THE APPLE-BEE.
Punctually at six o'clock Hiel's two-horses, with all their bells
jingling, stood at the door of the parsonage, whence Tom and Bill,
who had been waiting with caps and mittens on for the last half hour,
burst forth with irrepressible shouts of welcome.
"Take care now, boys; don't haul them buffalo skins out on t' the
snow," said Hiel. "Don't get things in a muss gen'ally; wait for your
ma and the Doctor. Got to stow the grown folks in fust; boys kin hang
on anywhere."
And so first came Mrs. Cushing and the Doctor, and were installed on
the back seat, with Dolly in between. Then hot bricks were handed in
to keep feet warm, and the buffalo robe was tucked down securely.
Then Nabby took her seat by Hiel in front, and the sleigh drove round
for old Mrs. Jones. The Doctor insisted on giving up his place to
her and tucking her warmly under the buffalo robe, while he took the
middle seat and acted as moderator between the boys, who were in a
wild state of hilarity. Spring, with explosive barks, raced first on
this and then on that side of the sleigh as it flew swiftly over the
smooth frozen road.
The stars blinked white and clear out of a deep blue sky, and the
path wound up-hill among cedars and junipers and clumps of mountain
laurel, on whose broad green leaves the tufts of snow lay like
clusters of white roses. The keen clear air was full of stimulus and
vigor; and so Hiel's proposition to take the longest way met with
enthusiastic welcome from all the party. Next to being a bird, and
having wings, is the sensation of being borne over the snow by a pair
of spirited horses who enjoy the race, apparently, as much as those
they carry. Though Hiel contrived to make the ride about eight miles,
it yet seemed but a short time before the party drove up to the great
red farm-house, whose lighted windows sent streams of radiant welcome
far out into the night.
The fire that illuminated the great kitchen of the farm-house was
a splendid sight to behold. It is, alas, with us only a vision and
memory of the past; for who in our days can afford to keep up the
great fire-place, where the back-logs were cut from the giants of the
forest and the fore-stick was as much as a modern man could lift? And
then the glowing fire-place built thereon! That architectural pile
of split and seasoned wood, over which the flames leaped and danced
and crackled like rejoicing genii--what a glory it was! The hearty,
bright, warm hearth in those days stood instead of fine furniture and
handsome pictures. The plainest room becomes beautiful and attractive
by fire-light, and when men think of a country and home to be fought
for and defended they think of the fireside.
Mr. Timothy Hawkins was a thrifty farmer and prided himself on always
having the best, and the fire that was crackling and roaring up the
chimney that night was, to use a hackneyed modern expression, a
"work of art." The great oak back-log had required the strength of
four men to heave it into its place; and above that lay another log
scarcely less in size; while the fore-stick was no mean bough of
the same tree. A bed of bright solid coals lay stretched beneath,
and the lighter blaze of the wood above was constantly sending down
contributions to this glowing reservoir.
Of course, on an occasion like this, the "best room" of the house was
open, with a bright fire lighting up the tall brass andirons, and
revealing the neatly-fitted striped carpet of domestic manufacture,
and the braided rugs, immortal monuments of the never-tiring industry
of the housewife. Here first the minister and his wife and Dolly
were inducted with some ceremony, but all declared their immediate
preference of the big kitchen, where the tubs of rosy apples and
golden quinces were standing round, and young men, maids, and matrons
were taking their places to assist in the apple-bee.
If the Doctor was a welcome guest in the stately circles of Poganuc
Center, he was far more at home in these hearty rural gatherings.
There was never the smallest room for jealousy, on the part of his
plainer people, that he cared more for certain conventional classes
of society than for them, because all instinctively felt that in
heart he was one of themselves. Like many of the educated men of
New England, he had been a farmer's boy in early days, and all his
pleasantest early recollections were connected with that simple,
wholesome, healthful, rural life. Like many of the New England
clergy, too, he was still to some extent a practical farmer, finding
respite from brain labor in wholesome out-door work. His best
sermons were often thought out at the plow or in the corn-field,
and his illustrations and enforcements of truth were those of a man
acquainted with real life and able to interpret the significance
of common things. His people felt a property in him as their ideal
man--the man who every Sunday expressed for them, better than they
could, the thoughts and inquiries and aspirations which rose dimly
in their own minds.
"I could ha' said all that myself ef I'd only hed the eddication; he
puts it so one can see it can't be no other way," was the comment
once made on a sermon of the Doctor's by a rough but thoughtful
listener; and the Doctor felt more pleased with such applause than
even the more cultured approval of Judge Belcher.
In the wide, busy kitchen there was room enough for all sorts of
goings on. The Doctor was soon comfortably seated, knee to knee, in
a corner with two or three controversial-looking old farmers, who
were attacking some of the conclusions of his last Sunday's sermon.
Of the two results, the Doctor always preferred a somewhat combative
resistance to a sleepy assent to his preaching, and nothing delighted
him more than a fair and square argumentative tilt, showing that the
points he made had been taken.
But while the Doctor in his corner discussed theology, the young
people around the tubs of apples were having the very best of times.
The apple, from the days of Mother Eve and the times of Paris and
Helen, has been a fruit full of suggestion and omen in the meetings
of young men and maidens; and it was not less fruitful this evening.
Our friend Hiel came to the gathering with a full consciousness of
a difficult and delicate part to be sustained. It is easy to carry
on four or five distinct flirtations when one is a handsome young
stage-driver and the fair objects of attention live at convenient
distances along the route. But when Almiry Ann, and Lucindy Jane, and
Lucretia, and Nabby are all to be encountered at one time, what is a
discreet young man to do?
