andknelt on the floor beside the bed, hiding her face in the counterpane toconceal the tears. 

"She is coming to live with us, dear. --Come in, Rod, and hear me tellher. --Waitstill is coming to live with us: isn't that a beautifulthing to happen to this dreary house?" asked Ivory, bending to take hismother's hand. 

"Don't you remember what you thought the first time I ever came here, mother?" and Waitstill lifted her head, and looked at Mrs. Boynton withswimming eyes and lips that trembled. "Ivory is making it all come true, and I shall be your daughter!"

Mrs. Boynton sank farther back into her pillows, and closing her eyes, gave a long sigh of infinite content. Her voice was so faint thatthey had to stoop to catch the words, and Ivory, feeling the strangebenediction that seemed to be passing from his mother's spirit totheirs, took Rod's hand and knelt beside Waitstill. 

The verse of a favorite psalm was running through Lois Boynton's mind, and in a moment the words came clearly, as she opened her eyes, liftedher hands, and touched the bowed heads. "Let the house of Aaron now saythat his mercy endureth forever!" she said, slowly and reverently; andIvory, with all his heart, responded, "Amen!"

XXXIII. AARON'S ROD

"IVORY! IVORY!"

Ivory stirred in a sleep that had been troubled by too great happiness. To travel a dreary path alone, a path leading seemingly nowhere, andthen suddenly to have a companion by one's side, the very sight of whomenchanted the eye, the very touch of whom delighted the senses--what joyunspeakable! Who could sleep soundly when wakefulness brought a train ofsuch blissful thoughts?

"Ivory! Ivory!"

He was fully awake now, for he knew his mother's voice. In all theyears, ever thoughtful of his comfort and of the constant strain uponhis strength, Lois had never wakened her son at night. 

"Coming, mother, coming!" he said, when he realized she was calling him;and hastily drawing on some clothing, for the night was bitterly cold, he came out of his room and saw his mother standing at the foot of thestairway, with a lighted candle in her hand. 

"Can you come down, Ivory? It is a strange hour to call you but I havesomething to tell you; something I have been piecing together for weeks;something I have just clearly remembered. "

"If it's something that won't keep till morning, mother, you creep backinto bed and we'll hear it comfortably, " he said, coming downstairsand leading her to her room. "I'll smooth the covers, so; beat up thepillows, --there, and throw another log on the sitting-room fire. Now, what's the matter? Couldn't you sleep?"

"All summer long I have been trying to remember something; somethinguntrue that you have been believing, some falsehood for which I wasresponsible. I have pursued and pursued it, but it has always escapedme. Once it was clear as daylight, for Rodman read me from the Bible aplain answer to all the questions that tortured me. "

"That must have been the night that she fainted, " thought Ivory. 

"When I awoke next morning from my long sleep, the old puzzle had comeback, a thousand times worse than before, for then I knew that I hadheld the clue in my own hand and had lost it. Now, praise God! I knowthe truth, and you, the only one to whom I can tell it, are close athand. "

Ivory looked at his mother and saw that the veil that had separated themmentally seemed to five vanished in the night that had passed. Often andoften it had blown away, as it were, for the fraction of a moment andthen blown back again. Now her eyes met his with an altogether newclearness that startled him, while her health came with ease and sheseemed stronger than for many days. 

"You remember the winter I was here at the farm alone, when you were atthe Academy?"

"Yes; it was then that I came home and found you so terribly ill. Do youthink we need go back to that old time now, mother dear?"

"Yes, I must, I must! One morning I received a strange letter, bearingno signature, in which the writer said that if I wished to see myhusband I had only to go to a certain address in Brentville, NewHampshire. The letter went on to say that Mr. Aaron Boynton was ill andlonged for nothing so much as to speak with me; but there were reasonswhy he did not wish to return to Edgewood, --would I come to him withoutdelay. "

Ivory now sat straight in his chair and listened keenly, feeling thatthis was to be no vague, uncertain, and misleading memory, but somethingtrue and tangible. 

"The letter excited me greatly after your father's long absence andsilence. I knew it could mean nothing but sorrow, but although I washalf ill at the time, my plain duty was to go, so I thought, and gowithout making any explanation in the village. "

All this was new to Ivory and he hung upon his mother's words, dreadingyet hoping for the light that they might shed upon the past. 

"I arrived at Brentville quite exhausted with the journey and weigheddown by anxiety and dread. I found the house mentioned in the letterat seven o'clock in the evening, and knocked at the door. A common, hard-featured woman answered the knock and, seeming to expect me, ushered me in. I do not remember the room; I remember only a childleaning patiently against the window-sill looking out into the dark, andthat the place was bare and cheerless. 

"I came to call upon Mr. Aaron Boynton, ' I said, with my heart sinkinglower and lower as I spoke. The woman opened a door into the next roomand when I walked in, instead of seeing your father, I confronted ahaggard, death-stricken young woman sitting up in bed, her great eyesbright with pain, her lips as white as her hollow cheeks, and her long, black hair streaming over the pillow. The very sight of her struck aknell to the little hope I had of soothing your father's sick bed andforgiving him if he had done me any wrong. 

"'Well, you came, as I thought you would, ' said the girl, looking meover from head to foot in a way that somehow made me burn with shame. 'Now sit down in that chair and hear what I've got to say while I've gotthe strength to say it. I haven't the time nor the desire to put a glosson it. Aaron Boynton isn't here, as you plainly see, but that's not myfault, for he belongs here as much as anywhere, though he wouldn't havemuch interest in a dying woman. If you have suffered on account of him, so have I and you haven't had this pain boring into you and eating yourlife away for months, as I have. '

"I pitied her, she seemed so distraught, but I was in terror of her allthe same, and urged her to tell her story calmly and I would do my bestto hear it in the same way. 

