"FIRST TIMES"
At last Nature was truly awakening, and color was coming into her pallid
face. On every side were increasing movement and evidences of life. Sunny
hillsides were free from snow, and the oozing frost loosed the hold of
stones upon the soil or the clay of precipitous banks, leaving them to
the play of gravitation. Will the world become level if there are no more
upheavals? The ice of the upper Hudson was journeying toward the sea that
it would never reach. The sun smote it, the high winds ground the
honey-combed cakes together, and the ebb and flow of the tide permitted
no pause in the work of disintegration. By the middle of March the blue
water predominated, and adventurous steamers had already picked and
pounded their way to and from the city.
Only those deeply enamored of Nature feel much enthusiasm for the first
month of spring; but for them this season possesses a peculiar fascination.
The beauty that has been so cold and repellent in relenting--yielding,
seemingly against her will, to a wooing that cannot be repulsed by even her
harshest moods. To the vigilance of love, sudden, unexpected smiles are
granted; and though, as if these were regretted, the frown quickly returns,
it is often less forbidding. It is a period full of delicious,
soul-thrilling "first times," the coy, exquisite beginnings of that final
abandonment to her suitor in the sky. Although she veils her face for days
with clouds, and again and again greets him in the dawn, wrapped in her old
icy reserve, he smiles back his answer, and she cannot resist. Indeed,
there soon come warm, still, bright days whereon she feels herself going,
but does not even protest. Then, as if suddenly conscious of lost ground,
she makes a passionate effort to regain her wintry aspect. It is so
passionate as to betray her, so stormy as to insure a profounder relenting,
a warmer, more tearful, and penitent smile after her wild mood is over. She
finds that she cannot return to her former sustained coldness, and so at
last surrenders, and the frost passes wholly from her heart.
To Alf's and Johnnie's delight it so happened that one of these gentlest
moods of early spring occurred on Saturday--that weekly millennium of
school-children. With plans and preparations matured, they had risen with
the sun, and, scampering back and forth over the frozen ground and the
remaining patches of ice and snow, had carried every pail and pan that
they could coax from their mother to a rocky hillside whereon clustered a
few sugar-maples. Webb, the evening before, had inserted into the sunny
sides of the trees little wooden troughs, and from these the tinkling
drip of the sap made a music sweeter than that of the robins to the eager
boy and girl.
At the breakfast-table each one was expatiating on the rare promise of
the day. Even Mrs. Clifford, awakened by the half subdued clatter of the
children, had seen the brilliant, rose tinted dawn.
"The day cannot be more beautiful than was the night," Webb remarked. "A
little after midnight I was awakened by a clamor from the poultry, and
suspecting either two or four footed thieves, I was soon covering the
hennery with my gun. As a result, Sir Mephitis, as Burroughs calls him,
lies stark and stiff near the door. After watching awhile, and finding no
other marauders abroad, I became aware that it was one of the most
perfect nights I had ever seen. It was hard to imagine that, a few hours
before, a gale had been blowing under a cloudy sky. The moonlight was so
clear that I could see to read distinctly. So attractive and still was
the night that I started for an hour's walk up the boulevard, and when
near Idlewild brook had the fortune to empty the other barrel of my gun
into a great horned owl. How the echoes resounded in the quiet night! The
changes in April are more rapid, but they are on a grander scale this
month."
"It seems to me," laughed Burt, "that your range of topics is even more
sublime. From Sir Mephitis to romantic moonlight and lofty musings, no
doubt, which ended with a screech-owl."
"The great horned is not a screech-owl, as you ought to know. Well,
Nature is to blame for my alternations. I only took the goods the gods
sent."
"I hope you did not take cold," said Maggie. "The idea of prowling around
at that time of night!"
"Webb was in hopes that Nature might bestow upon him some confidences by
moonlight that he could not coax from her in broad day. I shall seek
better game than you found. Ducks are becoming plenty in the river, and
all the conditions are favorable for a crack at them this morning. So I
shall paddle out with a white coat over my clothes, and pretend to be a
cake of ice. If I bring you a canvas-back, Amy, will you put the wishbone
over the door?"
"Not till I have locked it and hidden the key."
Without any pre-arranged purpose the day promised to be given up largely
to country sport. Burt had taken a lunch, and would not return until
night, while the increasing warmth and brilliancy of the sunshine, and
the children's voices from the maple grove, soon lured Amy to the piazza.
