The Old Peabody Pew: A Christmas Romance of a Country Church Dedication To a certain handful of dear New England women of names unknown to theworld, dwelling in a certain quiet village, alike unknown:-- We have worked together to make our little corner of the great universe apleasanter place in which to live, and so we know, not only one another'snames, but something of one another's joys and sorrows, cares andburdens, economies, hopes, and anxieties. We all remember the dusty uphill road that leads to the green churchcommon. We remember the white spire pointing upward against a backgroundof blue sky and feathery elms. We remember the sound of the bell thatfalls on the Sabbath morning stillness, calling us across thedaisy-sprinkled meadows of June, the golden hayfields of July, or thedazzling whiteness and deep snowdrifts of December days. The littlecabinet-organ that plays the doxology, the hymn-books from which we sing"Praise God from whom all blessings flow, " the sweet freshness of the oldmeeting-house, within and without--how we have toiled to secure andpreserve these humble mercies for ourselves and our children! There really _is_ a Dorcas Society, as you and I well know, and one notunlike that in these pages; and you and I have lived through manydiscouraging, laughable, and beautiful experiences while we emulated theBible Dorcas, that woman "full of good works and alms deeds. " There never was a Peabody Pew in the Tory Hill Meeting-House, and Nancy'slove story and Justin's never happened within its century-old walls; butI have imagined only one of the many romances that have had their birthunder the shadow of that steeple, did we but realize it. As you have sat there on open-windowed Sundays, looking across purpleclover-fields to blue distant mountains, watching the palm-leaf fansswaying to and fro in the warm stillness before sermon time, did not theplace seem full of memories, for has not the life of two villages ebbedand flowed beneath that ancient roof? You heard the hum of droning beesand followed the airy wings of butterflies fluttering over thegravestones in the old churchyard, and underneath almost every moss-growntablet some humble romance lies buried and all but forgotten. If it had not been for you, I should never have written this story, so Igive it back to you tied with a sprig from Ophelia's nosegay; a spring of"rosemary, that's for remembrance. " K. D. W. August, 1907 CHAPTER I Edgewood, like all the other villages along the banks of the Saco, isfull of sunny slopes and leafy hollows. There are little, rounded, green-clad hillocks that might, like their scriptural sisters, "skip with joy, "and there are grand, rocky hills tufted with gaunt pine trees--theseleading the eye to the splendid heights of a neighbour State, where snow-crowned peaks tower in the blue distance, sweeping the horizon in a longline of majesty. Tory Hill holds its own among the others for peaceful beauty and fairprospect, and on its broad, level summit sits the white-painted OrthodoxMeeting-House. This faces a grassy common where six roads meet, as ifthe early settlers had determined that no one should lack salvationbecause of a difficulty in reaching its visible source. The old church has had a dignified and fruitful past, dating from thatday in 1761 when young Paul Coffin received his call to preach at astipend of fifty pounds sterling a year; answering "that never havingheard of any Uneasiness among the people about his Doctrine or manner oflife, he declared himself pleased to Settle as Soon as might be JudgedConvenient. " But that was a hundred and fifty years ago, and much has happened sincethose simple, strenuous old days. The chastening hand of time has beenlaid somewhat heavily on the town as well as on the church. Some of hersons have marched to the wars and died on the field of honour; some, seeking better fortunes, have gone westward; others, wearying of villagelife, the rocky soil, and rigours of farm-work, have become entangled inthe noise and competition, the rush and strife, of cities. When thesexton rings the bell nowadays, on a Sunday morning, it seems to havelost some of its old-time militant strength, something of its hope andcourage; but it still rings, and although the Davids and Solomons, theMatthews, Marks, and Pauls of former congregations have left fewdescendants to perpetuate their labours, it will go on ringing as long asthere is a Tabitha, a Dorcas, a Lois, or a Eunice left in the community. This sentiment had been maintained for a quarter of a century, but it wasnow especially strong, as the old Tory Hill Meeting-House had beenundergoing for several years more or less extensive repairs. In point offact, the still stronger word, "improvements, " might be used withimpunity; though whenever the Dorcas Society, being female, and thereforepossessed of notions regarding comfort and beauty, suggested any seriouschanges, the finance committees, which were inevitably male in theircomposition, generally disapproved of making any impious alterations in atabernacle, chapel, temple, or any other building used for purposes ofworship. The majority in these august bodies asserted that theirancestors had prayed and sung there for a century and a quarter, and whatwas good enough for their ancestors was entirely suitable for them. Besides, the community was becoming less and less prosperous, and church-going was growing more and more lamentably uncommon, so that even from abusiness standpoint, any sums expended upon decoration by a poor andstruggling parish would be worse than wasted. In the particular year under discussion in this story, the valiant andprogressive Mrs. Jeremiah Burbank was the president of the DorcasSociety, and she remarked privately and publicly that if her ancestorsliked a smoky church, they had a perfect right to the enjoyment of it, but that she didn't intend to sit through meeting on winter Sundays, withher white ostrich feather turning grey and her eyes smarting andwatering, for the rest of her natural life. Whereupon, this being in a business session, she then and there proposedto her already hypnotized constituents ways of earning enough money tobuild a new chimney on the other side of the church. An awe-stricken community witnessed this beneficent act of vandalism, and, finding that no thunderbolts of retribution descended from theskies, greatly relished the change. If one or two aged personscomplained that they could not sleep as sweetly during sermon-time in thenow clear atmosphere of the church, and that the parson's eye was keenerthan before, why, that was a mere detail, and could not be avoided; whatwas the loss of a little sleep compared with the discoloration of Mrs. Jere Burbank's white ostrich feather and the smarting of Mrs. JereBurbank's eyes? A new furnace followed the new chimney, in due course, and as a sense ofcomfort grew, there was opportunity to notice the lack of beauty. Twicein sixty years had some well-to-do summer parishioner painted theinterior of the church at his own expense; but although the roof had beenmany times reshingled, it had always persisted in leaking, so that theceiling and walls were disfigured by unsightly spots and stains andstreaks. The question of shingling was tacitly felt to be outside thefeminine domain, but as there were five women to one man in the churchmembership, the feminine domain was frequently obliged to extend itslimits into the hitherto unknown. Matters of tarring and water-proofingwere discussed in and out of season, and the very school-children imbibedknowledge concerning lapping, overlapping, and cross-lapping, and firstand second quality of cedar shingles. Miss Lobelia Brewster, who had arooted distrust of anything done by mere man, created strife by remarkingthat she could have stopped the leak in the belfry tower with her redflannel petticoat better than the Milltown man with his new-fangledrubber sheeting, and that the last shingling could have been morethoroughly done by a "female infant babe"; whereupon the personcriticized retorted that he wished Miss Lobelia Brewster had a few infantbabes to "put on the job--he'd like to see 'em try. " Meantime severalmale members of the congregation, who at one time or another had sat onthe roof during the hottest of the dog days to see that shinglingoperations we're conscientiously and skilfully performed, were verypessimistic as to any satisfactory result ever being achieved. "The angle of the roof--what they call the 'pitch'--they say that that'salways been wrong, " announced the secretary of the Dorcas in a businesssession. "Is it that kind of pitch that the Bible says you can't touch withoutbeing defiled? If not, I vote that we unshingle the roof and alter thepitch!" This proposal came from a sister named Maria Sharp, who hadvaliantly offered the year before to move the smoky chimney with her ownhands, if the "men-folks" wouldn't. But though the incendiary suggestion of altering the pitch was receivedwith applause at the moment, subsequent study of the situation provedthat such a proceeding was entirely beyond the modest means of thesociety. Then there arose an ingenious and militant carpenter in aneighbouring village, who asserted that he would shingle themeeting-house roof for such and such a sum, and