"'Calm, ' she exclaimed, 'with this agony tearing me to pieces! Well, tomake beginning and end in one, Aaron Boynton was my husband for threeyears. '

"I caught hold of the chair to keep myself from falling and cried: 'I donot believe it!' 'Believe it or not, she answered scornfully, 'itmakes no difference to me, but I can give you twenty proofs in as manyseconds. We met at a Cochrane meeting and he chose me from all theothers as his true wife. For two years we travelled together, but longbefore they came to an end there was no happiness for either of us. He had a conscience--not much of a one, but just enough to keep himmiserable. At last I felt he was not believing the doctrines he preachedand I caught him trying to get news of you and your boy, just becauseyou were out of reach, and neglecting my boy and me, who had given upeverything to wander with him and live on whatever the brethren andsisters chose to give us. '

"'So there was a child, a boy, ' I gasped. 'Did--did he live?' 'He'sin the next room, ' she answered, 'and it's him I brought you here for. Aaron Boynton has served us both the same. He left you for me and mefor Heaven knows who. If I could live I wouldn't ask any favors, of youleast of all, but I haven't a penny in the world, though I shan't needone very long. My friend that's nursing me hasn't a roof to her headand she wouldn't share it with the boy if she had--she's a bigotedOrthodox. '

"'But what do you expect me to do?' I asked angrily, for she wasstabbing me with every word. 

"'The boy is your husband's child and he always represented you as asaint upon earth. I expect you to take him home and provide for him. He doesn't mean very much to me--just enough so that I don't relish hisgoing to the poorhouse, that's all. '

"'He'll go to something very like that if he comes to mine, ' I said. 

"'Don't worry me with talk, for I can't stand it, ' she wailed, clutchingat her nightgown and flinging back her hair. 'Either you take the childor I send somebody to Edgewood with him, somebody to tell the wholestory. Some of the Cochranites can support him if you won't; or, at theworst, Aaron Boynton's town can take care of his son. The doctor hasgiven me two days to live. If it's a minute longer I've warned him and Iwarn you, that I'll end it myself; and if you don't take the boy I'll dothe same for him. He's a good sight better off dead than knockingabout the world alone; he's innocent and there's no sense in his beingpunished for the sins of other folks. '"

"I see it all! Why did I never think of it before; my poor, poor Rod!"said Ivory, clenching his hands and burying his head in them. 

"Don't grieve, Ivory; it has all turned out so much better than we couldhave hoped; just listen to the end. She was frightful to hear and tolook at, the girl was, though all the time I could feel that she musthave had a gipsy beauty and vigor that answered to something in yourfather. 

"'Go along out now, ' she cried suddenly. 'I can't stand anybody near. The doctor never gives me half enough medicine and for the hour beforehe comes I fairly die for lack of it--though little he cares! Goupstairs and have your sleep and to-morrow you can make up your mind. '

"'You don't leave me much freedom to do that, ' I tried to answer; butshe interrupted me, rocking her body to and fro. 'Neither of us willever see Aaron Boynton again; you no more than I. He's in the West, anda man with two families and no means of providing for them doesn't comeback where he's known. --Come and take her away, Eliza! Take her away, quick!' she called. 

"I stumbled out of the room and the woman waved me upstairs. 'Youmustn't mind Hetty, ' she apologized; 'she never had a good dispositionat the best, but she's frantic with the pain now, and good reason, too. It's about over and I'll be thankful when it is. You'd better swallowthe shame and take the child; I can't and won't have him and it'll beeasy enough for you to say he belongs to some of your own folks. '

"By this time I was mentally bewildered. When the iron first entered mysoul, when I first heard the truth about your father, at that moment mymind gave way--I know it now. "

"Poor, poor mother! My poor, gentle little mother!" murmured Ivorybrokenly, as he asked her hand. 

"Don't cry, my son; it is all past; the sorrow and the bitterness andthe struggle. I will just finish the story and then we'll close the bookforever. The woman gave me some bread and tea, and I flung myself on thebed without undressing. I don't know how long afterward it was, but thedoor opened and a little boy stole in; a sad, strange, dark-eyed littleboy who said: 'Can I sleep up here? Mother's screaming and I'm afraid. 'He climbed to the couch. I covered him with a blanket, and I soon heardhis deep breathing. But later in the night, when I must have fallenasleep myself, I suddenly awoke and felt him lying beside me. He haddragged the blanket along and crept up on the bed to get close to myside for the warmth I could give, or the comfort of my nearness. Thetouch of him almost broke my heart; I could not push the little creatureaway when he was lying there so near and warm and confiding--he, allunconscious of the agony his mere existence was to me. I must have sleptagain and when the day broke I was alone. I thought the presence of thechild in the night was a dream and I could not remember where I was, norwhy I was there. "

"Mother, dear mother, don't tell me any more to-night. I fear for yourstrength, " urged Ivory, his eyes full of tears at the remembrance of hersufferings. 

