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Oldtown Fireside Stories
By
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Contents
THE
GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWNHOUSE.
"Come, Sam, =
tell
us a story," said I, as Harry and I crept to his knees, in the glow of=
the
bright evening firelight; while Aunt Lois was busily rattling the tea-thing=
s,
and grandmamma, at the other end of the fireplace, was quietly setting the =
heel
of a blue-mixed yarn stocking.
In those days we =
had
no magazines and daily papers, each reeling off a serial story. Once a week,
"The Columbian Sentinel" came from Boston with its slender stock =
of
news and editorial; but all the multiform devices--pictorial, narrative, and
poetical--which keep the mind of the present generation ablaze with excitem=
ent,
had not then even an existence. There was no theatre, no opera; there were =
in
Oldtown no parties or balls, except, perhaps, the annual election, or
Thanksgiving festival; and when winter came, and the sun went down at half-=
past
four o'clock, and left the long, dark hours of evening to be provided for, =
the
necessity of amusement became urgent. Hence, in those days, chimney-corner
story-telling became an art and an accomplishment. Society then was full of
traditions and narratives which had all the uncertain glow and shifting mys=
tery
of the firelit hearth upon them. They were told to sympathetic audiences, by
the rising and falling light of the solemn embers, with the hearth-crickets
filling up every pause. Then the aged told their stories to the young,--tal=
es
of early life; tales of war and adventure, of forest-days, of Indian
captivities and escapes, of bears and wild-cats and panthers, of rattlesnak=
es,
of witches and wizards, and strange and wonderful dreams and appearances and
providences.
In those days of
early
"Do, do, tel=
l us
a story," said Harry, pressing upon him, and opening very wide blue ey=
es,
in which undoubting faith shone as in a mirror; "and let it be somethi=
ng
strange, and different from common."
"Wal, I know
lots o' strange things," said Sam, looking mysteriously into the fire.
"Why, I know things, that ef I should tell,--why, people might day they
wa'n't so; but then they is so for all that."
"Oh, do, do,
tell us!"
"Why, I shou=
ld
scare ye to death, mebbe," said Sam doubtingly.
"Oh, pooh! n=
o,
you wouldn't," we both burst out at once.
But Sam was posse=
ssed
by a reticent spirit, and loved dearly to be wooed and importuned; and go he
only took up the great kitchen-tongs, and smote on the hickory forestick, w=
hen
it flew apart in the middle, and scattered a shower of clear bright coals a=
ll
over the hearth.
"Mercy on us,
Sam Lawson!" said Aunt Lois in an indignant voice, spinning round from=
her
dishwashing.
"Don't you w=
orry
a grain, Miss Lois," said Sam composedly. "I see that are stick w=
as
e'en a'most in two, and I thought I'd jest settle it. I'll sweep up the coa=
ls
now," he added, vigorously applying a turkey-wing to the purpose, as he
knelt on the hearth, his spare, lean figure glowing in the blaze of the
firelight, and getting quite flushed with exertion.
"There,
now!" he said, when he had brushed over and under and between the
fire-irons, and pursued the retreating ashes so far into the red, fiery cit=
adel,
that his finger-ends were burning and tingling, "that are's done now as
well as Hepsy herself could 'a' done it. I allers sweeps up the haarth: I t=
hink
it's part o' the man's bisness when he makes the fire. But Hepsy's so used =
to
seein' me a-doin' on't, that she don't see no kind o' merit in't. It's just=
as
Parson Lothrop said in his sermon,--folks allers overlook their common
marcies"--
"But come, S=
am,
that story," said Harry and I coaxingly, pressing upon him, and pulling
him down into his seat in the corner.
"Lordy massy,
these 'ere young uns!" said Sam. "There's never no contentin' on =
'em:
ye tell 'em one story, and they jest swallows it as a dog does a gob o' mea=
t;
and they're all ready for another. What do ye want to hear now?"
Now, the fact was,
that Sam's stories had been told us so often, that they were all arranged a=
nd
ticketed in our minds. We knew every word in them, and could set him right =
if
he varied a hair from the usual track; and still the interest in them was
unabated. Still we shivered, and clung to his knee, at the mysterious parts,
and felt gentle, cold chills run down our spines at appropriate places. We =
were
always in the most receptive and sympathetic condition. To-night, in
particular, was one of those thundering stormy ones, when the winds appeare=
d to
be holding a perfect mad carnival over my grandfather's house. They yelled =
and squealed
round the corners; they collected in troops, and came tumbling and roaring =
down
chimney; they shook and tattled the buttery-door and the sinkroom-door and =
the
cellar-door and the chamber-door, with a constant undertone of squeak and
clatter, as if at every door were a cold, discontented spirit, tired of the
chill outside, and longing for the warmth and comfort within.
"Wal,
boys," said Sam confidentially, "what'll ye have?"
"Tell us 'Co=
me
down, come down!'" we both shouted with one voice. This was, in our mi=
nd,
an "A No. 1" among Sam's stories.
"Ye mus'n't =
be
frightened now," said Sam paternally.
"Oh, no! we
ar'n't frightened ever," said we both in one breath.
"Not when ye=
go
down the cellar arler cider?" said Sam with severe scrutiny. "Ef =
ye
should be down cellar, and the candle should go out, now?"
"I ain't,&qu=
ot;
said I: "I ain't afraid of any thing. I never knew what it was to be
afraid in my life."
"Wal,
then," said Sam, "I'll tell ye. This 'ere's what Cap'n Eb Sawin t=
old
me when I was a boy about your bigness, I reckon.
"Cap'n Eb Sa=
win
was a most respectable man. Your gran'ther knew him very well; and he was a
deacon in the church in
"Ye see, alo=
ng
back in them times, there used to be a fellow come round these 'ere parts,
spring and fall, a-peddlin' goods, with his pack on his back; and his name =
was
Jehiel Lommedieu. Nobody rightly knew where he come from. He wasn't much of=
a
talker; but the women rather liked him, and kind o' liked to have him round.
Women will like some fellows, when men can't see no sort o' reason why they
should; and they liked this 'ere Lommedieu, though he was kind o' mournful =
and
thin and shad-bellied, and hadn't nothin' to say for himself. But it got to=
be so,
that the women would count and calculate so many weeks afore 'twas time for
Lommedieu to be along; and they'd make up ginger-snaps and preserves and pi=
es,
and make him stay to tea at the houses, and feed him up on the best there w=
as:
and the story went round, that he was a-courtin' Phebe Ann Parker, or Phebe=
Ann
was a-courtin' him,--folks didn't rightly know which. Wal, all of a sudden,
Lommedieu stopped comin' round; and nobody knew why,--only jest he didn't c=
ome.
It turned out that Phebe Ann Parker had got a letter from him, sayin' he'd =
be along
afore Thanksgiving; but he didn't come, neither afore nor at Thanksgiving t=
ime,
nor arter, nor next spring: and finally the women they gin up lookin' for h=
im.
Some said he was dead; some said he was gone to
"Wal, as to
Phebe Ann, she acted like a gal o' sense, and married 'Bijah Moss, and thou=
ght
no more 'bout it. She took the right view on't, and said she was sartin that
all things was ordered out for the best; and it was jest as well folks coul=
dn't
always have their own way. And so, in time, Lommedieu was gone out o' folks=
's
minds, much as a last year's apple-blossom.
"It's relly
affectin' to think how little these 'ere folks is missed that's so much sot=
by.
There ain't nobody, ef they's ever so important, but what the world gets to
goin' on without 'em, pretty much as it did with 'em, though there's some
little flurry at fust. Wal, the last thing that was in anybody's mind was, =
that
they ever should hear from Lommedieu agin. But there ain't nothin' but what=
has
its time o' turnin' up; and it seems his turn was to come.
"Wal, ye see,
'twas the 19th o' March, when Cap'n Eb Sawin started with a team for
"Wal, that w=
as
the sort o' weather it was all day: and by sundown Cap'n Eb he got clean
bewildered, so that he lost his road; and, when night came on, he didn't kn=
ow
nothin' where he was. Ye see the country was all under drift, and the air so
thick with snow, that he couldn't see a foot afore him; and the fact was, he
got off the
"Your gran't=
her
used to know old Cack, boys. He was a drefful drinkin' old crittur, that li=
ved
there all alone in the woods by himself a-tendin' saw and grist mill. He wa=
sn't
allers jest what he was then. Time was that Cack was a pretty consid'ably
likely young man, and his wife was a very respectable woman,--Deacon Amos
Petengall's dater from Sherburn.
"But ye see,=
the
year arter his wife died, Cack he gin up goin' to meetin' Sundays, and, all=
the
tithing-men and selectmen could do, they couldn't get him out to meetin'; a=
nd,
when a man neglects means o' grace and sanctuary privileges, there ain't no
sayin' what he'll do next. Why, boys, jist think on't!--an immortal crittur
lyin' round loose all day Sunday, and not puttin' on so much as a clean shi=
rt,
when all 'spectable folks has on their best close, and is to meetin'
worshippin' the Lord! What can you spect to come of it, when he lies idlin'
round in his old week-day close, fishing, or some sich, but what the Devil
should be arter him at last, as he was arter old Cack?"
Here Sam winked
impressively to my grandfather in the opposite corner, to call his attentio=
n to
the moral which he was interweaving with his narrative.
"Wal, ye see,
Cap'n Eb he told me, that when he come to them bars and looked up, and saw =
the
dark a-comin' down, and the storm a-thickenin' up, he felt that things was
gettin' pretty consid'able serious. There was a dark piece o' woods on ahea=
d of
him inside the bars; and he knew, come to get in there, the light would give
out clean. So he jest thought he'd take the hoss out o' the team, and go ah=
ead
a little, and see where he was. So he driv his oxen up ag'in the fence, and
took out the hoss, and got on him, and pushed along through the woods, not
rightly knowin' where he was goin'.
"Wal, afore =
long
he see a light through the trees; and, sure enough, he come out to Cack
Sparrock's old mill.
"It was a pr=
etty
consid'able gloomy sort of a place, that are old mill was. There was a great
fall of water that come rushin' down the rocks, and fell in a deep pool; an=
d it
sounded sort o' wild and lonesome: but Cap'n Eb he knocked on the door with=
his
whip-handle, and got in.
"There, to be
sure, sot old Cack beside a great blazin' fire, with his rum-jug at his elb=
ow.
He was a drefful fellow to drink, Cack was! For all that, there was some go=
od
in him, for he was pleasant-spoken and 'bliging; and he made the cap'n welc=
ome.
"'Ye see, Ca=
ck,'
said Cap'n Eb, 'I 'm off my road, and got snowed up down by your bars,' says
he.
"'Want ter
know!' says Cack. 'Calculate you'll jest have to camp down here till mornin=
','
says he.
"Wal, so old
Cack he got out his tin lantern, and went with Cap'n Eb back to the bars to
help him fetch along his critturs. He told him he could put 'em under the
mill-shed. So they got the critturs up to the shed, and got the cart under;=
and
by that time the storm was awful.
"But Cack he
made a great roarin' fire, 'cause, ye see, Cack allers had slab-wood a plen=
ty
from his mill; and a roarin' fire is jest so much company. It sort o' keeps=
a
fellow's spirits up, a good fire does. So Cack he sot on his old teakettle,=
and
made a swingeing lot o' toddy; and he and Cap'n Eb were havin' a tol'able
comfortable time there. Cack was a pretty good hand to tell stories; and Ca=
p'n
Eb warn't no way backward in that line, and kep' up his end pretty well: and
pretty soon they was a-roarin' and haw-hawin' inside about as loud as the s=
torm
outside; when all of a sudden, 'bout midnight, there come a loud rap on the
door.
"'Lordy mass=
y!
what's that?' says Cack. Folks is rather startled allers to be checked up
sudden when they are a-carryin' on and laughin'; and it was such an awful b=
lowy
night, it was a little scary to have a rap on the door.
"Wal, they
waited a minit, and didn't hear nothin' but the wind a-screechin' round the
chimbley; and old Cack was jest goin' on with his story, when the rap come
ag'in, harder'n ever, as if it'd shook the door open.
"'Wal,' says=
old
Cack,' if 'tis the Devil, we'd jest as good's open, and have it out with hi=
m to
onst,' says he; and so he got up and opened the door, and, sure enough, the=
re
was old Ketury there. Expect you've heard your grandma tell about old Ketur=
y.
She used to come to meetin's sometimes, and her husband was one o' the pray=
in'
Indians; but Ketury was one of the rael wild sort, and you couldn't no more
convert her than you could convert a wild-cat or a painter [panther]. Lordy
massy! Ketury used to come to meetin', and sit there on them Indian benches=
; and
when the second bell was a-tollin', and when Parson Lothrop and his wife was
comin' up the broad aisle, and everybody in the house ris' up and stood, Ke=
tury
would sit there, and look at 'em out o' the corner o' her eyes; and folks u=
sed
to say she rattled them necklaces o' rattlesnakes' tails and wild-cat teeth,
and sich like heathen trumpery, and looked for all the world as if the spir=
it
of the old Sarpent himself was in her. I've seen her sit and look at Lady
Lothrop out o' the corner o' her eyes; and her old brown baggy neck would k=
ind
o' twist and work; and her eyes they looked so, that 'twas enough to scare a
body. For all the world, she looked jest as if she was a-workin' up to spri=
ng
at her. Lady Lothrop was jest as kind to Ketury as she always was to every =
poor
crittur. She'd bow and smile as gracious to her when meetin' was over, and =
she
come down the aisle, passin' oot o, meetin'; but Ketury never took no notic=
e.
Ye see, Ketury's father was one o' them great powwows down to
"Why, ye see,
boys, she was as withered and wrinkled and brown as an old frosted punkin-v=
ine;
and her little snaky eyes sparkled and snapped, and it made yer head kind o'
dizzy to look at 'em; and folks used to say that anybody that Ketury got ma=
d at
was sure to get the worst of it fust or last. And so, no matter what day or
hour Ketury had a mind to rap at anybody's door, folks gen'lly thought it w=
as
best to let her in; but then, they never thought her coming was for any goo=
d,
for she was just like the wind,--she came when the fit was on her, she staid
jest so long as it pleased her, and went when she got ready, and not before.
Ketury understood English, and could talk it well enough, but always seemed=
to scorn
it, and was allers mo win' and mutterin' to herself in Indian, and winkin' =
and
blinkin' as if she saw more-folks round than you did, so that she wa'n't no=
way
pleasant company; and yet everybody took good care to be polite to her. So =
old
Cack asked her to come in, and didn't make-no question where she come from,=
or
what she come on; but he knew it was twelve good miles from where she lived=
to
his hut, and the snow was drifted above her middle: and Cap'n Eb declared t=
hat
there wa'n't no track, nor sign o' a track, of anybody's coming through that
snow next morning."
"How did she=
get
there, then?" said I.
"Didn't ye n=
ever
see brown leaves a-ridin' on the wind? Well,' Cap'n Eb he says, 'she came on
the wind,' and I'm sure it was strong enough to fetch her. But Cack he got =
her
down into the warm corner, and he poured her out a mug o' hot toddy, and gi=
ve
her: but ye see her bein' there sort o' stopped the conversation; for she s=
ot
there a-rockin' back'ards and for'ards, a-sippin her toddy, and a-mutterin',
and lookin' up chimbley.
"Cap'n Eb sa=
ys
in all his born days he never hearn such screeches and yells as the wind gi=
ve
over that chimbley; and old Cack got so frightened, you could fairly hear h=
is
teeth chatter.
"But Cap'n E=
b he
was a putty brave man, and he wa'n't goin' to have conversation stopped by =
no
woman, witch or no witch; and so, when he see her mutterin', and lookin' up
chimbley, he spoke up, and says he, 'Well, Ketury, what do you see?' says h=
e.
'Come, out with it; don't keep it to yourself.' Ye see Cap'n Eb was a hearty
fellow, and then he was a leetle warmed up with the toddy.
"Then he sai=
d he
see an evil kind o' smile on Ketury's face, and she rattled her necklace o'
bones and snakes' tails; and her eyes seemed to snap; and she looked up the
chimbley, and called out, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.'
"Then there =
was
a scratchin' and a rumblin' and a groan; and a pair of feet come down the
chimbley, and stood right in the middle of the haarth, the toes pi'ntin'
out'rds, with shoes and silver buckles a-shin-in' in the firelight. Cap'n Eb
says he never come so near bein' scared in his life; and, as to old Cack, he
jest wilted right down in his chair.
"Then old Ke=
tury
got up, and reached her stick up chimbley, and called out louder, 'Come dow=
n,
come down! let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough, down came a pair o' legs,
and j'ined right on to the feet: good fair legs they was, with ribbed stock=
ings
and leather breeches.
"'Wal, we're=
in
for it now,' says Cap'n Eb. 'Go it, Ketury, and let's have the rest on him.=
'
"Ketury didn=
't
seem to mind him: she stood there as stiff as a stake, and kep' callin' out,
'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And then come down the body of=
a
man with a brown coat and yellow vest, and j'ined right on to the legs; but
there wa'n't no arms to it. Then Ketury shook her stick up chimbley, and
called, 'Come down, come down!' And there came down a pair o' arms, and wen=
t on
each side o' the body; and there stood a man all finished, only there wa'n'=
t no
head on him.
"'Wal, Ketur=
y,'
says Cap'n Eb, 'this 'ere's getting serious. I 'spec' you must finish him u=
p,
and let's see what he wants of us.'
"Then Ketury
called out once more, louder'n ever, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye
be.' And, sure enough, down comes a man's head, and settled on the shoulders
straight enough; and Cap'n Eb, the minit he sot eyes on him, knew he was Je=
hiel
Lommedieu.
"Old Cack kn=
ew
him too; and he fell flat on his face, and prayed the Lord to have mercy on=
his
soul: but Cap'n Eb he was for gettin' to the bottom of matters, and not have
his scare for nothin'; so he says to him, 'What do you want, now you hev co=
me?'
"The man he
didn't speak; he only sort o' moaned, and p'inted to the chimbley. He seeme=
d to
try to speak, but couldn't; for ye see it isn't often that his sort o' folk=
s is
permitted to speak: but just then there came a screechin' blast o' wind, and
blowed the door open, and blowed the smoke and fire all out into the room, =
and
there seemed to be a whirlwind and darkness and moans and screeches; and, w=
hen
it all cleared up, Ketury and the man was both gone, and only old Cack lay =
on
the ground, rolling and moaning as if he'd die.
"Wal, Cap'n =
Eb
he picked him up, and built up the fire, and sort o' comforted him up, 'cau=
se
the crit-tur was in distress o' mind that was drefful. The awful
"Cap'n Eb he=
was
one of a party o' eight that pulled down the chimbley; and there, sure enou=
gh,
was the skeleton of poor Lommedieu.
"So there you
see, boys, there can't be no iniquity so hid but what it'll come out. The W=
ild
Indians of the forest, and the stormy winds and tempests, j'ined together to
bring out this 'ere."
"For my
part," said Aunt Lois sharply, "I never believed that story."=
;
"Why,
Lois," said my grandmother, "Cap'n Eb Sawin was a regular church-=
member,
and a most respectable man."
