Story Of Waitstill Baxter ....................................................................................................................................1

Kate Douglas Wiggin ...............................................................................................................................1

SPRING...................................................................................................................................................2

I. SACO WATER....................................................................................................................................2

II. THE SISTERS....................................................................................................................................4

III. DEACON BAXTER'S WIVES.........................................................................................................7

IV. SOMETHING OF A HERO ..............................................................................................................9

V. PATIENCE AND IMPATIENCE....................................................................................................14

VI. A KISS .............................................................................................................................................18

VII. "WHAT DREAMS MAY COME ..................................................................................................22

SUMMER..............................................................................................................................................24

VIII. THE JOINER'S SHOP ..................................................................................................................24

IX. CEPHAS SPEAKS .........................................................................................................................26

X. ON TORY HILL ...............................................................................................................................29

XI. A JUNE SUNDAY ..........................................................................................................................33

XII. THE GREENEYED MONSTER .................................................................................................37

XIII. HAYING TIME .........................................................................................................................40

XIV. UNCLE BART DISCOURSES ....................................................................................................42

XV. IVORY'S MOTHER......................................................................................................................45

XVI. LOCKED OUT .............................................................................................................................48

AUTUMN ..............................................................................................................................................52

XVII. A BRACE OF LOVERS.............................................................................................................52

XVIII. A STATE O' MAINE PROPHET ..............................................................................................56

XIX. AT THE BRICK STORE.............................................................................................................60

XX. THE ROD THAT BLOSSOMED ..................................................................................................64

XXI. LOIS BURIES HER DEAD.........................................................................................................69

XXII. HARVESTTIME .......................................................................................................................70

XXIII. AUNT ABBY'S WINDOW.......................................................................................................73

XXIV. PHOEBE TRIUMPHS ...............................................................................................................75

XXV. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAMS......................................................................................................77

WINTER ................................................................................................................................................81

XXVI. A WEDDINGRING................................................................................................................81

XXVII. THE CONFESSIONAL...........................................................................................................84

XXVIII. PATTY IS SHOWN THE DOOR ...........................................................................................87

XXIX. WAITSTILL SPEAKS HER MIND ..........................................................................................90

XXX. A CLASH OF WILLS .................................................................................................................92

XXXI. SENTRY DUTY ........................................................................................................................95

XXXII. THE HOUSE OF AARON .......................................................................................................98

XXXIII. AARON'S ROD....................................................................................................................102

XXXIV. THE DEACON'S WATERLOO ...........................................................................................107

XXXV. TWO HEAVENS...................................................................................................................111

FAR, far up, in the bosom of New Hampshire's granite hills, the Saco has its birth. As the mountain rill

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

Now it leaves the mountains and flows through "green Fryeburg's woods and farms." In the course of its

frequent turns and twists and bends, it meets with many another stream, and sends it, fuller and stronger,

along its rejoicing way. When it has journeyed more than a hundred miles and is nearing the ocean, it greets

the Great Ossipee River and accepts its crystal tribute. Then, in its turn, the Little Ossipee joins forces, and

the river, now a splendid stream, flows onward to Bonny Eagle, to Moderation and to Salmon Falls, where it

dashes over the dam like a young Niagara and hurtles, in a foamy torrent, through the ragged defile cut

Widening out placidly for a moment's rest in the sunny reaches near Pleasant Point, it gathers itself for a new

plunge at Union Falls, after which it speedily merges itself in the bay and is fresh water no more.

At one of the falls on the Saco, the two little hamlets of Edgewood and Riverboro nestle together at the bridge

and make one village. The stream is a wonder of beauty just here; a mirror of placid loveliness above the

dam, a tawny, roaring wonder at the fall, and a mad, whiteflecked torrent as it dashes on its way to the

The river has seen strange sights in its time, though the history of these two tiny villages is quite unknown to

the great world outside. They have been born, waxed strong, and fallen almost to decay while Saco Water has

It remembers the yellowmoccasined Sokokis as they issued from the Indian Cellar and carried their birchen

canoes along the wooded shore. It was in those years that the silverskinned salmon leaped in its crystal

depths; the otter and the beaver crept with sleek wet skins upon its shore; and the brown deer came down to

quench his thirst at its brink while at twilight the stealthy forms of bear and panther and wolf were mirrored

Time sped; men chained the river's turbulent forces and ordered it to grind at the mill. Then houses and barns

appeared along its banks, bridges were built, orchards planted, forests changed into farms, whitepainted

meetinghouses gleamed through the trees and distant bells rang from their steeples on quiet Sunday

All at once myriads of great hewn logs vexed its downward course, slender logs linked together in long rafts,

and huge logs drifting down singly or in pairs. Men appeared, running hither and thither like ants, and going

through mysterious operations the reason for which the river could never guess: but the millwheels turned,

the great saws buzzed, the smoke from tavern chimneys rose in the air, and the rattle and clatter of

Now children paddled with bare feet in the river's sandy coves and shallows, and lovers sat on its

aldershaded banks and exchanged their vows just where the shuffling bear was wont to come down and

The Saco could remember the "cold year," when there was a black frost every month of the twelve, and

though almost all the corn along its shores shrivelled on the stalk, there were two farms where the vapor from

the river saved the crops, and all the seed for the next season came from the favored spot, to be known as

Strange, complex things now began to happen, and the river played its own part in some of these, for there

were disastrous freshets, the sudden breakingup of great jams of logs, and the drowning of men who were

Caravans, with menageries of wild beasts, crossed the bridge now every year. An infuriated elephant lifted

the side of the old Edgewood Tavern barn, and the wild laughter of the roistering rumdrinkers who were

tantalizing the animals floated down to the river's edge. The roar of a lion, tearing and chewing the arm of

one of the bystanders, and the cheers of the throng when a plucky captain of the local militia thrust a stake

down the beast's throat,these sounds displaced the former warwhoop of the Indians and the ring of the

There were days, and moonlight nights, too, when strange sights and sounds of quite another nature could

have been noted by the river as it flowed under the bridge that united the two little villages.

Issuing from the door of the Riverboro Town House, and winding down the hill, through the long row of

teams and carriages that lined the roadside, came a procession of singing men and singing women. Convinced

of sin, but entranced with promised pardon; spiritually intoxicated by the glowing eloquence of the latterday

prophet they were worshipping, the band of "Cochranites "marched down the dusty road and across the

God watched, and listened, knowing that there would be other prophets, true and false, in the days to come,

and other processions following them; and the river watched and listened too, as it hurried on towards the sea

When Jacob Cochrane was leading his overwrought, ecstatic band across the river, Waitstill Baxter, then a

child, was watching the strange, noisy company from the window of a little brick dwelling on the top of the

Her stepmother stood beside her with a young baby in her arms, but when she saw what held the gaze of the

child she drew her away, saying: "We mustn't look, Waitstill; your father don't like it! "

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

"He doesn't look any wickeder than the others," said the child. "Who was the man that fell down in the road,

mother, and the woman that knelt and prayed over him? Why did he fall, and why did she pray, mother?"

"That was Master Aaron Boynton, the schoolmaster, and his wife. He only made believe to fall down, as the

Cochranites do; the way they carry on is a disgrace to the village, and that's the reason your father won't let us

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

"I hope nothing will happen to him, for I love him," said the child gravely. "He showed me a hummingbird's

"Don't talk about loving him," chided the woman. "If your father should hear you, he'd send you to bed

"Father couldn't hear me, for I never speak when he's at home," said grave little Waitstill. "And I'm used to

THE river was still running under the bridge, but the current of time had swept Jacob Cochrane out of sight,

though not out of mind, for he had left here and there a disciple to preach his strange and uncertain doctrine.

Waitstill, the child who never spoke in her father's presence, was a young woman now, the mistress of the

The brick cottage on the hilltop had grown only a little shabbier. Deacon Foxwell Baxter still slammed its

door behind him every morning at seven o'clock and, without any such cheerful conventions as goodbyes to

The day, properly speaking, had opened when Waitstill and Patience had left their beds at dawn, built the fire,

fed the hens and turkeys, and prepared the breakfast, while the Deacon was graining the horse and milking

the cows. Such minor "chores" as carrying water from the well, splitting kindling, chopping pine, or bringing

wood into the kitchen, were left to Waitstill, who had a strong back, or, if she had not, had never been unwise

enough to mention the fact in her father's presence. The almanac day, however, which opened with sunrise,

had nothing to do with the real human day, which always began when Mr. Baxter slammed the door behind

"He's opening the store shutters!" chanted Patience from the heights of a kitchen chair by the window. "Now

he's taken his cane and beaten off the Boynton puppy that was sitting on the steps as usual,I don't mean

Ivory's dog" (here the girl gave a quick glance at her sister)," but Rodman's little yellow cur. Rodman must

have come down to the bridge on some errand for Ivory. Isn't it odd, when that dog has all the other store

steps to sit upon, he should choose father's, when every bone in his body must tell him how father hates him

"Father has no real cause that I ever heard of; but some dogs never know when they've had enough beating,

"Don't be gloomy when it's my birthday, Sis!Now he's opened the door and kicked the cat! All is ready for

"Somebody must talk," retorted the girl, jumping down from the chair and shaking back her mop of redgold

curls. "I'll put this hateful, childish, round comb in and out just once more, then it will disappear forever. This

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

"Father hasn't looked me square in the face for years; besides, my hair won't braid, and nothing can make it

quite plain and neat, thank goodness! Let us be thankful for small mercies, as Jed Morrill said when the

"Patty, I will not permit you to repeat those tavern stories; they are not seemly on the lips of a girl!" And

Waitstill came out of the pantry with a shadow of disapproval in her eyes and in her voice.

Patty flung her arms round her sister tempestuously, and pulled out the waves of her hair so that it softened

her face."I'll be good," she said, "and oh, Waity! let's invent some sort of cheap happiness for today! I

Let's put one of the cows in the horse's stall and see what will happen! Or let's spread up our beds with the

head at the foot and put the chest of drawers on the other side of the room, or let's make candy! Do you think

father would miss the molasses if we only use a cupful? Couldn't we strain the milk, but leave the churning

and the dishes for an hour or two, just once? If you say 'yes' I can think of something wonderful to do!"

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

"Oh! Patty, Patty, I am afraid you are given over to vanity! I daren't let you wear eardrops without father's

"Why not? Lots of church members wear them, so it can't be a mortal sin. Father is against all adornments,

but that's because he doesn't want to buy them. You've always said I should have your mother's coral

pendants when I was old enough. Here I am, seventeen today, and Dr. Perry says I am already a wellfavored

young woman. I can pull my hair over my ears for a few days and when the holes are all made and healed,

even father cannot make me fill them up again. Besides, I'll never wear the earrings at home!"

"Oh! my dear, my dear!" sighed Waitstill, with a halfsob in her voice. "If only I was wise enough to know

how we could keep from these little deceits, yet have any liberty or comfort in life!"

"We can't! The Lord couldn't expect us to bear all that we bear," exclaimed Patty, "without our trying once in

a while to have a good time in our own way. We never do a thing that we are ashamed of, or that other girls

don't do every day in the week; only our pleasures always have to be taken behind father's back. It's only me

that's ever wrong, anyway, for you are always an angel. It's a burning shame and you only twentyone

yourself. I'll pierce your ears if you say so, and let you wear your own coral drops!"

"No, Patty; I've outgrown those longings years ago. When your mother died and left father and you and the

"It was only your inside girlhood that died," insisted Patty stoutly, "The outside is as fresh as the paint on

Uncle Barty's new ell. You've got the loveliest eyes and hair in Riverboro, and you know it; besides, Ivory

Boynton would tell you so if you didn't. Come and bore my ears, there's a darling!"

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

"Then it's because he's shy and silent and has so many troubles of his own that he doesn't dare say anything.

When my hair is once up and the coral pendants are swinging in my ears, I shall expect to hear something

about MY looks, I can tell you. Waity, after all, though we never have what we want to eat, and never a

decent dress to our backs, nor a young man to cross the threshold, I wouldn't change places with Ivory

Boynton, would you?" Here Patty swept the hearth vigorously with a turkey wing and added a few corncobs

Waitstill paused a moment in her task of breadkneading. "Well," she answered critically, "at least we know

"And though people do talk about him, they can't say the things they say of Master Aaron Boynton. I don't

"I fear not," said Patty. "I wish the angels would put the idea into his head, though, of course, it wouldn't be

the angels; they'd be above it. It would have to be the 'Old Driver,' as Jed Morrill calls the Evil One; but

whoever did it, the result would be the same: we should be deserted, and live happily ever after. Oh! to be

Waitstill frowned, but did not interfere further with Patty's intemperate speech. She knew that she was simply

serving as an escapevalve, and that after the steam was "let off" she would be more rational.

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

"No, not worse, Patty," said Waitstill, taking the breadboard and moving towards the closet. "Ivory loves his

mother and she loves him, with all the mind she has left! She has the best blood of New England flowing in

her veins, and I suppose it was a great come down for her to marry Aaron Boynton, clever and gifted though

he was. Now Ivory has to protect her, poor, daft, innocent creature, and hide her away from the gossip of the

"There are cares that swell the heart and make it bigger and warmer, Patty, just as there are cares that shrivel

Love lightens Ivory's afflictions but that is something you and I have to do without, so it seems."

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

"No doubt. He's a good little fellow, and though it's rather hard for Ivory to be burdened for these last five

years with the support of a child who's no nearer kin than a cousin, still he's of use, minding Mrs. Boynton

and the house when Ivory's away. The schoolteacher says he is wonderful at his books and likely to be a

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

"You mean we've each other? No, Patty, I never forget that, day or night. 'Tis that makes me willing to bear

any burden father chooses to put upon us.Now the bread is set, but I don't believe I have the courage to put

"Nonsense! I've got the waxed silk all ready and chosen the rightsized needle and I'll promise not to jump or

screech more than I can help. We'll make a tiny leadpencil dot right in the middle of the lobe, then you place

the needle on it, shut your eyes, and JAB HARD! I expect to faint, but when I 'come to,' we can decide which

of us will pull the needle through to the other side. Probably it will be you, I'm such a coward. If it hurts

dreadfully, I'll have only one pierced today and take the other tomorrow; and if it hurts very dreadfully,

perhaps I'll go through life with one earring. Aunt Abby Cole will say it's just odd enough to suit me!"

"You'll never go through life with one tongue at the rate you use it now," chided Waitstill, "for it will never

last you. Come, we'll take the workbasket and go out in the barn where no one will see or hear us."

"Goody, goody! Come along!" and Patty clapped her hands in triumph. "Have you got the pencil and the

needle and the waxed silk? Then bring the camphor bottle to revive me, and the coral pendants, too, just to

give me courage. Hurry up! It's ten o'clock. I was born at sunrise, so I'm 'going on' eighteen and can't waste

FOXWELL BAXTER was ordinarily called "Old Foxy" by the boys of the district, and also, it is to be feared,

by the men gathered for evening conference at the various taverns, or at one of the rival village stores.

He had a small farm of fifteen or twenty acres, with a pasture, a wood lot, and a hayfield, but the principal

source of his income came from trading. His sign bore the usual legend: "WEST INDIA GOODS AND

GROCERIES," and probably the most profitable articles in his stock were rum, molasses, sugar, and tobacco;

but there were chests of rice, tea, coffee, and spices, barrels of pork in brine, as well as piles of cotton and

woolen cloth on the shelves above the counters. His shop window, seldom dusted or set in order, held a few

clay pipes, some glass jars of peppermint or sassafras lozenges, black licorice, stickcandy, and sugar

gooseberries. These dainties were seldom renewed, for it was only a very bold child, or one with an

ungovernable appetite for sweets, who would have spent his penny at Foxy Baxter's store.

He was thought a sharp and shrewd trader, but his honesty was never questioned; indeed, the only trait in his

character that ever came up for general discussion was his extraordinary, unbelievable, colossal meanness.

This so eclipsed every other passion in the man, and loomed so bulkily and insistently in the foreground, that

had he cherished a second vice no one would have observed it, and if he really did possess a casual virtue, it

It might be said, to defend the fair name of the Church, that Mr. Baxter's deaconhood did not include very

active service in the courts of the Lord. He had "experienced religion" at fifteen and made profession of his

faith, but all wellbroughtup boys and girls did the same in those days; their parents saw to that! If change

of conviction or backsliding occurred later on, that was not their business! At the ripe age of twentyfive he

was selected to fill a vacancy and became a deacon, thinking it might be good for trade, as it was, for some

years. He was very active at the time of the "Cochrane craze," since any defence of the creed that included

lively detective work and incessant spying on his neighbors was particularly in his line; but for many years

now, though he had been regular in attendance at church, he had never officiated at communion, and his

diaconal services had gradually lapsed into the passing of the contributionbox, a task of which he never

wearied; it was such a keen pleasure to make other people yield their pennies for a good cause, without

Deacon Baxter had now been a widower for some years and the community had almost relinquished the idea

of his seeking a fourth wife. This was a matter of some regret, for there was a general feeling that it would be

a good thing for the Baxter girls to have some one to help with the housework and act as a buffer between

them and their grim and irascible parent. As for the women of the village, they were mortified that the

Deacon had been able to secure three wives, and refused to believe that the universe held anywhere a creature

The first, be it said, was a mere ignorant girl, and he a beardless youth of twenty, who may not have shown

his true qualities so early in life. She bore him two sons, and it was a matter of comment at the time that she

called them, respectively, Job and Moses, hoping that the endurance and meekness connected with these

names might somehow help them in their future relations with their father. Pneumonia, coupled with

profound discouragement, carried her off in a few years to make room for the second wife, Waitstill's mother,

who was of different fibre and greatly his superior. She was a fine, handsome girl, the orphan daughter of

upcountry gentlefolks, who had died when she was eighteen, leaving her alone in the world and penniless.

Baxter, after a few days' acquaintance, drove into the dooryard of the house where she was a visitor and,

showing her his two curlyheaded boys, suddenly asked her to come and be their stepmother. She assented,

partly because she had nothing else to do with her existence, so far as she could see, and also because she fell

in love with the children at first sight and forgot, as girls will, that it was their father whom she was marrying.

She was as plucky and clever and spirited as she was handsome, and she made a brave fight of it with Foxy;

long enough to bring a daughter into the world, to name her Waitstill, and start her a little way on her life

journey,then she, too, gave up the struggle and died. Typhoid fever it was, combined with complete loss of

illusions, and a kind of despairing rage at having made so complete a failure of her existence.

The next year, Mr. Baxter, being unusually busy, offered a man a good young heifer if he would jog about the

country a little and pick him up a housekeeper; a likely woman who would, if she proved energetic,

economical, and amiable, be eventually raised to the proud position of his wife. If she was young, healthy,

smart, tidy, capable, and a good manager, able to milk the cows, harness the horse, and make good butter, he

would give a dollar and a half a week. The woman was found, and, incredible as it may seem, she said "yes"

when the Deacon (whose ardor was kindled at having paid three months' wages) proposed a speedy marriage.

The two boys by this time had reached the age of discretion, and one of them evinced the fact by promptly

running away to parts unknown, never to be heard from afterwards; while the other, a reckless and unhappy

lad, was drowned while running on the logs in the river. Old Foxy showed little outward sign of his loss,

though he had brought the boys into the world solely with the view of having one of them work on the farm

His third wife, the one originally secured for a housekeeper, bore him a girl, very much to his disgust, a girl

named Patience, and great was Waitstill's delight at this addition to the dull household. The mother was a

timid, colorless, docile creature, but Patience nevertheless was a sparkling, brighteyed baby, who speedily

became the very centre of the universe to the older child. So the months and years wore on, drearily enough,

until, when Patience was nine, the third Mrs. Baxter succumbed after the manner of her predecessors, and

slipped away from a life that had grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as "liver complaint," but

scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind words, hard work, and continual bullying may possibly have

been contributory causes. Dr. Perry thought so, for he had witnessed three most contented deaths in the

Baxter house. The ladies were all members of the church and had presumably made their peace with God, but

the good doctor fancied that their pleasure in joining the angels was mild compared with their relief at parting

"I know I hadn't ought to put the care on you, Waitstill, and you only thirteen," poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, as

the young girl was watching with her one night when the end seemed drawing near. "I've made out to live till

now when Patience is old enough to dress herself and help round, but I'm all beat out and can't try any more."

"Do you mean I'm to take your place, be a mother to Patience, and keep house, and everything?" asked

"I don't see but you'll have to, unless your father marries again. He'll never hire help, you know that!"

"I won't have another mother in this house," flashed the girl. "There's been three here and that's enough! If he

brings anybody home, I'll take Patience and run away, as Job did; or if he leaves me alone, I'll wash and iron

and scrub and cook till Patience grows up, and then we'll go off together and hide somewhere. I'm fourteen;

oh, mother, how soon could I be married and take Patience to live with me? Do you think anybody will ever

"Don't marry for a home, Waitstill! Your own mother did that, and so did I, and we were both punished for it!

You've been a great help and I've had a sight of comfort out of the baby, but I wouldn't go through it again,

not even for her! You're real smart and capable for your age and you've done your full share of the work

"I don't know how I'm going to do everything alone," said the girl, forcing back her tears. "You've always

made the brown bread, and mine will never suit father. I suppose I can wash, but don't know how to iron

starched clothes, nor make pickles, and oh! I can never kill a rooster, mother, it's no use to ask me to! I'm not

"I know," she said faintly. "I hate to leave you to bear the brunt alone, but I must! . . . Take good care of

"You've got more courage than ever I had; don't you s'pose you can stiffen up and defend yourself a little

mite? . . . Your father'd ought to be opposed, for his own good . . . but I've never seen anybody that dared do

it." Then, after a pause, she said with a flash of spirit,"Anyhow, Waitstill, he's your father after all. He's no

blood relation of mine, and I can't stand him another day; that's the reason I'm willing to die."

IVORY BOYNTON lifted the bars that divided his land from the highroad and walked slowly toward the

house. It was April, but there were still patches of snow here and there, fast melting under a drizzling rain. It

was a gray world, a bleak, blackandbrown world, above and below. The sky was leaden; the road and the

footpath were deep in a muddy ooze flecked with white. The treetrunks, black, with bare branches, were

lined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring had been on the way for a week, and a few sunny days would

Ivory was seasonwise and his quick eye had caught many a sign as he walked through the woods from his

schoolhouse. A new and different color haunted the treetops, and one had only to look closely at the elm

buds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins had been sunning about in the schoolyard at

noon, and sparrows had been chirping and twittering on the fencerails. Yes, the winter was over, and Ivory

was glad, for it had meant no coasting and skating and sleighing for him, but long walks in deep snow or

slush; long evenings, good for study, but short days, and greater loneliness for his mother. He could see her

now as he neared the house, standing in the open doorway, her hand shading her eyes, watching, always

"Spring is on the way, mother, but it isn't here yet, so don't stand there in the rain," he called. "Look at the

nosegay I gathered for you as I came through the woods. Here are pussy willows and red maple blossoms and

"You're late tonight, Ivory," she said. "Rod wanted his supper early so that he could go off to

singingschool, but I kept something warm for you, and I'll make you a fresh cup of tea."

Ivory went into the little shed room off the kitchen, changed his muddy boots for slippers, and made himself

generally tidy; then he came back to the livingroom bringing a pine knot which he flung on the fire, waking

"We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for spring is coming," he said, as he sat down

"I've been looking out more than usual this afternoon," she replied. "There's hardly any snow left, and though

the walking is so bad I've been rather expecting your father before night. You remember he said, when he

It did not do any good to say: "Yes, mother, but the Mayflowers have bloomed ten times since father went

away." He had tried that, gently and persistently when first her mind began to be confused from long grief

Instead of that, Ivory turned the subject cheerily, saying, "Well, we're sure of a good season, I think. There's

been a grand snowfall, and that, they say, is the poor man's manure. Rod and I will put in more corn and

potatoes this year. I shan't have to work singlehanded very long, for he is growing to be quite a farmer."

"Your father was very fond of green corn, but he never cared for potatoes," Mrs. Boynton said, vaguely,

taking up her knitting. "I always had great pride in my cooking, but I could never get your father to relish my

"Well, his son does, anyway," Ivory replied, helping himself plentifully from a dish that held one of his

mother's best concoctions, potatoes minced fine and put together into the spider with thin bits of pork and all

"I saw the Baxter girls today, mother," he continued, not because he hoped she would give any heed to what

he said, but from the sheer longing for companionship. "The Deacon drove off with Lawyer Wilson, who

wanted him to give testimony in some case or other down in Milltown. The minute Patty saw him going up

Saco Hill, she harnessed the old starved Baxter mare and the girls started over to the Lower Corner to see

some friends. It seems it's Patty's birthday and they were celebrating. I met them just as they were coming

back and helped them lift the rickety wagon out of the mud; they were stuck in it up to the hubs of the

wheels. I advised them to walk up the TownHouse Hill if they ever expected to get the horse home."

TownHouse Hill!" said Ivory's mother, dropping her knitting. "That was where we had such wonderful

meetings! Truly the Lord was present in our midst, and oh, Ivory! the visions we saw in that place when

"You were speaking of the Baxters. I remember their home, and the little girl who used to stand in the

gateway and watch when we came out of meeting. There was a baby, too; isn't there a Baxter baby, Ivory?"

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

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

"The older sister is Waitstill, perhaps you mean her?"and Ivory sat down by the fire with his book and his

"Waitstill! 'They also serve who only stand and wait.' 'Wait, I say, on the Lord and He will give thee the

desires of thy heart.'Those were wonderful days, when we were caught up out of the body and mingled

freely in the spirit world." Mrs. Boynton was now fully started on the topic that absorbed her mind and Ivory

could do nothing but let her tell the story that she had told him a hundred times.

"I remember when first we heard Jacob Cochrane speak." (This was her usual way of beginning.) "Your

father was a preacher, as you know, Ivory, but you will never know what a wonderful preacher he was. My

grandfather, being a fine gentleman, and a governor, would not give his consent to my marriage, but I never

regretted it, never! Your father saw Elder Cochrane at a revival meeting of the Free Will Baptists in

Scarboro', and was much impressed with him. A few days later we went to the funeral of a child in the same

neighborhood. No one who was there could ever forget it. The minister had made his long prayer when a man

suddenly entered the room, came towards the coffin, and placed his hand on the child's forehead. The room,

in an instant, was as still as the death that had called us together. The stranger was tall and of commanding

presence; his eyes pierced our very hearts, and his marvellous voice penetrated to depths in our souls that had

"Was he a better speaker than my father?" asked Ivory, who dreaded his mother's hours of complete silence

"He spoke as if the Lord of Hosts had given him inspiration; as if the angels were pouring words into his

mouth just for him to utter," replied Mrs. Boynton. "Your father was spellbound, and I only less so. When

he ceased speaking, the child's mother crossed the room, and swaying to and fro, fell at his feet, sobbing and

They carried her upstairs, and when we looked about after the confusion and excitement the stranger had

vanished. But we found him again! As Elder Cochrane said: 'The prophet of the Lord can never be hid; no

darkness is thick enough to cover him!' There was a six weeks' revival meeting in North Saco where three

hundred souls were converted, and your father and I were among them. We had fancied ourselves true

believers for years, but Jacob Cochrane unstopped our ears so that we could hear the truths revealed to him

by the Almighty!It was all so simple and easy at the beginning, but it grew hard and grievous afterward;

hard to keep the path, I mean. I never quite knew whether God was angry with me for backsliding at the end,

but I could not always accept the revelations that Elder Cochrane and your father had!"

Lois Boynton's hands were now quietly folded over the knitting that lay forgotten in her lap, but her low,

There was a long silence; one of many long silences at the Boynton fireside, broken only by the ticking of the

clock, the purring of the cat, and the clicking of Mrs. Boynton's needles, as, her paroxysm of reminiscence

"He ought to be here soon, but perhaps he is gone for good; it may be that he thinks he has made us a long

enough visit. I don't know whether your father will like the boy when he comes home. He never did fancy

Ivory looked up in astonishment from his Greek grammar. This was an entirely new turn of his mother's

mind. Often when she was more than usually confused he would try to clear the cobwebs from her brain by

gently questioning her until she brought herself back to a clearer understanding of her own thought. Thus far

her vagaries had never made her unjust to any human creature; she was uniformly sweet and gentle in speech

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

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

Mrs. Boynton's hair that had been in her youth like an aureole of cornsilk was now a strange yellowwhite,

"You and I were living alone here after father went away," Ivory began. "I was a little boy, you know. You

and father had saved something, there was the farm, you worked like a slave, I helped, and we lived,

"I do, indeed! It was cold and the neighbors were cruel. Jacob Cochrane had gone away and his disciples

were not always true to him. When the magnetism of his presence was withdrawn, they could not follow all

his revelations, and they forgot how he had awakened their spiritual life at the first of his preaching. Your

father was always a stanch believer, but when he started on his mission and went to Parsonsfield to help Elder

Cochrane in his meetings, the neighbors began to criticize him. They doubted him. You were too young to

"No, there is much that I never spoke of to you, mother, but sometime when you grow stronger and your

memory is better we will talk together.Do you remember the winter, long after father went away, that

Parson Lane sent me to Fairfield Academy to get enough Greek and Latin to make me a schoolmaster?"

"Don't you remember I got a free ride downriver one Friday and came home for Sunday, just to surprise

you? And when I got here I found you ill in bed, with Mrs. Mason and Dr. Perry taking care of you. You

could not speak, you were so ill, but they told me you had been up in New Hampshire to see your sister, that

she had died, and that you had brought back her boy, who was only four years old. That was Rod. I took him

into bed with me that night, poor, homesick little fellow, and, as you know, mother, he's never left us since."

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

"If she were not dead, do you suppose you would have kept Rodman with us when we hadn't bread enough

"No, of course not. I can't think how I can be so forgetful. It's worse sometimes than others. It 's worse today

because I knew the Mayflowers were blooming and that reminded me it was time for your father to come

home; you must forgive me, dear, and will you excuse me if I sit in the kitchen awhile? The window by the

side door looks out towards the road, and if I put a candle on the sill it shines quite a distance. The lane is

such a long one, and your father was always a sad stumbler in the dark! I shouldn't like him to think I wasn't

His mother was more confused than usual, but she always was when spring came to remind her of her

husband's promise. Somehow, well used as he was to her mental wanderings, they made him uneasy tonight.

His father had left home on a fancied mission, a duty he believed to be a revelation given by God through

Jacob Cochrane. The farm did not miss him much at first, Ivory reflected bitterly, for since his fanatical

espousal of Cochranism his father's interest in such mundane matters as household expenses had diminished

month by month until they had no meaning for him at all. Letters to wife and boy had come at first, but after

six monthsduring which he had written from many places, continually deferring the date of his returnthey

had ceased altogether. The rest was silence. Rumors of his presence here or there came from time to time, but

though Parson Lane and Dr. Perry did their best, none of them were ever substantiated.

Where had those years of wandering been passed, and had they all been given even to an imaginary and

fantastic service of God? Was his father dead? If he were alive, what could keep him from writing? Nothing

Since Ivory had grown to man's estate, he understood that in the later days of Cochrane's preaching, his

"visions," "inspirations," and "revelations" concerning the marriage bond were a trifle startling from the

oldfashioned, orthodox point of view. His most advanced disciples were to hold themselves in readiness to

renounce their former vows and seek "spiritual consorts," sometimes according to his advice, sometimes as

Had Aaron Boynton forsaken, willingly, the wife of his youth, the mother of his boy? If so, he must have

realized to what straits he was subjecting them. Ivory had not forgotten those first few years of grinding

poverty, anxiety, and suspense. His mother's mind had stood the strain bravely, but it gave way at last; not,

however, until that fatal winter journey to New Hampshire, when cold, exposure, and fatigue did their worst

for her weak body. Religious enthusiast, exalted and impressionable, a natural mystic, she had probably

always been, far more so in temperament, indeed, than her husband; but although she left home on that

journey a frail and heartsick woman, she returned a different creature altogether, blurred and confused in

She must have given up hope, just then, Ivory thought, and her love was so deep that when it was uprooted

the soil came with it. Now hope had returned because the cruel memory had faded altogether. She sat by the

And this is the way many of Ivory Boynton's evenings were spent, while the heart of him, the

fiveandtwentyyearold heart of him, was longing to feel the beat of another heart, a girl's heart only a

mile or more away. The ice in Saco Water had broken up and the white blocks sailed majestically down

towards the sea; sap was mounting and the elm trees were budding; the trailing arbutus was blossoming in the

woods; the robins had come;everything was announcing the spring, yet Ivory saw no changing seasons in

PATTY had been searching for eggs in the barn chamber, and coming down the ladder from the haymow

spied her father washing the wagon by the wellside near the shed door. Cephas Cole kept store for him at

meal hours and whenever trade was unusually brisk, and the Baxter yard was so happily situated that Old

There never was a good time to ask Deacon Baxter a favor, therefore this moment would serve as well as any

other, so, approaching him near enough to be heard through the rubbing and splashing, but no nearer than was

"Father, can I go up to Ellen Wilson's this afternoon and stay to tea? I won't start till I've done a good day's

"What do you want to go gallivantin' to the neighbors for? I never saw anything like the girls nowadays;

hightytighty, flauntin', traipsin', triflin' trollops, ev'ry one of 'em, that's what they are, and Ellen Wilson's one

You're old enough now to stay to home where you belong and make an effort to earn your board and clothes,

Spunk, real, Simonpure spunk, started somewhere in Patty and coursed through her blood like wine.

"If a girl's old enough to stay at home and work, I should think she was old enough to go out and play once in

a while." Patty was still too timid to make this remark more than a courteous suggestion, so far as its tone was

"Don't answer me back; you're full of new tricks, and you've got to stop 'em, right where you are, or there'll

be trouble. You were whistlin' just now up in the barn chamber; that's one of the things I won't have round

"'T was a SabbathSchool hymn that I was whistling!" This with a creditable imitation of defiance.

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

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

"You don't have to see," replied the Deacon grimly; "all you have to do is to mind when you're spoken to.

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

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

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

"Well, there ain't goin' to be no more argyfyin'! I won't have any girl o' mine frolickin' with boys, so that's the

end of it. You're kind o' crazy lately, riggin' yourself out with a ribbon here and a flower there, and pullin'

your hair down over your ears. Why do you want to cover your ears up? What are they for?"

"To hear you with, father," Patty replied, with honeysweet voice and eyes that blazed.

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

"THEY COULDN'T!" These words were never spoken aloud, but oh! how Patty longed to shout them with a

clarion voice as she walked away in perfect silence, her majestic gait showing, she hoped, how she resented

I've stood up to father!" she exclaimed triumphantly as she entered the kitchen and set down her yellow bowl

"Hear what I say, Patty: you must not argue with father, whatever he says. We don't love him and so there

isn't the right respect in our hearts, but at least there can be respect in our manners."

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

"I wasn't so different at sixteen, but that's five years ago, and I've got control of my tongue and my temper

since then. Sometime, perhaps, when I have a grievance too great to be rightly borne, sometime when you are

away from here in a home of your own, I shall speak out to father; just empty my heart of all the

disappointment and bitterness and rebellion. Somebody ought to tell him the truth, and perhaps it will be

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

"You would speak in temper, I'm afraid, Patty, and that would spoil all. I'm sorry you can't go up to Ellen's,"

she sighed, turning back to her work; "you don't have pleasure enough for one of your age; still, don't fret;

something may happen to change things, and anyhow the weather is growing warmer, and you and I have so

many more outings in summertime. Smooth down your hair, child; there are straws in it, and it's all rough

"I wish my hair was flying somewhere a thousand miles from here; or at least I should wish it if it did not

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

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

"I suppose it's the spring," she said, wiping her eyes with her apron and smiling through her tears. "Perhaps I

"Well? I feel too well! I feel as if I was a young colt shut up in an attic. I want to kick up my heels, batter the

door down, and get out into the pasture. It's no use talking, Waity;I can't go on living without a bit of

pleasure and I can't go on being patient even for your sake. If it weren't for you, I'd run away as Job did; and I

never believed Moses slipped on the logs; I'm sure he threw himself into the river, and so should I if I had the

"Stop, Patty, stop, dear! You shall have your bit of pasture, at least. I'll do some of your indoor tasks for you,

and you shall put on your sunbonnet and go out and dig the dandelion greens for dinner. Take the broken

knife and a milkpan and don't bring in so much earth with them as you did last time. Dry your eyes and look

at the green things growing. Remember how young you are and how many years are ahead of you! Go along,

Waitstill went about her work with rather a heavy heart. Was life going to be more rather than less difficult,

now that Patty was growing up? Would she he able to do her duty both by father and sister and keep peace in

the household, as she had vowed, in her secret heart, always to do? She paused every now and then to look

out of the window and wave an encouraging hand to Patty. The girl's bonnet was off, and her uncovered head

blazed like red gold in the sunlight. The short young grass was dotted with dandelion blooms, some of them

already grown to huge disks of yellow, and Patty moved hither and thither, selecting the younger weeds,

deftly putting the broken knife under their roots and popping them into the tin pan. Presently, for Deacon

Baxter had finished the wagon and gone down the hill to relieve Cephas Cole at the counter, Patty's shrill

young whistle floated into the kitchen, but with a mischievous glance at the open window she broke off

suddenly and began to sing the words of the hymn with rather more emphasis and gusto than strict piety

Patty's young existence being full to the brim of labor, this view of heaven never in the least appealed to her

and she rendered the hymn with little sympathy. The main part of the verse was strongly accented by jabs at

the unoffending dandelion roots, but when the chorus came she brought out the emphatic syllables by a beat

This rendition of a SabbathSchool classic did not meet Waitstill's ideas of perfect propriety, but she smiled

and let it pass, planning some sort of recreation for a stolen halfhour of the afternoon. It would have to be a

walk through the pasture into the woods to see what had grown since they went there a fortnight ago. Patty

loved people better than Nature, but failing the one she could put up with the other, for she had a sense of

beauty and a pagan love of color. There would be palehued innocence and blue and white violets in the

moist places, thought Waitstill, and they would have them in a china cup on the suppertable. No, that would

never do, for last time father had knocked them over when he was reaching for the bread, and in a silent

protest against such foolishness got up from the table and emptied theirs into the kitchen sink.

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

Then in the pine woods there would be, she was sure, Star of Bethlehem, Solomon's Seal, the white spray of

groundnuts and bunchberries. Perhaps they could make a bouquet and Patty would take it across the fields to

Mrs. Boynton's door. She need not go in, and thus they would not be disobeying their father's command not

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

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

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

"Nobody can hear us in this outoftheway place. It's easy enough to see that the women weren't asked to

say anything when the men settled where the houses should be built! The men weren't content to stick them

on the top of a high hill, or half a mile from the stores, but put them back to the main road, taking due care to

cut the sinkwindow where their wives couldn't see anything even when they were washing dishes."

"I don't know that I ever thought about it in that way"; and Waitstill looked out of the window in a brown

study while her hands worked with the dandelion greens. "I've noticed it, but I never supposed the men did it

"No, you wouldn't," said Patty with the pessimism of a woman of ninety, as she stole an admiring glance at

her sister. Patty's own face, irregular, piquant, tantalizing, had its peculiar charm, and her brilliant skin and

hair so dazzled the masculine beholder that he took note of no small defects; but Waitstill was beautiful;

beautiful even in her working dress of purple calico. Her single braid of hair, the Foxwell hair, that in her was

bronze and in Patty pale auburn, was wound once around her fine head and made to stand a little as it went

across the front. It was a simple, easy, unconscious fashion of her own, quite different from anything done by

other women in her time and place, and it just suited her dignity and serenity. It looked like a coronet, but it

was the way she carried her head that gave you the fancy, there was such spirit and pride in the poise of it on

the long graceful neck. Her eyes were as clear as mountain pools shaded by rushes, and the strength of the

Patty never let the conversation die out for many seconds at a time and now she began again. "My sudden

rages don't match my name very well, but, of course, mother didn't know how I was going to turn out when

she called me Patience, for I was nothing but a squirming little bald, red baby; but my name really is too

Waitstill laughed as she said: "It didn't take you long to change it! Perhaps Patience was a hard word for a

baby to say, but the moment you could talk you said, 'Patty wants this' and 'Patty wants that."'