agree to drink every dropof water that would leak in afterward. This was felt by all parties tobe a promise attended by extraordinary risks, but it was acceptednevertheless, Miss Lobelia Brewster remarking that the rash carpenter, being already married, could not marry a Dorcas anyway, and even if hedied, he was not a resident of Edgewood, and therefore could be moreeasily spared, and that it would be rather exciting, just for a change, to see a man drink himself to death with rain-water. The expectedtragedy never occurred, however, and the inspired shingler fulfilled hispromise to the letter, so that before many months the Dorcas Societyproceeded, with incredible exertion, to earn more money, and the interiorof the church was neatly painted and made as fresh as a rose. With nosmoke, no rain, no snow nor melting ice to defile it, the good oldlandmark that had been pointing its finger Heavenward for over a centurywould now be clean and fragrant for years to come, and the weary sistersleaned back in their respective rocking-chairs and drew deep breaths ofsatisfaction. These breaths continued to be drawn throughout an unusually arduoushaying season; until, in fact, a visitor from a neighbouring city washeard to remark that the Tory Hill Meeting-House would be one of the bestpreserved and pleasantest churches in the whole State of Maine, if onlyit were suitably carpeted. This thought had secretly occurred to many a Dorcas in her hours of pie-making, preserving, or cradle-rocking, but had been promptly extinguishedas flagrantly extravagant and altogether impossible. Now that it hadbeen openly mentioned, the contagion of the idea spread, and in a monthevery sort of honest machinery for the increase of funds had been set inmotion: harvest suppers, pie sociables, old folk's concerts, apron sales, and, as a last resort, a subscription paper, for the church floormeasured hundreds of square yards, and the carpet committee announce thata good ingrain could not be purchased, even with the church discount, forless than ninety-seven cents a yard. The Dorcases took out their pencils, and when they multiplied the surfaceof the floor by the price of the carpet per yard, each Dorcas attaining aresult entirely different from all the others, there was a shriek ofdismay, especially from the secretary, who had included in hermathematical operation certain figures in her possession representing thecubical contents of the church and the offending pitch of the roof, thereby obtaining a product that would have dismayed a Croesus. Timesped and efforts increased, but the Dorcases were at length obliged toclip the wings of their desire and content themselves with carpeting thepulpit and pulpit steps, the choir, and the two aisles, leaving the floorin the pews until some future year. How the women cut and contrived and matched that hardly-bought redingrain carpet, in the short December afternoons that ensued after itspurchase; so that, having failed to be ready for Thanksgiving, it couldbe finished for the Christmas festivities! They were sewing in the church, and as the last stitches were beingtaken, Maria Sharp suddenly ejaculated in her impulsive fashion:-- "Wouldn't it have been just perfect if we could have had the pewsrepainted before we laid the new carpet!" "It would, indeed, " the president answered; "but it will take us allwinter to pay for the present improvements, without any thought of freshpaint. If only we had a few more men-folks to help along!" "Or else none at all!" was Lobelia Brewster's suggestion. "It's havin'so few that keeps us all stirred up. If there wa'n't any anywheres, we'dhave women deacons and carpenters and painters, and get along first rate;for somehow the supply o' women always holds out, same as it does withcaterpillars an' flies an' grasshoppers!" Everybody laughed, although Maria Sharp asserted that she for one was notwilling to be called a caterpillar simply because there were too manywomen in the universe. "I never noticed before how shabby and scarred and dirty the pews are, "said the minister's wife as she looked at them reflectively. "I've been thinking all the afternoon of the story about the poor oldwoman and the lily, " and Nancy Wentworth's clear voice broke into thediscussion. "Do you remember some one gave her a stalk of Easter liliesand she set them in a glass pitcher on the kitchen table? After lookingat them for a few minutes, she got up from her chair and washed thepitcher until the glass shone. Sitting down again, she glanced at thelittle window. It would never do; she had forgotten how dusty andblurred it was, and she took her cloth and burnished the panes. Then shescoured the table, then the floor, then blackened the stove before shesat down to her knitting. And of course the lily had done it all, justby showing, in its whiteness, how grimy everything else was. " The minister's wife who had been in Edgewood only a few months, lookedadmiringly at Nancy's bright face, wondering that five-and-thirty yearsof life, including ten of school-teaching, had done so little to mar itsserenity. "The lily story is as true as the gospel!" she exclaimed, "andI can see how one thing has led you to another in making the churchcomfortable. But my husband says that two coats of paint on the pewswould cost a considerable sum. " "How about cleaning them? I don't believe they've had a good hardwashing since the flood. " The suggestion came from Deacon Miller's wifeto the president. "They can't even be scrubbed for less than fifteen or twenty dollars, forI thought of that and asked Mrs. Simpson yesterday, and she said twentycents a pew was the cheapest she could do it for. " "We've done everything else, " said Nancy Wentworth, with a twitch of herthread; "why don't we scrub the pews? There's nothing in the orthodoxcreed to forbid, is there?" "Speakin' o' creeds, " and here old Mrs. Sargent paused in her work, "Elder Ransom from Acreville stopped with us last night, an' he tells methey recite the Euthanasian Creed every few Sundays in the EpiscopalChurch. I didn't want him to know how ignorant I was, but I looked upthe word in the dictionary. It means easy death, and I can't see anysense in that, though it's a terrible long creed, the Elder says, an' ifit's any longer 'n ourn, I should think anybody _might_ easy die learnin'it!" "I think the word is Athanasian, " ventured the minister's wife. "Elder Ransom's always plumb full o' doctrine, " asserted Miss Brewster, pursuing the subject. "For my part, I'm glad he preferred Acreville toour place. He was so busy bein' a minister, he never got round to bein'a human creeter. When he used to come to sociables and picnics, alwayslookin' kind o' like the potato blight, I used to think how complete he'dbe if he had a foldin' pulpit under his coat tails; they make foldin'beds nowadays, an' I s'pose they could make foldin' pulpits, if there wasa call. " "Land sakes, I hope there won't be!" exclaimed Mrs. Sargent. "An' theElder never said much of anything either, though he was always preachin'!Now your husband, Mis' Baxter, always has plenty to say after you thinkhe's all through. There's water in his well when the others is all dry!" "But how about the pews?" interrupted Mrs. Burbank. "I think Nancy'sidea is splendid, and I want to see it carried out. We might make it apicnic, bring our luncheons, and work all together; let every woman inthe congregation come and scrub her own pew. " "Some are too old, others live at too great a distance, " and theminister's wife sighed a little; "indeed, most of those who once ownedthe pews or sat in them seemed to be dead, or gone away to live in busierplaces. " "I've no patience with 'em, gallivantin' over the earth, " and hereLobelia rose and shook the carpet threads from her lap. "I shouldn'twant to live in a livelier place than Edgewood, seem's though! We washand hang out Mondays, iron Tuesdays, cook Wednesdays, clean house andmend Thursdays and Fridays, bake Saturdays, and go to meetin' Sundays. Idon't hardly see how they can do any more 'n that in Chicago!" "Never mind if we have lost members!" said the indomitable Mrs. Burbank. "The members we still have left must work all the harder. We'll eachclean our own pew, then take a few of our neighbours', and then hire Mrs. Simpson to do the wainscoting and floor. Can we scrub Friday and lay thecarpet Saturday? My husband and Deacon Miller can help us at the end ofthe week. All in favour manifest it by the usual sign. Contrary minded?It is a vote. " There never were any contrary minded when Mrs. Jere Burbank was in thechair. Public sentiment in Edgewood was swayed by the Dorcas Society, but Mrs. Burbank swayed the Dorcases themselves as the wind sways thewheat. CHAPTER II The old Meeting House wore an animated aspect when the eventful Fridaycame, a cold, brilliant, sparkling December day, with good sleighing, andwith energy in every breath that swept over the dazzling snowfields. Thesexton had built a fire in the furnace on the way to his morning work--afire so economically contrived that it would last exactly the four orfive necessary hours, and not a second more. At eleven o'clock all thepillars of the society had assembled, having finished their own householdwork and laid out on their respective kitchen tables