"Law, mother=
! I
don't doubt he thought so. I suppose he and Cack got drinking toddy togethe=
r,
till he got asleep, and dreamed it. I wouldn't believe such a thing if it d=
id
happen right before my face and eyes. I should only think I was crazy, that=
's
all."
"Come, Lois,=
if
I was you, I wouldn't talk so like a Sadducee," said my grandmother.
"What would become of all the accounts in Dr. Cotton Mather's 'Magnill=
y'
if folks were like you?"
"Wal," =
said
Sam Lawson, drooping contemplatively over the coals, and gazing into the fi=
re,
"there's a putty consid'able sight o' things in this world that's true;
and then ag'in there's a sight o' things that ain't true. Now, my old gran'=
ther
used to say, 'Boys, says he, 'if ye want to lead a pleasant and prosperous
life, ye must contrive allers to keep jest the happy medium between truth a=
nd
falsehood.' Now, that are's my doctrine."
Aunt Lois knit
severely.
"Boys,"
said Sam, "don't you want ter go down with me and get a mug o' cider?&=
quot;
Of course we did,=
and
took down a basket to bring up some apples to roast.
"Boys,"
says Sam mysteriously, while he was drawing the cider, "you jest ask y=
our
Aunt Lois to tell you what she knows 'bout Ruth Sullivan."
"Why, what is
it?"
"Oh! you must
ask her. These 'ere folks that's so kind o' toppin' about sperits and sich,
come sift 'em down, you gen'lly find they knows one story that kind o' puzz=
les
'em. Now you mind, and jist ask your Aunt Lois about Ruth Sullivan."
THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLAS=
S.
"Aunt
Lois," said I, "what was that story about Ruth Sullivan?"
Aunt Lois's quick
black eyes gave a surprised flash; and she and my grandmother looked at each
other a minute significantly. "Who told you any thing about Ruth
Sullivan," she said sharply.
"Nobody.
Somebody said you knew something about her," said I.
I was holding a s=
kein
of yarn for Aunt Lois; and she went on winding in silence, putting the ball
through loops and tangled places.
"Little boys
shouldn't ask questions," she concluded at last sententiously.
"Little boys that ask too many questions get sent to bed."
I knew that of ol=
d,
and rather wondered at my own hardihood.
Aunt Lois wound o=
n in
silence; but, looking in her face, I could see plainly that I had started an
exciting topic.
"I should
think," pursued my grandmother in her corner, "that Ruth's case m=
ight
show you, Lois, that a good many things may happen,--more than you
believe."
"Oh, well,
mother! Ruth's was a strange case; but I suppose there are ways of accounti=
ng
for it."
"You believed
Ruth, didn't you?"
"Oh, certain=
ly,
I believed Ruth! Why shouldn't I? Ruth was one of my best friends, and as t=
rue
a girl as lives: there wasn't any nonsense about Ruth. She was one of the
sort," said Aunt Lois reflectively, "that I'd as soon trust as
myself: when she said a thing was so and so, I knew it was so."
"Then, if you
think Ruth's story was true," pursued my grandmother, "what's the
reason you are always cavilling at things just 'cause you can't understand =
how
they came to be so?"
Aunt Lois set her
lips firmly, and wound with grim resolve. She was the very impersonation of
that obstinate rationalism that grew up at the New-England fireside, close
alongside of the most undoubting faith in the supernatural.
"I don't bel=
ieve
such things," at last she snapped out, "and I don't disbelieve th=
em.
I just let 'em alone. What do I know about 'em? Ruth tells me a story; and I
believe her. I know what she saw beforehand, came true in a most remarkable
way. Well, I'm sure I've no objection. One thing may be true, or another, f=
or
all me; but, just because I believe Ruth Sullivan, I'm not going to believe,
right and left, all the stories in Cotton Mather, and all that anybody can =
hawk
up to tell. Not I."
This whole
conversation made me all the more curious to get at the story thus dimly
indicated; and so we beset Sam for information.
"So your Aunt
Lois wouldn't tell ye nothin'," said Sam. "Wanter know, neow!
sho!"
"No: she sai=
d we
must go to bed if we asked her."
"That 'are's=
a
way folks has; but, ye see, boys," said Sam, while a droll confidential
expression crossed the lack-lustre dolefulness of his visage, "ye see,=
I
put ye up to it, 'cause Miss Lois is so large and commandin' in her ways, a=
nd
so kind o' up and down in all her doin's, that I like once and a while to s=
ort
o' gravel her; and I knowed enough to know that that 'are question would git
her in a tight place.
"Ye see, yer
Aunt Lois was knowin' to all this 'ere about Ruth, so there wer'n't no gett=
in'
away from it; and it's about as remarkable a providence as any o' them of
Mister Cotton Marther's 'Magnilly.' So if you'll come up in the barn-chambe=
r this
arternoon, where I've got a lot o' flax to hatchel out, I'll tell ye all ab=
out
it."
So that afternoon
beheld Sam arranged at full length on a pile of top-tow in the barn-chamber,
hatchelling by proxy by putting Harry and myself to the service.
"Wal, now, b=
oys,
it's kind o' refreshing to see how wal ye take hold," he observed.
"Nothin' like bein' industrious while ye'r young: gret sight better now
than loafin off, down in them medders.
"'In books =
and
work and useful play =
Let
my fust years be past: So shall I =
give
for every day =
Some
good account at last.'"
"But, Sam, i=
f we
work for you, you must tell us that story about Ruth Sullivan."
"Lordy massy!
yis,--course I will. I've had the best kind o' chances of knowin' all about=
that
'are. Wal, you see there was old Gineral Sullivan, he lived in state and
grande'r in the old Sullivan house out to Roxberry. I been to Roxberry, and
seen that 'are house o' Gineral Sullivan's. There was one time that I was a
consid'able spell lookin' round in Roxberry, a kind o' seein' how things wuz
there, and whether or no there mightn't be some sort o' providential openin=
' or
suthin'. I used to stay with Aunt Polly Ginger. She was sister to Mehitable
Ginger, Gineral Sullivan's housekeeper, and hed the in and out o' the Sulli=
van house,
and kind o' kept the run o' how things went and came in it. Polly she was a
kind o' cousin o' my mother's, and allers glad to see me. Fact was, I was p=
utty
handy round house; and she used to save up her broken things and sich till I
come round in the fall; and then I'd mend 'em up, and put the clock right, =
and
split her up a lot o' kindlings, and board up the cellar-windows, and kind =
o'
make her sort o' comfortable,--she bein' a lone body, and no man round. As I
said, it was sort o' convenient to hev me; and so I jest got the run o' thi=
ngs
in the Sullivan house pretty much as ef I was one on 'em, Gineral Sullivan =
he kept
a grand house, I tell you. You see, he cum from the old country, and felt s=
ort
o' lordly and grand; and they used to hev the gretest kind o' doin's there =
to
the Sullivan house. Ye ought ter a seen that 'are house,--gret big front ha=
ll
and gret wide stairs; none o' your steep kind that breaks a feller's neck to
get up and down, but gret broad stairs with easy risers, so they used to say
you could a cantered a pony up that 'are stairway easy as not. Then there w=
as
gret wide rooms, and sofys, and curtains, and gret curtained bedsteads that
looked sort o' like fortifications, and pictur's that was got in
"But, Sam, I
hope General Sullivan wasn't a wicked man, was he?"
"Wal, I woul=
dn't
say he was railly wickeder than the run; but he was one o' these 'ere
high-stepping, big-feeling fellers, that seem to be a hevin' their portion =
in
this life. Drefful proud he was; and he was pretty much sot on this world, =
and kep'
a sort o' court goin' on round him. Wal, I don't jedge him nor nobody: folks
that hes the world is apt to get sot on it. Don't none on us do more than
middlin' well."
"But, Sam, w=
hat
about Ruth Sullivan?"
"Ruth?--Oh,
yis!--Ruth--
"Wal, ye see,
the only crook in the old Gineral's lot was he didn't hev no children. Mis'
Sullivan, she was a beautiful woman, as handsome as a pictur'; but she never
had but one child; and he was a son who died when he was a baby, and about
broke her heart. And then this 'ere Ruth was her sister's child, that was b=
orn
about the same time; and, when the boy died, they took Ruth home to sort o'
fill his place, and kind o' comfort up Mis' Sullivan. And then Ruth's father
and mother died; and they adopted her for their own, and brought her up.
"Wal, she gr=
ew
up to be amazin' handsome. Why, everybody said that she was jest the light =
and
glory of that 'are old Sullivan place, and worth more'n all the pictur's and
the silver and the jewels, and all there was in the house; and she was jest=
so
innercent and sweet, that you never see nothing to beat it. Wal, your Aunt =
Lois
she got acquainted with Ruth one summer when she was up to
"Wal, I don'=
t orter
say hatred, arter all. I kind o' reckon, the old Gineral did the best he co=
uld:
the fact is, when a woman gits a kink in her head agin a man, the best on us
don't allers do jest the right thing.
"Any way, Ru=
th,
she was sort o' forlorn, and didn't seem to take no comfort in the goin's o=
n.
The Gineral he was mighty fond on her, and proud on her; and there wa'n't
nothin' too good for Ruth. He was free-handed, the Gineral wuz. He dressed =
her
up in silks and satins, and she hed a maid to wait on her, and she hed sets=
o'
pearl and dimond; and Madam Sullivan she thought all the world on her, and =
kind
o' worshipped the ground she trod on. And yet Ruth was sort o' lonesome.
"Ye see, Ruth
wa'n't calculated for grande'r. Some folks ain't.
"Why, that '=
are
summer she spent out to Old Town, she was jest as chirk and chipper as a wr=
en,
a wearin' her little sun-bunnet, and goin' a huckle-berryin' and a
black-berryin' and diggin' sweet-flag, and gettin cowslops and dandelions; =
and
she hed a word for everybody. And everybody liked Ruth, and wished her well.
Wal, she was sent for her health; and she got that, and more too: she got a
sweetheart.
"Ye see, the=
re
was a Cap'n Oliver a visitin' at the minister's that summer,--a nice, hands=
ome
young man as ever was. He and Ruth and your Aunt Lois, they was together a =
good
deal; and they was a ramblin' and a ridin' and a sailin': and so Ruth and t=
he
Capting went the way o' all the airth, and fell dead in love with each othe=
r.
Your Aunt Lois she was knowing to it and all about it, 'cause Ruth she was =
jest
one of them that couldn't take a step without somebody to talk to.
"Captain Oli=
ver
was of a good family in England; and so, when he made bold to ask the old
Gineral for Ruth, he didn't say him nay: and it was agreed, as they was you=
ng,
they should wait a year or two. If he and she was of the same mind, he shou=
ld
be free to marry her. Jest right on that, the Captain's regiment was ordered
home, and he had to go; and, the next they heard, it was sent off to India.=
And
poor little Ruth she kind o' drooped and pined; but she kept true, and woul=
dn't
have nothin' to say to nobody that came arter her, for there was lots and c=
ords
o' fellows as did come arter her. Ye see, Ruth had a takin' way with her; a=
nd
then she had the name of bein' a great heiress, and that allers draws felle=
rs,
as molasses does flies.
"Wal, then t=
he
news came, that Captain Oliver was comin' home to England, and the ship was
took by the Algerenes, and he was gone into slavery there among them heathen
Mahomedans and what not.
"Folks seeme=
d to
think it was all over with him, and Ruth might jest as well give up fust as
last. And the old Gineral he'd come to think she might do better; and he ke=
p' a
introducin' one and another, and tryin' to marry her off; but Ruth she woul=
dn't.
She used to write sheets and sheets to your Aunt Lois about it; and I think
Aunt Lois she kep' her grit up. Your Aunt Lois she'd a stuck by a man to the
end o' time eft ben her case; and so she told Ruth.
"Wal, then t=
here
was young Jeff Sullivan, the Gineral's nephew, he turned up; and the Ginera=
l he
took a gret fancy to him. He was next heir to the Gineral; but he'd ben a
pretty rackety youngster in his young days,--off to sea, and what not, and
sowed a consid'able crop o' wild oats. People said he'd been a pirating off
there in South Ameriky. Lordy massy! nobody rightly knew where he hed ben or
where he hadn't: all was, he turned up at last all alive, and chipper as a
skunk blackbird. Wal, of course he made his court to Ruth; and the Gineral,=
he
rather backed him up in it; but Ruth she wouldn't have nothin' to say to hi=
m.
Wal, he come and took up his lodgin' at the Gineral's; and he was jest as s=
lippery
as an eel, and sort o' slid into every thing, that was a goin' on in the ho=
use
and about it. He was here, and he was there, and he was everywhere, and a
havin' his say about this and that; and he got everybody putty much under h=
is
thumb. And they used to say, he wound the Gineral round and round like a sk=
ein
o' yarn; but he couldn't come it round Ruth.
"Wal, the
Gineral said she shouldn't be forced; and Jeff, he was smooth as satin, and
said he'd be willing to wait as long as Jacob did for Rachel. And so there =
he
sot down, a watchin' as patient as a cat at a mouse-hole; 'cause the Ginera=
l he
was thick-set and short-necked, and drank pretty free, and was one o' the s=
ort
that might pop off any time.
"Wal, Mis'
Sullivan, she beset the Gineral to make a provision for Ruth; 'cause she to=
ld
him very sensible, that he'd brought her up in luxury, and that it wa'n't f=
air
not to settle somethin' on her; and so the Gineral he said he'd make a will,
and part the property equally between them. And he says to Jeff, that, if he
played his part as a young fellow oughter know how, it would all come to hi=
m in
the end; 'cause they hadn't heard nothing from Captain Oliver for three or =
four
years, and folks about settled it that he must, be dead.
"Wal, the
Gineral he got a letter about an estate that had come to him in England; an=
d he
had to go over. Wal, livin' on the next estate, was the very cousin of the
Gineral's that he was to a married when they was both young: the lands join=
ed
so that the grounds run together. What came between them two nobody knows; =
but
she never married, and there she was. There was high words between the Gine=
ral
and Madam Sullivan about his goin' over. She said there wa'n't no sort o' n=
eed
on't, and he said there was; and she said she hoped she should be in her gr=
ave
afore he come back; and he said she might suit herself about that for all h=
im. That
'are was the story that the housekeeper told to Aunt Polly; and Aunt Polly =
she
told me. These 'ere squabbles somehow allers does kind o' leak out one way =
or
t'other. Anyhow, it was a house divided agin itself at the Gineral's, when =
he
was a fixin' out for the voyage. There was Ruth a goin' fust to one, and th=
en
to t'other, and tryin' all she could to keep peace beteen 'em; and there was
this 'ere Master Slick Tongue talkin' this way to one side, and that way to
t'other, and the old Gineral kind o' like a shuttle-cock atween 'em.
"Wal, then, =
the
night afore he sailed, the Gineral he hed his lawyer up in his library ther=
e, a
lookin' over all his papers and bonds and things, and a witnessing his will;
and Master Jeff was there, as lively as a cricket, a goin' into all affairs,
and offerin' to take precious good care while he was gone; and the Gineral =
he
had his papers and letters out, a sortin' on 'em over, which was to be took=
to
the old country, and which was to be put in a trunk to go back to Lawyer De=
nnis's
office.
"Wal, Abner
Ginger, Polly's boy, he that was footman and waiter then at the Gineral's, =
he
told me, that, about eight o'clock that evening he went up with hot water a=
nd
lemons and sperits and sich, and he see the gret green table in the library=
all
strewed and covered with piles o' papers; and there was tin boxes a standin'
round; and the Gineral a packin' a trunk, and young Master Jeff, as lively =
and
helpful as a rat that smells cheese. And then the Gineral he says, 'Abner,'
says he, 'can you write your name?'--'I should hope so, Gineral.' says
Abner.--'Wal, then, Abner,' says he, 'this is my last will; and I want you =
to
witness it,' and so Abner he put down his name opposite to a place with a w=
afer
and a seal; and then the Gineral, he says, 'Abner, you tell Ginger to come
here.' That, you see, was his housekeeper, my Aunt Polly's sister, and a li=
kely
woman as ever was. And so they had her up, and she put down her name to the
will; and then Aunt Polly she was had up (she was drinking tea there that
night), and she put down her name. And all of 'em did it with good heart,
'cause it had got about among 'em that the will was to provide for Miss Rut=
h;
for everybody loved Ruth, ye see, and there was consid'ble many stories kin=
d o'
goin' the rounds about Master Jeff and his doin's. And they did say he sort=
o'
kep' up the strife atween the Gineral and my lady, and so they didn't think
none too well o' him; and, as he was next o' kin, and Miss Ruth wa'n't none=
o'
the Gineral's blood (ye see, she was Mis' Sullivan's sister's child), of co=
urse
there wouldn't nothin' go to Miss Ruth in way o' law, and so that was why t=
he
signin' o' that 'are will was so much talked about among 'em."
"Wal, you se=
e,
the Gineral he sailed the next day; and Jeff he staid by to keep watch o'
things.
"Wal, the old
Gineral he got over safe; for Miss Sullivan, she had a letter from him all
right. When he got away, his conscience sort o' nagged him, and he was mind=
ed
to be a good husband. At any rate, he wrote a good loving letter to her, and
sent his love to Ruth, and sent over lots o' little keepsakes and things for
her, and told her that he left her under good protection, and wanted her to=
try
and make up her mind to marry Jeff, as that would keep the property togethe=
r.
"Wal, now th=
ere
couldn't be no sort o' sugar sweeter than Jeff was to them lone wimmen. Jeff
was one o' the sort that could be all things to all wimmen. He waited and he
tended, and he was as humble as any snake in the grass that ever ye see and=
the
old lady, she clean fell in with him, but Ruth, she seemed to have a regular
spite agin him. And she that war as gentle as a lamb, that never had so muc=
h as
a hard thought of a mortal critter, and wouldn't tread on a worm, she was so
set agin Jeff, that she wouldn't so much as touch his hand when she got out=
o'
her kerridge.
"Wal, now co=
mes
the strange part o' my story. Ruth was one o' the kind that hes the gift o'
seein'. She was born with a veil over her face!"
This mysterious p=
iece
of physiological information about Ruth was given with a look and air that
announced something very profound and awful; and we both took up the inquir=
y,
"Born with a veil over her face? How should that make her see?"
"Wal, boys; =
how
should I know? But the fact is so. There's those as is wal known as hes the
gift o' seein' what others can't see: they can see through walls and houses;
they can see people's hearts; they can see what's to come. They don't know
nothin' how 'tis, but this 'ere knowledge comes to 'em: it's a gret gift; a=
nd
that sort's born with the veil over their faces. Ruth was o' these 'ere. Old
Granny Badger she was the knowingest old nuss in all these parts; and she w=
as
with Ruth's mother when she was born, and she told Lady Lothrop all about i=
t.
Says she, 'You may depend upon it that child 'll have the
"second-sight"' says she. Oh, that 'are fact was wal known! Wal, =
that
was the reason why Jeff Sullivan couldn't come it round Ruth tho' he was
silkier than a milkweed-pod, and jest about as patient as a spider in his h=
ole
a watchin' to get his grip on a fly. Ruth wouldn't argue with him, and she =
wouldn't
flout him; but she jest shut herself up in herself, and kept a lookout on h=
im;
but she told your Aunt Lois jest what she thought about him.
