SUSAN POSEY'S TRIAL.
A day or two after Myrtle Hazard returned to the village, Master Byles
Gridley, accompanied by Gifted Hopkins, followed her, as has been already
mentioned, to the same scene of the principal events of this narrative.
The young man had been persuaded that it would be doing injustice to his
talents to crowd their fruit prematurely upon the market. He carried his
manuscript back with him, having relinquished the idea of publishing for
the present. Master Byles Gridley, on the other hand, had in his pocket
a very flattering proposal, from the same publisher to whom he had
introduced the young poet, for a new and revised edition of his work,
"Thoughts on the Universe," which was to be remodelled in some respects,
and to have a new title not quite so formidable to the average reader.
It would be hardly fair to Susan Posey to describe with what delight and
innocent enthusiasm she welcomed back Gifted Hopkins. She had been so
lonely since he was away? She had read such of his poems as she
possessed--duplicates of his printed ones, or autographs which he had
kindly written out for her--over and over again, not without the sweet
tribute of feminine sensibility, which is the most precious of all
testimonials to a poet's power over the heart. True, her love belonged
to another,--but then she was so used to Gifted! She did so love to hear
him read his poems,--and Clement had never written that "little bit of a
poem to Susie," which she had asked him for so long ago! She received
him therefore with open arms,--not literally, of course, which would have
been a breach of duty and propriety, but in a figurative sense, which it
is hoped no reader will interpret to her discredit.
The young poet was in need of consolation. It is true that he had seen
many remarkable sights during his visit to the city; that he had got
"smarted up," as his mother called it, a good deal; that he had been to
Mrs. Clymer Ketchum's party, where he had looked upon life in all its
splendors; and that he brought back many interesting experiences, which
would serve to enliven his conversation for a long time. But he had
failed in the great enterprise he had undertaken. He was forced to
confess to his revered parent, and his esteemed friend Susan Posey, that
his genius, which was freely acknowledged, was not thought to be quite
ripe as yet. He told the young lady some particulars of his visit to the
publisher, how he had listened with great interest to one of his poems,
"The Triumph of Song,"--how he had treated him with marked and flattering
attention; but that he advised him not to risk anything prematurely,
giving him the hope that by and by he would be admitted into that series
of illustrious authors which it was the publisher's privilege to present
to the reading public. In short, he was advised not to print. That was
the net total of the matter, and it was a pang to the susceptible heart
of the poet. He had hoped to have come home enriched by the sale of his
copyright, and with the prospect of seeing his name before long on the
back of a handsome volume.
Gifted's mother did all in her power to console him in his
disappointment. There was plenty of jealous people always that wanted to
keep young folks from rising in the world. Never mind, she did n't
believe but what Gifted could make jest as good verses as any of them
that they kept such a talk about. She had a fear that he might pine away
in consequence of the mental excitement he had gone through, and
solicited his appetite with her choicest appliances,--of which he partook
in a measure which showed that there was no immediate cause of alarm.
But Susan Posey was more than a consoler,--she was an angel to him in
this time of his disappointment. "Read me all the poems over again," she
said,--"it is almost the only pleasure I have left, to hear you read your
beautiful verses." Clement Lindsay had not written to Susan quite so
often of late as at some former periods of the history of their love.
Perhaps it was that which had made her look paler than usual for some
little time. Something was evidently preying on her. Her only delight
seemed to be in listening to Gifted as he read, sometimes with fine
declamatory emphasis, sometimes in low, tremulous tones, the various
poems enshrined in his manuscript. At other times she was sad, and more
than once Mrs. Hopkins had seen a tear steal down her innocent cheek,
when there seemed to be no special cause for grief. She ventured to
speak of it to Master Byles Gridley.
"Our Susan's in trouble, Mr. Gridley, for some reason or other that's
unbeknown to me, and I can't help wishing you could jest have a few words
with her. You're a kind of a grandfather, you know, to all the young
folks, and they'd tell you pretty much everything about themselves. I
calc'late she is n't at ease in her mind about somethin' or other, and I
kind o' think, Mr. Gridley, you could coax it out of her."