"Come," cried Webb, who emerged from the wood-house with an axe on his
shoulder, "don rubber boots and wraps, and we'll improvise a male-sugar
camp of the New England style a hundred years ago. We should make the
most of a day like this."
They soon joined the children on the hillside, whither Abram had already
carried a capacious iron pot as black as himself. On a little terrace
that was warm and bare of snow, Webb set up cross-sticks in gypsy
fashion, and then with a chain supended the pot, the children dancing
like witches around it. Mr. Clifford and little Ned now appeared, the
latter joining in the eager quest for dry sticks. Not far away was a
large tree that for several years had been slowly dying, its few living
branches having flushed early in September, in their last glow, which had
been premature and hectic. Dry sticks would make little impression on the
sap that now in the warmer light dropped faster from the wounded maples,
and therefore to supply the intense heat that should give them at least a
rich syrup before night, Webb threw off his coat and attacked the defunct
veteran of the grove. Amy watched his vigorous strokes with growing zest;
and he, conscious of her eyes, struck strong and true. Leonard, not far
away, was removing impediments from the courses, thus securing a more
rapid flow of the water and promoting the drainage of the land. He had
sent up his cheery voice from time to time, but now joined the group, to
witness the fall of a tree that had been old when he had played near it
like his own children to-day. The echoes of the ringing axe came back to
them from an adjacent hillside; a squirrel barked and "snickered," as if
he too were a party to the fun; crows overhead cawed a protest at the
destruction of their ancient perch; but with steady and remorseless
stroke the axe was driven through the concentric rings on either side
into the tree's dead heart. At last, as fibre after fibre was cut away,
it began to tremble. The children stood breathless and almost pitying as
they saw the shiver, apparently conscious, which followed each blow.
Something of the same callousness of custom with which the fall of a man
is witnessed must blunt one's nature before he can look unmoved upon the
destruction of a familiar tree.
As the dead maple trembled more and more violently, and at last swayed to
and fro in the breathless air, Amy cried, "Webb! Webb! come away!"
She had hardly spoken when, with a slow and stately motion, the lofty
head bowed; there was a rush through the air, an echoing crash upon the
rocks. She sprang forward with a slight cry, but Webb, leaning his axe on
the prostrate bole, looked smilingly at her, and said, "Why, Amy, there
is no more danger in this work than in cutting a stalk of corn, if one
knows how."
"There appears to be more," she replied. "I never saw a large tree cut
down before, but have certainly read of people being crushed. Does it
often happen?"
"No, indeed."
"By the way, Amy," said Leonard, "the wood-chopper that you visited with
me is doing so well that we shall give him work on the farm this summer.
There was a little wheat in all that chaff of a man, and it's beginning
to grow. But the wife is a case. He says he would like to work where he
can see you occasionally."
"I have been there twice with Webb since, and shall go oftener when the
roads are better," she replied, simply.
"That's right, Amy; follow up a thing," said Mr. Clifford. "It's better
to _help_ one family than to try to help a dozen. That was a good
clean cut, Webb," he added, examining the stump. "I dislike to see a tree
haggled down."
"How strong you are, Webb!" said Amy. "I suppose that if you had lived a
few hundred years ago you would have been hacking at people in the same
way."
"And so might have been a hero, and won your admiration if you had lived
then in some gray castle, with the floor of your bower strewn with
rushes. Now there is no career for me but that of a plain farmer."
"What manly task was given long before knighthood, eh, Webb? Right royal
was the commission, too. Was it not to subdue the earth? It seems to me
that you are striving after the higher mastery, one into which you can
put all your mind as well as muscle. Knocking people on the head wasn't a
very high art."
"What! not in behalf of a distressed damsel?"
"I imagine there will always be distressed damsels in the world. Indeed,
in fiction it would seem that many would be nothing if not distressed.
You can surely find one, Webb, and so be a knight in spite of our prosaic
times."
"I shall not try," he replied, laughing. "I am content to be a farmer,
and am glad you do not think our work is coarse and common. You obtained
some good ideas in England, Amy. The tastes of the average American girl
incline too much toward the manhood of the shop and office. There, Len, I
am rested now;" and he took the axe from his brother, who had been
lopping the branches from the prostrate tree.
Amy again watched his athletic figure with pleasure as he rapidly
prepared billets for the seething caldron of sap.