comfortableluncheons for the men of the family, if they were fortunate enough tonumber any among their luxuries. Water was heated upon oil-stoves setabout here and there, and there was a brave array of scrubbing-brushes, cloths, soap, and even sand and soda, for it had been decided andmanifested-by-the-usual-sign-and-no-contrary-minded-and-it-was-a-votethat the dirt was to come off, whether the paint came with it or not. Each of the fifteen women present selected a block of seats, preferablyone in which her own was situated, and all fell busily to work. "There is nobody here to clean the right-wing pews, " said NancyWentworth, "so I will take those for my share. " "You're not making a very wise choice, Nancy, " and the minister's wifesmiled as she spoke. "The infant class of the Sunday-school sits there, you know, and I expect the paint has had extra wear and tear. Familiesdon't seem to occupy those pews regularly nowadays. " "I can remember when every seat in the whole church was filled, wings an'all, " mused Mrs. Sargent, wringing out her wascloth in a reminiscentmood. "The one in front o' you, Nancy, was always called the 'deef pew'in the old times, and all the folks that was hard o' hearin' used tocongregate there. " "The next pew hasn't been occupied since I came here, " said theminister's wife. "No, " answered Mrs. Sargent, glad of any opportunity to retailneighbourhood news. "'Squire Bean's folks have moved to Portland to bewith the married daughter. Somebody has to stay with her, and herhusband won't. The 'Squire ain't a strong man, and he's most too old togo to meetin' now. The youngest son has just died in New York, so Ihear. " "What ailed him?" inquired Maria Sharp. "I guess he was completely wore out takin' care of his health, " returnedMrs. Sargent. "He had a splendid constitution from a boy, but he wasalways afraid it wouldn't last him. --The seat back o' 'Squire Bean's isthe old Peabody pew--ain't that the Peabody pew you're scrubbin', Nancy?" "I believe so, " Nancy answered, never pausing in her labours. "It's solong since anybody sat there, it's hard to remember. " "It is the Peabodys', I know it, because the aisle runs right up facin'it. I can see old Deacon Peabody settin' in this end same as if 'twasyesterday. " "He had died before Jere and I came back here to live, " said Mrs. Burbank. "The first I remember, Justin Peabody sat in the end seat; thesister that died, next, and in the corner, against the wall, Mrs. Peabody, with a crepe shawl and a palm-leaf fan. They were a handsomefamily. You used to sit with them sometimes, Nancy; Esther was greatfriends with you. " "Yes, she was, " Nancy replied, lifting the tattered cushion from itsplace and brushing it; "and I with her. --What is the use of scrubbing andcarpeting, when there are only twenty pew-cushions and six hassocks inthe whole church, and most of them ragged? How can I ever mend this?" "I shouldn't trouble myself to darn other people's cushions!" This unchristian sentiment came in Mrs. Miller's ringing tones from therear of the church. "I don't know why, " argued Maria Sharp. "I'm going to mend my AuntAchsa's cushion, and we haven't spoken for years; but hers is the nextpew to mine, and I'm going to have my part of the church look decent, even if she is too stingy to do her share. Besides, there aren't anyPeabodys left to do their own darning, and Nancy was friends withEsther. " "Yes, it's nothing more than right, " Nancy replied, with a note of reliefin her voice, "considering Esther. " "Though he don't belong to the scrubbin' sex, there is one Peabody alive, as you know, if you stop to think, Maria; for Justin's alive, and livin'out West somewheres. At least, he's as much alive as ever he was; he wasas good as dead when he was twenty-one, but his mother was always toosoft-hearted to bury him. " There was considerable laughter over this sally of the outspoken Mrs. Sargent, whose keen wit was the delight of the neighbourhood. "I know he's alive and doing business in Detroit, for I got his address aweek or ten days ago, and wrote, asking him if he'd like to give a coupleof dollars toward repairing the old church. " Everybody looked at Mrs. Burbank with interest. "Hasn't he answered?" asked Maria Sharp. Nancy Wentworth held her breath, turned her face to the wall, andsilently wiped the paint of the wainscoting. The blood that had rushedinto her cheeks at Mrs. Sargent's jeering reference to Justin Peabodystill lingered there for any one who ran to read, but fortunately nobodyran; they were too busy scrubbing. "Not yet. Folks don't hurry about answering when you ask them for acontribution, " replied the president, with a cynicism common to personswho collect funds for charitable purposes. "George Wickham sent metwenty-five cents from Denver. When I wrote him a receipt, I said thankyou same as Aunt Polly did when the neighbours brought her a piece ofbeef: 'Ever so much obleeged, but don't forget me when you come to kill apig. '--Now, Mrs. Baxter, you shan't clean James Bruce's pew, or what washis before he turned Second Advent. I'll do that myself, for he used tobe in my Sunday-school class. " "He's the backbone o' that congregation now, " asserted Mrs. Sargent, "andthey say he's goin' to marry Mrs. Sam Peters, who sings in their choir assoon as his year is up. They make a perfect fool of him in that church. " "You can't make a fool of a man that nature ain't begun with, " arguedMiss Brewster. "Jim Bruce never was very strong-minded, but I declare itseems to me that when men lose their wives, they lose their wits! I wassure Jim would marry Hannah Thompson that keeps house for him. Isuspected she was lookin' out for a life job when she hired out withhim. " "Hannah Thompson may keep Jim's house, but she'll never keep Jim, that'scertain!" affirmed the president; "and I can't see that Mrs. Peters willbetter herself much. " "I don't blame her, for one!" came in no uncertain tones from the left-wing pews, and the Widow Buzzell rose from her knees and approached thegroup by the pulpit. "If there's anything duller than cookin' threemeals a day _for_ yourself, and settin' down and eatin' 'em _by_yourself, and then gettin' up and clearin' 'em away _after_ yourself, I'dlike to know it! I shouldn't want any good-lookin', pleasant-spoken manto offer himself to me without he expected to be snapped up, that's all!But if you've made out to get one husband in York County, you can thankthe Lord and not expect any more favours. I used to think Tom was poorcomp'ny and complain I couldn't have any conversation with him, but land, I could talk at him, and there's considerable comfort in that. And Icould pick up after him! Now every room in my house is clean, and everycloset and bureau drawer, too; I can't start drawin' in another rug, forI've got all the rugs I can step foot on. I dried so many apples lastyear I shan't need to cut up any this season. My jelly and preservesain't out, and there I am; and there most of us are, in this village, without a man to take steps for and trot 'round after! There's justthree husbands among the fifteen women scrubbin' here now, and the restof us is all old maids and widders. No wonder the men-folks die, or moveaway like Justin Peabody; a place with such a mess o' women-folks ain'thealthy to live in, whatever Lobelia Brewster may say. " CHAPTER III Justin Peabody had once faithfully struggled with the practicaldifficulties of life in Edgewood, or so he had thought, in those old daysof which Nancy Wentworth was thinking as she wiped the paint of thePeabody pew. Work in the mills did not attract him; he had no capital toinvest in a stock of goods for store-keeping; school-teaching offered himonly a pittance; there remained then only the farm, if he were to stay athome and keep his mother company. "Justin don't seem to take no holt of things, " said the neighbours. "Good Heavens!" It seemed to him that there were no things to take holdof! That was his first thought; later he grew to think that the troubleall lay in himself, and both thoughts bred weakness. The farm had somehow supported the family in the old Deacon's time, butJustin seemed unable to coax a competence from the soil. He could, anddid, rise early and work late; till the earth, sow crops; but he couldnot make the rain fall nor the sun shine at the times he needed them, andthe elements, however much they might seem to favour his neighbours, seldom smiled on his enterprises. The crows liked Justin's corn betterthan any other in Edgewood. It had a richness peculiar to itself, aquality that appealed to the most jaded palate, so that it was reallyworth while to fly over a mile of intervening fields and pay it thedelicate compliment of preference. Justin could explain the attitude of caterpillars, worms, grasshoppers, and potato-bugs toward him only by assuming that he attracted them as themagnet in the toy boxes attracts the miniature fishes. "Land of liberty! look at 'em congregate!" ejaculated Jabe Slocum, whenhe was called in for consultation. "Now if you'd gone in for breedin'insecks, you could be as proud as Cuffy an' exhibit 'em at the CountyFair! They'd give yer prizes for size an' numbers an' speed, I guess!Why, say, they're real crowded for room--the plants ain't give 'em enoughleaves to roost