"Was there ever anything like it?" said Master Byles Gridley to himself.
"I shall have all the young folks in Oxbow Village to take care of at
this rate. Susan Posey in trouble, too! Well, well, well, it's easier
to get a birch-bark canoe off the shallows than a big ship off the rocks.
Susan Posey's trouble will be come at easily enough; but Myrtle Hazard
floats in deeper water. We must make Susan Posey tell her own story, or
let her tell it, for it will all come out of itself."
"I am going to dust the books in the open shelves this morning. I wonder
if Miss Susan Posey would n't like to help for half an hour or so,"
Master Gridley remarked at the breakfast-table.
The amiable girl's very pleasant countenance lighted up at the thought of
obliging the old man who had been so kind to her and so liberal to her
friend, the poet. She would be delighted to help him; she would dust
them all for him, if he wanted her to. No, Master Gridley said, he
always wanted to have a hand in it; and, besides, such a little body as
she was could not lift those great folios out of the lower shelves
without overstraining herself; she might handle the musketry and the
light artillery, but he must deal with the heavy guns himself. "As low
down as the octavos, Susan Posey, you shall govern; below that, the Salic
law."
Susan did not low much about the Salic law; but she knew he meant that he
would dust the big books and she would attend to the little ones.
A very young and a very pretty girl is sometimes quite charming in a
costume which thinks of nothing less than of being attractive. Susan
appeared after breakfast in the study, her head bound with a kerchief of
bright pattern, a little jacket she had outgrown buttoned, in spite of
opposition, close about her up to the throat, round which a white
handkerchief was loosely tied, and a pair of old gauntlets protecting her
hands, so that she suggested something between a gypsy, a jaunty
soubrette, and the fille du regiment.
Master Gridley took out a great volume from the lower shelf,--a folio in
massive oaken covers with clasps Like prison hinges, bearing the stately
colophon, white on a ground of vermilion, of Nicholas Jenson and his
associates. He opened the volume,--paused over its blue, and scarlet
initial letter,--he turned page after page, admiring its brilliant
characters, its broad, white marginal rivers, and the narrower white
creek that separated the black-typed twin-columns, he turned back to the
beginning and read the commendatory paragraph, "Nam ipsorum omnia fidgent
tum correctione dignissima, tum cura imprimendo splendida ac miranda,"
and began reading, "Incipit proemium super apparatum decretalium...."
when it suddenly occurred to him that this was not exactly doing what he
had undertaken to do, and he began whisking an ancient bandanna about the
ears of the venerable volume. All this time Miss Susan Posey was
catching the little books by the small of their backs, pulling them out,
opening them, and clapping them together, 'p-'p-'p! 'p-'p-'p! and
carefully caressing all their edges with a regular professional
dusting-cloth, so persuasively that they yielded up every particle that a
year had drifted upon them, and came forth refreshed and rejuvenated.
This process went on for a while, until Susan had worked down among the
octavos and Master Gridley had worked up among the quartos. He had got
hold of Calmet's Dictionary, and was caught by the article Solomon, so
that he forgot his occupation again. All at once it struck him that
everything was very silent,--the 'p-'p-'p! of clapping the books had
ceased, and the light rustle of Susan's dress was no longer heard. He
looked up and saw her standing perfectly still, with a book in one hand
and her duster in the other. She was lost in thought, and by the shadow
on her face and the glistening of her blue eyes he knew it was her hidden
sorrow that had just come back to her. Master Gridley shut up his book,
leaving Solomon to his fate, like the worthy Benedictine he was reading,
without discussing the question whether he was saved or not.
"Susan Posey, child, what is your trouble?"
Poor Susan was in the state of unstable equilibrium which the least touch
upsets, and fell to crying. It took her some time to get down the waves
of emotion so that speech would live upon them. At last it ventured
out,--showing at intervals, like the boat rising on the billow, sinking
into the hollow, and climbing again into notice.
"O Mr. Grid-ley--I can't--I can't--tell you or--any-body--what 's the
mat-mat-matter. My heart will br-br-break."
