OLD TIMES AND THEIR ROMANCE.
“How much you are like her, child!” said Hart, stooping over Gillian.
“Wall, I feel like talking about her to-night.
“Sarah was a good deal younger than I or than her sister Hetty; but
neither on us could hold a candle to her. When she sot her mind on a
thing, she would have her own way, and always got it in the end. There
was only three of us, and Sarah, being the youngest, was the pet of the
whole family, till, like pets in general, she took the lead.”
“Of course,” said Gillian, laughing softly. “Why not? I dare say she was
just the sort of person to lead off with a grace. Well, you spoiled her
among you, and of course she paid you for it: nothing can be more
natural.”
“I dare say, gal—I dare say it all came in the nat’ral course of things;
but she was a downright good-natured creature after all, and loved us,
I’m sure of that.”
“Of course she did: who could help it? Why, Uncle Daniel, it isn’t ten
hours since I saw you on that great, fat, roly poly old horse, and I
love you dearly already; certainly she loved you.”
“Yes, yes, I don’t doubt it; though, to own the truth, I never could
quite understand our Sarah. She was like an April day; you couldn’t tell
whether it would be storm, or sunshine, or a dull, heavy rain,
twenty-four hours together! She was a great reader, and took up painting
flowers and all sorts of fol-de-rol accomplishments, naturally as a bird
takes to fruit. I declare it almost took my breath sometimes to find out
all she knew. Your Aunt Hetty was considered a girl of pretty good
larning, but she had to study hard for her knowledge; while Sarah seemed
to pick up her lessons on the wing: but the two gals loved each other
dearly.
“I raly believe Hetty would have died for her sister any day; but as for
Sarah, she was capable of something more than that: she used to pet and
protect Hetty in any little difficulty, as if she had been the oldest.
She had to do this a good deal, one time or another, for your
grandfather was a stern old man, and kept a tight rein on his family,
especially the gals.
“We lived on the old place here, and might have got along in the world,
but the old man indorsed for one of his neighbors, and when called on to
pay up, he was obliged to mortgage the homestead, and that gave us all
the first hard push down-hill.
“Father was a proud man, and looked upon debt as a disgrace. After this
trouble came on, he was more severe and rigid in all his notions than
ever. This made every thing gloomy and uncomfortable for the gals, and
even Sarah began to feel down-hearted at times.
“The old man used to say it wasn’t so much the money that troubled him
as the feeling that his fellow-men was ready to take advantage at every
step on the highway of life. His confidence in mankind was shook, and
that is a terrible misfortune with a man like your grandsire, I can tell
you. Your grandfather raised the money on his place down in York, from a
young fellow that had more than he knew what to do with. That led to the
rich man’s coming up into these parts to look at the property. His name
was Bentley.”
“What? my father?” cried Gillian, deeply interested.
“No, but your father’s cousin—a handsome, genteel young feller as you
ever sot eyes on. He’d just come of age, and felt his oats, I can tell
you. Of course your grandfather invited the young chap to put up at the
homestead, that was now a’most as good as his own property. It was
wintertime when he came up, and such sleighing: you don’t find any thing
like it now-a-days—snow three feet deep on the turnpike, and trod down
as hard as a miser’s feelings.
“We had two spans of horses in the barn that would match any thing this
side of the river; and a great double-seated sleigh, not to mention a
pony and a cutter that skimmed the snow like a bird flying. Besides all
this, it was mighty comfortable in-doors. Grandma was great on
buckwheat-cakes, and we had lots of maple molasses; and as for her
mince-pies, they beat every thing.
“With all this the homestead wasn’t a disagreeable place to stay in. The
gals did their part, too, and kept a bright hickory fire in the out-room
there in the wing, which was enough of itself to light up the red and
green stripes of the home-made carpet, and made the tall, brass andirons
glitter like gold on the hearth.