"There is only a little more and the weight will be off my heart and onyours, my poor son. Would that I need not tell you! The house was stilland I thought at first that no one was awake, but when I opened thesitting-room door the child ran towards me and took my hand as the womancame in from the sick-room. 'Go into the kitchen, Rodman, ' she said, 'and lace up your boots; you're going right out with this lady. Hettydied in the night, ' she continued impassively. 'The doctor was hereabout ten o'clock and I've never seen her so bad. He gave her a big doseof sleeping powder and put another in the table drawer for me to mix forher towards morning. She was helpless to move, we thought, but all thesame she must have got out of bed when my back was turned and takenthe powder dry on her tongue, for it was gone when I looked for it. Itdidn't hasten things much and I don't blame her. If ever there was awild, reckless creature it was Hetty Rodman, but I, who am just theopposite, would have done the same if I'd been her. '

"She hurriedly gave me a cup of coffee, and, putting a coat and a capon the boy, literally pushed me out of the house. 'I've got to reportthings to the doctor, ' she said, 'and you're better out of the way. Godown that side street to the station and mind you say the boy belongedto your sister who died and left him to you. You're a Cochranite, ain'tyou? So was Hetty, and they're all sisters, so you'll be telling nolies. Good-bye, Rodman, be a good boy and don't be any trouble to thelady. '

"How I found the station I do not know, nor how I made the journey, norwhere I took the stage-coach. The snow began to fall and by noon therewas a drifting storm. I could not remember where I was going, norwho the boy was, for just as the snow was whirling outside, so it waswhirling in my brain. "

"Mother, I can hardly bear to hear any more; it is too terrible!" criedIvory, rising from his chair and pacing the floor. 

"I can recall nothing of any account till I awoke in my own bed weeksafterwards. The strange little boy was there, but Mrs. Day and Dr. Perrytold me what I must have told them--that he was the child of my deadsister. Those were the last words uttered by the woman in Brentville;I carried them straight through my illness and brought them out on theother side more firmly intrenched than ever. "

"If only the truth had come back to you sooner!" sighed Ivory, comingback to her bedside. "I could have helped you to bear it all theseyears. Sorrow is so much lighter when you can share it with some oneelse. And the girl who died was called Hetty Rodman, then, and shesimply gave the child her last name?"

"Yes, poor suffering creature. I feel no anger against her now; ithas burned itself all away. Nor do I feel any bitterness against yourfather. I forgot all this miserable story for so long, loving andwatching for him all the time, that it is as if it did not belong tomy own life, but had to do with some unhappy stranger. Can you forgive, too, Ivory?"

"I can try, " he answered. "God knows I ought to be able to if you can!"

"And will it turn you away from Rod?"

"No, it draws me nearer to him than ever. He shall never know thetruth--why should he? Just as he crept close to you that night, allunconscious of the reason you had for shrinking from him, so he hascrept close to me in these years of trial, when your mind has beenwandering. "

"Life is so strange. To think that this child, of all others, shouldhave been a comfort to you. The Lord's hand is in it!" whispered Mrs. Boynton feebly. 

"His boyish belief in me, his companionship, have kept the breath ofhope alive in me--that's all I can say. "

"The Bible story is happening over again in our lives, then. Don't youremember that Aaron's rod budded and blossomed and bore fruit, and thatthe miracle kept the rebels from murmuring?"

"This rebel never will murmur again, mother, " and Ivory rose to leavethe room. "Now that you have shed your burden you will grow strongerand life will be all joy, for Waitstill will come to us soon and we canshake off these miseries and be a happy family once more. "

"It is she who has helped me most to find the thread; pouring sympathyand strength into me, nursing me, loving me, because she loved mywonderful son. Oh! how blest among women I am to have lived long enoughto see you happy!"

And as Ivory kissed his mother and blew out the candle, she whispered toherself: "Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly!"

XXXIV. THE DEACON'S WATERLOO

MRS. MASON'S welcome to Waitstill was unexpectedly hearty--much heartierthan it would have been Six months before, when she regarded Mrs. Boynton as little less than a harmless lunatic, of no use as a neighbor;and when she knew nothing more of Ivory than she could gather by hisoccasional drive or walk past her door with a civil greeting. Rodmanhad been until lately the only member of the family for whom she had afriendly feeling; but all that had changed in the last few weeks, whenshe had been allowed to take a hand in the Boyntons' affairs. As to thisnewest development in the life of their household, she had once beenyoung herself, and the veriest block of stone would have become humanwhen the two lovers drove up to the door and told their exciting story. 

Ivory made himself quickly at home, and helped the old lady to get aroom ready for Waitstill before he drove back for a look at his motherand then on to carry out his impetuous and romantic scheme of routingout the town clerk and announcing his intended marriage. 345

Waitstill slept like the shepherd boy in "The Pilgrim's Progress, " withthe "herb called Heart's Ease" in her bosom. She opened her eyes nextmorning from the depths of Mrs. Mason's best feather bed, and lookedwonderingly about the room, with all its unaccustomed surroundings. She heard the rattle of fire-irons and the flatter of dishes below; thefirst time in all her woman's life that preparations for breakfast hadever greeted her ears when she had not been an active participator inthem. 

She lay quite still for a quarter of an hour, tired in body and mind, but incredibly happy in spirit, marvelling at the changes wrought inher during the day preceding, the most eventful one in her history. Onlyyesterday her love had been a bud, so closely folded that she scarcelyrecognized its beauty or color or fragrance; only yesterday, and nowshe held in her hand a perfect flower. When and how had it grown, and bywhat magic process?

The image of Ivory had been all through the night in the foreground ofher dreams and in her moments of wakefulness, both made blissful by theheaven of anticipation that dawned upon her. Was ever man so wise, so tender and gentle, so strong, so comprehending? What mattered theabsence of worldly goods, the presence of care and anxiety, when n womanhad a steady hand to hold, a steadfast heart to trust, a man who wouldlove her and stand by her, whate'er befell?