"Did Patty ever get it? She never has since, that's certain! And look at your name: it's 'Waitstill,' yet you never

stop a moment. When you're not in the shed or barn, or chickenhouse, or kitchen or attic, or gardenpatch,

It seemed as if Waitstill did not intend to answer this arraignment of her activities. She rose and crossed the

Taking the longhandled dipper from the nail, she paused a moment before plunging it into the water pail;

paused, and leaning her elbow on a corner of the shelf over the sink, looked steadfastly out into the orchard.

Patty watched her curiously and was just going to offer a penny for her thoughts when Waitstill suddenly

broke the brief silence by saying: "Yes, I am always busy; it's better so, but all the same, Patty, I'm

"SHALL we have our walk in the woods on the Edgewood side of the river, just for a change, Patty?"

suggested her sister. "The water is so high this year that the river will be splendid. We can gather our flowers

in the hill pasture and then you'll be quite near Mrs. Boynton's and can carry the nosegay there while I come

home ahead of you and get supper. I'll take today's eggs to father's store on the way and ask him if he minds

our having a little walk. I've an errand at Aunt Abby's that would take me down to the bridge anyway."

"Very well," said Patty, somewhat apathetically. "I always like a walk with you, but I don't care what

The excursion took place according to Waitstill's plan, and at four o'clock she sped back to her night work

and preparations for supper, leaving Patty with a great bunch of early wildflowers for Ivory's mother. Patty

had left them at the Boyntons' door with Rodman, who was picking up chips and volunteered to take the

"Won't you step inside? " the boy asked shyly, wishing to be polite, but conscious that visitors, from the

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

"We never are. Ivory goes off early and takes lunch in a pail. So do I when I go to school. Aunt Boynton

never sits down to eat; she just stands at the window and takes a bite of something now 'and then. You haven't

"Neither have I, nor any father, nor any relations but Aunt Boynton and Ivory. Ivory is very good to me, and

"I wish you could come over and eat with sister and me," said Patty gently." Perhaps sometime, when my

father is away buying goods and we are left alone, you could join us in the woods, and we would have a

picnic? We would bring enough for you; all sorts of good things; hardboiled eggs, doughnuts,

"I'd like it fine!" exclaimed Rodman, his big dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I don't have many boys to

play with, and I never went to a picnic Aunt Boynton watches for uncle 'most all the time; she doesn't know

he has been away for years and years. When she doesn't watch, she prays. Sometimes she wants me to pray

"So am I," said Patty, laughing, "so we should be good friends. I'll try to get a chance to see you soon again,

"Your father doesn't like you to go anywheres, I guess," interposed Rodman. "I've heard Ivory tell Aunt

Boynton things, but I wouldn't repeat them. Ivory's trained me years and years not to tell anything, so I don't."

"That's a good boy!" approved Patty. Then as she regarded him more closely, she continued, "I'm sorry you're

"You think I've been crying," the boy said shrewdly." So I have, but not because I've been punished. The

reason my eyes are so swollen up is because I killed our old toad by mistake this morning. I was trying to see

if I could swing the scythe so's to help Ivory in hayingtime. I've only 'raked after' and I want to begin on

mowing soon's I can. Then somehow or other the old toad came out from under the steps; I didn't see him,

and the scythe hit him square. I cried for an hour, that's what I did, and I don't care who knows it except I

wouldn't like the boys at school to hector me. I've buried the toad out behind the barn, and I hope Ivory'll let

me keep the news from Aunt Boynton. She cries enough now without my telling her there's been a death in

"No, but we should always look round everywheres when we're cutting; that's what Ivory says. He says

And Rodman looked so wise and oldfashioned for his years that Patty did not know whether to kiss him or

cry over him, as she said: "Ivory's always right, and now goodbye; I must go this very minute. Don't forget

"I won't!" cried the boy, gazing after her, wholly entranced with her bright beauty and her kindness. "Say, I'll

bring something, too,whiteoak acorns, if you like 'em; I've got a big bagful up attic!"

Patty sped down the long lane, crept under the bars, and flew like a lapwing over the highroad.

"If father was only like any one else, things might be so different!" she sighed, her thoughts running along

with her feet. "Nobody to make a home for that poor lonesome little boy and that poor lonesome big Ivory. . .

. I am sure that he is in love with Waitstill. He doesn't know it; she doesn't know it; nobody does but me, but

I'm clever at guessing. I was the only one that surmised Jed Morrill was going to marry again. . . . I should

almost like Ivory for myself, he is so tall and handsome, but of course he can never marry anybody; he is too

poor and has his mother to look after. I wouldn't want to take him from Waity, though, and then perhaps I

couldn't get him, anyway. . . . If I couldn't, he'd be the only one! I've never tried yet, but I feel in my bones,

somehow, that I could have any boy in Edgewood or Riverboro, by just crooking my forefinger and

beckoning to him. . . . I wishI wishthey were different! They don't make me want to beckon to them!

My forefinger just stays straight and doesn't feel like crooking! . . . There's Cephas Cole, but he's as stupid as

an owl. I don't want a husband that keeps his mouth wide open whenever I'm talking, no matter whether it's

sense or nonsense. There's Phil Perry, but he likes Ellen, and besides he's too serious for me; and there's Mark

Wilson; he's the best dressed, and the only one that's been to college. He looks at me all the time in meeting,

and asked me if I wouldn't take a walk some Sunday afternoon. I know he planned Ellen's party hoping I'd be

there!Goodness gracious, I do believe that is his horse coming behind me! There's no other in the village

It was, indeed, Mark Wilson, who always drove, according to Aunt Abby Cole, "as if he was goin' for a

doctor." He caught up with Patty almost in the twinkling of an eye, but she was ready for him. She had taken

off her sunbonnet just to twirl it by the string, she was so warm with walking, and in a jiffy she had lifted the

clustering curls from her ears, tucked them back with a single expert movement, and disclosed two coral

"Hello, Patty!" the young man called, in brusque country fashion, as he reined up beside her. "What are you

doing over here? Why aren't you on your way to the party? I've been over to Limington and am breaking my

"I am not going; there are no parties for me!" said Patty plaintively. "Not going! Oh! I say, what's the matter?

It won't be a bit of fun without you! Ellen and I made it up expressly for you, thinking your father couldn't

"I can't help it; I did the best I could. Waitstill always asks father for me, but I wouldn't take any chances

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

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

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

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

"There isn't a building for half a mile! Just jump in and have a spin till we come to the first house; then I'll let

you out and you can walk the rest of the way home. Come, do, and make up to me a little for my

It was an incredibly brief drive, at Mark's rate of speed; and as exciting and blissful as it was brief and

dangerous, Patty thought. Did she imagine it, or did Mark help her into the wagon differently fromold Dr.

The fresh breeze lifted the gold thread of her curls and gave her cheeks a brighter color, while her breath

came fast through her parted lips and her eyes sparkled at the unexpected, unaccustomed pleasure. She felt so

grown up, so conscious of a new power as she sat enthroned on the little wagon seat (Mark Wilson always

liked his buggies "courtin' size" so the neighbors said), that she was almost courageous enough to agree to

"Come on, let's shake the old tabbies up and start 'em talking, shall we?" Mark suggested." I'll give you the

"No, I'd rather not drive," she said. "I'd be afraid of this horse, and, anyway, I must get out this very minute;

yes, I really must. If you hold Nero I can just slip down between the wheels; you needn't help me."

Mark alighted notwithstanding her objections, saying gallantly, "I don't miss this pleasure, not by a jugful!

Patty stretched out her hands to be helped, but Mark forestalled her by putting his arms around her and lifting

her down. A second of time only was involved, but in that second he held; her close and kissed her warm

cheek, her cheek that had never felt the touch of any lips but those of Waitstill. She pulled her sunbonnet over

her flaming face, while Mark, with a gay smile of farewell, sprang into the wagon and gave his horse a free

Patty never looked up from the road, but walked faster and faster, her heart beating at breakneck speed. It was

a changed world that spun past her; fright, triumph, shame, delight, a gratified vanity swam over her in turn.

A few minutes later she heard once more the rumble of wheels on the road. It was Cephas Cole driving

towards her over the brow of Saco Hill. "He'll have seen Mark," she thought, "but he can't know I've talked

and driven with him. Ugh! how stupid and common he looks!" "I heard your father blowin' the supperhorn

jest as I come over the bridge," remarked Cephas, drawing up in the road. " He stood in the dooryard

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

"I'11 turn right round if you'11 git in and lemme take you backalong a piece; it'll save you a good five

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

"Certain; I know the Deacon 'n' I ain't huntin' for trouble any more'n you be; though I 'd take it quick enough

if you jest give me leave! I ain't no coward an' I could tackle the Deacon tomorrow if so be I had anything to

This seemed to Patty a line of conversation distinctly to be discouraged under all the circumstances, and she

tried to keep Cephas on the subject of his daily tasks and his mother's rheumatism until she could escape from

"How do you like my last job?" he inquired as they passed his father's house. "Some think I've got the ell a

little dite too yaller. Folks that ain't never handled a brush allers think they can mix paint better 'n them that

"If your object was to have everybody see the ell a mile away, you've succeeded," said Patty cruelly. She

never flung the poor boy a civil word for fear of getting something warmer than civility in return.

"It'll tone down," Cephas responded, rather crestfallen. "I wanted a good bright lastin' shade. 'T won't look so

yaller when father lets me paint the house to match, but that won't be till next year. He makes fun of the yaller

color same as you; says a home's something you want to forget when you're away from it. Mother says the

two rooms of the ell are big enough for somebody to set up housekeepin' in. What do you think?"

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

SUPPER was over and the work done at last; the dishes washed, the beans put in soak, the hens shut up for

the night, the milk strained and carried down cellar. Patty went up to her little room with the one window and

the slanting walls and Waitstill followed and said goodnight. Her father put out the lights, locked the doors,

and came up the creaking stairs. There was never any talk between the sisters before going to bed, save on

nights when their father was late at the store, usually on Saturdays only, for the good talkers of the village, as

well as the gossips and loafers, preferred any other place to swap stories than the bleak atmosphere provided

Patty could think in the dark; her healthy young body lying not uncomfortably on the bed of corn husks, and

the patchwork comforter drawn up under her chin. She could think, but for the first time she could not tell her

thoughts to Waitstill. She had a secret; a dazzling secret, just like Ellen Wilson and some of the other girls

who were several years older. Her afternoon's experience loomed as large in her innocent mind as if it had

"I hope I'm not engaged to be married to him, EVEN IF HE DID" The sentence was too tremendous to be

finished, even in thought. "I don't think I can be; men must surely say something, and not take it for granted

you are in love with them and want to marry them. It is what they say when they ask that I should like much

better than being married, when I'm only just past seventeen. I wish Mark was a little different; I don't like his

careless ways! He admires me, I can tell one; that by the way he looks, but he admires himself just as much,

and expects me to do the same; still, I suppose none of them are perfect, and girls have to forgive lots of little

things when they are engaged. Mother must have forgiven a good many things when she took father.

Anyway, Mark is going away for a month on business, so I shan't have to make up my mind just yet!" Here

sleep descended upon the slightly puzzled, but on the whole delightfully complacent, little creature, bringing

The dear innocent had, indeed, no need of haste! Young Mr. Marquis de Lafayette Wilson, Mark for short,

was not in the least a gay deceiver or ruthless breaker of hearts, and, so far as known, no scalps of village

beauties were hung to his belt. He was a likable, lightweight young chap, as indolent and pleasureloving as

the strict customs of the community would permit; and a kiss, in his mind, most certainly never would lead to

the altar, else he had already been many times a bridegroom. Miss Patience Baxter's maiden meditations and

uncertainties and perplexities, therefore, were decidedly premature. She was a naturalborn, unconsciously

artistic, highly expert, and finished coquette. She was all this at seventeen, and Mark at twentyfour was by

no means a match for her in this field of effort, yet!but sometimes, in getting her victim into the net, the

coquette loses her balance and falls in herself. There wasn't a bit of harm in Marquis de Lafayette, but he was

Waitstill was restless, too, that night, although she could not have told the reason. She opened her window at

the back of the house and leaned out. The evening was mild with a soft wind blowing. She could hear the full

brook dashing through the edge of the woodlot, and even the "kerchug" of an occasional bullfrog. There

There was no light in Aunt Abby Cole's kitchen, but a faint glimmer shone through the windows of Uncle

Bart's joiner's shop, showing that the old man was either having an hour of peaceful contemplation with no

companion but his pipe, or that there might be a little group of privileged visitors, headed by Jed Morrill,

Waitstill felt troubled and anxious tonight; bruised by the little daily torments that lessened her courage but

never wholly destroyed it. Any one who believed implicitly in heredity might have been puzzled, perhaps, to

account for her. He might fantastically picture her as making herself out of her ancestors, using a free hand,

picking and choosing what she liked best, with due care for the effect of combinations; selecting here and

there and modifying, if advisable, a trait of Grandpa or Grandma Foxwell, of GreatUncle or GreatAunt

Baxter; borrowing qualities lavishly from her own gently born and gently bred mother, and carefully avoiding

her respected father's Stock, except, perhaps, to take a dash of his pluck and an ounce of his persistence. Jed

Morrill remarked of Deacon Baxter once: "When Old Foxy wants anything he'11 wait till hell freezes over

afore he'll give up." Waitstill had her father's firm chin, but there the likeness ended. The proud curve of her

nostrils, the clear wellopened eye with its deep fringe of lashes, the earnest mouth, all these came from the

Waitstill disdained any vague, dreary, colorless theory of life and its meaning. She had joined the church at

fifteen, more or less because other girls did and the parson had persuaded her; but out of her hard life she had

somehow framed a courageous philosophy that kept her erect and uncrushed, no matter how great her

difficulties. She had no idea of bringing a poor, weak, draggled soul to her Maker at the last day, saying

"Here is all I have managed to save out of what you gave me!" That would be something, she allowed,

immeasurably something; but pitiful compared with what she might do if she could keep a brave, vigorous

spirit and march to the last tribunal strengthened by battles, struggles, defeats, victories; by the defense of

weaker human creatures, above all, warmed and vitalized by the pouring out and gathering in of love.

Patty slept sweetly on the other side of the partition, the contemplation of her twopenny triumphs bringing a

smile to her childish lips: but even so a good heart was there (still perhaps in the process of making), a quick

wit, ready sympathy, natural charm; plenty, indeed, for the stronger sister to cherish, protect, and hold

There had always been a passionate loyalty in Waitstill's affection, wherever it had been bestowed. Uncle

Bart delighted in telling an instance of it that occurred when she was a child of five. Maine had just separated

amicably from her mother, Massachusetts, and become an independent state. It was in the middle of March,

but there was no snow on the ground and the village boys had built a bonfire on a plot of land near Uncle

Bart's joiner's shop. There was a large gathering in celebration of the historic event and Waitstill crept down

the hill with her homemade rag doll in her arms. She stood on the outskirts of the crowd, a silent, absorbed

little figure clad in a shabby woollen coat, with a blue knit hood framing her rosy face. Deborah, her beloved,

her only doll, was tightly clasped in her arms, for Debby, like her parent, had few pleasures and must not be

denied so great a one as this. Suddenly, one of the thoughtless young scamps in the group, wishing to create a

new sensation and add to the general excitement, caught the doll from the child's arms, and running forward

with a loud warwhoop, flung it into the flames. Waitstill did not lose an instant. She gave a scream Of

anguish, and without giving any warning of her intentions, probably without realizing them herself, she

dashed through the little crowd into the bonfire and snatched her cherished offspring from the burning pile.

The whole thing was over in the twinkling of an eye, for Uncle Bart was as quick as the child and dragged her

He led the little creature up the hill to explain matters and protect her from a scolding. She still held the doll

against her heaving breast, saying, between her sobs: " I couldn't let my Debby burn up! I couldn't, Uncle

Bart; she's got nobody but me! Is my dress scorched so much I can't wear it? You'11 tell father how it was,

Debby bore the marks of her adventure longer than her owner, for she had been longer in the fire, but, stained

and defaced as she was, she was never replaced, and remained the only doll of Waitstill's childhood. At this

very moment she lay softly and safely in a bureau drawer ready to be lifted out, sometime, Waitstill fancied,

and shown tenderly to Patty's children. Of her own possible children she never thought. There was but one

man in the world who could ever be the father of them and she was separated from him by every obstacle that

VILLAGE "Aunts" and "Uncles" were elected to that relationship by the common consent of the community;

their fitness being established by great age, by decided individuality or eccentricity of character, by

uncommon lovableness, or by the possession of an abundant wit and humor. There was no formality about

the thing; certain women were always called "Aunt Sukie," or "Aunt Hitty," or what not, while certain men

were distinguished as "Uncle Rish," or "Uncle Pel," without previous arrangement, or the consent of the high

Such a couple were Cephas Cole's father and mother, Aunt Abby and Uncle Bart. Bartholomew Cole's trade

was that of a joiner; as for Aunt Abby's, it can only be said that she made all trades her own by sovereign

right of investigation, and what she did not know about her neighbor's occupations was unlikely to he

discovered on this side of Jordan. One of the villagers declared that Aunt Abby and her neighbor, Mrs. Abel

Day, had argued for an hour before they could make a bargain about the method of disseminating a certain

important piece of news, theirs by exclusive right of discovery and prior possession. Mrs. Day offered to give

Mrs. Cole the privilege of Saco Hill and Aunt BettyJack's, she herself to take GuideBoard and

TownHouse Hills. Aunt Abby quickly proved the injustice of this decision, saying that there were twice as

many families living in Mrs. Day's chosen territory as there were in that allotted to her, so the river road to

Milliken's Mills was grudgingly awarded to Aunt Abby by way of compromise, and the ladies started on what

was a tour of mercy in those days, the furnishing of a subject of discussion for long, quiet evenings.

Uncle Bart's joiner's shop was at the foot of GuideBoard Hill on the Riverboro side of the bridge, and it was

the pleasantest spot in the whole village. The shop itself had a cheery look, with its weatherstained shingles,

its small square windows, and its hospitable door, half as big as the front side of the building. The step was an

old millstone too worn for active service, and the piles of chips and shavings on each side of it had been there

for so many years that sweetwilliams, clove pinks, and purple phlox were growing in among them in the

most irresponsible fashion; while a morningglory vine had crept up and curled around a longhandled rake

that had been standing against the front of the house since early spring. There was an air of cosy and amiable

disorder about the place that would have invited friendly confabulation even had not Uncle Bart's white head,

honest, ruddy face, and smiling welcome coaxed you in before you were aware. A fine Nodhead apple tree

shaded the side windows, and underneath it reposed all summer a bright blue sleigh, for Uncle Bart always

described himself as being "plagued for shed room" and kept things as he liked at the shop, having a "p'ison

The seat of the sleigh was all white now with scattered fruit blossoms, and one of Waitstill's earliest

remembrances was of going downhill with Patty toddling at her side; of Uncle Bart's lifting them into the

sleigh and permitting them to sit there and eat the ripe red apples that had fallen from the tree. Uncle Bart's

son, Cephas (Patty's secret adorer), was a painter by trade, and kept his pots and cans and brushes in a little

outhouse at the back, while Uncle Bart himself stood every day behind his long joiner's bench almost

kneedeep in shavings. How the children loved to play with the white, satiny rings, making them into

Wonderful houses could always be built in the corner of the shop, out of the little odds and ends and

"nubbins" of white pine, and Uncle Bart was ever ready to cut or saw a special piece needed for some great

The sound of the plane was sweet music in the old joiner's ears. "I don't hardly know how I'd a made out if I'd

had to work in a mill," he said confidentially to Cephas. "The noise of a saw goin' all day, coupled with your

mother's tongue mornin's an' evenin's, would 'a' been too much for my weak head. I'm a quiet man, Cephas, a

man that needs a peaceful shop where he can get away from the comforts of home now and then, without

shirkin' his duty nor causin' gossip. If you should ever marry, Cephas,which don't look to me likely

without you pick out a dif'rent girl,I 'd advise you not to keep your stock o' paints in the barn or the shed,

for it's altogether too handy to the house and the womenfolks. Take my advice and have a place to yourself,

even if it's a small one. A shop or a barn has saved many a man's life and reason Cephas, for it's ag'in' a

woman's nature to have you underfoot in the house without hectorin' you. Choose a girl same's you would a

horse that you want to hitch up into a span; 't ain't every two that'll stan' together without kickin'. When you

get the right girl, keep out of her way consid'able an' there'll be less wear an' tear."

It was June and the countryside was so beautiful it seemed as if no one could be unhappy, however great the

cause. That was what Waitstill Baxter thought as she sat down on the millstone step for a word with the old

"I've come to do my mending here with you," she said brightly, as she took out her wellfilled basket and

threaded her needle. "Isn't it a wonderful morning? Nobody could look the world in the face and do a wrong

The meadows were a waving mass of golden buttercups; the shallow water at the river's edge just below the

shop was blue with spikes of arrow weed; a bunch of fragrant waterlilies, gathered from the millpond's

upper levels, lay beside Waitstill's mendingbasket, and every foot of roadside and field within sight was

swaying with longstemmed white and gold daisies. The June grass, the friendly, humble, companionable

grass, that no one ever praises as they do the flowers, was a rich emerald green, a velvet carpet fit for the feet

of the angels themselves. And the elms and maples! Was there ever such a year for richness of foliage? And

the sky, was it ever so blue or so clear, so far away, or so completely like heaven, as you looked at its

"Yes, it's a pretty good day," allowed Uncle Bart judicially as he took a squint at his Tsquare. "I don' know's

I should want to start out an' try to beat it! The Lord can make a good many kinds o' weather in the course of

a year, but when He puts his mind on to it, an' kind o' gives Himself a free hand, He can turn out a June

morning that must make the Devil sick to his stomach with envy! All the same, Waity, my cow ain't behavin'

herself any better'n usual. She's been rampagin' since sunup. I've seen mother chasin' her out o' Mis' Day's

gardenpatch twice a'ready!It seems real good an' homey to see you settin' there sewin' while I'm workin'

at the bench. Cephas is down to the store, so I s'pose your father's off somewheres?"

Perhaps the June grass was a little greener, the buttercups yellower, the foliage more lacey, the sky bluer,

because Deacon Baxter had taken his luncheon in a pail under the wagon seat, and departed on an unwilling

journey to Moderation, his object being to press the collection of some accounts too long overdue. There was

something tragic in the fact, Waitstill thought, that whenever her father left the village for a whole day, life at

once grew brighter, easier, more hopeful. One could breathe freely, speak one's heart out, believe in the

The girls had harbored many delightful plans at early breakfast. As it was Saturday, Patty could catch little

Rod Boynton, if he came to the bridge on errands as usual; and if Ivory could spare him for an hour at noon

they would take their luncheon and eat it together on the riverbank as Patty had promised him. At the last

moment, however, Deacon Baxter had turned around in the wagon and said: "Patience, you go down to the

store and have a regular housecleanin' in the stockroom. Git Cephas to lift what you can't lift yourself,

move everything in the place, sweep and dust it, scrub the floor, wash the winder, and make room for the new

stuff that they'11 bring up from Milltown 'bout noon. If you have any time left over, put new papers on the

shelves out front, and clean up and fix the show winder. Don't stand round gabbin' with Cephas, and see't he

don't waste time that's paid for by me. Tell him he might clean up the terbaccer stains round the stove, black

"The whole day spoiled!" wailed Patty, flinging herself down in the kitchen rocker. "Father's powers of

That stockroom could have been cleaned any time this month and it's too heavy work for me anyway; it

spoils my hands, grubbing around those nasty, sticky, splintery boxes and barrels. Instead of being out of

doors, I've got to be shut up in that smelly, rummy, tobaccoy, saltfishy, pepperminty place with Cephas

Cole! He won't have a pleasant morning, I can tell you! I shall snap his head off every time he speaks to me."

"So I would!" Waitstill answered composedly. "Everything is so clearly his fault that I certainly would work

off my temper on Cephas! Still, I can think of a way to make matters come out right. I've got a great basket of

mending that must be done, and you remember there's a choir rehearsal for the new anthem this afternoon,

but anyway I can help a little on the cleaning. Then you can make Rodman do a few of the odd jobs, it will be

a novelty to him; and Cephas will work his fingers to the bone for you, as you well know, if you treat him

"All right!" cried Patty joyously, her mood changing in an instant. "There's Rod coming over the bridge now!

Toss me my gingham apron and the scrubbingbrush, and the pail, and the tin of soft soap, and the cleaning

cloths; let's see, the broom's down there, so I've got everything. If I wave a towel from the store, pack up

luncheon for three. You come down and bring your mending; then, when you see how I'm getting on, we can

consult. I'm going to take the ten cents I've saved and spend it in raisins. I can get a good many if Cephas

gives me wholesale price, with family discount substracted from that. Cephas would treat me to candy in a

minute, but if I let him we'd have to ask him to the picnic! Goodbye!" And the volatile creature darted down

the hill singing, "There'll be something in heaven for children to do," at the top of her healthy young lungs.

THE waving signal, a little later on, showed that Rodman could go to the picnic, the fact being that he was

having a holiday from eleven o'clock until two, and Ivory was going to drive to the bridge at noon, anyway,

Patty's mind might have been thought entirely on her ugly task as she swept and dusted and scrubbed that

morning, but the reverse was true. Mark Wilson had gone away without saying goodbye to her. This was

not surprising, perhaps, as she was about as much sequestered in her hilltop prison as a Turkish beauty in a

harem; neither was it astonishing that Mark did not write to her. He never had written to her, and as her father

always brought home the very infrequent letters that came to the family, Mark knew that any sentimental

correspondence would be fraught with danger. No, everything was probably just as it should be, and

yet,well, Patty had expected during the last three weeks that something would happen to break up the

monotony of her former existence. She hardly knew what it would be, but the kiss dropped so lightly on her

cheek by Mark Wilson still burned in remembrance, and made her sure that it would have a sequel, or an

Mark's sister Ellen and Phil Perry were in the midst of some form of lover's quarrel, and during its progress

Phil was paying considerable attention to Patty at Sabbath School and prayermeeting, occasions, it must be

confessed, only provocative of very indirect and longdistance advances. Cephas Cole, to the amazement of

every one but his (constitutionally) exasperated mother, was "toning down" the ell of the family mansion,

mitigating the lively yellow, and putting another fresh coat of paint on it, for no conceivable reason save that

of pleasing the eye of a certain capricious, ungrateful young hussy, who would probably say, when her

verdict was asked, that she didn't see any particular difference in it, one way or another.

Trade was not especially brisk at the Deacon's emporium this sunny June Saturday morning. Cephas may

have possibly lost a customer or two by leaving the store vacant while he toiled and sweated for Miss

Patience Baxter in the stockroom at the back, overhanging the river, but no man alive could see his

employer's lovely daughter tugging at a keg of shingle nails without trying to save her from a broken back,

although Cephas could have watched his mother move the house and barn without feeling the slightest

anxiety in her behalf. If he could ever get the "heft" of the "doggoned" cleaning out of the way so that Patty's

mind could be free to entertain his proposition; could ever secure one precious moment of silence when she

was not slatting and banging, pushing and pulling things about, her head and ears out of sight under a shelf,

and an irritating air of absorption about her whole demeanor; if that moment of silence could ever, under

Providence, be simultaneous with the absence of customers in the front shop, Cephas intended to offer

Once, during a temporary lull in the rear, he started to meet his fate when Rodman Boynton followed him

into the back room, and the boy was at once set to work by Patty, who was the most consummate

slavedriver in the State of Maine. After half an hour there was another Heavensent chance, when Rodman

went up to Uncle Bart's shop with a message for Waitstill, but, just then, in came Bill Morrill, a boy of

twelve, with a request for a gallon of molasses; and would Cephas lend him a stone jug over Sunday, for his

mother had hers soakin' out in soapsuds 'cause 't wa'n't smellin' jest right. Bill's message given, he hurried

Cephas put the gallon measure under the spigot of the molasses hogshead and turned on the tap. The task was

going to be a long one and he grew impatient, for the stream was only a slender trickle, scarcely more than

the slow dripping of drops, so the molasses must be very never low, and with his mind full of weightier

affairs he must make a note to tell the Deacon to broach a new hogshead. Cephas feared that he could never

make out a full gallon, in which case Mrs. Morrill would be vexed, for she kept mill boarders and baked

quantities of brown bread and gingerbread and molasses cookies for over Sunday. He did wish trade would

languish altogether on this particular morning. The minutes dragged by and again there was perfect quiet in

the stockroom. As the door opened, Cephas, taking his last chance, went forward to meet Patty, who was

turning down the skirt of her dress, taking the cloth off her head, smoothing her hair, and tying on a clean

"Patty! "stammered Cephas, seizing his golden opportunity, "Patty, keep your mind on me for a minute. I've

put a new coat o' paint on the ell just to please you; won't you get married and settle down with me? I love

"Oh, IIcouldn't, Cephas, thank you; I just couldn't,don't ask me," cried Patty, as nervous as Cephas

himself now that her first offer had really come; "I'm only seventeen and I don't feel like settling down,

"Don't play tricks on me, Patty, and keep shovin' me off so, an' givin' wrong reasons," pleaded Cephas.

"What's the trouble with me? I know mother's temper's onsartain, but we never need go into the main house

daytimes and father'd allers stand up ag'in' her if she didn't treat you right. I've got a good trade and father has

a hundred dollars o' my savin's that I can draw out tomorrer if you'll have me."

"I can't, Cephas; don't move; stay where you are; no, don't come any nearer; I'm not fond of you that way,

"You ain't promised a'ready, be you?" he asked anxiously; "when there ain't a feller anywheres around that's

Patty answered sedately, gaining her selfcontrol by degrees, "but I won't deny that I'm considering; that's

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

"SEVERAL!" The word did not sound like ordinary workaday Riverboro English in Cephas's ears. He

knew that "several" meant more than one, but he was too stunned to define the term properly in its present

"Whoever 't is wouldn't do any better by you'n I would. I'd take a lickin' for you any day," Cephas exclaimed

"That wouldn't make any difference, Cephas," said Patty firmly, moving towards the front door as if to end

the interview. "If I don't love you UNlicked, I couldn't love you any better licked, now, could I?Goodness

gracious, what am I stepping in? Cephas, quick! Something has been running all over the floor. My feet are

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

It was too true! Whatever had been the small obstruction in the tap, it had disappeared. The gallon measure

had been filled to the brim ten minutes before, and ever since, the treacly liquid had been overflowing the top

and spreading in a brown flood, unnoticed, over the floor. Patty's feet were glued to it, her buff calico skirts

"I can't move," she cried. "Oh! You stupid, stupid Cephas, how could you leave the molasses spigot turned

on? See what you've done! You've wasted quarts and quarts! What will father say, and how will you ever

clean up such a mess? You never can get the floor to look so that he won't notice it, and he is sure to miss the

At this Cephas all but blubbered in the agony of his soul. It was bad enough to be told by Patty that she was

"considering several," but his first romance had ended in such complete disaster that he saw in a vision his

life blasted; changed in one brief moment from that of a prosperous young painter to that of a blighted and

despised bungler, whose week's wages were likely to be expended in molasses to make good the Deacon's

"Find those cleaningcloths I left in the hack room," ordered Patty with a flashing eye. "Get some blocks, or

bits of board, or stones, for me to walk on, so that I can get out of your nasty mess. Fill Bill Morrill's jug,

quick, and set it out on the steps for him to pick up. I don't know what you'd do without me to plan for you!

Lock the front door and hang father's sign that he's gone to dinner on the doorknob. Scoop up all the molasses

you can with one of those new trowels on the counter. Scoop, and scrape, and scoop, and scrape; then put a

cloth on your oldest broom, pour lots of water on, pail after pail, and swab! When you've swabbed till it won't

do any more good, then scrub! After that, I shouldn't wonder if you had to fan the floor with a newspaper or

it'll never get dry before father comes home. I'll sit on the flour barrel a little while and advise, but I can't stay

long because I'm going to a picnic. Hurry up and don't look as if you were going to die any minute! It's no use

crying over spilt molasses. You don't suppose I'm going to tell any tales after you've made me an offer of

It was nearly two o'clock before the card announcing Deacon Baxter's absence at dinner was removed from

the front doorknob, and when the store was finally reopened for business it was a most dejected clerk who

dealt out groceries to the public. The worst feature of the affair was that every one in the two villages

suddenly and contemporaneously wanted molasses, so that Cephas spent the afternoon reviewing his misery

by continually turning the tap and drawing off the fatal liquid. Then, too, every inquisitive boy in the

neighborhood came to the back of the store to view the operation, exclaiming: "What makes the floor so wet?

It had been a heavenly picnic the little trio all agreed as to that; and when Ivory saw the Baxter girls coming

up the shady path that led along the river from the Indian Cellar to the bridge, it was a merry group and a

transfigured Rodman that caught his eye. The boy, trailing on behind with the baskets and laden with tin

dippers and wildflowers, seemed another creature from the bigeyed, quiet little lad he saw every day. He

had chattered like a magpie, eaten like a bear, is torn his jacket getting wild columbines for Patty, been nicely

darned by Waitstill, and was in a state of hilarity that rendered him quite unrecognizable.

"You didn't ask me!" smiled Ivory, picking up Waitstill's mendingbasket from the nook in the trees where

"We've played games, Ivory," cried the boy. 'Patty made them up herself. First we had the 'Landing of the

Pilgrims,' and Waitstill made believe be the figurehead of the Mayflower. She stood on a great boulder and

and, oh! she was splendid! Then Patty was Pocahontas and I was Cap'n John Smith, and look, we are all

Waitstill had on a crown of white birch bark and her braid of hair, twined with running evergreen, fell to her

waist. Patty was wreathed with columbines and decked with some turkey feathers that she had put in her

basket as too pretty to throw away. Waitstill looked rather conscious in her unusual finery, but Patty sported

"I shall have to run into father's store to put myself tidy," Waitstill said, "so goodbye, Rodman, we'll have

another picnic some day. Patty, you must do the chores this afternoon, you know, so that I can go to choir

Rodman and Patty started up the hill gayly with their burdens, and Ivory walked by Waitstill's side as she

pulled off her birchbark crown and twisted her braid around her head with a heightened color at being

"I'11 say goodbye now, Ivory, but I'11 see you at the meetinghouse," she said, as she neared the store. "I'll

go in here and brush the pine needles off, wash my hands, and rest a little before rehearsal. That's a puzzling

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

"Very well, the road is free, at any rate. I'll hitch my horse down here in the woods somewhere and when you

start to walk I shall follow and catch up with you. There's luckily only one way to reach the church from here,

And so it fell out that Ivory and Waitstill walked together in the cool of the afternoon to the meetinghouse

on Tory Hill. Waitstill kept the beaten path on one side and Ivory that on the other, so that the width of the

country road, deep in dust, was between them, yet their nearness seemed so tangible a thing that each could

feel the heart beating in the other's side. Their talk was only that of tried friends, a talk interrupted by long

beautiful silences; silences that come only to a man and woman whose understanding of each other is beyond

question and answer. Not a sound broke the stillness, yet the very air, it seemed to them, was shedding

meanings: the flowers were exhaling a love secret with their fragrances, the birds were singing it boldly from

the treetops, yet no word passed the man's lips or the girl's. Patty would have hung out all sorts of signals

and lures to draw the truth from Ivory and break through the walls of his selfcontrol, but Waitstill, never;

and Ivory Boynton was made of stuff so strong that he would not speak a syllable of love to a woman unless

he could say all. He was only fiveandtwenty, but he had been reared in a rigorous school, and had learned

in its poverty, loneliness, and anxiety lessons of selfdenial and selfcontrol that bore daily fruit now. He

knew that Deacon Baxter would never allow any engagement to exist between Waitstill and himself; he also

knew that Waitstill would never defy and disobey her father if it meant leaving her younger sister to fight

alone a dreary battle for which she was not fitted. If there was little hope on her side there seemed even less

on his. His mother's mental illness made her peculiarly dependent upon him, and at the same time held him in

such strict bondage that it was almost impossible for him to get on in the world or even to give her the

comforts she needed. In villages like Riverboro in those early days there was no putting away, even of men or

women so demented as to be something of a menace to the peace of the household; but Lois Boynton was so

gentle, so fragile, so exquisite a spirit, that she seemed in her sad aloofness simply a thing to be sheltered and

shielded somehow in her difficult life journey. Ivory often thought how sorely she needed a daughter in her

affliction. If the baby sister had only lived, the home might have been different; but alas! there was only a

son,a son who tried to be tender and sympathetic, but after all was nothing but a big, clumsy,

uncomprehending mancreature, who ought to be felling trees, ploughing, sowing, reaping, or at least

studying law, making his own fortune and that of some future wife. Old Mrs. Mason, a garrulous,

goodhearted grandame, was their only near neighbor, and her visits always left his mother worse rather than

better. How such a girl as Waitstill would pour comfort and beauty and joy into a lonely house like his, if

only he were weak enough to call upon her strength and put it to so cruel a test. God help him, he would

never do that, especially as he could not earn enough to keep a larger family, bound down as he was by

inexorable responsibilities. Waitstill, thus far in life, had suffered many sorrows and enjoyed few pleasures;

marriage ought to bring her freedom and plenty, not carking care and poverty. He stole long looks at the girl

across the separating space that was so helpless to separate,feeding his starved heart upon her womanly

graces. Her quick, springing step was in harmony with the fire and courage of her mien. There was a line or

two in her face,small wonder; but an "unconquerable soul" shone in her eyes; shone, too, in no uncertain

way, but brightly and steadily, expressing an unshaken joy in living. Valiant, splendid, indomitable Waitstill!

It is needless to say that no woman could be the possessor of such a love as Ivory Boynton's and not know of

its existence. Waitstill never heard a breath of it from Ivory's lips; even his eyes were under control and

confessed nothing; nor did his hand ever clasp hers, to show by a telltale touch the truth he dared not utter;

nevertheless she felt that she was beloved. She hid the knowledge deep in her heart and covered it softly from

every eye but her own; taking it out in the safe darkness sometimes to wonder over and adore in secret. Did

her love for Ivory rest partly on a sense of vocation?a profound, inarticulate divining of his vast need of

her? He was so strong, yet so weak because of the yoke he bore, so bitterly alone in his desperate struggle

with life, that her heart melted like wax whenever she thought of him. When she contemplated the hidden

mutiny in her own heart, she was awestruck sometimes at the almost divine patience of Ivory's conduct as a

"How is your mother this summer, Ivory?" she asked as they sat down on the meetinghouse steps waiting

for Jed Morrill to open the door. "There is little change in her from year to year, Waitstill.By the way, why

don't we get out of this afternoon sun and sit in the old graveyard under the trees? We are early and the choir

won't get here for half an hour.Dr. Perry says that he does not understand mother's case in the least, and

that no one but some great Boston physician could give a proper opinion on it; of course, that is impossible at

They sat down on the grass underneath one of the elms and Waitstill took off her hat and leaned back against

"Tell me more," she said; "it is so long since we talked together quietly and we have never really spoken of

"Of course," Ivory continued, "the people of the village all think and speak of mother's illness as religious

insanity, but to me it seems nothing of the sort. I was only a child when father first fell ill with Jacob

Cochrane, but I was twelve when father went away from home on his 'mission,' and if there was any one

suffering from delusions in our family it was he, not mother. She had altogether given up going to the

Cochrane meetings, and I well remember the scene when my father told her of the revelation he had received

about going through the state and into New Hampshire in order to convert others and extend the movement.

