I.

The coast of Maine was in former years brought so near to foreign

shores by its busy fleet of ships that among the older men and women

one still finds a surprising proportion of travelers. Each

seaward-stretching headland with its high-set houses, each island of a

single farm, has sent its spies to view many a Land of Eshcol; one may

see plain, contented old faces at the windows, whose eyes have looked

at far-away ports and known the splendors of the Eastern world. They

shame the easy voyager of the North Atlantic and the Mediterranean;

they have rounded the Cape of Good Hope and braved the angry seas of

Cape Horn in small wooden ships; they have brought up their hardy boys

and girls on narrow decks; they were among the last of the Northmen's

children to go adventuring to unknown shores. More than this one

cannot give to a young State for its enlightenment; the sea captains

and the captains' wives of Maine knew something of the wide world, and

never mistook their native parishes for the whole instead of a part

thereof; they knew not only Thomaston and Castine and Portland, but

London and Bristol and Bordeaux, and the strange-mannered harbors of

the China Sea.

One September day, when I was nearly at the end of a summer spent in a

village called Dunnet Landing, on the Maine coast, my friend Mrs. Todd,

in whose house I lived, came home from a long, solitary stroll in the

wild pastures, with an eager look as if she were just starting on a

hopeful quest instead of returning. She brought a little basket with

blackberries enough for supper, and held it towards me so that I could

see that there were also some late and surprising raspberries sprinkled

on top, but she made no comment upon her wayfaring. I could tell

plainly that she had something very important to say.

"You have n't brought home a leaf of anything," I ventured to this

practiced herb-gatherer. "You were saying yesterday that the witch

hazel might be in bloom."

"I dare say, dear," she answered in a lofty manner; "I ain't goin' to

say it was n't; I ain't much concerned either way 'bout the facts o'

witch hazel. Truth is, I 've been off visitin'; there's an old Indian

footpath leadin' over towards the Back Shore through the great heron

swamp that anybody can't travel over all summer. You have to seize

your time some day just now, while the low ground 's summer-dried as it

is to-day, and before the fall rains set in. I never thought of it

till I was out o' sight o' home, and I says to myself, 'To-day 's the

day, certain!' and stepped along smart as I could. Yes, I 've been

visitin'. I did get into one spot that was wet underfoot before I

noticed; you wait till I get me a pair o' dry woolen stockings, in case

of cold, and I 'll come an' tell ye."

Mrs. Todd disappeared. I could see that something had deeply

interested her. She might have fallen in with either the sea-serpent

or the lost tribes of Israel, such was her air of mystery and

satisfaction. She had been away since just before mid-morning, and as

I sat waiting by my window I saw the last red glow of autumn sunshine

flare along the gray rocks of the shore and leave them cold again, and

touch the far sails of some coast-wise schooners so that they stood

like golden houses on the sea.

I was left to wonder longer than I liked. Mrs. Todd was making an

evening fire and putting things in train for supper; presently she

returned, still looking warm and cheerful after her long walk.

"There 's a beautiful view from a hill over where I 've been," she told

me; "yes, there 's a beautiful prospect of land and sea. You would n't

discern the hill from any distance, but 't is the pretty situation of

it that counts. I sat there a long spell, and I did wish for you. No,

I did n't know a word about goin' when I set out this morning" (as if I

had openly reproached her!); "I only felt one o' them travelin' fits

comin' on, an' I ketched up my little basket; I didn't know but I might

turn and come back time for dinner. I thought it wise to set out your

luncheon for you in case I did n't. Hope you had all you wanted; yes,

I hope you had enough."

"Oh, yes, indeed," said I. My landlady was always peculiarly bountiful

in her supplies when she left me to fare for myself, as if she made a

sort of peace-offering or affectionate apology.

"You know that hill with the old house right on top, over beyond the

heron swamp? You 'll excuse me for explainin'," Mrs. Todd began, "but

you ain't so apt to strike inland as you be to go right along shore.

You know that hill; there 's a path leadin' right over to it that you

have to look sharp to find nowadays; it belonged to the up-country

Indians when they had to make a carry to the landing here to get to the

out' islands. I 've heard the old folks say that there used to be a

place across a ledge where they 'd worn a deep track with their

moccasin feet, but I never could find it. 'T is so overgrown in some

places that you keep losin' the path in the bushes and findin' it as

you can; but it runs pretty straight considerin' the lay o' the land,

and I keep my eye on the sun and the moss that grows one side o' the

tree trunks. Some brook's been choked up and the swamp's bigger than

it used to be. Yes; I did get in deep enough, one place!"

I showed the solicitude that I felt. Mrs. Todd was no longer young,

and in spite of her strong, great frame and spirited behavior, I knew

that certain ills were apt to seize upon her, and would end some day by

leaving her lame and ailing.

"Don't you go to worryin' about me," she insisted, "settin' still's the

only way the Evil One 'll ever get the upper hand o' me. Keep me

movin' enough, an' I 'm twenty year old summer an' winter both. I

don't know why 't is, but I 've never happened to mention the one I 've

been to see. I don't know why I never happened to speak the name of

Abby Martin, for I often give her a thought, but 't is a dreadful

out-o'-the-way place where she lives, and I haven't seen her myself for

three or four years. She's a real good interesting woman, and we 're

well acquainted; she 's nigher mother's age than mine, but she 's very

young feeling. She made me a nice cup o' tea, and I don't know but I

should have stopped all night if I could have got word to you not to

worry."

Then there was a serious silence before Mrs. Todd spoke again to make a

formal announcement.

"She is the Queen's Twin," and Mrs. Todd looked steadily to see how I

might bear the great surprise.

"The Queen's Twin?" I repeated.

"Yes, she 's come to feel a real interest in the Queen, and anybody can

see how natural 't is. They were born the very same day, and you would

be astonished to see what a number o' other things have corresponded.

She was speaking o' some o' the facts to me to-day, an' you 'd think

she 'd never done nothing but read history. I see how earnest she was

about it as I never did before. I 've often and often heard her allude

to the facts, but now she's got to be old and the hurry's over with her

work, she 's come to live a good deal in her thoughts, as folks often

do, and I tell you 't is a sight o' company for her. If you want to

hear about Queen Victoria, why Mis' Abby Martin 'll tell you

everything. And the prospect from that hill I spoke of is as beautiful

as anything in this world; 't is worth while your goin' over to see her

just for that."

"When can you go again?" I demanded eagerly.

"I should say to-morrow," answered Mrs. Todd; "yes, I should say

to-morrow; but I expect 't would be better to take one day to rest, in

between. I considered that question as I was comin' home, but I

hurried so that there wa'n't much time to think. It's a dreadful long

way to go with a horse; you have to go 'most as far as the old Bowden

place an' turn off to the left, a master long, rough road, and then you

have to turn right round as soon as you get there if you mean to get

home before nine o'clock at night. But to strike across country from

here, there 's plenty o' time in the shortest day, and you can have a

good hour or two's visit beside; 't ain't but a very few miles, and

it's pretty all the way along. There used to be a few good families

over there, but they 've died and scattered, so now she 's far from

neighbors. There, she really cried, she was so glad to see anybody

comin'. You 'll be amused to hear her talk about the Queen, but I

thought twice or three times as I set there 't was about all the

company she 'd got."

"Could we go day after to-morrow?" I asked eagerly.

"'T would suit me exactly," said Mrs. Todd.