"Wal, in abo=
ut
six months, come the news that the Gineral was dead. He dropped right down =
in
his tracks, dead with apoplexy, as if he had been shot; and Lady Maxwell she
writ a long letter to my lady and Ruth. Ye see, he'd got to be Sir Thomas
Sullivan over there; and he was a comin' home to take 'em all over to Engla=
nd
to live in grande'r. Wal, my Lady Sullivan (she was then, ye see) she took =
it
drefful hard. Ef they'd a been the lovingest couple in the world, she could=
n't
a took it harder. Aunt Polly, she said it was all 'cause she thought so muc=
h of
him, that she fit him so. There's women that thinks so much o' their husban=
ds, that
they won't let 'em hev no peace o' their life; and I expect it war so with =
her,
poor soul! Any way, she went right down smack, when she heard he was dead. =
She
was abed, sick, when the news come; and she never spoke nor smiled, jest tu=
rned
her back to everybody, and kinder wilted and wilted, and was dead in a week.
And there was poor little Ruth left all alone in the world, with neither ki=
th
nor kin but Jeff.
"Wal, when t=
he
funeral was over, and the time app'inted to read the will and settle up
matters, there wa'n't no will to be found nowhere, high nor low.
"Lawyer Dean=
he
flew round like a parched pea on a shovel. He said he thought he could a go=
ne
in the darkest night, and put his hand on that 'ere will; but when he went
where he thought it was, he found it warn't there, and he knowed he'd kep' =
it
under lock and key. What he thought was the will turned out to be an old
mortgage. Wal, there was an awful row and a to-do about it, you may be sure.
Ruth, she jist said nothin' good or bad. And her not speakin' made Jeff a s=
ight
more uncomfortable than ef she'd a hed it out with him. He told her it
shouldn't make no sort o' difference; that he should allers stand ready to =
give
her all he hed, if she'd only take him with it. And when it came to that she
only gin him a look, and went out o' the room.
"Jeff he fla=
red
and flounced and talked, and went round and round a rumpussin' among the
papers, but no will was forthcomin', high or low. Wal, now here comes what's
remarkable. Ruth she told this 'ere, all the particulars, to yer Aunt Lois =
and
Lady Lothrop. She said that the night after the funeral she went up to her
chamber. Ruth had the gret front chamber, opposite to Mis' Sullivan's. I've
been in it; it was a monstrous big room, with outlandish furniture in it, t=
hat
the Gineral brought over from an old palace out to Italy. And there was a g=
reat
big lookin'-glass over the dressin'-table, that they said come from Venice,=
that
swung so that you could see the whole room in it. Wal, she was a standin' f=
ront
o' this, jist goin' to undress herself, a hearin' the rain drip on the leav=
es
and the wind a whishin' and whis-perin' in the old elm-trees, and jist a
thinkin' over her lot, and what should she do now, all alone in the world, =
when
of a sudden she felt a kind o' lightness in her head, and she thought she
seemed to see somebody in the glass a movin'. And she looked behind, and th=
ere
wa'n't nobody there. Then she looked forward in the glass, and saw a strange
big room, that she'd never seen before, with a long painted winder in it; a=
nd
along side o' this stood a tall cabinet with a good many drawers in it. And=
she
saw herself, and knew that it was herself, in this room, along with another
woman whose back was turned towards her. She saw herself speak to this woma=
n,
and p'int to the cabinet. She saw the woman nod her head. She saw herself g=
o to
the cabinet, and open the middle drawer, and take out a bundle o' papers fr=
om
the very back end on't. She saw her take out a paper from the middle, and o=
pen
it, and hold it up; and she knew that there was the missin' will. Wal, it a=
ll
overcome her so that she fainted clean away. And her maid found her a ly-in'
front o' the dressin'-table on the floor.
"She was sic=
k of
a fever' for a week or fortnight a'ter; and your Aunt Lois she was down tak=
in'
care of her; and, as soon as she got able to be moved, she was took out to =
Lady
Lothrop's. Jeff he was jist as attentive and good as he could be; but she
wouldn't bear him near her room. If he so much as set a foot on the stairs =
that
led to it she'd know it, and got so wild that he hed to be kept from comin'
into the front o' the house. But he was doin' his best to buy up good words
from everybody. He paid all the servants double; he kept every one in their
places, and did so well by 'em all that the gen'l word among 'em was that M=
iss
Ruth couldn't do better than to marry such a nice, open-handed gentleman.
"Wal, Lady
Lothrop she wrote to Lady Maxwell all that hed happened; and Lady Maxwell, =
she
sent over for Ruth to come over and be a companion for her, and said she'd
adopt her, and be as a mother to her.
"Wal, then R=
uth
she went over with some gentlefolks that was goin' back to England, and off=
ered
to see her safe and sound; and so she was set down at Lady Maxwell's manor.=
It
was a grand place, she said, and such as she never see before,--like them o=
ld
gentry places in England. And Lady Maxwell she made much of her, and cosset=
ed
her up for the sake of what the old Gineral had said about her. And Ruth she
told her all her story, and how she believed that the will was to be found
somewhere, and that she should be led to see it yet.
"She told he=
r,
too, that she felt it in her that Cap'n Oliver wasn't dead, and that he'd c=
ome
back yet. And Lady Maxwell she took up for her with might and main, and said
she'd stand by her. But then, ye see, so long as there warn't no will to be
found, there warn't nothin' to be done. Jeff was the next heir; and he'd got
every thing, stock, and lot, and the estate in England into the bargain. And
folks was beginnin' to think putty well of him, as folks allers does when a
body is up in the world, and hes houses and lands. Lordy massy! riches alle=
rs
covers a multitude o' sins.
"Finally, wh=
en
Ruth hed ben six months with her, one day Lady Maxwell got to tellin' her a=
ll
about her history, and what hed ben atween her and her cousin, when they was
young, and how they hed a quarrel and he flung off to Ameriky, and all them
things that it don't do folks no good to remember when it's all over and ca=
n't
be helped. But she was a lone body, and it seemed to do her good to talk ab=
out
it.
"Finally, she
says to Ruth, says she, 'I'll show you a room in this house you han't seen
before. It was the room where we hed that quarrel,' says she; 'and the last=
I
saw of him was there, till he come back to die,' says she.
"So she took=
a
gret key out of her bunch; and she led Ruth along a long passage-way to the
other end of the house, and opened on a great library. And the minute Ruth =
came
in, she threw up her hands and gin a great cry. 'Oh!' says she, 'this is the
room! and there is the window! and there is the cabinet! and there in that
middle drawer at the back end in a bundle of papers is the will!
"And Lady
Maxwell she said, quite dazed, 'Go look,' says she. And Ruth went, jest as =
she
seed herself do, and opened the drawer, and drew forth from the back part a
yellow pile of old letters. And in the middle of those was the will, sure
enough. Ruth drew it out, and opened it, and showed it to her.
"Wal, you see
that will give Ruth the whole of the Gineral's property in America, tho' it=
did
leave the English estate to Jeff.
"Wal, the end
on't was like a story-book.
"Jeff he made
believe be mighty glad. And he said it must a ben that the Gineral hed got
flustered with the sperit and water, and put that 'ere will in among his
letters that he was a doin' up to take back to England. For it was in among
Lady Maxwell's letters that she writ him when they was young, and that he'd=
a
kep' all these years and was a takin' back to her.
"Wal, Lawyer
Dean said he was sure that Jeff made himself quite busy and useful that nig=
ht,
a tyin' up the papers with red tape, and a packin' the Gineral's trunk; and
that, when Jeff gin him his bundle to lock up in his box, he never mistrust=
ed
but what he'd got it all right.
"Wal, you se=
e it
was jest one of them things that can't be known to the jedgment-day. It mig=
ht a
ben an accident, and then agin it might not; and folks settled it one way or
t'other, 'cordin' to their 'pinion o' Jeff; but ye see how 'mazin' handy for
him it happened! Why, ef it hadn't ben for the providence I've ben a tellin'
about, there it might a lain in them old letters, that Lady Maxwell said she
never hed the heart to look over! it never would a turned up in the
world."
"Well,"
said I, "what became of Ruth?" "Oh! Cap'n Oliver he came bac=
k all
alive, and escaped from the Algerines; and they was married in King's Chape=
l,
and lived in the old Sullivan House, in peace and prosperity. That's jest h=
ow
the story was; and now Aunt Lois can make what she's a mind ter out on't.&q=
uot;
"And what be=
came
of Jeff?" "Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was
wrecked off the Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to =
his
property."
"Good enough=
for
him," said both of us.' "Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on
Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe he didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, th=
o'.
I'd rather never hed nothin'. This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful
temptation.
"Wal, now, b=
oys,
ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we'll go up to yer grand'ther's
cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits me dry."
THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPE=
R.
Scene.--The shady
side of a blueberry-pasture.--Sam Lawson with the boys, picking
blueberries.--Sam, loq.
As, you see, boys,
'twas just here,--Parson Carryl's wife, she died along in the forepart o'
March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep house for him. The way on't w=
as,
that Huldy, she went to take care o' Mis' Carryl in the fust on't, when she
fust took sick. Huldy was a tailoress by trade; but then she was one o' the=
se
'ere facultised persons that has a gift for most any thing, and that was how
Mis' Carryl come to set sech store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin'
would do for her but she must have Huldy round all the time: and the minist=
er,
he said he'd make=
it
good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by it. And so Huld=
y,
she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore she died, and got to see=
in'
to every thing pretty much round the place.
"Wal, arter =
Mis'
Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to hevin' on her 'roun=
d,
takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay along a spell; and so Hul=
dy,
she staid along a spell, and poured out his tea, and mended his close, and =
made
pies and cakes, and cooked and washed and ironed, and kep' every thing as n=
eat
as a pin. Huldy was a drefful chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled =
off
from her like water off a duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that
could put sich a sight o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', s=
he always
come out in the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses, lookin' so
fresh and smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet as a meadow
lark's--Lordy massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o' them 'are places
where the treble and counter used to go together: her voice kind o' tremble=
d a
little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a feller! tuck him right where =
he
lived!"
Here Sam leaned
contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet fern, and refreshed
himself with a chew of young wintergreen. "This 'ere young wintergreen,
boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that happened when he was
young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every year, the longest time you
hev to live; and you can't help chawin' on't tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I
don't never get over likin' young wintergreen."
"But about
Huldah, Sam?"
"Oh, yes! ab=
out
Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round, these 'ere pleasant
summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock o' young partridges: the=
y's
up and down and everywhere; 'cause one place is jest about as good as anoth=
er,
when they's all so kind o' comfortable and nice. Wal, about Huldy,--as I wa=
s a
sayin'. She was jest as handsome a gal to look at as a feller could have; a=
nd I
think a nice, well-behaved young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a
means o' grace: it's sort o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know. Why, bo=
ys,
in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a Sunday mornin', =
jest
to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with Huldy. She was very mu=
ch
respected, Huldy was; and, when she went out to tailorin', she was allers b=
espoke
six months ahead, and sent for in waggins up and down for ten miles round; =
for
the young fellers was allers 'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was
quite free to offer to go for her. Wal, after Mis' Carry! died, Huldy got t=
o be
sort o' housekeeper at the minister's, and saw to every thing, and did every
thing: so that there warn't a pin out o' the way.
"But you know
how 'tis in parishes: there allers is women that thinks the minister's affa=
irs
belongs to them, and they ought to have the rulin' and guidin' of 'em; and,=
if
a minister's wife dies, there's folks that allers has their eyes open on
providences,--lookin' out who's to be the next one.
"Now, there =
was
Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black eyes, and a hook
nose,--kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them up-and-down commandin' =
sort
o' women, that feel that they have a call to be seein' to every thing that =
goes
on in the parish, and 'specially to the minister.
"Folks did s=
ay
that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson for herself: wal, now
that 'are might a been, or it might not. Some folks thought it was a very
suitable connection. You see she hed a good property of her own, right nigh=
to
the minister's lot, and was allers kind o' active and busy; so takin' one t=
hing
with another, I shouldn't wonder if Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that
Providence p'inted that way. At any rate, she went up to Deakin Blod-gett's
wife, and they two sort o' put their heads together a mournin' and condolin'
about the way things was likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl =
was
dead. Ye see, the parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their ey=
es everywhere
and on every thing. She was a little thin woman, but tough as Inger rubber,=
and
smart as a steel trap; and there warn't a hen laid an egg, or cackled, but =
Mis'
Carryl was right there to see about it; and she hed the garden made in the
spring, and the medders mowed in summer, and the cider made, and the corn
husked, and the apples got in the fall; and the doctor, he hedn't nothin' t=
o do
but jest sit stock still a meditatin' on Jerusalem and Jericho and them thi=
ngs
that ministers think about. But Lordy massy! he didn't know nothin' about w=
here
any thing he eat or drunk or wore come from or went to: his wife jest led h=
im
'round in temporal things and took care on him like a baby.
"Wal, to be
sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and thought all the world=
on
him; for there warn't a smarter minister no where 'round. Why, when he prea=
ched
on decrees and election, they used to come clear over from South Parish, and
West Sherburne, and Old Town to hear him; and there was sich a row o' waggi=
ns
tied along by the meetin'-house that the stables was all full, and all the
hitchin'-posts was full clean up to the tavern, so that folks said the doct=
or
made the town look like a gineral trainin'-day a Sunday.
"He was gret=
on
texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove, he'd jest go thro' the
Bible, and drive all the texts ahead o' him like a flock o' sheep; and then=
, if
there was a text that seemed agin him, why, he'd come out with his Greek and
Hebrew, and kind o' chase it 'round a spell, jest as ye see a fellar chase a
contrary bell-wether, and make him jump the fence arter the rest. I tell yo=
u,
there wa'n't no text in the Bible that could stand agin the doctor when his
blood was up. The year arter the doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lectio=
n sermon
in Boston, he made such a figger that the Brattle-street Church sent a
committee right down to see if they couldn't get him to Boston; and then the
Sherburne folks, they up and raised his salary; ye see, there ain't nothin'
wakes folks up like somebody else's wantin' what you've got. Wal, that fall
they made him a Doctor o' Divinity at Cambridge College, and so they sot mo=
re
by him than ever. Wal, you see, the doctor, of course he felt kind o' lones=
ome
and afflicted when Mis' Carryl was gone; but railly and truly, Huldy was so=
up
to every thing about house, that the doctor didn't miss nothin' in a tempor=
al
way. His shirt-bosoms was pleated finer than they ever was, and them ruffle=
s 'round
his wrists was kep' like the driven snow; and there warn't a brack in his s=
ilk
stockin's, and his shoe buckles was kep' polished up, and his coats brushed;
and then there warn't no bread and biscuit like Huldy's; and her butter was
like solid lumps o' gold; and there wern't no pies to equal hers; and so the
doctor never felt the loss o' Miss Carryl at table. Then there was Huldy al=
lers
opposite to him, with her blue eyes and her cheeks like two fresh peaches. =
She
was kind o' pleasant to look at; and the more the doctor looked at her the
better he liked her; and so things seemed to be goin' on quite quiet and co=
mfortable
ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Sa=
win
got their heads together a talkin' about things.
"'Poor man,'
says Mis' Pipperidge, 'what can that child that he's got there do towards
takin' the care of all that place? It takes a mature woman,' she says, 'to
tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes.'
"'That it do=
es,'
said Mis' Blodgett; and, when things once get to runnin' down hill, there a=
in't
no stoppin' on 'em,' says she.
"Then Mis' S=
awin
she took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go out to dress-makin', and was
sort o' 'jealous, 'cause folks sot more by Huldy than they did by her). 'We=
ll,'
says she, 'Huldy Peters is well enough at her trade. I never denied that,
though I do say I never did believe in her way o' makin' button-holes; and I
must say, if 'twas the dearest friend I hed, that I thought Huldy tryin' to=
fit
Mis' Kit-tridge's plumb-colored silk was a clear piece o' presumption; the =
silk
was jist spiled, so 'twarn't fit to come into the meetin'-house. I must say=
, Huldy's
a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'spon-sibilities she don't =
know
nothin' about.'
"'Of course =
she
don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett. 'What does she know about all the lookin'
and see-in' to that there ought to be in guidin' the minister's house. Huld=
y's
well meanin', and she's good at her work, and good in the singers' seat; but
Lordy massy! she hain't got no experience. Parson Carryl ought to have an
experienced woman to keep house for him. There's the spring house-cleanin' =
and
the fall house-cleanin' to be seen to, and the things to be put away from t=
he moths;
and then the gettin' ready for the association and all the ministers' meeti=
n's;
and the makin' the soap and the candles, and settin' the hens and turkeys,
watchin' the calves, and seein' after the hired men and the garden; and the=
re
that 'are blessed man jist sets there at home as serene, and has nobody 'ro=
und
but that 'are gal, and don't even know how things must be a runnin' to wast=
e!'
"Wal, the up=
shot
on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till they'd drinked up all the
tea in the teapot; and then they went down and called on the parson, and
wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, and t'other that wanted lookin'
to, and that it was no way to leave every thing to a young chit like Huldy,=
and
that he ought to be lookin' about for an experienced woman. The parson he
thanked 'em kindly, and said he believed their motives was good, but he did=
n't
go no further. He didn't ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help
him, nor nothin' o' that kind; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. =
The fact
was, the parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that he coul=
dn't
think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder Pipperidge.
"But he thou=
ght
to himself, 'Huldy is a good girl; but I oughtn't to be a leavin' every thi=
ng
to her,--it's too hard on her. I ought to be instructin' and guidin' and
helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody could be expected to know and do w=
hat
Mis' Carryl did;' and so at it he went; and Lordy massy! didn't Huldy hev a
time on't when the minister began to come out of his study, and want to tew
'round and see to things? Huldy, you see, thought all the world of the
minister, and she was 'most afraid to laugh; but she told me she couldn't, =
for
the life of her, help it when his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up=
in
the most singular way. But Huldy she'd jest say 'Yes, sir,' and get him off=
into
his study, and go on her own way.
"'Huldy,' sa=
ys
the minister one day, 'you ain't experienced out doors; and, when you want =
to
know any thing, you must come to me.'
"'Yes, sir,'
says Huldy.
"'Now, Huldy=
,'
says the parson, 'you must be sure to save the turkey-eggs, so that we can =
have
a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.'
"'Yes, sir,'
says Huldy; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed him a nice dishful s=
he'd
been a savin' up. Wal, the very next day the parson's hen-turkey was found
killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks said Scroggs killed it; though
Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at any rate, the Scroggses, they made a =
meal
on't; and Huldy, she felt bad about it 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin'
the turkeys; and says she, 'Oh, dear! I don't know what I shall do. I was j=
ust
ready to see [set] her.'
"'Do, Huldy?'
says the parson: 'why, there's the other turkey, out there by the door; and=
a
fine bird, too, he is.' Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a strutti=
n'
and a sidlin' and a quitterin,' and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun,
like a lively young widower, all ready to begin life over agin.
"'But,' says
Huldy, 'you know he can't set on eggs.'
"'He can't? =
I'd
like to know why,' says the parson. 'He 'shall' set on eggs, and hatch 'em
too.'
"'O doctor!'
says Huldy, all in a tremble; 'cause, you know, she didn't want to contradi=
ct
the minister, and she was afraid she should laugh,--'I never heard that a
tom-turkey would set on eggs.'
