By Mrs. Wiggin. 

 THE BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL. Illustrated. Square 12mo, boards, 50 cents. 

 THE STORY OF PATSY, Illustrated. Square 12mo, boards, 60 cents. 

 A SUMMER IN A CAŃON. A California Story. Illustrated. New Edition. 16mo, $1. 25. 

 TIMOTHY'S QUEST. A Story for Anybody, Young or Old, who cares to read it. 16mo, $1. 00. 

 THE STORY HOUR. A Book for the Home and Kindergarten. By Mrs. Wiggin and Nora A. Smith. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. 

 CHILDREN'S RIGHTS. A Book of Nursery Logic. 16mo, $1. 00. 

 A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP, and PENELOPE'S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES. Illustrated. 16mo, $1. 00. 

 POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. Illustrated, 16mo, $1. 00. 

 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. BOSTON AND NEW YORK. 

 TIMOTHY'S QUEST

 _A STORY FOR ANYBODY, YOUNG OR OLD, WHO CARES TO READ IT_

 BY

 KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN

 AUTHOR OF "BIRDS' CHRISTMAS CAROL, " "THE STORY OF PATSY, " "A SUMMER IN A CAŃON, " ETC. 

 [Illustration: The Riverside Press logo. ]

 BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1894

 Copyright, 1890, BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN

 _All rights reserved. _

 THIRTY-SEVENTH THOUSAND

 _The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass. , U. S. A. _ Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Company. 

 To

 NORA

 DEAREST SISTER, STERNEST CRITIC, BEST FRIEND. 

 CONTENTS. 

 SCENE I. PAGE

 FLOSSY MORRISON LEARNS THE SECRET OF DEATH WITHOUT EVER HAVING LEARNED THE SECRET OF LIFE 7

 SCENE II. 

 LITTLE TIMOTHY JESSUP ASSUMES PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES 17

 SCENE III. 

 TIMOTHY PLANS A CAMPAIGN, AND PROVIDENCE MATERIALLY ASSISTS IN CARRYING IT OUT, OR VICE VERSA 26

 SCENE IV. 

 JABE SLOCUM ASSUMES THE RÔLE OF GUARDIAN ANGEL 39

 SCENE V. 

 TIMOTHY FINDS A HOUSE IN WHICH HE THINKS A BABY IS NEEDED, BUT THE INMATES DO NOT ENTIRELY AGREE WITH HIM 51

 SCENE VI. 

 TIMOTHY, LADY GAY, AND RAGS PROVE FAITHFUL TO EACH OTHER 63

 SCENE VII. 

 MISTRESS AND MAID FIND TO THEIR AMAZEMENT THAT A CHILD, MORE THAN ALL OTHER GIFTS, BRINGS HOPE WITH IT, AND FORWARD LOOKING THOUGHTS 74

 SCENE VIII. 

 JABE AND SAMANTHA EXCHANGE HOSTILITIES, AND THE FORMER SAYS A GOOD WORD FOR THE LITTLE WANDERERS 87

 SCENE IX. 

 "NOW THE END OF THE COMMANDMENT IS CHARITY, OUT OF A PURE HEART" 100

 SCENE X. 

 AUNT HITTY COMES TO "MAKE OVER, " AND SUPPLIES BACK NUMBERS TO ALL THE VILLAGE HISTORIES 112

 SCENE XI. 

 MISS VILDA DECIDES THAT TWO IS ONE TOO MANY, AND TIMOTHY BREAKS A HUMMING-BIRD'S EGG 126

 SCENE XII. 

 LYDDY PETTIGROVE'S FUNERAL 143

 SCENE XIII. 

 PLEASANT RIVER IS BAPTIZED WITH THE SPIRIT OF ADOPTION 152

 SCENE XIV. 

 TIMOTHY JESSUP RUNS AWAY A SECOND TIME, AND, LIKE OTHER BLESSINGS, BRIGHTENS AS HE TAKES HIS FLIGHT 166

 SCENE XV. 

 LIKE ALL DOGS IN FICTION, THE FAITHFUL RAGS GUIDES MISS VILDA TO HIS LITTLE MASTER 179

 SCENE XVI. 

 TIMOTHY'S QUEST IS ENDED, AND SAMANTHA SAYS, "COME ALONG, DAVE" 189

TIMOTHY'S QUEST. 

SCENE I. 

_Number Three, Minerva Court. First floor front. _

FLOSSY MORRISON LEARNS THE SECRET OF DEATH WITHOUT EVER HAVING LEARNEDTHE SECRET OF LIFE. 

Minerva Court! Veil thy face, O Goddess of Wisdom, for never, surely, was thy fair name so ill bestowed as when it was applied to this mostdreary place!

It was a little less than street, a little more than alley, and its onlypossible claim to decency came from comparison with the busierthoroughfare out of which it opened. This was so much fouler, with itsdirt and noise, its stands of refuse fruit and vegetables, its dingyshops and all the miserable traffic that the place engendered, itsrickety doorways blocked with lounging men, its Blowsabellas leaning onthe window-sills, that the Court seemed by contrast a most desirable andretired place of residence. 

But it was a dismal spot, nevertheless, with not even an air of fadedgentility to recommend it. It seemed to have no better days behind it, nor to hold within itself the possibility of any future improvement. Itwas narrow, and extended only the length of a city block, yet it was byno means wanting in many of those luxuries which mark this era of moderncivilization. There were groceries, with commodious sample-roomsattached, at each corner, and a small saloon, called "The Dearest Spot"(which it undoubtedly was in more senses than one), in the basement of ahouse at the farther end. It was necessary, however, for the bibulousnative who dwelt in the middle of the block to waste some valuableminutes in dragging himself to one of these fountains of bliss at eitherend; but at the time my story opens a wide-awake philanthropist wasfitting up a neat and attractive little bar-room, called "The Oasis, " ata point equally distant between the other two springs of human joy. 

This benefactor of humanity had a vaulting ambition. He desired to slakethe thirst of every man in Christendom; but this being impossible fromthe very nature of things, he determined to settle in some arid spotlike Minerva Court, and irrigate it so sweetly and copiously that allmen's noses would blossom as the roses. To supply his brothers' wants, and create new ones at the same time, was his purpose in establishingthis Oasis in the Desert of Minerva Court; and it might as well bestated here that he was prospered in his undertaking, as any man is sureto be who cherishes lofty ideals and attends to his businessindustriously. 

The Minerva Courtier thus had good reason to hope that the supply ofliquid refreshment would bear some relation to the demand; and that themarch of modern progress would continue to diminish the distance betweenhis own mouth and that of the bottle, which, as he took it, was thebe-all and end-all of existence. 

At present, however, as the Oasis was not open to the public, childrencarrying pitchers of beer were often to be seen hurrying to and fro ontheir miserable errands. But there were very few children in MinervaCourt, thank God!--they were not popular there. There were frowzy, sleepy-looking women hanging out of their windows, gossiping with theirequally unkempt and haggard neighbors; apathetic men sitting on thedoorsteps, in their shirt-sleeves, smoking; a dull, dirty baby or twosporting itself in the gutter; while the sound of a melancholy accordion(the chosen instrument of poverty and misery) floated from an upperchamber, and added its discordant mite to the general desolation. 

The sidewalks had apparently never known the touch of a broom, and themiddle of the street looked more like an elongated junk-heap thananything else. Every smell known to the nostrils of man was abroad inthe air, and several were floating about waiting modestly to beclassified, after which they intended to come to the front and outdo theothers if they could. 

That was Minerva Court! A little piece of your world, my world, God'sworld (and the Devil's), lying peacefully fallow, awaiting the servicesof some inspired Home Missionary Society. 

In a front room of Number Three, a dilapidated house next the corner, there lay a still, white shape, with two women watching by it. 

A sheet covered it. Candles burned at the head, striving to throw agleam of light on a dead face that for many a year had never beenilluminated from within by the brightness of self-forgetting love orkindly sympathy. If you had raised the sheet, you would have seen nohappy smile as of a half-remembered, innocent childhood; the smile--isit of peaceful memory or serene anticipation?--that sometimes shines onthe faces of the dead. 

Such life-secrets as were exposed by Death, and written on that stillcountenance in characters that all might read, were painful ones. FlossyMorrison was dead. The name "Flossy" was a relic of what she termed herbetter days (Heaven save the mark!), for she had been called Mrs. Morrison of late years, --"Mrs. F. Morrison, " who took "children toboard, and no questions asked"--nor answered. She had lived forty-fiveyears, as men reckon summers and winters; but she had never learned, inall that time, to know her Mother, Nature, her Father, God, nor herbrothers and sisters, the children of the world. She had livedfriendless and unfriendly, keeping none of the ten commandments, nor yetthe eleventh, which is the greatest of all; and now there was no humanbeing to slip a flower into the still hand, to kiss the clay-cold lipsat the remembrance of some sweet word that had fallen from them, or dropa tear and say, "I loved her!"

Apparently, the two watchers did not regard Flossy Morrison even in thelight of "the dear remains, " as they are sometimes called at countryfunerals. They were in the best of spirits (there was an abundance ofbeer), and their gruesome task would be over in a few hours; for it wasnearly four o'clock in the morning, and the body was to be taken away atten. 

"I tell you one thing, Ettie, Flossy hasn't left any bother for herfriends, " remarked Mrs. Nancy Simmons, settling herself back in herrocking-chair. "As she didn't own anything but the clothes on her back, there won't be any quarreling over the property!" and she chuckled ather delicate humor. 

"No, " answered her companion, who, whatever her sponsors in baptism hadchristened her, called herself Ethel Montmorency. "I s'pose thefurniture, poor as it is, will pay the funeral expenses; and if she'sgot any debts, why, folks will have to whistle for their money, that'sall. "

"The only thing that worries me is the children, " said Mrs. Simmons. 

"You must be hard up for something to worry about, to take those youngones on your mind. They ain't yours nor mine, and what's more, nobodyknows who they do belong to, and nobody cares. Soon as breakfast's overwe'll pack 'em off to some institution or other, and that'll be the endof it. What did Flossy say about 'em, when you spoke to her yesterday?"

"I asked her what she wanted done with the young ones, and she said, 'Dowhat you like with 'em, drat 'em, --it don't make no odds to me!' andthen she turned over and died. Those was the last words she spoke, dearsoul; but, Lor', she wasn't more'n half sober, and hadn't been for aweek. "

"She was sober enough to keep her own counsel, I can tell you that, "said the gentle Ethel. "I don't believe there's a living soul that knowswhere those children came from;--not that anybody cares, now that thereain't any money in 'em. "

"Well, as for that, I only know that when Flossy was seeing better daysand lived in the upper part of the city, she used to have money comeevery month for taking care of the boy. Where it come from I don'tknow; but I kind of surmise it was a long distance off. Then she took todrinking, and got lower and lower down until she came here, six monthsago. I don't suppose the boy's folks, or whoever it was sent the money, knew the way she was living, though they couldn't have cared much, forthey never came to see how things were; and he was in an asylum beforeFlossy took him, I found that out; but, anyhow, the money stopped comingthree months ago. Flossy wrote twice to the folks, whoever they were, but didn't get no answer to her letters; and she told me that she shouldturn the boy out in a week or two if some cash didn't turn up in thattime. She wouldn't have kept him so long as this if he hadn't been sohandy taking care of the baby. "

"Well, who does the baby belong to?"

"You ask me too much, " replied Nancy, taking another deep draught fromthe pitcher. "Help yourself, Ettie; there's plenty more where that camefrom. Flossy never liked the boy, and always wanted to get rid of him, but couldn't afford to. He's a dreadful queer, old-fashioned little kid, and so smart that he's gettin' to be a reg'lar nuisance round thehouse. But you see he and the baby, --Gabrielle's her name, but they callher Lady Gay, or some such trash, after that actress that comes here somuch, --well, they are so in love with one another that wild horsescouldn't drag 'em apart; and I think Flossy had a kind of a likin' forGay, as much as she ever had for anything. I guess she never abusedeither of 'em; she was too careless for that. And so what was I talkin'about? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know who the baby is, nor who paid for herkeep; but she's goin' to be one o' your high-steppers, and no mistake. She might be Queen Victory's daughter by the airs she puts on; I'd liketo keep her myself if she was a little older, and I wasn't goin' awayfrom here. "

"I s'pose they'll make an awful row at being separated, won't they?"asked the younger woman. 

"Oh, like as not; but they'll have to have their row and get over it, "said Mrs. Simmons easily. "You can take Timothy to the Orphan Asylumfirst, and then come back, and I'll carry the baby to the Home of theLadies' Relief and Protection Society; and if they yell they can yell, and take it out in yellin'; they won't get the best of Nancy Simmons. "

"Don't talk so loud, Nancy, for mercy's sake. If the boy hears you, he'll begin to take on, and we sha'n't get a wink of sleep. Don't let'em know what you're goin' to do with 'em till the last minute, oryou'll have trouble as sure as we sit here. "

"Oh, they are sound asleep, " responded Mrs. Simmons, with an uneasy lookat the half-open door. "I went in and dragged a pillow out from underTimothy's head, and he never budged. He was sleepin' like a log, and sowas Gay. Now, shut up, Et, and let me get three winks myself. You takethe lounge, and I'll stretch out in two chairs. Wake me up at eighto'clock, if I don't wake myself; for I'm clean tired out with all thisfussin' and plannin', and I feel stupid enough to sleep till kingdomcome. "

SCENE II. 

_Number Three, Minerva Court, First floor back. _

LITTLE TIMOTHY JESSUP ASSUMES PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES. 

When the snores of the two watchers fell on the stillness of thedeath-chamber, with that cheerful regularity that betokens the sleep ofthe truly good, a little figure crept out of the bed in the adjoiningroom and closed the door noiselessly, but with trembling fingers;stealing then to the window to look out at the dirty street and the graysky over which the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to creep. 

It was little Timothy Jessup (God alone knows whether he had any rightto that special patronymic), but not the very same Tim Jessup who hadkissed the baby Gay in her little crib, and gone to sleep on his ownhard bed in that room, a few hours before. As he stood shivering at thewindow, one thin hand hard pressed upon his heart to still its beating, there was a light of sudden resolve in his eyes, a new-born look ofanxiety on his unchildlike face. 

"I will not have Gay protectioned and reliefed, and I will not be takenaway from her and sent to a 'sylum, where I can never find her again!"and with these defiant words trembling, half spoken, on his lips, heglanced from the unconscious form in the crib to the terrible door, which might open at any moment and divide him from his heart's delight, his darling, his treasure, his only joy, his own, own baby Gay. 

But what should he do? Run away: that was the only solution of thematter, and no very difficult one either. The cruel women were asleep;the awful Thing that had been Flossy would never speak again; and no oneelse in Minerva Court cared enough for them to pursue them very far orvery long. 

"And so, " thought Timothy swiftly, "I will get things ready, take Gay, and steal softly out of the back door, and run away to the 'truly'country, where none of these bad people ever can find us, and where Ican get a mother for Gay; somebody to 'dopt her and love her till Igrow up a man and take her to live with me. "

The moment this thought darted into Timothy's mind, it began to shapeitself in definite action. 

Gabrielle, or Lady Gay, as Flossy called her, in honor of her favoritestage heroine, had been tumbled into her crib half dressed the nightbefore. The only vehicle kept for her use in the family stables was aclothes-basket, mounted on four wooden wheels and cushioned with a dingyshawl. A yard of clothes-line was tied on to one end, and in this humbleconveyance the Princess would have to be transported from the Ogre'scastle; for she was scarcely old enough to accompany the Prince on foot, even if he had dared to risk detection by waking her: so theclothes-basket must be her chariot, and Timothy her charioteer, as onmany a less fateful expedition. 

After he had changed his ragged night-gown for a shabby suit of clothes, he took Gay's one clean apron out of a rickety bureau drawer ("for I cannever find a mother for her if she's too dirty, " he thought), her Sundayhat from the same receptacle, and last of all a comb, and a fadedJapanese parasol that stood in a corner. These he deposited under theold shawl that decorated the floor of the chariot. He next groped hisway in the dim light toward a mantelshelf, and took down asavings-bank, --a florid little structure with "Bank of England" stampedover the miniature door, into which the jovial gentleman who frequentedthe house often slipped pieces of silver for the children, and intowhich Flossy dipped only when she was in a state of temporary financialembarrassment. Timothy did not dare to jingle it; he could only hopethat as Flossy had not been in her usual health of late (though in morethan her usual "spirits"), she had not felt obliged to break the bank. 

Now for provisions. There were plenty of "funeral baked meats" in thekitchen; and he hastily gathered a dozen cookies into a towel, andstowed them in the coach with the other sinews of war. 

So far, well and good; but the worst was to come. With his heart beatingin his bosom like a trip-hammer, and his eyes dilated with fear, hestepped to the door between the two rooms, and opened it softly. Twothundering snores, pitched in such different keys that they must haveproceeded from two separate sets of nasal organs, reassured the boy. Helooked out into the alley. "Not a creature was stirring, not even amouse. " The Minerva Courtiers couldn't be owls and hawks too, and therewas not even the ghost of a sound to be heard. Satisfied that all waswell, Timothy went back to the bedroom, and lifted the batteredclothes-basket, trucks and all, in his slender arms, carried it up thealley and down the street a little distance, and deposited it on thepavement beside a vacant lot. This done, he sped back to the house. "Howbeautifully they snore!" he thought, as he stood again on the threshold. "Shall I leave 'em a letter?... P'raps I better ... And then they won'tfollow us and bring us back. " So he scribbled a line on a bit of tornpaper bag, and pinned it on the enemies' door. 

 "A kind Lady is goin to Adopt us it is a Grate ways off so do not Hunt good by. TIM. "

Now all was ready. No; one thing more. Timothy had been met in thestreet by a pretty young girl a few weeks before. The love of God wassmiling in her heart, the love of children shining in her eyes; and sheled him, a willing captive, into a mission Sunday-school near by. And somuch in earnest was the sweet little teacher, and so hungry for any sortof good tidings was the starved little pupil, that Timothy "gotreligion" then and there, as simply and naturally as a child takes itsmother's milk. He was probably in a state of crass ignorance regardingthe Thirty-nine Articles; but it was the "engrafted word, " of which theBible speaks, that had blossomed in Timothy's heart; the living seed hadalways been there, waiting for some beneficent fostering influence; forhe was what dear Charles Lamb would have called a natural"kingdom-of-heavenite. " Thinking, therefore, of Miss Dora's injunctionto pray over all the extra-ordinary affairs of life and as many of theordinary ones as possible, he hung his tattered straw hat on thebedpost, and knelt beside Gay's crib with this whispered prayer:--

"_Our Father who art in heaven, please help me to find a mother for Gay, one that she can call Mamma, and another one for me, if there's enough, but not unless. Please excuse me for taking away the clothes-basket, which does not exactly belong to us; but if I do not take it, dearheavenly Father, how will I get Gay to the railroad? And if I don't takethe Japanese umbrella she will get freckled, and nobody will adopt her. No more at present, as I am in a great hurry. Amen. _"

He put on his hat, stooped over the sleeping baby, and took her in hisfaithful arms, --arms that had never failed her yet. She half opened hereyes, and seeing that she was safe on her beloved Timothy's shoulder, clasped her dimpled arms tight about his neck, and with a long sighdrifted off again into the land of dreams. Bending beneath her weight, he stepped for the last time across the threshold, not even daring toclose the door behind him. 

Up the alley and round the corner he sped, as fast as his trembling legscould carry him. Just as he was within sight of the goal of hisambition, that is, the chariot aforesaid, he fancied he heard the soundof hurrying feet behind him. To his fevered imagination the tread waslike that of an avenging army on the track of the foe. He did not dareto look behind. On! for the clothes-basket and liberty! He wouldrelinquish the Japanese umbrella, the cookies, the comb, and theapron, --all the booty, in fact, --as an inducement for the enemy toretreat, but he would never give up the prisoner. 

On the feet hurried, faster and faster. He stooped to put Gay in thebasket, and turned in despair to meet his pursuers, when a little, grimy, rough-coated, lop-eared, split-tailed thing, like an animatedrag-bag, leaped upon his knees; whimpering with joy, and imploring, withevery grace that his simple doggish heart could suggest, to be one ofthe eloping party. 

Rags had followed them!

Timothy was so glad to find it no worse that he wasted a moment inembracing the dog, whose delirious joy at the prospect of this probablydinnerless and supperless expedition was ludicrously exaggerated. Thenhe took up the rope and trundled the chariot gently down a side streetleading to the station. 

Everything worked to a charm. They met only an occasional milk (andwater) man, starting on his matutinal rounds, for it was now after fouro'clock, and one or two cavaliers of uncertain gait, just returning totheir homes, several hours too late for their own good; but thesegentlemen were in no condition of mind to be over-interested, and thelittle fugitives were troubled with no questions as to their intentions. 

And so they went out into the world together, these three: TimothyJessup (if it was Jessup), brave little knight, nameless nobleman, tracing his descent back to God, the Father of us all, and bearingthe Divine likeness more than most of us; the little LadyGay, --somebody--nobody--anybody, --from nobody knows where, --destinationequally uncertain; and Rags, of pedigree most doubtful, scutcheon quiteobscured by blots, but a perfect gentleman, true-hearted and loyal tothe core, --in fact, an angel in fur. These three, with theclothes-basket as personal property and the Bank of England as security, went out to seek their fortune; and, unlike Lot's wife, without daringto look behind, shook the dust of Minerva Court from off their feetforever and forever. 

SCENE III. 

_The Railway Station. _

TIMOTHY PLANS A CAMPAIGN, AND PROVIDENCE ASSISTS MATERIALLY IN CARRYINGIT OUT, OR VICE VERSA. 

By dint of skillful generalship, Timothy gathered his forces on a greenbank just behind the railway depot, cleared away a sufficient number oftin cans and oyster-shells to make a flat space for the chariot of war, which had now become simply a cradle, and sat down, with Rags curled upat his feet, to plan the campaign. 

He pushed back the ragged hat from his waving hair, and, clasping hisknees with his hands, gazed thoughtfully at the towering chimneys in theforeground and the white-winged ships in the distant harbor. There was aglimpse of something like a man's purpose in the sober eyes; and as themorning sunlight fell upon his earnest face, the angel in him came tothe surface, and crowded the "boy part" quite out of sight, as it has away of doing sometimes with children. 

How some father-heart would have throbbed with pride to own him, and howgladly lifted the too heavy burden from his childish shoulders!

Timothy Jessup, aged ten or eleven, or thereabouts (the records had notbeen kept with absolute exactness)--Timothy Jessup, somewhat ragged, allforlorn, and none too clean at the present moment, was a poet, philosopher, and lover of the beautiful. The dwellers in Minerva Courthad never discovered the fact; for, although he had lived in that world, he had most emphatically never been of it. He was a boy of strangenotions, and the vocabulary in which he expressed them was strangerstill; further-more, he had gentle manners, which must have beenindigenous, as they had certainly never been cultivated; and, althoughhe had been in the way of handling pitch for many a day, it had beenhelpless to defile him, such was the essential purity of his nature. 

To find a home and a mother for Lady Gay had been Timothy's secretlonging ever since he had heard people say that Flossy might die. Hehad once enjoyed all the comforts of a Home with a capital H; but it wasthe cosy one with the little "h" that he so much desired for her. 