“It raly was a purty sight in the evening, when the gals came
down-stairs sleeked up like a couple of new pins: Hetty, with her brown
hair twisted up behind, and shining like velvet; and Sarah, with her
hair in soft, thick curls, that seemed to catch the fire-light the
minute she came in. Oh, she was a bright, happy cretur—was sister Sarah
in those days; springy as a willow branch, and rosy as an apple tree in
bloom.
“I remember that winter she wore a blue merino dress that fitted close
up to her neck, with sleeves tight to her arms, which sloped down
beautifully to her wrists. Little ruffles—I’ve seen her crimp ’em a
hundred times with my penknife,—fell over her hands, and stood up like a
pretty border of snow around her neck. I tell you she looked like a
princess by the side of little Hetty, with her shy, brown eyes, and her
dark dress, and her half frightened way.
“I didn’t go a great deal into the out-room while young Bentley was
there. What with feeding cattle, getting out fence-rails, and doing up
the chores, I got purty well tired out afore night, and so sot down in
the kitchen with the old folks; besides I had a little business of my
own to attend to across the hill, that took up my Sunday nights; and
maybe an evening or so in the week time.
“Martha’s mother lived over in that direction; and, when the gals were
in the out-room with young Bentley, I naturally enjoyed myself best
tother side of the hill. I don’t pretend to compare the gal that I
married in the end to our Sarah—that wasn’t to be thought of; but she
had a way about her like my oldest sister, and in all the neighborhood
there wasn’t a better housekeeper, or a kinder wife, than she made me up
to the time of her death.”
Here Uncle Daniel drew one hand across his eyes, and paused a moment to
get his voice. Gillian took the other hand in hers, and laid her cheek
against it in a sweet, caressing way, that made the old man sob out,
“Oh, don’t, don’t, it goes too straight home!”
Then Gillian dropped his hand quite reverently, and bent her eyes on the
fire, afraid of disturbing him again.
“When a young fellow is in love, it’s like a dream, you know, and almost
any thing may happen around him without being noticed. I was too much
taken up with my own feelings for any very distinct idea of what was
going on at home. It sometimes did strike me that Mr. Bentley stayed a
good while at the homestead, and that Sarah seemed to enjoy his society
very much, but it gave me no sort of uneasiness; for, though the young
fellow was a splendid-looking critter, and rich enough to buy out half
of Rockland county, our Sarah was a match for him, or any other man that
ever wore shoe-leather.
“As for Hetty, dear, quiet Hetty, I never thought about her at all; she
wasn’t the sort of gal, you know, to take much to the young fellows. She
was so hard to get acquainted with, always keeping, as it were, behind
her harnsome sister.
“Sometimes I would just go into the out-room in the edge of evening, not
to appear unsociable, and every thing seemed comfortable enough.
Sometimes the girls had their knitting work out, while Bentley read to
them; sometimes I found him holding the skein of yarn on his two hands,
while Sarah stood before him winding it off. She had a dexterous way of
twirling the ball round in the fingers of her left hand, that made it
come out sloped like a lemon with a hole in the centre. Your grandma
taught her the trick, and young Bentley used to torment her to show him
the way it was done; but he was sure to spoil the shape of her ball,
when she was ready to box his ears, and never let him off till he
unwound it again.
“One evening, I remember going in after he had tangled up her yarn so
that it was impossible to unravel it. She was on her knees before the
hearth, blushing and laughing, as she tried to make the thread run
evenly from a heap of yarn he had left on the floor; the fire-light
struck through her curls till they shone like floss gold, and she now
and then lifted her eyes to his in a way that brought my heart into my
mouth. It was frank and open like a child’s; but he was looking down
upon her, and I didn’t like the way her eyes fell, or to see her neck
and face turn scarlet when she saw Hetty and I looking so steadily at
her.
“Hetty seemed to be took back more than I was. To own the truth, mebby I
shouldn’t have noticed it much if she hadn’t looked so white, and if her
eyes hadn’t met mine with a wild sort of glitter in them that I had
never seen before.