Hiel had come to the scene with an armor of proof in the shape of a
new patent apple-peeler and corer, warranted to take the skin from
an apple with a quickness and completeness hitherto unimaginable.
This immediately gave him a central position and drew an admiring
throng about him. The process of naming an apple for each girl, and
giving her the long ribbon of peel to be thrown over her head and
form fateful initial letters on the floor, was one that was soon in
vigorous operation, with much shrieking and laughing and opposing of
claims among the young men, all of whom were forward to claim their
own initials when the peeling was thrown by the girl of their choice.
And Hiel was loud in his professions of jealousy when by this mode
of divination Almira Smith was claimed to be secretly favoring Seth
Parmelee, and Nabby's apple-peeling thrown over her head formed a
cabalistic character which was vigorously contended for both by Jim
Sawin and Ike Peters. As the distinction between an I and a J is of
a very shadowy nature, the question apparently was likely to remain
an open one; and Hiel declared that it was plain that nobody cared
for _him_, and that he was evidently destined to be an old bachelor.
It may be imagined that this sprightly circle of young folks were not
the ones most particularly efficient in the supposed practical labors
of the evening. They did, probably, the usual amount of work done
by youths and maids together at sewing societies, church fairs and
other like occasions, where by a figure of speech they are supposed
to be assisting each other. The real work of the occasion was done by
groups of matrons who sat with their bright tin pans in lap, soberly
chatting and peeling and cutting, as they compared notes about pies
and puddings and custards, and gave each other recipes for certain
Eleusinian mysteries of domestic cookery.
Yet, let it not be supposed that all these women thought of nothing
but cookery, for in the corner where the minister was talking were
silent attentive listeners, thoughtful souls, who had pushed their
chairs nearer, and who lost not a word of the discussion on higher
themes. Never was there a freer rationalism than in the inquiries
which the New England theology tolerated and encouraged at every
fireside. The only trouble about them was that they raised awful
questions to which there is no answer, and when the Doctor supposed
he had left a triumphant solution of a difficulty he had often left
only a rankling thorn of doubt.
A marked figure among the Doctor's circle of listeners is Nabby's
mother. A slight figure in a dress of Quakerlike neatness, a thin old
delicate face, with its aureole of white hair and its transparent
cap-border--the expression of the face a blending of thoughtful
calmness and invincible determination. Her still, patient blue eyes
looked as if they habitually saw beyond things present to some
far off future. She was, in fact, one of those quiet, resolute
women whose power lay more in doing than in talking. She had
passed, through the gate of silence and self-abnegation, into that
summer-land where it is always peace, where the soul is never more
alone, because God is there.
Now, as she sits quietly by, not a word escapes her of what her
minister is saying; for though at her husband's command she has left
her church, her heart is still immovably fixed in its old home.
Her husband had stubbornly refused to join the social circle, though
cordially invited. However, he offered no word of comment or dissent
when his wife departed with all her sons to the gathering. With her
boys, Mary Higgins was all-powerful. They obeyed the glance of her
eye; they listened to her softest word as they never heeded the
stormy imperiousness of their father.
She looks over with satisfaction to where her boys are joining with
full heart in the mirth of the young people, and is happy in their
happiness. The Doctor comes and sits beside her, and inquires after
each one; and the measure of her content is full. She does not need
to explain to him why she has left her church; she sees that he
understands her position and her motives; but she tells him her heart
and her hopes, her ambition for her darling son, Abner, who alone
of all her boys has the passion for learning and aspires toward a
college education; and the Doctor bids her send her boy to him and
he will see what can be done to help him on his way. More talk they
have, and more earnest, on things beyond the veil of earth--on the
joy that underlies all the sorrows of this life and brightens the
life beyond--and the Doctor feels that in the interview he has gained
more than he has given.
Long before the evening was through, the task of apple-cutting was
accomplished, the tubs and pans cleared away, and the company sat
about the fire discussing the nuts, apples and cider which were
passed around, reinforced by doughnuts and loaf-cake. Tales of
forest life, of exploits in hunting and fishing, were recounted,
and the Doctor figured successfully as a _raconteur_, for he was an
enthusiast in forest lore, and had had his share of adventure.
In those days there was still a stirring background of wilderness
life, of adventures with bears, panthers, and wild Indians, and of
witches and wizards and ghostly visitors and haunted houses, to make
a stimulating fireside literature; and the nine o'clock bell ringing
loudly was the first break in the interest of the circle. All rose at
once, and while the last greetings were exchanged, Hiel and the other
young men brought their horses to the door, and the whole party were,
in their several sleighs, soon flying homeward.
Our little Dolly had had an evening of unmixed bliss. Everybody had
petted her, and talked to her, and been delighted with her sayings
and doings, and she was carrying home a paper parcel of sweet things
which good Mrs. Hawkins had forced into her hand at parting.
As to Hiel and Nabby, they were about on an even footing. If he had
been devoted to Lucinda Jane Parsons she had distinguished Jim Sawin
by marks of evident attention, not forgetting at proper intervals to
pay some regard to Ike Peters; so that, as she complacently said to
herself, 'he didn't get ahead of _her_.'
Of course, on the way home, in the sleigh with Doctor and Mrs.
Cushing, there were no advantages for a settling-up quarrel, but
Nabby let fly many of those brisk little missiles of sarcasm and
innuendo in which her sex have so decided a superiority over
the other, and when arrived at the door of the house, announced
peremptorily that she was 'going straight to bed and wasn't goin' to
burn out candles for nobody _that_ night!'
Hiel did not depart broken-hearted, however; and as he reviewed the
field mentally, after his return home, congratulated himself that
things were going on "'bout as well as they could be."
A misunderstanding to be made up, a quarrel to be settled, was, as he
viewed it, a fair stock in trade for a month to come.