Not that he had any ill treatment to remember in the excellentinstitution of which he was for several years an inmate. The matron wasan amiable and hard-working woman, who wished to do her duty to all thechildren under her care; but it would be an inspired human being indeedwho could give a hundred and fifty motherless or fatherless children allthe education and care and training they needed, to say nothing of thelove that they missed and craved. What wonder, then, that an occasionalhungry little soul, starved for want of something not provided by themanagement; say, a morning cuddle in father's bed or a ride on father'sknee, --in short, the sweet daily jumble of lap-trotting, gentlecaressing, endearing words, twilight stories, motherly tucks-in-bed, good-night kisses, --all the dear, simple, every-day accompaniments ofthe home with the little "h. "

Timothy Jessup, bred in such an atmosphere, would have gladdened everylife that touched his at any point. Plenty of wistful men and womenwould have thanked God nightly on their knees for the gift of such ason; and here he was, sitting on a tin can, bowed down with familycares, while thousands of graceless little scalawags were slapping thefaces of their French nurse-maids and bullying their parents, in thatvery city. --Ah me!

As for the tiny Lady Gay, she had all the winsome virtues to recommendher. No one ever feared that she would die young out of sheer goodness. You would not have loved her so much for what she was as because youcouldn't help yourself. This feat once accomplished, she blossomed intoa thousand graces, each one more bewitching than the last you noted. 

Where, in the name of all the sacred laws of heredity, did the child gether sunshiny nature? Born in misery, and probably in sin, nurtured inwretchedness and poverty, she had brought her "radiant morning visions"with her into the world. Like Wordsworth's immortal babe, "with trailingclouds of glory" had she come, from God who was her home; and the heaventhat lies about us all in our infancy, --that Garden of Eden into whichwe are all born, like the first man and the first woman, --that heavenlay about her still, stronger than the touch of earth. 

What if the room were desolate and bare? The yellow sunbeams stolethrough the narrow window, and in the shaft of light they threw acrossthe dirty floor Gay played, --oblivious of everything save the flickeringgolden rays that surrounded her. 

The raindrops chasing each other down the dingy pane, the snowflakesmelting softly on the casement, the brown leaf that the wind blew intoher lap as she sat on the sidewalk, the chirp of the littlebeggar-sparrows over the cobblestones, all these brought as eager alight into her baby eyes as the costliest toy. With no earthly father ormother to care for her, she seemed to be God's very own baby, and Heamused her in his own good way; first by locking her happiness withinher own soul (the only place where it is ever safe for a single moment), and then by putting her under Timothy's paternal ministrations. 

Timothy's mind traveled back over the past, as he sat among the tin cansand looked at Rags and Gay. It was a very small story, if he ever foundany one who would care to hear it. There was a long journey in a greatship, a wearisome illness of many weeks, --or was it months?--when hiscurls had been cut off, and all his memories with them; then there wasthe Home; then there was Flossy, who came to take him away; then--oh, bright, bright spot! oh, blessed time!--there was baby Gay; then, worsethan all, there was Minerva Court. But he did not give many minutes toreminiscence. He first broke open the Bank of England, and threw itaway, after finding to his joy that their fortune amounted to one dollarand eighty-five cents. This was so much in advance of his expectationsthat he laughed aloud; and Rags, wagging his tail with such vigor thathe nearly broke it in two, jumped into the cradle and woke the baby. 

Then there was a happy family circle, you may believe me, and with goodreason, too! A trip to the country (meals and lodging uncertain, butthat was a trifle), a sight of green meadows, where Tim would hear realbirds sing in the trees, and Gay would gather wild flowers, and Ragswould chase, and perhaps--who knows?--catch toothsome squirrels and fatlittle field-mice, of which the country dogs visiting Minerva Court hadtold the most mouth-watering tales. Gay's transport knew no bounds. Herchild-heart felt no regret for the past, no care for the present, noanxiety for the future. The only world she cared for was in her sight;and she had never, in her brief experience, gazed upon it with moreradiant anticipation than on this sunny June morning, when she hadopened her bright eyes on a pleasant, odorous bank of oyster-shells, instead of on the accustomed surroundings of Minerva Court. 

Breakfast was first in order. 

There was a pump conveniently near, and the oyster-shells made capitalcups. Gay had three cookies, Timothy two, and Rags one; but there was nostatute of limitations placed on the water; every one had as much as hecould drink. 

The little matter of toilets came next. Timothy took the dingy rag whichdid duty for a handkerchief, and, calling the pump again intorequisition, scrubbed Gay's face and hands tenderly, but firmly. Herclothes were then all smoothed down tidily, but the clean apron was keptfor the eventful moment when her future mother should first be allowedto behold the form of her adopted child. 

The comb was then brought out, and her mop of red-gold hair was assistedto fall in wet spirals all over her lovely head, which always "wiggled"too much for any more formal style of hair-dressing. Her Sunday hatbeing tied on, as the crowning glory, this lucky little princess, thischild of Fortune, so inestimably rich in her own opinion, this daughterof the gods, I say, was returned to the basket, where she endeavored tokeep quiet until the next piece of delightful unexpectedness should risefrom fairy-land upon her excited gaze. 

Timothy and Rags now went to the pump, and Rags was held under thespout. This was a new and bitter experience, and he wished for a fewbrief moments that he had never joined the noble army of deserters, buthad stayed where dirt was fashionable. Being released, the sense ofabnormal cleanliness mounted to his brain, and he tore breathlesslyround in a circle seventy-seven times without stopping. But this onlydried his hair and amused Gay, who was beginning to find the basketconfining, and who clamored for "Timfy" to take her to "yide. "

Timothy attended to himself last, as usual. He put his own head underthe pump, and scrubbed his face and hands heartily; wiping them onhis--well, he wiped them, and that is the main thing; besides, hishandkerchief had been reduced to a pulp in Gay's service. He combed hishair, pulled up his stockings and tied his shoes neatly, buttoned hisjacket closely over his shirt, and was just pinning up the rent in hishat, when Rags considerately brought another suggestion in the shape ofan old chicken-wing, with which he brushed every speck of dust from hisclothes. This done, and being no respecter of persons, he took thefamily comb to Rags, who woke the echoes during the operation, and hopedto the Lord that the squirrels would run slowly and that the field-micewould be very tender, to pay him for this. 

It was now nearly eight o'clock, and the party descended the hillsideand entered the side door of the station. 

The day's work had long since begun, and there was the usual din anduproar of railroad traffic. Trucks, laden high with boxes and barrels, were being driven to the wide doors, and porters were thundering andthumping and lurching the freight from one set of cars into another;their primary objects being to make a racket and demolish raw material, thereby increasing manufacture and export, but incidentally to load orunload as much freight as possible in a given time. 

Timothy entered, trundling his carriage, where Lady Gay sat enthronedlike a Murray Hill belle on a dog-cart, conscious pride of Sunday hat onweek-day morning exuding from every feature; and Rags followed closebehind, clean, but with a crushed spirit, which he could stimulate onlyby the most seductive imaginations. No one molested them, for Timothywas very careful not to get in any one's way. Finally, he drew up infront of a high blackboard, on which the names of various way-stationswere printed in gold letters:--

 CHESTERTOWN. SANDFORD. REEDVILLE. BINGHAM. SKAGGSTOWN. ESBURY. SCRATCH CORNER. HILLSIDE. MOUNTAIN VIEW. EDGEWOOD. PLEASANT RIVER. 

"The names get nicer and nicer as you read down the line, and thefurtherest one of all is the very prettiest, so I guess we'll go there, "thought Timothy, not realizing that his choice was based on mostinsecure foundations; and that, for aught he knew, the milk of humankindness might have more cream on it at Scratch Corner than at PleasantRiver, though the latter name was certainly more attractive. 

Gay approved of Pleasant River, and so did Rags; and Timothy moved offdown the station to a place on the open platform where a train of carsstood ready for starting, the engine at the head gasping and puffing andbreathing as hard as if it had an acute attack of asthma. 

"How much does it cost to go to Pleasant River, please?" asked Tim, bravely, of a kind-looking man in a blue coat and brass buttons, whostood by the cars. 

"This is a freight train, sonny, " replied the man; "takes four hours toget there. Better wait till 10. 45; buy your ticket up in the station. "

"10. 45!" Tim saw visions of Mrs. Simmons speeding down upon him in hotpursuit, kindled by Gay's disappearance into an appreciation of hercharms. 

The tears stood in his eyes as Gay clambered out of the basket, anddanced with impatience, exclaiming, "Gay wants to yide now! yide now!yide now!"

"Did you want to go sooner?" asked the man, who seemed to be entirelytoo much interested in humanity to succeed in the railroad business. "Well, as you seem to have consid'rable of a family on your hands, Iguess we'll take you along. Jim, unlock that car and let these childrenin, and then lock it up again. It's a car we're taking up to the end ofthe road for repairs, bubby, so the comp'ny 'll give you and your folksa free ride!"

Timothy thanked the man in his politest manner, and Gay pressed a pieceof moist cooky in his hand, and offered him one of her swan's-downkisses, a favor of which she was usually as chary as if it had possesseda market value. 

"Are you going to take the dog?" asked the man, as Rags darted up thesteps with sniffs and barks of ecstatic delight. "He ain't so handsomebut you can get another easy enough!" (Rags held his breath in suspense, and wondered if he had been put under a roaring cataract, and thenploughed in deep furrows with a sharp-toothed instrument of torture, only to be left behind at last!)

"That's just why I take him, " said Timothy; "because he isn't handsomeand has nobody else to love him. "

("Not a very polite reason, " thought Rags; "but anything to go!")

"Well, jump in, dog and all, and they'll give you the best free ride tothe country you ever had in your life! Tell 'em it's all right, Jim;"and the train steamed out of the depot, while the kind man waved hisbandana handkerchief until the children were out of sight. 

SCENE IV. 

_Pleasant River. _

JABE SLOCUM ASSUMES THE RÔLE OF GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

Jabe Slocum had been down to Edgewood, and was just returning to theWhite Farm, by way of the cross-roads and Hard Scrabble school-house. Hewas in no hurry, though he always had more work on hand than he couldleave undone for a month; and Maria also was taking her own time, asusual, even stopping now and then to crop an unusually sweet tuft ofgrass that grew within smelling distance, and which no mare (with adriver like Jabe) could afford to pass without notice. 

Jabe was ostensibly out on an "errant" for Miss Avilda Cummins; but, ashe had been in her service for six years, she had no expectations of hisaccomplishing anything beyond getting to a place and getting back in thesame day, the distance covered being no factor at all in the matter. 

But one needn't go to Miss Avilda Cummins for a description of JabeSlocum's peculiarities. They were all so written upon his face andfigure and speech that the wayfaring man, though a fool, could not errin his judgment. He was a long, loose, knock-kneed, slack-twistedperson, and would have been "longer yit if he hedn't hed so much turnedup for feet, "--so Aunt Hitty Tarbox said. (Aunt Hitty went from house tohouse in Edgewood and Pleasant River, making over boys' clothes; and asher tongue flew as fast as her needle, her sharp speeches were always incirculation in both villages. )

Mr. Slocum had sandy hair, high cheekbones, a pair of kindly light blueeyes, and a most unique nose: I hardly know to what order ofarchitecture it belonged, --perhaps Old Colonial would describe it aswell as anything else. It was a wide, flat, well-ventilated, hospitableedifice (so to speak), so peculiarly constructed and applied thatSamantha Ann Ripley (of whom more anon) declared that "the reason JabeSlocum ketched cold so easy was that, if he didn't hold his head jessso, it kep' a-rainin' in!"

His mouth was simply an enormous slit in his face, and served all thepurposes for which a mouth is presumably intended, save, perhaps, thetrivial one of decoration. In short (a ludicrously inappropriate wordfor the subject), it was a capital medium for exits and entrances, butno ornament to his countenance. When Rhapsena Crabb, now deceased, wasfirst engaged to Jabez Slocum, Aunt Hitty Tarbox said it beat her "howRhapseny ever got over Jabe's mouth; though she could 'a' got intew iteasy 'nough, or raound it, if she took plenty o' time. " But perhapsRhapsena appreciated a mouth (in a husband) that never was given to"jawin', " and which uttered only kind words during her brief span ofmarried life. And there was precious little leisure for kissing atPleasant River!

As Jabe had passed the store, a few minutes before, one of the boys hadcalled out, facetiously, "Shet yer mouth when ye go by the deepot, Laigs; the train's comin' in!" But he only smiled placidly, though itwas an ancient joke, the flavor of which had just fully penetrated therustic skull; and the villagers could not resist titillating the senseof humor with it once or twice a month. Neither did Jabez mind beingcalled "Laigs, " the local pronunciation of the word "legs;" in fact, his good humor was too deep to be ruffled. His "cistern of wrathfulnesswas so small, and the supply pipe so unready, " that it was next toimpossible to "put him out, " so the natives said. 

He was a man of tolerable education; the only son of his parents, whohad endeavored to make great things of him, and might perhaps havesucceeded, if he hadn't always had so little time at hisdisposal, --hadn't been "so drove, " as he expressed it. He went to thevillage school as regularly as he couldn't help, that is, as many daysas he couldn't contrive to stay away, until he was fourteen. From therehe was sent to the Academy, three miles distant; but his mother soonfound that he couldn't make the two trips a day and be "under cover bycandlelight;" so the plan of a classical education was abandoned, and hewas allowed to speed the home plough, --a profession which he pursuedwith such moderation that his father, when starting him down a furrow, used to hang his dinner-pail on his arm and, bidding him good-by, beghim, with tears in his eyes, to be back before sun-down. 

At the present moment Jabe was enjoying a cud of Old Virginia plugtobacco, and taking in no more of the landscape than he could avoid, when Maria, having wound up to the top of Marm Berry's hill, in spite ofherself walked directly out on one side of the road, and stopped shortto make room for the passage of an imposing procession, made up of onestraw phaeton, one baby, one strange boy, and one strange dog. 

Jabe eyed the party with some placid interest, for he loved children, but with no undue excitement. Shifting his huge quid, he inquired in hisusual leisurely manner, "Which way yer goin', bub, --t' the Swamp or t'the Falls?"

Timothy thought neither sounded especially inviting, but, rapidlychoosing the lesser evil, replied, "To the Falls, sir. "

"Thy way happens to be my way, 's Rewth said to Naomi; so 'f gittin'over the road's your objeck, 'n' y' ain't pertickler 'baout the gait yetravel, ye can git in 'n' ride a piece. We don't b'lieve in hurryin', Mariar 'n' me. Slow 'n' easy goes fur in a day, 's our motto. Can ye gityour folks aboard withaout spillin' any of 'em?"

No wonder he asked, for Gay was in such a wild state of excitement thatshe could hardly be held. 

"I can lift Gay up, if you'll please take her, sir, " said Timothy; "andif you're quite sure the horse will stand still. "

"Bless your soul, she'll stan' all right; she likes stan'in' a heapbetter 'n she doos goin'; runnin' away ain't no temptation to MariaCummins; let well enough alone 's her motto. Jump in, sissy! There yebe! Now git yer baby-shay in the back of the wagon, bubby, 'n' we'll be's snug 's a bug in a rug. "

Timothy, whose creed was simple and whose beliefs were crystal clear, now felt that his morning prayer had been heard, and that the Lord wason his side; so he abandoned all idea of commanding the situation, andgave himself up to the full ecstasy of the ride, as they joggedpeacefully along the river road. 

Gay held a piece of a rein that peeped from Jabe's colossal hand (whichwas said by the villagers to cover most as much territory as the hand ofProvidence), and was convinced that she was driving Maria, an idea thatmade her speechless with joy. 

Rags' wildest dreams of squirrels came true; and, reconciled at lengthto cleanliness, he was capering in and out of the woods, thinking whatan Arabian Nights' entertainment he would give the Minerva Court dogswhen he returned, if return he ever must to that miserable, squirrellesshole. 

The meadows on the other side of the river were gorgeous with yellowbuttercups, and here and there a patch of blue iris or wild sage. Theblack cherry trees were masses of snowy bloom; the water at the river'sedge held spikes of blue arrowweed in its crystal shallows; while theroadside itself was gay with daisies and feathery grasses. 

In the midst of this loveliness flowed Pleasant River, "Vexed in all its seaward course by bridges, dams, and mills, "

but finding time, during the busy summer months, to flush its fertilebanks with beauty. 

Suddenly (a word that could seldom be truthfully applied to thedescription of Jabe Slocum's movements) the reins were ruthlessly drawnfrom Lady Gay's hands and wound about the whipstock. 

"Gorry!" ejaculated Mr. Slocum, "ef I hain't left the widder Fosssettin' on Aunt Hitty's hoss-block, 'n' I promised to pick her up when Icome along back! That all comes o' my drivin' by the store so fast onaccount o' the boys hectorin' of me, so 't when I got to the turn I wasso kind of het up I jogged right along the straight road. Haste makeswaste 's an awful good motto. Pile out, young ones! It's only half amile from here to the Falls, 'n' you'll have to get there on Shank'smare!"

So saying, he dumped the astonished children into the middle of theroad, from whence he had plucked them, turned the docile mare, and witha "Git, Mariar!" went four miles back to relieve Aunt Hitty'shorse-block from the weight of the widder Foss (which was no joke!). 

This turn of affairs was most unexpected, and Gay seemed on the point oftears; but Timothy gathered her a handful of wild flowers, wiped thedust from her face, put on the clean blue gingham apron, and establishedher in the basket, where she soon fell asleep, wearied by theexcitements of the day. 

Timothy's heart began to be a little troubled as he walked on and onthrough the leafy woods, trundling the basket behind him. Nothing hadgone wrong; indeed, everything had been much easier than he could havehoped. Perhaps it was the weariness that had crept into his legs, andthe hollowness that began to appear in his stomach; but, somehow, although in the morning he had expected to find Gay's new mothersbeckoning from every window, so that he could scarcely choose betweenthem, he now felt as if the whole race of mothers had suddenly becomeextinct. 

Soon the village came in sight, nestled in the laps of the green hillson both sides of the river. Timothy trudged bravely on, scanning all thedwellings, but finding none of them just the thing. At last he turneddeliberately off the main road, where the houses seemed too neartogether and too near the street, for his taste, and trundled his familydown a shady sort of avenue, over which the arching elms met and claspedhands. 

Rags had by this time lowered his tail to half-mast, and kept strictlyto the beaten path, notwithstanding manifold temptations to forsake it. He passed two cats without a single insulting remark, and his entiredemeanor was eloquent of nostalgia. 

"Oh, dear!" sighed Timothy disconsolately; "there's something wrong withall the places. Either there's no pigeon-house, like in all thepictures, or no flower garden, or no chickens, or no lady at the window, or else there's lots of baby-clothes hanging on the wash-lines. I don'tbelieve I shall ever find"--

At this moment a large, comfortable white house, that had beenheretofore hidden by great trees, came into view. Timothy drew nearer tothe spotless picket fence, and gazed upon the beauties of the side yardand the front garden, --gazed and gazed, and fell desperately in love atfirst sight. 

The whole thing had been made as if to order; that is all there is tosay about it. There was an orchard, and, oh, ecstasy! what hosts ofgreen apples! There was an interesting grindstone under one tree, and abright blue chair and stool under another; a thicket of currant andgooseberry bushes; and a flock of young turkeys ambling awkwardlythrough the barn. Timothy stepped gently along in the thick grass, pasta pump and a mossy trough, till a side porch came into view, with awoman sitting there sewing bright-colored rags. A row of shining tinpans caught the sun's rays, and threw them back in a thousand glitteringprisms of light; the grasshoppers and crickets chirped sleepily in thewarm grass, and a score of tiny yellow butterflies hovered over a groupof odorous hollyhocks. 

Suddenly the person on the porch broke into this cheerful song, whichshe pitched in so high a key and gave with such emphasis that thecrickets and grasshoppers retired by mutual consent from any furthercompetition, and the butterflies suspended operations for severalseconds:--

 "I'll chase the antelope over the plain, The tiger's cob I'll bind with a chain, And the wild gazelle with the silv'ry feet I'll bring to thee for a playmate sweet. "

Timothy listened intently for some moments, but could not understand thewords, unless the lady happened to be in the menagerie business, whichhe thought unlikely, but delightful should it prove true. 

His eye then fell on a little marble slab under a tree in a shady cornerof the orchard. 

"That's a country doorplate, " he thought; "yes, it's got the lady'sname, 'Martha Cummins, ' printed on it. Now I'll know what to call her. "

He crept softly on to the front side of the house. There were flowerbeds, a lovable white cat snoozing on the doorsteps, and--a lady sittingat the open window knitting!

At this vision Timothy's heart beat so hard against his little jacketthat he could only stagger back to the basket, where Rags and Lady Gaywere snuggled together, fast asleep. He anxiously scanned Gay's face;moistened his rag of a handkerchief at the only available source ofsupply; scrubbed an atrocious dirt spot from the tip of her spiritednose; and then, dragging the basket along the path leading to the frontgate, he opened it and went in, mounted the steps, plied the brassknocker, and waited in childlike faith for a summons to enter and makehimself at home. 

SCENE V. 

_The White Farm. Afternoon. _

TIMOTHY FINDS A HOUSE IN WHICH HE THINKS A BABY IS NEEDED, BUT THEINMATES DO NOT ENTIRELY AGREE WITH HIM. 

Meanwhile, Miss Avilda Cummins had left her window and gone into thenext room for a skein of yarn. She answered the knock, however; and, opening the door, stood rooted to the threshold in speechlessastonishment, very much as if she had seen the shades of her ancestorsdrawn up in line in the dooryard. 

Off went Timothy's hat. He hadn't seen the lady's face very clearly whenshe was knitting at the window, or he would never have dared to knock;but it was too late to retreat. Looking straight into her cold eyes withhis own shining gray ones, he said bravely, but with a trembling voice, "Do you need any babies here, if you please?" (Need any babies! What aninappropriate, nonsensical expression, to be sure; as if a baby weresomething exquisitely indispensable, like the breath of life, forinstance!)

No answer. Miss Vilda was trying to assume command of her scatteredfaculties and find some clue to the situation. Timothy concluded thatshe was not, after all, the lady of the house; and, remembering themarble doorplate in the orchard, tried again. "Does Miss Martha Cumminslive here, if you please?" (Oh, Timothy! what induced you, in thiscrucial moment of your life, to touch upon that sorest spot in MissVilda's memory?)

"What do you want?" she faltered. 

"I want to get somebody to adopt my baby, " he said; "if you haven't gotany of your own, you couldn't find one half as dear and as pretty as sheis; and you needn't have me too, you know, unless you should need me tohelp take care of her. "

"You're very kind, " Miss Avilda answered sarcastically, preparing toshut the door upon the strange child; "but I don't think I care to adoptany babies this afternoon, thank you. You'd better run right back hometo your mother, if you've got one, and know where 't is, anyhow. "

"I--haven't!" cried poor Timothy, with a sudden and unpremeditated burstof tears at the failure of his hopes; for he was half child as well ashalf hero. At this juncture Gay opened her eyes, and burst into a wildhowl at the unwonted sight of Timothy's grief; and Rags, who was full ofexquisite sensibility, and quite ready to weep with those who did weep, lifted up his woolly head and added his piteous wails to the concert. Itwas a _tableau vivant_. 

"Samanthy Ann!" called Miss Vilda excitedly; "Samanthy Ann! Come righthere and tell me what to do!"

The person thus adjured flew in from the porch, leaving a serpentinetrail of red, yellow, and blue rags in her wake. "Land o' liberty!" sheexclaimed, as she surveyed the group. "Where'd they come from, and whatair they tryin' to act out?"

"This boy's a baby agent, as near as I can make out; he wants I shouldadopt this red-headed baby, but says I ain't obliged to take him too, and makes out they haven't got any home. I told him I wa'n't adoptin'any babies just now, and at that he burst out cryin', and the other twofollowed suit. Now, have the three of 'em just escaped from someasylum, or are they too little to be lunatics?"