She had no sympathy with his selfimposed mission, you may be sure, though now she goes back in her

memory to the earlier days of her married life, when she tried hard, poor soul, to tread the same path that

"I am sure" (here Ivory's tone was somewhat dry and satirical) "that father's road had many turns, Waitstill!

He was a schoolmaster in Saco, you know, when I was born but he soon turned from teaching to preaching,

and here my mother followed with entire sympathy, for she was intensely, devoutly religious. I said there was

little change in her, but there is one new symptom. She has ceased to refer to her conversion to Cochranism

as a blessed experience. Her memory of those first days seems to have faded, As to her sister's death and all

the circumstances of her bringing Rodman home, her mind is a blank. Her expectation of father's return, on

"She must have loved your father dearly, Ivory, and to lose him in this terrible way is much worse than death.

"Yes, and it was that, in my mind, that led him astray. I fear that the Spirit of God was never so strong in

father as the desire to influence people by his oratory. That was what drew him to preaching in the first place,

and when he found in ,Jacob Cochrane a man who could move an audience to frenzy, lift them out of the

body, and do with their spirits as he willed, he acknowledged him as master. Whether his gospel was a pure

and undefiled religion I doubt, but he certainly was a master of mesmeric control. My mother was beguiled,

entranced, even bewitched at first, I doubt not, for she translated all that Cochrane said into her own speech,

and regarded him as the prophet of a new era. But Cochrane's last 'revelations' differed from the first, and

were of the earth, earthy. My mother's pure soul must have revolted, but she was not strong enough to drag

father from his allegiance. Mother was of better family than father, but they were both well educated and had

the best schooling to be had in their day. So far as I can judge, mother always had more 'balance' than father,

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

"I do, indeed. I don't know what happened between them in the way of religious differences, nor how much

unhappiness these may have caused. I remember she had an illness when we first came here to live and I was

a little chap of three or four, but that was caused by the loss of a child, a girl, who lived only a few weeks.

She recovered perfectly, and her head was as clear as mine for a year or two after father went away. As his

letters grew less frequent, as news of him gradually ceased to come, she became more and more silent, and

retired more completely into herself. She never went anywhere, nor entertained visitors, because she did not

wish to hear the gossip and speculation that were going on in the village. Some of it was very hard for a wife

to bear, and she resented it indignantly; yet never received a word from father with which to refute it. At this

time, as nearly as I can judge, she was a recluse, and subject to periods of profound melancholy, but nothing

worse. Then she took that winter journey to her sister's deathbed, brought home the boy, and, hastened by

exposure and chill and grief, I suppose, her mind gave way,that's all!" And Ivory sighed drearily as he

stretched himself on the greensward, and looked off towards the snowclad New Hampshire hills." I've

meant to write the story of the 'Cochrane craze' sometime, or such part of it as has to do with my family

history, and you shall read it if you like. I should set down my childhood and my boyhood memories,

together with such scraps of village hearsay as seem reliable. You were not so much younger than I, but I was

in the thick of the excitement, and naturally I heard more than you, having so bitter a reason for being

interested. Jacob Cochrane has altogether disappeared from public view, but there's many a family in Maine

and New Hampshire, yes, and in the far West, that will feel his influence for years to come."

"I should like very much to read your account. Aunt Abby's version, for instance, is so different from Uncle

Bart's that one can scarcely find the truth between the two; and father's bears no relation to that of any of the

"Some of us see facts and others see visions, replied Ivory, "and these differences of opinion crop up in the

village every day when anything noteworthy is discussed. I came upon a quotation in my reading last evening

"I can only hope so! That thought brings sadness with it, as one remembers his disappointment and failure,

There was a long pause and they could see in the distance Humphrey Barker with his clarionet and Pliny

Waterhouse with his bass viol driving up to the churchyard fence to hitch their horses. The sun was dipping

"What makes my father dislike the very mention of yours?" asked Waitstill. "I know what they say: that it is

because the two men had high words once in a Cochrane meeting, when father tried to interfere with some of

the exercises and was put out of doors. It doesn't seem as if that grievance, seventeen or eighteen years ago,

"It isn't likely that a man of your father's sort would forget or forgive what he considered an injury; and in

refusing to have anything to do with the son of a disgraced man and a deranged woman, he is well within his

Ivory's cheeks burned red under the tan, and his hand trembled a little as he plucked bits of clover from the

grass and pulled them to pieces absentmindedly. "How are you getting on at home these days, Waitstill?" he

"You have troubles enough of your own without hearing mine, Ivory, and anyway they are not big afflictions,

heavy sorrows, like those you have to bear. Mine are just petty, nagging, sordid, cheap little miseries, like

gnatbites;so petty and so sordid that I can hardly talk to God about them, much less to a human friend.

Patty is my only outlet and I need others, yet I find it almost impossible to escape from the narrowness of my

life and be of use to any one else." The girl's voice quivered and a single teardrop on her cheek showed that

she was speaking from a full heart. "This afternoon's talk has determined me in one thing," she went on. "I

am going to see your mother now and then. I shall have to do it secretly, for your sake, for hers, and for my

own, but if I am found out, then I will go openly. There must be times when one can break the lower law, and

yet keep the higher. Father's law, in this case, is the lower, and I propose to break it."

"I can't have you getting into trouble, Waitstill," Ivory objected. "You're the one woman I can think of who

might help my mother; all the same, I would not make your life harder; not for worlds!"

"It will not be harder, and even if it was I should 'count it all joy' to help a woman bear such sorrow as your

mother endures patiently day after day"; and Waitstill rose to her feet and tied on her hat as one who had

It was almost impossible for Ivory to hold his peace then, so full of gratitude was his soul and so great his

longing to pour out the feeling that flooded it. He pulled himself together and led the way out of the

churchyard. To look at Waitstill again would be to lose his head, but to his troubled heart there came a flood

of light, a glory from that lamp that a woman may hold up for a man; a glory that none can take from him,

IT was a Sunday in June, and almost the whole population of Riverboro and Edgewood was walking or

Church toilettes, you may well believe, were difficult of attainment by Deacon Baxter's daughters, as they

had been by his respective helpmates in years gone by. When Waitstill's mother first asked her husband to

buy her a new dress, and that was two years after marriage, he simply said: "You look well enough; what do

you want to waste money on finery for, these hard times? If other folks are extravagant, that ain't any reason

you should be. You ain't obliged to take your neighbors for an example:take 'em for a warnin'!"

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

"That's what women always say; they're all alike; no more idea o' savin' anything than a skunkblackbird! I

can't spare any money for gewgaws, and you might as well understand it first as last. Go up attic and open

the hair trunk by the winder; you'll find plenty there to last you for years to come."

The second Mrs. Baxter visited the attic as commanded, and in turning over the clothes in the old trunk, knew

by instinct that they had belonged to her predecessor in office. Some of the dresses were neat, though terribly

worn and faded, but all were fortunately far too short and small for a person of her fine proportions. Besides,

her very soul shrank from wearing them, and her spirit revolted both from the insult to herself and to the poor

dead woman she had succeeded, so she came downstairs to darn and mend and patch again her shabby

wardrobe. Waitstill had gone through the same as her mother before her, but in despair, when she was

seventeen, she began to cut over the old garments for herself and Patty. Mercifully there were very few of

them, and they had long since been discarded. At eighteen she had learned to dye yarns with yellow oak or

maple bark and to make purples from elder and sumac berries; she could spin and knit as well as any old

"Aunt" of the village, and cut and shape a garment as deftly as the Edgewood tailoress, but the task of making

She wore a white cotton frock on this particular Sunday. It was starched and ironed with a beautiful gloss,

while a touch of distinction was given to her costume by a little black sleeveless "roundabout" made out of

the covering of an old silk umbrella. Her flat hat had a single wreath of coarse daisies around the crown, and

her mitts were darned in many places, nevertheless you could not entirely spoil her; God had used a liberal

hand in making her, and her father's parsimony was a sort of boomerang that flew back chiefly upon himself.

As for Patty, her style of beauty, like Cephas Cole's ell had to be toned down rather than up, to be effective,

but circumstances had been cruelly unrelenting in this process of late. Deacon Baxter had given the girls three

or four shopworn pieces of faded yellow calico that had been repudiated by the village housewives as not

"fast" enough in color to bear the test of proper washing. This had made frocks, aprons, petticoats, and even

underclothes, for two full years, and Patty's weekly objurgations when she removed her everlasting yellow

dress from the nail where it hung were not such as should have fallen from the lips of a deacon's daughter.

Waitstill had taken a piece of the same yellow material, starched and ironed it, cut a curving, circular brim

from it, sewed in a pleated crown, and lo! a hat for Patty! What inspired Patty to put on a waist ribbon of

deepest wine color, with a little band of the same on the pale yellow hat, no one could say.

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

"It looks all right on the columbines in the Indian Cellar," replied Patty, turning and twisting the hat on her

head. "If we can't get a peek at the Boston fashions, we must just find our styles where we can!"

The various roads to Tory Hill were alive with vehicles on this bright Sunday morning. Uncle Bart and Abel

Day, with their respective wives on the back seat of the Cole's double wagon, were passed by Deacon Baxter

and his daughters, Waitstill being due at meeting earlier than others by reason of her singing in the choir. The

Deacon's onehorse, twowheeled "shay" could hold three persons, with comfort on its broad seat, and the

twentyyearold mare, although she was always as hollow as a gourd, could generally do the mile, uphill all

the way, in half an hour, if urged continually, and the Deacon, be it said, if not good at feeding, was

Aunt Abby Cole could get only a passing glimpse of Patty in the depths of the "shay," but a glimpse was

always enough for her, as her opinion of the girl's charms was considerably affected by the forlorn condition

of her son Cephas, whom she suspected of being hopelessly in love with the young person aforesaid, to

"Patience Baxter's got the kind of looks that might do well enough at a tavern dance, or a husking, but they're

entirely unsuited to the Sabbath day or the meetin'house," so Aunt Abby remarked to Mrs. Day in the way

of backseat confidence. "It's unfortunate that a deacon's daughter should be afflicted with that bold style of

beauty! Her hair's all but red; in fact, you might as well call it red, when the sun shines on it: but if she'd ever

smack it down with bear's grease she might darken it some; or anyhow she'd make it lay slicker; but it's the

kind of hair that just matches that kind of a girl,sort of up an' comin'! Then her skin's so white and her

cheeks so pink and her eyes so snappy that she'd attract attention without half trying though I guess she ain't

"Oh, yes, she's innocent enough an' I hope she'll keep so! Waitstill's a sight han'somer, if the truth was told;

but she's the sort of girl that's made for one man and the rest of em never look at her. The other one's cut out

for the crowd, the more the merrier. She's a kind of mantrap, that girl is!Do urge the horse a little mite,

Bartholomew! It makes me kind o' hot to be passed by Deacon Baxter. It's Missionary Sunday, too, when he

"I wonder if he ever puts anything into the plate," said Mrs. Day. "No one ever saw him, that I know of."

"The Deacon keeps the Thou Shalt Not commandments pretty well," was Aunt Abby's terse response. "I

guess he don't put nothin' into the plate, but I s'pose we'd ought to be thankful he don't take nothin' out. The

Baptists are gettin' ahead faster than they'd ought to, up to the Mills. Our minister ain't no kind of a

proselyter, Seems as if he didn't care how folks got to heaven so long as they got there! The other church is

havin' a service this afternoon side o' the river, an' I'd kind o' like to go, except it would please 'em too much

to have a crowd there to see the immersion. They tell me, but I don't know how true, that that Tillman widder

woman that come here from somewheres in Vermont wanted to be baptized today, but the other converts

"Jed Morrill said they'd have to hold her under water quite a spell to do any good," chuckled Uncle Bart from

"Well, I wouldn't repeat it, Bartholomew, on the Sabbath day; not if he did say it. Jed Morrill's responsible for

more blasphemious jokes than any man in Edgewood. I don't approve of makin' light of anybody's religious

observances if they're ever so foolish," said Aunt Abby somewhat enigmatically. "Our minister keeps

remindin' us that the Baptists and Methodists are our brethren, but I wish he'd be a little more anxious to have

"Jed's 'bout right in sizin' up the Widder Tillman," was Mr. Day's timid contribution to the argument." I ain't a

readin' man, but from what folks report I should think she was one o' them critters that set on rocks

bewilderin' an' bedevilin' menfolks out o' their sensesSYREENS, I think they call 'em; a reg'lar SYREEN

"There, there, Abel, you wouldn't know a syreen if you found one in your baked beans, so don't take away a

woman's character on hearsay." And Mrs. Day, having shut up her husband as was her bounden duty as a

wife and a Christian, tied her bonnet strings a little tighter and looked distinctly pleased with herself.

"Abel ain't startin' any new gossip," was Aunt Abby's opinion, as she sprung to his rescue. "One or two more

holes in a colander don't make much dif'rence.Bartholomew, we're certainly goin' to be late this mornin';

we're about the last team on the road"; and Aunt Abby glanced nervously behind. "Elder Boone ain't begun

the openin' prayer, though, or we should know it. You can hear him pray a mile away, when the wind's right.

I do hate to be late to meetin'. The Elder allers takes notice; the folks in the wing pews allers gapes an' stares,

and the choir peeks through the curtain, takin' notes of everything you've got on your back. I hope to the land

they'll chord and keep together a little mite better 'n they've done lately, that's all I can say! If the Lord is right

in our midst as the Bible says, He can't think much of our singers this summer!"

"They're improvin', now that Pliny Waterhouse plays his fiddle," Mrs. Day remarked pacifically. "There was

times in the anthem when they kept together consid'able well last Sunday. They didn't always chord, but

there, they chorded some!we're most there now, Abby, don't fret! Cephas won't ring the last bell till he

Those were days of conscientious churchgoing and every pew in the house was crowded. The pulpit was

built on pillars that raised it six feet higher than the floor; the top was cushioned and covered with red velvet

surmounted by a huge giltedged Bible. There was a window in the tower through which Cephas Cole could

look into the church, and while tolling the bell could keep watch for the minister. Always exactly on time, he

would come in, walk slowly up the righthand aisle, mount the pulpit stairs, enter and close the door after

him. Then Cephas would give one tremendous pull to warn loiterers on the steps; a pull that meant, "Parson's

in the pulpit!" and was acted upon accordingly. Opening the big Bible, the minister raised his right hand

impressively, and saying, "Let us pray," the whole congregation rose in their pews with a great rustling and

Next came the hymn, generally at that day one of Isaac Watts's. The singers, fifteen or twenty in number, sat

in a raised gallery opposite the pulpit, and there was a rod in front hung with red curtains to hide them when

sitting down. Any one was free to join, which perhaps accounted for Aunt Abby's strictures as to time and

tune. Jed Morrill, "blasphemious" as he was considered by that acrimonious lady, was the leader, and a good

one, too. There would be a great whispering and buzzing when Deacon Sumner with his big fiddle and Pliny

Waterhouse with his smaller one would try to get in accord with Humphrey Baker and his clarionet. All went

well when Humphrey was there to give the sure keynote, but in his absence Jed Morrill would use his

tuningfork. When the key was finally secured by all concerned, Jed would raise his stick, beat one measure

to set the time, and all joined in, or fell in, according to their several abilities. It was not always a perfect

thing in the way of a start, but they were well together at the end of the first line, and when, as now, the choir

numbered a goodly number of voices, and there were three or four hundred in the pews, nothing more

inspiring in its peculiar way was ever heard, than the congregational singing of such splendid hymns as "Old

Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivory was at the far end of the choir in the basses, but each was conscious of the

other's presence. This morning he could hear her noble voice rising a little above, or, perhaps from its quality,

separating itself somehow, ever so little, from the others. How full of strength and hope it was, her voice!

How steadfast to the pitch; how golden its color; how moving in its crescendos! How the words flowed from

her lips; not as if they had been written years ago, but as if they were the expression of her own faith. There

were many in the congregation who were stirred, they knew not why, when there chanced to be only a few

"carrying the air" and they could really hear Waitstill Baxter singing some dear old hymn, full of sacred

"There may be them in Boston that can sing louder, and they may be able to run up a little higher than

Waitstill, but the question is, could any of 'em make Aunt Abby Cole shed tears?" This was Jed Morrill's

There were Sunday evening prayermeetings, too, held at "early candlelight," when Waitstill and Lucy

Morrill would make a duet of "By cool Siloam's Shady Rill," or the favorite "Naomi," and the two fresh

young voices, rising and falling in the tender thirds of the old tunes, melted all hearts to new willingness of

How Ivory loved to hear Waitstill sing these lines! How they eased his burden as they were easing hers,

"WHILE Thee I seek, protecting Power," was the first hymn on this particular Sunday morning, and it usually

held Patty's rather vagrant attention to the end, though it failed to do so today. The Baxters occupied one of

the wing pews, a position always to be envied, as one could see the singers without turning around, and also

observe everybody in the congregation,their entrance, garments, behavior, and especially their

Lawyer Wilson's pew was the second in front of the Baxters in the same wing, and Patty, seated decorously

but unwillingly beside her father, was impatiently awaiting the entrance of the family, knowing that Mark

would be with them if he had returned from Boston. Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had the pew in between,

and afforded a most edifying spectacle to the community, as there were seven young Grants of a

churchgoing age, and the ladies of the congregation were always counting them, reckoning how many more

were in their cradles at home and trying to guess from Mrs. Grant's lively or chastened countenance whether

Patty settled herself comfortably, and put her foot on the wooden "cricket," raising her buff calico a little on

the congregation side, just enough to show an inch or two of petticoat. The petticoat was as modestly long as

the frock itself, and disclosing a bit of it was nothing more heinous than a casual exhibition of good

needlework. Deacon Baxter furnished only the unbleached muslin for his daughters' undergarments; but

twelve little tucks laboriously done by hand, elaborate inchwide edging, crocheted from white spool cotton,

and days of bleaching on the grass in the sun, will make a petticoat that can be shown in church with some

The Wilsons came up the aisle a moment later than was their usual habit, just after the parson had ascended

the pulpit. Mrs. Wilson always entered the pew first and sat in the far end. Patty had looked at her admiringly,

and with a certain feeling of proprietorship, for several Sundays. There was obviously no such desirable

motherinlaw in the meetinghouse. Her changeable silk dress was the latest mode; her shawl of black

llama lace expressed wealth in every delicate mesh, and her bonnet had a distinction that could only have

emanated from Portland or Boston. Ellen Wilson usually came in next, with as much of a smile to Patty in

passing as she dared venture in the Deacon's presence, and after her sidled in her younger sister Selina,

Mark had come home! Patty dared not look up, but she felt his approach behind the others, although her eyes

sought the floor, and her cheeks hung out signals of abashed but certain welcome. She heard the family settle

in their seats somewhat hastily, the click of the pew door and the sound of Lawyer Wilson's cane as he stood

it in the corner; then the parson rose to pray and Patty closed her eyes with the rest of the congregation.

Opening them when Elder Boone rose to announce the hymn, they fellamazed, resentful,

uncomprehendingon the spectacle of Mark Wilson finding the place in the book for a strange young

woman who sat beside him. Mark himself had on a new suit and wore a seal ring that Patty had never

observed before; while the dress, pelisse, and hat of the unknown were of a nature that no girl in Patty's

position, and particularly of Patty's disposition, could have regarded without a desire to tear them from her

person and stamp them underfoot; or better still, flaunt them herself and show the world how they should be

Mark found the place in the hymnbook for thecreature, shared it with her, and once, when the Grant

twins wriggled and Patty secured a better view, once, Mark shifted his hand on the page so that his thumb

touched that of his pretty neighbor, who did not remove hers as if she found the proximity either unpleasant

or improper. Patty compared her own miserable attire with that of the hated rival in front, and also contrasted

Lawyer Wilson's appearance with that of her father; the former, well dressed in the style of a gentleman of

the time, in broadcloth, with fine linen, and a tall silk hat carefully placed on the floor of the pew; while

Deacon Baxter wore homespun made of wool from his own sheep, spun and woven, dyed and finished, at the

fullingmill in the village, and carried a battered felt hat that had been a matter of ridicule these dozen years.

(The Deacon would be buried in two coats, Jed Morrill always said, for he owned just that number, and

The sermon was fifty minutes long, time enough for a deal of thinking. Many a housewife, not wholly

orthodox, cut and made over all her children's clothes, in imagination; planned the putting up of her fruit, the

making of her preserves and pickles, and arranged her meals for the next week, during the progress of those

sermons. Patty watched the parson turn leaf after leaf until the final one was reached. Then came the last

hymn, when the people stretched their aching limbs, and rising, turned their backs on the minister and faced

the choir. Patty looked at Waitstill and wished that she could put her throbbing head on her sisterly shoulder

and cry,mostly with rage. The benediction was said, and with the final "Amen" the pews were opened and

Patty's plans were all made. She was out of her pew before the Wilsons could possibly leave theirs, and in her

progress down the aisle securely annexed her great admirer, old Dr. Perry, as well as his son Philip. Passing

the singingseats she picked up the humble Cephas and carried him along in her wake, chatting and talking

with her little party while her father was at the horsesheds, making ready to go home between services as

was his habit, a cold bite being always set out on the kitchen table according to his orders. By means of these

clever manoeuvres Patty made herself the focus of attention when the Wilson party came out on the steps,

and vouchsafed Mark only a nonchalant nod, airily flinging a little greeting with the nod,just a "How d'ye

Patty and Waitsill, with some of the girls who had come long distances, ate their luncheon in a shady place

under the trees behind the meetinghouse, for there was an afternoon service to come, a service with another

long sermon. They separated after the modest meal to walk about the Common or stray along the road to the

Two or three times during the summer the sisters always went quietly and alone to the Baxter buryinglot,

where three grassgrown graves lay beside one another, unmarked save by narrow wooden slabs so short that

the initials painted on them were almost hidden by the tufts of clover. The girls had brought roots of pansies

and sweet alyssum, and with a knife made holes in the earth and planted them here and there to make the spot

a trifle less forbidding. They did not speak to each other during this sacred little ceremony; their hearts were

too full when they remembered afresh the absence of headstones, the lack of care, in the place where the three

women lay who had ministered to their father, borne him children, and patiently endured his arbitrary and

loveless rule. Even Cleve Flanders' grave,the Edgewood shoemaker, who lay next,even his

restingplace was marked and, with a touch of some one's imagination marked by the old man's own lapstone

Waitstill rose from her feet, brushing the earth from her hands, and Patty did the same. The churchyard was

quiet, and they were alone with the dead, mourned and unmourned, loved and unloved.

"I planted one or two pansies on the first one's grave," said Waitstill soberly. "I don't know why we've never

done it before. There are no children to take notice of and remember her; it's the least we can do, and, after

"There is no family, and there never was!" suddenly cried Patty. "Oh! Waity, Waity, we are so alone, you and

I! We've only each other in all the world, and I'm not the least bit of help to you, as you are to me! I'm a silly,

vain, conceited, illbehaved thing, but I will be better, I will! You won't ever give me up, will you, Waity,

"Hush, Patty, hush!" And Waitstill came nearer to her sister with a motherly touch of her hand. "I'll not have

you say such things; you that are the helpfullest and the lovingest girl that ever was, and the cleverest, too,

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

It is safe to say that Patty would never have given Mark Wilson a second thought had he not taken her to

drive on that afternoon in early May. The drive, too, would have quickly fled from her somewhat fickle

memory had it not been for the kiss. The kiss was, indeed, a decisive factor in the situation, and had shed a

rosy, if somewhat fictitious light of romance over the past three weeks. Perhaps even the kiss, had it never

been repeated, might have lapsed into its true perspective, in due course of time, had it not been for the

sudden appearance of the stranger in the Wilson pew. The moment that Patty's gaze fell upon that fashionably

dressed, instantaneously disliked girl, Marquis Wilson's stock rose twenty points in the market. She ceased, in

a jiffy, to weigh and consider and criticize the young man, but regarded him with wholly new eyes. His figure

was better than she had realized, his smile more interesting, his manners more attractive, his eyelashes longer;

in a word, he had suddenly grown desirable. A month ago she could have observed, with idle and alien

curiosity, the spectacle of his thumb drawing nearer to another (feminine) thumb, on the page of the Watts

and Select Hymn book; now, at the morning service, she had wished nothing so much as to put Mark's thumb

back into his pocket where it belonged, and slap the girl's thumb smartly and soundly as it deserved.

The ignorant cause of Patty's distress was a certain Annabel Franklin, the daughter of a cousin of Mrs.

Wilson's. Mark had stayed at the Franklin house during his three weeks' visit in Boston, where he had gone

on business for his father. The young people had naturally seen much of each other and Mark's inflammable

fancy had been so kindled by Annabel's dolllike charms that he had persuaded her to accompany him to his

home and get a taste of country life in Maine. Such is man, such is human nature, and such is life, that Mark

had no sooner got the whilom object of his affections under his own roof than she began to pall.

Annabel was twentythree, and to tell the truth she had palled before, more than once. She was so amiable,

so wellfinished,with her smooth flaxen hair, her neat nose, her buttonhole of a mouth, and her trim

shape,that she appealed to the opposite sex quite generally and irresistibly as a worthy helpmate. The only

trouble was that she began to bore her suitors somewhat too early in the game, and they never got far enough

to propose marriage. Flaws in her apparent perfection appeared from day to day and chilled the growth of the

various young loves that had budded so auspiciously. She always agreed with everybody and everything in

sight, even to the point of changing her mind on the instant, if circumstances seemed to make it advisable.

Her instinctive point of view, when she went so far as to hold one, was somewhat cut and dried; in a word,

priggish. She kept a young man strictly on his good behavior, that much could be said in her favor; the only

criticism that could be made on this estimable trait was that no bold youth was ever tempted to overstep the

bounds of discretion when in her presence. No unruly words of love ever rose to his lips; his hand never stole

out involuntarily and imprudently to meet her small chilly one; the sight of her waist never even suggested an

encircling arm; and as a fellow never desired to kiss her, she was never obliged to warn or rebuke or strike

him off her visiting list. Her father had an ample fortune and some one would inevitably turn up who would

regard Annabel as an altogether worthy and desirable spouse. That was what she had seemed to Mark Wilson

for a full week before he left the Franklin house in Boston, but there were moments now when he regretted,

fugitively, that he had ever removed her from her proper sphere. She did not seem to fit in to the conditions of

life in Edgewood, and it may even be that her most glaring fault had been to describe Patty Baxter's hair at

this very Sunday dinner as "carroty," her dress altogether "dreadful," and her style of beauty "unladylike."

Ellen Wilson's feelings were somewhat injured by these criticisms of her intimate friend, and in discussing

And thus, so little do we know of the prankishness of the blind god, thus was Annabel Franklin working for

her rival's best interests; and instead of reviling her in secret, and treating her with disdain in public, Patty

EVERYBODY in Riverboro, Edgewood, Milliken's Mills, Spruce Swamp, Duck Pond, and Moderation was

"haying." There was a perfect frenzy of haying, for it was the Monday after the "Fourth," the precise date in

July when the Maine farmer said goodbye to repose, and "hayed" desperately and unceasingly, until every

spear of green in his section was mowed down and safely under cover. If a man had grass of his own, he cut

it, and if he had none, he assisted in cutting that of some other man, for "to hay," although an unconventional

verb, was, and still is, a very active one, and in common circulation, although not used by the grammarians.

Whatever your trade, and whatever your profession, it counted as naught in good weather. The fishman

stopped selling fish, the meatman ceased to bring meat; the cobbler, as well as the judge, forsook the bench;

and even the doctor made fewer visits than usual. The wage for work in the hayfields was a high one, and

When Ivory Boynton had finished with his own small crop, he commonly went at once to Lawyer Wilson,

who had the largest acreage of hayland in the township. Ivory was always in great demand, for he was a

mighty worker in the field, and a very giant at "pitching," being able to pick up a fairsized haycock at one

stroke of the fork and fling it on to the cart as if it were a feather. Lawyer Wilson always took a hand himself

if signs of rain appeared, and Mark occasionally visited the scene of action when a crowd in the field made a

general jollification, or when there was an impending thunderstorm. In such cases even women and girls

joined the workers and all hands bent together to the task of getting a load into the barn and covering the rest.

Deacon Baxter was wont to call Mark Wilson a "worthless, wheyfaced, lilyhanded whelp," but the

description, though picturesque, was decidedly exaggerated. Mark disliked manual labor, but having imbibed

enough knowledge of law in his father's office to be an excellent clerk, he much preferred travelling about,

settling the details of small cases, collecting rents and bad bills, to any form of work on a farm. This sort of

life, on stagecoaches and railway trains, or on long driving trips with his own fast trotter,suited his

adventurous disposition and gave him a sense of importance that was very necessary to his peace of mind. He

was not especially intimate with Ivory Boynton, who studied law with his father during all vacations and in

every available hour of leisure during term time, as did many another young New England schoolmaster.

Mark's father's praise of Ivory's legal ability was a little too warm to please his son, as was the commendation

of one of the County Court judges on Ivory's preparation of a brief in a certain case in the Wilson office.

Ivory had drawn it up at Mr. Wilson's request, merely to show how far he understood the books and cases he

was studying, and he had no idea that it differed in any way from the work of any other student; all the same,

Mark's own efforts in a like direction had never received any special mention. When he was in the hayfield

he also kept as far as possible from Ivory, because there, too, he felt a superiority that made him, for the

moment, a trifle discontented. It was no particular pleasure for him to see Ivory plunge his fork deep into the

heart of a haycock, take a firm grasp of the handle, thrust forward his foot to steady himself, and then raise

the great fragrant heap slowly, and swing it up to the waiting haycart amid the applause of the crowd.

Rodman would be there, too, helping the man on top of the load and getting nearly buried each time, as the

mass descended upon him, but doing his slender best to distribute and tread it down properly, while his young

Independence Day had passed, with its usual gayeties for the young people, in none of which the Baxter

family had joined, and now, at eleven o'clock on this burning July morning, Waitstill was driving the old

mare past the Wilson farm on her way to the river field. Her father was working there, together with the two

hired men whom he took on for a fortnight during the height of the season. If mowing, raking, pitching, and

carting of the precious crop could only have been done at odd times during the year, or at night, he would not

have embittered the month of July by paying out money for labor: but Nature was inexorable in the ripening

of hay and Old Foxy was obliged to succumb to the inevitable. Waitstill had a basket packed with luncheon

for three and a great demijohn of cool ginger tea under the wagon seat. Other farmers sometimes served hard

cider, or rum, but her father's principles were dead against this riotous extravagance. Temperance, in any and

all directions, was cheap, and the Deacon was a very temperate man, save in language.

The fields on both sides of the road were full of haymakers and everywhere there was bustle and stir. There

would be three or four men, one leading, the others following, slowly swinging their way through a noble

piece of grass, and the smell of the mown fields in the sunshine was sweeter than honey in the comb. There

were patches of blackeyed Susans in the meadows here and there, while pink and white hardhack grew by

the road, with day lilies and blossoming milkweed. The bobolinks were fluting from every tree; there were

thrushes in the alder bushes and orioles in the tops of the elms, and Waitstill's heart overflowed with joy at

being in such a world of midsummer beauty, though life, during the great heat and incessant work of

hayingtime, was a little more rigorous than usual. The extra food needed for the hired men always kept her

father in a state of mind closely resembling insanity. Coming downstairs to cook breakfast she would find the

coffee or tea measured out for the pot. The increased consumption of milk angered him beyond words,

because it lessened the supply of butter for sale. Everything that could be made with buttermilk was ordered

so to be done, and nothing but water could be used in mixing the raised bread. The corncake must never have

an egg; the piecrust must be shortened only with lard, or with a mixture of beeffat and dripping; and so on,

When the girls were respectively seventeen and thirteen, Waitstill had begged a small plot of ground for them

to use as they liked, and beginning at that time they had gradually made a little garden, with a couple of fruit

trees and a thicket of red, white, and black currants raspberry and blackberry bushes. For several summers

now they had sold enough of their own fruit to buy a pair of shoes or gloves, a scarf or a hat, but even this

tiny income was beginning to be menaced. The Deacon positively suffered as he looked at that odd corner of

earth, not any bigger than his barn floor, and saw what his girls had done with no tools but a spade and a hoe

and no help but their own hands. He had no leisure (so he growled) to cultivate and fertilize ground for small

fruits, and no money to pay a man to do it, yet here was food grown under his very eye, and it did not belong

to him! The girls worked in their garden chiefly at sunrise in spring and early summer, or after supper in the

evening; all the same Waitstill had been told by her father the day before that she was not only using ground,

but time, that belonged to him, and that he should expect her to provide "piefilling" out of her garden patch

during haying, to help satisfy the ravenous appetites of that couple of "great, gorming, greedy lubbers" that he

was hiring this year. He had stopped the peeling of potatoes before boiling because he disapproved of the

thickness of the parings he found in the pig's pail, and he stood over Patty at her work in the kitchen until

Coming in from the shed one morning she met her father just issuing from the kitchen where Patty was

standing like a young Fury in front of the sink. "Father's been spying at the eggshells I settled the coffee with,

and said I'd no business to leave so much good in the shell when I broke an egg. I will not bear it; he makes

me feel fairly murderous! You'd better not leave me alone with him when I'm like this. Oh! I know that I'm

Patty's heart had been set on earning and saving enough pennies for a white muslin dress and every day

rendered the prospect more uncertain; this was a sufficient grievance in itself to keep her temper at the

boiling point had there not been various other contributory causes. Waitstill's patience was flagging a trifle,

too, under the stress of the hot days and the still hotter, breathless nights. The suspicion crossed her mind now

and then that her father's miserliness and fits of temper might be caused by a mental malady over which he

now had little or no control, having never mastered himself in all his life. Her power of endurance would be

greater, she thought, if only she could be certain that this theory was true, though her slavery would be just as

It would be so easy for her to go away and earn a living; she who had never had a day of illness in her life;

she who could sew, knit, spin, weave, and cook. She could make enough money in Biddeford or Portsmouth

to support herself, and Patty, too, until the proper work was found for both. But there would be a truly terrible

conflict of wills, and such fierce arraignment of her unfilial conduct, such bitter and caustic argument from

her father, such disapproval from the parson and the neighbors, that her very soul shrank from the prospect. If

she could go alone, and have no responsibility over Patty's future, that would be a little more possible, but she

And how could she leave Ivory when there might perhaps come a crisis in his life where she could be useful

to him? How could she cut herself off from those Sundays in the choir, those dear fugitive glimpses of him in

the road or at prayermeeting? They were only sips of happiness, where her thirsty heart yearned for long,

deep draughts, but they were immeasurably better than nothing. Freedom from her father's heavy yoke,

freedom to work, and read, and sing, and study, and grow,oh! how she longed for this, but at what a cost

would she gain it if she had to harbor the guilty conscience of an undutiful and rebellious daughter, and at the

same time cut herself off from the sight of the one being she loved best in all the world.

She felt drawn towards Ivory's mother today. Three weeks had passed since her talk with Ivory in the

churchyard, but there had been no possibility of an hour's escape from home. She was at liberty this

afternoonrelatively at liberty; for although her work, as usual, was laid out for her, it could be made up

somehow or other before nightfall. She could drive over to the Boynton's place, hitch her horse in the woods

near the house, make her visit, yet be in plenty of time to go up to the river field and bring her father home to

supper. Patty was over at Mrs. Abel Day's, learning a new crochet stitch and helping her to start a logcabin

quilt. Ivory and Rodman, she new, were both away in the Wilson hayfield; no time would ever be more

favorable; so instead of driving up TownHouse Hill when she returned to the village she kept on over the

UNCLE BART and Cephas were taking their nooning hour under the Nodhead apple tree as Waitstill passed

"Uncle Bart might somehow guess where I am going," she thought, "but even if he did he would never tell

"Where's Waitstill bound this afternoon, I wonder?" drawled Cephas, rising to his feet and looking after the

departing team. "That reminds me, I'd better run up to Baxter's and see if anything's wanted before I open

"If it makes any dif'rence," said his father dryly, as he filled his pipe, "Patty's over to Mis' Day's spendin' the

afternoon. Don't s'pose you want to call on the pig, do you? He's the only one to home."

Cephas made no remark, but gave his trousers a hitch, picked up a chip, opened his jackknife, and sitting

"I kind o' wish you'd let me make the new ell twostory, father; 't wouldn't be much work, take it in slack

"Land o' Liberty! What do you want to do that for, Cephas? You 'bout pestered the life out o' me gittin' me to

build the ell in the first place, when we didn't need it no more'n a toad does a pocketbook. Then nothin' would

do but you must paint it, though I shan't be able to have the main house painted for another year, so the old

wine an' the new bottle side by side looks like the Old Driver, an' makes us a laughin'stock to the

village;and now you want to change the thing into a twostory! Never heerd such a crazy idee in my life."

"Well, settle; I'm willin'! I told you that, afore you painted the ell. Ain't two rooms, fourteen by fourteen,

enough for you to settle down in? If they ain't, I guess your mother'd give you one o' the chambers in the

"She would if I married Phoebe Day, but I don't want to marry Phoebe," argued Cephas. "And mother's gone

and made a summer kitchen for herself out in the ell, a'ready. I bet yer she'll never move out if I should want

"I told you you was takin' that risk when you cut a door through from the main part," said his father genially.

"If you hadn't done that, your mother would 'a' had to gone round outside to git int' the ell and mebbe she'd 'a'

stayed to home when it stormed, anyhow. Now your wife'11 have her troopin' in an' out, in an' out, the whole

"I only cut the door through to please so't she'd favor my gittin' married, but I guess 't won't do no good. You

see, father, what I was thinkin' of is, a girl would mebbe jump at a twostory, fourroomed ell when she

"Pends upon whether the girl's the jumpin' kind or not! Hadn't you better git everything fixed up with the one

you've picked out, afore you take your good savin's and go to buildin' a bigger place for her?"

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

"No kind of an idee," responded his father, with a quizzical wink that was lost on the young man, as his eyes

"I ain't goin' to let folks know who I've picked out till I git a little mite forrarder," responded Cephas craftily.

"Certain it is, my son. I never heerd there was any special limit to the number o' times you could ask 'em, and

their power o' sayin' 'No' is like the mercy of the Lord; it endureth forever. You wouldn't consider a

"I hain't put my good savin's into an ell jest to marry a comp'nykeeper for mother," responded Cephas

huffily. "I want to be number one with my girl and start right in on trainin' her up to suit me."

"Well, if trainin' 's your object you'd better take my advice an' keep it dark before marriage, Cephas. It's

astonishin' how the female sect despises bein' trained; it don't hardly seem to be in their nature to make any

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

"Let them do the training responded his father, peacefully puffing out the words with his pipe between his

lips. "Some of 'em's mild and gentle in discipline, like Parson Boone's wife or Mis' Timothy Grant, and others

is strict and firm like your mother and Mis' Abel Day. If you happen to git the first kind, why, do as they tell

you, and thank the Lord 't ain't any worse. If you git the second kind, jest let 'em put the blinders on you and

trot as straight as you know how, without shying nor kickin' over the traces, nor bolting 'cause they've got

control o' the bit and 't ain't no use fightin' ag'in' their superior strength.So fur as you can judge, in the early

stages o' the game, my son,which ain't very fur,which kind have you picked out?"