"'Why, they
ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest: 'what else be they good =
for?
you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him
set on 'em.'
"So Huldy she
thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him try: so she took=
the
eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; and then she come back and fo=
und
old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old=
Tom
he didn't take the idee at all; and he flopped and gobbled, and fit the par=
son;
and the parson's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck straight out over his
ear, but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin'=
his
p'ints o' doctrine; and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be bea=
t by
a tom-turkey; so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck in spi=
te
o' his floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him.
"'There, Hul=
dy,'
he says, quite red in the face, 'we've got him now; 'and he travelled off to
the barn with him as lively as a cricket.
"Huldy came
behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister would look 'round a=
nd
see her.
"'Now, Huldy,
we'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson, when they got him=
to
the nest: 'you see he is getting quiet, and he'll set there all right.'
"And the par=
son,
he sot him down; and old Tom he sot there solemn enough, and held his head =
down
all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, as long as the parson sot=
by
him.
"'There: you=
see
how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy.
"Huldy was '=
most
dyin' for fear she should laugh. 'I'm afraid he'll get up,' says she, 'when=
you
do.'
"'Oh, no, he
won't!' says the parson, quite confident. 'There, there,' says he, layin' h=
is
hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, old=
Tom
he riz up too, and began to march over the eggs.
"'Stop, now!'
says the parson. 'I'll make him get down agin: hand me that corn-basket; we=
'll
put that over him.'
"So he crook=
ed
old Tom's legs, and got him down agin; and they put the corn-basket over hi=
m,
and then they both stood and waited.
"'That'll do=
the
thing, Huldy,' said the parson.
"'I don't kn=
ow
about it,' says Huldy.
"'Oh, yes, it
will, child! I understand,' says he.
"Just as he
spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see old Tom's long
legs.
"'I'll make =
him
stay down, confound him,' says the parson; for, ye see, parsons is men, like
the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk up.
"'You jist h=
old
him a minute, and I'll get something that'll make him stay, I guess;' and o=
ut
he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin, flat stone, and laid it =
on
old Tom's back.
"Old Tom he
wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly as if he was goin' to
give in. He staid still there a good long spell, and the minister and Huldy
left him there and come up to the house; but they hadn't more than got in t=
he
door before they see old Tom a hippin' along, as high-steppin' as ever, say=
in'
'Talk! talk! and quitter! quitter!' and struttin' and gobblin' as if he'd c=
ome
through the Red Sea, and got the victory.
"'Oh, my egg=
s!'
says Huldy. 'I'm afraid he's smashed 'em!'
"And sure
enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone.
"'I'll have =
him
killed,' said the parson: 'we won't have such a critter 'round.'
"But the par=
son,
he slep' on't, and then didn't do it: he only come out next Sunday with a
tip-top sermon on the 'Riginal Cuss' that was pronounced on things in giner=
al,
when Adam fell, and showed how every thing was allowed to go contrary ever
since. There was pig-weed, and pusley, and Canady thistles, cut-worms, and
bag-worms, and canker-worms, to say nothin' of rattlesnakes. The doctor mad=
e it
very impressive and sort o' improvin'; but Huldy, she told me, goin' home, =
that
she hardly could keep from laughin' two or three times in the sermon when s=
he thought
of old Tom a standin' up with the corn-basket on his back.
"Wal, next w=
eek
Huldy she jist borrowed the minister's horse and side-saddle, and rode over=
to
South Parish to her Aunt Bascome's,--Widder Bascome's, you know, that lives
there by the trout-brook,--and got a lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come ba=
ck
and set a hen on 'em, and said nothin'; and in good time there was as nice a
lot o' turkey-chicks as ever ye see.
"Huldy never
said a word to the minister about his experiment, and he never said a word =
to
her; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and didn't take it on him to ad=
vise
her.
"But not long
arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a pig to be a fatti=
n'
with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to it; and jist then old Tim
Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd call over he'd give him a li=
ttle
pig.
"So he sent =
for
a man, and told him to build a pigpen right out by the well, and have it all
ready when he came home with his pig.
"Huldy she s=
aid
she wished he might put a curb round the well out there, because in the dar=
k,
sometimes, a body might stumble into it; and the parson, he told him he mig=
ht
do that.
"Wal, old Ai=
kin,
the carpenter, he didn't come till most the middle of the arternoon; and th=
en
he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the well-curb till sundown; and =
then
he went off and said he'd come and do the pig-pen next day.
"Wal, arter
dark, Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel, with his pig. He'd =
tied
up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see what he thought was the
pig-pen,--he was rather nearsighted,--and so he ran and threw piggy over; a=
nd
down he dropped into the water, and the minister put out his horse and pran=
ced
off into the house quite delighted.
"'There, Hul=
dy,
I've got you a nice little pig.'
"'Dear me!' =
says
Huldy: 'where have you put him?'
"'Why, out t=
here
in the pig-pen, to be sure.'
"'Oh, dear m=
e!'
says Huldy: 'that's the well-curb; there ain't no pig-pen built,' says she.=
"'Lordy mass=
y!'
says the parson: 'then I've thrown the pig in the well!'
"Wal, Huldy =
she
worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the bucket, but he w=
as
dead as a door-nail; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and didn't say
much; and the parson, he took to a great Hebrew book in his study; and says=
he,
'Huldy, I ain't much in temporals,' says he. Huldy says she kind o' felt her
heart go out to him, he was so sort o' meek and helpless and lamed; and says
she, 'Wal, Parson Carryl, don't trouble your head no more about it; I'll se=
e to
things;' and sure enough, a week arter there was a nice pen, all ship-shape,
and two little white pigs that Huldy bought with the money for the butter s=
he
sold at the store.
"'Wal, Huldy=
,'
said the parson, 'you are a most amazin' child: you don't say nothin' but y=
ou
do more than most folks.'
"Arter that =
the
parson set sich store by Huldy that he come to her and asked her about every
thing, and it was amazin' how every thing she put her hand to prospered. Hu=
ldy
planted marigolds and larkspurs, pinks and carnations, all up and down the =
path
to the front door, and trained up mornin' glories and scarlet-runners round=
the
windows. And she was always a gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a
seed from somebody else: for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so th=
at
ef you jist give 'em the leastest sprig of any thing they make a great bush=
out
of it right away; so that in six months Huldy had roses and geraniums and
lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. The parson, he took no
notice at fust; but when the yard was all ablaze with flowers he used to co=
me
and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door, and say, 'Beautiful, beautif=
ul:
why, Huldy, I never see any thing like it.' And then when her work was done
arternoons, Huldy would sit with her sewin' in the porch, and sing and trill
away till she'd draw the meadow-larks and the bobolinks, and the orioles to=
answer
her, and the great big elm-tree overhead would get perfectly rackety with t=
he birds;
and the parson, settin' there in his study, would git to kind o' dreamin' a=
bout
the angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; but he wouldn't speak a
word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them wood-thrushes, she never could si=
ng
so well when she thought folks was hearin'. Folks noticed, about this time,
that the parson's sermons got to be like Aaron's rod, that budded and
blossomed: there was things in 'em about flowers and birds, and more 'speci=
al
about the music o' heaven. And Huldy she noticed, that ef there was a hymn =
run
in her head while she was 'round a workin' the minister was sure to give it=
out
next Sunday. You see, Huldy was jist like a bee: she always sung when she w=
as workin',
and you could hear her trillin', now down in the corn-patch, while she was
pickin' the corn; and now in the buttery, while she was workin' the butter;=
and
now she'd go singin' down cellar, and then she'd be singin' up over head, so
that she seemed to fill a house chock full o' music.
"Huldy was so
sort o' chipper and fair spoken, that she got the hired men all under her
thumb: they come to her and took her orders jist as meek as so many calves;=
and
she traded at the store, and kep' the accounts, and she hed her eyes
everywhere, and tied up all the ends so tight that there want no gettin' 'r=
ound
her. She wouldn't let nobody put nothin' off on Parson Carryl, 'cause he wa=
s a
minister. Huldy was allers up to anybody that wanted to make a hard bargain;
and, afore he knew jist what he was about, she'd got the best end of it, and
everybody said that Huldy was the most capable gal that they'd ever traded
with.
"Wal, come to
the meetin' of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' Pipperidge co=
me
callin' up to the parson's, all in a stew, and offerin' their services to g=
et
the house ready; but the doctor, he jist thanked 'em quite quiet, and turned
'em over to Huldy; and Huldy she told 'em that she'd got every thing ready,=
and
showed 'em her pantries, and her cakes and her pies and her puddin's, and t=
ook
'em all over the house; and they went peekin' and pokin', openin'
cupboard-doors, and lookin' into drawers; and they couldn't find so much as=
a
thread out o' the way, from garret to cellar, and so they went off quite
discontented. Arter that the women set a new trouble a brewin'. Then they b=
egun
to talk that it was a year now since Mis' Carryl died; and it r'ally wasn't=
proper
such a young gal to be stayin' there, who everybody could see was a settin'=
her
cap for the minister.
"Mis' Pipper= idge said, that, so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired gal, she hadn't tho= ught much about it; but Huldy was railly takin' on airs as an equal, and appeari= n' as mistress o' the house in a way that would make talk if it went on. And M= is' Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lij= ah Perry's, and asked them if they wasn't afraid that the way the parson and H= uldy was a goin' on might make talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't befo= re, but now, come to think on't, they was sure it would; and they all went and talked with somebody else, and asked them if they didn't think it would mak= e talk. So come Sunday, between meetin's there warn't noth-in' else talked about; a= nd Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a winkin', and a lookin' arter her, and she b= egun to feel drefful sort o' disagreeable. Finally Mis' Sawin she says to her, '= My dear, didn't you, never think folk would talk about you and the minister?'<= o:p>
"'No: why sh=
ould
they?' says Huldy, quite innocent.
"Wal, dear,'
says she, 'I think it's a shame; but they say you're tryin' to catch him, a=
nd
that it's so bold and improper for you to be courtin' of him right in his o=
wn
house,--you know folks will talk,--I thought I'd tell you 'cause I think so
much of you,' says she.
"Huldy was a=
gal
of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her drefful uncomfortable;
and when she got home at night she sat down in the mor-nin'-glory porch, qu=
ite
quiet, and didn't sing a word.
"The ministe=
r he
had heard the same thing from one of his deakins that day; and, when he saw
Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, 'Why don't you sing, my child?'
"He hed a
pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy had got to likin=
' to
be with him; and it all come over her that perhaps she ought to go away; and
her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't hardly speak; and, says she, 'I
can't sing to-night.'
"Says he, 'Y=
ou
don't know how much good you're singin' has done me, nor how much good you =
have
done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish I knew how to show my gratitude.'
"'O sir!' sa=
ys
Huldy, 'is it improper for me to be here?'
"'No, dear,'
says the minister, 'but ill-natured folks will talk; but there is one way we
can stop it, Huldy--if you will marry me. You'll make me very happy, and I'=
ll
do all I can to make you happy. Will you?'
"Wal, Huldy
never told me jist what she said to the minister,--gals never does give you=
the
particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd like 'em,--only I know the up=
shot
and the hull on't was, that Huldy she did a consid'able lot o' clear starch=
in'
and ironin' the next two days; and the Friday o' next week the minister and=
she
rode over together to Dr. Lothrop's in Old Town; and the doctor, he jist ma=
de
'em man and wife, 'spite of envy of the Jews,' as the hymn says. Wal, you'd
better believe there was a starin' and a wonderin' next Sunday mornin' when=
the
second bell was a tollin', and the minister walked up the broad aisle with
Huldy, all in white, arm in arm with him, and he opened the minister's pew,=
and
handed her in as if she was a princess; for, you see, Parson Carryl come of=
a
good family, and was a born gentleman, and had a sort o' grand way o' bein'
polite to women-folks. Wal, I guess there was a rus'lin' among the bunnets.
Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her =
eyes
glared through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her afire; and every=
body
in the meetin' house was a starin', I tell yew. But they couldn't none of '=
em
say nothin' agin Huldy's looks; for there wa'n't a crimp nor a frill about =
her
that wa'n't jis' so; and her frock was white as the driven snow, and she had
her bunnet all trimmed up with white ribbins; and all the fellows said the =
old
doctor had stole a march, and got the handsomest gal in the parish.
"Wal, arter
meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the door, shakin' hands
and laugh-in'; for by that time they was about agreed that they'd got to let
putty well alone.
"'Why, Parso=
n Carryl,'
says Mis' Deakin Blod-gett, 'how you've come it over us.'
"'Yes,' says=
the
parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. 'I thought,' says he, 'as folks
wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em somethin' wuth talkin'
about.'"
"Lordy massy!
Stick yer hat into the nor'east, Horace, and see 'f ye can't stop out this =
'ere
wind. I'm e'eny most used up with it." So spake Sam Lawson, contemplat=
ing
mournfully a new broad-brimmed straw hat in which my soul was rejoicing. It=
was
the dripping end of a sour November afternoon, which closed up a "spel=
l o'
weather" that had been steadily driving wind and rain for a week past;=
and
we boys sought the shelter and solace of his shop, and, opening the door, l=
et
in the wind aforesaid.
Sam had been all =
day
in one of his periodical fits of desperate industry. The smoke and sparks h=
ad
been seen flying out of his shop-chimney in a frantic manner; and the blows=
of
his hammer had resounded with a sort of feverish persistence, intermingled =
with
a doleful wailing of psalm-tunes of the most lugubrious description.
These fits of
industry on Sam's part were an affliction to us boys, especially when they
happened to come on Saturday: for Sam was as much a part of our
Saturday-afternoon calculations as if we had a regular deed of property in =
him;
and we had been all day hanging round his shop, looking in from time to tim=
e,
in the vague hope that he would propose something to brighten up the dreary
monotony of a holiday in which it had been impossible to go anywhere or do =
any
thing.
"Sam, ain't =
you
coming over to tell us some stories to-night?"
"Bless your =
soul
and body, boys! life ain't made to be spent tellin' stories. Why, I shall h=
ev
to be up here workin' till arter twelve o'clock," said Sam, who was su=
ddenly
possessed with a spirit of the most austere diligence. "Here I be up t=
o my
neck in work,--things kind o' comin' in a heap together. There's Mis' Cap'n
Broad's andirons, she sent word she must have 'em to-night; and there's Lady
Lothrop, she wants her warmin'-pan right off; they can't non' on 'em wait a
minit longer. I've ben a drivin' and workin' all day like a nigger-slave. T=
hen
there was Jeduth Pettybone, he brought down them colts to-day, and I worked=
the
biggest part o' the mornin' shoein' on 'em; and then Jeduth he said he coul=
dn't
make change to pay me, so there wa'n't nothin' comin' in for 't; and then H=
epsy
she kep' a jawin' at me all dinner-time 'bout that. Why, I warn't to blame =
now,
was I? I can't make everybody do jest right and pay regular, can I? So ye s=
ee
it goes, boys, gettin' yer bread by the sweat o' your brow; and sometimes
sweatin' and not gettin' yer bread. That 'ere's what I call the cuss, the
'riginal cuss, that come on man for hearkenin' to the voice o' his wife,--t=
hat
'ere was what did it. It allers kind o' riles me up with Mother Eve when I
think on't. The women hain't no bisness to fret as they do, 'cause they sot
this 'ere state o' things goin' in the fust place."
"But, Sam, A=
unt
Lois and Aunt Nabby are both going over to Mis'. Mehitabel's to tea. Now, y=
ou
just come over and eat supper with us and tell us a story, do."
"Gone out to
tea, be they?" said Sam, relaxing his hammering, with a brightening gl=
eam
stealing gradually across his lanky visage. "Wal, that 'ere looks like=
a
providential openin', to be sure. Wal, I guess I'll come. What's the use o'
never havin' a good time? Ef you work yourself up into shoestrings you don't
get no thanks for it, and things in this world's 'bout as broad as they is
long: the women 'll scold, turn 'em which way ye will. A good mug o' cider =
and
some cold victuals over to the Dea-kin's 'll kind o' comfort a feller up; a=
nd
your granny she's sort o' merciful, she don't rub it into a fellow all the =
time
like Miss Lois."
"Now, let's =
see,
boys," said Sam, when a comfortable meal of pork and beans had been
disposed of, and a mug of cider was set down before the fire to warm. "=
;I
s'pect ye'll like to hear a Down-East story to-night."
Of course we did,=
and
tumbled over each other in our eagerness to get the nearest place to the
narrator.
Sam's method of
telling a story was as leisurely as that of some modern novel-writers. He w=
ould
take his time for it, and proceed by easy stages. It was like the course of=
a
dreamy, slow-moving river through a tangled meadow-flat,--not a rush nor a =
bush
but was reflected in it; in short, Sam gave his philosophy of matters and
things in general as he went along, and was especially careful to impress an
edifying moral.
"Wal, ye see,
boys, ye know I was born down to Newport,--there where it's all ships and
shipping, and sich. My old mother she kep' a boardin'-house for sailors down
there. Wal, ye see, I rolled and tumbled round the world pretty consid'able
afore I got settled down here in Oldtown.
"Ye see, my
mother she wanted to bind me out to a blacksmith, but I kind o' sort o' did=
n't
seem to take to it. It was kind o' hard work, and boys is apt to want to ta=
ke
life easy. Wal, I used to run off to the sea-shore, and lie stretched out on
them rocks there, and look off on to the water; and it did use to look so s=
ort
o' blue and peaceful, and the ships come a sailin' in and out so sort o' ea=
sy
and natural, that I felt as if that are'd be jest the easiest kind o' life a
fellow could have. All he had to do was to get aboard one o' them ships, an=
d be
off seekin' his fortin at t'other end o' the rainbow, where gold grows on
bushes and there's valleys o' diamonds.
"So, nothin'
would do but I gin my old mother the slip; and away I went to sea, with my =
duds
tied up in a han'kercher.
"I tell ye w=
hat,
boys, ef ye want to find an easy life, don't ye never go to sea. I tell ye,
life on shipboard ain't what it looks to be on shore. I hadn't been aboard
more'n three hours afore I was the sickest critter that ever ye did see; an=
d I
tell you, I didn't get no kind o' compassion. Cap'ns and mates they allers
thinks boys hain't no kind o' business to have no bowels nor nothin', and t=
hey
put it on 'em sick or well. It's jest a kick here, and a cuff there, and a
twitch by the ear in t'other place; one a shovin' on 'em this way, and anot=
her
hittin' on 'em a clip, and all growlin' from mornin' to night. I believe the
way my ears got so long was bein' hauled out o' my berth by 'em: that 'are'=
s a sailor's
regular way o' wakin' up a boy.
"Wal, by tim=
e I
got to the Penobscot country, all I wanted to know was how to get back agin.
That 'are's jest the way folks go all their lives, boys. It's all fuss, fus=
s,
and stew, stew, till ye get somewhere; and then it's fuss, fuss, and stew,
stew, to get back agin; jump here and scratch yer eyes out, and jump there =
and
scratch 'em in agin,--that 'are's life.
"Wal, I kind=
o'
poked round in Penobscot country till I got a berth on 'The Brilliant' that=
was
lyin' at Camden, goin' to sail to Boston.