Timothy dried his tears, in order that Gay should be comforted andappear at her best, and said penitently: "I cried before I thought, because Gay hasn't had anything but cookies since last night, and she'llhave no place to sleep unless you'll let us stay here just till morning. We went by all the other houses, and chose this one because everythingwas so beautiful. "

"Nothin' but cookies sence--Land o' liberty!" ejaculated Samantha Ann, starting for the kitchen. 

"Come back here, Samanthy! Don't you leave me alone with 'em, and don'tlet's have all the neighbors runnin' in; you take 'em into the kitchenand give 'em somethin' to eat, and we'll see about the rest afterwards. "

Gay kindled at the first casual mention of food; and, trying to clamberout of the basket, fell over the edge, thumping her head smartly on thestone steps. Miss Vilda covered her face with her hands, and waitedshudderingly for another yell, as the child's carnation stocking andterra-cotta head mingled wildly in the air. But Lady Gay disentangledherself, and laughed the merriest burst of laughter that ever woke theechoes. That was a joke; her life was full of them, served fresh everyday; for no sort of adversity could long have power over such a natureas hers. "Come get supper, " she cooed, putting her hand in Samantha's;adding that the "nasty lady needn't come, " a remark that happily escapeddetection, as it was rendered in very unintelligible "early English. "

Miss Avilda tottered into the darkened sitting-room and sank on to ablack haircloth sofa, while Samantha ushered the wanderers into thesunny kitchen, muttering to herself: "Wall, I vow! travelin' over thecountry all alone, 'n' not knee-high to a toad! They're send in' outawful young tramps this season, but they sha'n't go away hungry, if Iknow it. "

Accordingly, she set out a plentiful supply of bread and butter, gingerbread, pie, and milk, put a tin plate of cold hash in the shed forRags, and swept him out to it with a corn broom; and, telling thechildren comfortably to cram their "everlastin' little bread-basketsfull, " returned to the sitting-room. 

"Now, whatever makes you so panicky, Vildy? Didn't you never see a trampbefore, for pity's sake? And if you're scar't for fear I can't handle'em alone, why, Jabe 'll be comin' along soon. The prospeck of gittin'to bed's the only thing that'll make him 'n' Maria hurry; 'n' they'llboth be cal'latin' on that by this time!"

"Samanthy Ann, the first question that that boy asked me was, 'If MissMartha Cummins lived here. ' Now, what do you make of that?"

Samantha looked as astonished as anybody could wish. "Asked if MarthyCummins lived here? How under the canopy did he ever hear Marthy's name?Wall, somebody told him to ask, that's all there is about it; and whatharm was there in it, anyhow?"

"Oh, I don't know, I don't know; but the minute that boy looked up at meand asked for Martha Cummins, the old trouble, that I thought was deadand buried years ago, started right up in my heart and begun to achejust as if it all happened yesterday. "

"Now keep stiddy, Vildy; what could happen?" urged Samantha. 

"Why, it flashed across my mind in a minute, " and here Miss Vildalowered her voice to a whisper, "that perhaps Martha's baby didn't die, as they told her. "

"But, land o' liberty, s'posin' it didn't! Poor Marthy died herself more'n twenty years ago. "

"I know; but supposing her baby didn't die; and supposing it grew up anddied, and left this little girl to roam round the world afoot andalone?"

"You're cal'latin' dreadful close, 'pears to me; now, don't go s'posin'any more things. You're makin' out one of them yellow-covered books, sech as the summer boarders bring out here to read; always chock full ofdoin's that never would come to pass in this or any other Christiancountry. You jest lay down and snuff your camphire, an' I'll go out an'pump that boy drier 'n a sand heap!"

Now, Miss Avilda Cummins was unmarried by every implication of herbeing, as Henry James would say: but Samantha Ann Ripley was a spinsterpurely by accident. She had seldom been exposed to the witcheries ofchildren, or she would have known long before this that, so far as shewas personally concerned, they would always prove irresistible. Shemarched into the kitchen like a general resolved upon the extinction ofthe enemy. She walked out again, half an hour later, with the very teethof her resolve drawn, but so painlessly that she had not been aware ofthe operation! She marched in a woman of a single purpose; she came outa double-faced diplomatist, with the seeds of sedition and conspiracylurking, all unsuspected, in her heart. 

The cause? Nothing more than a dozen trifles as "light as air. " Timothyhad sat upon a little wooden stool at her feet; and, resting his arms onher knees, had looked up into her kind, rosy face with a pair of liquideyes like gray-blue lakes, eyes which seemed and were the very windowsof his soul. He had sat there telling his wee bit of a story; just avague, shadowy, plaintive, uncomplaining scrap of a story, withoutbeginning, plot, or ending, but every word in it set Samantha AnnRipley's heart throbbing. 

And Gay, who knew a good thing when she saw it, had climbed up into hercapacious lap, and, not being denied, had cuddled her head into that"gracious hollow" in Samantha's shoulder, that had somehow missed thepressure of the childish heads that should have lain there. ThenSamantha's arm had finally crept round the wheedlesome bit of softhumanity, and before she knew it her chair was swaying gently to andfro, to and fro, to and fro; and the wooden rockers creaked more sweetlythan ever they had creaked before, for they were singing their firstcradle song!

Then Gay heaved a great sigh of unspeakable satisfaction, and closed herlovely eyes. She had been born with a desire to be cuddled, and had hadprecious little experience of it. At the sound of this happy sigh andthe sight of the child's flower face, with the upward curling lashes onthe pink cheeks and the moist tendrils of hair on the white forehead, and the helpless, clinging touch of the baby arm about her neck, Icannot tell you the why or wherefore, but old memories and new desiresbegan to stir in Samantha Ann Ripley's heart. In short, she had met theenemy, and she was theirs!

Presently Gay was laid upon the old-fashioned settle, and Samanthastationed herself where she could keep the flies off her by waving apalm-leaf fan. 

"Now, there's one thing more I want you to tell me, " said she, after shehad possessed herself of Timothy's unhappy past, uncertain present, andstill more dubious future; "and that is, what made you ask for MissMarthy Cummins when you come to the door?"

"Why, I thought it was the lady-of-the-house's name, " said Timothy; "Isaw it on her doorplate. "

"But we ain't got any doorplate, to begin with. "

"Not a silver one on your door, like they have in the city; but isn'tthat white marble piece in the yard a doorplate? It's got 'MarthaCummins, aged 17, ' on it. I thought may be in the country they had themin their gardens; only I thought it was queer they put their ages onthem, because they'd have to be scratched out every little while, wouldn't they?"

"My grief!" ejaculated Samantha; "for pity's sake, don't you know atombstun when you see it?"

"No; what is a tombstun?"

"Land sakes! what do you know, any way? Didn't you never see a graveyardwhere folks is buried?"

"I never went to the graveyard, but I know where it is, and I knowabout people's being buried. Flossy is going to be buried. And so thewhite stone shows the places where the people are put, and tells theirnames, does it? Why, it is a kind of a doorplate, after all, don't yousee? Who is Martha Cummins, aged 17?"

"She was Miss Vildy's sister, and she went to the city, and then comehome and died here, long years ago. Miss Vildy set great store by her, and can't bear to have her name spoke; so remember what I say. Now, this'Flossy' you tell me about (of all the fool names I ever hearn tell of, that beats all, --sounds like a wax doll, with her clo'se sewed on!), wasshe a young woman?"

"I don't know whether she was young or not, " said Tim, in a puzzledtone. "She had young yellow hair, and very young shiny teeth, white aschina; but her neck was crackled underneath, like Miss Vilda's;--it hadno kissing places in it like Gay's. "

"Well, you stay here in the kitchen a spell now, 'n' don't let in thatrag-dog o' yourn till he stops scratching if he keeps it up till thecrack o' doom;--he's got to be learned better manners. Now, I'll go in'n' talk to Miss Vildy. She may keep you over night, 'n' she may not; Iain't noways sure. You started in wrong foot foremost. "

SCENE VI. 

_The White Farm. Evening. _

TIMOTHY, LADY GAY, AND RAGS PROVE FAITHFUL TO EACH OTHER. 

Samantha went into the sitting-room and told the whole story to MissAvilda; told it simply and plainly, for she was not given to arabesquesin language, and then waited for a response. 

"Well, what do you advise doin'?" asked Miss Cummins nervously. 

"I don't feel comp'tent to advise, Vilda; the house ain't mine, nor yetthe beds that's in it, nor the victuals in the butt'ry; but as aprofessin' Christian and member of the Orthodox Church in good andreg'lar standin' you can't turn 'em ou'doors when it's comin' on darkand they ain't got no place to sleep. "

"Plenty of good Orthodox folks turned their backs on Martha when she wasin trouble. "

"There may be Orthodox hogs, for all I know, " replied the bluntSamantha, who frequently called spades shovels in her search afterabsolute truth of statement, "but that ain't no reason why we shouldcopy after 'em 's I know of. "

"I don't propose to take in two strange children and saddle myself with'em for days, or weeks, perhaps, " said Miss Cummins coldly, "but I tellyou what I will do. Supposing we send the boy over to Squire Bean's. It's near hayin' time, and he may take him in to help round and dochores. Then we'll tell him before he goes that we'll keep the baby aslong as he gets a chance to work anywheres near. That will give us achance to look round for some place for 'em and find out whether they'vetold us the truth. "

"And if Squire Bean won't take him?" asked Samantha, with as much coldindifference as she could assume. 

"Well, I suppose there's nothing for it but he must come back here andsleep. I'll go out and tell him so, --I declare I feel as weak as if I'dhad a spell of sickness!"

Timothy bore the news better than Samantha had feared. Squire Bean'sfarm did not look so very far away; his heart was at rest about Gay andhe felt that he could find a shelter for himself somewhere. 

"Now, how'll the baby act when she wakes up and finds you're gone?"inquired Miss Vilda anxiously, as Timothy took his hat and bent down tokiss the sleeping child. 

"Well, I don't know exactly, " answered Timothy, "because she's alwayshad me, you see. But I guess she'll be all right, now that she knows youa little, and if I can see her every day. She never cries except once ina long while when she gets mad; and if you're careful how you behave, she'll hardly ever get mad at you. "

"Well I vow!" exclaimed Miss Vilda with a grim glance at Samantha, "Iguess she'd better do the behavin'. "

So Timothy was shown the way across the fields to Squire Bean's. Samantha accompanied him to the back gate, where she gave him threedoughnuts and a sneaking kiss, watching him out of sight under thepretense of taking the towels and napkins off the grass. 

It was nearly nine o'clock and quite dark when Timothy stole again tothe little gate of the White Farm. The feet that had traveled socourageously over the mile walk to Squire Bean's had come back againslowly and wearily; for it is one thing to be shod with the sandals ofhope, and quite another to tread upon the leaden soles ofdisappointment. 

He leaned upon the white picket gate listening to the chirp of the frogsand looking at the fireflies as they hung their gleaming lamps here andthere in the tall grass. Then he crept round to the side door, toimplore the kind offices of the mediator before he entered the presenceof the judge whom he assumed to be sitting in awful state somewhere inthe front part of the house. He lifted the latch noiselessly andentered. Oh horror! Miss Avilda herself was sprinkling clothes at thegreat table on one side of the room. There was a moment of silence. 

"He wouldn't have me, " said Timothy simply, "he said I wasn't big enoughyet. I offered him Gay, too, but he didn't want her either, and if youplease, I would rather sleep on the sofa so as not to be any moretrouble. "

"You won't do any such thing, " responded Miss Vilda briskly. "You'vegot a royal welcome this time sure, and I guess you can earn yourlodging fast enough. You hear that?" and she opened the door that ledinto the upper part of the house. 

A piercing shriek floated down into the kitchen, and another on theheels of that, and then another. Every drop of blood in Timothy's sparebody rushed to his pale grave face. "Is she being whipped?" hewhispered, with set lips. 

"No; she needs it bad enough, but we ain't savages. She's only got thepretty temper that matches her hair, just as you said. I guess wehaven't been behavin' to suit her. "

"Can I go up? She'll stop in a minute when she sees me. She never wentto bed without me before, and truly, truly, she's not a cross baby!"

"Come right along and welcome; just so long as she has to stay you'reinvited to visit with her. Land sakes! the neighbors will think we'rekillin' pigs!" and Miss Vilda started upstairs to show Timothy the way. 

Gay was sitting up in bed and the faithful Samantha Ann was seatedbeside her with a lapful of useless bribes, --apples, seed-cakes, anillustrated Bible, a thermometer, an ear of red corn, and a largestuffed green bird, the glory of the "keeping room" mantelpiece. 

But a whole aviary of highly colored songsters would not have assuagedGay's woe at that moment. Every effort at conciliation was met with theone plaint: "I want my Timfy! I want my Timfy!"

At the first sight of the beloved form, Gay flung the sacred bird intothe furthest corner of the room and burst into a wild sob of delight, asshe threw herself into Timothy's loving arms. 

Fifteen minutes later peace had descended on the troubled homestead, andSamantha went into the sitting-room and threw herself into the depths ofthe high-backed rocker. "Land o' liberty! perhaps I ain't het-up!" sheejaculated, as she wiped the sweat of honest toil from her brow andfanned herself vigorously with her apron. "I tell you what, at fiveo'clock I was dreadful sorry I hadn't took Dave Milliken, but now I'mplaguey glad I didn't! Still" (and here she tried to smooth the greenbird's ruffled plumage and restore him to his perch under the reveredglass case), "still, children will be children. "

"Some of 'em's considerable more like wild cats, " said Miss Avildabriefly. 

"You just go upstairs now, and see if you find anything that looks likewild cats; but 't any rate, wild cats or tame cats, we would n't dassturn 'em ou'doors this time o' night for fear of flyin' in the face ofProvidence. If it's a stint He's set us, I don't see but we've got towork it out somehow. "

"I'd rather have some other stint. "

"To be sure!" retorted Samantha vigorously. "I never see anybody yetthat didn't want to pick out her own stint; but mebbe if we got just theone we wanted it wouldn't be no stint! Land o' liberty, what's that!"

There was a crash of falling tin pans, and Samantha flew to investigatethe cause. About ten minutes later she returned, more heated than ever, and threw herself for the second time into the high-backed rocker. 

"That dog's been givin' me a chase, I can tell you! He clawed andscratched so in the shed that I put him in the wood-house; and he wentand clim' up on that carpenter's bench, and pitched out that littlewinder at the top, and fell on to the milk-pan shelf and scattered everylast one of 'em, and then upsot all my cans of termatter plants. But Icouldn't find him, high nor low. All to once I see by the dirt on thefloor that he'd squirmed himself through the skeeter-nettin' door int'the house, and then I surmised where he was. Sure enough, I crep'upstairs and there he was, layin' between the two children as snug asyou please. He was snorin' like a pirate when I found him, but when Istood over the bed with a candle I could see 't his wicked little eyeswas wide open, and he was jest makin' b'lieve sleep in hopes I'd leavehim where he was. Well, I yanked him out quicker 'n scat, 'n' locked himin the old chicken house, so I guess he'll stay out, now. For folks thatclaim to be no blood relation, I declare him 'n' the boy 'n' the babybeats anything I ever come across for bein' fond of one 'nother!"

There were dreams at the White Farm that night. Timothy went to sleepwith a prayer on his lips; a prayer that God would excuse him forspeaking of Martha's doorplate, and a most imploring postscript to theeffect that God would please make Miss Vilda into a mother for Gay;thinking as he floated off into the land of Nod, "It'll be awful hardwork, but I don't suppose He cares how hard 't is!"

Lady Gay dreamed of driving beautiful white horses beside sparklingwaters ... And through flowery meadows ... And great green birds perchedon all the trees and flew towards her as if to peck the cherries of herlips ... But when she tried to beat them off they all turned intoTimothys and she hugged them close to her heart ... 

Rags' visions were gloomy, for he knew not whether the Lady with theFirm Hand would free him from his prison in the morning, or whether hewas there for all time ... But there were intervals of bliss when hisfancies took a brighter turn ... When Hope smiled ... And he bit thewhite cat's tail ... And chased the infant turkeys ... And found sweet, juicy, delicious bones in unexpected places ... And even inhaled, inexquisite anticipation, the fragrance of one particularly succulent bonethat he had hidden under Miss Vilda's bed. 

Sleep carried Samantha so many years back into the past that she heardthe blithe din of carpenters hammering and sawing on a little housethat was to be hers, his, _theirs_. ... And as she watched them, withall sorts of maidenly hopes about the home that was to be ... Some onestole up behind and caught her at it, and she ran away blushing ... Andsome one followed her ... And they watched the carpenters together. ... Somebody else lived in the little house now, and Samantha never blushedany more, but that part was mercifully hidden in the dream. 

Miss Vilda's slumber was troubled. She seemed to be walking throughpeaceful meadows, brown with autumn, when all at once there rose in thepath steep hills and rocky mountains ... She felt too tired and too oldto climb, but there was nothing else to be done ... And just as shebegan the toilsome ascent, a little child appeared, and catching herhelplessly by the skirts implored to be taken with her ... And sherefused and went on alone ... But, miracle of miracles, when she reachedthe crest of the first hill the child was there before her, stillbeseeching to be carried ... And again she refused, and again shewearily climbed the heights alone, always meeting the child when shereached their summits, and always enacting the same scene.... At lastshe cried in despair, "Ask me no more, for I have not even strengthenough for my own needs!" ... And the child said, "I will help you;" andstraightway crept into her arms and nestled there as one who would notbe denied ... And she took up her burden and walked.... And as sheclimbed the weight grew lighter and lighter, till at length the clingingarms seemed to give her peace and strength ... And when she neared thecrest of the highest mountain she felt new life throbbing in her veinsand new hopes stirring in her heart, and she remembered no more the painand weariness of her journey.... And all at once a bright angel appearedto her and traced the letters of a word upon her forehead and took thechild from her arms and disappeared.... And the angel had the lovelysmile and sad eyes of Martha ... And the word she traced on Miss Vilda'sforehead was "Inasmuch"!

SCENE VII. 

_The Old Homestead. _

MISTRESS AND MAID FIND TO THEIR AMAZEMENT THAT A CHILD, MORE THAN ALLOTHER GIFTS, BRINGS HOPE WITH IT AND FORWARD LOOKING THOUGHTS. 

It was called the White Farm, not because that was an unusual color inPleasant River. Nineteen out of every twenty houses in the village werepainted white, for it had not then entered the casual mind that anyother course was desirable or possible. Occasionally, a man of riotousimagination would substitute two shades of buff, or make the back of hisbarn red, but the spirit of invention stopped there, and the majority ofsane people went on painting white. But Miss Avilda Cummins was blessedwith a larger income than most of the inhabitants of Pleasant River, andall her buildings, the great house, the sheds, the carriage and dairyhouses, the fences and the barn, were always kept in a state of dazzlingpurity; "as if, " the neighbors declared, "S'manthy Ann Ripley went over'em every morning with a dust-cloth. "

It was merely an accident that the carriage and work horses chanced tobe white, and that the original white cats of the family kept on havingwhite kittens to decorate the front doorsteps. It was not accident, however, but design, that caused Jabe Slocum to scour the country for agood white cow and persuade Miss Cummins to swap off the old red one, sothat the "critters" in the barn should match. 

Miss Avilda had been born at the White Farm; father and mother had beentaken from there to the old country churchyard, and "Martha, aged 17, "poor, pretty, willful Martha, the greatest pride and greatest sorrow ofthe family, was lying under the apple trees in the garden. 

Here also the little Samantha Ann Ripley had come as a child years ago, to be playmate, nurse, and companion to Martha, and here she had stayedever since, as friend, adviser, and "company-keeper" to the lonely MissCummins. Nobody in Pleasant River would have dared to think of her asanybody's "hired help, " though she did receive bed and board, and acertain sum yearly for her services; but she lived with Miss Cummins onequal terms, as was the custom in the good old New England villages, doing the lion's share of the work, and marking her sense of thesituation by washing the dishes while Miss Avilda wiped them, and bynever suffering her to feed the pig or go down cellar. 

Theirs had been a dull sort of life, in which little had happened tomake them grow into sympathy with the outside world. All the sweetnessof Miss Avilda's nature had turned to bitterness and gall after Martha'sdisgrace, sad home-coming, and death. There had been much to forgive, and she had not had the grace nor the strength to forgive it until itwas too late. The mystery of death had unsealed her eyes, and there hadbeen a moment when the sad and bitter woman might have been drawn closerto the great Father-heart, there to feel the throb of a Divinecompassion that would have sweetened the trial and made the burdenlighter. But the minister of the parish proved a sorry comforter andadviser in these hours of trial. The Reverend Joshua Beckwith, whoseview of God's universe was about as broad as if he had lived on theinside of his own pork-barrel, had cherished certain strong andunrelenting opinions concerning Martha's final destination, which werenot shared by Miss Cummins. Martha, therefore, was not laid with theelect, but was put to rest in the orchard, under the kindly, untheological shade of the apple trees; and they scattered their tintedblossoms over her little white headstone, shed their fragrance about herquiet grave, and dropped their ruddy fruit in the high grass thatcovered it, just as tenderly and respectfully as if they had beenregulation willows. The Reverend Joshua thus succeeded in drying up thesprings of human sympathy in Miss Avilda's heart when most she neededcomfort and gentle teaching; and, distrusting God for the moment, aswell as his inexorable priest, she left her place in the oldmeeting-house where she had "worshiped" ever since she had acquiredadhesiveness enough to stick to a pew, and was not seen there again formany years. The Reverend Joshua had died, as all men must and as mostmen should; and a mild-voiced successor reigned in his place; so theCummins pew was occupied once more. 

Samantha Ann Ripley had had her heart history too, --one of a differentkind. She had "kept company" with David Milliken for a little matter oftwenty years, off and on, and Miss Avilda had expected at various timesto lose her friend and helpmate; but fear of this calamity had at lengthbeen quite put to rest by the fourth and final rupture of the bond, fiveyears before. 

There had always been a family feud between the Ripleys and theMillikens; and when the young people took it into their heads to fall inlove with each other in spite of precedent or prejudice, they found thatthe course of true love ran in anything but a smooth channel. It was, infact, a sort of village Montague and Capulet affair; but David andSamantha were no Romeo and Juliet. The climate and general conditions oflife at Pleasant River were not favorable to the development of suchexotics. The old people interposed barriers between the young ones aslong as they lived; and when they died, Dave Milliken's spirit wasbroken, and he began to annoy the valiant Samantha by what she calledhis "meechin'" ways. In one of his moments of weakness he took a widowedsister to live with him, a certain Mrs. Pettigrove, of Edgewood, whoinherited the Milliken objection to Ripleys, and who widened the breachand brought Samantha to the point of final and decisive rupture. Thelast straw was the statement, sown broadcast by Mrs. Pettigrove, that"Samanthy Ann Ripley's father never would 'a' died if he'd ever had anydoctorin'; but 't was the gospel truth that they never had nobody to'tend him but a hom'pathy man from Scratch Corner, who, of course, bein'a hom'path, didn't know no more about doctorin' 'n Cooper's cow. "

Samantha told David after this that she didn't want to hear him open hismouth again, nor none of his folks; that she was through with the wholelot of 'em forever and ever, 'n' she wished to the Lord she'd had senseenough to put her foot down fifteen years ago, 'n' she hoped he'd enjoybein' tread underfoot for the rest of his natural life, 'n' she wouldn'tspeak to him again if she met him in her porridge dish. She thenslammed the door and went upstairs to cry as if she were sixteen, as shewatched him out of sight. Poor Dave Milliken! just sweet and earnest andstrong enough to suffer at being worsted by circumstances, but neverquite strong enough to conquer them. 

And it was to this household that Timothy had brought his child foradoption. 

When Miss Avilda opened her eyes, the morning after the arrival of thechildren, she tried to remember whether anything had happened to giveher such a strange feeling of altered conditions. It wasSaturday, --baking day, --that couldn't be it; and she gazed at the littledimity-curtained window and at the picture of the Death-bed of Calvin, and wondered what was the matter. 