Cephas whittled on for some moments without a word, but finally, with a sigh drawn from the very toes of

"She's awful spunky, the girl is, anybody can see that; but she's a young thing, and I thought bein' married

"You can see how much marriage has tamed your mother down," observed Uncle Bart dispassionately;

"howsomever, though your mother can't be called tame, she's got her good p'ints, for she's always to be

counted on. The great thing in life, as I take it, Cephas, is to know exactly what to expect. Your mother's

gen'ally credited with an onsartin temper, but folks does her great injustice in so thinking for in a long

experience I've seldom come across a temper less onsartin than your mother's. You know exactly where to

find her every mornin' at sunup and every night at sundown. There ain't nothin' you can do to put her out o'

temper, cause she's all out aforehand. You can jest go about your reg'lar business 'thout any fear of disturbin'

her any further than she's disturbed a'ready, which is consid'rable. I don't mind it a mite nowadays, though,

after forty years of it. It would kind o' gall me to keep a stiddy watch of a female's disposition day by day,

wonderin' when she was goin' to have a tantrum. A tantrum once a year's an awful upsettin' kind of a thing in

a family, my son, but a tantrum every twentyfour hours is jest part o' the day's work." There was a moment's

silence during which Uncle Bart puffed his pipe and Cephas whittled, after which the old man continued:

"Then, if you happen to marry a temper like your mother's, Cephas, look what a pow'ful worker you gen'ally

get! Look at the way they sweep an' dust an' scrub an' clean! Watch 'em when they go at the dishwashin', an'

how they whack the rollin'pin, an' maul the eggs, an' heave the wood int' the stove, an' slat the flies out o' the

house! The mild and gentle ones enough, will be settin' in the kitchen rocker readin' the almanac when there

ain't no wood in the kitchen box, no doughnuts in the crock, no pies on the swing shelf in the cellar, an' the

Cephas's mind was far away during this philosophical dissertation on the ways of women. He could see only

a sunny head fairly rioting with curls; a pair of eyes that held his like magnets, although they never gave him

a glance of love; a smile that lighted the world far better than the sun; a dimple into which his heart fell

"You're right, father; 'tain't no use kickin' ag'in 'em," he said as he rose to his feet preparatory to opening the

Baxter store. "When I said that 'bout trainin' up a girl to suit me, I kind o' forgot the one I've picked out. I'm

considerin' several, but the one I favor mostwell, I believe she'd fire up at the first sight o' training and that's

"Considerin' several, be you, Cephas?" laughed Uncle Bart. "Well, all I hope is, that the one you favor

Cephas went to the pump, and wetting a large handkerchief put it in the crown of his straw hat and sauntered

out into the burning heat of the open road between his father's shop and Deacon Baxter's store.

"I shan't ask her the next time till this hot spell's over," he thought, "and I won't do it in that dodgasted old

store ag'in, neither; I ain't so tonguetied outdoors an' I kind o' think I'd be more in the sperit of it after

WAITSTILL found a cool and shady place in which to hitch the old mare, loosening her checkrein and

putting a sprig of alder in her headstall to assist her in brushing off the flies.

One could reach the Boynton house only by going up a long grassgrown lane that led from the highroad. It

was a lonely place, and Aaron Boynton had bought it when he moved from Saco, simply because he secured

it at a remarkable bargain, the owner having lost his wife and gone to live in Massachusetts. Ivory would

have sold it long ago had circumstances been different, for it was at too great a distance from the schoolhouse

and from Lawyer Wilson's office to be at all convenient, but he dreaded to remove his mother from the

environment to which she was accustomed, and doubted very much whether she would be able to care for a

house to which she had not been wonted before her mind became affected. Here in this safe, secluded corner,

amid familiar and thoroughly known conditions, she moved placidly about her daily tasks, performing them

with the same care and precision that she had used from the beginning of her married life. All the heavy work

was done for her by Ivory and Rodman; the boy in particular being the fleetestfooted, the most willing, and

the neatest of helpers; washing dishes, sweeping and dusting, laying the table, as deftly and quietly as a girl.

Mrs. Boynton made her own simple dresses of gray calico in summer, or dark linseywoolsey in winter by

the same pattern that she had used when she first came to Edgewood: in fact there were positively no external

changes anywhere to be seen, tragic and terrible as had been those that had wrought havoc in her mind.

Waitstill's heart beat faster as she neared the Boynton house. She had never so much as seen Ivory's mother

for years. How would she be met? Who would begin the conversation, and what direction would it take?

What if Mrs. Boynton should refuse to talk to her at all? She walked slowly along the lane until she saw a

slender, grayclad figure stooping over a flowerbed in front of the cottage. The woman raised her head with

a fawnlike gesture that had something in it of timidity rather than fear, picked some loose bits of green from

the ground, and, quietly turning her back upon the on coming stranger, disappeared through the open front

There could be no retreat on her own part now, thought Waitstill. She wished for a moment that she had made

this first visit under Ivory's protection, but her idea had been to gain Mrs. Boynton's confidence and have a

quiet friendly talk, such a one as would be impossible in the presence of a third person. Approaching the

steps, she called through the doorway in her clear voice: "Ivory asked me to come and see you one day, Mrs.

Boynton. I am Waitstill Baxter, the little girl on Town House Hill that you used to know."

Mrs. Boynton came from an inner room and stood on the threshold. The name "Waitstill" had always had a

charm for her ears, from the time she first heard it years ago, until it fell from Ivory's lips this summer; and

"We've known each other for ever so long; ever since we went to the brick school together when we were girl

and boy. And when I was a child my stepmother brought me over here once on an errand and Ivory showed

Mrs. Boynton smiled "Come and look!" she whispered. "There is always a hummingbird's nest in our lilac.

The two women approached the bush and Mrs. Boynton carefully parted the leaves to show the dainty morsel

of a home thatched with soft graygreen and lined with down. "The birds have flown now," she said. "They

Her voice was faint and sweet, as if it came from far away, and her eyes looked, not as if they were seeing

you, but seeing something through you. Her pale hair was turned back from her paler face, where the veins

showed like blue rivers, and her smile was like the flitting of a moonbeam. She was standing very close to

Waitstill, closer than she had been to any woman for many years, and she studied her a little, wistfully, yet

courteously, as if her attention was attracted by something fresh and winning. She looked at the color, ebbing

and flowing in the girl's cheeks; at her brows and lashes; at her neck, as white as swan'sdown; and finally

put out her hand with a sudden impulse and touched the knot of wavy bronze hair under the brimmed hat.

"I had a daughter once," she said. "My second baby was a girl, but she lived only a few weeks. I need her

very much, for I am a great care to Ivory. He is son and daughter both, now that Mr. Boynton is away from

home.You did not see any one in the road as you turned in from the bars, I suppose?"

"No," answered Waitstill, surprised and confused, "but I didn't really notice; I was thinking of a cool place for

"I sit out here in these warm afternoons," Mrs. Boynton continued, shading her eyes and looking across the

fields, "because I can see so far down the lane. I have the suppertable set for my husband already, and there

is a surprise for him, a saucer of wild strawberries I picked for him this morning. If he does not come, I

always take away the plate and cup before Ivory gets here; it seems to make him unhappy."

"He doesn't like it when you are disappointed, I suppose," Waitstill ventured. "I have brought my knitting,

Mrs. Boynton, so that I needn't keep you idle if you wish to work. May I sit down a few minutes? And here is

a cottage cheese for Ivory and Rodman, and a jar of plums for you, preserved from my own garden."

Mrs. Boynton's eyes searched the face of this visitor from a world she had almost forgotten and finding

nothing but tenderness there, said with just a trace of bewilderment: "Thank you yes, do sit down; my

workbasket is just inside the door. Take that rockingchair; I don't have another one out here because I have

"I hope I am not intruding," stammered Waitstill, seating herself and beginning her knitting, to see if it would

"Not at all. I always loved young and beautiful people, and so did my husband. If he comes while you are

here, do not go away, but sit with him while I get his supper. If Elder Cochrane should be with him, you

would see two wonderful men. They went away together to do some missionary work in Maine and New

Hampshire and perhaps they will come back together. I do not welcome callers because they always ask so

"Not that I should mind answering them," continued Ivory's mother, "except that it tires my head very much

to think. You must not imagine I am ill; it is only that I have a very bad memory, and when people ask me to

remember something, or to give an answer quickly, it confuses me the more. Even now I have forgotten why

"Ivory thought you might be lonely, and I wanted so much to know you that I could not keep away any

longer, for I am lonely and unhappy too. I am always watching and hoping for what has never come yet. I

have no mother, you have lost your daughter; I thoughtI thoughtperhaps we could be a comfort to each

other!" And Waitstill rose from her chair and put out her hand to help Mrs. Boynton down the steps, she

looked so frail, so transparent, so prematurely aged. "I could not come very oftenbut if I could only smooth

your hair sometimes when your head aches, or do some cooking for you, or read to you, or any little thing

Waitstill stood a head higher than Ivory's mother and the glowing health of her, the steadiness of her voice,

the warmth of her handclasp must have made her seem like a strong refuge to this stormtossed derelict.

The deep furrow between Lois Boynton's eyes relaxed a trifle, the blood in her veins ran a little more swiftly

under the touch of the young hand that held hers so closely. Suddenly a light came into her face and her lip

"Perhaps I have been remembering wrong all these years," she said. "It is my great trouble, remembering

wrong. Perhaps my baby did not die as I thought; perhaps she lived and grew up; perhaps" (her pale cheek

Waitstill could not speak; she put her arm round the trembling figure, holding her as she was wont to hold

Patty, and with the same protective instinct. The embrace was electric in its effect and set altogether new

currents of emotion in circulation. Something in Lois Boynton's perturbed mind seemed to beat its wings

against the barriers that had heretofore opposed it, and, freeing itself, mounted into clearer air and went

singing to the sky. She rested her cheek on the girl's breast with a little sob. "Oh! let me go on remembering

wrong," she sighed, from that safe shelter." Let me go on remembering wrong! It makes me so happy!"

Waitstill gently led her to the rockingchair and sat down beside her on the lowest step, stroking her thin

hand. Mrs. Boynton's eyes were closed, her breath came and went quickly, but presently she began to speak

"There is something troubling me," she began, "and it would ease my mind if I could tell it to some one who

could help. Your hand is so warm and so firm! Oh, hold mine closely and let me draw in strength as long as

you can spare it; it is flowing, flowing from your hand into mine, flowing like wine. . . . My thoughts at night

are not like my thoughts by day, these last weeks. . . . I wake suddenly and feel that my husband has been

away a long time and will never come back. . . . Often, at night, too, I am in sore trouble about something

else, something I have never told Ivory, the first thing I have ever hidden from my dear son, but I think I

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

"Ivory says Rodman is the child of my dead sister. Some one must have told him so; could it have been I? It

haunts me day and night, for unless I am remembering wrong again, I never had a sister. I can call to mind

"You went to New Hampshire one winter," Waitstill reminded her gently, as if she were talking to a child. "It

was bitter cold for you to take such a hard journey. Your sister died, and you brought her little boy, Rodman,

back, but you were so ill that a stranger had to take care of you on the stagecoach and drive you to

Edgewood next day in his own sleigh. It is no wonder you have forgotten something of what happened, for

Dr. Perry hardly brought you through the brain fever that followed that journey."

"I seem to think, now, that it is not so!" said Mrs. Boynton, opening her eyes and looking at Waitstill

despairingly. "I must grope and grope in the dark until I find out what is true, and then tell Ivory. God will

"He will never punish you if your tired mind remembers wrong," said Waitstill. "He knows, none better, how

you have tried to find Him and hold Him, through many a tangled path. I will come as often as I can and we

"If you will only come now and then and hold my hand," said Ivory's mother,"hold my hand so that your

strength will flow into my weakness, perhaps I shall puzzle it all out, and God will help me to remember right

"Everything that I have power to give away shall be given to you," promised Waitstill. " Now that I know

you, and you trust me, you shall never be left so alone again,not for long, at any rate. When I stay away

"Yes, I shall think of you till I see you again I shall watch the long lane more than ever now. Ivory sometimes

takes the path across the fields but my dear husband will come by the old road, and now there will be you to

AT the Baxters the late supper was over and the girls had not sat at the table with their father, having eaten

earlier, by themselves. The hired men had gone home to sleep. Patty had retired to the solitude of her

bedroom almost at dusk, quite worn out with the heat, and Waitstill sat under the peach tree in the corner of

her own little garden, tatting, and thinking of her interview with Ivory's mother. She sat there until nearly

eight o'clock, trying vainly to put together the puzzling details of Lois Boynton's conversation, wondering

whether the perplexities that vexed her mind were real or fancied, but warmed to the heart by the affection

that the older woman seemed instinctively to feel for her. "She did not know me, yet she cared for me at

once," thought Waitstill tenderly and proudly; "and I for her, too, at the first glance."

She heard her father lock the barn and shed and knew that he would be going upstairs immediately, so she

quickly went through the side yard and lifted the latch of the kitchen door. It was fastened. She went to the

front door and that, too, was bolted, although it had been standing open all the evening, so that if a breeze

should spring up, it might blow through the house. Her father supposed, of course, that she was in bed, and

she dreaded to bring him downstairs for fear of his anger; still there was no help for it and she rapped smartly

at the side door. There was no answer and she rapped again, vexed with her own carelessness. Patty's face

appeared promptly behind her screen of mosquito netting in the second story, but before she could exchange

a word with her sister, Deacon Baxter opened the blinds of his bedroom window and put his head out.

"You can try sleepin' outdoors, or in the barn tonight," he called. "I didn't say anything to you at

suppertime because I wanted to see where you was intendin' to prowl this evenin'."

"I haven't been 'prowling' anywhere, father," answered Waitstill; "I've been out in the garden cooling off; it's

"Well, you can cool off some more," he shouted, his temper now fully aroused; "or go back where you was

this afternoon and see if they'll take you in there! I know all about your deceitful tricks! I come home to grind

the scythes and found the house and barn empty Cephas said you'd driven up Saco Hill and I took his horse

and followed you and saw where you went Long's you couldn't have a feller callin' on you here to home, you

"I am nothing of the sort," the girl answered him quietly; "Ivory Boynton was not at his house, he was in the

hayfield. You know it, and you know that I knew it. I went to see a sick, unhappy woman who has no

neighbors. I ought to have gone long before. I am not ashamed of it, and I don't regret it. If you ask

"Must expect to be disobeyed, must I?" the old man cried, his face positively terrifying in its ugliness. "We'll

see about that! If you wa'n't callin' on a young man, you were callin' on a crazy woman, and I won't have it, I

tell you, do you hear? I won't have a daughter o' mine consortin' with any o' that Boynton crew. Perhaps a

night outdoors will teach you who's master in this house, you imperdent, shameless girl! We'11 try it,

anyway!" And with that he banged down the window and disappeared, gibbering and jabbering impotent

Waitstill was almost stunned by the suddenness of this catastrophe. She stood with her feet rooted to the earth

for several minutes and then walked slowly away out of sight of the house. There was a chair beside the

grindstone under the Porter apple tree and she sank into it, crossed her arms on the back, and bowing her head

on them, burst into a fit of weeping as tempestuous and passionate as it was silent, for although her body

The minutes passed, perhaps an hour; she did not take account of time. The moon went behind clouds, the

night grew misty and the stars faded one by one. There would be rain tomorrow and there was a great deal

Meanwhile Patty upstairs was in a state of suppressed excitement and terror. It was a quarter of an hour

before her father settled himself in bed; then an age, it seemed to her, before she heard his heavy breathing.

When she thought it quite safe, she slipped on a print wrapper, took her shoes in her hand, and crept

noiselessly downstairs, out through the kitchen and into the shed. Lifting the heavy bar that held the big doors

in place she closed them softly behind her, stepped out, and looked about her in the darkness. Her quick eye

espied in the distance, near the barn, the bowed figure in the chair, and she flew through the wet grass without

a thought of her bare feet till she reached her sister's side and held her in a close embrace.

"My darling, my own, own, poor darling!" she cried softly, the tears running down her cheeks. "How wicked,

how unjust to serve my dearest sister so! Don't cry, my blessing, don't cry; you frighten me! I'11 take care of

you, dear! Next time I'll interfere; I'll scratch and bite; yes, I'll strangle anybody that dares to shame you and

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

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

"No, you must go back to the house at once, Patty dear; father might wake and call you, and that would make

matters worse. It's beginning to drizzle, or I should stay out in the air. Oh! I wonder if father's mind is going,

and if this is the beginning of the end! If he is in his sober senses, he could not be so strange, so suspicious,

"He could be anything, say anything, do anything," exclaimed Patty. "Perhaps he is not responsible and

perhaps he is; it doesn't make much difference to us. Come along, blessed darling! I'll tuck you in, and then

I'll creep back to the house, if you say I must. I'll go down and make the kitchen fire in the morning; you stay

out here and see what happens. A good deal will happen, I'm thinking, if father speaks to me of you! I

shouldn't be surprised to see the fur flying in all directions; I'll seize the first moment to bring you out a cup

of coffee and we'll consult about what to do. I may tell you now, I'm all for running away!"

Waitstill's first burst of wretchedness had subsided and she had recovered her balance. "I'm afraid we must

wait a little longer, Patty," she advised. "Don't mention my name to father, but see how he acts in the

morning. He was so wild, so unlike himself, that I almost hope he may forget what he said and sleep it off.

"No doubt he'll be far calmer in the morning if he remembers that, if he turns you out, he faces the prospect

of three meals a day cooked by me," said Patty. "That's what he thinks he would face, but as a matter of fact I

shall tell him that where you sleep I sleep, and where you eat I eat, and when you stop cooking I stop! He

won't part with two unpaid servants in a hurry, not at the beginning of haying." And Patty, giving Waitstill a

last hug and a dozen tearful kisses, stole reluctantly back to the house by the same route through which he

Patty was right. She found the fire lighted when she went down into the kitchen next morning, and without a

word she hurried breakfast on to the table as fast as she could cook and serve it. Waitstill was safe in the barn

chamber, she knew, and would be there quietly while her father was feeding the horse and milking the cows;

or perhaps she might go up in the woods and wait until she saw him driving away.

The Deacon ate his breakfast in silence, looking and acting very much as usual, for he was generally dumb at

meals. When he left the house, however, and climbed into the wagon, he turned around and said in his

ordinary gruff manner: "Bring the lunch up to the field yourself today, Patience. Tell your sister I hope she's

come to her senses in the course of the night. You've got to learn, both of you, that my 'sayso' must be law

in this house. You can fuss and you can fume, if it amuses you any, but 't won't do no good. Don't encourage

Waitstill in any whinin' nor blubberin'. Jest tell her to come in and go to work and I'11 overlook what she

done this time. And don't you give me any more of your eyesnappin' and lippoutin' and headintheair

You're under age, and if you don't look out, you'll get something that's good for what ails you! You two girls

jest aid an' abet one another that's what you do, aid an' abet one another, an if you carry it any further I'll find

Patty spoke never a word, nor fluttered an eyelash. She had a proper spirit, but now her heart was cold with a

new fear, and she felt, with Waitstill, that her father must be obeyed and his temper kept within bounds, until

She ran out to the barn chamber and, not finding Waitstill, looked across the field and saw her coming

through the path from the woods. Patty waved her hand, and ran to meet her sister, joy at the mere fact of her

existence, of being able to see her again, and of hearing her dear voice, almost choking her in its intensity.

When they reached the house she helped her upstairs as if she were a child, brought her cool water to wash

away the dust of the haymow, laid out some clean clothes for her, and finally put her on the lounge in the

"I won't let anybody come near the house," she said, "and you must have a cup of tea and a good sleep before

I tell you all that father said. Just comfort yourself with the thought that he is going to 'overlook it' this time!

After I carry up his luncheon, I shall stop at the store and ask Cephas to come out on the river bank for a few

minutes. Then I shall proceed to say what I think of him for telling father where you went yesterday

"Don't blame Cephas!" Waitstill remonstrated. "Can't you see just how it happened? He and Uncle Bart were

sitting in front of the shop when I drove by. When father came home and found the house empty and the

horse not in the stall, of course he asked where I was, and Cephas probably said he had seen me drive up

"If he had any sense he might know that he shouldn't tell anything to father except what happens in the store,"

Patty insisted. "Were you frightened out in the barn alone last night, poor dear?"

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

"I didn't like it very much, myself! I buttoned my bedroom door and sat by the window all night, shivering

and bristling at the least sound. Everybody calls me a coward, but I'm not! Courage isn't not being frightened;

it's not screeching when you are frightened. Now, what happened at the Boyntons'?"

"Patty, Ivory's mother is the most pathetic creature I ever saw!" And Waitstill sat up on the sofa, her long

braids of hair hanging over her shoulders, her pale face showing the traces of her heavy weeping. "I never

pitied any one so much in my whole life! To go up that long, long lane; to come upon that dreary house

hidden away in the trees; to feel the loneliness and the silence; and then to know that she is living there like a

hermitthrush in a forest, without a woman to care for her, it is heartbreaking!"

"No: everything is as neat as wax. She isn't 'crazy,' Patty, as we understand the word. Her mind is beclouded

somehow and it almost seems as if the cloud might lift at any moment. She goes about like somebody in a

dream, sewing or knitting or cooking. It is only when she talks, and you notice that her eyes really see

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

"Callers make her unhappy, she says, and Ivory told me that he dared not encourage any company in the

house for fear of exciting her, and making her an object of gossip, besides. He knows her ways perfectly and

that she is safe and content with her fancies when she is alone, which is seldom, after all."

"Her husband mostly. She is expecting him to come back daily. We knew that before, of course, but no one

can realize it till they see her setting the table for him and putting a saucer of wild strawberries by his plate;

"It gives me the shudders!" said Patty. "I couldn't bear it! If she never sees strangers, what in the world did

"I told her I had known Ivory ever since we were school children. She was rather strange and indifferent at

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

"She told me she had had a girl baby, born two or three years after Ivory, and that she had always thought it

"No, not in the least. Neither would you have been if you had been there. She put her arms round me and all

at once I understood that the poor thing mistook me just for a moment for her own daughter come back to

life. It was a sudden fancy and I don't think it lasted, but I didn't know how to deal with it, or contradict it, so

I simply tried to soothe her and let her ease her heart by talking to me. She said when I left her: 'Where is

your house? I hope it is near! Do come again and sit with me. Strength flows into my weakness when you

hold my hand!' I somehow feel, Patty, that she needs a woman friend even more than a doctor. And now,

what am I to do? How can I forsake her; and yet here is this new difficulty with father?"

"I shouldn't forsake her; go there when you can, but be more careful about it. You told father that you didn't

regret what you had done, and that when he ordered you to do unreasonable things, you should disobey him.

After all, you are not a black slave. Father will never think of that particular thing again, perhaps, any more

than he ever alluded to my driving to Saco with Mrs. Day after you had told him it was necessary for one of

us to go there occasionally. He knows that if he is too hard on us, Dr. Perry or Uncle Bart would take him in

hand. They would have done it long ago if we had ever given any one even a hint of what we have to endure.

You will be all right, because you only want to do kind, neighborly things. I am the one that will always have

to suffer, because I can't prove that it's a Christian duty to deceive father and steal off to a dance or a frolic.

Yet I might as well be a nun in a convent for all the fun I get! I want a white bookmuslin dress; I want a pair

of thin shoes with buckles; I want a white hat with a wreath of yellow roses; I want a volume of Byron's

poems; and oh! nobody knowsnobody but the Lord could understandhow I want a string of gold beads."

"Patty, Patty! To hear you chatter anybody would imagine you thought of nothing but frivolities. I wish you

wouldn't do yourself such injustice; even when nobody hears you but me, it is wrong."

"Sometimes when you think I'm talking nonsense it's really the gospel truth," said Patty. "I'm not a grand,

splendid character, Waitstill, and it's no use your deceiving yourself about me; if you do, you'll be

"Go and parboil the beans and get them into the pot, Patty. Pick up some of the windfalls and make a

greenapple pie, and I'll be with you in the kitchen myself before long. I never expect to be disappointed in

"I thought I'd begin making some soft soap today," said Patty mischievously, as she left the room. "We have

enough grease saved up. We don't really need it yet, but it makes such a disgusting smell that I'd rather like

father to have it with his dinner. It's not much of a punishment for our sleepless night."

HAYING was over, and the close, sticky dogdays, too, and August was slipping into September. There had

been plenty of rain all the season and the countryside was looking as fresh and green as an emerald. The

How they gleamed in the meadow grasses and along the brooksides like brilliant flecks of flame, giving a

new beauty to the nosegays that Waitstill carried or sent to Mrs. Boynton every week.

To the eye of the casual observer, life in the two little villages by the river's brink went on as peacefully as

ever, but there were subtle changes taking place nevertheless. Cephas Cole had "asked" the second time and

again had been refused by Patty, so that even a very idiot for hopefulness could not urge his father to put

"If it turns out to be Phoebe Day," thought Cephas dolefully, "two rooms is plenty good enough, an' I shan't

block up the door that leads from the main part, neither, as I thought likely I should. If so be it's got to be

Phoebe, not Patty, I shan't care whether mother troops out 'n' in or not." And Cephas dealt out rice and tea and

coffee with so languid an air, and made such frequent mistakes in weighing the sugar, that he drew upon

"Of course I'd club him over the head with a salt fish twice a day under ord'nary circumstances," Cephas

confided to his father with a valiant air that he never wore in Deacon Baxter's presence; "but I've got a reason,

known to nobody but myself, for wantin' to stan' well with the old man for a spell longer. If ever I quit

"Speakin' o' standin' well with folks, Phil Perry's kind o' makin' up to Patience Baxter, ain't he, Cephas?"

asked Uncle Bart guardedly. "Mebbe you wouldn't notice it, hevin' no partic'lar int'rest, but your mother's

"I guess it's so!" Cephas responded gloomily. "It's nip an' tuck 'tween him an' Mark Wilson.

That girl draws 'em as molasses does flies! She does it 'thout liftin' a finger, too, no more 'n the molasses

does. She just sets still an' IS! An' all the time she's nothin' but a flighty little redheaded spitfire that don't

know a good husband when she sees one. The feller that gits her will live to regret it, that's my opinion! "And

Cephas thought to himself: "Good Lord, don't I wish I was regrettin' it this very minute!"

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

"I never could take any fancy to that tow hair o' hern! I like the color well enough when I'm peeling it off a

corn cob, but I don't like it on a girl's head," objected Cephas hypercritically. "An' her eyes hain't got enough

blue in 'em to be blue: they're jest like skimmilk. An' she keeps her mouth open a little mite all the time, jest

as if there wa'n't no good draught through, an' she was atryin' to git air. An' 't was me that begun callin' her

'Feeble Phoebe in school, an' the scholars'll never forgit it; they'd throw it up to me the whole 'durin' time if I

"Mebbe they've forgot by this time," Uncle Bart responded hopefully; "though 't is an awful resk when you

think o' Companion Pike! Samuel he was baptized and Samuel he continued to be, "till he married the Widder

Bixby from Waterboro. Bein' as how there wa'n't nothin' partic'ly attractive 'bout him,though he was as

nice a feller as ever lived,somebody asked her why she married him, an' she said her cat hed jest died an'

she wanted a companion. The boys never let go o' that story! Samuel Pike he ceased to be thirty year ago, an'

"He ain't lived up to his name much," remarked Cephas. "He's to home for his meals, but I guess his wife

"If the cat hed lived mebbe she'd 'a' been better comp'ny on the whole," chuckled Uncle Bart. "Companion

was allers kind o' dreamy an' absentminded from a boy. I remember askin' him what his wife's Christian

name was (she bein' a stranger to Riverboro) an' he said he didn't know! Said he called her Mis' Bixby afore

"Well, there 's something turrible queer 'bout this marryin' business," and Cephas drew a sigh from the heels

of his boots. "It seems's if a man hedn't no natcheral drawin' towards a girl with a good farm 'n' stock that was

willin' to have him! Seems jest as if it set him ag'in' her somehow! And yet, if you've got to sing out o' the

same book with a girl your whole lifetime, it does seem's if you'd ought to have a kind of a fancy for her at

"You may feel dif'rent as time goes on, Cephas, an' come to see FeebleI would say Phoebeas your

mother does. 'The best fire don't flare up the soonest,' you know." But old Uncle Bart saw that his son's heart

Annabel Franklin had returned to Boston after a month's visit and to her surprise had returned as disengaged

as she came. Mark Wilson, thoroughly bored by her vacuities of mind, longed now for more intercourse with

Patty Baxter, Patty, so gay and unexpected; so lively to talk with, so piquing to the fancy, so skittish and

difficult to manage, so temptingly pretty, with a beauty all her own, and never two days alike.

There were many lions in the way and these only added to the zest of pursuit. With all the other girls of the

village opportunities multiplied, but he could scarcely get ten minutes alone with Patty. The Deacon's orders

were absolute in regard to young men. His daughters were never to drive or walk alone with them, never go

to dances or "routs" of any sort, and never receive them at the house; this last mandate being quite

unnecessary, as no youth in his right mind would have gone acourtin' under the Deacon's forbidding gaze.

And still there were sudden, delicious chances to be seized now and then if one had his eyes open and his

wits about him. There was the walk to or from the singingschool, when a sentimental couple could drop a

few feet, at least, behind the rest and exchange a word or two in comparative privacy; there were the church

"circles" and prayermeetings, and the intervals between Sunday services when Mark could detach Patty a

moment from the group on the meetinghouse steps. More valuable than all these, a complete schedule of

Patty's various movements here and there, together with a profound study of Deacon Baxter's habits, which

were ordinarily as punctual as they were disagreeable, permitted Mark many stolen interviews, as sweet as

they were brief. There was never a second kiss, however, in these casual meetings and partings. The first, in

springtime, had found Patty a child, surprised, unprepared. She was a woman now; for it does not take years

to achieve that miracle; months will do it, or days, or even hours. Her summer's experience with Cephas Cole

had wonderfully broadened her powers, giving her an assurance sadly lacking before, as well as a knowledge

of detail, a certain finished skill in the management of a lover, which she could ably use on any one who

happened to come along. And, at the moment, any one who happened to come along served the purpose

Young Perry's interest in Patty, as we have seen, began with his alienation from Ellen Wilson, the first object

of his affections, and it was not at the outset at all of a sentimental nature. Philip was a pillar of the church,

and Ellen had proved so entirely lacking in the religious sense, so selfsatisfied as to her standing with the

heavenly powers, that Philip dared not expose himself longer to her society, lest he find himself "unequally

yoked together with an unbeliever," thus defying the scriptural admonition as to marriage.

Patty, though somewhat lacking in the qualities that go to the making of trustworthy saints, was not, like

Ellen, wholly given over to the fleshpots and would prove a valuable convert, Philip thought; one who would

reflect great credit upon him if he succeeded in inducing her to subscribe to the stern creed of the day.

Philip was a very strenuous and slightly gloomy believer, dwelling considerably on the wrath of God and the

doctrine of eternal punishment. There was an old "pennyroyal" hymn much in use which describes the

(No wonder that Jacob Cochrane's lively songs, cheerful, hopeful, militant, and bracing, fell with a pleasing

sound upon the ear of the believer of that epoch.) The love of God had, indeed, entered Philip's soul, but in

some mysterious way had been ossified after it got there. He had intensely black hair, dark skin, and a liver

that disposed him constitutionally to an ardent belief in the necessity of hell for most of his neighbors, and the

hope of spending his own glorious immortality in a small, properly restricted, and prudently managed heaven.

He was eloquent at prayermeeting and Patty's only objection to him there was in his disposition to allude to

himself as a "rebel worm," with frequent references to his "vile body." Otherwise, and when not engaged in

theological discussion, Patty liked Philip very much. His own father, although an orthodox member of the

fold in good and regular standing, had "doctored" Phil conscientiously for his liver from his youth up, hoping

in time to incite in him a sunnier view of life, for the doctor was somewhat skilled in adapting his remedies to

spiritual maladies. Jed Morrill had always said that when old Mrs. Buxton, the champion convert of Jacob

Cochrane, was at her worst,keeping her whole family awake nights by her hysterical fears for their

future,Dr. Perry had given her a twelfth of a grain of tartar emetic, five times a day until she had entire

mental relief and her anxiety concerning the salvation of her husband and children was set completely at rest.

The good doctor noted with secret pleasure his son's growing fondness for the society of his prime favorite,

Miss Patience Baxter. "He'll begin by trying to save her soul," he thought; "Phil always begins that way, but

when Patty gets him in hand he'll remember the existence of his heart, an organ he has never taken into

consideration. A love affair with a pretty girl, good but not too pious, will help Phil considerable, however it

There is no doubt but that Phil was taking his chances and that under Patty's tutelage he was growing

mellower. As for Patty, she was only amusing herself, and frisking, like a young lamb, in pastures where she

had never strayed before. Her fancy flew from Mark to Phil and from Phil back to Mark again, for at the

moment she was just a vessel of emotion, ready to empty herself on she knew not what. Temperamentally,

she would take advantage of currents rather than steer at any time, and it would be the strongest current that

would finally bear her away. Her idea had always been that she could play with fire without burning her own

fingers, and that the flames she kindled were so innocent and mild that no one could be harmed by them. She

had fancied, up to now, that she could control, urge on, or cool down a man's feeling forever and a day, if she

chose, and remain mistress of the situation. Now, after some weeks of weighing and balancing her two

swains, she found herself confronting a choice, once and for all. Each of them seemed to be approaching the

state of mind where he was likely to say, somewhat violently: "Take me or leave me, one or the other!" But

she did not wish to take them, and still less did she wish to leave them, with no other lover in sight but

If matters, by lack of masculine patience and selfcontrol, did come to a crisis, what should she say definitely

to either of her suitors? Her father despised Mark Wilson a trifle more than any young man on the river, and

while he could have no objection to Phil Perry's character or position in the world, his hatred of old Dr. Perry

amounted to a disease. When the doctor had closed the eyes of the third Mrs. Baxter, he had made some plain

and unwelcome statements that would rankle in the Deacon's breast as long as he lived. Patty knew, therefore,

that the chance of her father's blessing falling upon her union with either of her present lovers was more than

If Patty's mind inclined to a somewhat speedy departure from her father's household, she can hardly be

blamed, but she felt that she could not carry any of her indecisions and fears to her sister for settlement. Who

could look in Waitstill's clear, steadfast eyes and say: "I can't make up my mind which to marry"? Not Patty.

She felt, instinctively, that Waitstill's heart, if it moved at all, would rush out like a great river to lose itself in

the ocean, and losing itself forget the narrow banks through which it had flowed before. Patty knew that her

own love was at the moment nothing more than the note of a child's penny flute, and that Waitstill was

perhaps vibrating secretly with a deeper, richer music than could ever come to her. Still, music of some sort

she meant to feel. "Even if they make me decide one way or another before I am ready," she said to herself,

There were other reasons why she did not want to ask Waitstill's advice. Not only did she shrink from the

loving scrutiny of her sister's eyes, and the gentle probing of her questions, which would fix her own motives

on a pinpoint and hold them up unbecomingly to the light; but she had a foolish, generous loyalty that urged

"She will only worry herself sick," thought Patty. "She won't let me marry without asking father's permission,

and she'd think she ought not to aid me in deceiving him, and the tempest would be twice as dreadful if it fell

upon us both! Now, if anything happens, I can tell father that I did it all myself and that Waitstill knew

nothing about it whatever. Then, oh, joy! if father is too terrible, I shall be a married woman and I can always

say: 'I will not permit such cruelty! Waitstill is dependent upon you no longer, she shall come at once to my

This latter phrase almost intoxicated Patty, so that there were moments when she could have run up to

Milliken's Mills and purchased herself a husband at any cost, had her slender savinges permitted the best in

the market; and the more impersonal the husband the more delightedly Patty rolled the phrase under her

"I can never be 'published' in church," she thought, "and perhaps nobody will ever care enough about me to

brave father's displeasure and insist on running away with me. I do wish somebody would care 'frightfully'

about me, enough for that; enough to help me make up my mind; so that I could just drive up to father's store

some day and say: 'Good afternoon, father! I knew you'd never let me marry'" (there was always a dash

here, in Patty's imaginary discourses, a dash that could be filled in with any Christian name according to her

mood of the moment)"'so I just married him anyway; and you needn't be angry with my sister, for she knew

nothing about it. My husband and I are sorry if you are displeased, but there's no help for it; and my

Patty, with all her latent love of finery and ease, did not weigh the worldly circumstances of the two men,

though the reflection that she would have more amusement with Mark than with Philip may have crossed her

mind. She trusted Philip, and respected his steadygoing, serious view of life; it pleased her vanity, too, to

feel how her nonsense and fun lightened his temperamental gravity, playing in and out and over it like a

butterfly in a smoke bush. She would be safe with Philip always, but safety had no special charm for one of

her age, who had never been in peril. Mark's superior knowledge of the world, moreover, his careless,

buoyant manner of carrying himself, his gay, boyish audacity, all had a very distinct charm for her;and

But there would be no "and yet" a little later. Patty's heart would blaze quickly enough when sufficient heat

was applied to it, and Mark was falling more and more deeply in love every day. As Patty vacillated, his

purpose strengthened; the more she weighed, the more he ceased to weigh, the difficulties of the situation; the

more she unfolded herself to him, the more he loved and the more he respected her. She began by delighting

his senses; she ended by winning all that there was in him, and creating continually the qualities he lacked,

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

There had been a soft rain in the night and every spear of grass was brilliantly green and tipped with crystal.

The smoke bushes in the garden plot, and the asparagus bed beyond them, looked misty as the sun rose

higher, drying the soaked earth and dripping branches. Spiders' webs, marvels of lace, dotted the short grass

under the apple trees. Every flower that had a fragrance was pouring it gratefully into the air; every bird with

a joyous note in its voice gave it more joyously from a bursting throat; and the river laughed and rippled in

the distance at the foot of Town House Hill. Then dawn grew into full morning and streams of blue smoke

rose here and there from the Edgewood chimneys. The world was alive, and so beautiful that Waitstill felt

like going down on her knees in gratitude for having been born into it and given a chance of serving it in any

Wherever there was a barn, in Riverboro or Edgewood, one could have heard the threelegged stools being

lifted from the pegs, and then would begin the music of the milkpails; first the resonant sound of the stream

on the bottom of the tin pail, then the soft delicious purring of the cascade into the full bucket, while the cows

serenely chewed their cuds and whisked away the flies with swinging tails. Deacon Baxter was taking his

cows to a pasture far over the hill, the feed having grown too short in his own fields. Patty was washing

dishes in the kitchen and Waitstill was in the dairyhouse at the buttermaking, one of her chief delights. She

worked with speed and with beautiful sureness, patting, squeezing, rolling the golden mass, like the true artist

she was, then turning the sweetscented waxen balls out of the mould on to the big stonechina platter that

stood waiting. She had been up early and for the last hour she had toiled with devouring eagerness that she

might have a little time to herself. It was hers now, for Patty would be busy with the beds after she finished

the dishes, so she drew a folded paper from her pocket, the first communication she had ever received in

Rodman will take this packet and leave it with you when he finds opportunity. It is not in any real sense a

letter, so I am in no danger of incurring your father's displeasure. You will probably have heard new rumors

concerning my father during the past few days, for Peter Morrill has been to Enfield, New Hampshire, where

he says letters have been received stating that my father died in Cortland, Ohio, more than five years ago. I

shall do what I can to substantiate this fresh report as I have always done with all the previous ones, but I

have little hope of securing reliable information at this distance, and after this length of time. I do not know

when I can ever start on a personal quest myself, for even had I the money I could not leave home until

Rodman is much older, and fitted for greater responsibility. Oh! Waitstill, how you have helped my poor,

dear mother! Would that I were free to tell you how I value your friendship! It is something more than mere

friendship! What you are doing is like throwing a lifeline to a sinking human being. Two or three times, of

late, mother has forgotten to set out the supper things for my father. Her ten years' incessant waiting for him

seems to have subsided a little, and in its place she watches for you. [Ivory had written "watches for her

daughter" but carefully erased the last two words.] You come but seldom, but her heart feeds on the sight of

you. What she needed, it seems, was the magical touch of youth and health and strength and sympathy, the

If I had proof of my father's death I think now, perhaps, that I might try to break it gently to my mother, as if

it were fresh news, and see if possibly I might thus remove her principal hallucination. You see now, do you

not, how sane she is in many, indeed in most ways,how sweet and lovable, even how sensible?

