IT IS VERY RARE in country life, where high days and holidays are few,
that any occasion of general interest proves to be less than great. Such
is the hidden fire of enthusiasm in the New England nature that, once
given an outlet, it shines forth with almost volcanic light and heat. In
quiet neighborhoods such inward force does not waste itself upon those
petty excitements of every day that belong to cities, but when, at
long intervals, the altars to patriotism, to friendship, to the ties
of kindred, are reared in our familiar fields, then the fires glow, the
flames come up as if from the inexhaustible burning heart of the earth;
the primal fires break through the granite dust in which our souls are
set. Each heart is warm and every face shines with the ancient light.
Such a day as this has transfiguring powers, and easily makes friends of
those who have been cold-hearted, and gives to those who are dumb their
chance to speak, and lends some beauty to the plainest face.
“Oh, I expect I shall meet friends today that I haven't seen in a long
while,” said Mrs. Blackett with deep satisfaction. “'Twill bring out a
good many of the old folks, 'tis such a lovely day. I'm always glad not
to have them disappointed.”
“I guess likely the best of 'em'll be there,” answered Mrs. Todd with
gentle humor, stealing a glance at me. “There's one thing certain:
there's nothing takes in this whole neighborhood like anything related
to the Bowdens. Yes, I do feel that when you call upon the Bowdens you
may expect most families to rise up between the Landing and the far end
of the Back Cove. Those that aren't kin by blood are kin by marriage.”
“There used to be an old story goin' about when I was a girl,” said Mrs.
Blackett, with much amusement. “There was a great many more Bowdens then
than there are now, and the folks was all setting in meeting a dreadful
hot Sunday afternoon, and a scatter-witted little bound girl came
running to the meetin'-house door all out o' breath from somewheres in
the neighborhood. 'Mis' Bowden, Mis' Bowden!' says she. 'Your baby's in
a fit!' They used to tell that the whole congregation was up on its
feet in a minute and right out into the aisles. All the Mis' Bowdens
was setting right out for home; the minister stood there in the pulpit
tryin' to keep sober, an' all at once he burst right out laughin'. He
was a very nice man, they said, and he said he'd better give 'em the
benediction, and they could hear the sermon next Sunday, so he kept it
over. My mother was there, and she thought certain 'twas me.”
“None of our family was ever subject to fits,” interrupted Mrs. Todd
severely. “No, we never had fits, none of us; and 'twas lucky we didn't
'way out there to Green Island. Now these folks right in front; dear
sakes knows the bunches o' soothing catnip an' yarrow I've had to favor
old Mis' Evins with dryin'! You can see it right in their expressions,
all them Evins folks. There, just you look up to the crossroads,
mother,” she suddenly exclaimed. “See all the teams ahead of us. And,
oh, look down on the bay; yes, look down on the bay! See what a sight o'
boats, all headin' for the Bowden place cove!”
“Oh, ain't it beautiful!” said Mrs. Blackett, with all the delight of a
girl. She stood up in the high wagon to see everything, and when she sat
down again she took fast hold of my hand.
“Hadn't you better urge the horse a little, Almiry?” she asked. “He's
had it easy as we came along, and he can rest when we get there. The
others are some little ways ahead, and I don't want to lose a minute.”
We watched the boats drop their sails one by one in the cove as we
drove along the high land. The old Bowden house stood, low-storied and
broad-roofed, in its green fields as if it were a motherly brown hen
waiting for the flock that came straying toward it from every direction.
The first Bowden settler had made his home there, and it was still the
Bowden farm; five generations of sailors and farmers and soldiers
had been its children. And presently Mrs. Blackett showed me the
stone-walled burying-ground that stood like a little fort on a knoll
overlooking the bay, but, as she said, there were plenty of scattered
Bowdens who were not laid there,--some lost at sea, and some out West,
and some who died in the war; most of the home graves were those of
women.
We could see now that there were different footpaths from along shore
and across country. In all these there were straggling processions
walking in single file, like old illustrations of the Pilgrim's
Progress. There was a crowd about the house as if huge bees were
swarming in the lilac bushes. Beyond the fields and cove a higher point
of land ran out into the bay, covered with woods which must have kept
away much of the northwest wind in winter. Now there was a pleasant look
of shade and shelter there for the great family meeting.
We hurried on our way, beginning to feel as if we were very late, and it
was a great satisfaction at last to turn out of the stony highroad into
a green lane shaded with old apple-trees. Mrs. Todd encouraged the horse
until he fairly pranced with gayety as we drove round to the front of
the house on the soft turf. There was an instant cry of rejoicing, and
two or three persons ran toward us from the busy group.