Then the face of Ivory's mother would swim into the mental picture; thepale face, as white as the pillow it lay upon; the face with its aureoleof ashen hair, and the wistful blue eyes that begged of God and herchildren some peace before they closed on life. 

The vision of her sister was a joyful one, and her heart was at peaceabout her, the plucky little princess who had blazed the way out of theogre's castle. 

She saw Patty clearly as a future fine lady, in velvets and satins andfurs, bewitching every-body by her gay spirits, her piquant vivacity, and the loving heart that lay underneath all the nonsense and gave itwarmth and color. 

The remembrance of her father alone on the hilltop did indeed troubleWaitstill. Self-reproach, in the true sense of the word, she did not, could not, feel. Never since the day she was born had she been fathered, and daughterly love was absent; but she suffered when she thought ofthe fierce, self-willed old man, cutting himself off from all possiblefriendships, while his vigor was being sapped daily and hourly by histerrible greed of money. 

True housewife that Waitstill was, her mind reverted to every separatecrock and canister in her cupboards, every article of her baking orcooking that reposed on the swing-sheh in the cellar, thinking how longher father could be comfortable without her ministrations, and so, howlong he would delay before engaging the u inevitable housekeeper. Sherevolved the number of possible persons to whom the position would beoffered, and wished that Mrs. Mason, who so needed help, might be thechosen one: but the fact of her having been friendly to the Boyntonswould strike her at once from the list. 

When she was thankfully eating her breakfast with Mrs. Mason a littlelater, and waiting for Ivory to call for them both and take them to theBoynton farm, she little knew what was going on at her old home in thesevery hours, when to tell the truth she would have liked to slip in, hadit been possible, wash the morning dishes, skim the cream, do theweek's churning, make her father's bed, and slip out again into the dearshelter of love that awaited her. 

The Deacon had passed a good part of the night in scheming andcontriving, and when he drank his self-made cup of muddy coffee atseven o'clock next morning he had formed several plans that were tobe immediately frustrated, had he known it, by the exasperating andsuspicious nature of the ladies involved in them. 

At eight he had left the house, started Bill Morrill at the store, and was on the road in search of vengeance and a housekeeper. Old Mrs. Atkins of Deerwander sniffed at the wages offered. Miss Peters, of UnionFalls, an aged spinster with weak lungs, had the impertinence to tellhim that she feared she couldn't stand the cold in his house; she hadheard he was very particular about the amount of wood that was burned. A four-mile drive brought him to the village poetically named the BrickKiln, where he offered to Mrs. Peter Upham an advance of twenty-fivecents a week over and above the salary with which he had sought to temptMrs. Atkins. Far from being impressed, Mrs. Uphill, being of a hightemper and candid turn of mind, told him she'd prefer to starve at home. There was not another free woman within eight miles, and the Deacon waschafing under t e mortification of being continually obliged to statethe reason for his needing a housekeeper. The only hope, it seemed, layin going to Saco and hiring a stranger, a plan not at all to his liking, as it was sure to involve him in extra expense. 

Muttering threats against the universe in general, he drove home by wayof Milliken's Mills, thinking of the unfed hens, the unmilked cow, theunwashed dishes, the unchurned cream and above all of his unchasteneddaughters; his rage increasing with every step until it was nearly atthe white heat of the night before. 

A long stretch of hill brought the tired old mare to a slow walk, andenabled the Deacon to see the Widow Tillman clipping the geraniums thatstood in tin cans on the shelf of her kitchen window. 

Now, Foxwell Baxter had never been a village Lothario at any age, norfrequented the society of such. Of late years, indeed, he had frequentedno society of any kind, so that he had missed, for instance, AbelDay's description of the Widow Tillman as a "reg'lar syreen, " though hevaguely remembered that some of the Baptist sisters had questioned theauthenticity of her conversion by their young and attractive minister. She made a pleasant picture at the window; she was a free woman (alittle too free, the neighbors would have said; but the Deacon didn'tknow that); she was a comparative newcomer to the village, and hermind had not been poisoned with feminine gossip--in a word, she was adistinctly hopeful subject, and, acting on a blind and sudden impulse, he turned into the yard, 'dung the reins over the mare's neck, andknocked at the back door. 

"Her character 's no worse than mine by now if Aunt Abby Cole's on theroad, " he thought grimly, "an' if the Wilsons see my sleigh inside ofwidder's fence, so much the better; it'll give 'em a jog. --Good morningMis' Tillman, " he said to the smiling lady. "I'll come to the p'int atonce. My youngest daughter has married Mark Wilson against my will, an'gone away from town, an' the older one's chosen a husband still less tomy likin'. Do you want to come and housekeep for me?"

"I surmised something was going on, " re-turned Mrs. Tillman. "I sawPatty and Mark drive away early this morning, with Mr. And Mrs. Wilsonwrapping the girl up and putting a hot soapstone in the sleigh, andconsid'able kissing and hugging thrown in. "

This knowledge added fuel to the flame that was burning fiercely in theDeacon's breast. "Well, how about the housekeeping he asked, tryingnot to show his eagerness, and not recognizing himself at all in theenterprise in which he found himself indulging. 