Just then a child's laugh, bright, merry, tuneful, infectious, rang outfrom some distant room, and it all came back to her as Samantha Annopened the door and peered in. 

"I've got breakfast 'bout ready, " she said; "but I wish, soon 's you'redressed, you'd step down 'n' see to it, 'n' let me wash the baby. Iguess water was skerse where she come from!"

"They're awake, are they?"

"Awake? Land o' liberty! As soon as 't was light, and before the boy hadopened his eyes, Gay was up 'n' poundin' on all the doors, 'n'hollorin' 'S'manfy' (beats all how she got holt o' my name so quick!), so 't I thought sure she'd disturb your sleep. See here, Vildy, we wantthose children should look respectable the few days they're here. Idon't see how we can rig out the boy, but there's those old things ofMarthy's in the attic; seems like it might be a blessin' on 'em if weused 'em this way. "

"I thought of it myself in the night, " answered Vilda briefly. "You'llfind the key of the trunk in the light stand drawer. You see to thechildren, and I'll get breakfast on the table. Has Jabe come?"

"No; he sent a boy to milk, 'n' said he'd be right along. You know whatthat means!"

Miss Vilda moved about the immaculate kitchen, frying potatoes andmaking tea, setting on extra portions of bread and doughnuts and a hugepitcher of milk; while various noises, strange enough in that quiethouse, floated down from above. 

"This is dreadful hard on Samanthy, " she reflected. "I don't know 's I'dought to have put it on her, knowing how she hates confusion andcompany, and all that; but she seemed to think we'd got to tough it outfor a spell, any way; though I don't expect her temper 'll stand thestrain very long. "

The fact was, Samantha was banging doors and slatting tin pails aboutfuriously to keep up an ostentatious show of ill humor. She tried herbest to grunt with displeasure when Gay, seated in a wash-tub, crowedand beat the water with her dimpled hands, so that it splashed all overthe carpet; but all the time there was such a joy tugging at herheart-strings as they had not felt for years. 

When the bath was over, clean petticoats and ankle-ties were chosen outof the old leather trunk, and finally a little blue and white lawndress. It was too long in the skirt, and pending the moment whenSamantha should "take a tack in it, " it anticipated the present fashion, and made Lady Gay look more like a disguised princess than ever. Thegown was low-necked and short-sleeved, in the old style; and Samanthawas in despair till she found some little embroidered muslin capes andfull undersleeves, with which she covered Gay's pink neck and arms. These things of beauty so wrought upon the child's excitable nature thatshe could hardly keep still long enough to have her hair curled; andSamantha, as the shining rings dropped off her horny forefinger, waswrestling with the Evil One, in the shape of a little box of jewelrythat she had found with the clothing. She knew that the wish was avicious one, and that such gewgaws were out of place on a little pauperjust taken in for the night; but her fingers trembled with a desire tofasten the little gold ears of corn on the shoulders, or tie the stringsof coral beads round the child's pretty throat. 

When the toilet was completed, and Samantha was emptying the tub, Gayclimbed on the bureau and imprinted sloppy kisses of sincere admirationon the radiant reflection of herself in the little looking-glass; then, getting down again, she seized her heap of Minerva Court clothes, and, before the astonished Samantha could interpose, flung them out of thesecond-story window, where they fell on the top of the lilac bushes. 

"Me doesn't like nasty old dress, " she explained, with a dazzling smilethat was a justification in itself; "me likes pretty new dress!" andthen, with one hand reaching up to the door-knob, and the otherthrowing disarming kisses to Samantha, --"By-by! Lady Gay go circus now!Timfy, come, take Lady Gay to circus!"

There was no time for discipline then, and she was borne to thebreakfast-table, where Timothy was already making acquaintance with MissVilda. 

Samantha entered, and Vilda, glancing at her nervously, perceived withrelief that she was "taking things easy. " Ah! but it was lucky for poorDavid Milliken that he couldn't see her at that moment. Her whole facehad relaxed; her mouth was no longer a thin, hard line, but had acertain curve and fullness, borrowed perhaps from the warmth of innocentbaby-kisses. Embarrassment and stifled joy had brought a rosier color toher cheek; Gay's vandal hand had ruffled the smoothness of her sandylocks, so that a few stray hairs were absolutely curling with amazementthat they had escaped from their sleek bondage; in a word, Samantha AnnRipley was lovely and lovable!

Timothy had no eyes for any one save his beloved Gay, at whom he gazedwith unspeakable admiration, thinking it impossible that any humanbeing, with a single eye in its head, could refuse to take such an angelwhen it was in the market. 

Gay, not being used to a regular morning toilet, had fought against itvaliantly at first; but the tonic of the bath itself and the exercise ofwar had brought the color to her cheeks and the brightness to her eyes. She had forgiven Samantha, she was ready to be on good terms with MissVilda, she was at peace with all the world. That she was eating thebread of dependence did not trouble her in the least! No royal visitor, conveying honor by her mere presence, could have carried off a delicatesituation with more distinguished grace and ease. She was perched on aWebster's Unabridged Dictionary, and immediately began blowing bubblesin her mug of milk in the most reprehensible fashion; and glancing upafter each naughty effort with an irrepressible gurgle of laughter, inwhich she looked so bewitching, even with a milky crescent over her redmouth, that she would have melted the heart of the most predestinate oldmisogynist in Christendom. 

Timothy was not so entirely at his ease. His eyes had looked into lifeonly a few more summers, but their "radiant morning visions" had beendispelled; experience had tempered joy. Gay, however, had not arrived atan age where people's motives can be suspected for an instant. If therehad been any possible plummet with which to sound the depths of herunconscious philosophy, she apparently looked upon herself as a guestout of heaven, flung down upon this hospitable planet with the singleresponsibility of enjoying its treasures. 

O happy heart of childhood! Your simple creed is rich in faith, andtrust, and hope. You have not learned that the children of a commonFather can do aught but love and help each other. 

SCENE VIII. 

_The Old Garden. _

JABE AND SAMANTHA EXCHANGE HOSTILITIES, AND THE FORMER SAYS A GOOD WORDFOR THE LITTLE WANDERERS. 

"God Almighty first planted a garden, and it is indeed the purest of allhuman pleasures, " said Lord Bacon, and Miss Vilda would have agreed withhim. Her garden was not simply the purest of all her pleasures, it washer only one; and the love that other people gave to family, friends, orkindred she lavished on her posies. 

It was a dear, old-fashioned, odorous garden, where Dame Nature hadnever been forced but only assisted to do her duty. Miss Vilda sowed herseeds in the springtime wherever there chanced to be room, and they cameup and flourished and went to seed just as they liked, those being theonly duties required of them. Two splendid groups of fringed "pinies, "the pride of Miss Avilda's heart, grew just inside the gate, and hardby the handsomest dahlias in the village, quilled beauties like carvedrosettes of gold and coral and ivory. There was plenty of feathery"sparrowgrass, " so handy to fill the black and yawning chasms of summerfireplaces and furnish green for "boquets. " There was a stray peach orgreengage tree here and there, and if a plain, well-meaning carrotchanced to lift its leaves among the poppies, why, they were all thechildren of the same mother, and Miss Vilda was not the woman to rootout the invader and fling it into the ditch. There was a bed of yellowtomatoes, where, in the season, a hundred tiny golden balls hung amongthe green leaves; and just beside them, in friendly equality, a tangleof pink sweet-williams, fragrant phlox, delicate bride's-tears, canterbury bells blue as the June sky, none-so-pretties, gay cockscombs, and flaunting marigolds, which would insist on coming up all together, summer after summer, regardless of color harmonies. Last, but not least, there was a patch of sweet peas, "on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white. "

These dispensed their sweet odors so generously that it was a favoritediversion among the village children to stand in rows outside the fence, and, elevating their bucolic noses, simultaneously "sniff Miss Cummins'peas. " The garden was large enough to have little hills and dales of itsown, and its banks sloped gently down to the river. There was a gnarledapple tree hidden by a luxuriant wild grapevine, a fit bower for a"lov'd Celia" or a "fair Rosamond. " There was a spring, whose crystalwaters were "cabined, cribbed, confined" within a barrel sunk in theearth; a brook singing its way among the alder bushes, and dripping hereand there into pools, over which the blue harebells leaned to seethemselves. There was a summer-house, too, on the brink of the hill; aweather-stained affair, with a hundred names carved on its venerablelattices, --names of youths and maidens who had stood there in themoonlight and plighted rustic vows. 

If you care to feel a warm glow in the region of your heart, imaginelittle Timothy Jessup sent to play in that garden, --sent to play foralmost the first time in his life! Imagine it, I ask, for there are somethings too sweet to prick with a pen-point. Timothy stayed therefifteen minutes, and running back to the house in a state of intoxicateddelight went up to Samantha, and laying an insistent hand on hers saidexcitedly, "Oh, Samanthy, you didn't tell me--there is shining waterdown in the garden; not so big as the ocean, nor so still as the harbor, but a kind of baby river running along by itself with the sweetestnoise. Please, Miss Vilda, may I take Gay to see it, and will it hurt itif I wash Rags in it?"

"Let 'em all go, " suggested Samantha; "there's Jabe dawdlin' along theroad, and they might as well be out from under foot. "

"Don't be too hard on Jabe this morning, Samanthy, --he's been to see theBaptist minister at Edgewood; you know he's going to be baptized sometime next month. "

"Well, he needs it! But land sakes! you couldn't make them Slocums pious'f you kep' on baptizin' of 'em till the crack o' doom. I never hearntell of a Slocum's gittin' baptized in July. They allers take 'em afterthe freshets in the spring o' the year, 'n' then they have to beturrible careful to douse 'em lengthways of the river. Look at him, willye? I b'lieve he's grown sence yesterday! If he'd ever stood stiff onhis feet when he was a boy, he needn't 'a' been so everlastin' tall; buthe was forever roostin' on fences' with his laigs danglin', 'n' the heftof his feet stretched 'em out, --it couldn't do no dif'rent. I ain't gotno patience with him. "

"Jabe has considerable many good points, " said Miss Cummins loyally;"he's faithful, --you always know where to find him. "

"Good reason why, " retorted Samantha. "You always know where to find him'cause he gen'ally hain't moved sence you seen him last. Gittin'religion ain't goin' to help him much. If he ever hears tell 'bout thegate of heaven bein' open 't the last day, he won't 'a' begun to beginthinkin' 'bout gittin' in tell he hears the door shet in his face; 'n'then he'll set ri' down's comf'table's if he was inside, 'n' say, 'Wall, better luck next time: slow an' sure 's my motto!' Good-mornin', Jabe, --had your dinner?"

"I ain't even hed my breakfast, " responded Mr. Slocum easily. 

"Blessed are the lazy folks, for they always git their chores done for'em, " remarked Samantha scathingly, as she went to the buttery forprovisions. 

"Wall, " said Laigs, looking at her with his most irritating smile, as hesat down at the kitchen table, "I don't find I git thru any more work bytumblin' out o' bed 't sun-up 'n I dew 'f I lay a spell 'n' let theunivarse git het up 'n' runnin' a leetle mite. 'Slow 'n' easy goes furin a day' 's my motto. Rhapseny, she used to say she should think I'd beashamed to lay abed so late. 'Wall, I be, ' s' I, 'but I'd ruther beashamed 'n git up!' But you're an awful good cook, Samanthy, if ye airallers in a hurry, 'n' if yer hev got a sharp tongue!"

"The less you say 'bout my tongue the better!" snapped Samantha. 

"Right you are, " answered Jabe with a good-natured grin, as he went onwith his breakfast. He had a huge appetite, another grievance inSamantha's eyes. She always said "there was no need of his being soslab-sided 'n' slack-twisted 'n' knuckle-jointed, --that he eat enough inall conscience, but he wouldn't take the trouble to find the victualsthat would fat him up 'n' fill out his bag o' bones. "

Just as Samantha's well-cooked viands began to disappear in Jabe'scapacious mouth (he always ate precisely as if he were stoking anengine) his eye rested upon a strange object by the wood-box, and he putdown his knife and ejaculated, "Well, I swan! Now when 'n' where'd I seethat baby-shay? Why, 't was yesterday. Well, I vow, them young ones wascomin' here, was they?"

"What young ones?" asked Miss Vilda, exchanging astonished glances withSamantha. 

"And don't begin at the book o' Genesis 'n' go clean through the Bible, 's you gen'ally do. Start right in on Revelations, where you belong, "put in Samantha; for to see a man unexpectedly loaded to the muzzle withnews, and too lazy to fire it off, was enough to try the patience of asaint; and even David Milliken would hardly have applied that term toSamantha Ann Ripley. 

"Give a feller time to think, will yer?" expostulated Jabe, with hismouth full of pie. "Everything comes to him as waits 'd be an awful goodmotto for you! Where'd I see 'em? Why, I fetched 'em as fur as thecross-roads myself. "

"Well, I never!" "I want to know!" cried the two women in one breath. 

"I picked 'em up out on the road, a little piece this side o' thestation. 'T was at the top o' Marm Berry's hill, that's jest where 'twas. The boy was trudgin' along draggin' the baby 'n' the basket, 'n' Ithought I'd give him a lift, so s' I, 'Goin' t' the Swamp or t' theFalls?' s' I. 'To the Falls, ' s' 'e. 'Git in, ' s' I, ''n' I'll give yera ride, 'f y' ain't in no hurry, ' s' I. So in he got, 'n' the baby tew. When I got putty near home, I happened ter think I'd oughter gone roun'by the tan'ry 'n' picked up the Widder Foss, 'n' so s' I, 'I ain't goin'no nearer to the Falls; but I guess your laigs is good for the balanceo' the way, ain't they?' s' I. 'I guess they be!' s' 'e. Then he thankedme 's perlite's Deacon Sawyer's first wife, 'n' I left him 'n' his folksin the road where I found 'em. "

"Didn't you ask where he belonged nor where he was bound?"

"'T ain't my way to waste good breath askin' questions 't ain't none o'my bis'ness, " replied Mr. Slocum. 

"You're right, it ain't, " responded Samantha, as she slammed themilk-pans in the sink; "'n' it's my hope that some time when you getgood and ready to ask somebody somethin' they'll be in too much of ahurry to answer you!"

"Be they any of your folks, Miss Vildy?" asked Jabe, grinning withdelight at Samantha's ill humor. 

"No, " she answered briefly. 

"What yer cal'latin' ter do with 'em?"

"I haven't decided yet. The boy says they haven't got any folks nor anyhome; and I suppose it's our duty to find a place for 'em. I don't seebut we've got to go to the expense of takin' 'em back to the city andputtin' 'em in some asylum. "

"How'd they happen to come here?"

"They ran away from the city yesterday, and they liked the looks of thisplace; that's all the satisfaction we can get out of 'em, and I dare sayit's a pack of lies. "

"That boy wouldn't tell a lie no more 'n a seraphim!" said Samanthatersely. 

"You can't judge folks by appearances, " answered Vilda. "But anyhow, don't talk to the neighbors, Jabe; and if you haven't got anythingspecial on hand to-day, I wish you'd patch the roof of the summer houseand dig us a mess of beet greens. Keep the children with you, and seewhat you make of 'em; they're playin' in the garden now. "

"All right. I'll size 'em up the best I ken, tho' mebbe it'll hender mein my work some; but time was made for slaves, as the molasses said whenthey told it to hurry up in winter time. "

Two hours later, Miss Vilda looked from the kitchen window and saw JabezSlocum coming across the road from the garden. Timothy trudged besidehim, carrying the basket of greens in one hand, and the other locked inJabe's huge paw; his eyes upturned and shining with pleasure, his lipsmoving as if he were chattering like a magpie. Lady Gay was just whereyou might have expected to find her, mounted on the towering height ofJabe's shoulder, one tiny hand grasping his weather-beaten straw hat, while with the other she whisked her willing steed with an alder switchwhich had evidently been cut for that purpose by the victim himself. 

"That's the way he's sizin' of 'em up, " said Samantha, leaning overVilda's shoulder with a smile. "I'll bet they've sized him up enoughsight better 'n he has them!"

Jabe left the children outside, and came in with the basket. Putting hishat in the wood-box and hitching up his trousers impressively, he satdown on the settle. 

"Them ain't no children to be wanderin' about the earth afoot 'n' alone, 'same 's Hitty went to the beach;' nor they ain't any common truck terbe put inter 'sylums 'n' poor-farms. There's some young ones that's soeverlastin' chuckle-headed 'n' hombly 'n' contrairy that they ain'thardly wuth savin'; but these ain't that kind. The baby, now you've gother cleaned up, is han'somer 'n any baby on the river, 'n' a reg'larchunk o' sunshine besides. I'd be willin' ter pay her a little suthin'for livin' alongside. The boy--well, the boy is a extra-ordinary boy. Wegot on tergether's slick as if we was twins. That boy's got idees, that's what he's got; 'n' he's likely to grow up into--well, 'mostanything. "

"If you think so highly of 'em, why don't you adopt 'em?" asked MissVilda curtly. "That's what they seem to think folks ought to do. "

"I ain't sure but I shall, " Mr. Slocum responded unexpectedly. "If youcan't find a better home for 'em somewheres, I ain't sure but I'll take'em myself. Land sakes! if Rhapseny was alive I'd adopt 'em quicker 'nblazes; but marm won't take to the idee very strong, I don't s'pose, 'n'she ain't much on bringin' up children, as I ken testify. Still, she's aheap better 'n a brick asylum with a six-foot stone wall round it, whenyer come to that. But I b'lieve we ken do better for 'em. I can say tofolks, 'See here: here's a couple o' smart, han'some children. You canhave 'em for nothin', 'n' needn't resk the onsartainty o' gittin'married 'n' raisin' yer own; 'n' when yer come ter that, yer wouldn'tstan' no charnce o' gittin' any as likely as these air, if ye did. '"

"That's true as the gospel!" said Samantha. It nearly killed her toagree with him, but the words were fairly wrung from her unwilling lipsby his eloquence and wisdom. 

"Well, we'll see what we can do for 'em, " said Vilda in a non-committaltone; "and here they'll have to stay, for all I see, tell we can gettime to turn round and look 'em up a place. "

"And the way their edjercation has been left be, " continued Mr. Slocum, "is a burnin' shame in a Christian country. I don' b'lieve they ever seethe inside of a school-house! I've learned 'em more this mornin' 'nthey ever hearn tell of before, but they're 's ignorant 's Cooper's cowyit. They don' know tansy from sorrel, nor slip'ry ellum frompennyroyal, nor burdock from pigweed; they don' know a dand'lion from ahole in the ground; they don' know where the birds put up when it comeson night; they never see a brook afore, nor a bull-frog; they neverhearn tell o' cat-o'-nine-tails, nor jack-lanterns, nor see-saws. Landsakes! we got ter talkin' 'bout so many things that I clean forgot thesummer-house roof. But there! this won't do for me: I must be goin';there ain't no rest for the workin'-man in this country. "

"If there wa'n't no work for him, he'd be wuss off yet, " respondedSamantha. 

"Right ye are, Samanthy! Look here, when 'd you want that box you giveme to fix?"

"I wanted it before hayin', but I s'pose any time before Thanksgivin''ll do, seein' it's you. "

"What's wuth doin' 't all 's wuth takin' time over, 's my motto, " saidJabe cheerfully, "but seein' it's you, I'll nail that cover on ter nightor bust!"

SCENE IX. 

_A Village Sabbath. _

"NOW THE END OF THE COMMANDMENT IS CHARITY, OUT OF A PURE HEART. "

It was Sunday morning, and the very peace of God was brooding overPleasant River. Timothy, Rags, and Gay were playing decorously in theorchard. Maria was hitched to an apple-tree in the side yard, and stoodthere serenely with her eyes half closed, dreaming of oats past and oatsto come. Miss Vilda and Samantha issued from the mosquito-netting door, clad in Sunday best; and the children approached nearer, that they mightshare in the excitement of the departure for "meeting. " Gay clamored togo, but was pacified by the gift of a rag-doll that Samantha had madefor her the evening before. It was a monstrosity, but Gay dipped itinstantly in the alembic of her imagination, and it became a beautiful, responsive little daughter, which she clasped close in her arms, and onwhich she showered the tenderest tokens of maternal affection. 

Miss Vilda handed Timothy a little green-paper-covered book, before sheclimbed into the buggy. "That's a catechism, " she said; "and if you'llbe a good boy and learn the first six pages, and say 'em to me thisafternoon, Samantha 'll give you a top that you can spin on week days. "

"What is a catechism?" asked Timothy, as he took the book. 

"It's a Sunday-school lesson. "

"Oh, then I can learn it, " said Timothy, brightening; "I learned threefor Miss Dora, in the city. "

"Well, I'm thankful to hear that you've had some spiritual advantages;now, stay right here in the orchard till Jabe comes; and don't set thehouse afire, " she added, as Samantha took the reins and raised them forthe mighty slap on Maria's back which was necessary to wake her from herSunday slumber. 

"Why would I want to set the house afire?" Timothy asked wonderingly. 

"Well, I don't know 's you would want to, but I thought you might getto playin' with matches, though I've hid 'em all. "

"Play with matches!" exclaimed Timothy, in wide-eyed astonishment that amatch could appeal to anybody as a desirable plaything. "Oh, no, thankyou; I shouldn't have thought of it. "

"I don't know as we ought to have left 'em alone, " said Vilda, lookingback, as Samantha urged the moderate Maria over the road; "though Idon't know exactly what they could do. "

"Except run away, " said Samantha reflectively. 

"I wish to the land they would! It would be the easiest way out of atroublesome matter. Every day that goes by will make it harder for us todecide what to do with 'em; for you can't do by those you know the sameas if they were strangers. "

There was a long main street running through the village north andsouth. Toward the north it led through a sweet-scented wood, where thegrass tufts grew in verdant strips along the little-traveled road. Ithad been a damp morning, and, though now the sun was shiningbrilliantly, the spiders' webs still covered the fields; gossamer lacesof moist, spun silver, through which shone the pink and lilac of themeadow grasses. The wood was a quiet place, and more than once MissVilda and Samantha had discussed matters there which they would neverhave mentioned at the White Farm. 

Maria went ambling along serenely through the arcade of trees, where thesun went wandering softly, "as with his hands before his eyes;"overhead, the vast blue canopy of heaven, and under the trees the softbrown leaf carpet, "woven by a thousand autumns. "

"I don't know but I could grow to like the baby in time, " said Vilda, "though it's my opinion she's goin' to be dreadful troublesome; but I'mmore 'n half afraid of the boy. Every time he looks at me with thosesearchin' eyes of his, I mistrust he's goin' to say something aboutMarthy, --all on account of his giving me such a turn when he came to thedoor. "

"He'd be awful handy round the house, though, Vildy; that is, if he _is_handy, --pickin' up chips, 'n' layin' fires, 'n' what not; but, 's yousay, he ain't so takin' as the baby at first sight. She's got the samewinnin' way with her that Marthy hed!"

"Yes, " said Miss Vilda grimly; "and I guess it's the devil's own way. "

"Well, yes, mebbe; 'n' then again mebbe 't ain't. There ain't no reasonwhy the devil should own all the han'some faces 'n' tunesome laughs, 'tI know of. It doos seem 's if beauty was turrible misleading', 'n' I'veben glad sometimes the Lord didn't resk none of it on me; for I wasbehind the door when good looks was give out, 'n' I'm willin' t' own upto it; but, all the same, I like to see putty faces roun' me, 'n' Iguess when the Lord sets his mind on it He can make goodness 'n' beautygit along comf'tably in the same body. When yer come to that, homblyfolks ain't allers as good 's they might be, 'n' no comfort to anybody'seyes, nuther. "

"You think the boy's all right in the upper story, do you? He's astrange kind of a child, to my thinkin'. "

"I ain't so sure but he's smarter 'n we be, but he talks queer, 'n' nomistake. This mornin' he was pullin' the husks off a baby ear o' cornthat Jabe brought in, 'n' s' 'e, 'S'manthy, I think the corn must be thehappiest of all the veg'tables. ' 'How you talk!' s' I; 'what makes youthink that way?'"