“Why, dear Mis' Blackett!--here's Mis' Blackett!” I heard them say, as
if it were pleasure enough for one day to have a sight of her. Mrs. Todd
turned to me with a lovely look of triumph and self-forgetfulness. An
elderly man who wore the look of a prosperous sea-captain put up both
arms and lifted Mrs. Blackett down from the high wagon like a child, and
kissed her with hearty affection. “I was master afraid she wouldn't be
here,” he said, looking at Mrs. Todd with a face like a happy sunburnt
schoolboy, while everybody crowded round to give their welcome.
“Mother's always the queen,” said Mrs. Todd. “Yes, they'll all make
everything of mother; she'll have a lovely time to-day. I wouldn't have
had her miss it, and there won't be a thing she'll ever regret, except
to mourn because William wa'n't here.”
Mrs. Blackett having been properly escorted to the house, Mrs. Todd
received her own full share of honor, and some of the men, with a simple
kindness that was the soul of chivalry, waited upon us and our baskets
and led away the white horse. I already knew some of Mrs. Todd's friends
and kindred, and felt like an adopted Bowden in this happy moment. It
seemed to be enough for anyone to have arrived by the same conveyance as
Mrs. Blackett, who presently had her court inside the house, while Mrs.
Todd, large, hospitable, and preeminent, was the centre of a rapidly
increasing crowd about the lilac bushes. Small companies were
continually coming up the long green slope from the water, and nearly
all the boats had come to shore. I counted three or four that were
baffled by the light breeze, but before long all the Bowdens, small and
great, seemed to have assembled, and we started to go up to the grove
across the field.
Out of the chattering crowd of noisy children, and large-waisted women
whose best black dresses fell straight to the ground in generous folds,
and sunburnt men who looked as serious as if it were town-meeting day,
there suddenly came silence and order. I saw the straight, soldierly
little figure of a man who bore a fine resemblance to Mrs. Blackett, and
who appeared to marshal us with perfect ease. He was imperative enough,
but with a grand military sort of courtesy, and bore himself with solemn
dignity of importance. We were sorted out according to some clear design
of his own, and stood as speechless as a troop to await his orders. Even
the children were ready to march together, a pretty flock, and at
the last moment Mrs. Blackett and a few distinguished companions, the
ministers and those who were very old, came out of the house together
and took their places. We ranked by fours, and even then we made a long
procession.
There was a wide path mowed for us across the field, and, as we moved
along, the birds flew up out of the thick second crop of clover, and
the bees hummed as if it still were June. There was a flashing of
white gulls over the water where the fleet of boats rode the low waves
together in the cove, swaying their small masts as if they kept time to
our steps. The plash of the water could be heard faintly, yet still be
heard; we might have been a company of ancient Greeks going to celebrate
a victory, or to worship the god of harvests, in the grove above. It was
strangely moving to see this and to make part of it. The sky, the sea,
have watched poor humanity at its rites so long; we were no more a New
England family celebrating its own existence and simple progress; we
carried the tokens and inheritance of all such households from which
this had descended, and were only the latest of our line. We possessed
the instincts of a far, forgotten childhood; I found myself thinking
that we ought to be carrying green branches and singing as we went.
So we came to the thick shaded grove still silent, and were set in
our places by the straight trees that swayed together and let sunshine
through here and there like a single golden leaf that flickered down,
vanishing in the cool shade.
The grove was so large that the great family looked far smaller than it
had in the open field; there was a thick growth of dark pines and firs
with an occasional maple or oak that gave a gleam of color like a bright
window in the great roof. On three sides we could see the water, shining
behind the tree-trunks, and feel the cool salt breeze that began to come
up with the tide just as the day reached its highest point of heat. We
could see the green sunlit field we had just crossed as if we looked
out at it from a dark room, and the old house and its lilacs standing
placidly in the sun, and the great barn with a stockade of carriages
from which two or three care-taking men who had lingered were coming
across the field together. Mrs. Todd had taken off her warm gloves and
looked the picture of content.
“There!” she exclaimed. “I've always meant to have you see this place,
but I never looked for such a beautiful opportunity--weather an'
occasion both made to match. Yes, it suits me: I don't ask no more. I
want to know if you saw mother walkin' at the head! It choked me right
up to see mother at the head, walkin' with the ministers,” and Mrs. Todd
turned away to hide the feelings she could not instantly control.
“Who was the marshal?” I hastened to ask. “Was he an old soldier?”
“Don't he do well?” answered Mrs. Todd with satisfaction.
“He don't often have such a chance to show off his gifts,” said Mrs.