The day was indeed forming an illuminated page. The blue of the sky
seemed intense after so many gray and steel-hued days, and there was not
a trace of cloud. The flowing sap was not sweeter than the air, to which
the brilliant sunlight imparted an exhilarating warmth far removed from
sultriness. From the hillside came the woody odor of decaying leaves, and
from the adjacent meadow the delicate perfume of grasses whose roots
began to tingle with life the moment the iron grip of the frost relaxed.
Sitting on a rock near the crackling fire, Amy made as fair a gypsy as
one would wish to see. On every side were evidences that spring was
taking possession of the land. In the hollows of the meadow at her feet
were glassy pools, kept from sinking away by a substratum of frost, and
among these migratory robins and high-holders were feeding. The brook
beyond was running full from the melting of the snow in the mountains,
and its hoarse murmur was the bass in the musical babble and tinkle of
smaller rills hastening toward it on either side. Thus in all directions
the scene was lighted up with the glint and sparkle of water. The rays of
the sun idealized even the muddy road, of which a glimpse was caught, for
the pasty clay glistened like the surface of a stream. The returning
birds appeared as jubilant over the day as the children whose voices
blended with their songs--as do all the sounds that are absolutely
natural. The migratory tide of robins, song-sparrows, phoebes, and other
early birds was still moving northward; but multitudes had dropped out of
line, having reached their haunts of the previous year. The sunny
hillsides and its immediate vicinity seemed a favorite lounging-place
both for the birds of passage and for those already at home. The
excitement of travel to some, and the delight at having regained the
scene of last year's love and nesting to others, added to the universal
joy of spring, so exhilarated their hearts that they could scarcely be
still a moment. Although the sun was approaching the zenith, there was
not the comparative silence that pervades a summer noon. Bird calls
resounded everywhere; there was a constant flutter of wings, as if all
were bent upon making or renewing acquaintance--an occupation frequently
interrupted by transports of song.
"Do you suppose they really recognize each other?" Amy asked Webb, as he
threw down an armful of wood near her.
"Dr. Marvin would insist that they do," he replied, laughing. "When with
him, one must be wary in denying to the birds any of the virtues and
powers. He would probably say that they understood each other as well as
we do. They certainly seem to be comparing notes, in one sense of the
word at least. Listen, and you will hear at this moment the song of
bluebird, robin, both song and fox sparrow, phoebe, blue jay, high-holder,
and crow--that is, if you can call the notes of the last two birds a song."
"What a lovely chorus!" she cried, after a few moments' pause.
"Wait till two months have passed, and you will hear a grand symphony
every morning and evening. All the members of our summer opera troupe do
not arrive till June, and several weeks must still pass before the great
star of the season appears."
"Indeed! and who is he, or she?"
"Both he and she--the woodthrush and his mate. They are very aristocratic
kin of these robins. A little before them will come two other
blood-relations, Mr. and Mrs. Brownthrasher, who, notwithstanding their
family connection with the high toned woodthrush and jolly, honest robin,
are stealthy in their manner, and will skulk away before you as if ashamed
of something. When the musical fit is on them, however, they will sing
openly from the loftiest tree-top, and with a sweetness, too, that few
birds can equal."
"Why, Webb, you almost equal Dr. Marvin."
"Oh no; I only become acquainted with my favorites. If a bird is rare,
though commonplace in itself, he will pursue it as if it laid golden
eggs."
A howl from Ned proved that even the brightest days and scenes have their
drawbacks. The little fellow had been prowling around among the pails and
pans, intent on obtaining a drink of the sap, and thus had put his hand on
a honey-bee seeking the first sweet of the year. In an instant Webb reached
his side, and saw what the trouble was. Carrying him to the fire, he drew a
key from his pocket, and pressed its hollow ward over the spot stung. This
caused the poison to work out. Nature's remedy--mud--abounded, and soon a
little moist clay covered the wound, and Amy took him in her arms and tried
to pacify him, while his father, who had strolled away with Mr. Clifford,
speedily returned. The grandfather looked down commiseratingly on the
sobbing little companion of his earlier morning walk, and soon brought, not
merely serenity, but joy unbounded, by a quiet proposition.
"I will go back to the house," he said, "and have mamma put up a nice
lunch, and you and the other children can eat your dinner here by the fire.
So can you, Webb and Amy, and then you can look after the youngsters. It's
warm and dry here. Suppose you have a little picnic, which, in March, will
be a thing to remember. Alf, you can come with me, and while mamma is
preparing the lunch you can run to the market and get some oysters and
clams, and these, with potatoes, you can roast in the ashes of a smaller
fire, which Ned and Johnnie can look after under Webb's superintendence.