on! Have you tried 'Bug Death'?" "It acts like a tonic on them, " said Justin gloomily. "Sho! you don't say so! Now mine can't abide the sight nor smell of it. What 'bout Paris green?" "They thrive on it; it's as good as an appetizer. " "Well, " said Jabe Slocum, revolving the quid of tobacco in his mouthreflectively, "the bug that ain't got no objection to p'ison is a bugthat's got ways o' thinkin' an' feelin' an' reasonin' that I ain't ableto cope with! P'r'aps it's all a leadin' o' Providence. Mebbe it showsyou'd ought to quit farmin' crops an' take to raisin' live stock!" Justin did just that, as a matter of fact, a year or two later; but stockthat has within itself the power of being "live" has also rarequalifications for being dead when occasion suits, and it generally didsuit Justin's stock. It proved prone not only to all the generaldiseases that cattle-flesh is heir to, but was capable even of suicide. At least, it is true that two valuable Jersey calves, tied to stakes onthe hillside, had flung themselves violently down the bank and strangledthemselves with their own ropes in a manner which seemed to show thatthey found no pleasure in existence, at all events on the Peabody farm. These were some of the little tragedies that had sickened young JustinPeabody with life in Edgewood, and Nancy Wentworth, even then, realizedsome of them and sympathized without speaking, in a girl's poor, helplessway. Mrs. Simpson had washed the floor in the right wing of the church andNancy had cleaned all the paint. Now she sat in the old Peabody pewdarning the forlorn, faded cushion with grey carpet-thread: thread asgrey as her own life. The scrubbing-party had moved to its labours in a far corner of thechurch, and two of the women were beginning preparations for the basketluncheons. Nancy's needle was no busier than her memory. Long years agoshe had often sat in the Peabody pew, sometimes at first as a girl ofsixteen when asked by Esther, and then, on coming home from school ateighteen, "finished, " she had been invited now and again by Mrs. Peabodyherself, on those Sundays when her own invalid mother had not attendedservice. Those were wonderful Sundays--Sundays of quiet, trembling peace andmaiden joy. Justin sat beside her, and she had been sure then, but had long sincegrown to doubt the evidence of her senses, that he, too, vibrated withpleasure at the nearness. Was there not a summer morning when his handtouched her white lace mitt as they held the hymn-book together, and thelines of the Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace, became blurred on the page and melted into something indistinguishablefor a full minute or two afterward? Were there not looks, and looks, andlooks? Or had she some misleading trick of vision in those days?Justin's dark, handsome profile rose before her: the level brows and finelashes; the well-cut nose and lovable mouth--the Peabody mouth and chin, somewhat too sweet and pliant for strength, perhaps. Then the eyesturned to hers in the old way, just for a fleeting glance, as they had sooften done at prayer-meeting, or sociable, or Sunday service. Was it nota man's heart she had seen in them? And oh, if she could only be surethat her own woman's heart had not looked out from hers, drawn from itsmaiden shelter in spite of all her wish to keep it hidden! Then followed two dreary years of indecision and suspense, when Justin'seyes met hers less freely; when his looks were always gloomy and anxious;when affairs at the Peabody farm grew worse and worse; when his motherfollowed her husband, the old Deacon, and her daughter Esther to theburying-ground in the churchyard. Then the end of all things came, theend of the world for Nancy: Justin's departure for the West in a veryfrenzy of discouragement over the narrowness and limitation and injusticeof his lot; over the rockiness and barrenness and unkindness of the NewEngland soil; over the general bitterness of fate and the "bludgeoningsof chance. " He was a failure, born of a family of failures. If the world owed him aliving, he had yet to find the method by which it could be earned. Allthis he thought and uttered, and much more of the same sort. In thesedays of humbled pride self was paramount, though it was a self hedespised. There was no time for love. Who was he for a girl to leanupon?--he who could not stand erect himself! He bade a stiff good-bye to his neighbours, and to Nancy he vouchsafedlittle more. A handshake, with no thrill of love in it such as mighthave furnished her palm, at least, some memories to dwell upon; a fewstilted words of leave-taking; a halting, meaningless sentence or twoabout his "botch" of life--then he walked away from the Wentworthdoorstep. But half way down the garden path, where the shrivelledhollyhocks stood like sentinels, did a wave of something different sweepover him--a wave of the boyish, irresponsible past when his heart hadwings and could fly without fear to its mate--a wave of the past that wasrushing through Nancy's mind, well-nigh burying her in its bitter-sweetwaters! For he lifted his head, and suddenly retracing his steps, hecame toward her, and, taking her hand again, said forlornly: "You'll seeme back when my luck turns, Nancy. " Nancy knew that the words might mean little or much, according to themanner in which they were uttered, but to her hurt pride and sore, shamedwoman-instinct, they were a promise, simply because there was a chokingsound in Justin's voice and tears in Justin's eyes. "You'll see me backwhen my luck turns, Nancy;" this was the phrase upon which she had livedfor more than ten years. Nancy had once heard the old parson say, agesago, that the whole purpose of life was the growth of the soul; that weeat, sleep, clothe ourselves, work, love, all to give the soul anotherday, month, year, in which to develop. She used to wonder if her soulcould be growing in the monotonous round of her dull duties and herduller pleasures. She did not confess it even to herself; neverthelessshe knew that she worked, ate, slept, to live until Justin's luck turned. Her love had lain in her heart a bird without a song, year after year. Her mother had dwelt by her side and never guessed; her father too; andboth were dead. The neighbours also, lynx-eyed and curious, had neversuspected. If she had suffered, no one in Edgewood was any the wiser, for the maiden heart is not commonly worn on the sleeve in New England. If she had been openly pledged to Justin Peabody, she could have waitedtwice ten years with a decent show of self-respect, for long engagementswere viewed rather as a matter of course in that neighbourhood. Theendless months had gone on since that grey November day when Justin hadsaid good-bye. It had been just before Thanksgiving, and she went tochurch with an aching and ungrateful heart. The parson read from theeighth chapter of St. Matthew, a most unexpected selection for thatholiday. "If you can't find anything else to be thankful for, " he cried, "go home and be thankful you are not a leper!" Nancy took the drastic counsel away from the church with her, and it wasmany a year before she could manage to add to this slender store anythingto increase her gratitude for mercies given, though all the time she wasoutwardly busy, cheerful, and helpful. Justin had once come back to Edgewood, and it was the bitterest drop inher cup of bitterness that she was spending that winter in Berwick(where, so the neighbours told him, she was a great favourite in society, and was receiving much attention from gentlemen), so that she had neverheard of his visit until the spring had come again. Parted friends didnot keep up with one another's affairs by means of epistolarycommunication, in those days, in Edgewood; it was not the custom. Spokenwords were difficult enough to Justin Peabody, and written words werequite impossible, especially if they were to be used to define his half-conscious desires and his fluctuations of will, or to recount hisdisappointments and discouragements and mistakes. CHAPTER IV It was Saturday afternoon, the twenty-fourth of December, and the wearysisters of the Dorcas band rose from their bruised knees and removedtheir little stores of carpet-tacks from their mouths. This was afeminine custom of long standing, and as no village dressmaker had everdied of pins in the digestive organs, so were no symptoms of carpet-tacksever discovered in any Dorcas, living or dead. Men wondered at the habitand reviled it, but stood confounded in the presence of its indubitableharmlessness. The red ingrain carpet was indeed very warm, beautiful, and comforting tothe eye, and the sisters were suitably grateful to Providence, anddevoutly thankful to themselves, that they had been enabled to buy, sew, and lay so many yards of it. But as they stood looking at theircompleted task, it was cruelly true that there was much left to do. The aisles had been painted dark brown on each side of the red stripsleading from the doors to the pulpit, but the rest of the church floorwas "a thing of shreds and patches. " Each member of the carpet committeehad paid (as a matter of pride, however ill she could afford it) threedollars and sixty-seven cents for sufficient carpet to lay in her ownpew; but these brilliant spots of conscientious