"I 'm very comfortable here, " the lady responded artfully, "and I don'tknow 's I care to make any change, thank you. I didn't like the villagemuch at first, after living in larger places, but now I'm acquainted, itkind of gains on me. "

Her reply was carefully framed, for her mind worked with great rapidity, and she was mistress of the situation almost as soon as she saw theDeacon alighting from his sleigh. He was not the sort of man to bea casual caller, and his manner bespoke an urgent errand. She had apension of six dollars a month, but over and above that sum her livingwas precarious. She made coats, and she had never known want, for shewas a master hand at dealing with the opposite sex. Deacon Baxter, according to common report, had ten or fifteen thousand dollars stowedaway in the banks, so the situation would be as simple as possible underordinary circumstances; it was as easy to turn out one man's pockets asall-other's when he was a normal human being; but Deacon Baxter was adifferent proposition. 

"I wonder how long he's likely to live, " she thought, glancing at himcovertly, out of the tail of her eye. "His evil temper must have drivenmore than one nail in his coffin. I wonder, if I refuse to housekeep, whether I 'll get--a better offer. I wonder if I could manage him ifI got him! I'd rather like to sit in the Baxter pew at the Orthodoxmeeting-house after the way some of the Baptist sisters have snubbed mesince I come here. "

Not a vestige of these incendiary thoughts showed in her comelycountenance, and her soul might have been as white as the high-bibbedapron that covered it, to judge by her genial smile. 

"I'd make the wages fair, " urged the Deacon, looking round the cleankitchen, with the break-fast-table sitting near the sunny window and theodor of corned beef and cabbage issuing temptingly from a boiling pot onthe fire. "I hope she ain't a great meat-eater, " he thought, "but it'stoo soon to cross that bridge yet a while. "

"I've no doubt of it, " said the widow, wondering if her voice rang true;"but I've got a pension, and why should I leave this cosy little home?Would I better myself any, that's the question? I'm kind of lonesomehere, that's the only reason I'd consider a move. "

"No need o' bein' lonesome down to the Falls, " said the Deacon. "And I'min an' out all day, between the barn an' the store. "

This, indeed, was not a pleasant prospect, but Jane Tillman had facedworse ones in her time. 

"I'm no hand at any work outside the house, " she observed, as ifreflecting. "I can truthfully say I'm a good cook, and have a greatfaculty for making a little go a long ways. " (She considered this amaster-stroke, and in fact it was; for the Deacon's mouth absolutelywatered at this apparently unconscious comprehension of hisdisposition. ) "But I'm no hand at any chores in the barn or shed, " shecontinued. "My first husband would never allow me to do that kind ofwork. "

"Perhaps I could git a boy to help out; I've been kind o' thinkin' o'that lately. What wages would you expect if I paid a boy for the roughwork?" asked the Deacon tremulously. "Well, to tell the truth, I don'tquite fancy the idea of taking wages. Judge Dickinson wants me to go toAlfred and housekeep for him, and I'd named twelve dollars a month. It'sgood pay, and I haven't said 'No'; but my rent is small here, I'm my ownmistress, and I don't feel like giving up my privileges. "

"Twelve dollars a month!" He had never thought of approaching that sum;and he saw the heap of unwashed dishes growing day by day, and the creamsouring on the milk-pans. Suddenly an idea sprang full-born into theDeacon's mind (Jed Morrill's "Old Driver" must have been close athand!). Would Jane Tillman marry him? No woman in the three villageswould be more obnoxious to his daughters; that in itself was a distinctgain. She was a fine, robust figure of a woman in her early forties, and he thought, after all, that the hollow-chested, spindle-shanked kindwere more ex-pensive to feed, on the whole, than their better-paddedsisters. He had never had any difficulty in managing wives, and thoughthimself quite equal to one more bout, even at sixty-five, though hehad just the faintest suspicion that the high color on Mrs. Tillman'sprominent cheek-bones, the vigor shown in the coarse black hair andhandsome eyebrows, might make this task a little more difficult than hisprevious ones. But this fear vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, for he kept saying to himself: "A judge of the County Court wants her attwelve dollars a month; hadn't I better bid high an' git settled?

"If you'd like to have a home o' your own 'thout payin' rent, you'veonly got to say the word an' I'll make you Mis' Baxter, " said theDeacon. "There'll be nobody to interfere with you, an' a handsome legacyif I die first; for none o' my few savin's is goin' to my daughters, Ican promise you that!"

The Deacon threw out this tempting bait advisedly, for at this moment hewould have poured his hoard into the lap of any woman who would help himto avenge his fancied wrongs. 

This was information, indeed! The "few savings" alluded to amounted tosome thousands, Jane Tillman knew. Had she not better burn her shipsbehind her, take the risks, and have faith in her own powers? She wasgetting along in ears, and her charms of person were lessening withevery day that passed over her head. If the Deacon's queer ways grewtoo queer, she thought an appeal to the doctor and the minister mightprovide a way of escape and a neat little income to boot; so, on thewhole, the marriage, though much against her natural inclinations, seemed to be providentially arranged. 

The interview that succeeded, had it been reported verbatim, deservedto be recorded in local history. Deacon Baxter had met in Jane Tillman afoeman more than worthy of his steel. She was just as crafty as he, andin generalship as much superior to him as Napoleon Bonaparte to CephasCole. Her knowledge of and her experiences with men, all very humble, itis true, but decidedly varied, enabled her to play on every weakness ofthis particular one she had in hand, and at the same time skilfully toavoided alarming him. 

Heretofore, the women with whom the Deacon had come in contact hadtimidly steered away from the rocks and reefs in his nature, and hadbeen too ignorant or too proud to look among them for certain softerplaces that were likely to be there--since man is man, after all, evenwhen he is made on a very small pattern. 