"Why, because, ' s' 'e, 'God has hidden it away so safe, with all thatshinin' silk round it first, 'n' then the soft leaves wrapped outside o'the silk. I guess it's God's fav'rite veg'table; don't you, S'manthy?'s' 'e. And when I was showin' him pictures last night, 'n' he see thecrosses on top some o' the city meetin'-houses, s' 'e, 'They have twosticks on 'most all the churches, don't they, S'manthy? I s'pose that'sone stick for God, and the other for the peoples. ' Well, now, don't youremember Seth Pennell, o' Buttertown, how queer he was when he was aboy? We thought he'd never be wuth his salt. He used to stan' in thefront winder 'n' twirl the curtin tossel for hours to a time. And don'tyou know it come out last year that he'd wrote a reg'lar book, withcovers on it 'n' all, 'n' that he got five dollars a colume for writin'poetry verses for the papers?"

"Oh, well, if you mean that, " said Vilda argumentatively, "I don't callwritin' poetry any great test of smartness. There ain't been a big foolin this village for years but could do somethin' in the writin' line. Iguess it ain't any great trick, if you have a mind to put yourself downto it. For my part, I've always despised to see a great, hulkin' man, that could handle a hoe or a pitchfork, sit down and twirl a pen-stalk. "

"Well, I ain't so sure. I guess the Lord hes his own way o' managin'things. We ain't all cal'lated to hoe pertaters nor yet to write poetryverses. There's as much dif'rence in folks 's there is in anybody. Now, I can take care of a dairy as well as the next one, 'n' nobody was everhearn to complain o' my butter; but there was that lady in New YorkState that used to make flowers 'n' fruit 'n' graven images out o' herchurnin's. You've hearn tell o' that piece she carried to theCentennial? Now, no sech doin's 's that ever come into my head. I'vewent on makin' round balls for twenty years: 'n', massy on us, don't Iremember when my old butter stamp cracked, 'n' I couldn't get anotherwith an ear o' corn on it, 'n' hed to take one with a beehive, why, Iwas that homesick I couldn't bear to look my butter 'n the eye! But thatwoman would have had a new picter on her balls every day, I shouldn'twonder! (For massy's sake, Maria, don't stan' stock still 'n' let theflies eat yer right up!) No, I tell yer, it takes all kinds o' folks tomake a world. Now, I couldn't never read poetry. It's so dull, it makesme feel 's if I'd been trottin' all day in the sun! But there's folksthat can stan' it, or they wouldn't keep on turnin' of it out. Thechildren are nice children enough, but have they got any folks anywhere, 'n' what kind of folks, 'n' where'd they come from, anyhow: that's whatwe've got to find out, 'n' I guess it'll be consid'able of a chore!"

"I don't know but you're right. I thought some of sendin' Jabe to thecity to-morrow. "

"Jabe? Well, I s'pose he'd be back by 'nother spring; but who'd we getter shovel us out this winter, seein' as there ain't more 'n three menin the whole village? Aunt Hitty says twenty-year engagements 's goin'out o' fashion in the big cities, 'n' I'm glad if they be. They'd 'a'never come _in_, I told her, if there'd ever been an extry man in theseparts, but there never was. If you got holt o' one by good luck, you hadter _keep_ holt, if 't was two years or twenty-two, or go without. Iused ter be too proud ter go without; now I've got more sense, thanksbe! Why don't you go to the city yourself, Vildy? Jabe Slocum ain't gotsprawl enough to find out anythin' wuth knowin'. "

"I suppose I could go, though I don't like the prospect of it verymuch. I haven't been there for years, but I'd ought to look after myproperty there once in a while. Deary me! it seems as if we weren't evergoing to have any more peace. "

"Mebbe we ain't, " said Samantha, as they wound up the meeting-househill; "but ain't we hed 'bout enough peace for one spell? If peace wasthe best thing we could get in this world, we might as well be them oldcows by the side o' the road there. There ain't nothin' so peaceful as acow, when you come to that!"

The two women went into the church more perplexed in mind than theywould have cared to confess. During the long prayer (the minister couldtalk to God at much greater length than he could talk about Him), MissVilda prayed that the Lord would provide the two little wanderers withsome more suitable abiding-place than the White Farm; and that, failingthis, He would inform his servant whether there was anything unchristianin sending them to a comfortable public asylum. She then reminded Heaventhat she had made the Foreign Missionary Society her residuary legatee(a deed that established her claim to being a zealous member of thefold), so that she could scarcely be blamed for not wishing to take twoorphan children into her peaceful home. 

Well, it is no great wonder that so faulty a prayer did not bring thewished-for light at once; but the ministering angels, who had thefatherless little ones in their care, did not allow Miss Vilda's mind torest quietly. Just as the congregation settled itself after the hymn, and the palm-leaf fans began to sway in the air, a swallow flew inthrough the open window; and, after fluttering to and fro over thepulpit, hid itself in a dark corner, unnoticed by all save the smallboys of the congregation, to whom it was, of course, a priceless boon. But Miss Vilda could not keep her wandering thoughts on the sermon anymore than if she had been a small boy. She was anything butsuperstitious; but she had seen that swallow, or some of its ancestors, before.... It had flown into the church on the very Sunday of hermother's death.... They had left her sitting in the high-backed rockerby the window, the great family Bible and her spectacles on the littlelight-stand beside her.... When they returned from church, they hadfound their mother sitting as they left her, with a smile on her face, but silent and lifeless.... And through the glass of the spectacles, asthey lay on the printed page, Vilda had read the words, "For a bird ofthe air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell thematter;" had read them wonderingly, and marked the place with reverentfingers.... The swallow flew in again, years afterward.... She could notremember the day or the month, but she could never forget the summer, for it was the last bright one of her life, the last that pretty Marthaever spent at the White Farm.... And now here was the swallow again.... "For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wingsshall tell the matter. " Miss Vilda looked on the book and tried tofollow the hymn; but passages of Scripture flocked into her head inplace of good Dr. Watts's verses, and when the little melodeon playedthe interludes she could only hear:--

"Yea, the sparrow hath found her an house and the swallow a nest whereshe may lay her young, even Thy altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and myGod. "

"As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth fromhis place. "

"The foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Sonof man hath not where to lay his head. "

And then the text fell on her bewildered ears, and roused her from onereverie to plunge her in another. It was chosen, as it chanced, from theFirst Epistle of Timothy, chapter first, verse fifth: "Now the end ofthe commandment is charity, out of a pure heart. "

"That means the Missionary Society, " said Miss Vilda to her conscience, doggedly; but she knew better. The parson, the text, --or was it thebird?--had brought the message; but for the moment she did not lend thehearing ear or the understanding heart. 

SCENE X. 

_The Supper Table. _

AUNT HITTY COMES TO "MAKE OVER, " AND SUPPLIES BACK NUMBERS TO ALL THEVILLAGE HISTORIES. 

Aunt Hitty, otherwise Mrs. Silas Tarbox, was as cheery and loquacious aperson as you could find in a Sabbath day's journey. She was armed witha substantial amount of knowledge at almost every conceivable point; butif an unexpected emergency ever did arise, her imagination was equal tothe strain put upon it and rose superior to the occasion. Yet of anevening, or on Sunday, she was no village gossip; it was only when youput a needle in her hand or a cutting-board in her lap that her memorystarted on its interminable journeyings through the fields of the past. She knew every biography and every "ought-to-be-ography" in the county, and could tell you the branches of every genealogical tree in thevillage. 

It was dusk at the White Farm, and a late supper was spread upon thehospitable board. (Aunt Hitty was always sure of a bountiful repast. Ifone were going to economize, one would not choose for that purpose theday when the village seamstress came to sew; especially when theaforesaid lady served the community in the stead of a local newspaper. )

The children had eaten their bread and milk, and were out in the barnwith Jabe, watching the milking. Aunt Hitty was in a cheerful mood asshe reflected on her day's achievements. Out of Dr. Jonathan Cummins'old cape coat she had carved a pair of brief trousers and a vest forTimothy; out of Mrs. Jonathan Cummins' waterproof a serviceable jacket;and out of Deacon Abijah Cummins' linen duster an additional coat andvest for warm days. The owners of these garments had been dead manyyears, but nothing was ever thrown away (and, for that matter, verylittle given away) at the White Farm, and the ancient habiliments hadfinally been diverted to a useful purpose. 

"I hope I shall relish my vittles to-night, " said Aunt Hitty, as shepoured her tea into her saucer, and set the cup in her little blue"cup-plate;" "but I've had the neuralgy so in my face that it's be'nmore 'n ten days sence I've be'n able to carry a knife to my mouth.... Your meat vittles is always so tasty, Miss Cummins. I was sayin' to Mis'Sawyer last week I think she lets her beef hang too long. Its dretfultender, but I don't b'lieve its hullsome. For my part, as I've many atime said to Si, I like meat with some chaw to it.... Mis' Sawyer don'tput half enough vittles on her table. She thinks it scares folks; itdon't me a mite, --it makes me 's hungry as a wolf. When I set a tablefor comp'ny I pile on a hull lot, 'n' I find it kind o' discourages'em.... Mis' Southwick's hevin' a reg'lar brash o' house-cleanin'. She'stoo p'ison neat for any earthly use, that woman is. She's fixedclam-shell borders roun' all her garding beds, an' got enough left for apile in one corner, where she's goin' to set her oleander kag. Thenshe's bought a haircloth chair and got a new three-ply carpet in herparlor, 'n' put the old one in the spare-room 'n' the back-entry. Herdaughter's down here from New Haven. She's married into one of the firstfamilies o' Connecticut, Lobelia has, 'n' she puts on a good many airs. She's rigged out her mother's parlor with lace curtains 'n' one thing'n' 'other, 'n' wants it called the drawin'-room. Did ye ever hear tellsuch foolishness? 'Drawin'-room!' s' I to Si; 'what's it goin' to draw?Nothin' but flies, I guess likely!' ... Mis' Pennell's got a new girl tohelp round the house, --one o' them pindlin' light-complected Smithgirls, from the Swamp, --look's if they was nussed on bonny-clabber. She's so hombly I sh'd think 't would make her back ache to carry herhead round. She ain't very smart, neither. Her mother sent word she'dpick up 'n' do better when she got her growth. That made Mis' Pennellhoppin' mad. She said she didn't cal'late to pay a girl three shillin'sa week for growin'. Mis' Pennell's be'n feelin' consid'able slim, or shewouldn't 'a' hired help; it's just like pullin' teeth for Deacon Pennellto pay out money for anything like that. He watches every mouthful thegirl puts into her mouth, 'n' it's made him 'bout down sick to see herfleshin' up on his vittles.... They say he has her put the mornin'coffee-groun's to dry on the winder-sill, 'n' then has 'em scalt overfor dinner; but, there! I don' know 's there's a mite o' truth in it, so I won't repeat it. They went to him to git a subscription for the newhearse the other day. Land sakes! we need one bad enough. I thought forsure, at the last funeral we had, that they'd never git Mis' Strout tothe graveyard safe and sound. I kep' a-thinkin' all the way how she'd'a' took on, if she'd be'n alive. She was the most timersome woman 'tever was. She was a Thomson, 'n' all the Thomsons was scairt at theirown shadders. Ivory Strout rid right behind the hearse, 'n' he says hisheart was in his mouth the hull durin' time for fear 't would breakdown. He didn't git much comfort out the occasion, I guess! Wa' n't hemad he hed to ride in the same buggy with his mother-in-law! Theminister planned it all out, 'n' wrote down the order o' the mourners, 'n' passeled him out with old Mis' Thomson. I was stan'in' close by, 'n'I heard him say he s'posed he could go that way if he must, but 't wouldspile the hull blamed thing for him! ... Well, as I was sayin', theseleckmen went to Deacon Pennell to get a contribution towards buyin'the new hearse; an' do you know, he wouldn't give 'em a dollar? He told'em he gave five dollars towards the other one, twenty years ago, 'n'hadn't never got a cent's worth o' use out of it. That's Deacon Pennellall over! As Si says, if the grace o' God wa'n't given to all of uswithout money 'n' without price, you wouldn't never hev ketched DeaconPennell experiencin' religion! It's got to be a free gospel 't wouldconvict him o' sin, that's certain! ... They say Seth Thatcher's marriedout in Iowy. His mother's tickled 'most to death. She heerd he wassettin' up with a girl out there, 'n' she was scairt to death for fearhe'd get served as Lemuel 'n' Cyrus was. The Thatcher boys never hed anyluck gettin' married, 'n' they always took disappointments in loveturrible hard. You know Cyrus set in that front winder o' Mis'Thatcher's, 'n' rocked back 'n' forth for ten year, till he wore outfive cane-bottomed cheers, 'n' then rocked clean through, down cellar, all on account o' Crany Ann Sweat. Well, I hope she got her comeuppancein another world, --she never did in this; she married well 'n' lived inBoston.... Mis' Thatcher hopes Seth 'll come home to live. She's dretfullonesome in that big house, all alone. She'd oughter have somebody for acompany-keeper. She can't see nothin' but trees 'n' cows from herwinders.... Beats all, the places they used to put houses.... Eitherthey'd get 'em right under foot so 't you'd most tread on 'em when youwalked along the road, or else they'd set 'em clean back in a lane, where the women folks couldn't see face o' clay week in 'n' week out.... 

"Joel Whitten's widder's just drawed his pension along o' his bein' inthe war o' 1812. ... It's took 'em all these years to fix it. ... Massysakes! don't some folks have their luck buttered in this world?... Shewas his fourth wife, 'n' she never lived with him but thirteen days'fore he up 'n' died. ... It doos seem's if the guv'ment might lookafter things a little mite closer.... Talk about Joel Whitten's bein' inthe war o' 1812! Everybody knows Joel Whitten wouldn't have fit askeeter! He never got any further 'n Scratch Corner, any way, 'n' therehe clim a tree or hid behind a hen-coop somewheres till the regiment gotout o' sight.... Yes: one, two, three, four, --Huldy was his fourth wife. His first was a Hogg, from Hoggses Mills. The second was DorcasDoolittle, aunt to Jabe Slocum; she didn't know enough to make soap, Dorcas didn't.... Then there was Delia Weeks, from the lower corner.... She didn't live long.... There was some thin' wrong with Delia.... Shewas one o' the thin-blooded, white-livered kind.... You couldn't get herwarm, no matter how hard you tried. ... She'd set over a roarin' fire inthe cook-stove even in the prickliest o' the dog-days. ... Themill-folks used to say the Whittens burnt more cut-roun's 'n' stickens'n any three fam'lies in the village. ... Well, after Delia died, thencome Huldy's turn, 'n' it's she, after all, that's drawed thepension.... Huldy took Joel's death consid'able hard, but I guess she'llperk up, now she's come int' this money. ... She's awful leaky-minded, Huldy is, but she's got tender feelin's.... One day she happened in atnoon-time, 'n' set down to the table with Si 'n' I.... All of a suddentshe bust right out cryin' when Si was offerin' her a piece o' tripe, 'n'then it come out that she couldn't never bear the sight o' tripe, itreminded her so of Joel! It seems tripe was a favorite dish o' Joel's. All his wives cooked it firstrate.... Jabe Slocum seems to setconsid'able store by them children, don't he?... I guess he'll neverketch up with his work, now he's got them hangin' to his heels.... Hedoos beat all for slowness! Slocum's a good name for him, that'scertain. An' 's if that wa'n't enough, his mother was a Stillwell, 'n'her mother was a Doolittle!... The Doolittles was the slowest fam'ly inLincoln County. (Thank you, I'm well helped, Samanthy. ) Old CyrusDoolittle was slower 'n a toad funeral. He was a carpenter by trade, 'n'he was twenty-five years buildin' his house; 'n' it warn't no great, either.... The stagin' was up ten or fifteen years, 'n' he shingled itfour or five times before he got roun', for one patch o' shingles usedto wear out 'fore he got the next patch on. He 'n' Mis' Doolittle livedin two rooms in the L. There was elegant banisters, but no stairs to'em, 'n' no entry floors. There was a tip-top cellar, but there wa'n'tno way o' gittin' down to it, 'n' there wa'n't no conductors to thecisterns. There was only one door panel painted in the parlor. Landsakes! the neighbors used to happen in 'bout every week for years 'n'years, hopin' he'd get another one finished up, but he never did, --notto my knowledge.... Why, it's the gospel truth that when Mis' Doolittledied he had to have her embalmed, so 't he could git the front doorhung for the fun'ral! (No more tea, I thank you; my cup ain't out. ) ... Speakin' o' slow folks, Elder Banks tells an awful good story 'bout JabeSlocum.... There's another man down to Edgewood, Aaron Peek by name, that's 'bout as lazy as Jabe. An' one day, when the loafers roun' thestore was talkin' 'bout 'em, all of a suddent they see the two of 'emstartin' to come down Marm Berry's hill, right in plain sight of thestore.... Well, one o' the Edgewood boys bate one o' the Pleasant Riverboys that they could tell which one of 'em was the laziest by the waythey come down that hill.... So they all watched, 'n' bime by, when Jabewas most down to the bottom of the hill, they was struck all of a heapto see him break into a kind of a jog trot 'n' run down the balance o'the way. Well, then, they fell to quarrelin'; for o' course the PleasantRiver folks said Aaron Peek was the laziest, 'n' the Edgewood boysdeclared he hedn't got no such record for laziness's Jabe Slocum hed;an' when they was explainin' of it, one way 'n' 'nother, Elder Bankscome along, 'n' they asked him to be the judge. When he heerd tell how't was, he said he agreed with the Edgewood folks that Jabe was lazier'n Aaron. 'Well, I snum, I don't see how you make that out, ' says thePleasant River boys; 'for Aaron walked down, 'n' Jabe run a piece o' theway. ' 'If Jabe Slocum run, ' says the elder, as impressive as if he waspreachin', --'if Jabe Slocum ever run, then 't was because he was _toodoggoned lazy to hold back!_ 'an' that settled it!... (No, I couldn'teat another mossel, Miss Cummins; I've made out a splendid supper. ) ... You can't git such pie 'n' doughnuts anywhere else in the village, 'n'what I say I mean.... Do you make your riz doughnuts with emptin's? Iwant to know! Si says there's more faculty in cookin' flour food thanthere is in meat-victuals, 'n' I guess he's 'bout right. "

 * * * * *

It was bedtime, and Timothy was in his little room carrying on the mostelaborate and complicated plots for reading the future. It must be knownthat Jabe Slocum was as full of signs as a Farmer's Almanac, and he hadgiven Timothy more than one formula for attaining his secretdesires, --old, well-worn recipes for luck, which had been tried forgenerations in Pleasant River, and which were absolutely "certain" intheir results. The favorites were:--

 "Star bright, star light, First star I've seen to-night, Wish I may, wish I might, Get the wish I wish to-night;"

and one still more impressive:--

 "Four posts upon my bed, Four corners overhead; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed I _lay_ upon. Matthew, John, Luke, and Mark, Grant my wish and keep it dark. "

These rhymes had been chanted with great solemnity, and Timothy sat bythe open window in the sweet darkness of the summer night, wishing thathe and Gay might stay forever in this sheltered spot. "I'll make a signof my very own, " he thought. "I'll get Gay's ankle-tie, and put it onthe window-sill, with the toe pointing out. Then I'll wish that if weare going to stay at the White Farm, the angels will turn it around, 'toe in' to the room, for a sign to me; and if we've got to go, I'llwish they may leave it the other way; and, oh dear, but I'm glad it's solittle and easy to move; and then I'll say Matthew, Mark, Luke, andJohn, four times over, without stopping, as Jabe told me to, and thensee how it turns out in the morning. " ... 

But the incantation was more soothing than the breath of Miss Vilda'sscarlet poppies, and before the magical verse had fallen upon the drowsyair for the third time, Timothy was fast asleep, with a smile of hope onhis parted lips. 

There was a sweet summer shower in the night. The soft breezes, freshfrom shaded dells and nooks of fern, fragrant with the odor of pine andvine and wet wood-violets, blew over the thirsty meadows and goldenstubble-fields, and brought an hour of gentle rain. 

It sounded a merry tintinnabulation on Samantha's milk-pans, wafted thescent of dripping honeysuckle into the farmhouse windows, and drenchedthe night-caps in which prudent farmers had dressed their haycocks. 

Next morning, the green world stood on tiptoe to welcome the victorioussun, and every little leaf shone as a child's eyes might shine at theremembrance of a joy just past. 

A meadow lark perched on a swaying apple-branch above Martha's grave, and poured out his soul in grateful melody; and Timothy, wakened byNature's sweet good-morning, leaped from the too fond embrace of MissVilda's feather-bed.... And lo, a miracle!... The woodbine clung closeto the wall beneath his window. It was tipped with strong young shootsreaching out their innocent hands to cling to any support that offered;and one baby tendril that seemed to have grown in a single night, sodelicate it was, had somehow been blown by the sweet night wind from itsdrooping place on the parent vine, and, falling on the window-sill, hadcurled lovingly round Gay's fairy shoe, and held it fast!

SCENE XI. 

_The Honeysuckle Porch. _

MISS VILDA DECIDES THAT TWO IS ONE TOO MANY, AND TIMOTHY BREAKS AHUMMINGBIRD'S EGG. 

It was a drowsy afternoon. The grasshoppers chirped lazily in the warmgrasses, and the toads blinked sleepily under the shadows of the steps, scarcely snapping at the flies as they danced by on silver wings. Downin the old garden the still pools, in which the laughing brook resteditself here and there, shone like glass under the strong beams of thesun, and the baby horned-pouts rustled their whiskers drowsily andscarcely stirred the water as they glided slowly through its crystaldepths. 

The air was fragrant with the odor of new-mown grass and the breath ofwild strawberries that had fallen under the sickle, to make the sweethay sweeter with their crimson juices. The whir of the scythes and theclatter of the mowing machine came from the distant meadows. Field miceand ground sparrows were aware that it probably was all up with theirlittle summer residences, for haying time was at its height, and theGiant, mounted on the Avenging Chariot, would speedily make hisappearance, and buttercups and daisies, tufted grasses and blossomingweeds, must all bow their heads before him, and if there was anythingmore valuable hidden at their roots, so much the worse!

And if a bird or a mouse had been especially far-sighted and had locatedhis family near a stump fence on a particularly uneven bit of ground, why there was always a walking Giant going about the edges with agleaming scythe, so that it was no wonder, when reflecting on thesematters after a day's palpitation, that the little denizens of thefields thought it very natural that there should be Nihilists andSocialists in the world, plotting to overturn monopolies and othergigantic schemes for crushing the people. 

Rags enjoyed the excitement of haying immensely. But then, his life wasone long holiday now anyway, and the close quarters, scanty fare, andwearisome monotony of Minerva Court only visited his memory dimly whenhe was suffering the pangs of indigestion. For in the first few weeks ofhis life at the White Farm, before his appetite was satiated, he waswont to eat all the white cat's food as well as his own; and as thishighway robbery took place in the retirement of the shed, where SamanthaAnn always swept them for their meals, no human being was any the wiser, and only the angels saw the white cat getting whiter and whiter andthinner and thinner, while every day Rags grew more corpulent andaldermanic in his figure. But as his stomach was more favorably locatedthan an alderman's, he could still see the surrounding country, and hehad the further advantage of possessing four legs (instead of two) tocarry it about. 