effort only made thestretches of bare, unpainted floor more evident. And that was not all. Traces of former spasmodic and individual efforts desecrated the presentideals. The doctor's pew had a pink and blue Brussels on it; thelawyer's, striped stair-carpeting; the Browns from Deerwander sportedstraw matting and were not abashed; while the Greens, the Whites, theBlacks and the Greys displayed floor coverings as dissimilar as theirnames. "I never noticed it before!" exclaimed Maria Sharp, "but it ain'tChristian, that floor! it's heathenish and ungodly!" "For mercy's sake, don't swear, Maria, " said Mrs. Miller nervously. "We've done our best, and let's hope that folks will look up and notdown. It isn't as if they were going to set in the chandelier; they'llhave something else to think about when Nancy gets her hemlock branchesand white carnations in the pulpit vases. This morning my Abner pickedoff two pinks from the plant I've been nursing in my dining-room forweeks, trying to make it bloom for Christmas. I slapped his hands good, and it's been haunting me ever since to think I had to correct him theday before Christmas--Come, Lobelia, we must be hurrying!" "One thing comforts me, " exclaimed the Widow Buzzell, as she took herhammer and tacks preparatory to leaving; "and that is that the Methodistmeetin'-house ain't got any carpet at all. " "Mrs. Buzzell, Mrs. Buzzell!" interrupted the minister's wife, with asmile that took the sting from her speech. "It will be like punishinglittle Abner Miller; if we think those thoughts on Christmas Eve, weshall surely be haunted afterward. " "And anyway, " interjected Maria Sharp, who always saved the situation, "you just wait and see if the Methodists don't say they'd rather have nocarpet at all than have one that don't go all over the floor. I know'em!" and she put on her hood and blanket-shawl as she gave one last fondlook at the improvements. "I'm going home to get my supper, and come back afterward to lay thecarpet in my pew; my beans and brown bread will be just right by now, andperhaps it will rest me a little; besides, I must feed 'Zekiel. " As Nancy Wentworth spoke, she sat in a corner of her own modest rearseat, looking a little pale and tired. Her waving dark hair had loosenedand fallen over her cheeks, and her eyes gleamed from under it wistfully. Nowadays Nancy's eyes never had the sparkle of gazing into the future, but always the liquid softness that comes from looking backward. "The church will be real cold by then, Nancy, " objected Mrs. Burbank. --"Good-night, Mrs. Baxter. " "Oh, no! I shall be back by half-past six, and I shall not work long. Doyou know what I believe I'll do, Mrs. Burbank, just through the holidays?Christmas and New Year's both coming on Sunday this year, there'll be agreat many out to church, not counting the strangers that'll come to thespecial service to-morrow. Instead of putting down my own pew carpetthat'll never be noticed here in the back, I'll lay it in the old Peabodypew, for the red aisle-strip leads straight up to it; the ministersalways go up that side, and it does look forlorn. " "That's so! And all the more because my pew, that's exactly opposite inthe left wing, is new carpeted and cushioned, " replied the president. "Ithink it's real generous of you, Nancy, because the Riverboro folks, knowing that you're a member of the carpet committee, will be sure tonotice, and think it's queer you haven't made an effort to carpet yourown pew. " "Never mind!" smiled Nancy wearily. "Riverboro folks never go to bed onSaturday nights without wondering what Edgewood is thinking about them!" The minister's wife stood at her window watching Nancy as she passed theparsonage. "How wasted! How wasted!" she sighed. "Going home to eat her lonelysupper and feed 'Zekiel . . . I can bear it for the others, but not forNancy . . . Now she has lighted her lamp, now she has put fresh pine onthe fire, for new smoke comes from the chimney. Why should I sit downand serve my dear husband, and Nancy feed 'Zekiel?" There was some truth in Mrs. Baxter's feeling. Mrs. Buzzell, forinstance, had three sons; Maria Sharp was absorbed in her lame father andher Sunday-school work; and Lobelia Brewster would not have consideredmatrimony a blessing, even under the most favourable conditions. ButNancy was framed and planned for other things, and 'Zekiel was aninsufficient channel for her soft, womanly sympathy and her brightactivity of mind and body. 'Zekiel had lost his tail in a mowing-machine; 'Zekiel had the asthma, and the immersion of his nose in milk made him sneeze, so he was wont toslip his paw in and out of the dish and lick it patiently for fiveminutes together. Nancy often watched him pityingly, giving him kind andgentle words to sustain his fainting spirit, but to-night she paid noheed to him, although he sneezed violently to attract her attention. She had put her supper on the lighted table by the kitchen window and waspouring out her cup of tea, when a boy rapped at the door. "Here's apaper and a letter, Miss Wentworth, " he said. "It's the second thisweek, and they think over to the store that that Berwick widower must besettin' up and takin' notice!" She had indeed received a letter the day before, an unsignedcommunication, consisting only of the words, "Second Epistle of John. Verse 12. " She had taken her Bible to look out the reference and found it to be:-- "Having many things to write unto you, I would not write with paper andink; but I trust to come unto you, and speak face to face, that our joymay be full. " The envelope was postmarked New York, and she smiled, thinking that Mrs. Emerson, a charming lady who had spent the summer in Edgewood, and hadsung with her in the village choir, was coming back, as she had promised, to have a sleigh ride and see Edgewood in its winter dress. Nancy hadalmost forgotten the first letter in the excitements of her busy day, andnow here was another, from Boston this time. She opened the envelope andfound again only a single sentence, printed, not written. (Lest sheshould guess the hand, she wondered?) "Second Epistle of John. Verse 5. " "And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandmentunto thee, but that which we had from the beginning, that we love oneanother. " Was it Mrs. Emerson? Could it be--any one else? Was it--? No, it mighthave been, years ago; but not now; not now!--And yet; he was always sodifferent from other people; and once, in church, he had handed her thehymn-book with his finger pointing to a certain verse. She always fancied that her secret fidelity of heart rose from the factthat Justin Peabody was "different. " From the hour of their firstacquaintance, she was ever comparing him with his companions, and alwaysto his advantage. So long as a woman finds all men very much alike (asLobelia Brewster did, save that she allowed some to be worse!), she is inno danger. But the moment in which she perceives and discriminatessubtle differences, marvelling that there can be two opinions about aman's superiority, that moment the miracle has happened. "And now I beseech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandmentunto thee, but that which we had from the beginning, that we love oneanother. " No, it could not be from Justin. She drank her tea, played with herbeans abstractedly, and nibbled her slice of steaming brown bread. "Not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee. " No, not a new one; twelve, fifteen years old, that commandment! "That we love one another. " Who was speaking? Who had written these words? The first letter soundedjust like Mrs. Emerson, who had said she was a very poor correspondent, but that she should just "drop down" on Nancy one of these days; but thissecond letter never came from Mrs. Emerson. --Well, there would be anexplanation some time; a pleasant one; one to smile over, and tell'Zekiel and repeat to the neighbours; but not an unexpected, sacred, beautiful explanation, such a one as the heart of a woman could imagine, if she were young enough and happy enough to hope. She washed her cup and plate; replaced the uneaten beans in the brownpot, and put them away with the round loaf, folded the cloth (LobeliaBrewster said Nancy always "set out her meals as if she was entertainin'company from Portland"), closed the stove dampers, carried the lightedlamp to a safe corner shelf, and lifted 'Zekiel to his cushion on thehigh-backed rocker, doing all with the nice precision of long habit. Thenshe wrapped herself warmly, and locking the lonely little house behindher, set out to finish her work in the church. CHAPTER V At this precise moment Justin Peabody was eating his own beans and brownbread (articles of diet of which his Detroit landlady was lamentablyignorant) at the new tavern, not far from the meeting-house. It would not be fair to him to say that Mrs. Burbank's letter had broughthim back to Edgewood, but it had certainly accelerated his steps. For the first six years after Justin Peabody left home, he had driftedabout from place to place, saving every possible dollar of his uncertainearnings in the conscious hope that he could go back to New England andask Nancy Wentworth to marry him. The West was prosperous andprogressive, but how he yearned, in idle moments, for the