Caplin, a friend from the Landing who had joined us. “That's Sant
Bowden; he always takes the lead, such days. Good for nothing else most
o' his time; trouble is, he”--
I turned with interest to hear the worst. Mrs. Caplin's tone was both
zealous and impressive.
“Stim'lates,” she explained scornfully.
“No, Santin never was in the war,” said Mrs. Todd with lofty
indifference. “It was a cause of real distress to him. He kep'
enlistin', and traveled far an' wide about here, an' even took the bo't
and went to Boston to volunteer; but he ain't a sound man, an' they
wouldn't have him. They say he knows all their tactics, an' can tell all
about the battle o' Waterloo well's he can Bunker Hill. I told him once
the country'd lost a great general, an' I meant it, too.”
“I expect you're near right,” said Mrs. Caplin, a little crestfallen and
apologetic.
“I be right,” insisted Mrs. Todd with much amiability. “'Twas most too
bad to cramp him down to his peaceful trade, but he's a most excellent
shoemaker at his best, an' he always says it's a trade that gives him
time to think an' plan his maneuvers. Over to the Port they always
invite him to march Decoration Day, same as the rest, an' he does look
noble; he comes of soldier stock.”
I had been noticing with great interest the curiously French type of
face which prevailed in this rustic company. I had said to myself before
that Mrs. Blackett was plainly of French descent, in both her appearance
and her charming gifts, but this is not surprising when one has learned
how large a proportion of the early settlers on this northern coast
of New England were of Huguenot blood, and that it is the Norman
Englishman, not the Saxon, who goes adventuring to a new world.
“They used to say in old times,” said Mrs. Todd modestly, “that our
family came of very high folks in France, and one of 'em was a great
general in some o' the old wars. I sometimes think that Santin's ability
has come 'way down from then. 'Tain't nothin' he's ever acquired; 'twas
born in him. I don't know's he ever saw a fine parade, or met with those
that studied up such things. He's figured it all out an' got his papers
so he knows how to aim a cannon right for William's fish-house five
miles out on Green Island, or up there on Burnt Island where the
signal is. He had it all over to me one day, an' I tried hard to appear
interested. His life's all in it, but he will have those poor gloomy
spells come over him now an' then, an' then he has to drink.”
Mrs. Caplin gave a heavy sigh.
“There's a great many such strayaway folks, just as there is plants,”
continued Mrs. Todd, who was nothing if not botanical. “I know of just
one sprig of laurel that grows over back here in a wild spot, an' I
never could hear of no other on this coast. I had a large bunch brought
me once from Massachusetts way, so I know it. This piece grows in
an open spot where you'd think 'twould do well, but it's sort o'
poor-lookin'. I've visited it time an' again, just to notice its poor
blooms. 'Tis a real Sant Bowden, out of its own place.”
Mrs. Caplin looked bewildered and blank. “Well, all I know is, last year
he worked out some kind of plan so's to parade the county conference in
platoons, and got 'em all flustered up tryin' to sense his ideas of a
holler square,” she burst forth. “They was holler enough anyway after
ridin' 'way down from up country into the salt air, and they'd been
treated to a sermon on faith an' works from old Fayther Harlow that
never knows when to cease. 'Twa'n't no time for tactics then,--they
wa'n't a'thinkin' of the church military. Sant, he couldn't do nothin'
with 'em. All he thinks of, when he sees a crowd, is how to march 'em.
'Tis all very well when he don't 'tempt too much. He never did act like
other folks.”
“Ain't I just been maintainin' that he ain't like 'em?” urged Mrs. Todd
decidedly. “Strange folks has got to have strange ways, for what I see.”
“Somebody observed once that you could pick out the likeness of 'most
every sort of a foreigner when you looked about you in our parish,” said
Sister Caplin, her face brightening with sudden illumination. “I didn't
see the bearin' of it then quite so plain. I always did think Mari'
Harris resembled a Chinee.”
“Mari' Harris was pretty as a child, I remember,” said the pleasant
voice of Mrs. Blackett, who, after receiving the affectionate greetings
of nearly the whole company, came to join us,--to see, as she insisted,
that we were out of mischief.
“Yes, Mari' was one o' them pretty little lambs that make dreadful
homely old sheep,” replied Mrs. Todd with energy. “Cap'n Littlepage
never'd look so disconsolate if she was any sort of a proper person
to direct things. She might divert him; yes, she might divert the old
gentleman, an' let him think he had his own way, 'stead o' arguing
everything down to the bare bone. 'Twouldn't hurt her to sit down an'
hear his great stories once in a while.”
“The stories are very interesting,” I ventured to say.
“Yes, you always catch yourself a-thinkin' what if they all was true,
and he had the right of it,” answered Mrs. Todd. “He's a good sight
better company, though dreamy, than such sordid creatur's as Mari'
Harris.”