Timothy was happy, too, for he was a dreamer, and this quiet lifeharmonized well with the airy fabric of his dreams. He loved every stickand stone about the old homestead already, because the place had broughthim the only glimpse of freedom and joy that he could remember in theselast bare and anxious years; and if there were other and brighteryears, far, far back in the misty gardens of the past, they only yieldedhim a secret sense of "having been, " a memory that could never becaptured and put into words. 

Each morning he woke fearing to find his present life a vision, and eachmorning he gazed with unspeakable gladness at the sweet reality thatstretched itself before his eyes as he stood for a moment at his littlewindow above the honeysuckle porch. 

There were the cucumber frames (he had helped Jabe to make them); theold summer house in the garden (he had held the basket of nails andhanded Jabe the tools when he patched the roof); the little workshopwhere Samantha potted her tomato plants (and he had been allowed towater them twice, with fingers trembling at the thought of too little ortoo much for the tender things); and the grindstone where Jabe groundthe scythes and told him stories as he sat and turned the wheel, whileGay sat beside them making dandelion chains. Yes, it was all there, andhe was a part of it. 

Timothy had all the poet's faculty of interpreting the secrets that arehidden in every-day things, and when he lay prone on the warm earth inthe cornfield, deep among the "varnished crispness of the jointedstalks, " the rustling of the green things growing sent thrills of joyalong the sensitive currents of his being. He was busy in his room thisafternoon putting little partitions in some cigar boxes, where, verysoon, two or three dozen birds' eggs were to repose in fleece-linednooks: for Jabe Slocum's collection of three summers (every egg acquiredin the most honorable manner, as he explained), had all passed intoTimothy's hands that very day, in consideration of various services welland conscientiously performed. What a delight it was to handle theprecious bits of things, like porcelain in their daintiness!--to sortout the tender blue of the robin, the speckled beauty of the sparrow; toput the pee-wee's and the thrush's each in its place, with a swift throbof regret that there would have been another little soft throat burstingwith a song, if some one had not taken this pretty egg. And there was, over and above all, the never ending marvel of the one humming-bird'segg that lay like a pearl in Timothy's slender brown hand. Too tiny tobe stroked like the others, only big enough to be stealthily kissed. Sotiny that he must get out of bed two or three times in the night to seeif it is safe. So tiny that he has horrible fears lest it should slipout or be stolen, and so he must take the box to the window and let themoonlight shine upon the fleecy cotton, and find that it is still there, and cover it safely over again and creep back to bed, wishing that hemight see a "thumb's bigness of burnished plumage" sheltering it withher speck of a breast. Ah! to have a little humming-bird's egg to love, and to feel that it was his very own, was something to Timothy, as it isto all starved human hearts full of love that can find no outlet. 

Miss Vilda was knitting, and Samantha was shelling peas, on thehoneysuckle porch. It had been several days since Miss Cummins had goneto the city, and had come back no wiser than she went, save that she hadmade a somewhat exhaustive study of the slums, and had acquired a moreintimate knowledge of the ways of the world than she had ever possessedbefore. She had found Minerva Court, and designated it on her return asa "sink of iniquity, " to which Afric's sunny fountains, India's coralstrand, and other tropical localities frequented by missionaries werevirtuous in comparison. 

"For you don't expect anything of black heathens, " said she; "but thereain't any question in my mind about the accountability of folks livin'in a Christian country, where you can wear clothes and set up to anair-tight stove and be comfortable, to say nothin' of meetinghousesevery mile or two, and Bible Societies and Young Men's and Young Women'sChristian Associations, and the gospel free to all with the exception ofpew rents and contribution boxes, and those omitted when it'snecessary. "

She affirmed that the ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance she hadmade in Minerva Court were, without exception, a "mess of malefactors, "whose only good point was that, lacking all human qualities, they didn'tcare who she was, nor where she came from, nor what she came for; sothat as a matter of fact she had escaped without so much as leaving hername and place of residence. She learned that Mrs. Nancy Simmons hadsought pastures new in Montana; that Miss Ethel Montmorency stillresided in the metropolis, but did not choose to disclose her modestdwelling-place to the casual inquiring female from the rural districts;that a couple of children had disappeared from Minerva Court, if theyremembered rightly, but that there was no disturbance made about thematter as it saved several people much trouble; that Mrs. Morrison hadhad no relations, though she possessed a large circle of admiringfriends; that none of the admiring friends had called since her death orasked about the children; and finally that Number 3 had been turned intoa saloon, and she was welcome to go in and slake her thirst forinformation with something more satisfactory than she could get outside. 

The last straw, and one that would have broken the back of anyself-respecting (unmarried) camel in the universe, was the offensivebelief, on the part of the Minerva Courtiers, that the rigid Puritanmaiden who was conducting the examination was the erring mother of thechildren, visiting (in disguise) their former dwelling-place. Theconversation on this point becoming extremely pointed and jocose, MissCummins finally turned and fled, escaping to the railway station as fastas her trembling legs could carry her. So the trip was a fruitless one, and the mystery that enshrouded Timothy and Lady Gay was as impenetrableas ever. 

"I wish I'd 'a' gone to the city with you, " remarked Samantha. "Not thatI could 'a' found out anything more 'n you did, for I guess there ain'tanybody thereabouts that knows more 'n we do, and anybody 't wants thechildren won't be troubled with the relation. But I'd like to give thembold-faced jigs 'n' hussies a good piece o' my mind for once! You're tootimersome, Vildy! I b'lieve I'll go some o' these days yet, and carry agood stout umbrella in my hand too. It says in a book somewhar's thatthere's insults that can only be wiped out in blood. Ketch 'em hintin'that I'm the mother of anybody, that's all! I declare I don' know whatour Home Missionary Societies's doin' not to regenerate them places orexterminate 'em, one or t' other. Somehow our religion don't take holtas it ought to. It takes a burnin' zeal to clean out them slum places, and burnin' zeal ain't the style nowadays. As my father used to say, 'Religion's putty much like fish 'n' pertetters; if it's hot it's good, 'n' if it's cold 'tain't wuth a'--well, a short word come in there, butI won't say it. Speakin' o' religion, I never had any experience inteachin', but I didn't s'pose there was any knack 'bout teachin'religion, same as there is 'bout teachin' readin' 'n' 'rithmetic, but Ihed hard work makin' Timothy understand that catechism you give him tolearn the other Sunday. He was all upsot with doctrine when he come tosay his lesson. Now you can't scare some children with doctrine, nomatter how hot you make it, or mebbe they don't more 'n half believe it;but Timothy's an awful sensitive creeter, 'n' when he come to thatanswer to the question 'What are you then by nature? An enemy to God, achild of Satan, and an heir of hell, ' he hid his head on my shoulder andbust right out cryin'. 'How many Gods is there?' s' e, after a spell. 'Land!' thinks I, 'I knew he was a heathen, but if he turns out to be anidolater, whatever shall I do with him!' 'Why, where've you ben fetchedup?' s' I. 'There's only one God, the High and Mighty Ruler of theUnivarse, ' s' I. 'Well, ' s' e', 'there must be more 'n one, for the Godin this lesson isn't like the one in Miss Dora's book at all!' Landsakes! I don't want to teach catechism agin in a hurry, not tell I'vehed a little spiritual instruction from the minister. The fact is, Vildy, that our b'liefs, when they're picked out o' the Bible and setdown square and solid 'thout any softening down 'n' explainin' that theyain't so bad as they sound, is too strong meat for babes. Now I'mOrthodox to the core" (here she lowered her voice as if there might be astray deacon in the garden), "but 'pears to me if I was makin' outlessons for young ones I wouldn't fill 'em so plumb full o' brimstun. Let 'em do a little suthin' to deserve it 'fore you scare 'em to death, say I. "

"Jabe explained it all out to him after supper. It beats all how he getson with children. "

"I'd ruther hear how he explained it, " answered Samantha sarcastically. "He's great on expoundin' the Scripters jest now. Well, I hope it'lllast. Land sakes! you'd think nobody ever experienced religion afore, he's so set up 'bout it. You'd s'pose he kep' the latch-key o' theheavenly mansions right in his vest pocket, to hear him go on. Hecouldn't be no more stuck up 'bout it if he'd ben one o' the twobrothers that come over in three ships!"

"There goes Elder Nichols, " said Miss Vilda. "Now there's a plan wehadn't thought of. We might take the children over to Purity Village. Ithink likely the Shakers would take 'em. They like to get young folksand break 'em into their doctrines. "

"Tim 'd make a tiptop Shaker, " laughed Samantha. "He'd be an Elder aforehe was twenty-one. I can seem to see him now, with his hair danglin'long in his neck, a blue coat buttoned up to his chin, and his handssee-sawin' up 'n' down, prancin' round in them solemn dances. "

"Tim would do well enough, but I ain't so sure of Gay. They'd have theirhands full, I guess!"

"I guess they would. Anybody that wanted to make a Shaker out o' herwould 'a' had to begin with her grandmother; and that wouldn't 'a' donenuther, for they don't b'lieve in marryin', and the thing would 'a'stopped right there, and Gray wouldn't never 'a' been born int' theworld. "

"And been a great sight better off, " interpolated Miss Vilda. 

"Now don't talk that way, Vildy. Who knows what lays ahead o' thatchild? The Lord may be savin' her up to do some great work for Him, " sheadded, with a wild flight of the imagination. 

"She looks like it, don't she?" asked Vilda with a grim intonation; buther face softened a little as she glanced at Gay asleep on the rusticbench under the window. 

The picture would have struck terror to the sad-eyed ćsthete, but anartist who liked to see colors burn and glow on the canvas would havebeen glad to paint her: a little frock of buttercup yellow calico, bareneck and arms, full of dimples, hair that put the yellow calico to shameby reason of its tinge of copper, skin of roses and milk that dared themicroscope, red smiling lips, one stocking and ankle-tie kicked off andfive pink toes calling for some silly woman to say "This little pig wentto market" on them, a great bunch of nasturtiums in one warm hand andthe other buried in Rags, who was bursting with the white cat's dinner, and in such a state of snoring bliss that his tail wagged occasionally, even in his dreams. 

"She don't look like a missionary, if that's what you mean, " saidSamantha hotly. "She may not be called 'n' elected to traipse over toAfricy with a Test'ment in one hand 'n' a sun umbreller in the other, savin' souls by the wholesale; but 't ain't no mean service to gothrough the world stealin' into folks' hearts like a ray o' sunshine, 'n' lightin' up every place you step foot in!"

"I ain't sayin' anything against the child, Samanthy Ann; you saidyourself she wa'n't cut out for a Shaker!"

"No more she is, " laughed Samantha, when her good humor was restored. "She'd like the singin' 'n' dancin' well enough, but 't would be hardwork smoothin' the kink out of her hair 'n' fixin' it under one o' theirwhite Sunday bunnets. She wouldn't like livin' altogether with thewomen-folks, nuther. The only way for Gay 'll be to fetch her right upwith the men-folks, 'n' hev her see they ain't no great things, anyway. Land sakes! If 't warn't for dogs 'n' dark nights, I shouldn't care if Inever see a man; but Gay has 'em all on her string a'ready, from the boythat brings the cows home for Jabe to the man that takes the butter tothe city. The tin peddler give her a dipper this mornin', and thefish-man brought her a live fish in a tin-pail. Well, she makes thehouse a great sight brighter to live in, you can't deny that, Vildy. "

"I ain't denyin' anything in partic'ler. She makes a good deal of work, I know that much. And I don't want you to get your heart set on one orboth of 'em, for 't won't be no use. We could make out with one of 'em, I suppose, if we had to, but two is one too many. They seem to set suchstore by one another that 't would be like partin' the Siamese twins;but there, they'd pine awhile, and then they 'd get over it. Anyhow, they'll have to try. "

"Oh yes; you can git over the small-pox, but you'll carry the scars toyour grave most likely. I think 't would be a sin to part them children. I wouldn't do it no more 'n I'd tear away that scarlit bean that'stwisted itself round 'n' round that pink hollyhock there. I stuck astick in the ground, and carried a string to the winder; but I didn'tgit at it soon enough, the bean vine kep' on growin' the other way, towards the hollyhock. Then the other night I got my mad up, 'n' I jestoncurled it by main force 'n' wropped it round the string, 'n, ' ifyou'll believe me, I happened to look at it this mornin, ' 'n' there it't was, as nippant as you please, coiled round the hollyhock agin! Thensays I to myself, 'Samantha Ann Ripley, you've known what 't was to beeverlastin'ly hectored 'n' intefered with all your life, now s'posin'you let that bean have its hollyhock, if it wants it!'"

Miss Vilda looked at her sharply as she said, "Samantha Ann Ripley, Ibelieve to my soul you're fussin' 'bout Dave Milliken again!

"Well, I ain't! Every time I talk 'bout hollyhocks and scarlit beans Iain't meanin' Dave Milliken 'n' me, --not by a long chalk! I was onlygivin' you my views 'bout partin' them children, that's all!"

"Well, all I can say is, " remarked Miss Vilda obstinately, "that thosethat's desirous of takin' in two strange children, and boardin' andlodgin' 'em till they get able to do it for themselves, and runnin' theresk of their turnin' out heathens and malefactors like the folks theycame from, --can do it if they want to. If I come to see that the baby istoo young to send away anywheres I may keep her a spell, but the boy hasgot to go, and that's the end of it. You've been crowdin' me into acorner about him for a week, and now I've said my say!"

Alas! that tiny humming-bird's egg was crushed to atoms, --crushed by aboy's slender hand that had held it so gently for very fear of breakingit. For poor little Timothy Jessup had heard his fate for the secondtime, and knew that he must "move on" again, for there was no room forhim at the White Farm. 

SCENE XII. 

_The Village. _

LYDDY PETTIGROVE'S FUNERAL. 

Lyddy Pettigrove was dead. Not one person, but a dozen, had called in atthe White Farm to announce this fact and look curiously at Samantha AnnRipley to see how she took the news. 

To say the truth, the community did not seem to be overpowered by itsbereavement. There seemed to be a general feeling that Mrs. Pettigrovehad never been wanted in Pleasant River, coupled with a mild surprisethat she should have been wanted anywhere else. Speculation was rife asto who would keep house for Dave Milliken, and whether Samantha Annwould bury the Ripley-Milliken battle-axe and go to the funeral, andwhether Mis' Pettigrove had left her property to David, as was right, orto her husband's sister in New Hampshire, which would be a sin and ashame; but jest as likely as not, though she was well off and didn'tneed it no more 'n a toad would a pocket-book, and couldn't bear thesight o' Lyddy besides, --and whether Mr. Pettigrove's first wife'srelations would be asked to the funeral, bein' as how they hadn't spokefor years, 'n' wouldn't set on the same side the meetin'-house, but whenyou come to that, if only the folks that was on good terms with LyddyPettigrove was asked to the funeral, there'd be a slim attendance, and--so on. 

Aunt Hitty was the most important person in the village on theseoccasions. It was she who assisted in the last solemn preparations andtook the last solemn stitches; and when all was done, and she hung herlittle reticule on her arm, and started to walk from the house ofbereavement to her own home (where "Si" was anxiously awaiting hisnightly draught of gossip), no royal herald could have been looked forwith greater interest or greeted with greater cordiality. All thehousewives that lived on the direct road were on their doorsteps, so asnot to lose a moment, and all that lived off the road had seen her fromthe upstairs windows, and were at the gate to waylay her as she passed. At such a moment Aunt Hitty's bosom swelled with honest pride, and shehumbly thanked her Maker that she had been bred to the use of scissorsand needle. 

Two days of this intoxicating popularity had just passed; the funeralwas over, and she ran in to the White Farm on her way home, to carry amessage, and to see with her own eyes how Samantha Ann Ripley wascomporting herself. 

"You didn't git out to the fun'ral, did ye, Samanthy?" she asked, as sheseated herself cosily by the kitchen window. 

"No, I didn't. I never could see the propriety o' goin' to see folksdead that you never went to see alive. "

"How you talk! That's one way o' puttin' it! Well, everybody was lookin'for you, and you missed a very pleasant fun'ral. David 'n' I arrangedeverything as neat as wax, and it all went off like clock-work, if I dosay so as shouldn't. Mis' Pettigrove made a beautiful remains. "

"I'm glad to hear it. It's the first beautiful thing she ever did make, I guess!"

"How you talk! Ain't you a leetle hard on Lyddy, Samanthy? She warn'tsech a bad neighbor, and she couldn't help bein' kind o' sour like. Shewas born with her teeth on aidge, to begin with, and then she'd benthrough seas o' trouble with them Pettigroves. "

"Like enough; but even if folks has ben through seas o' trouble, theyneedn't be everlastin'ly spittin' up salt brine. 'Passin' through thevalley of sorrow they make it full o' fountings;' that's what the Psalmssays 'bout bearin' trouble. "

"Lyddy warn't much on fountings, " said Aunt Hitty contemplatively; "but, there, we hadn't ought to speak nothin' but good o' the dead. Landsakes! You'd oughter heard Elder Weekses remarks; they was splendid. Weain't hed better remarks to any fun'ral here for years. I shouldn't 'a'suspicioned he was preachin' 'bout Lyddy, though. Our minister's sickabed, you know, 'n' warn't able to conduct the ex'cises. Si thinks hewent to bed a-purpose, but I wouldn't hev it repeated; so David gotElder Weeks from Moderation. He warn't much acquainted with the remains, but he done all the better for that. He's got a wond'ful faculty forfun'rals. They say he's sent for for miles around. He'd just come froma fun'ral nine miles the other side o' Moderation, up on the Blueb'ryroad; so he was a leetle mite late, 'n' David 'n' I was as nervous aswitches, for every room was cram full 'n' the thermometer stood at 87 inthe front entry, 'n' the bearers sot out there by the well-curb, withthe sun beatin' down on 'em, 'n' two of 'em, Squire Hicks 'n' DeaconDunn, was fast asleep. Inside, everything was as silent 's the tomb, 'cept the kitchen clock, 'n' that ticked loud enough to wake the deadmost. I thought I should go inter conniptions. I set out to git up 'n'throw a shawl over it, it ticked so loud. Then, while we was all settin'there 's solemn 's the last trump, what does old Aunt Beccy Burnham dobut git up from the kitchen corner where she sot, take the corn-broomfrom behind the door, and sweep down a cobweb that was lodged up in oneo' the corners over the mantelpiece! We all looked at one 'nother, 'n' Ithought for a second somebody 'd laugh, but nobody dassed, 'n' therewarn't a sound in the room 's Aunt Beccy sot down agin' without movin' amuscle in her face. Just then the minister drove in the yard with hishorse sweatin' like rain; but behind time as he was, he never slightedthings a mite. His prayer was twenty-three minutes by the clock. Twenty-three minutes is a leetle mite too long this kind o' weather, butit was an all-embracin' prayer, 'n' no mistake! Si said when he gotthrough the Lord had his instructions on most any p'int that was likelyto come up durin' the season. When he got through his remarks therewarn't a dry eye in the room. I don't s'pose it made any odds whether hewas preachin' 'bout Mis' Pettigrove or the woman on the Blueb'ryroad, --it was a movin', elevatin' discourse, 'n' that was what we wentthere for. "

"It wouldn't 'a' ben so elevatin' if he'd told the truth, " saidSamantha; "but, there, I ain't goin' to spit no more spite out. LyddyPettigrove's dead, 'n' I hope she's in heaven, and all I can say is, that she'll be dretful busy up there ondoin' all she done down here. Yousay there was a good many out?"

"Yes; we ain't hed so many out for years, so Susanna Rideout says, andshe'd ought to know, for she ain't missed a fun'ral sence she was nineyears old, and she's eighty-one, come Thanksgivin', ef she holds outthat long. She says fun'rals is 'bout the only recreation she has, 'n'she doos git a heap o' satisfaction out of 'em, 'n' no mistake. She'llgo early, afore any o' the comp'ny assembles. She'll say her clock must'a' ben fast, 'n' then they'll ask her to set down 'n' make herself tohome. Then she'll choose her seat accordin' to the way the house isplanned. She won't git too fur from the remains, because she'll want tosee how the fam'ly appear when they take their last look, but she'llwant to git opposite a door, where she can look into the other rooms 'n'see whether they shed any tears when the minister begins his remarks. She allers takes a little gum camphire in her pocket, so't if anybodyfaints away durin' the long prayer, she's right on hand. Bein' near thedoor, she can hear all the minister says, 'n' how the order o' themourners is called, 'n' ef she ain't too fur from the front winders shecan hev a good view of the bearers and the mourners as they get into thekerridges. There's a sight in knowin' how to manage at a fun'ral; ittakes faculty, same as anything else. "

"How does David bear up?" asked Miss Vilda. 

"Oh, he's calm. David was always calm and resigned, you know. He shedtears durin' the remarks, but I s'pose, mebbe, he was wishin' they wasmore appropriate. He's about the forlornest creeter now you ever see' inyour life. There never was any self-assume to David Milliken. I declareit's enough to make you cry jest to look at him. I cooked up victualsenough to last him a week, but that ain't no way for men-folks to live. When he comes in at noon-time he washes up out by the pump, 'n' then hesteps int' the butt'ry 'n' pours some cold tea out the teapot 'n' takesa drink of it, 'n' then a bite o' cold punkin pie 'n' then more tea, allthe time stan'in' up to the shelf 'stid o' sittin' down like aChristian, and lookin' out the winder as if his mind was in HardScrabble 'n' his body in Buttertown, 'n' as if he didn't know whether hewas eatin' pie or putty. Land! I can't bear to watch him. I dassay hemisses Lyddy's jawin', --it must seem dretful quiet. I declare it seemsto me that meek, resigned folks, that's too good to squeal out whenthey're abused, is allers the ones that gits the hardest knocks; but Idon't doubt but what there's goin' to be an everlastin' evenupnesssomewheres. "

Samantha got up suddenly and went to the sink window. "It's 'bout timethe men come in for their dinner, " she said. But though Jabe was mowingthe millstone hill, and though he wore a red flannel shirt, she couldnot see him because of the tears that blinded her eyes. 

SCENE XIII. 

_The Village. _

PLEASANT RIVER IS BAPTIZED WITH THE SPIRIT OF ADOPTION. 

"But I didn't come in to talk 'bout the fun'ral, " continued Aunt Hitty, wishing that human flesh were transparent so that she could see throughSamanthy Ann Ripley's back. "I had an errant 'n' oughter ben in afore, but I've ben so busy these last few days I couldn't find rest for thesole o' my foot skersely. I've sewed in seven dif'rent houses sence Iwas here last, and I've made it my biz'ness to try 'n' stop the gossip'bout them children 'n' give folks the rights o' the matter, 'n' git 'eminterested to do somethin' for 'em. Now there ain't a livin' soul thatwants the boy, but"--

"Timothy, " said Miss Vilda hurriedly, "run and fetch me a passle ofchips, that's a good boy. Land sakes! Aunt Hitty, you needn't tell himto his face that nobody wants him. He's got feelin's like any otherchild. "

"He set there so quiet with a book in front of him I clean forgot he wasin the room, " said Aunt Hitty apologetically. "Land! I'm sotender-hearted I can't set my foot on a June bug 'n' 't aint' likely I'dhurt anybody's feelin's, but as I was sayin' I can't find nobody thatwants the boy, but the Doctor's wife thinks p'raps she'll be willin' totake the baby 'n' board her for nothing if somebody else 'll pay for herclothes. At least she'll try her a spell 'n' see how she behaves, 'n'whether she's good comp'ny for her own little girl that's a reg'lar limbo' Satan anyway, 'n' consid'able worse sence she's had the scarlitfever, 'n' deef as a post too, tho' they're blisterin' her, 'n' she maygit over it. I told her I'd bring Gay over to-night as I was comin' by, bein' as how she was worn out with sickness 'n' house-cleanin' 'n' onething 'n' nother, 'n' couldn't come to git her very well herself. Ithought mebbe you'd be willin' to pay for her clothes ruther 'n hev somuch talk 'bout it, tho' I've told everybody that they walked right into the front gate, 'n' you 'n' Samanthy never set eyes on 'em before, 'n' didn't know where they come from. "

Samantha wiped her eyes surreptitiously with the dishcloth and turned ascarlet face away from the window. Timothy was getting his "passle o'chips. " Gay had spied him, and toddling over to his side, holding herdress above the prettiest little pair of feet that ever trod clover, hadsat down on him (a favorite pastime of hers), and after jolting her fatlittle person up and down on his patient head, rolled herself over andgave him a series of bear-hugs. Timothy looked pale and languid, Samantha thought, and though Gay waited for a frolic with her mostadorable smile, he only lifted her coral necklace to kiss the placewhere it hung, and tied on her sun-bonnet soberly. Samantha wished thatVilda had been looking out of the window. Her own heart didn't needsoftening, but somebody else's did, she was afraid. 