grimmer andmore sterile soil that had given him birth! Then came what seemed to him a brilliant chance for a lucky turn of hissavings, and he invested them in an enterprise which, wonderfully as itpromised, failed within six months and left him penniless. At thatmoment he definitely gave up all hope, and for the next few years he putNancy as far as possible out of his mind, in the full belief that he wasacting an honourable part in refusing to drag her into his tangled andfruitless way of life. If she ever did care for him, --and he could notbe sure, she was always so shy, --she must have outgrown the feeling longsince, and be living happily, or at least contentedly, in her own way. Hewas glad in spite of himself when he heard that she had never married;but at least he hadn't it on his conscience that _he_ had kept hersingle! On the seventeenth of December, Justin, his business day over, waswalking toward the dreary house in which he ate and slept. As he turnedthe corner, he heard one woman say to another, as they watched a manstumbling sorrowfully down the street: "Going home will be the worst ofall for him--to find nobody there!" That was what going home had meantfor him these ten years, but he afterward felt it strange that thisthought should have struck him so forcibly on that particular day. Entering the boarding-house, he found Mrs. Burbank's letter with itsEdgewood postmark on the hall table, and took it up to his room. Hekindled a little fire in the air-tight stove, watching the flame creepfrom shavings to kindlings, from kindlings to small pine, and from smallpine to the round, hardwood sticks; then when the result seemed certain, he closed the stove door and sat down to read the letter. Whereupon allmanner of strange things happened in his head and heart and flesh andspirit as he sat there alone, his hands in his pockets, his feet bracedagainst the legs of the stove. It was a cold winter night, and the snow and sleet beat against thewindows. He looked about the ugly room: at the washstand with its squareof oilcloth in front and its detestable bowl and pitcher; at the rigoursof his white iron bedstead, with the valley in the middle of the lumpymattress and the darns in the rumpled pillowcases; at the dullphotographs of the landlady's hideous husband and children enshrined onthe mantelshelf; looked at the abomination of desolation surrounding himuntil his soul sickened and cried out like a child's for something morelike home. It was as if a spring thaw had melted his ice-bound heart, and on the crest of a wave it was drifting out into the milder waters ofsome unknown sea. He could have laid his head in the kind lap of a womanand cried: "Comfort me! Give me companionship or I die!" The wind howled in the chimney and rattled the loose window-sashes; thesnow, freezing as it fell, dashed against the glass with hard, cuttinglittle blows; at least, that is the way in which the wind and snowflattered themselves they were making existence disagreeable to JustinPeabody when he read the letter; but never were elements more mistaken. It was a June Sunday in the boarding-house bedroom; and for that matterit was not the boarding-house bedroom at all: it was the old Orthodoxchurch on Tory Hill in Edgewood. The windows were wide open, and the smell of the purple clover and thehumming of the bees were drifting into the sweet, wide spaces within. Justin was sitting in the end of the Peabody pew, and Nancy Wentworth wasbeside him; Nancy, cool and restful in her white dress; dark-haired Nancyunder the shadow of her shirred muslin hat. Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace. The melodeon gave the tune, and Nancy and he stood to sing, taking thebook between them. His hand touched hers, and as the music of the hymnrose and fell, the future unrolled itself before his eyes; a future inwhich Nancy was his wedded wife; and the happy years stretched on and onin front of them until there was a row of little heads in the old Peabodypew, and mother and father could look proudly along the line at the youngthings they were bringing into the house of the Lord. The recalling of that vision worked like magic in Justin's blood. Hissoul rose and stretched its wings and "traced its better portion"vividly, as he sprang to his feet and walked up and down the bedroomfloor. He would get a few days' leave and go back to Edgewood forChristmas, to join, with all the old neighbours, in the service at themeeting-house; and in pursuance of this resolve, he shook his fist in theface of the landlady's husband on the mantelpiece and dared him toprevent. He had a salary of fifty dollars a month, with some very slight prospectof an increase after January. He did not see how two persons could eat, and drink, and lodge, and dress on it in Detroit, but he proposed to giveNancy Wentworth the refusal of that magnificent future, that brilliantand tempting offer. He had exactly one hundred dollars in the bank, andsixty or seventy of them would be spent in the journeys, counting twohappy, blessed fares back from Edgewood to Detroit; and if he paid onlyhis own fare back, he would throw the price of the other into the pondbehind the Wentworth house. He would drop another ten dollars into theplate on Christmas Day toward the repairs on the church; if he starved, he would do that. He was a failure. Everything his hand touched turnedto naught. He looked himself full in the face, recognizing his weakness, and in this supremest moment of recognition he was a stronger man than hehad been an hour before. His drooping shoulders had straightened; therestless look had gone from his eyes; his sombre face had something ofrepose in it, the repose of a settled purpose. He was a failure, butperhaps if he took the risks (and if Nancy would take them--but that wasthe trouble, women were so unselfish, they were always willing to takerisks, and one ought not to let them!), perhaps he might do better intrying to make a living for two than he had in working for himself alone. He would go home, tell Nancy that he was an unlucky good-for-naught, andask her if she would try her hand at making him over. CHAPTER VI These were the reasons that had brought Justin Peabody to Edgewood on theSaturday afternoon before Christmas, and had taken him to the new tavernon Tory Hill, near the Meeting-House. Nobody recognized him at the station or noticed him at the tavern, andafter his supper he put on his overcoat and started out for a walk, aimlessly hoping that he might meet a friend, or failing that, intendingto call on some of his old neighbours, with the view of hearing thevillage news and securing some information which might help him to decidewhen he had better lay himself and his misfortunes at Nancy Wentworth'sfeet. They were pretty feet! He remembered that fact well enough underthe magical influence of familiar sights and sounds and odours. He wasrestless, miserable, anxious, homesick--not for Detroit, but for someheretofore unimagined good; yet, like Bunyan's shepherd boy in the Valleyof Humiliation, he carried "the herb called Hearts-ease in his bosom, "for he was at last loving consciously. How white the old church looked, and how green the blinds! It must havebeen painted very lately: that meant that the parish was fairlyprosperous. There were new shutters in the belfry tower, too; heremembered the former open space and the rusty bell, and he liked thechange. Did the chimney use to be in that corner? No; but his fatherhad always said it would have drawn better if it had been put there inthe beginning. New shingles within a year: that was evident to apractised eye. He wondered if anything had been done to the inside ofthe building, but he must wait until the morrow to see, for, of course, the doors would be locked. No; the one at the right side was ajar. Heopened it softly and stepped into the tiny square entry that he recalledso well--the one through which the Sunday-school children ran out to thesteps from their catechism, apparently enjoying the sunshine after aspell of orthodoxy; the little entry where the village girls congregatedwhile waiting for the last bell to ring--they made a soft blur of pinkand blue and buff, a little flutter of curls and braids and fans andsunshades, in his mind's eye, as he closed the outer door behind him andgently opened the inner one. The church was flooded with moonlight andsnowlight, and there was one lamp burning at the back of the pulpit; acandle, too, on the pulpit steps. There was the tip-tap-tip of a tack-hammer going on in a distant corner. Was somebody hanging Christmasgarlands? The new red carpet attracted his notice, and as he grewaccustomed to the dim light, it carried his eye along the aisle he hadtrod so many years of Sundays, to the old familiar pew. The sound of thehammer ceased and a woman rose from her knees. A stranger was doing forthe family honour what he ought himself to have done. The woman turnedto shake her skirt, and it was Nancy Wentworth. He might have known it. Women were always faithful; they always remembered old landmarks, olddays, old friends, old duties. His father and mother and Esther were allgone; who but dear Nancy would have made the old Peabody pew right andtidy for the Christmas festival? Bless her kind womanly heart! She looked