To help you better to understand the influence that has robbed me of both father and mother and made me

and mine the subject of town and tavern gossip for years past, I have written for you just a sketch of the

"Cochrane craze"; the romantic story of a man who swayed the wills of his fellowcreatures in a truly

marvellous manner. Some local historian of his time will doubtless give him more space; my wish is to have

you know something more of the circumstances that have made me a prisoner in life instead of a free man;

but prisoner as I am at the moment, I am sustained just now by a new courage. I read in my copy of Ovid last

night: "The best of weapons is the undaunted heart." This will help you, too, in your hard life, for yours is the

The chronicle of Jacob Cochrane's career in the little villages near the Saco River has no such interest for the

general reader as it had for Waitstill Baxter. She hung upon every word that Ivory had written and realized

more clearly than ever before the shadow that had followed him since early boyhood; the same shadow that

No one really knew, it seemed, why or from whence Jacob Cochrane had come to Edgewood. He simply

appeared at the old tavern, a stranger, with satchel in hand, to seek entertainment. Uncle Bart had often

described this scene to Waitstill, for he was one of those sitting about the great open fire at the time. The man

easily slipped into the group and soon took the lead in conversation, delighting all with his agreeable

personality, his nimble tongue and graceful speech. At suppertime the hostess and the rest of the family took

their places at the long table, as was the custom, and he astonished them by his knowledge not only of town

When the stranger had finished his supper and returned to the barroom, he had to pass through a long entry,

"Betsy, you go up to the chamber closet and get the silver and bring it down. This man is going to sleep there

and I am afraid of him. He must be a fortuneteller, and the Lord only knows what else!"

In going to the chamber the daughter had to pass through the barroom. As she was moving quietly through,

hoping to escape the notice of the newcomer, he turned in his chair, and looking her full in the face, suddenly

Whereupon the bewildered Betsy scuttled back to her mother and told her the strange guest was indeed a

Of Cochrane's initial appearance as a preacher Ivory had told Waitstill in their talk in the churchyard early in

the summer. It was at a child's funeral that the new prophet created his first sensation and there, too, that

Aaron and Lois Boynton first came under his spell. The whole countryside had been just then wrought up to a

state of religious excitement by revival meetings and Cochrane gained the benefit of this definite preparation

for his work. He claimed that all his sayings were from divine inspiration and that those who embraced his

doctrine received direct communication from the Almighty. He disdained formal creeds and all manner of

church organizations, declaring sectarian names to be marks of the beast and all church members to be in

Babylon. He introduced rebaptism as a symbolic cleansing from sectarian stains, and after some months

advanced a proposition that his flock hold all things in common. He put a sudden end to the solemn

"deaconingout" and droning of psalm tunes and grafted on to his form of worship lively singing and

marching accompanied by clapping of hands and whirling in circles; during the progress of which the most

hysterical converts, or the most fully Cochranized," would swoon upon the floor; or, in obeying their leader's

instructions to "become as little children," would sometimes go through the most extraordinary and

It was not until he had converted hundreds to the new faith that he added more startling revelations to his

gospel. He was in turn bold, mystical, eloquent, audacious, persuasive, autocratic; and even when his

selfstyled communications from the Almighty" controverted all that his hearers had formerly held to be

right, he still magnetized or hypnotized them into an unwilling assent to his beliefs. There was finally a

proclamation to the effect that marriage vows were to be annulled when advisable and that complete spiritual

liberty was to follow; a liberty in which a new affinity might be sought, and a spiritual union begun upon

earth, a union as nearly approximate to God's standards as faulty human beings could manage to attain.

Some of the faithful fell away at this time, being unable to accept the full doctrine, but retained their faith in

Cochrane's original power to convert sinners and save them from the wrath of God. Stormclouds began to

gather in the sky however, as the delusion spread, month by month and local ministers everywhere sought to

minimize the influence of the dangerous orator, who rose superior to every attack and carried himself like

some magnificent martyratwill among the crowds that now criticized him here or there in private and in

"What a picture of splendid audacity he must have been," wrote Ivory, "when he entered the orthodox

meetinghouse at a huge gathering where he knew that the speakers were to denounce his teachings. Old

Parson Buzzell gave out his text from the high pulpit: Mark XIII, 37, 'AND WHAT I SAY UNTO YOU I

SAY UNTO ALL, WATCH!' Just here Cochrane stepped in at the open door of the church and heard the

warning, meant, he knew, for himself, and seizing the moment of silence following the reading of the text, he

cried in his splendid sonorous voice, without so much as stirring from his place within the doorframe:

"'Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man hear my voice I will come in to him and will sup with

him,I come to preach the everlasting gospel to every one that heareth, and all that I want here is my

"I cannot find," continued Ivory on another page, "that my father or mother ever engaged in any of the foolish

and childish practices which disgraced the meetings of some of Cochrane's most fanatical followers and

converts. By my mother's conversations (some of which I have repeated to you, but which may be full of

errors, because of her confusion of mind), I believe she must have had a difference of opinion with my father

on some of these views, but I have no means of knowing this to a certainty; nor do I know that the question of

choosing spiritual consorts' ever came between or divided them. This part of the delusion always fills me with

such unspeakable disgust that I have never liked to seek additional light from any of the older men and

women who might revel in giving it. That my mother did not sympathize with my father's going out to preach

Cochrane's gospel through the country, this I know, and she was so truly religious, so burning with zeal, that

had she fully believed in my father's mission she would have spurred him on, instead of endeavoring to detain

"You know the retribution that overtook Cochrane at last," wrote Ivory again, when he had shown the man's

early victories and his enormous influence. "There began to be indignant protests against his doctrines by

lawyers and doctors, as well as by ministers; not from all sides however; for remember, in extenuation of my

father's and my mother's espousal of this strange belief, that many of the strongest and wisest men, as well as

the purest and finest women in York county came under this man's spell for a time and believed in him

"Finally there was Cochrane's arrest and examination, the order for him to appear at the Supreme Court, his

failure to do so, his recapture and trial, and his sentence of four years imprisonment on several counts, in all

of which he was proved guilty. Cochrane had all along said that the Anointed of the Lord would never be

allowed to remain in jail, but he was mistaken, for he stayed in the State's Prison at Charlestown,

Massachusetts, for the full duration of his sentence. Here (I am again trying to plead the cause of my father

and mother), here he received much sympathy and some few visitors, one of whom walked all the way from

Edgewood to Boston, a hundred and fifteen miles, with a petition for pardon, a petition which was delivered,

and refused, at the Boston State House. Cochrane issued from prison a broken and humiliated man, but if

report says true, is still living, far out of sight and knowledge, somewhere in New Hampshire. He once sent

my father an epitaph of his own selection, asking him to have it carved upon his gravestone should he die

suddenly when away from his friends. My mother often repeats it, not realizing how far from the point it

"We are certain," concluded Ivory, "that my father preached with Cochrane in Limington, Limerick, and

Parsonsfield; he also wrote from Enfield and Effingham in New Hampshire; after that, all is silence. Various

reports place him in Boston, in New York, even as far west as Ohio, whether as Cochranite evangelist or

what not, alas! we can never know. I despair of ever tracing his steps. I only hope that he died before he

wandered too widely, either from his belief in God or his fidelity to my mother's longsuffering love."

Waitstill read the letter twice through and replaced it in her dress to read again at night. It seemed the only

tangible evidence of Ivory's love that she had ever received and she warmed her heart with what she felt that

"Would that I were free to tell you how I value your friendship!" "My mother's heart feeds on the sight of

you!" "I want you to know something of the circumstances that have made me a prisoner in life, instead of a

free man." "Yours is the most undaunted heart in all the world!" These sentences Waitstill rehearsed again

and again and they rang in her ears like music, converting all the tasks of her long day into a deep and silent

THERE were two grand places for gossip in the community; the old tavern on the Edgewood side of the

bridge and the brick store in Riverboro. The company at the Edgewood Tavern would be a trifle different in

character, more picturesque, imposing, and eclectic because of the transient guests that gave it change and

variety. Here might be found a judge or lawyer on his way to court; a sheriff with a handcuffed prisoner; a

farmer or two, stopping on the road to market with a cartful of produce; and an occasional teamster, peddler,

and stagedriver. On winter nights champion storytellers like Jed Morrill and Rish Bixby would drop in

there and hang their woollen neckcomforters on the pegs along the wallside, where there were already

hats, topcoats, and fur mufflers, as well as stacks of whips, canes, and oxgoads standing in the corners. They

would then enter the room, rubbing their hands genially, and, nodding to Companion Pike, Cephas Cole, Phil

Perry and others, ensconce themselves snugly in the group by the great open fireplace. The landlord was

always glad to see them enter, for their stories, though old to him, were new to many of the assembled

On summer evenings gossip was languid in the village, and if any occurred at all it would be on the loafer's

bench at one or the other side of the bridge. When cooler weather came the group of local wits gathered in

Riverboro, either at Uncle Bart's joiner's shop or at the brick store, according to fancy. The latter place was

perhaps the favorite for Riverboro talkers. It was a large, twostory, square, brick building with a

bigmouthed chimney and an open fire. When every house in the two villages had six feet of snow around it,

roads would always be broken to the brick store, and a crowd of ten or fifteen men would be gathered there

talking, listening, betting, smoking, chewing, bragging, playing checkers, singing, and "swapping stories."

Some of the men had been through the War of 1812 and could display wounds received on the field of valor;

others were still prouder of scars won in encounters with the Indians, and there was one old codger, a

Revolutionary veteran, Bill Dunham by name, who would add bloody tales of his encounters with the

"Husshons." His courage had been so extraordinary and his slaughter so colossal that his hearers marvelled

that there was a Hessian left to tell his side of the story, and Bill himself doubted if such were the case.

"'T is an awful sin to have on your soul," Bill would say from his place in a dark corner, where he would sit

with his hat pulled down over his eyes till the psychological moment came for the "Husshons" to be trotted

out. "'T is an awful sin to have on your soul,the extummination of a race o' men; even if they wa'n't nothin'

more 'n so many ignorant cockroaches. Them was the great days for fightin'! The Husshons was the biggest

men I ever seen on the field, most of 'em standin' six feet eight in their stockin's,but Lord! how we

walloped 'em! Once we had a cannon mounted an' loaded for 'em that was so large we had to draw the ball

Bill paused from force of habit, just as he had paused for the last twenty years. There had been times when

roars of incredulous laughter had greeted this boast, but most of this particular group had heard the yarn more

than once and let it pass with a smile and a wink, remembering the night that Abel Day had asked old Bill

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

It was only early October, but there had been a killing frost, and Ezra Simms, who kept the brick store, flung

some shavings and small wood on the hearth and lighted a blaze, just to induce a little trade and start

conversation on what threatened to be a dull evening. Peter Morrill, Jed's eldest brother, had lately returned

from a long trip through the state and into New Hampshire, and his adventures by field and flood were

always worth listening to. He went about the country mending clocks, and many an old timepiece still bears

his name, with the date of repairing, written in pencil on the inside of its door.

There was never any lack of subjects at the brick store, the idiosyncrasies of the neighbors being the most

prolific source of anecdote and comment. Of scandal about women there was little, though there would be

occasional harmless pleasantries concerning village love affairs; prophecies of what couple would be next

"published" in the blackwalnut frame up at the meetinghouse; a genial comment on the number and

chances of Patience Baxter's various beaux; and whenever all else failed, the latest story of Deacon Baxter's

"He can't hardly help it, inheritin' it on both sides," was Abel Day's opinion. "The Baxters was allers snug,

from time 'memorial, and Foxy's the snuggest of 'em. When I look at his ugly mug an' hear his snarlin' voice,

I thinks to myself, he's goin' the same way his father did. When old Levi Baxter was left a widderman in

that house o' his'n up river, he grew wuss an' wuss, if you remember, till he wa'n't hardly human at the last;

"'T would 'a' served old Levi right if nobody else had gone," said Rish Bixby. "When his wife died he refused

to come into the house till the last minute. He stayed to work in the barn until all the folks had assembled, and

even the men were all settin' down on benches in the kitchen. The parson sent me out for him, and I'm blest if

the old skunk didn't come in through the crowd with his sleeves rolled up,went to the sink and washed, and

"I remember that funeral well," corroborated Abel Day. "An' Mis' Day heerd Levi say to his daughter, as soon

as they'd put poor old Mrs. Baxter int' the grave: 'Come on, Marthy; there 's no use cryin' over spilt milk; we'd

better go home an' husk out the rest o' that corn.' Old Foxy could have inherited plenty o' meanness from his

father, that's certain, an' he's added to his inheritance right along, like the thrifty man he is. I hate to think o'

"Oh, well! 't won't last forever," said Rish Bixby. "They're the handsomest couple o' girls on the river an'

they'll get husbands afore many years. Patience'll have one pretty soon, by the looks. She never budges an

inch but Mark Wilson or Phil Perry are follerin' behind, with Cephas Cole watchin' his chance right along,

too. Waitstill don't seem to have no beaux; what with flyin' around to keep up with the Deacon, an' bein' a

"If things was a little mite dif'rent all round, I could prognosticate who Waitstill could keep house for," was

"You mean Ivory Boynton? Well, if the Deacon was asked he'd never give his consent, that's certain; an'

Ivory ain't in no position to keep a wife anyways. What was it you heerd 'bout Aaron Boynton up to New

"Consid'able, one way an' another; an' none of it would 'a' been any comfort to Ivory. I guess Aaron 'n' Jake

Cochrane was both of 'em more interested in savin' the sisters' souls than the brothers'! Aaron was a

fineappearin' man, and so was Jake for that matter, 'n' they both had the gift o' gab. There's nothin' like a

limber tongue if you want to please the womenfolks! If report says true, Aaron died of a fever out in Ohio

somewheres; Cortland's the place, I b'lieve. Seems's if he hid his trail all the way from New Hampshire

somehow, for as a usual thing, a man o' booklarnin' like him would be remembered wherever he went.

Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had just entered the store on an errand, but being directly addressed, and

judging that the subject under discussion was a discreet one, and that it was too early in the evening for

drinking to begin, he joined the group by the fireside. He had preached in Vermont for several years as an

itinerant Methodist minister before settling down to farming in Edgewood, only giving up his profession

because his quiver was so full of little Grants that a wandering life was difficult and undesirable. When Uncle

Bart Cole had remarked that Mis' Grant had a little of everything in the way of babystock now,black, red,

an' yallerhaired, dark and light complected, fat an' lean, tall an' short, twins an' singles,Jed Morrill had

"Aaron Boynton was, indeed, a man of most adhesive larnin'," agreed Timothy, who had the reputation of the

largest and most unusual vocabulary in Edgewood. "Next to Jacob Cochrane I should say Aaron had more

grandeloquence as an orator than any man we've ever had in these parts. It don't seem's if Ivory was goin' to

take after his father that way. The little feller, now, is smart's a whip, an' could talk the tail off a brass

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

"That's so; well, Ivory does, for certain, an' takes after his mother, right enough, for she hain't spoken a dozen

words in as many years, I guess. Ivory's got a sight o' bookknowledge, though, an' they do say he could talk

Greek an' Latin both, if we had any of 'em in the community to converse with. I've never paid no intention to

"Because all them that ever spoke 'em has perished off the face o' the land," Timothy answered oracularly.

"Dead an' gone they be, lock, stock, an' barrel; yet there was a time when Latins an' Crustaceans an' Hebrews

an' Prooshians an' Australians an' Simesians was chatterin' away in their own tongues, an' so pow'ful that they

"I bet yer they never tried to wallop these here United States," interpolated Bill Dunham from the dark corner

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

"No, sonny, Ivory ain't been in this evening replied Ezra Simms. "I hope there ain't nothin' the matter over to

"No, nothing particular," the boy answered hesitatingly; "only Aunt Boynton don't seem so well as common

"Come along with me; I'll help you look for him an' then I'll go as fur as the lane with yer if we don't find

"Mis' Boynton had a spell, I guess!" suggested the storekeeper, peering through the door into the darkness.

"She don't have no spells," said Abel Day. "Uncle Bart sees consid'able of Ivory an' he says his mother is as

quiet as a lamb.Couldn't you git no kind of a certif'cate of Aaron's death out o' that Enfield feller, Peter?

Seems's if that poor woman'd oughter be stopped watchin' for a dead man; tuckerin' herself all out, an' keepin'

"I've told Ivory everything I could gether up in the way of information, and give him the names of the folks in

Ohio that had writ back to New Hampshire. I didn't dialate on Aaron's goin'son in Effingham an'

Portsmouth, cause I dassay 't was nothin' but scandal. Them as hates the Cochranites'll never allow there's any

good in 'em, whereas I've met some as is servin' the Lord good an' constant, an' indulgin' in no kind of

"We wa'n't alludin' to no Husshons," retorted Timothy Grant. "We was dealin' with the misfortunes of Aaron

Boynton, who never fit valoriously on the field o' battle, but perished out in Ohio of scarlit fever, if what they

"Tis an easy death," remarked Bill argumentatively. "Scarlit fever don't seem like nothin' to me! Many's the

time I've been close enough to fire at the eyeball of a Husshon, an' run the resk o' bein' blown to

smithereens!calm and cool I alters was, too! Scarlit fever is an easy death from a warrior's p'int o' view!"

"Speakin' of easy death," continued Timothy, "you know I'm a great one for words, bein' something of a

scholard in my small way. Mebbe you noticed that Elder Boone used a strange word in his sermon last

Sunday? Now an' then, when there's too many yawnin' to once in the congregation, Parson'll out with a reg'lar

jawbreaker to wake 'em up. The word as near as I could ketch it was 'youthinasia.' I kep' holt of it till

noontime an' then I run home an' looked through all the y's in the dictionary without findin' it. Mebbe it's

Hebrew, I thinks, for Hebrew's like his mother's tongue to Parson, so I went right up to him at afternoon

meetin' an' says to him: 'What's the exact meanin' of "youthinasia"? There ain't no sech word in the Y's in my

Webster,' says I. 'Look in the E's, Timothy; "euthanasia"' says he, 'means easy death'; an' now, don't it beat all

that Bill Dunham should have brought that expression of 'easy death' into this evenin's talk?"

"I know youth an' I know Ashy," said Abel Day, "but blessed if I know why they should mean easy death

when they yoke 'em together." "That's because you ain't never paid no 'tention to entomology," said Timothy.

"Aaron Boynton was master o' more 'ologies than you could shake a stick at, but he used to say I beat him on

entomology. Words air cur'ous things sometimes, as I know, hevin' had consid'able leisure time to read when

I was joggin' 'bout the country an' bein' brought into contack with men o' learnin'. The way I worked it out,

not wishin' to ask Parson any more questions, bein' something of a scholard myself, is this: The youth in

Ashy is a peculiar kind o' youth, 'n' their religion disposes 'em to lay no kind o' stress on huming life. When

anything goes wrong with 'em an' they get a setback in war, or business, or affairs with womenfolks, they

want to die right off; so they take a sword an' stan' it straight up wherever they happen to be, in the shed or

the barn, or the henhouse, an' they p'int the sharp end right to their waistline, where the bowels an' other

vital organisms is lowcated; an' then they fall on to it. It runs 'em right through to the back an' kills 'em like a

shot, and that's the way I cal'late the youth in Ashy dies, if my entomology is correct, as it gen'ally is."

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

"I don't hold no diaploma," responded Timothy, "though I attended to Wareham Academy quite a spell, the

same time as your sister was goin' to Wareham Seminary where eddication is still bein' disseminated though

"It's live an' larn," said the storekeeper respectfully. "I never thought of a Seminary bein' a place of

"You can't alters tell by the sound," said Timothy instructively. "Sometimes two words'll start from the same

root, an' branch out diff'rent, like 'critter' an' 'hypocritter.' A 'hypocritter' must natcherally start by bein' a

'critter,' but a critter ain't obliged to be a 'hypocritter' 'thout he wants to."

"I should hope not," interpolated Abel Day, piously. "Entomology must be an awful interestin' study, though

I never thought of observin' words myself, kept to avoid vulgar language an' profanity."

"Husshon's a cur'ous word for a man," interjected Bill Dunham with a last despairing effort. "I remember

"Perhaps you ain't one to observe closely, Abel," said Timothy, not taking note of any interruption, simply

using the time to direct a stream of tobacco juice to an incredible distance, but landing it neatly in the exact

spot he had intended. "It's a trade by itself, you might say, observin' is, an' there's another sing'lar corraption!

The Whigs in foreign parts, so they say, build stone towers to observe the evil machinations of the Tories, an'

so the word 'observatory' come into general use! All entomology; nothin' but entomology."

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

IVORY BOYNTON had taken the horse and gone to the village on an errand, a rare thing for him to do after

dark, so Rod was thinking, as he sat in the livingroom learning his SundaySchool lesson on the same

evening that the men were gossiping at the brick store. His aunt had required him, from the time when he was

proficient enough to do so, to read at least a part of a chapter in the Bible every night. Beginning with

Genesis he had reached Leviticus and had made up his mind that the Bible was a much more difficult book

than "Scottish Chiefs," not withstanding the fact that Ivory helped him over most of the hard places. At the

present juncture he was vastly interested in the subject of "rods" as unfolded in the book of Exodus, which

was being studied by his SundaySchool class. What added to the excitement was the fact that his uncle's

Christian name, Aaron, kept appearing in the chronicle, as frequently as that of the great lawgiver Moses

himself; and there were many verses about the wonderworking rods of Moses and Aaron that had a strange

effect upon the boy's ear, when he read them aloud, as he loved to do whenever he was left alone for a time.

When his aunt was in the room his instinct kept him from doing this, for the mere mention of the name of

Aaron, he feared, might sadden his aunt and provoke in her that dangerous vein of reminiscence that made

"It kind o' makes me nervous to be named 'Rod,' Aunt Boynton," said the boy, looking up from the Bible.

"All the rods in these Exodus chapters do such dreadful things! They become serpents, and one of them

swallows up all the others: and Moses smites the waters with a rod and they become blood, and the people

can't drink the water and the fish die! Then they stretch a rod across the streams and ponds and bring a plague

"That was to show God's power to Pharaoh, and melt his hard heart to obedience and reverence," explained

Mrs. Boynton, who had known the Bible from cover to cover in her youth and could still give chapter and

"It took an awful lot of melting, Pharaoh's heart!" exclaimed the boy. "Pharaoh must have been worse than

Deacon Baxter! I wonder if they ever tried to make him good by being kind to him! I've read and read, but I

can't find they used anything on him but plagues and famines and boils and pestilences and thunder and hail

and fire!Have I got a middle name, Aunt Boynton, for I don't like Rod very much?"

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

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

"I forgot, Aunt Boynton! Yes, I think perhaps my mother named me. Mothers 'most always name their

babies, don't they? My mother wasn't like you; she looked just like the picture of Pocahontas in my History.

"When you go a little further you will find pleasanter things about rods," said his aunt, knitting, knitting,

intensely, as was her habit, and talking as if her mind were a thousand miles away. "You know they were just

little branches of trees, and it was only God's power that made them wonderful in any way."

"No; if you look at your Concordance you'll finds it gives you a chapter in Numbers where there's something

beautiful about rods. I have forgotten the place; it has been many years since I looked at it. Find it and read it

aloud to me." The boy searched his Concordance and readily found the reference in the seventeenth chapter

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

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

Through the boy's mind there darted the flash of a thought, a sad thought. He himself was a Rod on whom no

man's name seemed to be written, orphan that he was, with no knowledge of his parents!

Suddenly he hesitated, for he had caught sight of the name of Aaron in the verse that he was about to read,

"This chapter is most too hard for me to read out loud, Aunt Boynton," he stammered. " Can I study it by

myself and read it to Ivory first?" "Go on, go on, you read very sweetly; I can not remember what comes and

Rodman had read on, absorbed in the story and the picture it presented to his imagination. He liked the idea

of all the princes having a rod according to the house of their fathers; he liked to think of the little branches

being laid on the altar in the tabernacle, and above all he thought of the longing of each of the princes to have

Oh! how the boy hoped that Aaron's branch would be the one chosen to blossom! He felt that his aunt would

be pleased, too; but he read on steadily, with eyes that glowed and breath that came and went in a very

It was Aaron's rod, then, and was an almond branch! How beautiful, for the blossoms would have been pink;

and how the people must have marvelled to see the lovely blooming thing on the dark altar; first budding,

then blossoming, then bearing nuts! And what was the rod chosen for? He hurried on to the next verse.

"Oh! Aunt Boynton!" cried the boy, "I love my name after I've heard about the almond rod!

Aren't you proud that it's Uncle's name that was written on the one that blossomed?"

He turned swiftly to find that his aunt's knitting had slipped on the floor; her nerveless hands drooped by her

side as if there were no life in them, and her head had fallen against the back of her chair. The boy was

paralyzed with fear at the sight of her closed eyes and the deathly pallor of her face. He had never seen her

like this before, and Ivory was away. He flew for a bottle of spirit, always kept in the kitchen cupboard for

emergencies, and throwing wood on the fire in passing, he swung the crane so that the teakettle was over the

flame. He knew only the humble remedies that he had seen used here or there in illness, and tried them

timidly, praying every moment that he might hear Ivory's step. He warmed a soapstone in the embers, and

taking off Mrs. Boynton's shoes, put it under her cold feet. He chafed her hands and gently poured a spoonful

of brandy between her pale lips. Then sprinkling camphor on a handkerchief he held it to her nostrils and to

his joy she stirred in her chair; before many minutes her lids fluttered, her lips moved, and she put her hand to

She did not answer; she only opened her eyes and looked at him. At length she whispered faintly, "I want

"He's out, Aunt dear. Shall I help you to bed the way Ivory does? If you'll let me, then I'll run to the bridge

She assented, and leaning heavily on his slender shoulder, walked feebly into her bedroom off the

livingroom. Rod was as gentle as a mother and he was familiar with all the little offices that could be of any

comfort; the soapstone warmed again for her feet, the bringing of her nightgown from the closet, and when

she was in bed, another spoonful of brandy in hot milk; then the camphor by her side, an extra homespun

blanket over her, and the door left open so that she could see the open fire that he made into a cheerful

huddles contrived so that it would not snap and throw out dangerous sparks in his absence.

All the while he was doing this Mrs. Boynton lay quietly in the bed talking to herself fitfully, in the faint

murmuring tone that was habitual to her. He could distinguish scarcely anything, only enough to guess that

her mind was still on the Bible story that he was reading to her when she fainted. "THE ROD OF AARON

WAS AMONG THE OTHER RODS," he heard her say; and, a moment later, "BRING AARON'S ROD

Was it his uncle's name that had so affected her, wondered the boy, almost sick with remorse, although he

had tried his best to evade her command to read the chapter aloud? What would Ivory, his hero, his pattern

and example, say? It had always seen Rod's pride to carry his little share of every burden that fell to Ivory, to

be faithful and helpful in every task given to him. He could walk through fire without flinching, he thought, if

Ivory told him to, and he only prayed that he might not be held responsible for this new calamity.

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

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

Rod sped down the lane and over the fields to the brick store where Ivory usually bought his groceries. His

cousin was not there, but one of the men came out and offered to take his horse and drive over the bridge to

see if he were at one of the neighbors' on that side of the river. Not a word did Rod breathe of his aunt's

illness; he simply said that she was lonesome for Ivory, and so he came to find him. In five minutes they saw

the Boynton horse hitched to a tree by the roadside, and in a trice Rod called him and, thanking Mr. Bixby,

got into Ivory's wagon to wait for him. He tried his best to explain the situation as they drove along, but

finally concluded by saying: "Aunt really made me read the chapter to her, Ivory. I tried not to when I saw

"Of course you couldn't! Now you jump out and hitch the horse while I run in and see that nothing has

Ivory went in with fear and trembling, for there was no sound save the ticking of the tall clock. The fire

burned low upon the hearth, and the door was open into his mother's room. He lifted a candle that Rod had

left ready on the table and stole softly to her bedside. She was sleeping like a child, but exhaustion showed

itself in every line of her face. He felt her hands and feet and found the soapstone in the bed; saw the brandy

bottle and the remains of a cup of milk on the lightstand; noted the handkerchief, still strong of camphor on

the counterpane, and the blanket spread carefully over her knees, and then turned approvingly to meet Rod

"We won't wake her, Rod. I'll watch a while, then sleep on the sittingroom lounge."

The boy's face was drawn with anxiety. Ivory's attention was attracted by the wistful eyes and the beauty of

the forehead under the dark hair. He seemed something more than the child of yesterdaya care and

responsibility and expense, for all his loving obedience; he seemed all at once different tonight; older, more

dependable, more trustworthy; in fact, a positive comfort and help in time of trouble.

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

"Nothing wrong, Rod! Dr. Perry couldn't have done any better with what you had on hand. I don't know how

I should get along without you, boy!" Here Ivory patted Rod's shoulder. "You're not a child any longer, Rod;

you're a man and a brother, that's what you are; and to prove it I'll take the first watch and call you up at one

o'clock to take the second, so that I can be ready for my school work tomorrow! How does that suit you?"

"Tiptop!" said the boy, flushing with pride. "I'll lie down with my clothes on; it's only nine o'clock and I'll

He carried the Bible upstairs and just before he blew out his candle he looked again at the chapter in

Numbers, thinking he would show it to Ivory privately next day. Again the story enchanted him, and again,

like a child, he put his own name and his living self among the rods in the tabernacle.

"Ivory would be the prince of our house," he thought. "Oh! how I'd like to be Ivory's rod and have it be the

THE replies that Ivory had received from his letters of inquiry concerning his father's movements since

leaving Maine, and his possible death in the West, left no reasonable room for doubt. Traces of Aaron

Boynton in New Hampshire, in Massachusetts, in New York, and finally in Ohio, all pointed in one direction,

and although there were gaps and discrepancies in the account of his doings, the fact of his death seemed to

That he was not unaccompanied in his earliest migrations seemed clear, but the woman mentioned as his wife

disappeared suddenly from the reports, and the story of his last days was the story of a brokendown,

melancholy, unfriended man, dependent for the last offices on strangers. He left no messages and no papers,

said Ivory's correspondent, and never made mention of any family connections whatsoever. He had no

property and no means of defraying the expenses of his illness after he was stricken with the fever. No letters

were found among his poor effects and no article that could prove his identity, unless it were a small gold

locket, which bore no initials or marks of any kind, but which contained two locks of fair and brown hair,

intertwined. The tiny trinket was enclosed in the letter, as of no value, unless some one recognized it as a

keepsake. Ivory read the correspondence with a heavy heart, inasmuch as it corroborated all his worst fears.

He had sometimes secretly hoped that his father might return and explain the reason of his silence; or in lieu

of that, that there might come to light the story of a pilgrimage, fanatical, perhaps, but innocent of evil

intention, one that could be related to his wife and his former friends, and then buried forever with the death

Neither of these hopes could now ever be realized, nor his father's memory made other than a cause for

endless regret, sorrow, and shame. His father, who had begun life so handsomely, with rare gifts of mind and

personality, a wife of unusual beauty and intelligence, and while still young in years, a considerable success

in his chosen profession. His poor father! What could have been the reasons for so complete a downfall?

Ivory asked Dr. Perry's advice about showing one or two of the briefer letters and the locket to his mother.

After her fainting fit and the exhaustion that followed it, Ivory begged her to see the old doctor, but without

avail. Finally, after days of pleading he took her hands in his and said: "I do everything a mortal man can do

to be a good son to you, mother; won't you do this to please me, and trust that I know what is best?"

Whereupon she gave a trembling assent, as if she were agreeing to something indescribably painful, and

After Dr. Perry had talked with her for a halfhour and examined her sufficiently to make at least a

reasonable guess as to her mental and physical condition, he advised Ivory to break the news of her husband's

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

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

"I don't think she is any longer capable of violent emotion," the doctor answered. Her mind is certainly

clearer than it was three years ago, but her body is nearly burned away by the mental conflict. There is

scarcely any part of her but is weary; weary unto death, poor soul. One cannot look at her patient, lovely face

without longing to lift some part of her burden. Make a trial, Ivory; it's a justifiable experiment and I think it

will succeed. I must not come any oftener myself than is absolutely necessary; she seemed afraid of me."

The experiment did succeed. Lois Boynton listened breathlessly, with parted lips, and with apparent

comprehension, to the story Ivory told her. Over and over again he told her gently the story of her husband's

death, trying to make it sink into her mind clearly, so that there should be no consequent bewilderment She

was calm and silent, though her face showed that she was deeply moved. She broke down only when Ivory

"I gave it to my husband when you were born, my son!" she sobbed. "After all, it seems no surprise to me

that your father is dead. He said he would come back when the Mayflowers bloomed, and when I saw the

autumn leaves I knew that six months must have gone and he would never stay away from us for six months

without writing. That is the reason I have seldom watched for hint these last weeks. I must have known that it

She rose from her rockingchair and moved feebly towards her bedroom. "Can you spare me the rest of the

day, Ivory?" she faltered, as she leaned on her son and made her slow progress from the kitchen. "I must bury

the body of my grief and I want to be alone at first. . . If only I could see Waitstill! We have both thought this

was coming: she has a woman's instinct. . . she is younger and stronger than I am, and she said it was braver

not to watch and pine and fret as I have done. . . but to have faith in God that He would send me a sign when

He was ready. . . . She said if I could manage to be braver you would be happier too. . . ." Here she sank on to

her bed exhausted, but still kept up her murmuring faintly and feebly, between long intervals of silence.

"Do you think Waitstill could come tomorrow?" she asked. "I am so much braver when she is here with me.

. . . After supper I will put away your father's cup and plate once and for all, Ivory, and your eyes need never

fill with tears again, as they have, sometimes, when you have seen me watching. . . . You needn't worry about

me; I am remembering better these days, and the bells that ring in my ears are not so loud. If only the pain in

my side were less and I were not so pressed for breath, I should be quite strong and could see everything

clearly at last. . . . There is something else that remains to be remembered. I have almost caught it once and it

must come to me again before long. . . . Put the locket under my pillow, Ivory; close the door, please, and

leave me to myself. . . . I can't make it quite clear, my feeling about it, but it seems just as if I were going to

NEW ENGLAND'S annual pageant of autumn was being unfolded day by day in all its accustomed splendor,

and the feast and riot of color, the almost unimaginable glory, was the common property of the whole

countryside, rich and poor, to be shared alike if perchance all eyes were equally alive to the wonder and the

Scarlet days and days of gold followed fast one upon the other; Saco Water flowing between quiet woodlands

that were turning red and russet and brown, and now plunging through rocky banks all blazing with crimson.

Waitstill Baxter went as often as she could to the Boynton farm, though never when Ivory was at home, and

the affection between the younger and the older woman grew closer and closer, so that it almost broke

Waitstill's heart to leave the fragile creature, when her presence seemed to bring such complete peace and

"No one ever clung to me so before," she often thought as she was hurrying across the fields after one of her

halfhour visits. "But the end must come before long. Ivory does not realize it yet, nor Rodman, but it seems

as if she could never survive the long winter. Thanksgiving Day is drawing nearer and nearer, and how little I

am able to do for a single creature, to prove to God that I am grateful for my existence! I could, if only I were

free, make such a merry day for Patty and Mark and their young friends. Oh! what joy if father were a man

who would let me set a bountiful table in our great kitchen; would sit at the head and say grace, and we could

bow our heads over the cloth, a united family! Or, if I had done my duty in my home and could go to that

other where I am so neededgo with my father's blessing! If only I could live in that sad little house and

brighten it! I would trim the rooms with evergreen and creepingJenny; I would put scarlet alder berries and

white everlastings and blue fringed gentians in the vases! I would put the last bright autumn leaves near

Mrs. Boynton's bed and set out a tray with a damask napkin and the best of my cooking; then I would go out

to the back door where the woodbine hangs like a red waterfall and blow the dinnerhorn for my men down

in the harvestfield! All the woman in me is wasting, wasting! Oh! my dear, dear man, how I long for him!

Oh! my own dear man, my helpmate, shall I ever live by his side? I love him, I want him, I need him!

And my dear little unmothered, unfathered boy, how happy I could make him! How I should love to cook and

sew for them all and wrap them in comfort! How I should love to smooth my dear mother's last days,for

Waitstill's longing, her discouragement, her helplessness, overcame her wholly, and she flung herself down

under a tree in the pasture in a very passion of sobbing, a luxury in which she could seldom afford to indulge

herself. The luxury was shortlived, for in five minutes she heard Rodman's voice, and heard him running to

meet her as he often did when she came to their house or went away from it, dogging her footsteps or Patty's

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

"There isn't much news. Ivory told you I'd left school and am studying at home? He helps me evenings and

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

"He says I can hire out as a cook pretty soon! Aunt Boynton's 'most always up to get dinner and supper, but I

"Oh, I cannot bear to have you and Ivory cooking for yourselves!" exclaimed Waitstill, the tears starting

again from her eyes. "I must come over the next time when you are at home, Rod, and I can help you make

"We get along pretty well," said Rodman contentedly. "I love booklearning like Ivory and I'm going to be a

schoolmaster or a preacher when Ivory's a lawyer. Do you think Patty'd like a schoolmaster or a preacher

best, and do you think I'd be too young to marry her by and by, if she would wait for me?"

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

"It's not exactly new," said Rod, jumping along like a squirrel in the path. " Nobody could look at Patty and

not think about marrying her. I'd love to marry you, too, but you re too big and grand for a boy. Of course,

I'm not going to ask Patty yet. Ivory said once you should never ask a girl until you can keep her like a queen;

then after a minute he said: 'Well, maybe not quite like a queen, Rod, for that would mean longer than a man

could wait. Shall we say until he could keep her like the dearest lady in the land?' That 's the way he said

it.You do cry dreadfully easy today, Waity; I'm sure you barked your leg or skinned your knee when you

fell down.Don't you think the 'dearest lady in the land ' is a nicesounding sentence?"