"I'm much obliged to you for takin' so much interest in the children, "said Miss Vilda primly, "and partic'lerly for clearin' our characters, which everybody that lives in this village has to do for each other'bout once a week, and the rest o' the time they take for spoilin' of'em. And the Doctor's wife is very kind, but I shouldn't think o'sendin' the baby away so sudden while the boy is still here. Itwouldn't be no kindness to Mis' Mayo, for she'd have a regular Frenchand Indian war right on her premises. It was here the children came, just as you say, and it's our duty to see 'em settled in good homes, butI shall take a few days more to think 'bout it, and I'll let her know bySaturday night what we've decided to do. --That's the most meddlesome, inteferin', gossipin' woman in this county, " she added, as Mrs. SilasTarbox closed the front gate, "and I wouldn't have her do another day'swork at this house if I didn't have to. But it's worse for them thatdon't have her than for them that does. --Now there's the Baptistminister drivin' up to the barn. What under the canopy does he want?Tell him Jabe ain't to home, Samanthy. No, you needn't, for he'shitched, and seems to be comin' to the front door. "

"I never could abide the looks of him, " said Samantha, peering over MissVilda's shoulder. "No man with a light chiny blue eye like that oughterbe allowed to go int' the ministry; for you can't love your brother whomyou hev seen with that kind of an eye, and how are you goin' to love theLord whom you hev not seen?"

Mr. Southwick, who was a spare little man in a long linen duster thatlooked as if it had not been in the water as often as its wearer, satdown timidly on the settle and cleared his throat. 

"I've come to talk with you on a little matter of business, MissCummins. Brother Slocum has--a--conferred with me on the subject ofa--a--couple of unfortunate children who have--a--strayed, as it were, under your hospitable roof, and whom--a--you are properly anxious toplace--a--under other rooves, as it were. Now you are aware, perhaps, that Mrs. Southwick and I have no children living, though we have attimes had our quivers full of them--a--as the Scripture says; but theLord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord, however, that is--a--neither here nor there. Brother Slocum has sointerested us that my wife (who is leading the Woman's Auxiliary PrayingLegion this afternoon or she would have come herself) wishes me to saythat she would like to receive one of these--a--little waifs into ourfamily on probation, as it were, and if satisfactory to both parties, tobring it up--a--somewhat as our own, in the nurture and admonition ofthe Lord. "

Samantha waited, in breathless suspense. Miss Vilda never would flingaway an opportunity of putting a nameless, homeless child under the roofof a minister of the Gospel, even if he was a Baptist, with a chiny blueeye. 

At this exciting juncture there was a clatter of small feet; the doorburst open, and the "unfortunate waifs" under consideration raced acrossthe floor to the table where Miss Vilda and Samantha were seated. Gay'ssun-bonnet trailed behind her, every hair on her head curled separately, and she held her rag-doll upside down with entire absence of decorum. Timothy's paleness, whatever the cause, had disappeared for the moment, and his eyes shone like stars. 

"Oh, Miss Vilda!" he cried breathlessly; "dear Miss Vilda and Samanthy, the gray hen did want to have chickens, and that is what made her socross, and she is setting, and we've found her nest in the alder bushesby the pond!"

("G'ay hen's net in er buttes by er pond, " sung Gay, like a Greekchorus. )

"And we sat down softly beside the pond, but Gay sat into it. "

("Gay sat wite into it, an' dolly dot her dess wet, but Gay nite ittledirl; Gay didn't det wet!")

"And by and by the gray hen got off to get a drink of water"--

("To det a dink o' water"--)

"And we counted the eggs, and there were thirteen big ones!"

("Fir-teen drate bid ones!")

"So that the darling thing had to s-w-ell out to cover them up!"

("Darlin' fin ser-welled out an' tuvvered 'em up!") said Gay, goingthrough the same operation. 

"Yes, " said Miss Vilda, looking covertly at Mr. Southwick (who had aneye for beauty, notwithstanding Samantha's strictures), "that's verynice, but you mustn't stay here now; we are talkin' to the minister. Runaway, both of you, and let the settin' hen alone. --Well, as I was goin'to say, Mr. Southwick, you're very kind and so 's your wife, and I'msure Timothy, that's the boy's name, would be a great help and comfortto both of you, if you're fond of children, and we should be glad tohave him near by, for we feel kind of responsible for him, though he'sno relation of ours. And we'll think about the matter over night, andlet you know in the morning. "

"Yes, exactly, I see, I see; but it was the young child, the--a--femalechild, that my wife desired to take into her family. She does not carefor boys, and she is particularly fond of girls, and so am I, very fondof girls--a--in reason. "

Miss Vilda all at once made up her mind on one point, and only wishedthat Samantha wouldn't stare at her as if she had never seen her before. "I'm sorry to disappoint your wife, Mr. Southwick. It seems that Mrs. Tarbox and Jabez Slocum have been offerin' the child to every family inthe village, and I s'pose bime bye they'll have the politeness to offerher to me; but, at any rate, whether they do or not, I propose to keepher myself, and I'd thank you to tell folks so, if they ask you. Mebbeyou'd better give it out from the pulpit, though I can let Mis' Tarboxknow, and that will answer the same purpose. This is the place the babywas brought, and this is the place she's goin' to stay. "

"Vildy, you're a good woman!" cried Samantha, when the door closed onthe Reverend Mr. Southwick. "I'm proud o' you, Vildy, 'n' I take backall the hard thoughts I've ben hevin' about you lately. The idee o'that chiny-eyed preacher thinkin' he was goin' to carry that child homein his buggy with hardly so much as sayin' 'Thank you, marm!' I like hisBaptist imperdence! His wife hed better wash his duster afore she adoptsany children. If they'd carry their theories 'bout immersion 's fur astheir close, 't wouldn't be no harm. "

"I don' know as I'd have agreed to keep either of 'em ef the wholevillage hadn't intefered and wanted to manage my business for me, and beso dretful charitable all of a sudden, and dictate to me and try to showme my duty. I haven't had a minute's peace for more 'n a fortnight, andnow I hope they'll let me alone. I'll take the boy to the cityto-morrow, if I live to see the light, and when I come back I'll tie upthe gate and keep the neighbors out till this nine days' wonder getscrowded out o' their heads by somethin' new. "

"You're goin' to take Timothy to the city, are you?" asked Samanthasharply. 

"That's what I'm goin' to do; and the sooner the better for everybodyconcerned. Timothy, shut that door and run out to the barn, and don'tyou let me see you again till supper-time; do you hear me?"

"And you're goin' to put him in one o' them Homes?"

"Yes, I am. You see for yourself we can't find any place fer himhereabouts. "

"Well, I've ben waitin' for days to see what you was goin' to do, andnow I'll tell you what I'm goin' to do, if you'd like to know. I'm goin'to keep Timothy myself; to have and to hold from this time forth and forevermore, as the Bible says. That's what I'm goin' to do!"

Miss Cummins gasped with astonishment. 

"I mean what I say, Vildy. I ain't so well off as some, but I ain't apauper, not by no means. I've ben layin' by a little every year fortwenty years, 'n' you know well enough what for; but that's all over forever and ever, amen, thanks be! And I ain't got chick nor child, norblood relation in the world, and if I choose to take somebody to do for, why, it's nobody's affairs but my own. "

"You can't do it, and you sha'n't do it!" said Miss Vilda excitedly. "You ain't goin' to make a fool of yourself, if I can help it. We can'thave two children clutterin' up this place and eatin' us out of houseand home, and that's the end of it. "

"It ain't the end of it, Vildy Cummins, not by no manner o' means! If wecan't keep both of 'em, do you know what I think 'bout it? I think we'dought to give away the one that everybody wants and keep the other thatnobody does want, more fools they! That's religion, accordin' to my wayo' thinkin'. I love the baby, dear knows; but see here. Who planned thisthing all out? Timothy. Who took that baby up in his own arms andfetched her out o' that den o' thieves? Timothy. Who stood all the reskof gittin' that innocent lamb out o' that sink of iniquity, and hed witenough to bring her to a place where she could grow up respectable?Timothy. And do you ketch him say in' a word 'bout himself from fust tolast? Not by no manner o' means. That ain't Timothy. And what doos thelovin' gen'rous, faithful little soul git? He gits his labor for hispains. He hears folks say right to his face that nobody wants him andeverybody wants Gay. And if he didn't have a disposition like acherubim-an-seraphim (and better, too, for they 'continually do cry, 'now I come to think of it), he'd be sour and bitter, 'stid o' bein' goodas an angel in a picture-book from sun-up to sun-down!"

Miss Vilda was crushed by the overpowering weight of this argument, anddid not even try to stem the resistless tide of Samantha's eloquence. 

"And now folks is all of a high to take in the baby for a spell, jestfor a plaything, because her hair curls, 'n' she's handsome, 'n' lightcomplected, 'n' cunning, 'n' a girl (whatever that amounts to is more 'nI know!), and that blessed boy is tread under foot as if he warn't nobetter 'n an angleworm! And do you mean to tell me you don't see theLord's hand in this hull bus'ness, Vildy Cummins? There's other kinds o'meracles besides buddin' rods 'n' burnin' bushes 'n' loaves 'n' fishes. What do you s'pose guided that boy to pass all the other houses in thisvillage 'n' turn in at the White Farm? Don't you s'pose he was led?Well, I don't need a Bible nor yit a concordance to tell _me_ he was. _He_ didn't know there was plenty 'n' to spare inside this gate; agreat, empty house 'n' full cellar, 'n' hay 'n' stock in the barn, andcowpons in the bank, 'n' two lone, mis'able women inside, with nothin'to do but keep flies out in summer-time, 'n' pile wood on inwinter-time, till they got so withered up 'n' gnarly they warn't hardlywuth getherin' int' the everlastin' harvest! _He_ didn't know it, I say, but the Lord did; 'n' the Lord's intention was to give us a chance tomake our callin' 'n' election sure, 'n' we can't do that by turnin' ourbacks on His messenger, and puttin' of him ou'doors! The Lord intendedthem children should stay together or He wouldn't 'a' started 'em outthat way; now that's as plain as the nose on my face, 'n' that'sconsid'able plain as I've ben told afore now, 'n' can see for myself inthe glass without any help from anybody, thanks be!"

"Everybody 'll laugh at us for a couple o' soft-hearted fools, " saidMiss Vilda feebly, after a long pause. "We'll be a spectacle for thewhole village. "

"What if we be? Let's be a spectacle, then!" said Samantha stoutly. "We'll be a spectacle for the angels as well as the village, when youcome to that! When they look down 'n' see us gittin' outside thisdooryard 'n' doin' one o' the Lord's chores for the first time in ten orfifteen years, I guess they'll be consid'able excited! But there's nouse in talkin', I've made up my mind, Vildy. We've lived together forthirty years 'n' ain't hardly hed an ugly word ('n' dretful dull it hezben for both of us!), 'n' I sha'n't live nowheres else without you tellme to go; but I've got lots o' good work in me yit, 'n' I'm goin' totake that boy up 'n' give him a chance, 'n' let him stay alongside o'the thing he loves best in the world. And if there ain't room for all ofus in the fourteen rooms o' this part o' the house, Timothy 'n' I canlive in the L, as you've allers intended I should if I got married. AndI guess this is 'bout as near to gittin' married as either of us ever'll git now, 'n' consid'able nearer 'n I've expected to git, lately. AndI'll tell Timothy this very night, when he goes to bed, for he'sgrievin' himself into a fit o' sickness, as anybody can tell that's gota glass eye in their heads!"

SCENE XIV. 

_A Point of Honor. _

TIMOTHY JESSUP RUNS AWAY A SECOND TIME, AND, LIKE OTHER BLESSINGS, BRIGHTENS AS HE TAKES HIS FLIGHT. 

It was almost dusk, and Jabe Slocum was struggling with the nightlyproblem of getting the cow from the pasture without any expenditure ofpersonal effort. Timothy was nowhere to be found, or he would go and beglad to do the trifling service for his kind friend without otherremuneration than a cordial "Thank you. " Failing Timothy there wasalways Billy Pennell, who would not go for a "Thank you, " being a boy ofa sordid and miserly manner of thought, but who would go for a cent andchalk the cent up, which made it a more reasonable charge than wouldappear to the casual observer. So Jabe lighted his corn-cob pipe, andextended himself under a willow-tree beside the pond, singing in acheerful fashion, --

 "'Tremblin' sinner, calm your fears! Jesus is always ready. Cease your sin and dry your tears, Jesus is always ready!'"

"And dretful lucky for you He is!" muttered Samantha, who had come tolook for Timothy. "Jabe! Jabe! Has Timothy gone for the cow?"

"Dunno. Jest what I was goin' to ask you when I got roun' to it. "

"Well, how are you goin' to find out?"

"Find out by seein' the cow if he hez gone, an' by not seein' no cow ifhe hain't. I'm comf'table either way it turns out. One o' them writin'fellers that was up here summerin' said, 'They also serve who'd rutherstan' 'n' wait' 'd be a good motto for me, 'n' he's about right whenI've ben hayin'. Look down there at the shiners, ain't they cool? Gorry!I wish I was a fish!"

"If you was you wouldn't wear your fins out, that's certain!"

"Come now, Samanthy, don't be hard on a feller after his day's work. Want me to git up 'n' blow the horn for the boy?"

"No, thank you, " answered Samantha cuttingly. "I wouldn't ask you tospend your precious breath for fear you'd be too lazy to draw it inagin. When I want to get anything done I can gen'ally spunk up sprawlenough to do it myself, thanks be!"

"Wall now, Samanthy, you cheat the men-folks out of a heap o' pleasurebein' so all-fired independent, did ye know it?

 "'Tremblin' sinner, calm your fears! Jesus is always ready. '"

"When 'd you see him last?"

"I hain't seen him sence 'bout noon-time. Warn't he into supper?"

"No. We thought he was off with you. Well, I guess he's gone for thecow, but I should think he'd be hungry. It's kind o' queer. "

Miss Vilda was seated at the open window in the kitchen, and Lady Gaywas enthroned in her lap, sleepy, affectionate, tractable, adorable. 

"How would you like to live here at the White Farm, deary?" asked MissVilda. 

"O, yet. I yike to live here if Timfy doin' to live here too. I yike oo, I yike Samfy, I yike Dabe, I yike white tat 'n' white tow 'n' whitebossy 'n' my boofely desses 'n' my boofely dolly 'n' er day hen 'n' Iyikes evelybuddy!"

"But you'd stay here like a nice little girl if Timothy had to go away, wouldn't you?"

"No, I won't tay like nite ittle dirl if Timfy do 'way. If Timfy do'way, I do too. I's Timfy's dirl. "

"But you're too little to go away with Timothy. "

"Ven I ky an keam an kick an hold my bwef--I s'ow you how!"

"No, you needn't show me how, " said Vilda hastily. "Who do you lovebest, deary, Samanthy or me?"

"I yuv Timfy bet. Lemme twy rit-man-poor-man-bedder-man-fief on yourbuckalins, pease. "

"Then you'll stay here and be my little girl, will you?"

"Yet, I tay here an' be Timfy's ittle dirl. Now oo p'ay by your own seffittle while, Mit Vildy, pease, coz I dot to det down an find Samfy an'put my dolly to bed coz she's defful seepy. "

"It's half past eight, " said Samantha coming into the kitchen, "andTimothy ain't nowheres to be found, and Jabe hain't seen him sencenoon-time. "

"You needn't be scared for fear you've lost your bargain, " remarked MissVilda sarcastically. "There ain't so many places open to the boy thathe'll turn his back on this one, I guess!"

Yet, though the days of chivalry were over, that was precisely whatTimothy Jessup had done. 

Wilkins's Wood was a quiet stretch of timber land that lay along thebanks of Pleasant River; and though the natives (for the most part)never noticed but that it was paved with asphalt and roofed in withoilcloth, yet it was, nevertheless, the most tranquil bit of lovelinessin all the country round. For there the river twisted and turned andsparkled in the sun, and "bent itself in graceful courtesies offarewell" to the hills it was leaving; and kissed the velvet meadowsthat stooped to drink from its brimming cup; and lapped the treesgently, as they hung over its crystal mirrors the better to see theirown fresh beauty. And here it wound "about and in and out, " laughing inthe morning sunlight, to think of the tiny streamlet out of which itgrew; paling and shimmering at evening when it held the stars andmoonbeams in its bosom; and trembling in the night wind to think of thegreat unknown sea into whose arms it was hurrying. 

Here was a quiet pool where the rushes bent to the breeze and the quaildipped her wing; and there a winding path where the cattle came down tothe edge, and having looked upon the scene and found it all very good, dipped their sleek heads to drink and drink and drink of the river'snectar. Here the first pink mayflowers pushed their sweet heads throughthe reluctant earth, and waxen Indian pipes grew in the moist places, and yellow violets hid themselves beneath their modest leaves. 

And here sat Timothy, with all his heart in his eyes, bidding good-by toall this soft and tender loveliness. And there, by his side, faithfulunto death (but very much in hopes of something better), sat Rags, andthought it a fine enough prospect, but one that could be beaten at allpoints by a bit of shed-view he knew of, --a superincumbent hash-pan, anempty milk-dish, and an emaciated white cat flying round a corner! Theremembrance of these past joys brought the tears to his eyes, but heforbore to let them flow lest he should add to the griefs of his littlemaster, which, for aught he knew, might be as heavy as his own. 

Timothy was comporting himself, at this trying crisis, neither as a heronor as a martyr. There is no need of exaggerating his virtues. Enough tosay, not that he was a hero, but that he had in him the stuff out ofwhich heroes are made. Win his heart and fire his imagination, and thereis no splendid deed of which the little hero would not have beencapable. But that he knew precisely what he was leaving behind, or whathe was going forth to meet, would be saying too much. One thing he didknow: that Miss Vilda had said distinctly that two was one too many, andthat he was the objectionable unit referred to. And in addition to thishe had more than once heard that very day that nobody in Pleasant Riverwanted him, but that there would be plenty of homes open to Gay if hewere safely out of the way. A little allusion to a Home, which he caughtwhen he was just bringing in a four-leafed clover to show to Samantha, completed the stock of ideas from which he reasoned. He was very clearon one point, and that was that he would never be taken alive and put ina Home with a capital H. He respected Homes, he approved of them, forother boys, but personally they were unpleasant to him, and he had nointention of dwelling in one if he could help it. The situation did notappear utterly hopeless in his eyes. He had his original dollar andeighty-five cents in money; Rags and he had supped like kings off wildblackberries and hard gingerbread; and, more than all, he was young andmercifully blind to all but the immediate present. Yet even in takingthe most commonplace possible view of his character it would be folly toaffirm that he was anything but unhappy. His soul was not sustained bythe consciousness of having done a self-forgetting and manly act, for hewas not old enough to have such a consciousness, which is something thegood God gives us a little later on, to help us over some of the hardplaces. 

"Nobody wants me! Nobody wants me!" he sighed, as he lay down under thetrees. "Nobody ever did want me, --I wonder why! And everybody loves mydarling Gay and wants to keep her, and I don't wonder about that. But, oh, if I only belonged to somebody! (Cuddle up close, little Ragsy;we've got nobody but just each other, and you can put your head into theother pocket that hasn't got the gingerbread in it, if you please!) IfI only was like that little butcher's boy that he lets ride on the seatwith him, and hold the reins when he takes meat into the houses, --or ifI only was that freckled-face boy with the straw hat that lives on theway to the store! His mother keeps coming out to the gate on purpose tokiss him. Or if I was even Billy Pennell! He's had three mothers and twofathers in three years, Jabe says. Jabe likes me, I think, but he can'thave me live at his house, because his mother is the kind that needsplenty of room, he says, --and Samanthy has no house. But I did what Itried to do. I got away from Minerva Court and found a lovely place forGay to live, with two mothers instead of one; and maybe they'll tell herabout me when she grows bigger, and then she'll know I didn't want torun away from her, but whether they tell her or not, she's only a littlebaby, and boys must always take care of girls; that's what mydream-mother whispers to me in the night, --and that's ... What ... I'malways ... "

Come! gentle sleep, and take this friendless little knight-errant in thykind arms! Bear him across the rainbow bridge, and lull him to restwith the soft plash of waves and sighing of branches! Cover him with thymantle of dreams, sweet goddess, and give him in sleep what he hathnever had in waking!

Meanwhile, a more dramatic scene was being enacted at the White Farm. Itwas nine o'clock, and Samantha had gone from pond to garden, shed tobarn, and gate to dairy, a dozen times, but there was no sign ofTimothy. Gay had refused to be undressed till "Timfy" appeared on thepremises, but had fallen asleep in spite of the most valiant resolution, and was borne upstairs by Samantha, who made her ready for bed withoutwaking her. 

As she picked up the heap of clothes to lay them neatly on a chair, abit of folded paper fell from the bosom of the little dress. She glancedat it, turned it over and over, read it quite through. Then, afterretiring behind her apron a moment, she went swiftly downstairs to thedining-room where Miss Avilda and Jabe were sitting. 

"There!" she exclaimed, with a triumphant sob, as she laid the paperdown in front of the astonished couple. "That's a letter from Timothy. He's run away, 'n' I don't blame him a mite 'n' I hope folks 'll besatisfied now they've got red of the blessed angel, 'n' turned himoutdoors without a roof to his head! Read it out, 'n' see what kind of aboy we've showed the door to!"

 Dere Miss vilder and sermanthy. I herd you say i cood not stay here enny longer and other peeple sed nobuddy wood have me and what you sed about the home but as i do not like homes i am going to run away if its all the same to you. Please give Jabe back his birds egs with my love and i am sorry i broak the humming-bird's one but it was a naxident. Pleas take good care of gay and i will come back and get her when I am ritch. I thank you very mutch for such a happy time and the white farm is the most butifull plase in the whole whirld. TIM. 

 p. S. I wood not tell you if i was going to stay but billy penel thros stones at the white cow witch i fere will get into her milk so no more from TIM. 

 i am sorry not to say good by but i am afrade on acount of the home so i put them here. 

[Illustration: Kisses]

The paper fell from Miss Vilda's trembling fingers, and two salt tearsdropped into the kissing places. 