Wouldn't you like my little plan, Amy?"
"Yes, indeed," she replied, putting her hands caressingly within his arm.
"It's hard to think you are old when you know so well what we young
people like. I didn't believe that this day could be brighter or jollier,
and yet your plan has made the children half-wild."
Indeed, Alf had already given his approval by tearing off toward the
house for the materials of this unprecedented March feast in the woods,
and the old gentleman, as if made buoyant by the good promise of his
little project in the children's behalf, followed with a step wonderfully
elastic for a man of fourscore.
"Well, Heaven grant I may attain an age like that!" said Webb, looking
wistfully after him. "There is more of spring than autumn in father yet,
and I don't believe there will be any winter in his life. Well, Amy, like
the birds and squirrels around us, we shall dine out-of-doors today. You
must be mistress of the banquet; Ned, Johnnie, and I place ourselves
under your orders; don't we, Johnnie?"
"To be sure, uncle Webb; only I'm so crazy over all this fun that I'm
sure I can never do anything straight."
"Well, then, 'bustle! bustle!'" cried Amy. "I believe with Maggie that
housekeeping and dining well are high arts, and not humdrum necessities.
Webb, I need a broad, flat rock. Please provide one at once, while
Johnnie gathers clean dry leaves for plates. You, Ned, can put lots of
dry sticks between the stones there, and uncle Webb will kindle the right
kind of a fire to leave plenty of hot coals and ashes. Now is the time
for him to make his science useful."
Webb was becoming a mystery unto himself. Was it the exquisitely pure air
and the exhilarating spring sunshine that sent the blood tingling through
his veins? Or was it the presence, tones, and gestures of a girl with
brow and neck like the snow that glistened on the mountain slopes above
them, and large true eyes that sometimes seemed gray and again blue?
Amy's developing beauty was far removed from a fixed type of prettiness,
and he felt this in a vague way. The majority of the girls of his
acquaintance had a manner rather than an individuality, and looked and
acted much the same whenever he saw them. They were conventionalized
after some received country type, and although farmers' daughters, they
seemed unnatural to this lover of nature. Allowing for the difference in
years, Amy was as devoid of self-consciousness as Alf or Johnnie. Not the
slightest trace of mannerism perverted her girlish ways. She moved,
talked, and acted with no more effort or thought of effort than had the
bluebirds that were passing to and fro with their simple notes and
graceful flight, She was nature in its phase of girlhood. To one of his
temperament and training the perfect day itself would have been full of
unalloyed enjoyment, although occupied with his ordinary labors; but for
some reason this unpremeditated holiday, with Amy's companionship, gave
him a pleasure before unknown--a pleasure deep and satisfying, unmarred
by jarring discords or uneasy protests of conscience or reason. Truly, on
this spring day a "first time" came to him, a new element was entering
into his life. He did not think of defining it; he did not even recognize
it, except in the old and general way that Amy's presence had enriched them
all, and in his own case had arrested a tendency to become materialistic
and narrow. On a like day the year before he would have been absorbed in
the occupations of the farm, and merely conscious to a certain extent of
the sky above him and the bird song and beauty around him. To-day they were
like revelations. Even a March world was transfigured. His zest in living
and working was enhanced a thousand-fold, because life and work were
illumined by happiness, as the scene was brightened by sunshine. He felt
that he had only half seen the world before; now he had the joy of one
gradually gaining vision after partial blindness.
Amy saw that he was enjoying the day immensely in his quiet way; she also
saw that she had not a little to do with the result, and the reflection
that she could please and interest the grave and thoughtful man, who was
six years her senior, conveyed a delicious sense of power. And yet she
was pleased much as a child would be. "He knows so much more than I do,"
she thought, "and is usually so wrapped up in some deep subject, or so
busy, that it's awfully jolly to find that one can beguile him into
having such a good time. Burt is so exuberant in everything that I am
afraid of being carried away, as by a swift stream, I know not where. I
feel like checking and restraining him all the time. For me to add my
small stock of mirth to his immense spirits would be like lighting a
candle on a day like this; but when I smile on Webb the effect is
wonderful, and I can never get over my pleased surprise at the fact."
Thus, like the awakening forces in the soil around them, a vital force
was developing in two human hearts equally unconscious.