If Jane Tillman became Mrs. Baxter, she intended to get the whip handand keep it; but nothing was further from her intention than to make theDeacon miserable if she could help it. That was not her disposition; andso, when the deluded man left her house, he had made more concessions ina single hour than in all the former years of his life. 

His future spouse was to write out a little paper for his signature;just a friendly little paper to be kept quite private and confidentialbetween themselves, stating that she was to do no work outside of thehouse; that her pension was to be her own; that she was to have fivedollars in cash on the first of every month in lieu of wages; and thatin ease of his death occurring first she was to have a third of hisestate, and the whole of it if at the time of his decease he was stillpleased with his bargain. The only points in this contract that theDeacon really understood were that he was paying only five dollars amonth for a housekeeper to whom a judge had offered twelve; that, as hehad expected to pay at least eight, he could get a boy for the remainingthree, and so be none the worse in pocket; also, that if he could keephis daughters from getting his money, he didn't care a hang who hadit, as he hated the whole human race with entire impartiality. If JaneTillman didn't behave herself, he had pleasing visions of convertingmost of his fortune into cash and having it dropped off the bridgesome dark night, when the doctor had given him up and proved to hissatisfaction that death would occur in the near future. 

All this being harmoniously settled, the Deacon drove away, and causedthe announcement of his immediate marriage to be posted directly belowthat of Waitstill and Ivory Boynton. 

"Might as well have all the fat in the fire to once, " he chuckled. "There won't be any house-work done in this part of the county for aweek to come. If we should have more snow, nobody'll have to do anyshovellin', for the women-folks'll keep all the paths in the villagetrod down from door to door, travellin' round with the news. "

A "spite match, " the community in general called the Deacon's marriage;and many a man, and many a woman, too, regarding the amazing publishingnotice in the frame up at the meeting-house, felt that in Jane TillmanDeacon Baxter had met his Waterloo. 

"She's plenty good enough for him, " said Aunt Abby Cole, "though I knowthat's a terrible poor compliment. If she thinks she'll ever break intos'ciety here at the Falls, she'll find herself mistaken! It's a mysteryto me why the poor deluded man ever done it; but ain't it wonderful theingenuity the Lord shows in punishin' sinners? I couldn't 'a' thoughtout such a good comeuppance myself for Deacon Baxter, as marryin' JaneTillman! The thing that troubles me most, is thinkin' how tickled theBaptists'll be to git her out o' their meetin' an' into ourn!"

XXXV. TWO HEAVENS

AT the very moment that Deacon Baxter was I starting out on his questfor a housekeeper, Patty and Mark drove into the Mason dooryard and thesisters flew into each other's arms. The dress that Mark had boughtfor Patty was the usual charting and unsuitable offering of a man'sspontaneous affection, being of dark violet cloth with a wadded capelined with satin. A little brimmed hat of violet velvet tied under herchin with silk ribbons completed the costume, and before the youthfulbride and groom had left the ancestral door Mrs. Wilson had hung her ownermine victorine (the envy of all Edgewood) around Patty's neck and puther ermine willow muff into her new daughter's hands; thus she was asdazzling a personage, and as improperly dressed for the journey, as shecould well be. 

Waitstill, in her plain linsey-woolsey, was entranced with Patty'sbeauty and elegance, and the two girls had a few minutes of sisterlytalk, of interchange of radiant hopes and confidences before Mark torethem apart, their cheeks wet with happy tears. 

As the Mason house faded from view, Patty having waved her muff untilthe last moment, turned in her seat and said:--

"Mark, dear, do you think your father would care if I spent thetwenty-dollar gold-piece he gave me, for Waitstill? She will be marriedin a fortnight, and if my father does not give her the few things sheowns she will go to her husband more ill-provided even than I was. Ihave so much, dear Mark, and she so little. "

"It's your own wedding-present to use as you wish, " Mark answered, "andit's exactly like you to give it away. Go ahead and spend it if you wantto; I can always earn enough to keep you, without anybody's help!" andMark, after cracking the whip vaingloriously, kissed his wife just overthe violet ribbons, and with sleigh-bells jingling they sped over thesnow towards what seemed Paradise to them, the New Hampshire villagewhere they had been married and where--

So a few days later, Waitstill received a great parcel which relievedher of many feminine anxieties and she began to shape and cut and stitchduring all the hours she had to herself. They were not many, for everyday she trudged to the Boynton farm and began with youthful enthusiasmthe household tasks that were so soon to be hers by right. 

"Don't waste too much time and strength here, my dearest, " said Ivory. "Do you suppose for a moment I shall keep you long on this lonely farm?I am ready for admission to the Bar or I am fitted to teach in the bestschool in New England. Nothing has held me here but my mother, and inher present condition of mind we can safely take her anywhere. We willnever live where there are so many memories and associations to saddenand hamper us, but go where the best opportunity offers, and as soon asmay be. My wife will be a pearl of great price, " he added fondly, "and Iintend to provide a right setting for her!"

This was all said in a glow of love and joy, pride and ambition, asIvory paced up and down before the living-room fireplace while Waitstillwas hanging the freshly laundered curtains. 

Ivory was right; Waitstill Baxter was, indeed, a jewel of a woman. Shehad little knowledge, but much wisdom, and after all, knowledge standsfor the leaves on a tree and wisdom for the fruit. There was infiniterichness in the girl, a richness that had been growing and ripeningthrough the years that she thought so gray and wasted. The few booksshe owned and loved had generally lain unopened, it is true, upon herbedroom table, and she held herself as having far too little learning tobe a worthy companion for Ivory Boynton; but all the beauty and cheera comfort that could ever be pressed into the arid life of the Baxterhousehold had come from Waitstill's heart, and that heart had grown inwarmth and plenty year by year. 