"Ye see, 'The
Brilliant' she was a tight little sloop in the government service: 'twas in=
the
war-times, ye see, and Commodore Tucker that is now (he was Cap'n Tucker th=
en),
he had the command on her,--used to run up and down all the coast takin'
observations o' the British, and keepin' his eye out on 'em, and givin' on =
'em
a nip here and a clip there,' cordin' as he got a good chance. Why, your
grand'ther knew old Commodore Tucker. It was he that took Dr. Franklin over
Minister, to France, and dodged all the British vessels, right in the middl=
e o'
the war. I tell you that 'are was like runnin' through the drops in a thund=
er-shower.
He got chased by the British ships pretty consid'able, but he was too spry =
for
'em. Arter the war was over, Commodore Tucker took over John Adams, our fust
Minister to England. A drefful smart man the Commodore was, but he most lik=
e to
'a' ben took in this 'ere time I'm a tellin' ye about, and all 'cause he was
sort o' softhearted to the women. Tom Toothacre told me the story. Tom he w=
as
the one that got me the berth on the ship. Ye see, I used to know Tom at
Newport; and once when he took sick there my mother nussed him up, and that=
was
why Tom was friends with me and got me the berth, and kep' me warm in it to=
o. Tom
he was one of your rael Maine boys, that's hatched out, so to speak, in wat=
er
like ducks. He was born away down there on Harpswell P'int; and they say, i=
f ye
throw one o' them Harpswell babies into the sea, he'll take to it nateral, =
and
swim like a cork: ef they hit their heads agin a rock it only dents the roc=
k,
but don't hurt the baby. Tom he was a great character on the ship. He could=
see
farther, and knew more 'bout wind and water, than most folks: the officers =
took
Tom's judgment, and the men all went by his say. My mother she chalked a st=
reak
o' good luck for me when she nussed up Tom.
"Wal, we wus=
a
lyin' at Camden there, one arternoon, goin' to sail for Boston that night. =
It
was a sort o' soft, pleasant arternoon, kind o' still, and there wa'n't not=
hin'
a goin' on but jest the hens a craw-crawin', and a histin' up one foot, and
holdin' it a spell 'cause they didn't know when to set it down, and the gee=
se a
sissin' and a pickin' at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn't nothin' of a
place,--'twas jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o' houses and
forgot 'em. There wer'n't nothin' a stirrin' or goin' on; and so we was all=
took
aback, when 'bout four o'clock in the arternoon there come a boat alongside,
with a tall, elegant lady in it, all dressed in deep mournin'. She rared up=
sort
o' princess-like, and come aboard our ship, and wanted to speak to Cap'n
Tucker. Where she come from, or what she wanted, or where she was goin' to,=
we
none on us knew: she kep' her veil down so we couldn't get sight o' her fac=
e.
All was, she must see Cap'n Tucker alone right away.
"Wal, Cap'n
Tucker he was like the generality o' cap'ns. He was up to 'bout every thing
that any man could do, but it was pretty easy for a woman to come it over h=
im.
Ye see, cap'ns, they don't see women as men do ashore. They don't have enou=
gh
of 'em to get tired on 'em; and every woman's an angel to a sea-cap'n. Anyw=
ay,
the cap'n he took her into his cabin, and he sot her a chair, and was her
humble servant to command, and what would she have of him? And we was all a
winkin', and a nudgin' each other, and a peekin' to see what was to come o'=
it.
And she see it; and so she asks, in a sort o' princess' way, to speak to the
cap'n alone; and so the doors was shut, and we was left to our own ideas, a=
nd a
wonderin' what it was all to be about.
"Wal, you se=
e,
it come out arterwards all about what went on; and things went this way. Je=
st
as soon as the doors was shut, and she was left alone with the cap'n, she
busted out a cryin' and a sobbin' fit to break her heart.
"Wal, the ca=
p'n he
tried to comfort her up: but no, she wouldn't be comforted, but went on a
weepin' and a wailin,' and a wringin' on her hands, till the poor cap'n's h=
eart
was a'most broke; for the cap'n was the tenderest-hearted critter that could
be, and couldn't bear to see a child or a woman in trouble noways.
"'O cap'n!' =
said
she, 'I'm the most unfortunate woman. I'm all alone in the world,' says she,
'and I don't know what'll become of me ef you don't keep me,' says she.
"Wal, the ca=
p'n
thought it was time to run up his colors; and so says he, 'Ma'am, I'm a mar=
ried
man, and love my wife,' says he, 'and so I can feel for all women in distre=
ss,'
says he.
"Oh, well,
then!' says she,'you can feel for me, and know how to pity me. My dear
husband's just died suddenly when he was up the river. He was took with the
fever in the woods. I nussed him day and night,' says she; 'but he died the=
re
in a mis'able little hut far from home and friends,' says she; 'and I've
brought his body down with me, hopin' Providence would open some way to get=
it
back to our home in Boston. And now, cap'n, you must help me.'
"Then the ca=
p'n
see what she was up to: and he hated to do it, and tried to cut her off o'
askin'; but she wa'n't to be put off.
"'Now, cap'n=
,'
says she, 'ef you'll take me and the body o' my husband on board to-night, =
I'd
be willin' to reward you to any amount. Money would be no object to me,' sa=
ys
she.
"Wal, you se=
e,
the cap'n he kind o' hated to do it; and he hemmed and hawed, and he tried =
to
'pologize. He said 'twas a government vessel, and he didn't know as he had a
right to use it. He said sailors was apt to be superstitious; and he didn't
want 'em to know as there was a corpse on board.
"'Wal,' says
she, 'why need they know? 'For, you see, she was up to every dodge; and she
said she'd come along with it at dusk, in a box, and have it just carried t=
o a
state-room, and he needn't tell nobody what it was.
"Wal, Cap'n
Tucker he hung off; and he tried his best to persuade her to have a funeral,
all quiet, there at Camden. He promised to get a minister, and 'tend to it,=
and
wait a day till it was all over, and then take her on to Boston free gratis.
But 'twas all no go. She wouldn't hear a word to 't. And she reeled off the
talk to him by the yard. And, when talk failed, she took to her water-works
again, till finally the cap'n said his resolution was clean washed away, an=
d he
jest give up hook and line; and so 'twas all settled and arranged, that, wh=
en
evening come, she was to be alongside with her boat, and took aboard.
"When she co=
me
out o' the cap'n's room to go off, I see Tom Toothacre a watchin' on her. He
stood there by the railin's a shavin' up a plug o' baccy to put in his pipe=
. He
didn't say a word; but he sort o' took the measure o' that 'are woman with =
his
eye, and kept a follerin' on her.
"She had a f=
ine
sort o' lively look, carried her head up and shoulders back, and stepped as=
if
she had steel springs in her heels.
"'Wal, Tom, =
what
do ye say to her?' says Ben Bowdin.
"'I don't say
nothin',' says Tom, and he lit his pipe; 'tain't my busness,' says he.
"'Wal, what =
do
you think?' says Ben. Tom gin a hist to his trousers.
"'My thought=
s is
my own,' says he; 'and I calculate to keep 'em to myself,' says he. And the=
n he
jest walked to the side of the vessel, and watched the woman a gettin' asho=
re.
There was a queer kind o' look in Tom's eye.
"Wal, the ca=
p'n
he was drefful sort o' oneasy arter she was gone. He had a long talk in the
cabin with Mr. More, the fust officer; and there was a sort o' stir aboard =
as
if somethin' was a goin' to happen, we couldn't jest say what it was.
"Sometimes it
seems as if, when things is goin' to happen, a body kind o' feels 'em comin=
' in
the air. We boys was all that way: o' course we didn't know nothin' 'bout w=
hat
the woman wanted, or what she come for, or whether she was comin' agin; 'n
fact, we didn't know nothin' about it, and yet we sort o' expected suthin' =
to
come o' it; and suthin' did come, sure enough.
"Come on nig=
ht,
jest at dusk, we see a boat comin' alongside; and there, sure enough, was t=
he
lady in it.
"'There, she=
's
comin' agin,' says I to Tom Tooth-acre.
"'Yes, and
brought her baggage with her,' says Tom; and he p'inted down to a long, nar=
row
pine box that was in the boat beside her.
"Jest then t=
he
cap'n called on Mr. More, and he called on Tom Toothacre; and among 'em they
lowered a tackle, and swung the box aboard, and put it in the state-room ri=
ght
alongside the cap'n's cabin.
"The lady she
thanked the cap'n and Mr. More, and her voice was jest as sweet as any nigh=
tingale;
and she went into the state-room arter they put the body in, and was gone e=
ver
so long with it. The cap'n and Mr. More they stood a whisperin' to each oth=
er,
and every once in a while they'd kind o' nod at the door where the lady was=
.
"Wal, by and=
by
she come out with her han'ker-chief to her eyes, and come on deck, and begun
talk-in' to the cap'n and Mr. More, and a wishin' all kinds o' blessin's on
their heads.
"Wal, Tom
Toothacre didn't say a word, good or bad; but he jest kep' a lookin' at her,
watchin' her as a cat watches a mouse. Finally we up sail, and started with=
a
fair breeze. The lady she kep' a walkin' up and down, up and down, and every
time she turned on her heel, I saw Tom a lookin' arter her and kind o' nodd=
in'
to himself.
"'What makes=
you
look arter her so, Tom?' says I to him.
"''Cause I t=
hink
she wants lookin' arter,' says Tom. 'What's more,' says he, 'if the cap'n d=
on't
look sharp arter her the devil 'll have us all afore mornin.' I tell ye, Sa=
m,
there's mischief under them petticuts.'
"'Why, what =
do
ye think?' says I.
"'Think! I d=
on't
think, I knows! That 'are's no gal, nor widder neither, if my name's Tom
Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns on her heel I I've =
been
a watchin' on her. There ain't no woman livin' with a step like that!' says=
he.
"'Wal, who
should the critter be, then?' says I.
"'Wal,' says
Tom, 'ef that 'are ain't a British naval officer, I lose my bet. I've been =
used
to the ways on 'em, and I knows their build and their step.'
"'And what do
you suppose she's got in that long box?' says I.
"'What has s=
he
got?' says Tom. 'Wal, folks might say none o' my bisness; but I s'pects it'=
ll
turn out some o' my bisness, and yourn too, if he don't look sharp arter it=
,'
says Tom. 'It's no good, that 'are box ain't.'
"'Why don't =
you
speak to Mr. More?' says I.
"'Wal, you s=
ee
she's a chipperin' round and a mak-in' herself agreeable to both on 'em, you
see; she don't mean to give nobody any chance for a talk with 'em; but I've=
got
my eye on her, for all that. You see I hain't no sort o' disposition to sar=
ve
out a time on one o' them British prison-ships,' says Tom Toothacre. 'It mi=
ght
be almighty handy for them British to have "The Brilliant" for a
coast-vessel,' says he; 'but, ye see, it can't be spared jest yet. So, mada=
m,'
says he,'I've got my eye on you.'
"Wal, Tom wa=
s as
good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at the wheel, Tom he up
and says to him, 'Mr. More,' says he, 'that 'are big box in the state-room
yonder wants lookin' into.'
"Tom was a s=
ort
o' privileged character, and had a way o' speakin' up that the officers too=
k in
good part, 'cause they knew he was a fust-rate hand.
"Wal, Mr. Mo=
re
he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know what's in that 'are
box?'
"'I bet they don't,' says Tom. 'If they had, you wouldn't a got 'em to help it aboard.'<= o:p>
"'Wal, you s=
ee,
poor woman,' says Mr. More to Tom, 'she was so distressed. She wanted to get
her husband's body to Boston; and there wa'n't no other way, and so the cap=
'n let
it come aboard. He didn't want the boys to suspect what it really Was.'
"'Husband's =
body
be hanged!' said Tom. 'Guess that 'are corpse ain't so dead but what there'=
ll
be a resurrection afore mornin', if it ain't looked arter,' says he.
"'Why, what =
do you
mean, Tom?' said Mr. More, all in a blue maze.
"'I mean, th=
at
'are gal that's ben a switchin' her petticuts up and down our deck ain't no=
gal
at all. That are's a British officer, Mr. More. You give my duty to the cap=
'n,
and tell him to look into his wid-der's bandbox, and see what he'll find
there.'
"Wal, the ma=
te
he went and had a talk with the cap'n; and they 'greed between 'em that Mr.
More was to hold her in talk while the cap'n went and took observations in =
the
state-room.
"So, down the
cap'n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box. Wal, he finds the
stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had the key in her pocket;
but then the cap'n he had a master key to it; and so he puts it in, and ope=
ns
the door quite softly, and begins to take observations.
"Sure enough=
, he
finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o' the box, showin' that=
the
widder had been a tinkerin' on't when they thought she was a cryin' over it;
and then, lookin' close, he sees a bit o' twine goin' from a crack in the b=
ox
out o' the winder, and up on deck.
"Wal, the ca=
p'n
he kind o' got in the sperit o' the thing; and he thought he'd jest let the
widder play her play out, and see what it would come to. So he jest calls T=
om
Toothacre down to him and whispered to him. 'Tom,' says he, 'you jest crawl
under the berth in that 'are state-room, and watch that 'are box.' And Tom =
said
he would.
"So Tom cree=
ps
under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and the cap'n he slips out
and turns the key in the door, so that when madam comes down she shouldn't
s'pect nothin'.
"Putty soon,
sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young widder come in; and t=
hen
he heard a bit o' conversation between her and the corpse.
"'What time =
is
it?' come in a kind o' hoarse whisper out o' the box.
"'Well, 'bout
nine o'clock,' says she.
"'How long a=
fore
you'll let me out?' says he.
"'Oh I you m=
ust
have patience,' says she, 'till they're all gone off to sleep; when there a=
in't
but one man up. I can knock him down,' says she, 'and then I'll pull the st=
ring
for you.'
"'The devil =
you
will, ma'am!' says Tom to himself, under the berth.
"'Well, it's
darned close here,' says the fellow in the box. He didn't say darned, boys;=
but
he said a wickeder word that I can't repeat, noways," said Sam, in a
parenthesis: "these 'ere British officers was drefful swearin' critter=
s.
"'You must h=
ave
patience a while longer,' says the lady, 'till I pull the string.' Tom
Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin'.
"'Is every t=
hing
goin' on right?' says the man in the box.
"'All straig=
ht,'
says she: 'there don't none of 'em suspect.'
"'You bet,' =
says
Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the greatest mind to cat=
ch
the critter by the feet as she was a standin' there, but somehow thought it
would be better fun to see the thing through 'cording as they'd planned it.=
"Wal, then s=
he
went off switchin' and mincin' up to the deck agin, and a flirtin' with the
cap'n; for you see 'twas 'greed to let 'em play their play out.
"Wal, Tom he=
lay
there a waitin'; and he waited and waited and waited, till he 'most got asl=
eep;
but finally he heard a stirrin' in the box, as if the fellah was a gettin' =
up.
Tom he jest crawled out still and kerful, and stood-up tight agin the wall.
Putty soon he hears a grunt, and he sees the top o' the box a risin' up, an=
d a
man jest gettin' out on't mighty still.
"Wal, Tom he
waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his hand on the lock=
o'
the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms round him, and gin him a
regular bear's hug.
"'Why, what's
this?' says the man.
"'Guess ye'll
find out, darn ye,' says Tom Tooth-acre. 'So, ye wanted our ship, did ye? W=
al,
ye jest can't have our ship,' says Tom, says he; and I tell you he jest run
that 'are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for Tom was strong as a giant.
"The fust th=
ing
they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, and was tying on 'em
behind her. 'Ye see, madam, your game's up,' says Mr. More, 'but we'll give=
ye
a free passage to Boston, tho',' says he: 'we wanted a couple o' prisoners
about these days, and you'll do nicely.'
"The fellers
they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in women's clothes
'specially: 'cause when he was found out, he felt foolish enough in his pet=
ticuts;
but they was both took to Boston, and given over as prisoners.
"Ye see, com=
e to
look into matters, they found these two young fellows, British officers, had
formed a regular plot to take Cap'n Tucker's vessel, and run it into Halifa=
x;
and ye see, Cap'n Tucker he was so sort o' spry, and knew all the Maine coa=
st
so well, and was so 'cute at dodgin' in and out all them little bays and cr=
eeks
and places all 'long shore, that he made the British considerable trouble,
'cause wherever they didn't want him, that's where he was sure to be.
"So they'd
hatched up this 'ere plan. There was one or two British sailors had been and
shipped aboard 'The Brilliant' a week or two aforehand, and 'twas suspected
they was to have helped in the plot if thngs had gone as they laid out; but=
I
tell you, when the fellows see which way the cat jumped, they took pretty g=
ood
care to say that they hadn't nothin' to do with it. Oh, no, by no manner o'
means! Wal, o' course, ye know, it couldn't be proved on 'em, and so we let=
it
go.
"But I tell =
you,
Cap'n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The worst on't was, the=
y do
say Ma'am Tucker got hold of it; and you might know if a woman got hold of a
thing like that she'd use it as handy as a cat would her claws. The women t=
hey
can't no more help hittin' a fellow a clip and a rap when they've fairly got
him, than a cat when she's ketched a mouse; and so I shouldn't wonder if the
Commodore heard something about his widder every time he went home from his
v'y-ages the longest day he had to live. I don't know nothin' 'bout it, ye
know: I only kind o' jedge by what looks, as human natur' goes.
"But, Lordy
massy! boys, 't wa'n't nothin' to be 'shamed of in the cap'n. Folks 'll hav=
e to
answer for wus things at the last day than tryin' to do a kindness to a poor
widder, now, I tell you. It's better to be took in doin' a good thing, than
never try to do good; and it's my settled opinion," said Sam, taking up
his mug of cider and caressing it tenderly, "it's my humble opinion, t=
hat
the best sort o' folks is the easiest took in, 'specially by the women. I r=
eely
don't think I should a done a bit better myself."
One of our most
favorite legendary resorts was the old barn. Sam Lawson preferred it on many
accounts. It was quiet and retired, that is to say, at such distance from h=
is
own house, that he could not hear if Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farth=
er
off than it would be convenient for that industrious and painstaking woman =
to
follow him. Then there was the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his
length of limb could be easily bestowed. Our barn had an upper loft with a
swinging outer door that commanded a view of the old mill, the waterfall, a=
nd
the distant windings of the river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful
elm draperies, and its white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this Satur=
day
afternoon we had Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy October day,
when the hens were lazily "craw, crawing," in a soft, conversatio=
nal
undertone with each other, as they scratched and picked the hay-seed under =
the
barn windows. Below in the barn black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling f=
lax,
sometimes gurgling and giggling to himself with an overflow of that interior
jollity with which he seemed to be always full. The African in New England =
was
a curious contrast to everybody around him in the joy and satisfaction that=
he
seemed to feel in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person was glad=
or
sorry for some appreciable cause in the past, present, or future, which was=
capable
of being definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an eternal giggle =
and
frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for which he could give no earthly reason: =
he
was an "embodied joy," like Shelley's skylark.
"Jest hear
him," said Sam Lawson, looking pensively over the hay-mow, and strewing
hayseed down on his wool. "How that 'are critter seems to tickle and l=
augh
all the while 'bout nothin'. Lordy massy! he don't seem never to consider t=
hat
'this life's a dream, an empty show.'"