“Well, after a little, Sarah, what with breaking and pulling, unsnarled
the yarn, and got up from her knees, laughing in a forced way, and
flinging back her curls with a saucy toss of her head, which made me
a’most want to kiss her without another word; but Hetty looked more
sober than ever, so I put on a serious face, and says I,
“‘Well, gals, what do you and Mr. Bentley say to a sleigh-ride? The
moon’s out, and the sky is chuck full of stars. There’s just frost
enough to give the snow a glitter, and to make the bells heard a mile
off. Supposing we take a drive over the hill, and call on——’
“‘Oh, yes,’ says Sarah, clapping her hands, ‘it’ll be an excuse for Dan
to call at the Deacon’s three times this week: I thought he looked
restless at tea-time. What do you say, Hetty, dear?—as for Mr. Bentley,
of course he goes or stays, as we determine.’
“Mr. Bentley laughed and said, ‘He was ready to follow the ladies
anywhere;’ at which the gals ran up-stairs to get their things, and I
went to the barn to hitch up the team.
“In less than ten minutes I was at the front door, with as harnsome a
span of gray horses as you ever saw, all covered with bells, and crazy
to be off. It was a double-seated sleigh, with plenty of buffalo robes,
and two little foot-stoves in the bottom, that your grandma brought out
to keep the gals’ feet warm.
“Out came the two gals in their long cloaks, trimmed with fur, and black
velvet bonnets with ostrich plumes fluttering at the sides, each with
her purty face buried in a muff.
“Hetty came down to the side of the sleigh first, while Sarah stood
dancing up and down on the steps to keep her feet warm.
“‘Come, Hetty,’ says I, a-holding out one hand, ‘you set with me and
help drive.’ She seemed a little out of sorts, you know, and I saw her
turn away from Mr. Bentley when he came up. This was the reason I asked
her to set in front with me.
“She drew back behind her muff, and I saw her look suddenly up at
Bentley.
“‘Oh, yes! get in, get in!’ he said, smiling. ‘Come, Miss Sarah.’
“Hetty caught hold of my hand and sprang into the sleigh without a word.
I was busy holding in the team with one hand, and pulling up the buffalo
skins around Hetty with the other, and scarcely noticed what the pair
behind were doing till Bentley called out:
“‘Here we are, snug and comfortable. Touch the horses up with a
flourish, Hart: I feel like a bird to-night!’
“‘A bird of passage, or a bird of prey?’ said Sarah, mischievously. ‘One
thing is certain, Dan, he is in the wrong nest. I would much rather have
sister Hetty by me.’
“Hetty did not pretend to hear, but I felt her shiver as if with the
sudden cold, and pulled the robe over her again, saying, softly that
‘Hetty belonged to me.’
“As I tightened the reins and shook out my whip, it seemed to me that I
heard a sob, but that minute the horses started, the bells gave a loud
clash, and away we whirled around the house, and up the turnpike like a
flash of lightning set to music.
“If you want to see rale downright fun, gal, try a genuine sleigh-ride
on a night like that. Horses with their blood on fire—bells running over
with music—roads beat down to marble—snow-balls rattling from the
horses’ hoofs—clouds of steam pouring from their nostrils and freezing
into little icicles on the under jaw—whip cracking on the frosty air,
and all the naked trees, with every twig and bough pictured on the
snow-crust that spreads and glitters miles and miles around you—with the
moon smiling overhead, and lots on lots of stars blinking and sparkling
in its path. I tell you agin, gal, if there is genuine fun in the world,
that’s it.”
“Oh, how I should like to have one good ride like that!” said Gillian,
sparkling all over with excitement.
“You shall, gal: when snow comes you shall, or my name isn’t Daniel
Hart,” said the farmer, heartily.
“With such horses, plenty of bells, and you to drive, uncle?”