Alf and his grandfather at last returned, each well laden, and preparations
went on apace. Mr. Clifford made as if he would return and dine at home,
but they all clamored for his company. With a twinkle in his eye, he said:
"Well, I told mother that I might lunch with you, and I was only waiting
to be pressed a little. I've lived a good many years, but never was on a
picnic in March before."
"Grandpa, you shall be squeezed as well as pressed," cried Johnnie,
putting her arms about his neck. "You shall stay and see what a lovely
time you have given us. Oh, if Cinderella were only here!" and she gave
one little sigh, the first of the day.
"Possibly Cinderella may appear in time for lunch;" and with a significant
look he directed Amy to the basket he had brought, from the bottom of which
was drawn a doll with absurdly diminutive feet, and for once in her life
Johnnie's heart craved nothing more.
"Maggie knew that this little mother could not be content long without
her doll, and so she put it in. You children have a thoughtful mother,
and you must be thoughtful of her," added the old man, who felt that the
incident admitted of a little homily.
What appetites they all had! If some of the potatoes were slightly burned
and others a little raw, the occasion added a flavor better than Attic
salt. A flock of chickadees approached near enough to gather the crumbs
that were thrown to them.
"It's strange," said Webb, "how tame the birds are when they return in
the spring. In the fall the robins are among the wildest of the birds,
and now they are all around us. I believe that if I place some crumbs on
yonder rock, they'll come and dine with us, in a sense;" and the event
proved that he was right.
"Hey, Johnnie," said her grandfather, "you never took dinner with the
birds before, did you? This is almost as wonderful as if Cinderella sat
up and asked for an oyster."
But Johnnie was only pleased with the fact, not surprised. Wonderland was
her land, and she said, "I don't see why the birds can't understand that
I'd like to have dinner with them every day."
"By the way, Webb," continued his father, "I brought out the field-glass
with me, for I thought that with your good eyes you might see Burt;" and
he drew it from his pocket.
The idea of seeing Burt shooting ducks nearly broke up the feast, and
Webb swept the distant river, full of floating ice that in the sunlight
looked like snow. "I can see several out in boats," he said, "and Burt,
no doubt, is among them."
Then Amy, Alf, and Johnnie must have a look, but Ned devoted himself
strictly to business, and Amy remarked that he was becoming like a little
sausage.
"Can the glass make us hear the noise of the gun better?" Johnnie asked,
at which they all laughed, Ned louder than any, because of the laughter
of the others. It required but a little thing to make these banqueters
hilarious.
But there was one who heard them and did not laugh. From the brow of the
hill a dark, sad face looked down upon them. Lured by the beauty of the
day, Mr. Alvord had wandered aimlessly into the woods, and, attracted by
merry voices, had drawn sufficiently near to witness a scene that
awakened within him indescribable pain and longing. He did not think of
joining them. It was not a fear that he would be unwelcomed that kept him
away; he knew the family too well to imagine that. A stronger restraint
was upon him. Something in the past darkened even that bright day, and
built in the crystal air a barrier that he could not pass. They would
give him a place at their rustic board, but he could not take it. He knew
that he would be a discord in their harmony, and their innocent merriment
smote his morbid nature with almost intolerable pain. With a gesture
indicating immeasurable regret, he turned and hastened away to his lonely
home. As he mounted the little piazza his steps were arrested. The
exposed end of a post that supported the inner side of its roof formed a
little sheltered nook in which a pair of bluebirds had begun to build
their nest. They looked at him with curious and distrustful eyes as they
flitted to and fro in a neighboring tree, and he sat down and looked at
them. The birds were evidently in doubt and in perturbed consultation.
They would fly to the post, then away and all around the house, but
scarcely a moment passed that Mr. Alvord did not see that he was observed
and discussed. With singular interest and deep suspense he awaited their
decision. At last it came, and was favorable. The female bird came flying
to the post with a beakful of fine dry grass, and her mate, on a spray
near, broke out into his soft, rapturous song. The master of the house
gave a great sigh of relief. A glimmer of a smile passed over his wan
face as he muttered, "I expected to be alone this summer, but I am to
have a family with me, after all."
Soon after the lunch had been discussed leisurely and hilariously the
maple-sugar camp was left in the care of Alf and Johnnie, with Abram to
assist them. Amy longed for a stroll, but even with the protection of
rubber boots she found that the departing frost had left the sodded
meadow too wet and spongy for safety. Under Webb's direction she picked
her way to the margin of the swollen stream, and gathered some pussy
willows that were bursting their sheaths.