"Look here,
Sam," we broke in, anxious to cut short a threatened stream of moralit=
y,
"you promised to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug for his
money."
"Did I, now?
Wal, boys, that 'are history o' Kidd's is a warnin' to fellers. Why, Kidd h=
ad
pious parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges when he was a boy, and yet
come to be hanged. It's all in this 'ere song I'm a goin' to sing ye. Lordy
massy! I wish I had my bass-viol now.--Cæsar," he said, calling =
down
from his perch, "can't you strike the pitch o' 'Cap'n Kidd,' on your
fiddle?"
Cæsar's fid=
dle
was never far from him. It was, in fact, tucked away in a nice little nook =
just
over the manger; and he often caught an interval from his work to scrape a
dancing-tune on it, keeping time with his heels, to our great delight.
A most wailing
minor-keyed tune was doled forth, which seemed quite refreshing to Sam's
pathetic vein, as he sang in his most lugubrious tones,--
"'My name w=
as
Robert Kidd =
As
I sailed, as I sailed, My name was
Robert Kidd; God's laws =
I did
forbid, And
so wickedly I did, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed.'
"Now ye see,
boys, he's a goin' to tell how he abused his religious privileges; just hear
now:--
"'My father
taught me well, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed; My father taught =
me
well =
To
shun the gates of hell, But yet I d=
id
rebel, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed.
"'He put a =
Bible
in my hand, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed; He put a Bi=
ble in
my hand, And I sunk =
it in
the sand Before I left the
strand, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed.'
"Did ye ever
hear o' such a hardened, contrary critter, boys? It's awful to think on. Wa=
l,
ye see that 'are's the way fellers allers begin the ways o' sin, by turnin'
their backs on the Bible and the advice o' pious parents. Now hear what he =
come
to:--
"'Then I mu=
rdered
William More, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed; I murdered
William More, And left hi=
m in
his gore, Not many le=
agues
from shore, =
As
I sailed, as I sailed.
"'To execut=
ion
dock =
I
must go, I must go. To execution
dock, While
thousands round me flock, To see me o=
n the
block, =
I
must go, I must go.'
"There was a
good deal more on't," said Sam, pausing, "but I don't seem to
remember it; but it's real solemn and affectin'."
"Who was Cap=
t.
Kidd, Sam?" said I.
"Wal, he was=
an
officer in the British navy, and he got to bein' a pirate: used to take shi=
ps
and sink 'em, and murder the folks; and so they say he got no end o'
money,--gold and silver and precious stones, as many as the wise men in the
East. But ye see, what good did it all do him? He couldn't use it, and dar'=
sn't
keep it; so he used to bury it in spots round here and there in the awfulle=
st
heathen way ye ever heard of. Why, they say he allers used to kill one or t=
wo
men or women or children of his prisoners, and bury with it, so that their
sperits might keep watch on it ef anybody was to dig arter it. That 'are th=
ing
has been tried and tried and tried, but no man nor mother's son on 'em ever=
got
a cent that dug. 'Twas tried here'n Oldtown; and they come pretty nigh gett=
in'
on't, but it gin 'em the slip. Ye see, boys, it's the Devil's money, and he
holds a pretty tight grip on't."
"Well, how w=
as
it about digging for it? Tell us, did you do it? Were you there? Did you see
it? And why couldn't they get it?" we both asked eagerly and in one
breath.
"Why, Lordy
massy! boys, your questions tumbles over each other thick as martins out o'=
a
martin-box. Now, you jest be moderate and let alone, and I'll tell you all
about it from the beginnin' to the end. I didn't railly have no hand in't,
though I was know-in' to 't, as I be to most things that goes on round here;
but my conscience wouldn't railly a let me start on no sich undertakin'.
"Wal, the one
that fust sot the thing a goin' was old Mother Hokum, that used to live up =
in
that little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up beyond the spring
pastur'. They had a putty bad name, them Hokums. How they got a livin' nobo=
dy
knew; for they didn't seem to pay no attention to raisin' nothin' but child=
un,
but the duce knows, there was plenty o' them. Their old hut was like a
rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every crack and cranny. 'Member what old
Cæsar said once when the word come to the store that old Hokum had got
twins. 'S'pose de Lord knows best,' says Cæsar, 'but I thought dere w=
as
Hokums enough afore.' Wal, even poor workin' industrious folks like me finds
it's hard gettin' along when there's so many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! t=
here
don't never seem to be no end on't, and so it ain't wonderful, come to think
on't, ef folks like them Hokums gets tempted to help along in ways that ain=
't
quite, right. Anyhow, folks did use to think that old Hokum was too sort o'=
familiar
with their wood-piles 'long in the night, though they couldn't never prove =
it
on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses round to wash, folks use somet=
imes
to miss pieces, here and there, though they never could find 'em on her; th=
en
they was allers a gettin' in debt here and a gottin' in debt there. Why, th=
ey
got to owin' two dollars to Joe Gidger for butcher's meat. Joe was sort o'
good-natured and let 'em have meat, 'cause Hokum he promised so fair to pay;
but he couldn't never get it out o' him. 'Member once Joe walked clear up to
the cranberry-pond artor that 'are two dollars; but Mother Hokum she see hi=
m a
comin' jest as he come past the juniper-bush on the corner. She says to Hok=
um,
'Get into bed, old man, quick, and let me tell the story,' says she. So she=
covered
him up; and when Gidger come in she come up to him, and says she, 'Why, Mr.
Gidger, I'm jest ashamed to see yo: why, Mr. Hokum was jest a comin' down to
pay yo that 'are money last week, but ye see he was took down with the
small-pox'--Joe didn't hear no mow: he just turned round, and he streaked it
out that 'are door with his coat-tails flyin' out straight ahind him; and o=
ld
Mother Hokum she jest stood at the window holdin' her sides and laughin' fi=
t to
split, to see him run. That 'are's jest a sample o' the ways them Hokums cut
up.
"Wal, you se=
e,
boys, there's a queer kind o' rock down on the bank 'o the river, that looks
sort o' like a grave-stone. The biggest part on't is sunk down under ground,
and it's pretty well growed over with blackberry-vines; but, when you scrat=
ch
the bushes away, they used to make out some queer marks on that 'are rock. =
They
was sort o' lines and crosses; and folks would have it that them was Kidd's
private marks, and that there was one o' the places where he hid his money.=
"Wal, there'=
s no
sayin' fairly how it come to be thought so; but fellers used to say so, and
they used sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern, and kind o' wonder whet=
her
or no, if they should dig, they wouldn't come to suthin'.
"Wal, old Mo=
ther
Hokum she heard on't, and she was a sort o' enterprisin' old crittur: fact =
was,
she had to be, 'cause the young Hokums was jest like bag-worms, the more th=
ey
growed the more they eat, and I expect she found it pretty hard to fill the=
ir
mouths; and so she said ef there was any thing under that 'are rock, they'd=
as
good's have it as the Devil; and so she didn't give old Hokum no peace o' h=
is life,
but he must see what there was there.
"Wal, I was =
with
'em the night they was a talk-in' on't up. Ye see, Hokum he got thirty-seven
cents' worth o' lemons and sperit. I see him goin' by as I was out a splitt=
in'
kindlin's; and says he, 'Sam, you jest go 'long up to our house to-night,' =
says
he: 'Toddy Whitney and Harry Wiggin's com-in' up, and we're goin' to have a
little suthin' hot,' says he; and he kind o' showed me the lemons and speri=
t.
And I told him I guessed I would go 'long. Wal, I kind o' wanted to see what
they'd be up to, ye know.
"Wal, come to
find out, they was a talkin' about Cap'n Kidd's treasures, and layin' out h=
ow
they should get it, and a settin' one another on with gret stories about it=
.
"'I've heard
that there was whole chists full o' gold guineas,' says one.
"'And I've h=
eard
o' gold bracelets and ear-rings and finger-rings all sparklin' with diamond=
s,'
says another.
"'Maybe it's=
old
silver plate from some o' them old West Indian grandees,' says another.
"'Wal, whate=
ver
it is,' says Mother Hokum, 'I want to be into it,' says she.
"'Wal, Sam,
won't you jine?' says they.
"'Wal, boys,'
says I, 'I kind o' don't feel jest like j'inin'. I sort o' ain't clear about
the rights on't: seems to me it's mighty nigh like goin' to the Devil for
money.'
"'Wal,' says
Mother Hokum, 'what if 'tis? Money's money, get it how ye will; and the Dev=
il's
money 'll buy as much meat as any. I'd go to the Devil, if he gave good mon=
ey.'
"'Wal, I gue=
ss I
wouldn't,' says I. 'Don't you 'member the sermon Parson Lothrop preached ab=
out
hastin' to be rich, last sabba' day?'
"'Parson Lot=
hrop
be hanged!' says she. 'Wal, now,' says she, 'I like to see a parson with his
silk stockin's and great gold-headed cane, a lollopin' on his carriage behi=
nd
his fat, prancin' hosses, comin' to meetin' to preach to us poor folks not =
to
want to be rich! How'd he like it to have forty-'leven children, and nothin=
' to
put onto 'em or into 'em, I wonder? Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and sc=
rub,
and wear her fingers to the bone as I do, she'd want to be rich; and I guess
the parson, if he couldn't get a bellyful for a week, would be for diggin' =
up
Kidd's money, or doing 'most any thing else to make the pot bile.'
"'Wal,' says=
I,
'I'll kind o' go with ye, boys, and sort o' see how things turn out; but I
guess I won't take no shere in't,' says I.
"Wal, they g=
ot
it all planned out. They was to wait till the full moon, and then they was =
to
get Primus King to go with 'em and help do the diggin'. Ye see, Hokum and T=
oddy
Whitney and Wiggin are all putty softly fellers, and hate dreffully to work;
and I tell you the Kidd money ain't to be got without a pretty tough piece =
o'
diggin. Why, it's jest like diggin' a well to get at it. Now, Primus King w=
as
the master hand for diggin' wells, and so they said they'd get him by givin=
' on
him a shere.
"Harry Wiggi=
n he
didn't want no nigger a sherin' in it, he said; but Toddy and Hokum they sa=
id
that when there was such stiff diggin' to be done, they didn't care if they=
did
go in with a nigger.
"Wal, Wiggin=
he
said he hadn't no objection to havin' the nigger do the diggin,' it was she=
rin'
the profits he objected to.
"'Wal,' says
Hokum, 'you can't get him without,' says he. 'Primus knows too much,' says =
he:
'you can't fool him.' Finally they 'greed that they was to give Primus twen=
ty
dollars, and shere the treasure 'mong themselves.
"Come to talk
with Primus, he wouldn't stick in a spade, unless they'd pay him aforehand.=
Ye
see, Primus was up to 'em; he knowed about Gidger, and there wa'n't none on=
'em
that was particular good pay; and so they all jest hed to rake and scrape, =
and
pay him down the twenty dollars among 'em; and they 'greed for the fust full
moon, at twelve' o'clock at night, the 9th of October.
"Wal, ye see=
I
had to tell Hepsy I was goin' out to watch. Wal, so I was; but not jest in =
the
way she took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has to tell his wife suthin' to
keep her quiet, ye know, 'specially Hepsy.
"Wal, wal, of
all the moonlight nights that ever I did see, I never did see one equal to
that. Why, you could see the color o' every thing. I 'member I could see how
the huckleberry-bushes on the rock was red as blood when the moonlight shone
through 'em; 'cause the leaves, you see, had begun to turn.
"Goin' on our
way we got to talkin' about the sperits.
"'I ain't af=
raid
on 'em,' says Hokum. 'What harm can a sperit do me?' says he. 'I don't care=
ef
there's a dozen on 'em;' and he took a swig at his bottle.
"'Oh! there
ain't no sperits,' says Harry Wiggin. 'That 'are talk's all nonsense;' and =
he
took a swig at his bottle.
"'Wal,' says
Toddy, 'I don't know 'bout that 'are. Me and Ike Sanders has seen the speri=
ts
in the Cap'n Brown house. We thought we'd jest have a peek into the window =
one
night; and there was a whole flock o' black colts without no heads on come
rushin' on us and knocked us flat.'
"'I expect y=
ou'd
been at the tahvern,' said Hokum.
"'Wal, yes, =
we
had; but them was sperits: we wa'n't drunk, now; we was jest as sober as ev=
er
we was.'
"'Wal, they
won't get away my money,' says Primus, for I put it safe away in Dinah's te=
apot
afore I come out;' and then he showed all his ivories from ear to ear. 'I t=
hink
all this 'are's sort o' foolishness,' says Primus.
"'Wal,' says=
I,
'boys, I ain't a goin' to have no part or lot in this 'ere matter, but I'll
jest lay it off to you how it's to be done. Ef Kidd's money is under this r=
ock,
there's 'sperits' that watch it, and you mustn't give 'em no advantage. The=
re
mustn't be a word spoke from the time ye get sight o' the treasure till ye =
get
it safe up on to firm ground,' says I. 'Ef ye do, it'll vanish right out o'
sight. I've talked with them that has dug down to it and seen it; but they
allers lost it, 'cause they'd call out and say suthin'; and the minute they
spoke, away it went.'
"Wal, so they
marked off the ground; and Primus he begun to dig, and the rest kind o' sot
round. It was so still it was kind o' solemn. Ye see, it was past twelve
o'clock, and every critter in Oldtown was asleep; and there was two
whippoorwills on the great Cap'n Brown elm-trees, that kep' a answerin' each
other back and forward sort o' solitary like; and then every once in a while
there'd come a sort o' strange whisper up among the elm-tree leaves, jest a=
s if
there was talkin' goin' on; and every time Primus struck his spade into the
ground it sounded sort o' holler, jest as if he'd been a diggin' a grave. '=
It's
kind o' melancholy,' says I, 'to think o' them poor critters that had to be=
killed
and buried jest to keep this 'ere treasure. What awful things 'll be brough=
t to
light in the judgment day! Them poor critters they loved to live and hated =
to
die as much as any on us; but no, they hed to die jest to satisfy that
critter's wicked will. I've heard them as thought they could tell the Cap'n
Kidd places by layin' their ear to the ground at midnight, and they'd hear
groans and wailin's."
"Why, Sam! w=
ere
there really people who could tell where Kidd's money was?" I here
interposed.
"Oh, sartin!
why, yis. There was Shebna Basconx, he was one. Shebna could always tell wh=
at
was under the earth. He'd cut a hazel-stick, and hold it in his hand when f=
olks
was wantin' to know where to dig wells; and that 'are stick would jest turn=
in
his hand, and p'int down till it would fairly grind the bark off; and ef you
dug in that place you was sure to find a spring. Oh, yis! Shebna he's told =
many
where the Kidd money was, and been with 'em when they dug for it; but the
pester on't was they allers lost it, 'cause they would some on 'em speak af=
ore
they thought."
"But, Sam, w=
hat
about this digging? Let's know what came of it," said we, as Sam appea=
red
to lose his way in his story.
"Wal, ye see,
they dug down about five feet, when Primus he struck his spade smack on
something that chincked like iron.
"Wal, then H=
okum
and Toddy Whitney was into the hole in a minute: they made Primus get out, =
and
they took the spade, 'cause they wanted to be sure to come on it themselves=
.
"Wal, they
begun, and they dug and he scraped, and sure enough they come to a gret iron
pot as big as your granny's dinner-pot, with an iron bale to it.
"Wal, then t=
hey
put down a rope, and he put the rope through the handle; then Hokum and Tod=
dy
they clambered upon the bank, and all on 'em began to draw, up jest as still
and silent as could be. They drawed and they drawed, till they jest got it =
even
with the ground, when Toddy spoke out all in a tremble, 'There,'. says he,
'we've got it!' And the minit he spoke they was both struck by suthin that
knocked 'em clean over; and the rope give a crack like a pistol-shot, and b=
roke
short off; and the pot went down, down, down, and they heard it goin', jink,
jink, jink; and it went way down into the earth, and the ground closed over=
it;
and then they heard the screechin'est laugh ye ever did hear."
"I want to k=
now,
Sam, did you see that pot?" I exclaimed at this part of the story.
"Wal, no, I
didn't. Ye see, I jest happened to drop asleep while they was diggin', I wa=
s so
kind o' tired, and I didn't wake up till it was all over.
"I was waked=
up,
'cause there was consid'able of a scuffle; for Hokum was so mad at Toddy for
speakin', that he was a fistin' on him; and old Primus he jest haw-hawed and
laughed. 'Wal, I got my money safe, anyhow,' says he.
"'Wal, come =
to,'
says I. ''Tain't no use cryin' for spilt milk: you've jest got to turn in n=
ow
and fill up this 'ere hole, else the selectmen 'll be down on ye.'
"'Wal,' says=
Primus,
'I didn't engage to fill up no holes;' and he put his spade on his shoulder=
and
trudged off.
"Wal, it was
putty hard work, fillin' in that hole; but Hokum and Toddy and Wiggin had t=
o do
it, 'cause they didn't want to have everybody a laughin' at 'em; and I kind=
o'
tried to set it home to 'em, showin' on 'em that 'twas all for the best.
"'Ef you'd a
been left to get that 'are money, there'd a come a cuss with it,' says I. '=
It
shows the vanity o' hastin' to be rich.'
"'Oh, you sh=
et
up!' says Hokum, says he. 'You never hasted to any thing,' says he. Ye see,=
he
was riled, that's why he spoke so."
"Sam," =
said
we, after maturely reflecting over the story, "what do you suppose was=
in
that pot?"
"Lordy massy!
boys: ye never will be done askin' questions. Why, how should I know?"=
"Ye see,
boys," said Sam Lawson, as we were gathering young wintergreen on a su=
nny
hillside in June,--"ye see, folks don't allers know what their marcies=
is
when they sees 'em. Folks is kind o' blinded; and, when a providence comes
along, they don't seem to know how to take it, and they growl and grumble a=
bout
what turns out the best things that ever happened to 'em in their lives. It=
's
like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher."
"What about =
Mis'
Elderkin's pitcher?" said both of us in one breath.
"Didn't I ne=
ver
tell ye, now?" said Sam: "why, I wanter know?"
No, we were sure =
he
never had told us; and Sam, as usual, began clearing the ground by a thorou=
gh
introduction, with statistical expositions.
"Wal, ye see=
, Mis'
Elderkin she lives now over to Sherburne in about the handsomest house in
Sherburne,--a high white house, with green blinds and white pillars in
front,--and she rides out in her own kerridge; and Mr. Elderkin, he 's a de=
akin
in the church, and a colonel in the malitia, and a s'lectman, and pretty mu=
ch
atop every thing there is goin' in Sherburne, and it all come of that 'are
pitcher."
"What
pitcher?" we shouted in chorus.
"Lordy massy!
that 'are 's jest what I'm a goin' to tell you about; but, ye see, a feller=
's
jest got to make a beginnin' to all things.
"Mis' Elderk=
in
she thinks she's a gret lady nowadays, I s'pose; but I 'member when she was
Miry Brown over here 'n Oldtown, and I used to be waitin' on her to
singing-school.
"Miry and I =
was
putty good friends along in them days,--we was putty consid'able kind o'
intimate. Fact is, boys, there was times in them days when I thought whethe=
r or
no I wouldn't take Miry myself," said Sam, his face growing luminous w=
ith
the pleasing idea of his former masculine attractions and privileges.