“Yes, yes, we’ll have the old times over again. Trust Uncle Dan for the
team: he’s up to a winter campaign yet.”
“And we shall take the same road, and stop at the deacon’s?”
The farmer drew back in his chair.
“The same road? Stop at the deacon’s? God help us, gal, the deacon, his
wife, and that young creature, has been dead these ten years. The old
house is torn down, and the grave-yard crowds close up to the road as
you pass. No, Gillian: you shall have the sleigh-ride, but we must go
round the hill, not over it, as we did that night.”
“Well, you had a pleasant evening, then, uncle; and that is a great
deal, because the memory of one happy evening lives forever, you
know—forever and ever: so tell me of that one happy ride, and we will
trust Heaven for the next, which is sure to come—for I always find my
wishes sooner or later, like fairy gifts, dear uncle.”
The old man looked down upon her with a glance of hearty affection.
“Always chirk and full of hope, just as she was!”
“But I’m afraid—just the least bit afraid, you know, uncle—that my dear
mamma was making a fool of Mr. Bentley; you remember about the back
seat, and all that?”
“It may be, I don’t pretend to understand it up to this day. Your mother
was a young critter that none of us could calculate upon; not even
Hetty, who always says that we had no right to judge her, because she
was so far above us all.”
“Then that pale little lady—Aunt Hetty—how strange it seems that you
should be telling of sleigh-rides which she enjoyed, just as I should
now. That nice little lady remembers and loves my mother yet. I’ll go
and kiss her in the morning, hang back as she will—just see if I don’t.”
“Yes, if ever one human being loved another, Hetty loved your mother: to
this day, she never mentions her name without growing pale and
shivering, as if she was a-cold.”
“Dear lady!”
“That night she seemed troubled about something; but we had not driven a
mile before she took her hand out of its muff, and turning round, held
it out to Sarah, smiling so sweetly in the starlight, and saying, in her
low, mild way:
“‘Is not this a lovely evening, Sarah?’
“Then Sarah stooped forward and pretended to whisper, while she kissed
Hetty on the cheek, and insisted on changing seats, which Hetty would
not think of, till young Bentley leaned forward and whispered something,
which I could not hear in the clash of the bells.
“Hetty got up pleasantly, while Sarah threw back the buffalo robes, and
sprang over into the seat at my side, laughing gleefully all the time,
and flinging her arms around me to steady herself.
“Then we all settled down again, and I started the horses with a crack
of the whip that set them off like lightning; and in less than ten
minutes we were sitting round a great wood-fire in Deacon Warner’s west
room, with a tray of red-cheeked apples glowing on the hearth, and a
great stone pitcher of ginger cider hissing under the red-hot poker that
the deacon was warming it up with.
“Bentley rather hung back when the deacon handed round the cider-mug
covered with yaller froth, but after he fairly took hold there was no
stopping him.
“I dare say you wouldn’t have thought much of that evening; but I
consider it about as near heaven as a feller is likely to reach on this
side the grave. There was my two sisters, looking like angels in the
fire-light; and there was the gal I loved better than my own life,
holding the tray of apples on her knee, while she tried one, and then
another, with her thumb and finger, searching out the mellowest for
them; and there was Mrs. Warner, knitting away for dear life by a little
round candle-stand, and Deacon Warner on both knees in the corner
cracking but-nuts with a big hammer, which he handed round after the
apples and cider.
“Yes, Gillian, that was a pleasant evening, take it all together. We
counted apple-seeds, and swung red parings three times round, dropping
them into letters on the floor. Mine always would turn out an M—our
Martha was named after her mother, you know—and both Sarah’s and Hetty’s
were exact B’s, at which both blushed and looked at each other so shyly.
“It really was a very pleasant evening, especially after I went back the
last time, after settling the rest in the sleigh, and took a last drink
of cider, and a kiss that was worth ten thousand times as much.
Certainly it was one of the pleasantest evenings that I ever spent.”