Those lonely tasks, too hard for a girl's hands, those unrewardeddrudgeries, those days of faithful labor in and out of doors, thoseevenings of self-sacrifice over the mending-basket; the quiet avoidanceof all that might vex her father's crusty temper, her patience with hismiserly exactions; the hourly holding back of the hasty word, --all thesehad played their part; all these had been somehow welded into a strong, sunny, steady, life-wisdom, there is no better name for it; and soshe had unconsciously the best of all harvests to bring as dower toa husband who was worthy of her. Ivory's strength called to hers andanswered it, just as his great need awoke such a power of helpfulness inher as she did not know she possessed. She loved the man, but she lovedthe task that beckoned her, too. The vision of it was like the breathof wind from a hill-top, putting salt and savor into the new life thatopened before her. 

These were quietly happy days at the farm, for Mrs. Boynton took a new, if transient, hold upon life that deceived even the doctor. Rodmanwas nearly as ardent a lover as Ivory, hovering about Waitstill andexclaiming, "You never stay to supper and it's so lonesome eveningswithout you! Will it never be time for you to come and live with us, Waity dear? The days crawl so slowly!" At which Ivory would laugh, pushhim away and draw Waitstill nearer to his own side, saying: "If you arein a hurry, you young cormorant, what do you think of me?" And Waitstillwould look from one to the other and blush at the heaven of love thatsurrounded her on every side. 

"I believe you are longing to begin on my cooking, you two big greedyboys!" she said teasingly. "What shall we have for New Year's dinner, Rod? Do you like a turkey, roasted brown and crispy, with giblet gravyand cranberry jelly? Do you fancy an apple dumpling afterwards, --anapple dumpling with potato crust, --or will you have a suet pudding withfoamy sauce?"

"Stop, Waitstill!" cried Ivory. "Don't put hope into us until you areready to satisfy it; we can't bear it!"

"And I have a box of goodies from my own garden safely stowed away inUncle Bart's shop, " Waitstill went on mischievously. "They were to besold in Portland, but I think they'll have to be my wedding-presentto my husband, though a very strange one, indeed! There are peachesfloating in sweet syrup; there are tumblers of quince jelly; there arejars of tomato and citron preserves, and for supper you shall eat themwith biscuits as light as feathers and white as snowdrifts. "

"We can never wait two more days, Rod; let us kidnap her! Let us takethe old bob-sled and run over to New Hampshire where one can be marriedthe minute one feels like it. We could do it between sunrise andmoonrise and be at home for a late supper. Would she be too tired tobake the biscuits for us, do you think? What do you say, Rod, willyou be best man?" And there would be youthful, unaccustomed laughterfloating out from the kitchen or living-room, bringing a smile ofcontent to Lois Boynton's face as she lay propped up in bed with heropen Bible beside her. "He binds up the broken-hearted, " she whisperedto herself. "He gives unto them a garland for ashes; the oil of joy formourning; the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. "

The quiet wedding was over. There had been neither feasting, nor finery, nor presents, nor bridal journey; only a home-coming that meant deep andsacred a joy, as fervent gratitude as any four hearts ever containedin all the world. But the laughter ceased, though the happiness flowedsilently underneath, almost forgotten in the sudden sorrow that overcamethem, for it fell out that Lois Boynton had only waited, as it were, forthe marriage, and could stay no longer. 

 "... There are two heavens... Both made of love, --one, inconceivable Ev'n by the other, so divine it is; The other, far on this side of the stars, By men called home. "

And these two heavens met, over at Boyntons', during these cold, white, glistening December days. 

Lois Boynton found hers first. After a windy moonlit night a morningdawned in which a hush seemed to be on the earth. The cattle huddledtogether in the farmyards and the fowls shrank into their feathers. Thesky was gray, and suddenly the first white heralds came floating downlike scouts seeking for paths and camping-places. 

Waitstill turned Mrs. Boynton's bed so that she could look out ofthe window. Slope after slope, dazzling in white crust, rose one uponanother and vanished as they slipped away into the dark green of thepine forests. Then, "... There fell from out the skies A feathery whiteness over all the land; A strange, soft, spotless something, pure as light. "

It could not be called a storm, for there had been no wind sincesunrise, no whirling fury, no drifting; only a still, steady, solemnfall of crystal flakes, hour after hour, hour after hour. 

Mrs. Boynton's Book of books was open on the bed and her finger marked apassage in her favorite Bible-poet. 

"Here it is, daughter, " she whispered. "I have found it, in the samechapter where the morning stars sing together and the sons of God shoutfor joy. The Lord speaks to Job out of the whirlwind and says: 'HASTTHOU ENTERED INTO THE TREASURES OF THE SNOW? OR HAST THOU SEEN THETREASURES OF THE HAIL?' Sit near me, Waitstill, and look out on thehills. 'HAST THOU ENTERED INTO THE TREASURES OF THE SNOW?' No, not yet, but please God, I shall, and into many other treasures, soon"; and sheclosed her eyes. 

All day long the air-ways were filled with the glittering army of thesnowflakes; all day long the snow grew deeper and deeper on the ground;and on the breath of some white-winged wonder that passed Lois Boynton'swindow her white soul forsook its "earth-lot" and took flight at last. 