"Yis," he continued, "there was a time when folks said I cou=
ld a
hed Miry ef I'd asked her; and I putty much think so myself, but I didn't s=
ay
nothin': marriage is allers kind o'ventursome; an' Miry had such up-and-dow=
n kind
o' ways, I was sort o' fraid on't.
"But Lordy
massy! boys, you mustn't never tell Hepsy I said so, 'cause she'd be mad en=
ough
to bite a shingle-nail in two. Not that she sets so very gret by me neither;
but then women's backs is allers up ef they think anybody else could a hed =
you,
whether they want you themselves or not.
"Ye see, Miry
she was old Black Hoss John Brown's da'ter, and lived up there in that 'are=
big
brown house by the meetin'-house, that hes the red hollyhock in the front y=
ard.
Miry was about the handsomest gal that went into the singers' seat a Sunday=
.
"I tell you =
she
wa'n't none o' your milk-and-sugar gals neither,--she was 'mazin' strong bu=
ilt.
She was the strongest gal in her arms that I ever see. Why, I 've seen Miry
take up a barrel o' flour, and lift it right into the kitchen; and it would
jest make the pink come into her cheeks like two roses, but she never seeme=
d to
mind it a grain. She had a good strong back of her own, and she was straigh=
t as
a poplar, with snappin' black eyes, and I tell you there was a snap to her
tongue too. Nobody never got ahead o' Miry; she'd give every fellow as good=
as
he sent, but for all that she was a gret favorite.
"Miry was on=
e o'
your briery, scratchy gals, that seems to catch fellers in thorns. She alle=
rs
fit and flouted her beaux, and the more she fit and flouted 'em the more th=
ey
'd be arter her. There wa'n't a gal in all Oldtown that led such a string o'
fellers arter her; 'cause, you see, she'd now and then throw 'em a good word
over her shoulder, and then they 'd all fight who should get it, and she'd =
jest
laugh to see 'em do it.
"Why, there =
was
Tom Sawin, he was one o' her beaux, and Jim Moss, and Ike Bacon; and there =
was
a Boston boy, Tom Beacon, he came up from Cambridge to rusticate with Parson
Lothrop; he thought he must have his say with Miry, but he got pretty well =
come
up with. You see, he thought 'cause he was Boston born that he was kind o'
aristocracy, and hed a right jest to pick and choose 'mong country gals; but
the way he got come up with by Miry was too funny for any thing."
"Do tell us
about it," we said, as Sam made an artful pause, designed to draw forth
solicitation.
"Wal, ye see, Tom Beacon he told Ike Bacon about it, and Ike he told me. 'Twas this way. = Ye see, there was a quiltin' up to Mis' Cap'n Broad's, and Tom Beacon he was there; and come to goin' home with the gals, Tom he cut Ike out, and got Mi= ry all to himself; and 'twas a putty long piece of a walk from Mis' Cap'n Broa= d's up past the swamp and the stone pastur' clear up to old Black Hoss John's.<= o:p>
"Wal, Tom he=
was
in high feather 'cause Miry took him, so that he didn't reelly know how to
behave; and so, as they was walkin' along past Parson Lothrop's apple-orcha=
rd,
Tom thought he'd try bein' familiar, and he undertook to put his arm round
Miry. Wal, if she didn't jest take that little fellow by his two shoulders =
and
whirl him over the fence into the orchard quicker 'n no time. 'Why,' says T=
om,
'the fust I knew I was lyin' on my back under the apple-trees lookin' up at=
the
stars.' Miry she jest walked off home and said nothin' to nobody,--it wa'n't
her way to talk much about things; and, if it hedn't ben for Tom Beacon
himself, nobody need 'a' known nothin' about it. Tom was a little fellow, y=
ou see,
and 'mazin' good-natured, and one o' the sort that couldn't keep nothin' to
himself; and so he let the cat out o' the bag himself. Wal, there didn't no=
body
think the worse o' Miry. When fellers find a gal won't take saace from no m=
an,
they kind o' respect her; and then fellers allers thinks ef it hed ben them,
now, things 'd 'a' been different. That's jest what Jim Moss and Ike Bacon
said: they said, why Tom Beacon was a fool not to know better how to get al=
ong
with Miry,--they never had no trouble. The fun of it was, that Tom Beacon
himself was more crazy after her than he was afore; and they say he made Mi=
ry a
right up-and-down offer, and Miry she jest wouldn't have him.
"Wal, you se=
e,
that went agin old Black Hoss John's idees: old Black Hoss was about as clo=
se
as a nut and as contrairy as a pipperage-tree. You ought to 'a' seen him. W=
hy,
his face was all a perfect crisscross o' wrinkles. There wa'n't a spot where
you could put a pin down that there wa'n't a wrinkle; and they used to say =
that
he held on to every cent that went through his fingers till he'd pinched it
into two. You couldn't say that his god was his belly, for he hedn't none, =
no
more'n an old file: folks said that he'd starved himself till the moon'd sh=
ine through
him.
"Old Black H=
oss
was awfully grouty about Miry's refusin' Tom Beacon, 'cause there was his
houses and lots o' land in Boston. A drefful worldly old critter Black Hoss
John was: he was like the rich fool in the gospel. Wal, he's dead and gone =
now,
poor critter, and what good has it all done him? It's as the Scriptur' says,
'He heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.'
"Miry hed a
pretty hard row to hoe with old Black Hoss John. She was up early and down
late, and kep' every thing a goin'. She made the cheese and made the butter,
and between spells she braided herself handsome straw bunnets, and fixed up=
her
clothes; and somehow she worked it so when she sold her butter and cheese t=
hat
there was somethin' for ribbins and flowers. You know the Scriptur' says, '=
Can
a maid forget her ornaments?' Wal, Miry didn't. I 'member I used to lead the
singin' in them days, and Miry she used to sing counter, so we sot putty ne=
ar together
in the singers' seats; and I used to think Sunday mornin's when she come to
meetin' in her white dress and her red cheeks, and her bunnet all tipped off
with laylock, that 'twas for all the world jest like sunshine to have her c=
ome
into the singers' seats. Them was the days that I didn't improve my privile=
ges,
boys," said Sam, sighing deeply. "There was times that ef I'd a
spoke, there's no knowin' what mightn't 'a' happened, 'cause, you see, boys=
, I
was better lookin' in them days than I be now. Now you mind, boys, when you
grow up, ef you get to waitin' on a nice gal, and you're 'most a mind to sp=
eak
up to her, don't you go and put it off, 'cause, ef you do, you may live to =
repent
it.
"Wal, you se=
e,
from the time that Bill Elderkin come and took the academy, I could see pla=
in
enough that it was time for me to hang up my fiddle. Bill he used to set in=
the
singers' seats, too, and he would have it that he sung tenor. He no more su=
ng
tenor than a skunk-blackbird; but he made b'lieve he did, jest to git next =
to
Miry in the singers' seats. They used to set there in the seats a writin' b=
ackward
and forward to each other till they tore out all the leaves of the hymn-boo=
ks,
and the singin'-books besides. Wal, I never thought that the house o' the L=
ord
was jest the place to be courtin' in, and I used to get consid'able shocked=
at
the way things went on atween 'em. Why, they'd be a writin' all sermon-time;
and I've seen him a lookin' at her all through the long prayer in a way that
wa'n't right, considerin' they was both professors of religion. But then the
fact was, old Black Hoss John was to blame for it, 'cause he never let 'em =
have
no chance to hum. Ye see, old Black Hoss he was sot agin Elderkin 'cause he=
was
poor. You see, his mother, the old Widdah Elderkin, she was jest about the =
poorest,
peakedest old body over to Sherburne, and went out to days' works; and Bill=
Elderkin
he was all for books and larnin', and old Black Hoss John he thought it was
just shiftlessness: but Miry she thought he was a genius; and she got it so=
t in
her mind that he was goin' to be President o' the United States, or some si=
ch.
"Wal, old Bl=
ack
Hoss he wa'n't none too polite to Miry's beaux in gineral, but when Elderkin
used to come to see her he was snarlier than a saw: he hadn't a good word f=
or
him noways; and he'd rake up the fire right before his face and eyes, and
rattle about fastenin' up the windows, and tramp up to bed, and call down t=
he
chamber-stairs to Miry to go to bed, and was sort o' aggravatin' every way.=
"Wal, ef fol=
ks
wants to get a gal set on havin' a man, that 'ere's the way to go to work. =
Miry
had a consid'able stiff will of her own; and, ef she didn't care about Tom
Beacon before, she hated him now; and, if she liked Bill Elderkin before, s=
he
was clean gone over to him now. And so she took to goin' to the
Wednesday-evenin' lecture, and the Friday-even-in' prayer-meetin', and the
singin'-school, jest as regular as a clock, and so did he; and arterwards t=
hey
allers walked home the longest way. Fathers may jest as well let their gals=
be
courted in the house, peaceable, 'cause, if they can't be courted there,
they'll find places where they can be: it's jest human natur'.
"Wal, come f=
all,
Elderkin he went to college up to Brunswick; and then I used to see the let=
ters
as regular up to the store every week, comin' in from Brunswick, and old Bl=
ack
Hoss John he see 'em too, and got a way of droppin' on 'em in his coat-pock=
et
when he come up to the store, and folks used to say that the letters that w=
ent
into his coat-pocket didn't get to Miry. Anyhow, Miry she says to me one day
says she, 'Sam, you're up round the post-office a good deal,' says she. 'I
wish, if you see any letters for me, you'd jest bring 'em along.' I see rig=
ht
into it, and I told her to be sure I would; and so I used to have the carry=
in'
of great thick letters every week. Wal, I was waitin' on Hepsy along about =
them
times, and so Miry and I kind o' sympathized. Hepsy was a pretty gal, and I
thought it was all best as 'twas; any way, I knew I couldn't get Miry, and I
could get Hepsy, and that made all the difference in the world.
"Wal, that n=
ext
winter old Black Hoss was took down with rheumatism, and I tell you if Miry
didn't have a time on't! He wa'n't noways sweet-tempered when he was well; =
but
come to be crooked up with the rheumatis' and kep' awake nights, it seemed =
as
if he was determined there shouldn't nobody have no peace so long as he
couldn't.
"He'd get Mi=
ry
up and down with him night after night a makin' her heat flannels and vineg=
ar,
and then he'd jaw and scold so that she was eenymost beat out. He wouldn't =
have
nobody set up with him, though there was offers made. No: he said Miry was =
his
daughter, and 'twas her bisness to take care on him.
"Miry was cl=
ear
worked down: folks kind o' pitied her. She was a strong gal, but there's th=
ings
that wears out the strongest. The worst on't was, it hung on so. Old Black =
Hoss
had a most amazin' sight o' constitution. He'd go all down to death's door,=
and
seem hardly to have the breath, o' life in him, and then up he'd come agin!
These 'ere old folks that nobody wants to have live allers hev such a sight=
o'
wear in 'em, they jest last and last; and it really did seem as if he'd wea=
r Miry
out and get her into the grave fust, for she got a cough with bein' up so m=
uch
in the cold, and grew thin as a shadder. 'Member one time I went up there to
offer to watch jest in the spring o' the year, when the laylocks was jest a
buddin' out, and Miry she come and talked with me over the fence; and the p=
oor
gal she fairly broke down, and sobbed as if her heart would break, a tellin=
' me
her trouble.
"Wal, it ree=
lly
affected me more to have Miry give up so than most gals, 'cause she'd allers
held her head up, and hed sich a sight o' grit and resolution; but she told=
me
all about it.
"It seems old
Black Hoss he wa'n't content with worryin' on her, and gettin' on her up
nights, but he kep' a hectorin' her about Bill Elderkin, and wantin' on her=
to
promise that she wouldn't hev Bill when he was dead and gone; and Miry she
wouldn't promise, and then the old man said she shouldn't have a cent from =
him
if she didn't, and so they had it back and forth. Everybody in town was say=
in'
what a shame 'twas that he should sarve her so; for though he hed other
children, they was married and gone, and there wa'n't none of them to do for
him but jest Miry.
"Wal, he hun=
g on
till jest as the pinys in the front yard was beginnin' to blow out, and the=
n he
began, to feel he was a goin', and he sent for Parson Lothrop to know what =
was
to be done about his soul.
"'Wal,' says
Parson Lothrop, 'you must settle up all your worldly affairs; you must be in
peace and love with all mankind; and, if you've wronged anybody, you must m=
ake
it good to 'em.'
"Old Black H=
oss
he bounced right over in his bed with his back to the minister.
"'The devil!'
says he: ''twill take all I've got.' And he never spoke another word, thoug=
h Parson
Lothrop he prayed with him, and did what he could for him.
"Wal, that n=
ight
I sot up with him; and he went off 'tween two and three in the mornin', and=
I
laid him out regular. Of all the racks o' bone I ever see, I never see a hu=
man
critter so poor as he was. 'Twa'n't nothin' but his awful will kep' his sou=
l in
his body so long, as it was.
"We had the
funeral in the meetin'-house a Sunday; and Parson Lothrop he preached a sar=
mon
on contentment on the text, 'We brought nothin' into the world, and it's sa=
rtin
we can carry nothin' out; and having food and raiment, let us be therewith
content.' Parson Lothrop he got round the subject about as handsome as he
could: he didn't say what a skinflint old Black Hoss was, but he talked in a
gineral way about the vanity o' worryin' an' scrapin' to heap up riches. Ye
see, Parson Lothrop he could say it all putty easy, too, 'cause since he
married a rich wife he never hed no occasion to worry about temporal matter=
s.
Folks allers preaches better on the vanity o' riches when they's in tol'able
easy circumstances. Ye see, when folks is pestered and worried to pay their=
bills,
and don't know where the next dollar's to come from, it's a great temptatio=
n to
be kind o' valooin' riches, and mebbe envyin' those that's got 'em; whereas
when one's accounts all pays themselves, and the money comes jest when its
wanted regular, a body feels sort o' composed like, and able to take the ri=
ght
view o' things, like Parson Lothrop.
"Wal, arter
sermon the relations all went over to the old house to hear the will read; =
and,
as I was kind o' friend with the family, I jest slipped in along with the r=
est.
"Squire Jone=
s he
had the will; and so when they all got sot round all solemn, he broke the s=
eals
and unfolded it, cracklin' it a good while afore he begun; and it was so st=
ill
you might a heard a pin drop when he begun to read. Fust, there was the farm
and stock, he left to his son John Brown over in Sherburne. Then there was =
the
household stuff and all them things, spoons and dishes, and beds and
kiver-lids, and so on, to his da'ter Polly Blanchard. And then, last of all=
, he
says, he left to his da'ter Miry the pitcher that was on the top o' the she=
lf
in his bedroom closet.
"That 'are w=
as
an old cracked pitcher that Miry allers hed hated the sight of, and spring =
and
fall she used to beg her father to let her throw it away; but no, he wouldn=
't
let her touch it, and so it stood gatherin' dust.
"Some on 'em=
run
and handed it down; and it seemed jest full o' scourin'-sand and nothin' el=
se,
and they handed it to Miry.
"Wal, Miry s=
he
was wrathy then. She didn't so much mind bein' left out in the will, 'cause=
she
expected that; but to have that 'are old pitcher poked at her so sort o'
scornful was more'n she could bear.
"She took it=
and
gin it a throw across the room with all her might; and it hit agin the wall=
and
broke into a thousand bits, when out rolled hundreds of gold pieces; great =
gold
eagles and guineas flew round the kitchen jest as thick as dandelions in a
meadow. I tell you, she scrabbled them up pretty quick, and we all helped h=
er.
"Come to cou=
nt
'em over, Miry had the best fortin of the whole, as 'twas right and proper =
she
should. Miry she was a sensible gal, and she invested her money well; and s=
o,
when Bill Elderkin got through his law-studies, he found a wife that could =
make
a nice beginnin' with him. And that's the way, you see, they came to be doi=
n'
as well as they be.
"So, boys, y=
ou
jest mind and remember and allers see what there is in a providence afore y=
ou
quarrel with it, 'cause there's a good many things in this world turns out =
like
Mis' Elderkin's pitcher."
THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N
BROWNHOUSE.
"Now, Sam, t=
ell
us certain true, is there any such things as ghosts?"
"Be there
ghosts?" said Sam, immediately translating into his vernacular grammar:
"wal, now, that are's jest the question, ye see." "Well, gra=
ndma
thinks there are, and Aunt Lois thinks it's all nonsense. Why, Aunt Lois do=
n't
even believe the stories in Cotton Mather's 'Magnalia.'"
"Wanter
know?" said Sam, with a tone of slow, languid meditation.
We were sitting o=
n a
bank of the Charles River, fishing. The soft melancholy red of evening was
fading off in streaks on the glassy water, and the houses of Oldtown were
beginning to loom through the gloom, solemn and ghostly. There are times and
tones and moods of nature that make all the vulgar, daily real seem shadowy,
vague, and supernatural, as if the outlines of this hard material present w=
ere
fading into the invisible and unknown. So Oldtown, with its elm-trees, its
great square white houses, its meeting-house and tavern and blacksmith's sh=
op
and milly which at high noon seem as real and as commonplace as possible, a=
t this
hour of the evening were dreamy and solemn. They rose up blurred, indistinc=
t,
dark; here and there winking candles sent long lines of light through the
shadows, and little drops of unforeseen rain rippled the sheeny darkness of=
the
water.
"Wal, you se=
e,
boys, in them things it's jest as well to mind your granny. There's a
consid'able sight o' gumption in grandmas. You look at the folks that's ali=
us
tellin' you what they don't believe,--they don't believe this, and they don=
't
believe that,--and what sort o' folks is they? Why, like yer Aunt Lois, sor=
t o'
stringy and dry. There ain't no 'sorption got out o' not believin' nothin'.=
"Lord a mass=
y!
we don't know nothin' 'bout them things. We hain't ben there, and can't say
that there ain't no ghosts and sich; can we, now?"
We agreed to that
fact, and sat a little closer to Sam in the gathering gloom.
"Tell us abo=
ut
the Cap'n Brown house, Sam."
"Ye didn't n=
ever
go over the Cap'n Brown house?"
No, we had not th=
at
advantage.
"Wal, yer se=
e,
Cap'n Brown he made all his money to sea, in furrin parts, and then come he=
re
to Oldtown to settle down.
"Now, there
ain't no knowin' 'bout these 'ere old ship-masters, where they's ben, or wh=
at
they's ben a doin', or how they got their money. Ask me no questions, and I=
'll
tell ye no lies, is 'bout the best philosophy for them. Wal, it didn't do no
good to ask Cap'n Brown questions too close, 'cause you didn't git no
satisfaction. Nobody rightly knew 'bout who his folks was, or where they co=
me
from; and, ef a body asked him, he used to say that the very fust he know'd
'bout himself he was a young man walkin' the streets in London.