just the same to him as when he last saw her. Mercifully heseemed to have held in remembrance all these years not so much heryouthful bloom as her general qualities of mind and heart: hercheeriness, her spirit, her unflagging zeal, her bright womanliness. Hergrey dress was turned up in front over a crimson moreen petticoat. Shehad on a cosy jacket, a fur turban of some sort with a redbreast in it, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. "Sweet records, and promisesas sweet, " had always met in Nancy's face, and either he had forgottenhow pretty she was, or else she had absolutely grown prettier during hisabsence. Nancy would have chosen the supreme moment of meeting very differently, but she might well have chosen worse. She unpinned her skirt and brushedthe threads off, smoothed the pew cushions carefully, and took a laststitch in the ragged hassock. She then lifted the Bible and the hymn-book from the rack, and putting down a bit of flannel on the pulpitsteps, took a flatiron from an oil-stove, and opening the ancient books, pressed out the well-thumbed leaves one by one with infinite care. Afterreplacing the volumes in their accustomed place, she first extinguishedthe flame of her stove, which she tucked out of sight, and then blew outthe lamp and the candle. The church was still light enough for objectsto be seen in a shadowy way, like the objects in a dream, and Justin didnot realize that he was a man in the flesh, looking at a woman; spying, it might be, upon her privacy. He was one part of a dream and sheanother, and he stood as if waiting, and fearing, to be awakened. Nancy, having done all, came out of the pew, and standing in the aisle, looked back at the scene of her labours with pride and content. And asshe looked, some desire to stay a little longer in the dear old placemust have come over her, or some dread of going back to her lonelycottage, for she sat down in Justin's corner of the pew with foldedhands, her eyes fixed dreamily on the pulpit and her ears hearing: "Notas though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we had fromthe beginning. " Justin's grasp on the latch tightened as he prepared to close the doorand leave the place, but his instinct did not warn him quickly enough, after all, for, obeying some uncontrollable impulse, Nancy suddenly fellon her knees in the pew and buried her face in the cushions. The dream broke, and in an instant Justin was a man--worse than that, hewas an eavesdropper, ashamed of his unsuspected presence. He felthimself standing, with covered head and feet shod, in the holy temple ofa woman's heart. But his involuntary irreverence brought abundant grace with it. Theglimpse and the revelation wrought their miracles silently andirresistibly, not by the slow processes of growth which Nature demandsfor her enterprises, but with the sudden swiftness of the spirit. In aninstant changes had taken place in Justin's soul which his so-called"experiencing religion" twenty-five years back had been powerless toeffect. He had indeed been baptized then, but the recording angel couldhave borne witness that this second baptism fructified the first, andbecame the real herald of the new birth and the new creature. CHAPTER VII Justin Peabody silently closed the inner door, and stood in the entrywith his head bent and his heart in a whirl until he should hear Nancyrise to her feet. He must take this Heaven-sent chance of telling herall, but how do it without alarming her? A moment, and her step sounded in the stillness of the empty church. Obeying the first impulse, he passed through the outer door, and standingon the step, knocked once, twice, three times; then, opening it a littleand speaking through the chink, he called, "Is Miss Nancy Wentworthhere?" "I'm here!" in a moment came Nancy's answer, and then, with a littlewondering tremor in her voice, as if a hint of the truth had alreadydawned: "What's wanted?" "You're wanted, Nancy, wanted badly, by Justin Peabody, come back fromthe West. " The door opened wide, and Justin faced Nancy standing half-way down theaisle, her eyes brilliant, her lips parted. A week ago Justin'sapparition confronting her in the empty Meeting-House after nightfall, even had she been prepared for it as now, by his voice, would haveterrified her beyond measure. Now it seemed almost natural andinevitable. She had spent these last days in the church where both ofthem had been young and happy together; the two letters had brought himvividly to mind, and her labour in the old Peabody pew had been one longexcursion into the past in which he was the most prominent and the best-loved figure. "I said I'd come back to you when my luck turned, Nancy. " These were so precisely the words she expected him to say, should sheever see him again face to face, that for an additional moment they butheightened her sense of unreality. "Well, the luck hasn't turned, after all, but I couldn't wait any longer. Have you given a thought to me all these years, Nancy?" "More than one, Justin"; for the very look upon his face, the tendernessof his voice, the attitude of his body, outran his words and told herwhat he had come home to say, told her that her years of waiting wereover at last. "You ought to despise me for coming back again with only myself and myempty hands to offer you. " How easy it was to speak his heart out in this dim and quiet place! Howtongue-tied he would have been, sitting on the black haircloth sofa inthe Wentworth parlour and gazing at the open soapstone stove! "Oh, men are such fools!" cried Nancy, smiles and tears strugglingtogether in her speech, as she sat down suddenly in her own pew and puther hands over her face. "They are, " agreed Justin humbly, "but I've never stopped loving you, whenever I've had time for thinking or loving. And I wasn't sure thatyou really cared anything about me; and how could I have asked you when Ihadn't a dollar in the world?" "There are other things to give a woman besides dollars, Justin. " "Are there? Well, you shall have them all, every one of them, Nancy, ifyou can make up your mind to do without the dollars; for dollars seem tobe just what I can't manage. " Her hand was in his by this time, and they were sitting side by side inthe cushionless, carpetless Wentworth pew. The door stood open; thewinter moon shone in upon them. That it was beginning to grow cold inthe church passed unnoticed. The grasp of the woman's hand seemed togive the man new hope and courage, and Justin's warm, confiding, pleadingpressure brought balm to Nancy, balm and healing for the wounds her pridehad suffered; joy, too, half-conscious still, that her life need not belived to the end in unfruitful solitude. She had waited, "as some greylake lies, full and smooth, awaiting the star below the twilight. " JustinPeabody might have been no other woman's star, but he was Nancy's! "Just you sitting beside me here makes me feel as if I'd been asleep ordead all these years, and just born over again, " said Justin. "I've leda respectable, hard-working, honest life, Nancy, " he continued, "and Idon't owe any man a cent; the trouble is that no man owes me one. I'vegot enough money to pay two fares back to Detroit on Monday, although Iwas terribly afraid you wouldn't let me do it. It'll need a good deal ofthinking and planning, Nancy, for we shall be very poor. " Nancy had been storing up fidelity and affection deep, deep in the hiveof her heart all these years, and now the honey of her helpfulness stoodready to be gathered. "Could I keep hens in Detroit?" she asked. "I can always make them pay. " "Hens--in three rooms, Nancy?" Her face fell. "And no yard?" "No yard. " A moment's pause, and then the smile came. "Oh, well, I've had yards andhens for thirty-five years. Doing without them will be a change. I cantake in sewing. " "No, you can't, Nancy. I need your backbone and wits and pluck andingenuity, but if I can't ask you to sit with your hands folded for therest of your life, as I'd like to, you shan't use them for other people. You're marrying me to make a man of me, but I'm not marrying you to makeyou a drudge. " His voice rang clear and true in the silence, and Nancy's heart vibratedat the sound. "Oh, Justin, Justin!" she whispered. "There's something wrong somewhere, but we'll find it out together, you and I, and make it right. You're notlike a failure. You don't even _look_ poor, Justin; there isn't a man inEdgewood to compare with you, or I should be washing his dishes anddarning his stockings this minute. And I am not a pauper! There'll bethe rent of my little house and a carload of my furniture, so you can putthe three-room idea out of your mind, and your firm will offer you alarger salary when you tell them you have a wife to take care of. Oh, Isee it all, and it is as easy and bright and happy as can be!" Justin put his arm around her and drew her close, with such a throb ofgratitude for her belief and trust that it moved him almost to tears. There was a long pause: then he said:-- "Now I shall call for you to-morrow morning after the last bell hasstopped ringing, and we will walk up the aisle together and sit in theold Peabody pew. We shall be a nine-days' wonder anyway, but this willbe equal to an announcement, especially if you take my arm. We