They watched beside her, but never knew the moment of her going; it wasjust a silent flitting, a ceasing to be, without a tremor, or a flutterthat could be seen by mortal eye. Her face was so like an angel's in itsshining serenity that the few who loved her best could not look upon herwith anything but reverent joy. On earth she had known nothing but the"broken arcs, " but in heaven she would find the "perfect round"; thereat last, on the other side of the stars, she could remember right, poorLois Boynton!

For weeks afterwards the village was shrouded in snow as it had neverbeen before within memory, but in every happy household the home-lifedeepened day by day. The books came out in the long evenings; thegrandsires told old tales under the inspiration of the hearth-fire: thechildren gathered on their wooden stools to roast apples and pop corn;and hearts came closer together than when summer called the housematesto wander here and there in fields and woods and beside the river. 

Over at Boyntons', when the snow was whirling and the wind howling roundthe chimneys of the high-gabled old farmhouse; when every window had itsframe of ermine and fringe of icicles, and the sleet rattled furiouslyagainst the glass, then Ivory would throw a great back log on the bankof coals between the fire-dogs, the kettle would begin to sing, andthe eat come from some snug corner to curl and purr on the braidedhearth-rug. 

School was in session, and Ivory and Rod had their textbooks of anevening, but oh! what a new and strange joy to study when there was asweet woman sitting near with her workbasket; a woman wearing a shiningbraid of hair as if it were a coronet; a woman of clear eyes and tenderlips, one who could feel as well as think, one who could be a man'scomrade as well as his dear love. 

Truly the second heaven, the one on "this side of the stars, by mencalled home, " was very present over at Boyntons'. 

Sometimes the broad-seated old haircloth sofa would be drawn in front ofthe fire, and Ivory, laying his pipe and his Greek grammar on the table, would take some lighter book and open it on his knee. Waitstill wouldlift her eyes from her sewing to meet her husband's glance that spokelonging for her closer companionship, and gladly leaving her work, andslipping into the place by his side, she would put her elbow on hisshoulder and read with him. 

Once, Rod, from his place at a table on the other side of the room, looked and looked at them with a kind of instinct beyond his years, andfinally crept up to Waitstill, and putting an arm through hers, nestledhis curly head on her shoulder with the quaint charm and grace thatbelonged to him. 

It was a young and beautiful shoulder, Waitstill's, and there had alwaysbeen, and would always be, a gracious curve in it where a child's headmight lie in comfort. Presently with a shy pressure, Rod whispered:"Shall I sit in the other room, Waitstill and Ivory?--Am I in the way?"

Ivory looked up from his book quietly shaking his head, while Waitstillput her arm around the boy and drew him closer. 

"Our little brother is never in the way, " she said, as she bent andkissed him. 

Men may come and men may go; Saco Water still tumbles tumultuously overthe dam and rushes under the Edgewood bridge on its way to the sea;and still it listens to the story of to-day that will sometime be thehistory of yesterday. 

On midsummer evenings the windows of the old farmhouse over at Boyntons'gleam with unaccustomed lights and voices break the stillness, lesseningthe gloom of the long grass-grown lane of Lois Boynton's watching indays gone by. On sunny mornings there is a merry babel of children'schatter, mingled with gentle maternal warnings, for this is a new broodof young things and the river is calling them as it has called allthe others who ever came within the circle of its magic. The fragileharebells hanging their blue heads from the crevices of the rocks;the brilliant columbines swaying to and fro on their tall stalks; thepatches of gleaming sand in shallow places beckoning little bare feetto come and tread them; the glint of silver minnows darting hitherand thither in some still pool; the tempestuous journey of someweather-beaten log, fighting its way downstream;--here is life inabundance, luring the child to share its risks and its joys. 

When Waitstill's boys and Patty's girls come back to the farm, they playby Saco Water as their mothers and their fathers did before them. Thepaths through the pine woods along the river's brink are trodden smoothby their restless, wandering feet; their eager, curious eyes search thewaysides for adventure, but their babble and laughter are oftenest heardfrom the ruins of an old house hidden by great trees. The stones ofthe cellar, all overgrown with blackberry vines, are still there; anda fragment of the brick chimney, where swallows build their nests fromyear to year. A wilderness of weeds, tall and luxuriant, springs up tohide the stone over which Jacob Cochrane stepped daily when he issuedfrom his door; and the polished stick with which three-year-old Pattybeats a tattoo may be a round from the very chair in which he sat, expounding the Bible according to his own vision. The thickets of sweetclover and red-tipped grasses, of waving ferns and young alder busheshide all of ugliness that belongs to the deserted spot and serve as aminiature forest in whose shade the younglings foreshadow the futureat their play of home-building and housekeeping. In a far corner, altogether concealed from the passer-by, there is a secret treasure, awonderful rosebush, its green leaves shining with health and vigor. Whenthe July sun is turning the hay-fields yellow, the children part thebushes in the leafy corner and little Waitstill Boynton steps cautiouslyin, to gather one splendid rose, "for father and mother. "

Jacob Cochrane's heart, with all its faults and frailties has long beenat peace. On a chill, dreary night in November, all that was mortal ofhim was raised from its unhonored resting-place not far from the ruinsof his old abode, and borne by three of his disciples far away toanother state. The gravestones were replaced, face downward, deep, deepin the earth, and the sod laid back upon them, so that no man thenceforward could mark the place of the prophet's transient burial amid thescenes of his first and only triumphant ministry. 

"It is a sad story, Jacob Cochrane's, " Waitstill said to her husbandwhen she first discovered that her children had chosen the deserted spotfor their play; "and yet, Ivory, the red rose blooms and blooms in theruins of the man's house, and perhaps, somewhere in the world, he hasleft a message that matches the rose. "