"But, yer se=
e,
boys, he hed money, and that is about all folks wanter know when a man come=
s to
settle down. And he bought that 'are place, and built that 'are house. He b=
uilt
it all sea-cap'n fashion, so's to feel as much at home as he could. The par=
lor
was like a ship's cabin. The table and chairs was fastened down to the floo=
r,
and the closets was made with holes to set the casters and the decanters and
bottles in, jest's they be at sea; and there was stanchions to hold on by; =
and
they say that blowy nights the cap'n used to fire up pretty well with his g=
rog,
till he hed about all he could carry, and then he'd set and hold on, and he=
ar
the wind blow, and kind o' feel out to sea right there to hum. There wasn't=
no
Mis' Cap'n Brown, and there didn't seem likely to be none. And whether there
ever hed been one, nobody know'd. He hed an old black Guinea nigger-woman,
named Quassia, that did his work. She was shaped pretty much like one o' th=
ese
'ere great crookneck-squashes. She wa'n't no gret beauty, I can tell you; a=
nd
she used to wear a gret red turban and a yaller short gown and red petticoa=
t,
and a gret string o' gold beads round her neck, and gret big gold hoops in =
her
ears, made right in the middle o' Africa among the heathen there. For all s=
he was
black, she thought a heap o' herself, and was consid'able sort o' predomina=
tive
over the cap'n. Lordy massy! boys, it's alius so. Get a man and a woman
together,--any sort o' woman you're a mind to, don't care who 'tis,--and one
way or another she gets the rule over him, and he jest has to train to her
fife. Some does it one way, and some does it another; some does it by jawin'
and some does it by kissin', and some does it by faculty and contrivance; b=
ut
one way or another they allers does it. Old Cap'n Brown was a good stout,
stocky kind o' John Bull sort o' fellow, and a good judge o' sperits, and
allers kep' the best in them are cupboards o' his'n; but, fust and last, th=
ings
in his house went pretty much as old Quassia said.
"Folks got to
kind o' respectin' Quassia. She come to meetin' Sunday regular, and sot all
fixed up in red and yaller and green, with glass beads and what not, lookin'
for all the world like one o' them ugly Indian idols; but she was well-beha=
ved
as any Christian. She was a master hand at cookin'. Her bread and biscuits
couldn't be beat, and no couldn't her pies, and there wa'n't no such pound-=
cake
as she made nowhere. Wal, this 'ere story I'm a goin' to tell you was told =
me
by Cinthy Pendleton. There ain't a more respectable gal, old or young, than=
Cinthy
nowheres. She lives over to Sherburne now, and I hear tell she's sot up a
manty-makin' business; but then she used to do tailorin' in Oldtown. She wa=
s a
member o' the church, and a good Christian as ever was. Wal, ye see, Quassia
she got Cinthy to come up and spend a week to the Cap'n Brown house, a doin'
tailorin' and a fixin' over his close: 'twas along toward the fust o' March.
Cinthy she sot by the fire in the front parlor with her goose and her
press-board and her work: for there wa'n't no company callin', and the snow=
was
drifted four feet deep right across the front door; so there wa'n't much da=
nger
o' any body comin' in. And the cap'n he was a perlite man to wimmen; and Ci=
nthy
she liked it jest as well not to have company, 'cause the cap'n he'd make
himself entertainin' tellin' on her sea-stories, and all about his adventur=
es among
the Ammonites, and Perresites, and Jebusites, and all sorts o' heathen peop=
le
he'd been among.
"Wal, that '=
are
week there come on the master snow-storm. Of all the snow-storms that hed b=
en,
that 'are was the beater; and I tell you the wind blew as if 'twas the last
chance it was ever goin' to hev. Wal, it's kind o' scary like to be shet up=
in
a lone house with all natur' a kind o' breakin' out, and goin' on so, and t=
he
snow a comin' down so thick ye can't see 'cross the street, and the wind a
pipin' and a squeelin' and a rumblin' and a tumblin' fust down this chimney=
and
then down that. I tell you, it sort o' sets a feller thinkin' o' the three =
great
things,--death, judgment, and etarnaty; and I don't care who the folks is, =
nor
how good they be, there's times when they must be feelin' putty consid'able
solemn.
"Wal, Cinthy=
she
said she kind o' felt so along, and she hed a sort o' queer feelin' come ov=
er
her as if there was somebody or somethin' round the house more'n appeared. =
She
said she sort o' felt it in the air; but it seemed to her silly, and she tr=
ied
to get over it. But two or three times, she said, when it got to be dusk, s=
he
felt somebody go by her up the stairs. The front entry wa'n't very light in=
the
daytime, and in the storm, come five o'clock, it was so dark that all you c=
ould
see was jest a gleam o' some-thin', and two or three times when she started=
to
go up stairs she see a soft white suthin' that seemed goin' up before her, =
and she
stopped with her heart a beatin' like a trip-hammer, and she sort o' saw it=
go
up and along the entry to the cap'n's door, and then it seemed to go right
through, 'cause the door didn't open.
"Wal, Cinthy
says she to old Quassia, says she, 'Is there anybody lives in this house but
us?'
"'Anybody li=
ves
here?' says Quassia: 'what you mean?' says she.
"Says Cinthy=
, 'I
thought somebody went past me on the stairs last night and to-night.'
"Lordy massy=
! how
old Quassia did screech and laugh. 'Good Lord!' says she, 'how foolish white
folks is! Somebody went past you? Was't the capt'in?'
"'No, it wa'=
n't
the cap'n,' says she: 'it was somethin' soft and white, and moved very stil=
l;
it was like somethin' in the air,' says she. Then Quassia she haw-hawed lou=
der.
Says she, 'It's hy-sterikes, Miss Cinthy; that's all it is.'
"Wal, Cinthy=
she
was kind o' 'shamed, but for all that she couldn't help herself. Sometimes
evenin's she'd be a settin' with the cap'n, and she'd think she'd hear some=
body
a movin' in his room overhead; and she knowed it wa'n't Quassia, 'cause Qua=
ssia
was ironin' in the kitchen. She took pains once or twice to find out that '=
are.
"Wal, ye see,
the cap'n's room was the gret front upper chamber over the parlor, and then
right oppi-site to it was the gret spare chamber where Cinthy slept. It was
jest as grand as could be, with a gret four-post mahogany bedstead and dama=
sk
curtains brought over from England; but it was cold enough to freeze a whit=
e bear
solid,--the way spare chambers allers is. Then there was the entry between,=
run
straight through the house: one side was old Quassia's room, and the other =
was
a sort o' storeroom, where the old cap'n kep' all sorts o' traps.
"Wal, Cinthy=
she
kep' a hevin' things happen and a seein' things, till she didn't railly know
what was in it. Once when she come into the parlor jest at sundown, she was
sure she see a white figure a vanishin' out o' the door that went towards t=
he
side entry. She said it was so dusk, that all she could see was jest this w=
hite
figure, and it jest went out still as a cat as she come in.
"Wal, Cinthy
didn't like to speak to the cap'n about it. She was a close woman, putty
prudent, Cinthy was.
"But one nig=
ht,
'bout the middle o' the week, this 'ere thing kind o' come to a crisis.
"Cinthy said
she'd ben up putty late a sewin' and a finishin' off down in the parlor; and
the cap'n he sot up with her, and was consid'able cheerful and entertainin',
tellin' her all about things over in the Bermudys, and off to Chiny and Jap=
an,
and round the world ginerally. The storm that hed been a blowin' all the we=
ek
was about as furious as ever; and the cap'n he stirred up a mess o' flip, a=
nd
hed it for her hot to go to bed on. He was a good-natured critter, and alle=
rs
had feelin's for lone women; and I s'pose he knew 'twas sort o' desolate for
Cinthy.
"Wal, takin'=
the
flip so right the last thing afore goin' to bed, she went right off to slee=
p as
sound as a nut, and slep' on till somewhere about mornin', when she said
somethin' waked her broad awake in a minute. Her eyes flew wide open like a
spring, and the storm hed gone down and the moon come out; and there, stand=
in'
right in the moonlight by her bed, was a woman jest as white as a sheet, wi=
th
black hair hangin' down to her waist, and the brightest, mourn fullest black
eyes you ever see. She stood there lookin' right at Cinthy; and Cinthy thin=
ks that
was what waked her up; 'cause, you know, ef anybody stands and looks steady=
at
folks asleep it's apt to wake 'em.
"Any way, Ci=
nthy
said she felt jest as ef she was turnin' to stone. She couldn't move nor sp=
eak.
She lay a minute, and then she shut her eyes, and begun to say her prayers;=
and
a minute after she opened 'em, and it was gone.
"Cinthy was a
sensible gal, and one that allers hed her thoughts about her; and she jest =
got
up and put a shawl round her shoulders, and went first and looked at the do=
ors,
and they was both on 'em locked jest as she left 'em when she went to bed. =
Then
she looked under the bed and in the closet, and felt all round the room: wh=
ere
she couldn't see she felt her way, and there wa'n't nothin' there.
"Wal, next
mornin' Cinthy got up and went home, and she kep' it to herself a good whil=
e.
Finally, one day when she was workin' to our house she told Hepsy about it,=
and
Hepsy she told me."
"Well,
Sam," we said, after a pause, in which we heard only the rustle of lea=
ves
and the ticking of branches against each other, "what do you suppose it
was?"
"Wal, there
'tis: you know jest as much about it as I do. Hepsy told Cinthy it might 'a'
ben a dream; so it might, but Cinthy she was sure it wa'n't a dream, 'cause=
she
remembers plain hearin' the old clock on the stairs strike four while she h=
ad
her eyes open lookin' at the woman; and then she only shet 'em a minute, je=
st
to say 'Now I lay me,' and opened 'em and she was gone.
"Wal, Cinthy
told Hepsy, and Hepsy she kep' it putty close. She didn't tell it to nobody
except Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith and your Grandma Badg=
er
and the minister's wife; and they every one o' 'em 'greed it ought to be ke=
p'
close, 'cause it would make talk. Wal, come spring, somehow or other it see=
med
to 'a' got all over Old-town. I heard on 't to the store and up to the tave=
rn;
and Jake Marshall he says to me one day, 'What's this 'ere about the cap'n's
house?' And the Widder Loker she says to me, 'There's ben a ghost seen in t=
he
cap'n's house;' and I heard on 't clear over to Needham and Sherburne.
"Some o' the
women they drew themselves up putty stiff and proper. Your Aunt Lois was on=
e on
'em.
"'Ghost,' sa=
ys
she; 'don't tell me! Perhaps it would be best ef 'twas a ghost,' says she. =
She
didn't think there ought to be no sich doin's in nobody's house; and your
grandma she shet her up, and told her she didn't oughter talk so."
"Talk how?&q= uot; said I, interrupting Sam with wonder. "What did Aunt Lois mean?"<= o:p>
"Why, you
see," said Sam mysteriously, "there allers is folks in every town
that's jest like the Sadducees in old times: they won't believe in angel nor
sperit, no way you can fix it; and ef things is seen and done in a house, w=
hy,
they say, it's 'cause there's somebody there; there's some sort o' deviltry=
or
trick about it.
"So the story
got round that there was a woman kep' private in Cap'n Brown's house, and t=
hat
he brought her from furrin parts; and it growed and growed, till there was =
all
sorts o' ways o' tellin on 't.
"Some said
they'd seen her a settin' at an open winder. Some said that moonlight nights
they'd seen her a walkin' out in the back garden kind o' in and out 'mong t=
he
bean-poles and squash-vines.
"You see, it
come on spring and summer; and the winders o' the Cap'n Brown house stood o=
pen,
and folks was all a watchin' on 'em day and night. Aunt Sally Dickerson told
the minister's wife that she'd seen in plain daylight a woman a settin' at =
the
chamber winder atween four and five o'clock in the mornin',--jist a settin'=
a
lookin' out and a doin' nothin', like anybody else. She was very white and
pale, and had black eyes.
"Some said t=
hat
it was a nun the cap'n had brought away from a Roman Catholic convent in Sp=
ain,
and some said he'd got her out o' the Inquisition.
"Aunt Sally =
said
she thought the minister ought to call and inquire why she didn't come to
meetin', and who she was, and all about her: 'cause, you see, she said it m=
ight
be all right enough ef folks only know'd jest how things was; but ef they
didn't, why, folks will talk."
"Well, did t=
he
minister do it?"
"What, Parson
Lothrop? Wal, no, he didn't. He made a call on the cap'n in a regular way, =
and
asked arter his health and all his family. But the cap'n he seemed jest as
jolly and chipper as a spring robin, and he gin the minister some o' his old
Jamaiky; and the minister he come away and said he didn't see nothin'; and =
no he
didn't. Folks never does see nothin' when they aint' lookin' where 'tis. Fa=
ct
is, Parson Lothrop wa'n't fond o' inter-ferin'; he was a master hand to sli=
ck
things over. Your grandma she used to mourn about it, 'cause she said he ne=
ver
gin no p'int to the doctrines; but 'twas all of a piece, he kind o' took ev=
ery thing
the smooth way.
"But your
grandma she believed in the ghost, and so did Lady Lothrop. I was up to her
house t'other day fixin' a door-knob, and says she, 'Sam, your wife told me=
a
strange story about the Cap'n Brown house.'
"'Yes, ma'am,
she did,' says I.
"'Well, what=
do
you think of it?' says she.
"'Wal, somet=
imes
I think, and then agin I don't know,' says I. 'There's Cinthy she's a membe=
r o'
the church and a good pious gal,' says I.
"'Yes, Sam,'
says Lady Lothrop, says she; 'and Sam,' says she, 'it is jest like something
that happened once to my grandmother when she was livin' in the old Province
House in Bostin.' Says she, 'These 'ere things is the mysteries of Providen=
ce,
and it's jest as well not to have 'em too much talked about.'
"'Jest so,' = says I,--'jest so. That 'are's what every woman I've talked with says; and I gue= ss, fust and last, I've talked with twenty,--good, safe church-members,--and th= ey's every one o' opinion that this 'ere oughtn't to be talked about. Why, over = to the deakin's t'other night we went it all over as much as two or three hour= s, and we concluded that the best way was to keep quite still about it; and th= at's jest what they say over to Need-ham and Sherburne. I've been all round a hushin' this 'ere up, and I hain't found but a few people that hedn't the particulars one way or another.' This 'ere was what I says to Lady Lothrop.= The fact was, I never did see no report spread so, nor make sich sort o' sarchi= n's o' heart, as this 'ere. It railly did beat all; 'cause, ef 'twas a ghost, w= hy there was the p'int proved, ye see. Cinthy's a church-member, and she see i= t, and got right up and sarched the room: but then agin, ef 'twas a woman, why that 'are was kind o' awful; it give cause, ye see, for thinkin' all sorts = o' things. There was Cap'n Brown, to be sure, he wa'n't a church-member; but y= et he was as honest and regular a man as any goin', as fur as any on us could = see. To be sure, nobody know'd where he come from, but that wa'n't no reason agi= n' him: this 'ere might a ben a crazy sister, or some poor critter that he took out= o' the best o' motives; and the Scriptur' says, 'Charity hopeth all things.' B= ut then, ye see, folks will talk,--that 'are's the pester o' all these things,--and they did some on 'em talk consid'able strong about the cap'n; = but somehow or other, there didn't nobody come to the p'int o' facin' on him do= wn, and savin' square out, 'Cap'n Brown, have you got a woman in your house, or hain't you? or is it a ghost, or what is it?' Folks somehow never does come= to that. Ye see, there was the cap'n so respectable, a settin' up every Sunday there in his pew, with his ruffles round his hands and his red broadcloth c= loak and his cocked hat. Why, folks' hearts sort o' failed 'em when it come to s= ay in' any thing right to him. They thought and kind o' whispered round that t= he minister or the deakins oughter do it: but Lordy massy! ministers, I s'pose, has feelin's like the rest on us; they don't want to eat all the hard cheeses t= hat nobody else won't eat. Anyhow, there wasn't nothin' said direct to the cap'= n; and jest for want o' that all the folks in Old-town kep' a bilin' and a bil= in' like a kettle o' soap, till it seemed all the time as if they'd bile over.<= o:p>
"Some o' the
wimmen tried to get somethin' out o' Quassy. Lordy massy! you might as well=
'a'
tried to get it out an old tom-turkey, that'll strut and gobble and quitter,
and drag his wings on the ground, and fly at you, but won't say nothin'. Qu=
assy
she screeched her queer sort o' laugh; and she told 'em that they was a mak=
in'
fools o' themselves, and that the cap'n's matters wa'n't none o' their bisn=
ess;
and that was true enough. As to goin' into Quassia's room, or into any o' t=
he
store-rooms or closets she kep' the keys of, you might as well hev gone int=
o a lion's
den. She kep' all her places locked up tight; and there was no gettin' at
nothin' in the Cap'n Brown house, else I believe some o' the wimmen would '=
a'
sent a sarch-warrant."
"Well,"
said I, "what came of it? Didn't anybody ever find out?"
"Wal," = said Sam, "it come to an end sort o', and didn't come to an end. It was jest this 'ere way. You see, along in October, jest in the cider-makin' time, Ab= el Flint he was took down with dysentery and died. You 'member the Flint house= : it stood on a little rise o' ground jest lookin' over towards the Brown house. Wal, there was Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith, they set up = with the corpse. He was laid out in the back chamber, you see, over the milk-room and kitchen; but there was cold victuals and sich in the front chamber, whe= re the watchers sot. Wal, now, Aunt Sally she told me that between three and f= our o'clock she heard wheels a rumblin', and she went to the winder, and it was clear starlight; and she see a coach come up to the Cap'n Brown house; and = she see the cap'n come out bringin' a woman all wrapped in a cloak, and old Qua= ssy came arter with her arms full o' bundles; and he put her into the kerridge,= and shet her in, and it driv off; and she see old Quassy stand lookin' over the fence arter it. She tried to wake up the widder, but 'twas towards mornin',= and the widder allers was a hard sleeper; so there wa'n't no witness but her.'<= o:p>
"Well, then,=
it
wasn't a ghost," said I, "after all, and it was a woman."
"Wal, there
'tis, you see. Folks don't know that 'are yit, 'cause there it's jest as br=
oad
as 'tis long. Now, look at it. There's Cinthy, she's a good, pious gal: she
locks her chamber-doors, both on 'em, and goes to bed, and wakes up in the
night, and there's a woman there. She jest shets her eyes, and the woman's
gone. She gits up and looks, and both doors is locked jest as she left 'em.
That 'ere woman wa'n't flesh and blood now, no way,--not such flesh and blo=
od
as we knows on; but then they say Cinthy might hev dreamed it!
"Wal, now, l=
ook
at it t'other way. There's Aunt Sally Dickerson; she's a good woman and a
church-member: wal, she sees a woman in a cloak with all her bundles brought
out o' Cap'n Brown's house, and put into a kerridge, and driv off, atween t=
hree
and four o'clock in the mornin'. Wal, that 'ere shows there must 'a' ben a =
real
live woman kep' there privately, and so what Cinthy saw wasn't a ghost.
"Wal, now,
Cinthy says Aunt Sally might 'a' dreamed it,--that she got her head so full=
o'
stories about the Cap'n Brown house, and watched it till she got asleep, and
hed this 'ere dream; and, as there didn't nobody else see it, it might 'a' =
ben,
you know. Aunt Sally's clear she didn't dream, and then agin Cinthy's clear=
she
didn't dream; but which on 'em was awake, or which on 'em was asleep, is wh=
at
ain't settled in Oldtown yet."