don'teither of us like to be stared at, but this will show without a word whatwe think of each other and what we've promised to be to each other, andit's the only thing that will make me feel sure of you and settled in mymind after all these mistaken years. Have you got the courage, Nancy?" "I shouldn't wonder! I guess if I've had courage enough to wait for you, I've got courage enough to walk up the aisle with you and marry youbesides!" said Nancy. --"Now it is too late for us to stay here anylonger, and you must see me only as far as my gate, for perhaps youhaven't forgotten yet how interested the Brewsters are in theirneighbours. " They stood at the little Wentworth gate for a moment, hand close claspedin hand. The night was clear, the air was cold and sparkling, but withnothing of bitterness in it; the sky was steely blue and the evening starglowed and burned like a tiny sun. Nancy remembered the shepherd's songshe had taught the Sunday-school children, and repeated softly:-- For I my sheep was watching Beneath the silent skies, When sudden, far to eastward, I saw a star arise; Then all the peaceful heavens With sweetest music rang, And glory, glory, glory! The happy angels sang. So I this night am joyful, Though I can scarce tell why, It seemeth me that glory Hath met us very nigh; And we, though poor and humble, Have part in heavenly plan, For, born to-night, the Prince of Peace Shall rule the heart of man. Justin's heart melted within him like wax to the woman's vision and thewoman's touch. "Oh, Nancy, Nancy!" he whispered. "If I had brought my bad luck to youlong, long ago, would you have taken me then, and have I lost years ofsuch happiness as this?" "There are some things it is not best for a man to be certain about, "said Nancy, with a wise smile and a last good-night. CHAPTER VIII "Ring out, sweet bells, O'er woods and dells Your lovely strains repeat, While happy throngs With joyous songs Each accent gladly greet. " Christmas morning in the old Tory Hill Meeting-House was felt by all ofthe persons who were present in that particular year to be a mostexciting and memorable occasion. The old sexton quite outdid himself, for although he had rung the bellfor more than thirty years, he had never felt greater pride or joy in histask. Was not his son John home for Christmas, and John's wife, and agrandchild newly named Nathaniel for himself? Were there not spareribsand turkeys and cranberries and mince pies on the pantry shelves, andbarrels of rosy Baldwins in the cellar and bottles of mother's root beerjust waiting to give a holiday pop? The bell itself forgot its age andthe suspicion of a crack that dulled its voice on a damp day, and, inspired by the bright, frosty air, the sexton's inspiring pull, and theChristmas spirit, gave out nothing but joyous tones. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It fired the ambitions of star scholars about torecite hymns and sing solos. It thrilled little girls expecting dollsbefore night. It excited beyond bearing dozens of little boys beingbuttoned into refractory overcoats. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Mothers'fingers trembled when they heard it, and mothers' voices cried: "If thatis the second bell, the children will never be ready in time! Where arethe overshoes? Where are the mittens? Hurry, Jack! Hurry, Jennie!"Ding-dong! Ding-dong! "Where's Sally's muff? Where's father's fur cap?Is the sleigh at the door? Are the hot soapstones in? Have all of youyour money for the contribution box?" Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It was a blithe bell, a sweet, true bell, a holybell, and to Justin, pacing his tavern room, as to Nancy, trembling inher maiden chamber, it rang a Christmas message:-- Awake, glad heart! Arise and sing; It is the birthday of thy King! The congregation filled every seat in the old Meeting-House. As Maria Sharp had prophesied, there was one ill-natured spinster from arival village who declared that the church floor looked like Joseph'scoat laid out smooth; but in the general chorus of admiration, approval, and good will, this envious speech, though repeated from mouth to mouth, left no sting. Another item of interest long recalled was the fact that on that augustand unapproachable day the pulpit vases stood erect and empty, thoughNancy Wentworth had filled them every Sunday since any one couldremember. This instance, though felt at the time to be of mysterioussignificance if the cause were ever revealed, paled into nothingnesswhen, after the ringing of the last bell, Nancy Wentworth walked up theaisle on Justin Peabody's arm, and they took their seats side by side inthe old family pew. ("And consid'able close, too, though there was plenty o' room!") ("And no one that I ever heard of so much as suspicioned that they hadever kept company!") ("And do you s'pose she knew Justin was expected back when she scrubbedhis pew a-Friday?") ("And this explains the empty pulpit vases!") ("And I always said that Nancy would make a real handsome couple if sheever got anybody to couple with!") During the unexpected and solemn procession of the two up the aisle thesoprano of the village choir stopped short in the middle of the Doxology, and the three other voices carried it to the end without any treble. Also, among those present there were some who could not rememberafterward the precise petitions wafted upward in the opening prayer. And could it be explained otherwise than by cheerfully acknowledging thebounty of an overruling Providence that Nancy Wentworth should have had anew winter dress for the first time in five years--a winter dress of darkbrown cloth to match her beaver muff and victorine? The existence ofthis toilette had been known and discussed in Edgewood for a month past, and it was thought to be nothing more than a proper token of respect froma member of the carpet committee to the general magnificence of thechurch on the occasion of its reopening after repairs. Indeed, you couldhave identified every member of the Dorcas Society that Sunday morning bythe freshness of her apparel. The brown dress, then, was generallyexpected; but why the white cashmere waist with collar and cuffs of pointlace, devised only and suitable only for the minister's wedding, where itfirst saw the light? "The white waist can only be explained as showing distinct hope!"whispered the minister's wife during the reading of the church notices. "To me it shows more than hope; I am very sure that Nancy would nevertake any wear out of that lace for hope; it means certainty!" answeredMaria, who was always strong in the prophetic line. By sermon time Justin's identity had dawned upon most of thecongregation. A stranger to all but one or two at first, his presence inthe Peabody pew brought his face and figure back, little by little, tothe minds of the old parishioners. When the contribution plate was passed, the sexton always began at theright-wing pews, as all the sextons before him had done for a hundredyears. Every eye in the church was already turned upon Justin and Nancy, and it was with almost a gasp that those in the vicinity saw a ten dollarbill fall in the plate. The sexton reeled, or, if that is toointemperate a word for a pillar of the church, the good man tottered, butcaught hold of the pew rail with one hand, and, putting the thumb of hisother over the bill, proceeded quickly to the next pew, lest the strangershould think better of his gift, or demand change, as had occasionallybeen done in the olden time. Nancy never fluttered an eyelash, but sat quietly by Justin's side withher bosom rising and falling under the beaver fur and her cold handsclasped tight in the little brown muff. Far from grudging thisappreciable part of their slender resources, she thrilled with pride tosee Justin's offering fall in the plate. Justin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice anything, but hismunificent contribution had a most unexpected effect upon his reputation, after all; for on that day, and on many another later one, when hissudden marriage and departure with Nancy Wentworth were under discussion, the neighbours said to one another:-- "Justin must be making money fast out West! He put ten dollars in thecontribution plate a-Sunday, and paid the minister ten more next day formarryin' him to Nancy; so the Peabody luck has turned at last!" which, asa matter of fact, it had. "And all the time, " said the chairman of the carpet committee to thetreasurer of the Dorcas Society--"all the time, little as she realizedit, Nancy was laying the carpet in her own pew. Now she's married toJustin she'll be the makin' of him, or I miss my guess. You can't do athing with men folks without they're right alongside where you can keepyour eye and hand on 'em. Justin's handsome and good and stiddy; all heneed is some nice woman to put starch into him. The Edgewood Peabodysnever had a mite o' stiffenin' in 'em, --limp as dishrags, every blessedone! Nancy Wentworth fairly rustles with starch. Justin hadn't beenengaged to her but a few hours when they walked up the aisle together, but did you notice the way he carried his head? I declare I thought 'twould fall off behind! I shouldn't wonder a mite but they prospered andcome back every summer to set in the old Peabody Pew. "