"The Lord forgive me!" she said at length (and it was many a year sinceany one had seen her so moved). "The Lord forgive me for a hard-heartedold woman, and give me a chance to make it right. Not one reproachfulword does he say to us about showin' partiality, --not one! And my hearthas kind of yearned over that boy from the first, but just because hehad Marthy's eyes he kept bringin' up the past to me, and I never lookedat him without rememberin' how hard and unforgivin' I'd ben to her, andthinkin' if I'd petted and humored her a little and made lifepleasanter, perhaps she'd never have gone away. And I've scrimped andsaved and laid up money till it comes hard to pay it out, and when Ithought of bringin' up and schoolin' two children I cal'lated I couldn'tafford it; and yet I've got ten thousand dollars in the bank and thebest farm for miles around. Samanthy, you go fetch my bonnet andshawl, --Jabe, you go and hitch up Maria, and we'll go after that boy andfetch him back if he's to be found anywheres above ground! And if wecome across any more o' the same family trampin' around the country, we'll bring them along home while we're about it, and see if we can'tget some sleep and some comfort out o' life. And the Missionary Societycan look somewheres else for money. There's plenty o' folks that don'tget good works set right down in their front yards for 'em to do. I'lllook out for the individyals for a spell, and let the other folkssupport the societies!"

SCENE XV. 

_Wilkins's Woods. _

LIKE ALL DOGS IN FICTION THE FAITHFUL RAGS GUIDES MISS VILDA TO HISLITTLE MASTER. 

Samantha ran out to the barn to hold the lantern and see that Jabedidn't go to sleep while he was harnessing Maria. But he seemedunusually "spry" for him, although he was conducting himself in asomewhat strange and unusual manner. His loose figure shook from time totime, as with severe chills; he seemed too weak to hold up the shafts, and so he finally dropped them and hung round Maria's neck in a sort ofmild, speechless convulsion. 

"What under the canopy ails you, Jabe Slocum?" asked Samantha. "I s'poseit's one o' them everlastin' old addled jokes o' yourn you're tryin' tohatch out, but it's a poor time to be jokin' now. What's the matter withyou?"

"'Ask me no questions 'n' I'll tell you no lies, ' is an awful goodmotto, " chuckled Jabe, with a new explosion of mirth that stretched hismouth to an alarming extent. "Oh, there, I can't hold in 'nother minute. I shall bust if I don' tell somebody! Set down on that nail kag, Samanthy, 'n' I'll let you hev a leetle slice o' this joke--if you'llkeep it to yourself. You see I know--'bout--whar--to look--for thishere--runaway!"

"You hev n't got him stowed away anywheres, hev you? If you hev, it'llbe the last joke you'll play on Vildy Cummins, I can tell you that much, Jabe Slocum. "

"No, I hain't stowed him away, but I can tell putty nigh whar he'sstowed hisself away, and I'm ready to die a-laffin' to see how it's allturned out jest as I suspicioned 't would. You see, Samanthy Ann, Ithought 'bout a week ago 't would be well enough to kind o' create ademand for the young ones so 't they'd hev some kind of a market value, and so I got Elder Southwick 'n' Aunt Hitty kind o' started on thattack, 'n' it worked out slick as a whistle, tho' they didn't know I wasusin' of 'em as innercent instruments, and Aunt Hitty don't need muchencouragement to talk; it's a heap easier for her to drizzle 'n it is tohold up! Well, I've ben surmisin' for a week that the boy meant to runaway, and to-day I was dead sure of it; for he come to me thisafternoon, when I was restin' a spell on account o' the hot sun, and hewas awful low-sperrited, 'n' he asked me every namable kind of aquestion you ever hearn tell of, and all so simple-minded that I jestturned him inside out 'thout his knowin' what I was doin'. Well, when Ifound out what he was up to I could 'a' stopped him then 'n' there, tho'I don' know 's I would anyhow, for I shouldn't like livin' in a 'sylumany better 'n he doos; but thinks I to myself, thinks I, I'd better lethim run away, jest as he's a plannin', --and why? Cause it'll show whatkind o' stuff he's made of, and that he ain't no beggar layin' roun'whar he ain't wanted, but a self-respectin' boy that's wuth lookin'after. And thinks I, Samanthy, 'n' I know the wuth of him a'ready, butthere's them that hain't waked up to it yit, namely, Miss Vildy TryphenyCummins; and as Miss Vildy Trypheny Cummins is that kind o' cattle thatcan't be drove, but hez to be kind o' coaxed along, mebbe thisrunnin'-away bizness 'll be the thing that'll fetch her roun' to our wayo' thinkin'. Now I wouldn't deceive nobody for a farm down East with apig on it, but thinks I, there ain't no deceivin' 'bout this. He don'know I know he's goin' to run away, so he's all square; and he nevertold me nothin' 'bout his plans, so I'm all square; and Miss Vildy'sgood as eighteen-karat gold when she gets roun' to it, so she'll be allsquare; and Samanthy's got her blinders on 'n' don't see nothin' to theright nor to the left, so she's all square. And I ain't inteferin' withnobody. I'm jest lettin' things go the way they've started, 'n' stan'in'to one side to see whar they'll fetch up, kind o' like Providence. I'mleavin' Miss Vildy a free agent, but I'm shapin' circumstances so 's togive her a chance. But, land! if I'd fixed up the thing to suit myself Icouldn't 'a' managed it as Timothy hez, 'thout knowin' that he wasmanagin' anything. Look at that letter bizness now! I couldn't 'a' writthat letter better myself! And the sperrit o' the little feller, jesttakin' his dorg 'n' lightin' out with nothin' but a perlite good-bye!Well I can't stop to talk no more 'bout it now, or we won't ketch him, but we'll jest try Wilkins's Woods, Maria, 'n' see how that goes. Theriver road leads to Edgewood 'n' Hillside, whar there's consid'ablehayin' bein' done, as I happened to mention to Timothy this afternoon;and plenty o' blackberries 'side the road, 'specially after you pass thewood-pile on the left-hand side, whar there's a reg'lar garding of 'emright 'side of an old hoss-blanket that's layin' there; one that Ihappened to leave there one time when I was sleepin' ou'doors for myhealth, and that was this afternoon 'bout five o'clock, so I guess ithain't changed its location sence. "

Jabe and Miss Vilda drove in silence along the river road that skirtedWilkins's Woods, a place where Jabe had taken Timothy more than once, sohe informed Miss Vilda, and a likely road for him to travel if he wereon his way to some of the near villages. 

Poor Miss Vilda! Fifty years old, and in twenty summers and wintersscarcely one lovely thought had blossomed into lovelier deed and shedits sweetness over her arid and colorless life. And now, under the magicspell of tender little hands and innocent lips, of luminous eyes thatlooked wistfully into hers for a welcome, and the touch of a gropinghelplessness that fastened upon her strength, the woman in her woke intolife, and the beauty and fragrance of long-ago summers came back againas in a dream. 

After having driven three or four miles, they heard a melancholy soundin the distance; and as they approached a huge wood-pile on the leftside of the road, they saw a small woolly form perched on a little riseof ground, howling most melodiously at the August moon, that hung like aball of red fire in the cloudless sky. 

"That's a sign of death in the family, ain't it, Jabe?" whispered MissVilda faintly. 

"So they say, " he answered cheerfully; "but if 't is, I can 'count forit, bein' as how I fertilized the pond lilies with a mess o' four whitekittens this afternoon; and as Rags was with me when I done it, he mayknow what he's bayin' 'bout, --if 't is Rags, 'n' it looks enough likehim to be him, --'n' it is him, by Jiminy, 'n' Timothy's sure to besomewheres near. I'll get out 'n' look roun' a little. "

"You set right still, Jabe, I'll get out myself, for if I find that boyI've got something to say to him that nobody can say for me. "

As Jabe drew the wagon up beside the fence, Rags bounded out to meetthem. He knew Maria, bless your soul, the minute he clapped his eyes onher, and as he approached Miss Vilda's congress boot his quiveringwhiskers seemed to say, "Now, where have I smelled that boot before? IfI mistake not, it has been applied to me more than once. Ha! I have it!Miss Vilda Cummins of the White Farm, owner of the white cat andhash-pan, and companion of the lady with the firm hand, who wields thebroom!" whereupon he leaped up on Miss Cummins's black alpaca skirts, and made for her flannel garters in a way that she particularlydisliked. 

"Now, " said she, "if he's anything like the dogs you hear tell of, he'lltake us right to Timothy. "

"Wall, I don' know, " said Jabe cautiously; "there's so many kinds o'dorg in him you can't hardly tell what he will do. When dorgs is mixedbeyond a certain p'int it kind o' muddles up their instincks, 'n' youcan't rely on 'em. Still you might try him. Hold still, 'n' see whathe'll do. "

Miss Vilda "held still, " and Rags jumped on her skirts. 

"Now, set down, 'n' see whar he'll go. "

Miss Vilda sat down, and Rags went into her lap. 

"Now, make believe start somewheres, 'n' mebbe he'll get ahead 'n' putyou on the right track. "

Miss Vilda did as she was told, and Rags followed close at her heels. 

"Gorry! I never see sech a fool!--or wait, --I'll tell you what's thematter with him. Mebbe he ain't sech a fool as he looks. You see, heknows Timothy wants to run away and don't want to be found 'n' clappedinto a 'sylum, 'n' nuther does he. And not bein' sure o' yourintentions, he ain't a-goin' to give hisself away; that's the way I sizeMr. Rags up!"

"Nice doggy, nice doggy!" shuddered Miss Vilda, as Rags precipitatedhimself upon her again. "Show me where Timothy is, and then we'll goback home and have some nice bones. Run and find your little master, that's a good doggy!"

It would be a clever philosopher who could divine Rags's special methodof logic, or who could write him down either as fool or sage. Suffice itto say that, at this moment (having run in all other possibledirections, and wishing, doubtless, to keep on moving), he ran round thewood-pile; and Miss Vilda, following close behind, came upon a littlefigure stretched on a bit of gray blanket. The pale face shone paler inthe moonlight; there were traces of tears on the cheeks; but there was aheavenly smile on his parted lips, as if his dream-mother had rocked himto sleep in her arms. Rags stole away to Jabe (for even mixed dogs havesome delicacy), and Miss Vilda went down on her knees beside thesleeping boy. 

"Timothy, Timothy, wake up!"

No answer. 

"Timothy, wake up! I've come to take you home!"

Timothy woke with a sob and a start at that hated word, and seeing MissVilda at once jumped to conclusions. 

"Please, please, dear Miss Vildy, don't take me to the Home, but find mesome other place, and I'll never, never run away from it!"

"My blessed little boy, I've come to take you back to your own home atthe White Farm. "

It was too good to believe all at once. "Nobody wants me there, " he saidhesitatingly. 

"Everybody wants you there, " replied Miss Vilda, with a softer note inher voice than anybody had ever heard there before. "Samantha wantsyou, Gay wants you, and Jabe is waiting out here with Maria, for hewants you. "

"But do you want me?" faltered the boy. 

"I want you more than all of 'em put together, Timothy; I want you, andI need you most of all, " cried Miss Vilda, with the tears coursing downher withered cheeks; "and if you'll only forgive me for hurtin' yourfeelin's and makin' you run away, you shall come to the White Farm andbe my own boy as long as you live. "

"Oh, Miss Vildy, darling Miss Vildy! are we both of us adopted, and arewe truly going to live with you all the time and never have to go to theHome?" Whereupon, the boy flung his loving arms round Miss Vilda's neckin an ecstasy of gratitude; and in that sweet embrace of trust andconfidence and joy, the stone was rolled away, once and forever, fromthe sepulchre of Miss Vilda's heart, and Easter morning broke there. 

SCENE XVI. 

_The New Homestead. _

TIMOTHY'S QUEST IS ENDED, AND SAMANTHA SAYS "COME ALONG, DAVE!"

"Jabe Slocum! Do you know it's goin' on seven o'clock 'n' not a singlechore done?"

Jabe yawned, turned over, and listened to Samantha's unwelcome voice, which (considerably louder than the voice of conscience) came from theoutside world to disturb his delicious morning slumbers. 

"Jabe Slocum! Do you hear me?"

"Hear you? Gorry! you'd wake the seven sleepers if they was any wharwithin ear-shot!"

"Well, will you git up?"

"Yes, I'll git up if you're goin' to hev a brash 'bout it, but I wishyou hedn't waked me so awful suddent. 'Don't ontwist the mornin' glory''s my motto. Wait a spell 'n' the sun 'll do it, 'n' save a heap o' wear'n' tear besides. Go 'long! I'll git up. "

"I've heerd that story afore, 'n' I won't go 'long tell I hear you stepfoot on the floor. "

"Scoot! I tell yer I'll be out in a jiffy. "

"Yes, I think I see yer. Your jiffies are consid'able like goldenopportunities, there ain't more 'n one of 'em in a lifetime!" and havingshot this Parthian arrow Samantha departed, as one having done her dutyin that humble sphere of action to which it had pleased Providence tocall her. 

These were beautiful autumn days at the White Farm. The orchards weregleaming, the grapes hung purple on the vines, and the odor of ripeningfruit was in the hazy air. The pink spirea had cast its feathery petalsby the gray stone walls, but the welcome golden-rod bloomed in royalprofusion along the brown waysides, and a crimson leaf hung here andthere in the treetops, just to give a hint of the fall styles in color. Heaps of yellow pumpkins and squashes lay in the corners of the fields;cornstalks bowed their heads beneath the weight of ripened ears; beansthreatened to burst through their yellow pods; the sound of thethreshing machine was heard in the land; and the "hull univarse wantedto be waited on to once, " according to Jabe Slocum; for, as heaffirmed, "Yer couldn't ketch up with your work nohow, for if yer set upnights 'n' worked Sundays, the craps 'd ripen 'n' go to seed on yer'fore yer could git 'em harvested!"

And if there was peace and plenty without there was quite as much withindoors. 

"I can't hardly tell what's the matter with me these days, " saidSamantha Ann to Miss Vilda, as they sat peeling and slicing apples fordrying. "My heart has felt like a stun these last years, and now all toonce it's so soft I'm ashamed of it. Seems to me there never was such asummer! The hay never smelt so sweet, the birds never sang so well, thecurrants never jelled so hard! Why I can't kick the cat, though she'smore everlastin'ly under foot 'n ever, 'n' pretty soon I sha'n't evenhave sprawl enough to jaw Jabe Slocum. I b'lieve it's nothin' in theworld but them children! They keep a runnin' after me, 'n' it's dearSamanthy here, 'n' dear Samanthy there, jest as if I warn't a hombly oldmaid; 'n' they take holt o' my hands on both sides o' me, 'n' won't stira step tell I go to see the chickens with 'em, 'n' the pig, 'n' onething 'n' 'nother, 'n' clappin' their hands when I make 'em gingerbreadmen! And that reminds me, I see the school-teacher goin' down along thismornin', 'n' I run out to see how Timothy was gittin' along in hisstudies. She says he's the most ex-tra-ordi-nary scholar in thisdeestrick. She says he takes holt of every book she gives him jest as if't was reviewin' 'stid o' the first time over. She says when he speakspieces, Friday afternoons, all the rest o' the young ones set there withtheir jaws hanging 'n' some of 'em laughin' 'n' cryin' 't the same time. She says we'd oughter see some of his comp'sitions, 'n' she'll show ussome as soon as she gits 'em back from her beau that works at theWaterbury Watch Factory, and they're goin' to be married 's quick as shegits money enough saved up to buy her weddin' close; 'n' I told her notto put it off too long or she'd hev her close on her hands, 'stid of herback. She says Timothy's at the head of the hull class, but, land! thereain't a boy in it that knows enough to git his close on right sid' out. She's a splendid teacher, Miss Boothby is! She tells me the seeleck menhev raised her pay to four dollars a week 'n' she to board herself, 'n'she's wuth every cent of it. I like to see folks well paid that's gotthe patience to set in doors 'n' cram information inter young ones thatdon't care no more 'bout learn in' 'n' a skunk-blackbird. She give meTimothy's writin' book, for you to see what he writ in it yesterday, 'n'she hed to keep him in 't recess 'cause he didn't copy 'Go to the antthou sluggard and be wise, ' as he'd oughter. Now let's see what 't is. My grief! it's poetry sure 's you're born. I can tell it in a minute'cause it don't come out to the aidge o' the book one side or the other. Read it out loud, Vildy. "

 "'Oh! the White Farm and the White Farm! I love it with all my heart; And I'm to live at the White Farm, Till death it do us part. '"

Miss Vilda lifted her head, intoxicated with the melody she had evoked. "Did you ever hear anything like that, " she exclaimed proudly. 

 "'Oh! the White Farm and the White Farm! I love it with all my heart; And I'm to live at the White Farm, Till death it do us part. '"

"Just hear the sent'ment of it, and the way it sings along like a tune. I'm goin' to show that to the minister this very night, and that boy'sgot to have the best education there is to be had if we have tomortgage the farm. "

Samantha Ann was right. The old homestead wore a new aspect these days, and a love of all things seemed to have crept into the hearts of itsinmates, as if some beneficent fairy of a spider were spinning a web oftenderness all about the house, or as if a soft light had dawned in themidst of great darkness and was gradually brightening into the perfectday. 

In the midst of this new-found gladness and the sweet cares that grewand multiplied as the busy days went on, Samantha's appetite forhappiness grew by what it fed upon, so that before long she was a littleunhappy that other people (some more than others) were not as happy asshe; and Aunt Hitty was heard to say at the sewing-circle (which hadfacilities for gathering and disseminating news infinitely superior tothose of the Associated Press), that Samantha Ann Ripley looked so peartand young this summer, Dave Milliken had better spunk up and try again. 

But, alas! the younger and fresher and happier Samantha looked, theolder and sadder and meeker David appeared, till all hopes of his"spunking up" died out of the village heart; and, it might as well bestated, out of Samantha's also. She always thought about it at sun-down, for it was at sun-down that all their quarrels and reconciliations hadtaken place, inasmuch as it was the only leisure time for week-daycourting at Pleasant River. 

It was sun-down now; Miss Vilda and Jabez Slocum had gone to Wednesdayevening prayer-meeting, and Samantha was looking for Timothy to go tothe store with her on some household errands. She had seen the childrengo into the garden a half hour before, Timothy walking gravely, with hisbook before him, Gay blowing over the grass like a feather, and so shewalked towards the summer-house. 

Timothy was not there, but little Lady Gay was having a party all toherself, and the scene was such a pretty one that Samantha stoopedbehind the lattice and listened. 

There was a table spread for four, with bits of broken china and shellsfor dishes, and pieces of apple and gingerbread for the feast. Therewere several dolls present (notably one without any head, who was notlikely to shine at a dinner party), but Gay's first-born sat in her lap;and only a mother could have gazed upon such a battered thing and lovedit. For Gay took her pleasures madly, and this faithful creature hadshared them all; but not having inherited her mother's somewhat rarerecuperative powers, she was now fit only for a free bed in ahospital, --a state of mind and body which she did not in the leastendeavor to conceal. One of her shoe-button eyes dangled by a linenthread in a blood-curdling sort of way; her nose, which had been a pinkglass bead, was now a mere spot, ambiguously located. Her red worstedlips were sadly raveled, but that she did not regret, "for it waskissin' as done it. " Her yarn hair was attached to her head withsafety-pins, and her internal organs intruded themselves on the publicthrough a gaping wound in the side. Never mind! if you have anycuriosity to measure the strength of the ideal, watch a child with heroldest doll. Rags sat at the head of the dinner-table, and had taken theprecaution to get the headless doll on his right, with a view to eatingher gingerbread as well as his own, --doing no violence to theproprieties in this way, but rather concealing her defects from acarping public. 

"I tell you sompfin' ittle Mit Vildy Tummins, " Gay was saying to herbattered offspring. "You 's doin' to have a new ittle sit-terto-mowowday, if you 's a dood ittle dirl an does to seep nite an kick, you _ser-weet_ ittle Vildy Tummins!" (All this punctuated with ardentsqueezes fraught with delicious agony to one who had a wound in herside!) "Vay fink you 's worn out, 'weety, but we know you isn't, don'we, 'weety? An I'll tell you nite ittle tory to-night, tause you isn'tseepy. Wunt there was a ittle day hen 'at tole a net an' laid fir-teenwaw edds in it, an bime bye erleven or seventeen ittle chits f'ew out of'em, an Mit Vildy 'dopted 'em all! In 't that a nite tory, you_ser-weet_ ittle Mit Vildy Tummins?"

Samantha hardly knew why the tears should spring to her eyes as shewatched the dinner party, --unless it was because we can scarcely look atlittle children in their unconscious play without a sort of sadness, partly of pity and partly of envy, and of longing too, as for somethinglost and gone. And Samantha could look back to the time when she had satat little tables set with bits of broken china, yes, in this verysummer-house, and little Martha was always so gay, and David used tolaugh so! "But there was no use in tryin' to make folks any dif'rent, 'specially if they was such nat'ral born fools they couldn't see a holein a grindstun 'thout hevin' it hung on their noses!" and with theselarge and charitable views of human nature, Samantha walked back to thegate, and met Timothy as he came out of the orchard. She knew then whathe had been doing. The boy had certain quaint thoughts and ways thatwere at once a revelation and an inspiration to these two plain women, and one of them was this. To step softly into the side orchard onpleasant evenings, and without a word, before or afterwards, to lay anosegay on Martha's little white doorplate. And if Miss Vilda chanced tobe at the window he would give her a quiet little smile, as much as tosay, "We have no need of words, we two!" And Vilda, like one of old, hidall these doings in her heart of hearts, and loved the boy with a lovepassing knowledge. 

Samantha and Timothy walked down the hill to the store. Yes, DavidMilliken was sitting all alone on the loafer's bench at the door, andwhy wasn't he at prayer-meetin' where he ought to be? She was glad shechanced to have on her clean purple calico, and that Timothy hadinsisted on putting a pink Ma'thy Washington geranium in her collar, forit was just as well to make folks' mouth water whether they had senseenough to eat or not. 

"Who is that sorry-looking man that always sits on the bench at thestore, Samanthy?"

"That's David Milliken. "

"Why does he look so sorry, Samanthy?"

"Oh, he's all right. He likes it fust-rate, wearin' out that hard benchsettin' on it night in 'n' night out, like a bump on a log! But, there, Timothy, I've gone 'n' forgot the whole pepper, 'n' we're goin' topickle seed cowcumbers to-morrer. You take the lard home 'n' put it inthe cold room, 'n' ondress Gay 'n' git her to bed, for I've got to callint' Mis' Mayhew's goin' along back. "

It was very vexatious to be obliged to pass David Milliken a secondtime; "though there warn't no sign that he cared anything about it oneway or 'nother, bein' blind as a bat, 'n' deef as an adder, 'n' dumb asa fish, 'n' settin' stockstill there with no coat on, 'n' the windblowin' up for rain, 'n' four o' the Millikens layin' in the churchyardwith gallopin' consumption. " It was in this frame of mind that shepurchased the whole pepper, which she could have eaten at that moment ascalmly as if it had been marrow-fat peas; and in this frame of mind shemight have continued to the end of time had it not been for one of thoseunconsidered trifles that move the world when the great forces havegiven up trying. As she came out of the store and passed David, her eyefell on a patch in the flannel shirt that covered his bent shoulders. The shirt was gray and (oh, the pity of it!) the patch was red; and itwas laid forlornly on outside, and held by straggling stitches of carpetthread put on by patient, clumsy fingers. That patch had an irresistiblepathos for a woman!

Samantha Ann Ripley never exactly knew what happened. Even the wisest ofdown-East virgins has emotional lapses once in a while, and sheconfessed afterwards that her heart riz right up inside of her like ayeast cake. Mr. Berry, the postmaster, was in the back of the storereading postal cards. Not a soul was in sight. She managed to get downover the steps, though something with the strength of tarred ship-ropeswas drawing her back; and then, looking over her shoulder with her wholebrave, womanly heart in her swimming eyes, she put out her hand andsaid, "Come along, Dave!"

And David straightway gat him up from the loafer's bench and went untoSamantha gladly. 

And they remembered not past unhappiness because of present joy; northat the chill of coming winter was in the air, because it was summer intheir hearts: and this is the eternal magic of love.