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

"I love to hear Ivory talk; it's like the stories in the books. We have our best times in the barn, for I'm helping

with the milking, now. Our yellow cow's name is Molly and the red cow used to be Dolly, but we changed

her to Golly, 'cause she's so troublesome. Molly's an easy cow to milk and I can get almost all there is, though

Ivory comes after me and takes the strippings. Golly swishes her tail and kicks the minute she hears us

coming; then she stands stifflegged and grits her teeth and holds on to her milk HARD, and Ivory has to pat

and smooth and coax her every single time. Ivory says she's got a kind of an attachment inside of her that she

"We had a cross old cow like that, once," said Waitstill absently, loving to hear the boy's chatter and the

"We have great fun cooking, too," continued Rod. "When Aunt Boynton was first sick she stayed in bed

more, and Ivory and I hadn't got used to things. One morning we bound up each other's burns. Ivory had three

fingers and I two, done up in buttery rags to take the fire out. Ivory called us 'Soldiers dressing their Wounds

after the Battle.' Sausages spatter dreadfully, don't they? And when you turn a pancake it flops on top of the

"Yes, I can, straight as a die; that's what girls are made for. Now run along home to your big brother, and do

"Aunt Boynton hasn't patched our thick ones yet, but she will soon, and if she doesn't, Ivory'll take this

"He shall not!" cried Waitstill passionately. "It is not seemly for Ivory to sew and mend, and I will not allow

it. You shall bring me those things that need patching without telling any one, do you hear, and I will meet

you on the edge of the pasture Saturday afternoon and give them back to you. You are not to speak of it to

any one, you understand, or perhaps I shall pound you to a jelly. You'd make a sweet rosy jelly to eat with

Rodman ran towards home and Waitstill hurried along, scarcely noticing the beauties of the woods and fields

and waysides, all glowing masses of goldenrod and purple frost flowers. The stone walls were covered with

wildgrape and feathery clematis vines. Everywhere in sight the cornfields lay yellow in the afternoon sun

and ox carts heavily loaded with full golden ears were going home to the barns to be ready for husking.

A sudden breeze among the orchard boughs as she neared the house was followed by a shower of russets, and

everywhere the red Baldwins gleamed on the appletree boughs, while the windfalls were being gathered

and taken to the cider mills. There was a grove of maples on the top of TownHouse Hill and the Baxters'

dooryard was a blaze of brilliant color. To see Patty standing under a little rock maple, her brown

linseywoolsey in I one with the landscape, and the hood of her brown cape pulled over her bright head, was

a welcome for anybody. She looked flushed and excited as she ran up to her sister and said, "Waity, darling,

"No, dear, but my heart is aching today so that I can scarcely bear it. A wave of discouragement came over

me as I was walking through the woods, and I gave up to it a bit. I remembered how soon it will be

Thanksgiving Day, and I'll so like to make it happier for you and a few others that I love."

Patty could have given a shrewd guess as to the chief cause of the heartache, but she forebore to ask any

questions. "Cheer up, Waity," she cried. "You never can tell; we may have a thankful Thanksgiving, after all!

Who knows what may happen? I'm 'strung up' this afternoon and in a fighting mood. I've felt like a new piece

of snappy white elastic all day; it's the air, just like wine, so cool and stinging and full of courage! Oh, yes,

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

And the two girls clung together for a moment and then went into the house with hands closelocked and a

kind of sad, desperate courage in their young hearts. What would either of them have done, each of them

thought, had she been forced to endure alone the life that went on day after day in Deacon Baxter's dreary

MRS. ABEL DAY had come to spend the afternoon with Aunt Abby Cole and they were seated at the two

sittingroom windows, sweeping the land scape with eagle eyes in the intervals of making patchwork.

"The foliage has been a little mite too rich this season," remarked Aunt Abby. "I b'lieve I'm glad to see it

thinin' out some, so 't we can have some kind of an idee of what's goin' on in the village."

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

"An' that's jest where it's aggravatin' to have the leaves so thick and the trees so high between you and other

folks' houses. Trees are good for shade, it's true, but there's a limit to all things. There was a time when I

could see 'bout everything that went on up to Baxters', and down to Bart's shop, and, by goin' up attic,

consid'able many things that happened on the bridge. Bart vows he never planted that plum tree at the back

door of his shop; says the children must have hove out plum stones when they was settin' on the steps and the

tree come up of its own accord. He says he didn't take any notice of it till it got quite a start and then 't was

such a healthy young bush he couldn't bear to root it out. I tell him it's kind O' queer it should happen to come

up jest where it spoils my view of his premises. Men folks are so exasperatin' that sometimes I wish there was

"They are an awful trial," admitted Mrs. Day. " Abel never sympathizes with my headaches. I told him

aSunday I didn't believe he'd mind if I died the next day, an' all he said was: 'Why don't you try it an' see,

"I know; that's the way Bartholomew talks; I guess they all do. You can see the bridge better 'n I can, Lyddy;

has Mark Wilson drove over sence you've been settin' there? He's like one o' them ostriches that hides their

heads in the sand when the birdcatchers are comin' along, thinkin' 'cause they can't see anything they'll never

BE seen! He knows folks would never tell tales to Deacon Baxter, whatever the girls done; they hate him too

bad. Lawyer Wilson lives so far away, he can't keep any watch o' Mark, an' Mis' Wilson's so cityfied an'

purseproud nobody ever goes to her with any news, bad or good; so them that's the most concerned is as

blind as bats. Mark's consid'able stiddier'n he used to be, but you needn't tell me he has any notion of bringin'

Patty'll be Mrs. Wilson or nothin'," was Mrs. Day's response. "Both o' them girls is silk purses an' you can't

make sows' ears of 'em. We ain't neither of us hardly fair to Patty, an' I s'pose it 's because she didn't set any

"Oh, she's good enough for Mark, I guess, though I ain't so sure of his intentions as you be. She's nobody's

fool, Patty ain't, I allow that, though she did treat Cephas like the dirt in the road. I'm thankful he's come to

"It's very good of you to put it that way, Abby," Mrs. Day responded gratefully, for it was Phoebe, her own

offspring, who was alluded to as the most precious of metals. "I suppose we'd better have the publishing

notice put up in the frame before Sunday? There'll be a great crowd out that day and at Thanksgiving service

"Cephas says he don't care how soon folks hears the news, now all's settled," said his mother. "I guess he's

kind of anxious that the village should know jest how little truth there is in the gossip 'bout him bein' all upset

over Patience Baxter. He said they took consid'able notice of him an' Phoebe settin' together at the Harvest

Festival last evenin'. He thought the Baxter girls would be there for certain, but I s'pose Old Foxy wouldn't let

"Mark could have invited Patty an' paid for her ticket, I should think; or passed her in free, for that matter,

when the Wilsons got up the entertainment; but, of course, the Deacon never allows his girls to go anywheres

"Not in public; so they meet 'em side o' the river or round the corner of Bart's shop, or anywhere they can,

when the Deacon's back's turned. If you tied a handkerchief over Waitstill's eyes she could find her way

blindfold to Ivory Boynton's house, but she's good as gold, Waitstill is; she'll stay where her duty calls her,

every time! If any misfortune or scandal should come near them two girls, the Deacon will have nobody but

"Young folks can't be young but once," sighed Mrs. Day. "I thought we had as handsome a turnout at the

entertainment last evenin' as any village on the Saco River could 'a' furnished: an' my Phoebe an' your

Cephas, if I do say so as shouldn't, was about the bestdressed an' bestappearin' couple there was present.

Also, I guess likely, they're startin' out with as good prospects as any bride an' groom that's walked up the

middle aisle o' the meetin'house for many a year. . . . How'd you like that Boston singer that the Wilsons

brought here, Abby?Wait a minute, is Cephas, or the Deacon, tendin' store this afternoon?"

"Well, Mark Wilson's horse an' buggy is meanderin' slowly down Aunt BettyJack's hill, an' Mark is studyin'

"He'll hitch at the tavern, or the Edgewood store, an' wait his chance to get a word with Patience," said Aunt

Abby. "He knows when she takes milk to the Morrills', or butter to the parsonage; also when she eats an'

drinks an' winks her eye an' ketches her breath an' lifts her foot. Now he's disappeared an' we'll wait. . . .

Why, as to that Boston singer,an' by the way, they say Ellen Wilson's goin' to take lessons of her this

winter,she kind o' bewildered me, Lyddy! Of course, I ain't never been to any cities, so I don't feel

altogether free to criticise; but what did you think of her, when she run up so high there, one time? I don't

"Nervous! Bart' an' I broke out in a cold sweat! He said she couldn't hold a candle to Waitstill Baxter. But it's

that little flyaway Wilson girl that'll get the lessons, an' Waitstill will have to use her voice callin' the

"Waitstill's got the voice, but she lacks the trainin'. The Boston singer knows her business, I'll say that for

"She's got good stayin' power," agreed Aunt Abby. "Did you notice how she held on to that high note when

she'd clumb where she wanted to git? She's got breath enough to run a gristmill, that girl has! And how'd she

come down, when she got good and ready to start? Why, she zigzagged an' sawtoothed the whole way! It

"I guess part o' the trouble's with us country folks," Mrs. Day responded, "for folks said she sung runs and

"Runs an' trills," ejaculated Abby scornfully. "I was talkin' 'bout singin' not runnin'. My niece Ella up to

Parsonfield has taken three terms on the pianner an' I've heerd her practise. Scales has got to be done, no

doubt, but they'd ought to be done to home, where they belong; a concert ain't no place for 'em. . . . There,

what did I tell yer? Patience Baxter's crossin' the bridge with a pail in her hand. She's got that everlastin'

yellerbrown, linseywoolsey on, an' a white 'cloud' wrapped around her head with con'sid'able red hair

showin' as usual. You can always see her fur's you can a sunrise! And there goes Rod Boynton, chasin'

behind as usual. Those Baxter girls make a perfect fool o' that boy, but I don't s'pose Lois Boynton's got wit

Mark Wilson could certainly see Patty Baxter as far as he could a sunrise, although he was not intimately

acquainted with that natural phenomenon. He took a circuitous route from his watchtower, and, knowing

well the point from which there could be no espionage from Deacon Baxter's store windows, joined Patty in

the road, took the pail from her hand, and walked up the hill beside her. Of course, the village could see them,

but, as Aunt Abby had intimated, there wasn't a man, woman, or child on either side of the river who wouldn't

MEANTIME Feeble Phoebe Day was driving her father's horse up to the Mills to bring Cephas Cole home. It

was a thrilling moment, a sort of outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual tie, for their banns were

to be published the next day, so what did it matter if the community, nay, if the whole universe, speculated as

to why she was drawing her beloved back from his daily toil? It had been an eventful autumn for Cephas.

After a third request for the hand of Miss Patience Baxter, and a refusal of even more than common decision

and energy, Cephas turned about face and employed the entire month of September in a determined assault

upon the affections of Miss Lucy Morrill, but with no better avail. His heart was not ardently involved in this

second wooing, but winter was approaching, he had moved his mother out of her summer quarters back to the

main house, and he doggedly began papering the ell and furnishing the kitchen without disclosing to his

respected parents the identity of the lady for whose comfort he was so hospitably preparing.

Cephas's belief in the holy state of matrimony as being the only one proper for a man, really ought to have

commended him to the opposite (and ungrateful) sex more than it did, and Lucy Morrill held as respectful an

opinion of the institution and its manifold advantages as Cephas himself, but she was in a very unsettled

frame of mind and not at all susceptible to wooing. She had a strong preference for Philip Perry, and held an

opinion, not altogether unfounded in human experience, that in course of time, when quite deserted by Patty

Baxter, his heart might possibly be caught on the rebound. It was only a chance, but Lucy would almost have

preferred remaining unmarried, even to the withering age of twentyfive, rather than not be at liberty to

Cephas therefore, by the middle of October, could be picturesquely and alliteratively described as being raw

from repeated rejections. His bruised heart and his despised ell literally cried out for the appreciation so long

and blindly withheld. Now all at once Phoebe disclosed a second virtue; her first and only one, hitherto, in the

eyes of Cephas, having been an ability to get on with his mother, a feat in which many had made an effort

and few indeed had succeeded. Phoebe, it seems, had always secretly admired, respected, and loved Cephas

Cole! Never since her pale and somewhat glassy blue eye had opened on life had she beheld a being she

The moment this unusual and unexpected poultice was really applied to Cephas's wounds, they began to heal.

In the course of a month the most ordinary observer could have perceived a physical change in him. He

cringed no more, but held his head higher; his back straightened; his voice developed a gruff, assertive note,

like that of a stern Roman father; he let his moustache grow, and sometimes, in his most reckless moments,

twiddled the end of it. Finally he swaggered; but that was only after Phoebe had accepted him and told him

that if a girl traversed the entire length of the Saco River (which she presumed to be the longest in the world,

the Amazon not being familiar to her), she could not hope to find his equal as a husband.

And then congratulations began to pour in! Was ever marriage so fortuitous! The Coles' farm joined that of

the Days and the union between the two only children would cement the friendship between the families. The

fact that Uncle Bart was a joiner, Cephas a painter, and Abel Day a mason and bricklayer made the alliance

almost providential in its business opportunities. Phoebe's Massachusetts aunt sent a complete outfit of

giltedged china, a clock, and a mahogany chamber set. Aunt Abby relinquished to the young couple a

bedroom and a spare chamber in the "main part," while the Days supplied livegeese feathers and table and

bedlinen with positive prodigality. Aunt Abby trod the air like one inspired. "Balmy" is the only adjective

"If only I could 'a' looked ahead," smiled Uncle Bart quizzically to himself, "I'd 'a' had thirteen sons and

daughters an' married off one of 'em every year. That would 'a' made Abby's good temper kind o' permanent."

Cephas was content, too. There was a good deal in being settled and having "the whole doggoned business"

off your hands. Phoebe looked a very different creature to him in these latter days. Her eyes were just as pale,

of course, but they were brighter, and they radiated love for him, an expression in the female eye that he had

thus far been singularly unfortunate in securing. She still held her mouth slightly open, but Cephas thought

that it might be permissible, perhaps after three months of wedded bliss, to request her to be more careful in

closing it. He believed, too, that she would make an effort to do so just to please him; whereas a man's life or

property would not be safe for a single instant if he asked Miss Patience Baxter to close her mouth, not if he

Cephas did not think of Patty any longer with bitterness, in these days, being of the opinion that she was

"If she should see that mahogany chamber set going into the ell I guess she'd be glad enough to change her

tune!" thought Cephas, exultingly; and then there suddenly shot through his mind the passing fancy"I

wonder if she would!" He promptly banished the infamous suggestion however, reinforcing his virtue with

the reflection that the chamber set was Phoebe's, anyway, and the marriage day appointed, and the invitations

given out, and the weddingcake being baked, a loaf at a time, by his mother and Mrs. Day.

As a matter of fact Patty would have had no eyes for Phoebe's magnificent mahogany, even had the cart that

carried it passed her on the hill where she and Mark Wilson were walking. Her promise to marry him was a

few weeks old now, and his arm encircled her slender waist under the brown homespun cape. That in itself

was a new sensation and gave her the delicious sense of belonging to somebody who valued her highly, and

assured her of his sentiments clearly and frequently, both by word and deed. Life, dull gray life, was going to

change its hue for her presently, and not long after, she hoped, for Waitstill, too! It needed only a brighter, a

more dauntless courage; a little faith that nettles, when firmly grasped, hurt the hand less, and a fairer future

would dawn for both of them. The Deacon was a sharper nettle than she had ever meddled with before, but in

these days, when the actual contact had not yet occurred, she felt sure of herself and longed for the moment

The "publishing" of Cephas and his third choice, their dull walk up the aisle of the meetinghouse before an

admiring throng, on the Sunday when Phoebe would "appear bride," all this seemed very tame as compared

with the dreams of this ardent and adventurous pair of lovers who had gone about for days harboring secrets

greater and more daring, they thought, than had ever been breathed before within the hearing of Saco Water.

IT was not an afternoon for daydreams, for there was a chill in the air and a gray sky. Only a week before

the hills along the river might have been the walls of the New Jerusalem, shining like red gold; now the glory

had departed and it was a naked world, with empty nests hanging to boughs that not long ago had been green

with summer. The old elm by the tavern, that had been wrapped in a bright trail of scarlet woodbine, was

stripped almost bare of its autumn beauty. Here and there a maple showed a remnant of crimson, and a

stalwart oak had some rags of russet still clinging to its gaunt boughs. The hickory trees flung out a few

yellow flags from the ends of their twigs, but the forests wore a tattered and dishevelled look, and the

withered leaves that lay in dried heaps upon the frozen ground, driven hither and thither by every gust of the

north wind, gave the unthinking heart a throb of foreboding. Yet the glad summer labor of those same leaves

was finished according to the law that governed them, and the fruit was theirs and the seed for the coming

year. No breeze had been strong enough to shake them from the tree till they were ready to forsake it. Now

they had severed the bond that had held them so tightly and fluttered down to give the earth all their season's

earnings. On every hillside, in every valley and glen, the leaves that had made the summer landscape

Brown, withered, dead, buried in snow they might be, yet they were ministering to all the leaves of the next

springtime, bequeathing to them in turn the beauty that had been theirs; the leafy canopies for countless

Young love thought little of Nature's miracles, and hearts that beat high and fast were warm enough to forget

the bleak wind and gathering clouds. If there were naked trees, were there not full barrels of apples in every

cellar? If there was nothing but stubble in the frozen fields, why, there was plenty of wheat and corn at the

mill all ready for grinding. The cold air made one long for a cheery home and fireside, the crackle of a

hearthlog, the bubbling of a steaming kettle; and Patty and Mark clung together as they walked along,

Patty was a capricious creature, but all her changes were sudden and endearing ones, captivating those who

loved her more than a monotonous and unchanging virtue. Any little shower, with Patty, always ended with a

rainbow that made the landscape more enchanting than before. Of late her little coquetries and petulances had

disappeared as if by magic. She had been melted somehow from irresponsible girlhood into womanhood, and

that, too, by the ardent affection of a very ordinary young man who had no great gift save that of loving Patty

greatly. The love had served its purpose, in another way, too, for under its influence Mark's own manhood

had broadened and deepened. He longed to bind Patty to him for good and all, to capture the bright bird

whose fluttering wings and burnished plumage so captured his senses and stirred his heart, but his longings

had changed with the quality of his love and he glowed at the thought of delivering the girl from her dreary

surroundings and giving her the tenderness, the ease and comfort, the innocent gayety, that her nature craved.

"You won't fail me, Patty darling?" he was saying at this moment. "Now that our plans are finally made, with

never a weak point any where as far as I can see, my heart is so set upon carrying them out that every hour of

"No, I won't fail, Mark; but I never know the day that father will go to town until the night before. I can

always hear him making his preparations in the barn and the shed, and ordering Waitstill here and there. He is

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

"It won't be white," said Patty, who would be mischievous on her deathbed; "my Sundaygotomeetin'

"I shall see it, whatever color it is, you can be sure of that!" said Mark gallantly. "Then it's decided that next

morning I'11 wait at the tavern from sunrise, and whenever your father and Waitstill have driven up Saco

Hill, I'll come and pick you up and we '11 be off like a streak of lightning across the hills to New Hampshire.

How lucky that Riverboro is only thirty miles from the state line!It looks like snow, and how I wish it

would be something more than a flurry; a regular whizzing, whirring storm that would pack the roads and let

"I should like that, for they would be our only weddingbells. Oh! Mark! What if Waitstill shouldn't go, after

all: though I heard father tell her that he needed her to buy things for the store, and that they wouldn't be back

"You can do without Waitstill on this one occasion, better than you can without me," laughed Mark, pinching

Patty's cheek. "I've given the town clerk due notice and I have a friend to meet me at his office. He is going to

lend me his horse for the drive home, and we shall change back the next week. That will give us a fresh horse

each way, and we'll fly like the wind, snow or no snow, When we come down Guide Board Hill that night,

"We shall be man and wife in New Hampshire, but not in Maine, you say," Patty reminded him dolefully. "It

does seem dreadful that we can't be married in our own state, and have to go dangling about with this secret

on our minds, day and night; but it can't be helped! You'll try not to even think of me as your wife till we go

You're asking too much when you say I'm not to think of you as my wife, for I shall think of nothing else, but

I've given you my solemn promise," said Mark stoutly, "and I'll keep it as sure as I live. We'll be legally

married by the laws of New Hampshire, but we won't think of it as a marriage till I tell your father and mine,

and we drive away once more together. That time it will be in the sight of everybody, with our heads in the

air. I've got the little house in Portsmouth all ready, Patty: it's small, but it's in a nice part of the town.

Portsmouth is a pretty place, but it'll be a great deal prettier when it has Mrs. Mark Wilson living in it. We

can be married over again in Maine, afterwards, if your heart is set upon it. I'm willing to marry you in every

"I think you've been so kind and good and thoughtful, Mark dear," said Patty, more fondly and meltingly than

she had ever spoken to him before, "and so clever too! I do respect you for getting that good position in

Portsmouth and being able to set up for yourself at your age. I shouldn't wonder a bit if you were a judge

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

"I do believe I can get on, with you to help me, Patty," he said, pressing her arm more closely to his side, and

looking down ardently into her radiant face. "You're a great deal cleverer than I am, but I have a faculty for

the business of the law, so my father says, and a faculty for moneymaking, too. And even if we have to

begin in a small way, my salary will be a certainty, and we'11 work up together. I can see you in a yellow

"It must be white satin, if you please, not yellow! After having used a hundred and ten yards of shopworn

yellow calico on myself within two years, I never want to wear that color again. If only I could come to you

better provided, she sighed, with the suggestion of tears in her voice. "If I'd been a common servant I could

have saved something from my wages to be married on; I haven't even got anything to be married IN!"

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

"Remember to have a box of your belongings packed and slipped under the shed somewhere. You can't be

certain what your father will say or do when the time comes for telling him, and I want you to be ready to

"I will; I'll do everything you say, Mark, but are you sure that we have thought of every other way? I do so

"Every other way! I am more than willing to ask your father, but we know he would treat me with contempt,

for he can't bear the sight of me! He would probably lock you up and feed you on bread and water. That

being the state of things, how can I tell our plans to my own father? He never would look with favor on my

running away with you; and mother is, by nature, set upon doing things handsomely and in proper order.

Father would say our elopement would be putting us both wrong before the community, and he'd advise me

to wait. 'You are both young'I can hear him announcing his convictions now, as clearly as if he was

standing here in the road'You are both young and you can well afford to wait until something turns up.' As

"Yes, we have been engaged to be married for at least five weeks," said Patty, with an upward glance peculiar

to her own sparkling face,one that always intoxicated Mark. "I am seventeen and a half; your father

But I never would do thisthissudden, unrespectable thing, if there was any other way. Everything

depends on my keeping it secret from Waitstill, but she doesn't suspect anything yet. She thinks of me as

nothing but a child still. Do you suppose Ellen would go with us, just to give me a little comfort?"

"She might," said Mark, after reflecting a moment. "She is very devoted to you, and perhaps she could keep a

secret; she never has, but there's always a first time. You can't go on adding to the party, though, as if it was a

candypull! We cannot take Lucy Morrill and Phoebe Day and Cephas Cole, because it would be too hard on

the horse; and besides, I might get embarrassed at the town clerk's office and marry the wrong girl; or you

might swop me off for Cephas! But I'll tell Ellen if you say so; she's got plenty of grit."

"Don't joke about it, Mark, don't. I shouldn't miss Waitstill so much if I had Ellen, and how happy I shall be if

she approves of me for a sister and thinks your mother and father will like me in time."

"I don't know; look at Aunt Abby Cole!" said Patty pensively. "Well, it does not seem as if a marriage that

isn't good in Riverboro was really decent! How tiresome of Maine to want all those days of public notice;

people must so often want to get married in a minute. If I think about anything too long I always get out of

"I know you do; that's what I'm afraid of!"and Mark's voice showed decided nervousness. "You won't get

"Marrying you is more than a 'notion,' Mark," said Patty soberly. "I'm only a little past seventeen, but I'm far

older because of the difficulties I've had. I don't wonder you speak of my 'notions.' I was as light as a feather

"Then I came to know you better and see how you sympathized with Waitstill's troubles and mine. I couldn't

love anybody, I couldn't marry anybody, who didn't feel that things at our house can't go on as they are!

Father has had a good long trial! Three wives and two daughters have done their best to live with him, and

failed. I am not willing to die for him, as my mother did, nor have Waitstill killed if I can help it. Sometimes

he is like a man who has lost his senses and sometimes he is only grim and quiet and cruel. If he takes our

marriage without a terrible scene, Mark, perhaps it will encourage Waitstill to break her chains as I have

"There's sure to be an awful row," Mark said, as one who had forecasted all the probabilities. "It wouldn't

make any difference if you married the Prince of Wales; nothing would suit your father but selecting the man

and making all the arrangements; and then he would never choose any one who wouldn't tend the store and

"Waitstill will never run away; she isn't like me. She will sit and sit there, slaving and suffering, till

"You mean Ivory Boynton? I believe he worships the ground she walks on. I like him better than I used, and I

understand him better. Oh! but I'm a lucky young dog to have a kind, liberal father and a bit of money put by

"No, you wouldn't eat your heart out; you'd always get what you wanted somehow, and you wouldn't wait for

it either; and I'm just the same. I'm not built for giving up, and enduring, and sacrificing. I'm naturally just a

tuft of thistledown, Mark; but living beside Waitstill all these years I've grown ashamed to be so light,

blowing about hither and thither. I kept looking at her and borrowing some of her strength, just enough to

make me worthy to be her sister. Waitstill is like a bit of Plymouth Rock, only it's a lovely bit on the land

side, with earth in the crevices, and flowers blooming all over it and hiding the granite. Oh! if only she will

"She will forgive us, Patty darling; don't fret, and cry, and make your pretty eyes all red. I'11 do nothing in all

this to make either of you girls ashamed of me, and I'll keep your father and mine ever before my mind to

prevent my being foolish or reckless; for, you know, Patty, I'm heels over head in love with you, and it's only

for your sake I'm taking all these pains and agreeing to do without my own wedded wife for weeks to come!"

"Does the town clerk, or does the justice of the peace give a weddingring, just like the minister?" Patty

"The ring is all ready, and has 'M.W. to P.B.' engraved in it, with the place for the date waiting; and here is

the engagement ring if you'11 wear it when you're alone, Patty. My mother gave it to me when she thought

there would be something between Annabel Franklin and me. The moment I looked at ityou see it's a topaz

stoneand noticed the yellow fire in it, I said to myself: 'It is like no one but Patty Baxter, and if she won't

wear it, no other girl shall!' It's the color of the tip ends of your curls and it's just like the light in your eyes

"It's heavenly!" cried Patty. "It looks as if it had been made of the yellow autumn leaves, and oh! how I love

the sparkle of it! But never will I take your mother's ring or wear it, Mark, till I've proved myself her loving,

dutiful daughter. I'll do the one wrong thing of running away with you and concealing our marriage, but not

"Very well," sighed Mark, replacing the ring in his pocket with rather a crestfallen air. "But the first thing you

know you'll be too good for me, Patty! You used to be a regular willo'thewisp, all nonsense and fun,

forever laughing and teasing, so that a fellow could never be sure of you for two minutes together."

"It's all there underneath," said Patty, putting her hand on his arm and turning her wistful face up to his. "It

will come again; the girl in me isn't dead; she isn't even asleep; but she's all sobered down. She can't laugh

ready to spring out if any one says the wrong word. This Patty is frightened and anxious and her heart beats

too fast from morning till night. She hasn't any mother, and she cannot say a word to her dear sister, and she's

going away to be married to you, that's almost a stranger, and she isn't eighteen, and doesn't know what's

coming to her, nor what it means to be married. She dreads her father's anger, and she cannot rest till she

knows whether your family will love her and take her in; and, oh! she's a miserable, worried girl, not a bit

Mark held her close and smoothed the curls under the loose brown hood. "Don't you fret, Patty darling! I'm

not the boy I was last week. Every word you say makes me more of a man. At first I would have run away

just for the joke; anything to get you away from the other fellows and prove I was the best man, but now' I'm

sobered down, too. I'll do nothing rash; I'll be as staid as the judge you want me to be twenty years later.

You've made me over, Patty, and if my love for you wasn't the right sort at first, it is now. I wish the road to

New Hampshire was full of lions and I could fight my way through them just to show you how strong I feel!"

"There'll be lions enough," smiled Patty through her tears, "though they won't have manes and tails; but I can

imagine how father will roar, and how my courage will ooze out of the heels of my boots!"

"Just let me catch the Deacon roaring at my wife!" exclaimed Mark with a swelling chest. "Now, run along,

Patty dear, for I don't want you scolded on my account. There's sure to be only a day or two of waiting now,

and I shall soon see the signal waving from your window. I'll sound Ellen and see if she's brave enough to be

one of the eloping party. Goodnight! Goodnight! Oh! How I hope our going away will be tomorrow, my

THE snow had come. It had begun to fall softly and steadily at the beginning of the week, and now for days it

had covered the ground deeper and deeper, drifting about the little red brick house on the hilltop, banking up

against the barn, and shrouding the sheds and the smaller buildings. There had been two cold, still nights; the

windows were covered with silvery landscapes whose delicate foliage made every pane of glass a leafy

bower, while a dazzling crust bediamonded the hillsides, so that no eye could rest on them long without

TownHouse Hill was not as well travelled as many others, and Deacon Baxter had often to break his own

road down to the store, without waiting for the help of the village snowplough to make things easier for

him. Many a path had Waitstill broken in her time, and it was by no means one of her most distasteful

tasksthat of shovelling into the drifts of heapedup whiteness, tossing them to one side or the other, and

cutting a narrow, cleanedged track that would pack down into the hardness of marble.

There were many "chores" to be done these cold mornings before any household could draw a breath of

comfort. The Baxters kept but one cow in winter, killed the pig,not to eat, but to sell,and reduced the

flock of hens and turkeys; but Waitstill was always as busy in the barn as in her own proper domain. Her

heart yearned for all the dumb creatures about the place, intervening between them and her father's scanty

care; and when the thermometer descended far below zero she would be found stuffing hay into the holes and

cracks of the barn and henhouse, giving the horse and cow fresh beddings of straw and a mouthful of extra

It was three o'clock in the afternoon and a fire in the Baxters' kitchen since six in the morning had produced a

fairly temperate climate in that one room, though the entries and chambers might have been used for

refrigerators, as the Deacon was as parsimonious in the use of fuel as in all other things, and if his daughters

had not been hardy young creatures, trained from their very birth to discomforts and exposures of every sort,

The Baxter kitchen and glittered in all its accustomed cleanliness and order. Scrubbing and polishing were

cheap amusements, and nobody grudged them to Waitstill. No tables in Riverboro were whiter, no tins more

lustrous, no pewter brighter, no brick hearths ruddier than hers. The beans and brown bread and Indian

pudding were basking in the warmth of the old brick oven, and what with the crackle and sparkle of the fire,

the gleam of the blue willowware on the cupboard shelves, and the scarlet geraniums blooming on the sunny

shelf above the sink, there were few pleasanter place to be found in the village than that same Baxter kitchen.

Yet Waitstill was ill at ease this afternoon; she hardly knew why. Her father had just put the horse into the

pung and driven up to Milliken's Mills for some grain, and Patty was down at the store instructing Bill

Morrill (Cephas Cole's successor) in his novel task of waiting on customers and learning the whereabouts of

things; no easy task in the bewildering variety of stock in a country store; where pins, treacle, gingham,

Epsom salts, Indian meal, shoestrings, shovels, brooms, sulphur, tobacco, suspenders, rum, and indigo may

Patty was quiet and docile these days, though her color was more brilliant than usual and her eyes had all

their accustomed sparkle. She went about her work steadily, neither ranting nor railing at fate, nor bewailing

her lot, but even in this Waitstill felt a sense of change and difference too subtle to be put in words. She had

noted Patty's summer flirtations, but regarded them indulgently, very much as if they had been the

irresponsible friskings of a lamb in a meadow. Waitstill had more than the usual reserve in these matters, for

in New England at that time, though the soul was a subject of daily conversation, the heart was felt to be

rather an indelicate topic, to be alluded to as seldom as possible. Waitstill certainly would never have

examined Patty closely as to the state of her affections, intimate as she was with her sister's thoughts and

opinions about life; she simply bided her time until Patty should confide in her. She had wished now and then

that Patty's capricious fancy might settle on Philip Perry, although, indeed, when she considered it seriously,

it seemed like an alliance between a butterfly and an owl. Cephas Cole she regarded as quite beneath Patty's

rightful ambitions, and as for Mark Wilson, she had grown up in the belief, held in the village generally, that

he would marry money and position, and drift out of Riverboro into a gayer, larger world. Her devotion to her

sister was so ardent, and her admiration so sincere, that she could not think it possible that Patty would love

anywhere in vain; nevertheless, she had an instinct that her affections were crystallizing somewhere or other,

and when that happened, the uncertain and eccentric temper of her father would raise a thousand obstacles.

While these thoughts coursed more or less vagrantly through Waitstill's mind, she suddenly determined to get

her cloak and hood and run over to see Mrs. Boynton. Ivory had been away a good deal in the woods since

early November chopping trees and helping to make new roads. He could not go long distances, like the other

men, as he felt constrained to come home every day or two to look after his mother and Rodman, but the

work was too lucrative to be altogether refused. With Waitstill's help, he had at last overcome his mother's

aversion to old Mrs. Mason, their nearest neighbor; and she, being now a widow with very slender resources,

went to the Boyntons' several times each week to put the forlorn household a little on its feet.

It was all uphill and down to Ivory's farm, Waitstill reflected, and she could take her sled and slide half the

way, going and coming, or she could cut across the frozen fields on the crust. She caught up her shawl from a

hook on the kitchen door, and, throwing it over her head and shoulders to shield herself from the chill blasts

She slipped on a quilted petticoat and warmer dress, braided her hair freshly, while her breath went out in a

white cloud to meet the freezing air; snatched her wraps from her closet, and was just going down the stairs

when she remembered that an hour before, having to bind up a cut finger for her father, she had searched

Patty's bureau drawer for an old handkerchief, and had left things in disorder while she ran to answer the

"Hurry up and don't make me stan' here all winter!" he had shouted. "If you ever kept things in proper order,

you wouldn't have to hunt all over the house for a piece of rag when you need it!"

Patty was very dainty about her few patched and darned belongings; also very exact in the adjustment of her

bits of ribbon, her collars of crocheted thread, her adored coral pendants, and her pile of neat cotton

handkerchiefs, hemstitched by her own hands. Waitstill, accordingly, with an exclamation at her own

unwonted carelessness, darted into her sister's room to replace in perfect order the articles she had

disarranged in her haste. She knew them all, these poor little trinkets,humble, pathetic evidences of Patty's

Suddenly her hand and her eye fell at the same moment on something hidden in a far corner under a white

"fascinator," one of those headcoverings of filmy wool, dotted with beads, worn by the girls of the period.

She drew the glittering, unfamiliar object forward, and then lifted it wonderingly in her hand. It was a string

of burnished gold beads, the avowed desire of Patty's heart; a string of beads with a brilliant little stone in the

fastening. And, as if that were not mystery enough, there was something slipped over the clasped necklace

and hanging from it, as Waitstill held it up to the lighta circlet of plain gold, a weddingring!

Waitstill stood motionless in the cold with such a throng of bewildering thoughts, misgivings, imaginings,

rushing through her head that they were like a flock of birds beating their wings against her ears. The

imaginings were not those of absolute dread or terror, for she knew her Patty. If she had seen the necklace

alone she would have been anxious, indeed, for it would have meant that the girl, urged on by ungoverned

desire for the ornament, had accepted present from one who should not have given it to her secretly; but the

weddingring meant something different for Patty, something more, something certain, something

unescapable, for good or ill. A weddingring could stand for nothing but marriage. Could Patty be married?

How, when, and where could so great a thing happen without her knowledge? It seemed impossible. How had

such a child surmounted the difficulties in the path? Had she been led away by the attractions of some

stranger? No, there had been none in the village. There was only one man who had the worldly wisdom or the

means to carry Patty off under the very eye of her watchful sister; only one with the reckless courage to defy

her father; and that was Mark Wilson. His name did not bring absolute confidence to Waitstill's mind. He was

gay and young and thoughtless; how had he managed to do this wild thing?and had he done all decently

and wisely, with consideration for the girl's good name? The thought of all the risks lying in the train of

Patty's youth and inexperience brought a wail of anguish from Waitstill's lips, and, dropping the beads and

closing the drawer, she stumbled blindly down the stairway to the kitchen, intent upon one thought onlyto

find her sister, to look in her eyes, feel the touch of her hand, and assure herself of her safety.

She gave a dazed look at the tall clock, and was beginning to put on her cloak when the door opened and

Patty entered the kitchen by way of the shed; the usual Patty, rosy, buoyant, alert, with a kind of childlike

"Are you going out, Waity? Wrap up well, for it's freezing cold. Waity, Waity, dear! What's the matter?" she

Waitstill's face had lost its clear color, and her eyes had the look of some dumb animal that has been struck

and wounded. She sank into the flagbottomed rocker by the window, and leaning back her head, uttered no

word, but closed her eyes and gave one long, shivering sigh and a dry sob that seemed drawn from the very

"WAITY, I know what it is; you have found out about me! Who has been wicked enough to tell you before I

"Oh, Patty, Patty!" cried Waitstill, who could no longer hold back her tears. "How could you deceive me so?

How could you shut me out of your heart and keep a secret like this from me, who have tried to be mother

and sister in one to you ever since the day you were born? God has sent me much to bear, but nothing so

bitter as thisto have my sister take the greatest step of her life without my knowledge or counsel!"

"All is told, and not by you as it should have been. We've never had anything separate from each other in all

our lives, and when I looked in your bureau drawer for a bit of soft cottonit was nothing more than I have

done a hundred timesyou can guess now what I stumbled upon; a weddingring for a hand I have held

ever since it was a baby's. My sister has a husband, and I am not even sure of his name!

"Waity, Waity, don't take it so to heart!" and Patty flung herself on her knees beside Waitstill's chair. "Not till

you hear everything! When I tell you all, you will dry your eyes and smile and be happy about me, and you

will know that in the whole world there is no one else in my love or my life but you and mymy husband."

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

Waitstill's tone showed clearly that she was still grieved and hurt beyond her power to conceal. "I have never

thought of marrying any one but Mark, and not even of marrying him till a little while ago," said Patty. "Now

do not draw away from me and look out of the window as if we were not sisters, or you will break my heart.

Turn your eyes to mine and believe in me, Waity, while I tell you everything, as I have so longed to do all

these nights and days. Mark and I have loved each other for a long, long time. It was only play at first, but we

were young and foolish and did not understand what was really happening between us."

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

"Yes, we areyears and years! Five weeks ago I promised Mark that I would marry him; but how was I ever

to keep my word publicly? You have noticed how insultingly father treats him of late, passing him by without

a word when he meets him in the street? You remember, too, that he has never gone to Lawyer Wilson for

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

"That is all very well, and might be borne like many another cross; but I wanted to marry this particular

'aversion,"' argued Patty. Would you have helped me to marry Mark secretly if I had confided in you?"

"I knew it," exclaimed Patty triumphantly. "We both said so! And what was Mark to do? He was more than

willing to come up here and ask for me like a man, but he knew that he would be ordered off the premises as

if he were a thief. That would have angered Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and made matters worse. We talked and

talked until we were hoarse; we thought and thought until we nearly had brain fever from thinking, but there

"We could have bided until we were gray, nothing would have changed father; and just lately I couldn't make

Mark bide," confessed Patty ingenuously. "He has been in a rage about father's treatment of you and me. He

knows we haven't the right food to eat, nothing fit to wear, and not an hour of peace or freedom. He has even

heard the men at the store say that our very lives might be in danger if we crossed father's will, or angered

him beyond a certain point. You can't blame a man who loves a girl, if he wants to take her away from such a

wretched life. His love would be good for nothing if he did not long to rescue her!"

