HUTTON LODGE.
A snug thatch house; before the door a green;
Hens in the middling; ducks and geese are seen;
On this side stands a coop; on that a pen;
A wood-pile joins.
_—Allan Ramsay._
Hutton Lodge, on Hutton’s Island, had been built in the palmy days of
the family’s prosperity.
It was to this lodge that Captain Hugh Hutton of Revolutionary memory
had retired with his sole female relative, his sister-in-law, Miss
Josephine Cotter. And here, after his death, had the good woman
continued to live.
And here was Hugh Hutton’s home whenever his ship would be in port. And
finally, it was to this lodge, or cottage, as he called it, that Miss
Joe conducted her young charge, the widowed bride.
The days were all occupied with work—yes, hard work. All day long the
whir of the flying shuttle, and the dull, monotonous clap-clap of the
warp-rammer would be heard, as Miss Joe sat at her loom; and the hum of
the great spinning-wheel as Agnes stood and spun. Agnes had no motive
under the sun for her industry but Hugh’s interest and Hugh’s pleasure.
To become an efficient help-meet for Hugh—to be an industrious and
saving little housekeeper for Hugh’s profit. And when Miss Joe praised
her docility and perseverance, poor girl, she felt as though she were
receiving Hugh’s approval. Sometimes she would be tempted to think a
little hardly of his having gone to sea so instantly after their
marriage, but when this thought took the hue of blame she banished it at
once. But—did he love her at all, when he could leave her so soon, and
with so little emotion? She feared not. Would he ever love her as she
loved him—as she wished to be loved? She knew herself to be beautiful
and attractive. She would have been an idiot not to have known it. In
her deep and secret heart, while never acknowledging her purpose to
herself, she sought to adapt herself to her circumstances and duties,
and fit herself to win Hugh’s approval and love. Such were her silent
dreams and reveries by day, while her spinning-wheel whirled under her
hand, and the incessant clap-clap of Miss Joe’s loom sounded on her ear
from the other corner. And so November and the greater part of December
passed, when a letter came from Hugh announcing his speedy return home.
At length the important day dawned; it was Christmas Eve. The snow was
two feet deep on the ground, and crusted with a coat of ice thick enough
to bear the heaviest footsteps without breaking through. The day was
cold, crisp, but clear.
It was nearly sunset when Agnes went up into her room for the fiftieth
time that day to look at the sea for a sail. It was very cold, and there
was no fire, so Agnes thought just to give one sweeping glance over the
waters and then retire, when her eye alighted on a distant sail making
toward the isle. She wrapped a large woolen shawl around herself and sat
down to watch what might come. The vessel bore down rapidly upon the
island. When within about a quarter of a mile and bearing away westward
toward the mainland, she lowered a boat with two rowers, who pulled
swiftly toward the island landing. Agnes recognized Hugh and one of his
crew. She started and ran downstairs, exclaiming as she burst into the
kitchen:
“Hugh is coming! Hugh is almost here, aunt! I saw him in the boat!”
“Is he?” said the old lady quietly. “Well, then, honey, do you take some
water upstairs in—in—in my—no, your room for him to wash, while I put up
the supper, so that he needn’t wait.”
Agnes complied, arranging everything neatly and conveniently, and then
returned to the kitchen to assist Miss Joe in arranging the supper on
the table.
They had scarcely completed their task before a sharp rap was instantly
followed by the pushing open of the door, and Hugh entered alone,
vigorously stamping the snow off his feet.
Miss Joe looked at the snow and her soiled floor, and sighed heavily and
shook her head before she even advanced to welcome her nephew.
That greeting over, Hugh extended his hand to his young wife with a “How
do you do, Agnes, my dear?” and threw himself heavily into a great
armchair by the fire.
Yes! it seemed but too true! The little love Agnes had inspired him with
during their short acquaintance had all evaporated during the not much
longer sea voyage!
Would he go to his room and change his dress? Would he have water?
Everything was in readiness for him upstairs.