"No, no, no, child," said Mr. Gridley, sympathetically stirred a little
himself by the sight of Susan in tears and sobbing and catching her
breath, "that mustn't be, Susan Posey. Come off the steps, Susan Posey,
and stop dusting the books,--I can finish them,--and tell me all abort
your troubles. I will try 'to help you out of them, and I have begun to
think I know how to help young people pretty well. I have had some
experience at it."
But Susan cried and sobbed all the more uncontrollably and convulsively.
Master Gridley thought he had better lead her at once to what he felt
pretty sure was the source of her grief, and that, when she had had her
cry out, she would probably make the hole in the ice he had broken big
enough in a very few minutes.
"I think something has gone wrong between you and your friend, the young
gentleman with whom you are in intimate relations, my child, and I think
you had better talk freely with me, for I can perhaps give you a little
counsel that will be of service."
Susan cried herself quiet at last. "There's nobody in the world like
you, Mr. Gridley," she said, "and I've been wanting to tell you something
ever so long. My friend--Mr. Clem--Clement Lindsay does n't care for me
as he used to,--I know he does n't. He hasn't written to me for--I don't
know but it's a month. And O Mr. Gridley! he's such a great man, and I
am such a simple person,--I can't help thinking--he would be happier with
somebody else than poor little Susan Posey!"
This last touch of self-pity overcame her, as it is so apt to do those
who indulge in that delightful misery, and she broke up badly, as a
horse-fancier would say, so that it was some little time before she
recovered her conversational road-gait.
"O Mr. Gridley," she began again, at length, "if I only dared to tell him
what I think,--that perhaps it would be happier for us both--if we could
forget each other! Ought I not to tell him so? Don't you think he would
find another to make him happy? Wouldn't he forgive me for telling him
he was free? Were we not too young to know each other's hearts when we
promised each other that we would love as long as we lived? Sha'n't I
write him a letter this very day and tell him all? Do you think it would
be wrong in me to do it? O Mr. Gridley, it makes me almost crazy to
think about it. Clement must be free! I cannot, cannot hold him to a
promise he does n't want to keep."
There were so many questions in this eloquent rhapsody of Susan's that
they neutralized each other, as one might say, and Master Gridley had
time for reflection. His thoughts went on something in this way:
"Pretty clear case! Guess Mr. Clement can make up his mind to it. Put it
well, did n't she? Not a word about our little Gifted! That's the
trouble. Poets! how they do bewitch these schoolgirls! And having a
chance every day, too, how could you expect her to stand it?" Then
aloud: "Susan Posey, you are a good, honest little girl as ever was. I
think you and Clement were too hasty in coming together for life before
you knew what life meant. I think if you write Clement a letter, telling
him that you cannot help fearing that you two are not perfectly adapted
to each other, on account of certain differences for which neither of you
is responsible, and that you propose that each should release the other
from the pledge given so long ago,--in that case, I say, I believe he
will think no worse of you for so doing, and may perhaps agree that it is
best for both of you to seek your happiness elsewhere than in each
other."
The book-dusting came to as abrupt a close as the reading of Lancelot.
Susan went straight to her room, dried her tears so as to write in a fair
hand, but had to stop every few lines and take a turn at the
"dust-layers," as Mrs. Clymer Ketchum's friend used to call the fountains
of sensibility. It would seem like betraying Susan's confidence to
reveal the contents of this letter, but the reader may be assured that it
was simple and sincere and very sweetly written, without the slightest
allusion to any other young man, whether of the poetical or cheaper human
varieties.
It was not long before Susan received a reply from Clement Lindsay. It
was as kind and generous and noble as she could have asked. It was
affectionate, as a very amiable brother's letter might be, and candidly
appreciative of the reasons Susan had assigned for her proposal. He gave
her back her freedom, not that he should cease to feel an interest in
her, always. He accepted his own release, not that he would ever think
she could be indifferent to his future fortunes. And within a very brief
period of time after sending his answer to Susan Posey, whether he wished
to see her in person, or whether he had some other motive, he had packed
his trunk, and made his excuses for an absence of uncertain length at the
studio, and was on his way to Oxbow Village.