"I would never have left you behind to bear your slavery alone, while I slipped away to happiness and

comfortnot for any man alive would I I have done it!" This speech, so unlike Waitstill in its ungenerous

reproach, was repented of as soon as it left her tongue. "Oh, I did not mean that, my darling!" she cried. "I

would have welcomed any change for you, and thanked God for it, if only it could have come honorably and

"But, don't you see, Waity, how my marriage helps everything? That is what makes me happiest; that now I

shall have a home and it can be yours. Father has plenty of money and can get a housekeeper. He is only

sixtyfive, and as hale and hearty as a man can be. You have served your time, and surely you need not be

his drudge for the rest of your life. Mark and I thought you would spend half the year with us."

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

"In Allentown, New Hampshire, last Monday, the day you and father went to Saco. Ellen went with us. You

needn't suppose it was much fun for me! Girls that think running away to be married is nothing but a lark, do

not have to deceive a sister like you, nor have a father such as mine to reckon with afterwards."

"Nobody that hasn't already run away to be married once or twice could tell how it was going to feel! Never

did I pass so unhappy a day! If Mark was not everything that is kind and gentle, he would have tipped me out

of the sleigh into a snowbank and left me by the roadside to freeze. I might have been murdered instead of

only married, by the way I behaved; but Mark and Ellen understood. Then, the very next day, Mark's father

sent him up to Bridgton on business, and he had to go to Allentown first to return a friend's horse, so he

"Does a New Hampshire marriage hold good in Maine?" asked Waitstill, still intent on the bare facts at the

"Well, of course," stammered Patty, somewhat confused, "Maine has her own way of doing things, and

wouldn't be likely to fancy New Hampshire's. But nothing can make it wicked or anything but according to

law. Besides, Mark considered all the difficulties. He is wonderfully clever, and he has a clerkship in a

Portsmouth law office waiting for him; and that's where we are going to live, in New Hampshire, where we

were married, and my darling sister will come soon and stay months and months with us."

"Late tonight or early tomorrow morning. 283 "Where did you go after you were married?"

"Where did I go?" echoed Patty, in a childish burst of tears. "Where could I go? It took all day to be

marriedall day long, working and driving hard from sunrise to seven o'clock in the evening. Then when we

reached the bridge, Mark dropped me, and I walked up home in the dark, and went to bed without any supper,

for fear that you and father would come back and catch me at it and ask why I was so late."

Patty's tears flowed faster at the first sound of sympathy in Waitstill's voice, for selfpity is very enfeebling.

"So my only weddingjourney was the freezing drive back from Allentown, with Ellen crying all the way and

wishing that she hadn't gone with us. Mark and I both say we'll never be married again so long as we live!"

"I haven't laid eyes on him!" said Patty, with a fresh burst of woe. "I have a certificatething, and a

weddingring and a beautiful frock and hat that Mark bought in Boston, but no real husband. I'm no more

married than ever I was! Don't you remember I said that Mark was sent away on Tuesday morning? And this

is Thursday. I've had three letters from him; but I don't know, till we see how father takes it, when we can tell

the Wilsons and start for Portsmouth. We shan't really call ourselves married till we get to Portsmouth; we

promised each other that from the first. It isn't much like being a bride, never to see your bridegroom; to have

a father who will fly into a passion when he hears that you are married; not to know whether your new family

will like or despise you; and to have your only sister angered with you for the first time in her life!"

Waitstill's heart melted, and she lifted Patty's tearstained face to hers and kissed it. "Well, dear, I would not

have had you do this for the world, but it is done, and Mark seems to have been as wise as a man can be when

he does an unwise thing. You are married, and you love each other. That's the comforting thing to me."

"We do," sobbed Patty. "No two people ever loved each other better than we; but it's been all spoiled for fear

"I must say I dread to have him hear the news"; and Waitstill knitted her brows anxiously. "I hope it may be

soon, and I think I ought to be here when he is told. Mark will never understand or bear with him, and there

"I'll be here, too, and I'm not afraid! And Patty raised her head defiantly. "Father can unmarry us, that's why

we acted in this miserable, secret, underhanded way. Somehow, though I haven't seen Mark since we went to

Allentown, I am braver than I was last week, for now I've got somebody to take my part. I've a good mind to

go upstairs and put on my gold beads and my weddingring, just to get used to them and to feel a little more

married.No: I can't, after all, for there is father driving up the hill now, and he may come into the house.

"I was expecting him every moment"; and Waitstill rose and stirred the fire." He took the pung and went to

"He hasn't anything in the back of the pungand, oh, Waity! he is standing up now and whipping the horse

with all his might. I never saw him drive like that before: what can be the matter? He can't have seen my

weddingring, and only three people in all the world know about my being married."

Waitstill turned from the window, her heart beating a little faster." What three people know, three hundred

are likely to know sooner or later. It may be a false alarm, but father is in a fury about something. He must

DEACON BAXTER drove into the barn, and flinging a blanket over the wheezing horse, closed the door

behind him and hurried into the house without even thinking to lay down his whip.

Opening the kitchen door and stopping outside long enough to kick the snow from his heavy boots, he strode

into the kitchen and confronted the two girls. He looked at them sharply before he spoke, scanning their

"Oh! you're both here; that's lucky. Now stan' up and answer to me. What's this I hear at the Mills about

The time had come, then, and by some strange fatality, when Mark was too far away to be of service.

"Tell me what you heard, father, and I can give you a better answer," Patty replied, hedging to gain time, and

"Bill Morrill says his brother that works in New Hampshire reports you as ridin' through the streets of

There seemed but one reply to this, so Patty answered tremblingly: "He says what's true; I was there."

"WHAT!" And it was plain from the Deacon's voice that he had really disbelieved the rumor. A whirlwind of

"Do you mean to stan' there an' own up to me that you was thirty miles away from home with a young man?"

"If you ask me a plain question, I've got to tell you the truth, father: I was."

"How dare you carry on like that and drag my name into scandal, you worthless trollop, you? Who went

Patty remained mute at this threat, but Waitstill caught her hand and whispered: "Tell him all, dear; it's got to

"Why are you interferin' and puttin' in your meddlesome oar?" the Deacon said, turning to Waitstill. "The girl

would never 'a' been there if you'd attended to your business. She's nothin' but a fool of a young filly, an'

you're an old carthorse. It was your job to look out for her as your mother told you to. Anybody might 'a'

"You shall not call my sister an old carthorse! I'll not permit it!" cried Patty, plucking up courage in her

sister's defence, and as usual comporting herself a trifle more like a spitfire than a true heroine of tragedy.

"Hush, Patty! Let him call me anything that he likes; it makes no difference at such a time."

"Waitstill knew nothing of my going away till this afternoon," continued Patty. "I kept it secret from her on

purpose, because I was afraid she would not approve. I went with Mark Wilson, andandI married him in

New Hampshire because we couldn't do it at home without everybody's knowledge. Now you know all."

"Do you mean to tell me you've gone an' married that reckless, wuthless, horsetrottin', cardplayin' sneak of

a Wilson boy that's courted every girl in town? Married the son of a man that has quarrelled with me and

insulted me in public? By the Lord Harry, I'll crack this whip over your shoulders once before I'm done with

you! If I'd used it years ago you might have been an honest woman today, instead of a"

Foxwell Baxter had wholly lost control of himself, and the temper, that had never been governed or held in

check, lashed itself into a fury that made him for the moment unaccountable for his words or actions.

Waitstill took a step forward in front of Patty. "Put down that whip, father, or I'll take it from you and break it

across my knee!" Her eyes blazed and she held her head high. "You've made me do the work of a man, and,

thank God, I've got the muscle of one. Don't lift a finger to Patty, or I'11 defend her, I promise you! The

dinnerhorn is in the side entry and two blasts will bring Uncle Bart up the hill, but I'd rather not call him

The Deacon's grasp on the whip relaxed, and he fell back a little in sheer astonishment at the bravado of the

girl, ordinarily so quiet and selfcontained. He was speechless for a second, and then recovered breath

enough to shout to the terrified Patty: "I won't use the whip till I hear whether you've got any excuse for your

scandalous behavior. Hear me tell you one thing: this little pleasuretrip o' yourn won't do you no good, for

I'11 break the marriage! I won't have a Wilson in my family if I have to empty a shotgun into him; but your

lies and your low streets are so beyond reason I can't believe my ears. What's your excuse, I say?"

"Stop a minute, Patty, before you answer, and let me say a few things that ought to have been said before

now," interposed Waitstill. "If Patty has done wrong, father, you've no one but yourself to thank for it, and it's

only by God's grace that nothing worse has happened to her. What could you expect from a young thing like

that, with her merry heart turned into a lump in her breast every day by your cruelty? Did she deceive you?

Well, you've made her afraid of you ever since she was a baby in the cradle, drawing the covers over her little

head when she heard your step. Whatever crop you sow is bound to come up, father; that's Nature's law, and

"You hold your tongue, you,readin' the law to your elders an' betters," said the old man, choking with

wrath. "My business is with this wuthless sister o' yourn, not with you!You've got your coat and hood on,

miss, so you jest clear out o' the house; an' if you're too slow about it, I'll help you along. I've no kind of an

idea you're rightly married, for that young Wilson sneak couldn't pay so high for you as all that; but if it

amuses you to call him your husband, go an' find him an' stay with him. This is an honest house, an' no place

Patty had a good share of the Baxter temper, not under such control as Waitstill's, and the blood mounted into

"You shall not speak to me so!" she said intrepidly, while keeping a discreet eye on the whip. "I'm not

aacaterpillar to be stepped on, I'm a married woman, as right as a New Hampshire justice can make me,

with a weddingring and a certificate to show, if need be. And you shall not call my husband names! Time

will tell what he is going to be, and that's a soninlaw any true father would be proud to own!"

"Why are you set against this match, father? " argued Waitstill, striving to make him hear reason. "Patty has

married into one of the best families in the village. Mark is gay and thoughtless, but never has he been seen

the worse for liquor, and never has he done a thing for which a wife need hang her head. It is something for a

young fellow of fourandtwenty to be able to provide for a wife and keep her in comfort; and when all is

Patty seized this inopportune moment to forget her father's presence, and the tragic nature of the occasion,

and, in her usual impetuous fashion, flung her arms around Waitstill's neck and gave her the hug of a young

"My own dear sister," she said. "I don't mind anything, so long as you stand up for us."

"Don't make her go tonight, father," pleaded Waitstill. "Don't send your own child out into the cold.

"She can find another up at the Mills as good as he is, or better. Off with you, I say, you trumpery little

"Go, then, dear, it is better so; Uncle Bart will keep you overnight; run up and get your things"; and Waitstill

"She'11 not take anything from my house. It's her husband's business to find her in clothes."

No heroics for her; no fainting fits at being disowned; no hysterics at being turned out of house and home; no

prayers for mercy, but a quick retort for every gibe from her father; and her defiant attitude enraged the

"I won't speak again," he said, in a tone that could not be mistaken. "Into the street you go, with the clothes

"Go, Patty, it's the only thing to be done. Don't tremble, for nobody shall touch a hair of your head. I can trust

Patty buttoned her shabby coat and tied on her hood as she walked from the kitchen through the sittingroom

towards the side door, her heart heaving with shame and anger, and above all with a child's sense of

"Don't tell the neighbors any more lies than you can help," called her father after her retreating form; "an' if

any of 'em dare to come up here an' give me any of their imperdence, they'll be treated same as you. Come

back here, Waitstill, and don't go to slobberin' any goodbyes over her. She ain't likely to get out o' the

"I shall certainly go to the door with my sister," said Waitstill coldly, suiting the action to the word, and

following Patty out on the steps. "Shall you tell Uncle Bart everything, dear, and ask him to let you sleep at

Both girls were trembling with excitement; Waitstill pale as a ghost, Patty flushed and tearful, with defiant

"I s'pose so," she answered dolefully; "though Aunt Abby hates me, on account of Cephas. I'd rather go to Dr.

Perry's, but I don't like to meet Phil. There doesn't seem to be any good place for me, but it 's only for a night.

And you'11 not let father prevent your seeing Mark and me tomorrow, will you? Are you afraid to stay

"No, no, run along. Father has vented his rage upon you, and I shall not have any more trouble. God bless and

"And you're not angry with me now, Waity? You still love me? And you'll forgive Mark and come to stay

"We'll see, dear, when all this unhappy business is settled, and you are safe and happy in your own home. I

Patty had the most ardent love for her elder sister, and something that resembled reverence for her

unselfishness, her loyalty, and her strength of character; but if the truth were told she had no great opinion of

Waitstill's ability to feel righteous wrath, nor of her power to avenge herself in the face of rank injustice. It

was the conviction of her own superior finesse and audacity that had sustained patty all through her late

escapade. She felt herself a lucky girl, indeed, to achieve liberty and happiness for herself, but doubly lucky if

She would have been a trifle astonished had she surmised the existence of certain mysterious waves that had

been sweeping along the coasts of Waitstill's mind that afternoon, breaking down all sorts of defences and

carrying her will along with them by sheer force: but it is a truism that two human beings can live beside each

Patty's elopement with the youth of her choice, taking into account all its attendant risks, was Indeed an

exhibition of courage and initiative not common to girls of seventeen; but Waitstill was meditating a mutiny

more daring yeta mutiny, too, involving a course of conduct most unusual in maidens of puritan descent.

She walked back into the kitchen to find her father sitting placidly in the rockingchair by the window. He

had lighted his corncob pipe, in which he always smoked a mixture of dried sweetfern as being cheaper

than tobacco, and his face wore something resembling a smilea foxy smileas he watched his

youngestborn ploughing down the hill through the deep snow, while the more obedient Waitstill moved

Conversation was not the Deacon's forte, but it seemed proper for some one to break the ice that seemed

"That little Jillgoovertheground will give the neighbors a pleasant evenin' tellin' 'em 'bout me," he

chuckled. "Aunt Abby Cole will run the streets o' the three villages by sunup tomorrer; but nobody pays

any 'tention to a woman whose tongue is hung in the middle and wags at both ends. I wa'n't intending to use

the whip on your sister, Waitstill," continued the Deacon, with a crafty look at his silent daughter, "though a

trouncin' would 'a' done her a sight o' good; but I was only tryin' to frighten her a little mite an' pay her up for

bringin' disgrace on us the way she's done, makin' us the talk o' the town. Well, she's gone, an' good riddance

to bad rubbish, say I! One less mouth to feed, an' one less body to clothe. You'll miss her jest at first, on

account o' there bein' no other womenfolks on the hill, but 't won't last long. I'll have Bill Morrill do some o'

your outside chores, so 't you can take on your sister's work, if she ever done any."

This was a most astoundingly generous proposition on the Deacon's part, and to tell the truth he did not

himself fully understand his mental processes when he made it; but it seemed to be drawn from him by a kind

of instinct that he was not standing well in his elder daughter's books. Though the two girls had never made

any demonstration of their affection in his presence, he had a fair idea of their mutual dependence upon each

other. Not that he placed the slightest value on Waitstill's opinion of him, or cared in the smallest degree what

she, or any one else in the universe, thought of his conduct; but she certainly did appear to advantage when

contrasted with the pert little hussy who had just left the premises. Also, Waitstill loomed large in his

household comforts and economies, having a clear head, a sure hand, and being one of the steadygoing,

reliable sort that can be counted on in emergencies, not, like Patty, going off at halfcock at the smallest

provocation. Yes, Waitstill, as a product of his masterly training for the last seven years, had settled down,

not without some trouble and friction, into a tolerably dependable packhorse, and he intended in the future

to use some care in making permanent so valuable an aid and ally. She did not pursue nor attract the opposite

sex, as his younger daughter apparently did; so by continuing his policy of keeping all young men rigidly at a

distance he could count confidently on having', Waitstill serve his purposes for the next fifteen or twenty

years, or as long as he, himself, should continue to ornament and enrich the earth. He would go to Saco the

very next day, and cut Patty out of his will, arranging his property so that Waitstill should be the chief legatee

as long as she continued to live obediently under his roof. He intended to make the last point clear if he had to

consult every lawyer in York County; for he wouldn't take risks on any woman alive.

If he must leave his money anywhereand it was with a bitter pang that he faced the inexorable conviction

that he could neither live forever, nor take his savings with him to the realms of bliss prepared for members

of the Orthodox Church in good and regular standingif he must leave his money behind him, he would dig

a hole in the ground and bury it, rather than let it go to any one who had angered him in his lifetime.

These were the thoughts that caused him to relax his iron grip and smile as he sat by the window, smoking his

Presently he glanced at the clock. "It's only quarterpast four," he said. "I thought 't was later, but the snow

makes it so light you can't jedge the time. The moon fulls tonight, don't it? Yes; come to think of it, I know

it does. Ain't you settin' out supper a little mite early, Wait still? "This was a longer and more amiable speech

than he had made in years, but Waitstill never glanced at him as she said: "It is a little early, but I want to get

"Be you goin' out? Mind, I won't have you follerin' Patience round; you'll only upset what I've done, an'

anyhow I want you to keep away from the neighbors for a few days, till all this blows over."

He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he still had the uneasy feeling that he stood on the brink of a

The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold; soda biscuits, a driedapple pie, and the usual brown teapot

were in evidence; and as her father ceased speaking Waitstill opened the door of the brick oven where the

beanpot reposed, set a chair by the table, and turning, took up her coat (her mother's old ridingcloak, it

"Did you really think, father, that I would sleep under your roof after you had turned my sister out into the

snow to lodge with whoever might take her inmy seventeen yearoldsister that your wife left to my care;

Waitstill's voice trembled a trifle, but otherwise she was quite calm and free from heroics of any sort.

The Deacon looked up in surprise. "I guess you're kind o' hystericky," he said. "Set downset down an' talk

things over. I ain't got nothin' ag'in' you, an' I mean to treat you right. Set down!"

The old man was decidedly nervous, and intended to keep his temper until there was a safer chance to let it

Waitstill sat down. "There's nothing to talk over," she said. "I have done all that I promised my stepmother

the night she died, and now I am going. If there's a duty owed between daughter and father, it ought to work

both ways. I consider that I have done my share, and now I intend to seek happiness for myself. I have never

"An' you'd leave me to git on the best I can, after what I've done for you?" burst out the Deacon, still trying to

"You gave me my life, and I'm thankful to you for that, but you've given me little since, father."

"No more than I have fed and clothed you. You've provided the raw food, and I've cooked and served it.

You've bought and I have made shirts and overalls and coats for you, and knitted your socks and comforters

and mittens. Not only have I toiled and saved and scrimped away my girlhood as you bade me, but I've

earned for you. Who made the butter, and took care of the hens, and dried the apples, and 'drew in' the rugs?

Who raised and ground the peppers for sale, and tended the geese that you might sell the feathers? No, father,

DEACON FOXWELL BAXTER was completely nonplussed for the first time in his life. He had never

allowed "argyfyin'" in his household, and there had never been a clash of wills before this when he had not

come off swiftly and brutally triumphant. This situation was complicated by the fact that he did not dare to

apply the brakes as usual, since there were more issues involved than ever before. He felt too stunned to deal

properly with this daughter, having emptied all the vials of his wrath upon the other one, and being, in

consequence, somewhat enfeebled. It was always easy enough to cope with Patty, for her impertinence

evoked such rage that the argument took care of itself; but this grave young woman was a different matter.

There she sat composedly on the edge of her wooden chair, her head lifted high, her color coming and going,

her eyes shining steadily, like fixed stars; there she sat, calmly announcing her intention of leaving her father

to shift for himself; yet the skies seemed to have no thought of falling! He felt that he must make another

"Now, you take off your coat," he said, the pipe in his hand trembling as he stirred nervously in his chair.

"You take your coat right off an' set down to the suppertable, same as usual, do you hear? Eat your victuals

an' then go to your bed an' git over this crazy fit that Patience has started workin' in you. No more nonsense,

"I have made up my mind, father, and it's no use arguing. All who try to live with you fail, sooner or later.

You have had four children, father. One boy ran away; the other did not mind being drowned, I fear, since

life was so hard at home. You have just turned the third child out for a sin of deceit and disobedience she

would never have committedfor her nature is as clear as crystalif you had ever loved her or considered

her happiness. So I have done with you, unless in your old age God should bring you to such a pass that no

one else will come to your assistance; then I'd see somehow that you were cared for and nursed and made

comfortable. You are not an old man; you are strong and healthy, and you have plenty of money to get a good

"You lie! I haven't got plenty of money!" And the Deacon struck the table a sudden blow that made the china

in the cupboard rattle. "You've no notion what this house costs me, an' the feed for the stock, an' you two

girls, an' labor at the store, an' the hayfield, an' the taxes an' insurance! I've slaved from sunrise to sunset but

I ain't hardly been able to lay up a cent. I s'pose the neighbors have been fillin' you full o' tales about my

mis'able little savin's an' makin' 'em into a fortune. Well, you won't git any of 'em, I promise you that!"

"You have plenty laid away; everybody knows, so what's the use of denying it? Anyway, I don't want a penny

of your money, father, so goodbye. There's enough cooked to keep you for a couple of days"; and Waitstill

Father and daughter confronted each other, the secret fury of the man met by the steady determination of the

girl. The Deacon was baffled, almost awed, by Waitstill's quiet selfcontrol; but at the very moment that he

was halfuncomprehendingly glaring at her, it dawned upon him that he was beaten, and that she was

Where would she go? What were her plans?for definite plans she had, or she could not meet his eye with

so resolute a gaze. If she did leave him, how could he contrive to get her back again, and so escape the scorn

"Where are you goin' now?" he asked, and though he tried his best he could not for the life of him keep back

one final taunt. "I s'pose, like your sister, you've got a man in your eye?" He chose this, to him, impossible

"I have," replied Waitstill, "a man in my eye and in my heart. We should have been husband and wife before

this had we not been kept apart by obstacles too stubborn for us to overcome. My way has chanced to open

Had the roof fallen in upon him, the Deacon could not have been more dumbfounded. His tongue literally

clove to the roof of his mouth; his face fell, and his mean, piercing eyes blinked under his shaggy brows as if

Waitstill stirred the fire, closed the brick oven and put the teapot on the back of the stove, hung up the

Her father collected his scattered wits and pulled himself to his feet by the arms of the highbacked rocker.

"You shan't step outside this 306 room till you tell me where you're goin'," he said when he found his voice.

"I have no wish to keep it secret: I am going to see if Mrs. Mason will keep me tonight. Tomorrow I shall

walk down river and get work at the mills, but on my way I shall stop at the Boyntons' to tell Ivory I am

"I might have guessed it if I hadn't been blind as a bat an' deaf as an adder!" And he gave the table another

ringing blow before he leaned on it to gather strength. "Of course, it would be one o' that crazy Boynton crew

you'd take up with," he roared. "Nothin' would suit either o' you girls but choosin' the biggest enemies I've got

"You might as well go to live on the poorfarm! Aaron Boynton was a disrep'table hound; Lois Boynton is as

crazy as a loon; the boy is a nobody's child, an' Ivory's no better than a common pauper."

"Ivory's a brave, strong, honorable man, and a scholar, too. I can work for him and help him earn and save, as

"How long's this been goin' on?" The Deacon was choking, but he meant to get to the bottom of things while

"It has not gone on at all. He has never said a word to me, and I have always obeyed your will in these

matters; but you can't hide love, any more than you can hide hate. I know Ivory loves me, so I'm going to tell

"Goin' to throw yourself at his head, be you?" sneered the Deacon. "By the Lord, I don' know where you two

girls got these loose ways o' thinkin' an' acting mebbe he won't take you, an' then where'll you be? You

won't git under my roof again when you've once left it, you can make up your mind to that!"

"If you have any doubts about Ivory's being willing to take me, you'd better drive along behind me and listen

Waitstill's tone had an exultant thrill of certainty in it. She threw up her head, glorying in what she was about

to do. If she laid aside her usual reserve and voiced her thoughts openly, it was not in the hope of convincing

her father, but for the bliss of putting them into words and intoxicating herself by the sound of them.

"Come after me if you will, father, and watch the welcome I shall get. Oh! I have no fear of being turned out

by Ivory Boynton. I can hardly wait to give him the joy I shall be bringing! It 's selfish to rob him of the

chance to speak first, but I'11 do it!" And before Deacon Baxter could cross the room, Waitstill was out of the

kitchen door into the shed, and flying down TownHouse Hill like an arrow shot free from the bow.

The Deacon followed close behind, hardly knowing why, but he was no match for the girl, and at last he

stood helpless on the steps of the shed, shaking his fist and hurling terrible words after her, words that it was

"A curse upon you both!" he cried savagely. "Not satisfied with disobeyin' an' defyin' me, you've put me to

shame, an' now you'll be settin' the neighbors ag'in' me an' ruinin' my trade. If you was freezin' in the snow I

wouldn't heave a blanket to you! If you was starvin' I wouldn't fling either of you a crust! Never shall you

darken my doors again, an' never shall you git a penny o' my money, not if I have to throw it into the river to

Here his breath failed, and he stumbled out into the barn whimpering between his broken sentences like a

"Here I am with nobody to milk, nor feed the hens; nobody to churn tomorrow, nor do the chores; a poor,

mis'able creeter, deserted by my children, with nobody to do a hand's turn 'thout bein' paid for every step they

take! I'11 give 'em what they deserve; I don' know what, but I'll be even with 'em yet." And the Deacon set

IVORY BOYNTON drove home from the woods that same afternoon by way of the bridge, in order to buy

some provisions at the brick store. When he was still a long distance from the bars that divided the lane from

the highroad, he espied a darkclad little speck he knew to be Rodman leaning over the fence, waiting and

longing as usual for his homecoming, and his heart warmed at the thought of the boyish welcome that never

The sleigh slipped quickly over the hardpacked, shining road, and the bells rang merrily in the clear, cold

air, giving out a joyous sound that had no echo in Ivory's breast that day. He had just had a vision of

happiness through another man's eyes. was he always to stand outside the banquetingtable, he wondered,

Now the little speck bounded from the fence, flew down the road to meet the sleigh, and jumped in by the

"I knew you'd come tonight," Rodman cried eagerly. "I told Aunt Boynton you'd come."

"No, not a bit well since yesterday morning, but Mrs. Mason says it's nothing worse than a cold. Mrs. Mason

has just gone home, and we've had a grand housecleaning today. She's washed and ironed and baked, and

we've put Aunt Boynton in clean sheets and pillowcases, and her room's nice and warm, and I carried the eat

in and put it on her bed to keep her company while I came to watch for you. Aunt Boynton let Mrs. Mason

braid her hair, and seemed to like her brushing it. It's been dreadful lonesome, and oh! I am glad you came

"Pounds and pounds, Rod; enough to bring me in nearly a hundred dollars. I chanced on the greatest place

I've found yet. I followed the wake of an old whirlwind that had left long furrows in the forest,I've told you

how the thing works,and I tracked its course by the gum that had formed wherever the trees were

"If I could have been there, maybe we could have got more. I'm good at shinning up trees."

"Yes, sometime we'11 go gumpicking together. We'll climb the trees like a couple of cats, and take our

knives and serape off the precious lumps that are worth so much money to the druggists. You've let down the

"'Cause I knew you'd come tonight," said Rodman. "I felt it in my bones. We're going to have a splendid

"Are we? That's good news." Ivory tried to make his tone bright and interested, though his heart was like a

lump of lead in his breast. "It's the least I can do for the poor little chap," he thought, "when he stays as

caretaker in this lonely spot.I wonder if I hadn't better drive into the barn, Rod, and leave the harness on

"She's hot, Aunt Boynton is, hot and restless, but Mrs. Mason thinks that's all."

Ivory found his mother feverish, and her eyes were unnaturally bright; but she was clear in X mind and

cheerful, too, sitting up in bed to r^ breathe the better, while the Maltese eat snuggled under her arm and

"The cat is Rod's idea," she said smilingly but in a very weak voice. "He is a great nurse I should never have

Ivory and Rodman drew up to the supper table, already set in the kitchen, but before Ivory took his seat he

softly closed the door that led into the livingroom. They ate their beans and brown bread and the mince pie

that had been the "splendid" feature of the meal, as reported by the boy; and when they had finished, and

Rodman was clearing the table, Ivory walked to the window, lighting his pipe the while, and stood soberly

looking out on the snowy landscape. One could scarcely tell it was twilight, with such sweeps of whiteness to

"Drop work a minute and come here, Rod," he said at length. "Can you keep a secret?"

"'Course I can! I'm chock full of 'em now, and nobody could dig one of 'em out o' me with a pickaxe!"

"I don't know whether you'11 think it's a nice one, Rod, for it breaks up one of your plans. I'm not sure myself

how nice it is, but it's a very big, unexpected, startling one. What do you think? Your favorite Patty has gone

"Patty! Married!" cried Rod, then hastily putting his hand over his mouth to hush his tooloud speaking.

"Yes, she and Mark Wilson ran away last Monday, drove over to Allentown, New Hampshire, and were

married without telling a soul. Deacon Baxter discovered everything this afternoon, like the old fox that he is,

"Mean old skinflint!" exclaimed Rod excitedly, all the incipient manhood rising in his tenyearold breast.

"The Wilsons don't know yet that Mark is married to her, but I met him driving like Jehu, just after I had left

Patty, and told him everything that had happened, and did my best to cool him down and keep him from

murdering his new fatherinlaw by showing him it would serve no real purpose now."

"Yes, he did, and more like a man than ever he looked before in his life. We talked everything over together,

and he went home at once to break the news to his family, without even going to take a peep at Patty. I

couldn't bear to have them meet till he had something cheerful to say to the poor little soul. When I met her

by Uncle Bart's shop, she was trudging along in the snow like a draggled butterfly, and crying like a baby."

Sympathetic tears dimmed Rodman's eyes. "I can't bear to see girls cry, Ivory. I just can't bear it, especially

"Neither can I, Rod. I came pretty near wiping her eyes, but pulled up, remembering she wasn't a child but a

"No, only part of it. Patty's being sent away from home leaves Waitstill alone with the Deacon, do you see?

And if Patty is your favorite, Waitstill is mineI might as well own up to that."

"She's mine, too," cried Rod. "They're both my favorites, but I always thought Patty was the suitablest for me

"She's too grand for anybody, Rod. There isn't a man alive that's worthy to strap on her skates."

"Well, she's too grand for anybody except" and here Rod's shy, wistful voice trailed off into discreet

"Now I had some talk with Patty, and she thinks Waitstill will have no trouble with her father just at present.

She says he lavished so much rage upon her that there'll be none left for anybody else for a day or two. And,

moreover, that he will never dare to go too far with Waitstill, because she's so useful to him. I'm not afraid of

his beating or injuring her so long as he keeps his sober senses, if he's ever rightly had any; but I don't like to

think of his upbraiding her and breaking her heart with his cruel talk just after she's lost the sister that's been

her only companion." And Ivory's hand trembled as he filled his pipe. He had no confidant but this quaint,

tenderhearted, oldfashioned little lad, to whom he had grown to speak his mind as if he were a man of his

own age; and Rod, in the same way, had gradually learned to understand and sympathize.

"Dreadful lonesome," echoed Ivory with a sigh; "and I don't dare leave mother until her fever dies down a bit

and she sleeps. Now do you remember the night that she was taken ill, and we shared the watch?"

Rodman held his breath. " Do you mean you 're going to let me help just as if I was big? " he asked, speaking

"There are only two of us, Rod. You're rather young for this piece of work, but you're trustyyou 're trusty!"

"That's it, and this is my plan: Nick will have had his feed; you 're to drive to the bridge when it gets a little

darker and hitch in Uncle Bart's horseshed, covering Nick well. You're to go into the brick store, and while

you're getting some groceries wrapped up, listen to anything the men say, to see if they know what's

happened. When you've hung about as long as you dare, leave your bundle and say you'll call in again for it.

Then see if Baxter's store is open. I don't believe it will be, and if it Isn't, look for a light in his kitchen

window, and prowl about till you know that Waitstill and the Deacon have gone up to their bedrooms. Then

Rod's eyes grew bigger and bigger: "Shall I talk to her?" he asked; "and what'll I say?"

"No, just ask if she's there. If she's gone, Mark has made it right with his family and taken her home. If she

hasn't, why, God knows how that matter will be straightened out. Anyhow, she has a husband now, and he

"I'll go. I'll remember everything," cried Rodman, in the seventh heaven of delight at the responsibilities

"Don't stay beyond eight o'clock; but come back and tell me everything you've learned. Then, if mother

grows no worse, I'll walk back to Uncle Bart's shop and spend the night there, justjust to be near, that's

"Couldn't I? A man's ears are very sharp under certain circumstances. I believe if Waitstill needed help I

could hear herbreathe! Besides, I shall be up and down the hill till I know all's well; and at sunrise I'11 go

up and hide behind some of Baxter's buildings till I see him get his breakfast and go to the store. Now wash

"No, only down to the gate for a minute. Mark said that if he had a good chance he'd send a boy with a note,

and get him to put it under the stone gatepost. It's too soon to expect it, perhaps, but I can't seem to keep

Rodman tied a gingham apron round his waist, carried the teakettle to the sink, and poured the dishpan full

of boiling water; then dipped the cups and plates in and out, wiped them and replaced them on the table' gave

the beanplatter a special polish, and set the half mince pie and the butterdish in the cellarway.

"A boy has to do most everything in this family!" He sighed to himself. "I don't mind washing dishes, except

the nasty fryingpan and the sticky beanpot; but what I'm going to do tonight is different." Here he glowed

and tingled with anticipation. "I know what they call it in the storybooksit's sentry duty; and that's braver

Which, however, depends a good deal upon circumstances, and somewhat on the point of view.

A FEELING that the day was to bring great things had dawned upon Waitstill when she woke that morning,

Climbing Saco Hill was like climbing the hill of her dreams; life and love beckoned to her across the snowy

At rest about Patty's future, though troubled as to her sorry plight at the moment, she was conscious chiefly of

her newborn freedom. She revelled in the keen air that tingled against her cheek, and drew in fresh hope

with every breath. As she trod the shining pathway she was full of expectancy, her eyes dancing, her heart as

buoyant as her step. Not a vestige of confusion or uncertainty vexed her mind. She knew Ivory for her true

mate, and if the way to him took her through dark places it was lighted by a steadfast beacon of love.

At the top of the hill she turned the corner breathlessly, and faced the length of road that led to the Boynton

farm. Mrs. Mason's house was beyond, and oh, how she hoped that Ivory would be at home, and that she

need not wait another day to tell him all, and claim the gift she knew was hers before she asked it. She might

not have the same exaltation tomorrow, for now there were no levels in her heart and soul. She had a sense

of mounting from height to height and lighting fires on every peak of her being. She took no heed of the road

The house was now in sight, and a tall figure was issuing from the side door, putting on a fur cap as it came

out on the steps and down the lane. Ivory was at home, then, and, best of all, he was unconsciously coming to

meet heralthough their hearts had been coming to meet each other, she thought, ever since they first began

As she neared the bars she called Ivory's name. His hands were in the pockets of his greatcoat, and his eyes

were fixed on the ground. Sombre he was, distinctly sombre, in mien and gait; could she make him smile and

flush and glow, as she was smiling and flushing and glowing? As he heard her voice he raised his head

"Don't come any nearer," she said, "until I have told you something!" His mind had been so full of her that

She took a few steps nearer the gate, near enough now for him to see her rosy face framed in a blue hood, and

to catch the brightness of her eyes under their lovely lashes. Ordinarily they were cool and limpid and grave,

Waitstill's eyes; now a sunbeam danced in each of them. And her lips, almost always tightly closed, as if she

were holding back her natural speech,her lips were red and parted, and the soul of her, free at last, shone

"I have left home for good and all," she said. "I'll tell you more of this later on, but I have left my father's

house with nothing to my name but the clothes I stand in. I am going to look for work in the mills

tomorrow, but I stopped here to say that I'm ready to marry you whenever you want meif you do want

Ivory was bewildered, indeed, but not so much so that he failed to apprehend, and instantly, too, the real

He took a couple of long strides, and before Waitstill had any idea of his intentions he vaulted over the bars

"Never shall you go to the mills, never shall you leave my sight for a single hour again, my

onewomaninalltheworld! Come to me, to be loved and treasured all your life long! I've worshipped

you ever since I was a boy; I've kept my heart swept and garnished for you and no other, hoping I might win

How glorious to hear all this delicious poetry of love, and to feel Ivory's arms about her, making the dream

"Oh, how like you to shorten the time of my waiting!" he went on, his words fairly chasing one another in

their eagerness to be spoken How like you to count on me, to guess my hunger for your love, to realize the

chains that held me back, and break them yourself with your own dear, womanly hands! How like you, oh,

Ivory went on murmuring phrases that had been lying in his heart unsaid for years, scarcely conscious of

Waitstill, for her part, was almost dumb with joy to be lying so close to his heart that she could hear it

beating; to feel the passionate tenderness of his embrace and his kiss falling upon her hair.

"I did not know a girl could be so happy!" she whispered. "I've dreamed of it, but it was nothing like this. I

Ivory held her off at arm's length for a moment, reluctantly, grudgingly. "You took me fairly off my feet,

dearest," he said, "and forgot everything but the one supreme fact you were telling me. Had I been on guard I

should have told you that I am no worthy husband for you, Waitstill. I haven't enough to offer such a girl as

"You're too late, Ivory! You showed me your heart first, and now you are searching your mind for bugbears

"What if my father were not really dead?I think of this sometimes in the night!What if he should

"I do not come to you free of burdens. If my father is deserted by all, I must see that he is made comfortable.

"Will it be gloomy when I am in it?" and Waitstill, usually so grave, laughed at last like a carefree child.

Ivory felt himself hidden in the beautiful shelter of the girl's love. It was dark now, or as dark as the night

ever is that has moonlight and snow. He took Waitstill in his arms again reverently, and laid his cheek against

her hair. "I worship God as well as I know how," he whispered; "worship him as the maker of this big heaven

and earth that surrounds us. But I worship you as the maker of my little heaven and earth, and my heart is

"Hush, my dear! hush! and don't value me too much, or I shall lose my headI that have never known a

sweet word in all my life save those that my sister has given me.I must tell you all about Patty now."

"I happen to know more than you, dear. I met her at the bridge when I was coming home from the woods, and

I saw her safely to Uncle Bart's door.I don't know why we speak of it as Uncle Bart's when it is really Aunt

Abby's!I next met Mark, who had fairly flown from Bridgton on the wings of love, arriving hours ahead of

time. I managed to keep him from avenging the insults heaped upon his bride, and he has driven to the Mills

to confide in his father and mother. By this time Patty is probably the centre of the family group, charming

"Oh, I am so glad Mark is at home! Now I can be at rest about Patty. And I must not linger another moment,

for I am going to ask Mrs. Mason to keep me overnight," cried Waitstill, bethinking herself suddenly of time

"I will take you there myself and explain everything. And the moment I've lighted a fire in Mrs. Mason's best

bedroom and settled you there, what do you think I am going to do? I shall drive to the town clerk's house,

and if he is in bed, rout him out and have the notice of our intended marriage posted in a public place

according to law. Perhaps I shall save a day out of the fourteen I've got to wait for my wife. 'Mills,' indeed! I

wonder at you, Waitstill! As if Mrs. Mason's house was not far enough away, without your speaking of

"Oh, Ivory! do you realize what this means?"and Waitstill clung to his arm as they went up the lane

together"that whatever sorrow, whatever hardship comes to us, neither of us will ever have to bear it alone

"I believe I do realize it as few men could, for never in my fiveandtwenty years have I had a human

creature to whom I could pour myself out, in whom I could really confide, with whom I could take counsel.