“Live and let live,” said dear old Mrs. Blackett gently. “I haven't seen
the captain for a good while, now that I ain't so constant to meetin',”
she added wistfully. “We always have known each other.”
“Why, if it is a good pleasant day tomorrow, I'll get William to call
an' invite the capt'in to dinner. William'll be in early so's to pass up
the street without meetin' anybody.”
“There, they're callin' out it's time to set the tables,” said Mrs.
Caplin, with great excitement.
“Here's Cousin Sarah Jane Blackett! Well, I am pleased, certain!”
exclaimed Mrs. Todd, with unaffected delight; and these kindred spirits
met and parted with the promise of a good talk later on. After this
there was no more time for conversation until we were seated in order at
the long tables.
“I'm one that always dreads seeing some o' the folks that I don't like,
at such a time as this,” announced Mrs. Todd privately to me after a
season of reflection. We were just waiting for the feast to begin. “You
wouldn't think such a great creatur' 's I be could feel all over pins
an' needles. I remember, the day I promised to Nathan, how it come over
me, just's I was feelin' happy's I could, that I'd got to have an own
cousin o' his for my near relation all the rest o' my life, an' it
seemed as if die I should. Poor Nathan saw somethin' had crossed me,--he
had very nice feelings,--and when he asked what 'twas, I told him. 'I
never could like her myself,' said he. 'You sha'n't be bothered, dear,'
he says; an' 'twas one o' the things that made me set a good deal by
Nathan, he did not make a habit of always opposin', like some men.
'Yes,' says I, 'but think o' Thanksgivin' times an' funerals; she's our
relation, an' we've got to own her.' Young folks don't think o' those
things. There she goes now, do let's pray her by!” said Mrs. Todd, with
an alarming transition from general opinions to particular animosities.
“I hate her just the same as I always did; but she's got on a real
pretty dress. I do try to remember that she's Nathan's cousin. Oh dear,
well; she's gone by after all, an' ain't seen me. I expected she'd
come pleasantin' round just to show off an' say afterwards she was
acquainted.”
This was so different from Mrs. Todd's usual largeness of mind that I
had a moment's uneasiness; but the cloud passed quickly over her spirit,
and was gone with the offender.
There never was a more generous out-of-door feast along the coast then
the Bowden family set forth that day. To call it a picnic would make it
seem trivial. The great tables were edged with pretty oak-leaf
trimming, which the boys and girls made. We brought flowers from the
fence-thickets of the great field; and out of the disorder of flowers
and provisions suddenly appeared as orderly a scheme for the feast
as the marshal had shaped for the procession. I began to respect the
Bowdens for their inheritance of good taste and skill and a certain
pleasing gift of formality. Something made them do all these things in a
finer way than most country people would have done them. As I looked up
and down the tables there was a good cheer, a grave soberness that shone
with pleasure, a humble dignity of bearing. There were some who should
have sat below the salt for lack of this good breeding; but they were
not many. So, I said to myself, their ancestors may have sat in the
great hall of some old French house in the Middle Ages, when battles and
sieges and processions and feasts were familiar things. The ministers
and Mrs. Blackett, with a few of their rank and age, were put in places
of honor, and for once that I looked any other way I looked twice
at Mrs. Blackett's face, serene and mindful of privilege and
responsibility, the mistress by simple fitness of this great day.
Mrs. Todd looked up at the roof of green trees, and then carefully
surveyed the company. “I see 'em better now they're all settin' down,”
she said with satisfaction. “There's old Mr. Gilbraith and his sister. I
wish they were sittin' with us; they're not among folks they can parley
with, an' they look disappointed.”
As the feast went on, the spirits of my companion steadily rose. The
excitement of an unexpectedly great occasion was a subtle stimulant
to her disposition, and I could see that sometimes when Mrs. Todd had
seemed limited and heavily domestic, she had simply grown sluggish for
lack of proper surroundings. She was not so much reminiscent now as
expectant, and as alert and gay as a girl. We who were her neighbors
were full of gayety, which was but the reflected light from her beaming
countenance. It was not the first time that I was full of wonder at
the waste of human ability in this world, as a botanist wonders at
the wastefulness of nature, the thousand seeds that die, the unused
provision of every sort. The reserve force of society grows more and
more amazing to one's thought. More than one face among the Bowdens
showed that only opportunity and stimulus were lacking,--a narrow set of
circumstances had caged a fine able character and held it captive.
One sees exactly the same types in a country gathering as in the most
brilliant city company. You are safe to be understood if the spirit of
your speech is the same for one neighbor as for the other.