No! he would stay here in this armchair by the chimney corner until they
should sit down to tea. He did not wish to give anybody any trouble. He
begged that they would take none. Besides, he was so glad to see his
good aunt and little Agnes that he did not wish to lose a single moment
of their company for the little time that he had to stay with them.
Then Miss Joe invited him, as soon as he should feel himself
sufficiently rested, to take off his overcoat and sit down to supper.
Then Hugh arose, and Agnes quietly took his hat and Miss Joe drew off
his overcoat and inducted him into his seat at the table. The supper was
a feast. Besides the usual indispensables of coffee, rich cream, fresh
butter and light bread, there were oysters and wild duck, stewed fruit,
cakes, and so on.
Hugh asked Agnes how she liked her island home. This was the first
question he had put to her since his return.
Agnes answered that she liked it very well. Did she not find it
lonesome?
“No, indeed.”
Poor Agnes in her desire to be agreeable was totally unconscious of her
falsehood.
Then Hugh turned to Miss Joe, inquiring kindly after her health.
Oh, her health was always good, and had never been better than at this
moment.
When tea was over and the table cleared away they all drew around the
fire. Miss Joe, with her reel and yarn, and Agnes sitting idle in
compliment of Hugh’s return.
Hugh, on his part, began to tell them of his voyage, of his success, of
his happiness to find himself at home again; of a certain large and
well-filled box which he hoped might be acceptable to his aunt and
Agnes. Whereupon Miss Joe began an exordium on the sin of “heaving away”
money, which was gently cut short by Hugh, who, rising up, announced
that he really ought to have been back to his vessel an hour before, and
that he must now take leave of them.
“When shall we see you again?”
“To-morrow, about noon.”
“What! not before?”
“No; I have to go to Huttontown.”
“Well, you’ll stay when you do come?”
“I am afraid I cannot promise you, indeed, aunt; but, at all events, I
will see you every day, and make it a point to spend the whole of
Christmas Day with you. Good-night, aunt! Good-night, Agnes, my dear!”
A week passed, during which Hugh was for the most part at the cottage.
New Year’s Day dawned. It was the last day he had to stay at home. They
spent this holiday very much as they had spent Christmas Day—going to
church at Huttontown in the forenoon and returning to the isle to
dinner. After dinner Hugh took them to the mainland, where he hired a
sleigh and gave them a long, fine run over the frozen snow.
The next morning Hugh came early—unknown to Aunt Joe, however, who was
outdoors giving directions to Pontius Pilate about his day’s work. She
had returned to the kitchen and was busily engaged, as usual, at her
loom, when she was very much astounded by a noise on the stairs as of a
man’s heavy footsteps, and the stair-door was pushed open and Hugh
appeared, porter-like, with a great trunk—Agnes’ trunk—upon his
shoulders, a basket in his hand, and a bandbox under his arm, and
followed by Agnes herself, dressed in traveling gear, with another
basket and a bundle.
Miss Joe stared in amazement, without being able to articulate.
“Why, what in the name of all the saints in heaven does all this here
mean?”
“I am going to take Agnes to sea with me,” said Hugh.
The old lady broke out into loud sobs for company.
Hugh set his trunk, bandbox, and basket down upon the floor and set
himself to the task of comforting and soothing both.
Miss Joe was the first to recover.
“Come here, Aggy, my darling child! You have been like a darter to me,
honey. Kiss me again. Since you will go, Aggy, God bless you, my child!
God bless you! I shall comfort myself very well by weaving cloth and
flannel, and making counterpanes for you against you come back.
Good-by!” And she embraced Agnes fondly and lifted and placed in her
hands the basket and bundle.
Hugh now came forward, and, for the second time, bade his aunt farewell;
and, resuming his bundles, trunk, bandbox, basket, etc., set out for the
beach.
“If I’d only known, I’d a’ had a cup of coffee ready for you,” said the
old lady; and she looked really pitiable as she stood there in her
solitude, watching them as they went down to the beach and embarked on
board the little boat and sped toward the distant ship. Having with the
aid of a spyglass seen them embark on board the ship, Miss Joe turned
into her lonely home and began preparing her solitary meal.