You can guess what it will be to have a comprehending woman at my side. Shall we tell my mother? Do say

'yes'; I believe she will understand.Rod, Rod! come and see who's stepping in the door this very minute!"

Rodman was up in his bedroom, attiring himself elaborately for sentry duty. His delight at seeing Waitstill

was perhaps slightly tempered by the thought that flashed at once through his mind,that if she was safe, he

would not be required to stand guard in the snow for hours as he had hoped. But this grief passed when he

fully realized what Waitstill's presence at the farm at this unaccustomed hour really meant. After he had been

told, he hung about her like the child that he was,though he had a bit of the hero in him, at bottom,

"Every day and all the days; every night and all the nights. 'Praise God from whom all blessings flow!'" said

Ivory, taking off his fur cap and opening the door of the livingroom. "But we've got to wait for her a whole

"Patty never waited for anything," Ivory responded with a smile; "but she had a good reason, and, alas! we

haven't, or they'11 say that we haven't. And I am very grateful to the same dear little Patty, for when she got

Rodman did not wholly understand this, but felt that there were many mysteries attending the love affairs of

grownup people that were too complicated for him to grasp; and it did not seem to be just the right moment

Waitstill and Ivory went into Mrs. Boynton's room quietly, hand in hand, and when she saw Waitstill she

raised herself from her pillow and held out her arms with a soft cry of delight.

"I haven't had you for so long, so long!" she said, touching the girl's cheek with her frail hand.

"You are going to have me every day now, dear," whispered Waitstill, with a sob in her voice; for she saw a

change in the face, a new transparency, a still more ethereal look than had been there before.

"Every day?" she repeated, longingly. Waitstill took off her hood, and knelt on the floor beside the bed,

"She is coming to live with us, dear.Come in, Rod, and hear me tell her.Waitstill is coming to live with

us: isn't that a beautiful thing to happen to this dreary house?" asked Ivory, bending to take his mother's hand.

"Don't you remember what you thought the first time I ever came here, mother?" and Waitstill lifted her head,

and looked at Mrs. Boynton with swimming eyes and lips that trembled. "Ivory is making it all come true,

Mrs. Boynton sank farther back into her pillows, and closing her eyes, gave a long sigh of infinite content.

Her voice was so faint that they had to stoop to catch the words, and Ivory, feeling the strange benediction

that seemed to be passing from his mother's spirit to theirs, took Rod's hand and knelt beside Waitstill.

The verse of a favorite psalm was running through Lois Boynton's mind, and in a moment the words came

clearly, as she opened her eyes, lifted her hands, and touched the bowed heads. "Let the house of Aaron now

say that his mercy endureth forever!" she said, slowly and reverently; and Ivory, with all his heart, responded,

Ivory stirred in a sleep that had been troubled by too great happiness. To travel a dreary path alone, a path

leading seemingly nowhere, and then suddenly to have a companion by one's side, the very sight of whom

enchanted the eye, the very touch of whom delighted the senseswhat joy unspeakable! Who could sleep

He was fully awake now, for he knew his mother's voice. In all the years, ever thoughtful of his comfort and

of the constant strain upon his strength, Lois had never wakened her son at night.

"Coming, mother, coming!" he said, when he realized she was calling him; and hastily drawing on some

clothing, for the night was bitterly cold, he came out of his room and saw his mother standing at the foot of

"Can you come down, Ivory? It is a strange hour to call you but I have something to tell you; something I

have been piecing together for weeks; something I have just clearly remembered."

"If it's something that won't keep till morning, mother, you creep back into bed and we'll hear it comfortably,"

he said, coming downstairs and leading her to her room. "I'll smooth the covers, so; beat up the

pillows,there, and throw another log on the sittingroom fire. Now, what's the matter? Couldn't you

"All summer long I have been trying to remember something; something untrue that you have been believing,

some falsehood for which I was responsible. I have pursued and pursued it, but it has always escaped me.

Once it was clear as daylight, for Rodman read me from the Bible a plain answer to all the questions that

"When I awoke next morning from my long sleep, the old puzzle had come back, a thousand times worse

than before, for then I knew that I had held the clue in my own hand and had lost it. Now, praise God! I know

Ivory looked at his mother and saw that the veil that had separated them mentally seemed to five vanished in

the night that had passed. Often and often it had blown away, as it were, for the fraction of a moment and

then blown back again. Now her eyes met his with an altogether new clearness that startled him, while her

"You remember the winter I was here at the farm alone, when you were at the Academy?"

"Yes; it was then that I came home and found you so terribly ill. Do you think we need go back to that old

"Yes, I must, I must! One morning I received a strange letter, bearing no signature, in which the writer said

that if I wished to see my husband I had only to go to a certain address in Brentville, New Hampshire. The

letter went on to say that Mr. Aaron Boynton was ill and longed for nothing so much as to speak with me; but

there were reasons why he did not wish to return to Edgewood,would I come to him without delay."

Ivory now sat straight in his chair and listened keenly, feeling that this was to be no vague, uncertain, and

"The letter excited me greatly after your father's long absence and silence. I knew it could mean nothing but

sorrow, but although I was half ill at the time, my plain duty was to go, so I thought, and go without making

All this was new to Ivory and he hung upon his mother's words, dreading yet hoping for the light that they

"I arrived at Brentville quite exhausted with the journey and weighed down by anxiety and dread. I found the

house mentioned in the letter at seven o'clock in the evening, and knocked at the door. A common,

hardfeatured woman answered the knock and, seeming to expect me, ushered me in. I do not remember the

room; I remember only a child leaning patiently against the windowsill looking out into the dark, and that

"I came to call upon Mr. Aaron Boynton,' I said, with my heart sinking lower and lower as I spoke. The

woman opened a door into the next room and when I walked in, instead of seeing your father, I confronted a

haggard, deathstricken young woman sitting up in bed, her great eyes bright with pain, her lips as white as

her hollow cheeks, and her long, black hair streaming over the pillow. The very sight of her struck a knell to

the little hope I had of soothing your father's sick bed and forgiving him if he had done me any wrong.

"'Well, you came, as I thought you would,' said the girl, looking me over from head to foot in a way that

somehow made me burn with shame. 'Now sit down in that chair and hear what I've got to say while I've got

the strength to say it. I haven't the time nor the desire to put a gloss on it. Aaron Boynton isn't here, as you

plainly see, but that's not my fault, for he belongs here as much as anywhere, though he wouldn't have much

interest in a dying woman. If you have suffered on account of him, so have I and you haven't had this pain

"I pitied her, she seemed so distraught, but I was in terror of her all the same, and urged her to tell her story

"'Calm,' she exclaimed, 'with this agony tearing me to pieces! Well, to make beginning and end in one, Aaron

"I caught hold of the chair to keep myself from falling and cried: 'I do not believe it!' 'Believe it or not, she

answered scornfully, 'it makes no difference to me, but I can give you twenty proofs in as many seconds. We

met at a Cochrane meeting and he chose me from all the others as his true wife. For two years we travelled

together, but long before they came to an end there was no happiness for either of us. He had a

consciencenot much of a one, but just enough to keep him miserable. At last I felt he was not believing the

doctrines he preached and I caught him trying to get news of you and your boy, just because you were out of

reach, and neglecting my boy and me, who had given up everything to wander with him and live on whatever

"'So there was a child, a boy,' I gasped. 'Diddid he live?' 'He's in the next room,' she answered, 'and it's him

I brought you here for. Aaron Boynton has served us both the same. He left you for me and me for Heaven

knows who. If I could live I wouldn't ask any favors, of you least of all, but I haven't a penny in the world,

though I shan't need one very long. My friend that's nursing me hasn't a roof to her head and she wouldn't

"'But what do you expect me to do?' I asked angrily, for she was stabbing me with every word.

"'The boy is your husband's child and he always represented you as a saint upon earth. I expect you to take

him home and provide for him. He doesn't mean very much to mejust enough so that I don't relish his

"'Don't worry me with talk, for I can't stand it,' she wailed, clutching at her nightgown and flinging back her

hair. 'Either you take the child or I send somebody to Edgewood with him, somebody to tell the whole story.

Some of the Cochranites can support him if you won't; or, at the worst, Aaron Boynton's town can take care

of his son. The doctor has given me two days to live. If it's a minute longer I've warned him and I warn you,

that I'll end it myself; and if you don't take the boy I'll do the same for him. He's a good sight better off dead

than knocking about the world alone; he's innocent and there's no sense in his being punished for the sins of

"I see it all! Why did I never think of it before; my poor, poor Rod!" said Ivory, clenching his hands and

"Don't grieve, Ivory; it has all turned out so much better than we could have hoped; just listen to the end. She

was frightful to hear and to look at, the girl was, though all the time I could feel that she must have had a

"'Go along out now,' she cried suddenly. 'I can't stand anybody near. The doctor never gives me half enough

medicine and for the hour before he comes I fairly die for lack of itthough little he cares! Go upstairs and

"'You don't leave me much freedom to do that,' I tried to answer; but she interrupted me, rocking her body to

and fro. 'Neither of us wi11 ever see Aaron Boynton again; you no more than I. He's in the West, and a man

with two families and no means of providing for them doesn't come back where he's known.Come and

"I stumbled out of the room and the woman waved me upstairs. 'You mustn't mind Hetty,' she apologized;

'she never had a good disposition at the best, but she's frantic with the pain now, and good reason, too. It's

about over and I'11 be thankful when it is. You'd better swallow the shame and take the child; I can't and

won't have him and it'11 be easy enough for you to say he belongs to some of your own folks.'

"By this time I was mentally bewildered. When the iron first entered my soul, when I first heard the truth

"Poor, poor mother! My poor, gentle little mother!" murmured Ivory brokenly, as he asked her hand.

"Don't cry, my son; it is all past; the sorrow and the bitterness and the struggle. I will just finish the story and

then we'11 close the book forever. The woman gave me some bread and tea, and I flung myself on the bed

without undressing. I don't know how long afterward it was, but the door opened and a little boy stole in; a

sad, strange, darkeyed little boy who said: 'Can I sleep up here? Mother's screaming and I'm afraid.' He

climbed to the couch. I covered him with a blanket, and I soon heard his deep breathing. But later in the

night, when I must have fallen asleep myself, I suddenly awoke and felt him lying beside me. He had dragged

the blanket along and crept up on the bed to get close to my side for the warmth I could give, or the comfort

of my nearness. The touch of him almost broke my heart; I could not push the little creature away when he

was lying there so near and warm and confidinghe, all unconscious of the agony his mere existence was to

me. I must have slept again and when the day broke I was alone. I thought the presence of the child in the

"Mother, dear mother, don't tell me any more tonight. I fear for your strength," urged Ivory, his eyes full of

"There is only a little more and the weight will be off my heart and on yours, my poor son. Would that I need

not tell you! The house was still and I thought at first that no one was awake, but when I opened the

sittingroom door the child ran towards me and took my hand as the woman came in from the sickroom.

'Go into the kitchen, Rodman,' she said, 'and lace up your boots; you're going right out with this lady. Hetty

died in the night,' she continued impassively. 'The doctor was here about ten o'clock and I've never seen her

so bad. He gave her a big dose of sleeping powder and put another in the table drawer for me to mix for her

towards morning. She was helpless to move, we thought, but all the same she must have got out of bed when

my back was turned and taken the powder dry on her tongue, for it was gone when I looked for it. It didn't

hasten things much and I don't blame her. If ever there was a wild, reckless creature it was Hetty Rodman,

"She hurriedly gave me a cup of coffee, and, putting a coat and a cap on the boy, literally pushed me out of

the house. 'I've got to report things to the doctor,' she said, 'and you're better out of the way. Go down that

side street to the station and mind you say the boy belonged to your sister who died and left him to you.

You're a Cochranite, ain't you? So was Hetty, and they're all sisters, so you'll be telling no lies. Goodbye,

"How I found the station I do not know, nor how I made the journey, nor where I took the stagecoach. The

snow began to fall and by noon there was a drifting storm. I could not remember where I was going, nor who

the boy was, for just as the snow was whirling outside, so it was whirling in my brain."

"Mother, I can hardly bear to hear any more; it is too terrible!" cried Ivory, rising from his chair and pacing

"I can recall nothing of any account till I awoke in my own bed weeks afterwards. The strange little boy was

there, but Mrs. Day and Dr. Perry told me what I must have told themthat he was the child of my dead

sister. Those were the last words uttered by the woman in Brentville; I carried them straight through my

illness and brought them out on the other side more firmly intrenched than ever."

"If only the truth had come back to you sooner!" sighed Ivory, coming back to her bedside. "I could have

helped you to bear it all these years. Sorrow is so much lighter when you can share it with some one else.

And the girl who died was called Hetty Rodman, then, and she simply gave the child her last name?"

"Yes, poor suffering creature. I feel no anger against her now; it has burned itself all away. Nor do I feel any

bitterness against your father. I forgot all this miserable story for so long, loving and watching for him all the

time, that it is as if it did not belong to my own life, but had to do with some unhappy stranger. Can you

"No, it draws me nearer to him than ever. He shall never know the truthwhy should he? Just as he crept

close to you that night, all unconscious of the reason you had for shrinking from him, so he has crept close to

"Life is so strange. To think that this child, of all others, should have been a comfort to you. The Lord's hand

"His boyish belief in me, his companionship, have kept the breath of hope alive in methat's all I can say."

"The Bible story is happening over again in our lives, then. Don't you remember that Aaron's rod budded and

"This rebel never will murmur again, mother, and Ivory rose to leave the room. "Now that you have shed

your burden you will grow stronger and life will be all joy, for Waitstill will come to us soon and we can

"It is she who has helped me most to find the thread; pouring sympathy and strength into me, nursing me,

loving me, because she loved my wonderful son. Oh! how blest among women I am to have lived long

And as Ivory kissed his mother and blew out the candle, she whispered to herself: "Even so, Lord Jesus, come

MRS. MASON'S welcome to Waitstill was unexpectedly heartymuch heartier than it would have been Six

months before, when she regarded Mrs. Boynton as little less than a harmless lunatic, of no use as a neighbor;

and when she knew nothing more of Ivory than she could gather by his occasional drive or walk past her door

with a civil greeting. Rodman had been until lately the only member of the family for whom she had a

friendly feeling; but all that had changed in the last few weeks, when she had been allowed to take a hand in

the Boyntons' affairs. As to this newest development in the life of their household, she had once been young

herself, and the veriest block of stone would have become human when the two lovers drove up to the door

Ivory made himself quickly at home, and helped the old lady to get a room ready for Waitstill before he drove

back for a look at his mother and then on to carry out his impetuous and romantic scheme of routing out the

Waitstill slept like the shepherd boy in "The Pilgrim's Progress," with the "herb called Heart's Ease" in her

bosom. She opened her eyes next morning from the depths of Mrs. Mason's best feather bed, and looked

wonderingly about the room, with all its unaccustomed surroundings. She heard the rattle of fireirons and

the flatter of dishes below; the first time in all her woman's life that preparations for breakfast had ever

She lay quite still for a quarter of an hour, tired in body and mind, but incredibly happy in spirit, marvelling

at the changes wrought in her during the day preceding, the most eventful one in her history. Only yesterday

her love had been a bud, so closely folded that she scarcely recognized its beauty or color or fragrance; only

yesterday, and now she held in her hand a perfect flower. When and how had it grown, and by what magic

The image of Ivory had been all through the night in the foreground of her dreams and in her moments of

wakefulness, both made blissful by the heaven of anticipation that dawned upon her. Was ever man so wise,

so tender and gentle, so strong, so comprehending? What mattered the absence of worldly goods, the

presence of care and anxiety, when n woman had a steady hand to hold, a steadfast heart to trust, a man who

Then the face of Ivory's mother would swim into the mental picture; the pale face, as white as the pillow it

lay upon; the face with its aureole of ashen hair, and the wistful blue eyes that begged of God and her

The vision of her sister was a joyful one, and her heart was at peace about her, the plucky little princess who

She saw Patty clearly as a future fine lady, in velvets and satins and furs, bewitching everybody by her gay

spirits, her piquant vivacity, and the loving heart that lay underneath all the nonsense and gave it warmth and

The remembrance of her father alone on the hilltop did indeed trouble Waitstill. Selfreproach, in the true

sense of the word, she did not, could not, feel. Never since the day she was born had she been fathered, and

daughterly love was absent; but she suffered when she thought of the fierce, selfwilled old man, cutting

himself off from all possible friendships, while his vigor was being sapped daily and hourly by his terrible

True housewife that Waitstill was, her mind reverted to every separate crock and canister in her cupboards,

every article of her baking or cooking that reposed on the swingsheh in the cellar, thinking how long her

father could be comfortable without her ministrations, and so, how long he would delay before engaging the u

inevitable housekeeper. She revolved the number of possible persons to whom the position would be offered,

and wished that Mrs. Mason, who so needed help, might be the chosen one: but the fact of her having been

When she was thankfully eating her breakfast with Mrs. Mason a little later, and waiting for Ivory to call for

them both and take them to the Boynton farm, she little knew what was going on at her old home in these

very hours, when to tell the truth she would have liked to slip in, had it been possible, wash the morning

dishes, skim the cream, do the week's churning, make her father's bed, and slip out again into the dear shelter

The Deacon had passed a good part of the night in scheming and contriving, and when he drank his

selfmade cup of muddy coffee at seven o'clock next morning he had formed several plans that were to be

immediately frustrated, had he known it, by the exasperating and suspicious nature of the ladies involved in

At eight he had left the house, started Bill Morrill at the store, and was on the road in search of vengeance

and a housekeeper. Old Mrs. Atkins of Deerwander sniffed at the wages offered. Miss Peters, of Union Falls,

an aged spinster with weak lungs, had the impertinence to tell him that she feared she couldn't stand the cold

in his house; she had heard he was very particular about the amount of wood that was burned. A fourmile

drive brought him to the village poetically named the Brick Kiln, where he offered to Mrs. Peter Upham an

advance of twentyfive cents a week over and above the salary with which he had sought to tempt Mrs.

Atkins. Far from being impressed, Mrs. Uphill, being of a high temper and candid turn of mind, told him

she'd prefer to starve at home. There was not another free woman within eight miles, and the Deacon was

chafing under t e mortification of being continually obliged to state the reason for his needing a housekeeper.

The only hope, it seemed, lay in going to Saco and hiring a stranger, a plan not at all to his liking, as it was

Muttering threats against the universe in general, he drove home by way of Milliken's Mills, thinking of the

unfed hens, the unmilked cow, the unwashed dishes, the unchurned cream and above all of his unchastened

daughters; his rage increasing with every step until it was nearly at the white heat of the night before.

A long stretch of hill brought the tired old mare to a slow walk, and enabled the Deacon to see the Widow

Tillman clipping the geraniums that stood in tin cans on the shelf of her kitchen window.

Now, Foxwell Baxter had never been a village Lothario at any age, nor frequented the society of such. Of late

years, indeed, he had frequented no society of any kind, so that he had missed, for instance, Abel Day's

description of the Widow Tillman as a "reg'lar syreen," though he vaguely remembered that some of the

Baptist sisters had questioned the authenticity of her conversion by their young and attractive minister. She

made a pleasant picture at the window; she was a free woman (a little too free, the neighbors would have

said; but the Deacon didn't know that); she was a comparative newcomer to the village, and her mind had not

been poisoned with feminine gossipin a word, she was a distinctly hopeful subject, and, acting on a blind

and sudden impulse, he turned into the yard, 'dung the reins over the mare's neck, and knocked at the back

"Her character 's no worse than mine by now if Aunt Abby Cole's on the road," he thought grimly, "an' if the

Wilsons see my sleigh inside of widder's fence, so much the better; it'll give 'em a jog.Good morning Mis'

Tillman," he said to the smiling lady. "I'll come to the p'int at once. My youngest daughter has married Mark

Wilson against my will, an' gone away from town, an' the older one's chosen a husband still less to my likin'.

"I surmised something was going on," returned Mrs. Tillman. "I saw Patty and Mark drive away early this

morning, with Mr. and Mrs. Wilson wrapping the girl up and putting a hot soapstone in the sleigh, and

This knowledge added fuel to the flame that was burning fiercely in the Deacon's breast. "Well, how about

the housekeeping he asked, trying not to show his eagerness, and not recognizing himself at all in the

"I 'm very comfortable here," the lady responded artfully, "and I don't know 's I care to make any change,

thank you. I didn't like the village much at first, after living in larger places, but now I'm acquainted, it kind

Her reply was carefully framed, for her mind worked with great rapidity, and she was mistress of the situation

almost as soon as she saw the Deacon alighting from his sleigh. He was not the sort of man to be a casual

caller, and his manner bespoke an urgent errand. She had a pension of six dollars a month, but over and above

that sum her living was precarious. She made coats, and she had never known want, for she was a master

hand at dealing with the opposite sex. Deacon Baxter, according to common report, had ten or fifteen

thousand dollars stowed away in the banks, so the situation would be as simple as possible under ordinary

circumstances; it was as easy to turn out one man's pockets as allother's when he was a normal human

"I wonder how long he's likely to live," she thought, glancing at him covertly, out of the tail of her eye. "His

evil temper must have driven more than one nail in his coffin. I wonder, if l refuse to housekeep, whether I

'11 geta better offer. I wonder if I could manage him if I got him! I'd rather like to sit in the Baxter pew at

the Orthodox meetinghouse after the way some of the Baptist sisters have snubbed me since I come here."

Not a vestige of these incendiary thoughts showed in her comely countenance, and her soul might have been

"I'd make the wages fair," urged the Deacon, looking round the clean kitchen, with the breakfasttable

sitting near the sunny window and the odor of corned beef and cabbage issuing temptingly from a boiling pot

on the fire. "I hope she ain't a great meateater," he thought, "but it's too soon to cross that bridge yet a

"I've no doubt of it," said the widow, wondering if her voice rang true; "but I've got a pension, and why

should I leave this cosy little home? Would I better myself any, that's the question? I'm kind of lonesome

"No need o' bein' lonesome down to the Falls," said the Deacon. "And I'm in an' out all day, between the barn

This, indeed, was not a pleasant prospect, but Jane Tillman had faced worse ones in her time.

"I'm no hand at any work outside the house," she observed, as if reflecting. "I can truthfully say I'm a good

cook, and have a great faculty for making a little go a long ways." (She considered this a masterstroke, and

in fact it was; for the Deacon's mouth absolutely watered at this apparently unconscious comprehension of his

disposition.) "But I'm no hand at any chores in the barn or shed," she continued. "My first husband would

"Perhaps I could git a boy to help out; I've been kind o' thinkin' o' that lately. What wages would you expect

if I paid a boy for the rough work?" asked the Deacon tremulously. "Well, to tell the truth, I don't quite fancy

the idea of taking wages. Judge Dickinson wants me to go to Alfred and housekeep for him, and I'd named

twelve dollars a month. It's good pay, and I haven't said 'No'; but my rent is small here, I'm my own mistress,

"Twelve dollars a month!" He had never thought of approaching that sum; and he saw the heap of unwashed

dishes growing day by day, and the cream souring on the milkpans. Suddenly an idea sprang fullborn into

the Deacon's mind (Jed Morrill's "Old Driver" must have been close at hand!). Would Jane Tillman marry

him? No woman in the three villages would be more obnoxious to his daughters; that in itself was a distinct

gain. She was a fine, robust figure of a woman in her early forties, and he thought, after all, that the

hollowchested, spindleshanked kind were more expensive to feed, on the whole, than their betterpadded

sisters. He had never had any difficulty in managing wives, and thought himself quite equal to one more bout,

even at sixtyfive, though he had just the faintest suspicion that the high color on Mrs. Tillman's prominent

cheekbones, the vigor shown in the coarse black hair and handsome eyebrows, might make this task a little

more difficult than his previous ones. But this fear vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, for he kept

saying to himself: "A judge of the County Court wants her at twelve dollars a month; hadn't I better bid high

"If you'd like to have a home o' your own 'thout payin' rent, you've only got to say the word an' I'll make you

Mis' Baxter," said the Deacon. "There'll be nobody to interfere with you, an' a handsome legacy if I die first;

The Deacon threw out this tempting bait advisedly, for at this moment he would have poured his hoard into

This was information, indeed! The "few savings" alluded to amounted to some thousands, Jane Tillman

knew. Had she not better burn her ships behind her, take the risks, and have faith in her own powers? She was

getting along in ears, and her charms of person were lessening with every day that passed over her head. If

the Deacon's queer ways grew too queer, she thought an appeal to the doctor and the minister might provide a

way of escape and a neat little income to boot; so, on the whole, the marriage, though much against her

The interview that succeeded, had it been reported verbatim, deserved to be recorded in local history. Deacon

Baxter had met in Jane Tillman a foeman more than worthy of his steel. She was just as crafty as he, and in

generalship as much superior to him as Napoleon Bonaparte to Cephas Cole. Her knowledge of and her

experiences with men, all very humble, it is true, but decidedly varied, enabled her to play on every weakness

of this particular one she had in hand, and at the same time skilfully to avoided alarming him.

Heretofore, the women with whom the Deacon had come in contact had timidly steered away from the rocks

and reefs in his nature, and had been too ignorant or too proud to look among them for certain softer places

that were likely to be theresince man is man, after all, even when he is made on a very small pattern.

If Jane Tillman became Mrs. Baxter, she intended to get the whip hand and keep it; but nothing was further

from her intention than to make the Deacon miserable if she could help it. That was not her disposition; and

so, when the deluded man left her house, he had made more concessions in a single hour than in all the

His future spouse was to write out a little paper for his signature; just a friendly little paper to be kept quite

private and confidential between themselves, stating that she was to do no work outside of the house; that her

pension was to be her own; that she was to have five dollars in cash on the first of every month in lieu of

wages; and that in ease of his death occurring first she was to have a third of his estate, and the whole of it if

at the time of his decease he was still pleased with his bargain. The only points in this contract that the

Deacon really understood were that he was paying only five dollars a month for a housekeeper to whom a

judge had offered twelve; that, as he had expected to pay at least eight, he could get a boy for the remaining

three, and so be none the worse in pocket; also, that if he could keep his daughters from getting his money, he

didn't care a hang who had it, as he hated the whole human race with entire impartiality. If Jane Tillman

didn't behave herself, he had pleasing visions of converting most of his fortune into cash and having it

dropped off the bridge some dark night, when the doctor had given him up and proved to his satisfaction that

All this being harmoniously settled, the Deacon drove away, and caused the announcement of his immediate

"Might as well have all the fat in the fire to once," he chuckled. "There won't be any housework done in this

part of the county for a week to come. If we should have more snow, nobody'll have to do any shovellin', for

the womenfolks'll keep all the paths in the village trod down from door to door, travellin' round with the

A "spite match," the community in general called the Deacon's marriage; and many a man, and many a

woman, too, regarding the amazing publishing notice in the frame up at the meetinghouse, felt that in Jane

"She's plenty good enough for him," said Aunt Abby Cole, "though I know that's a terrible poor compliment.

If she thinks she'll ever break into s'ciety here at the Falls, she'll find herself mistaken! It's a mystery to me

why the poor deluded man ever done it; but ain't it wonderful the ingenuity the Lord shows in punishin'

sinners? I couldn't 'a' thought out such a good comeuppance myself for Deacon Baxter, as marryin' Jane

Tillman! The thing that troubles me most, is thinkin' how tickled the Baptists'11 be to git her out o' their

AT the very moment that Deacon Baxter was I starting out on his quest for a housekeeper, Patty and Mark

drove into the Mason dooryard and the sisters flew into each other's arms. The dress that Mark had bought for

Patty was the usual charting and unsuitable offering of a man's spontaneous affection, being of dark violet

cloth with a wadded cape lined with satin. A little brimmed hat of violet velvet tied under her chin with silk

ribbons completed the costume, and before the youthful bride and groom had left the ancestral door Mrs.

Wilson had hung her own ermine victorine (the envy of all Edgewood) around Patty's neck and put her

ermine willow muff into her new daughter's hands; thus she was as dazzling a personage, and as improperly

Waitstill, in her plain linseywoolsey, was entranced with Patty's beauty and elegance, and the two girls had

a few minutes of sisterly talk, of interchange of radiant hopes and confidences before Mark tore them apart,

As the Mason house faded from view, Patty having waved her muff until the last moment, turned in her seat

"Mark, dear, do you think your father would care if I spent the twentydollar goldpiece he gave me, for

Waitstill? She will be married in a fortnight, and if my father does not give her the few things she owns she

will go to her husband more illprovided even than I was. I have so much, dear Mark, and she so little."

"It's your own weddingpresent to use as you wish," Mark answered, "and it's exactly like you to give it

away. Go ahead and spend it if you want to; I can always earn enough to keep you, without anybody's help!"

and Mark, after cracking the whip vaingloriously, kissed his wife just over the violet ribbons, and with

sleighbells jingling they sped over the snow towards what seemed Paradise to them, the New Hampshire

So a few days later, Waitstill received a great parcel which relieved her of many feminine anxieties and she

began to shape and cut and stitch during all the hours she had to herself. They were not many, for every day

she trudged to the Boynton farm and began with youthful enthusiasm the household tasks that were so soon

"Don't waste too much time and strength here, my dearest," said Ivory. "Do you suppose for a moment I shall

keep you long on this lonely farm? I am ready for admission to the Bar or I am fitted to teach in the best

school in New England. Nothing has held me here but my mother, and in her present condition of mind we

can safely take her anywhere. We will never live where there are so many memories and associations to

sadden and hamper us, but go where the best opportunity offers, and as soon as may be. My wife will be a

pearl of great price," he added fondly, and I intend to provide a right setting for her!"

This was all said in a glow of love and joy, pride and ambition, as Ivory paced up and down before the

livingroom fireplace while Waitstill was hanging the freshly laundered curtains.

Ivory was right; Waitstill Baxter was, indeed, a jewel of a woman. She had little knowledge, but much

wisdom, and after all, knowledge stands for the leaves on a tree and wisdom for the fruit. There was infinite

richness in the girl, a richness that had been growing and ripening through the years that she thought so gray

and wasted. The few books she owned and loved had generally lain unopened, it is true, upon her bedroom

table, and she held herself as having far too little learning to be a worthy companion for Ivory Boynton; but

all the beauty and cheer a comfort that could ever be pressed into the arid life of the Baxter household had

come from Waitstill's heart, and that heart had grown in warmth and plenty year by year.

Those lonely tasks, too hard for a girl's hands, those unrewarded drudgeries, those days of faithful labor in

and out of doors, those evenings of selfsacrifice over the mendingbasket; the quiet avoidance of all that

might vex her father's crusty temper, her patience with his miserly exactions; the hourly holding back of the

hasty word,all these had played their part; all these had been somehow welded into a strong, sunny, steady,

lifewisdom, there is no better name for it; and so she had unconsciously the best of all harvests to bring as

dower to a husband who was worthy of her. Ivory's strength called to hers and answered it, just as his great

need awoke such a power of helpfulness in her as she did not know she possessed. She loved the man, but she

loved the task that beckoned her, too. The vision of it was like the breath of wind from a hilltop, putting salt

These were quietly happy days at the farm, for Mrs. Boynton took a new, if transient, hold upon life that

deceived even the doctor. Rodman was nearly as ardent a lover as Ivory, hovering about Waits ill and

exclaiming, "You never stay to supper and it's so lonesome evenings without you! Will it never be time for

you to come and Eve with us, Waity dear? The days crawl so slowly!" At which Ivory would laugh, push him

away and draw Waitstill nearer to his own side, saying: "If you are in a hurry, you young cormorant, what do

you think of me?" And Waitstill would look from one to the other and blush at the heaven of love that

"I believe you are longing to begin on my cooking, you two big greedy boys!" she said teasingly. "What shall

we have for New Year's dinner, Rod? Do you like a turkey, roasted brown and crispy, with giblet gravy and

cranberry jelly? Do you fancy an apple dumpling afterwards,an apple dumpling with potato crust,or will

"Stop, Waitstill!" cried Ivory. "Don't put hope into us until you are ready to satisfy it; we can't bear it!"

"And I have a box of goodies from my own garden safely stowed away in Uncle Bart's shop," Waitstill went

on mischievously. "They were to be sold in Portland, but I think they'll have to be my weddingpresent to my

husband, though a very strange one, indeed! There are peaches floating in sweet syrup; there are tumblers of

quince jelly; there are jars of tomato and citron preserves, and for supper you shall eat them with biscuits as

"We can never wait two more days, Rod; let us kidnap her! Let us take the old bobsled and run over to New

Hampshire where one can be married the minute one feels like it. We could do it between sunrise and

moonrise and be at home for a late supper. Would she be too tired to bake the biscuits for us, do you think?

What do you say, Rod, will you be best man?" And there would be youthful, unaccustomed laughter floating

out from the kitchen or livingroom, bringing a smile of content to Lois Boynton's face as she lay propped up

in bed with her open Bible beside her. "He binds up the brokenhearted," she whispered to herself. "He gives

unto them a garland for ashes; the oil of joy for mourning; the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

The quiet wedding was over. There had been neither feasting, nor finery, nor presents, nor bridal journey;

only a homecoming that meant deep and sacred a joy, as fervent gratitude as any four hearts ever contained

in all the world. But the laughter ceased, though the happiness flowed silently underneath, almost forgotten in

the sudden sorrow that overcame them, for it fell out that Lois Boynton had only waited, as it were, for the

And these two heavens met, over at Boyntons', during these cold, white, glistening December days.

Lois Boynton found hers first. After a windy moonlit night a morning dawned in which a hush seemed to be

on the earth. The cattle huddled together in the farmyards and the fowls shrank into their feathers. The sky

was gray, and suddenly the first white heralds came floating down like scouts seeking for paths and

Waitstill turned Mrs. Boynton's bed so that she could look out of the window. Slope after slope, dazzling in

white crust, rose one upon another and vanished as they slipped away into the dark green of the pine forests.

It could not be called a storm, for there had been no wind since sunrise, no whirling fury, no drifting; only a

Mrs. Boynton's Book of books was open on the bed and her finger marked a passage in her favorite

"Here it is, daughter," she whispered. "I have found it, in the same chapter where the morning stars sing

together and the sons of God shout for joy. The Lord speaks to Job out of the whirlwind and says: 'HAST

TREASURES OF THE HAIL?' Sit near me, Waitstill, and look out on the hills. 'HAST THOU ENTERED

INTO THE TREASURES OF THE SNOW?' No, not yet, but please God, I shall, and into many other

All day long the airways were filled with the glittering army of the snowflakes; all day long the snow grew

deeper and deeper on the ground; and on the breath of some whitewinged wonder that passed Lois

They watched beside her, but never knew the moment of her going; it was just a silent flitting, a ceasing to

be, without a tremor, or a flutter that could be seen by mortal eye. Her face was so like an angel's in its

shining serenity that the few who loved her best could not look upon her with anything but reverent joy. On

earth she had known nothing but the "broken arcs," but in heaven she would find the "perfect round"; there at

last, on the other side of the stars, she could remember right, poor Lois Boynton!

For weeks afterwards the village was shrouded in snow as it had never been before within memory, but in

every happy household the homelife deepened day by day. The books came out in the long evenings; the

grandsires told old tales under the inspiration of the hearthfire: the children gathered on their wooden stools

to roast apples and pop corn; and hearts came closer together than when summer called the housemates to

Over at Boyntons', when the snow was whirling and the wind howling round the chimneys of the

highgabled old farmhouse; when every window had its frame of ermine and fringe of icicles, and the sleet

rattled furiously against the glass, then Ivory would throw a great back log on the bank of coals between the

firedogs, the kettle would begin to sing, and the eat come from some snug corner to curl and purr on the

School was in session, and Ivory and Rod had their textbooks of an evening, but oh! what a new and strange

joy to study when there was a sweet woman sitting near with her workbasket; a woman wearing a shining

braid of hair as if it were a coronet; a woman of clear eyes and tender lips, one who could feel as well as

Truly the second heaven, the one on "this side of the stars, by men called home," was very present over at

Sometimes the broadseated old haircloth sofa would be drawn in front of the fire, and Ivory, laying his pipe

and his Greek grammar on the table, would take some lighter book and open it on his knee. Waitstill would

lift her eyes from her sewing to meet her husband's glance that spoke longing for her closer companionship,

and gladly leaving her work, and slipping into the place by his side, she would put her elbow on his shoulder

Once, Rod, from his place at a table on the other side of the room, looked and looked at them with a kind of

instinct beyond his years, and finally crept up to Waitstill, and putting an arm through hers, nestled his curly

It was a young and beautiful shoulder, Waitstill's, and there had always been, and would always be, a

gracious curve in it where a child's head might lie in comfort. Presently with a shy pressure, Rod whispered:

Ivory looked up from his book quietly shaking his head, while Waitstill put her arm around the boy and drew

Men may come and men may go; Saco Water still tumbles tumultuously over the dam and rushes under the

Edgewood bridge on its way to the sea; and still it listens to the story of today that will sometime be the

On midsummer evenings the windows of the old farmhouse over at Boyntons' gleam with unaccustomed

lights and voices break the stillness, lessening the gloom of the long grassgrown lane of Lois Boynton's

watching in days gone by. On sunny mornings there is a merry babel of children's chatter, mingled with

gentle maternal warnings, for this is a new brood of young things and the river is calling them as it has called

all the others who ever came within the circle of its magic. The fragile harebells hanging their blue heads

from the crevices of the rocks; the brilliant columbines swaying to and fro on their tall stalks; the patches of

gleaming sand in shallow places beckoning little bare feet to come and tread them; the glint of silver

minnows darting hither and thither in some still pool; the tempestuous journey of some weatherbeaten log,

fighting its way downstream;here is life in abundance, luring the child to share its risks and its joys.

When Waitstill's boys and Patty's girls come back to the farm, they play by Saco Water as their mothers and

their fathers did before them. The paths through the pine woods along the river's brink are trodden smooth by

their restless, wandering feet; their eager, curious eyes search the waysides for adventure, but their babble and

laughter are oftenest heard from the ruins of an old house hidden by great trees. The stones of the cellar, all

overgrown with blackberry vines, are still there; and a fragment of the brick chimney, where swallows build

their nests from year to year. A wilderness of weeds, tall and luxuriant, springs up to hide the stone over

which Jacob Cochrane stepped daily when he issued from his door; and the polished stick with which

threeyearold Patty beats a tattoo may be a round from the very chair in which he sat, expounding the Bible

according to his own vision. The thickets of sweet clover and redtipped grasses, of waving ferns and young

alder bushes hide all of ugliness that belongs to the deserted spot and serve as a miniature forest in whose

shade the younglings foreshadow the future at their play of homebuilding and housekeeping. In a far corner,

altogether concealed from the passerby, there is a secret treasure, a wonderful rosebush, its green leaves

shining with health and vigor. When the July sun is turning the hayfields yellow, the children part the

bushes in the leafy corner and little Waitstill Boynton steps cautiously in, to gather one splendid rose, "for

Jacob Cochrane's heart, with all its faults and frailties has long been at peace. On a chill, dreary night in

November, all that was mortal of him was raised from its unhonored restingplace not far from the ruins of

his old abode, and borne by three of his disciples far away to another state. The gravestones were replaced,

face downward, deep, deep in the earth, and the sod laid back upon them, so that no man thence forward

could mark the place of the prophet's transient burial amid the scenes of his first and only triumphant

"It is a sad story, Jacob Cochrane's," Waitstill said to her husband when she first discovered that her children

had chosen the deserted spot for their play; "and yet, Ivory, the red rose blooms and blooms in the ruins of the

man's house, and perhaps, somewhere in the world, he has left a message that matches the rose."