LIDDY.
In one of the New England States, and occupying a beautiful valley
between two low ranges of mountains, was the town of Southton. One of
these ranges, that on the east, was known as the Blue Hills; the other
was nameless. This valley was about four miles in width, and winding
through it ran a small river. On the banks of this, and nearly in the
center of the town, was a village, or "town center," as it was called,
containing two churches, an academy and several stores. In one of these
churches, Rev. Jonas Jotham expounded the orthodox Congregational faith,
including predestination, foreordination, and all creation, and in the
other Rev. Samuel Wetmore argued on the same lines, clinching them all
with the necessity of total immersion as a means of salvation.
There was no affiliation between the two sects, each declaring the other
totally blind to Scriptural truths; wrong in all points of creed, and
sure to be damned for it. Sectarian feeling was strong, social lines
between the two churches were sharply drawn, and the enmities of feeling
engendered in the pulpits were reflected among the members. Each worthy
dominie emitted long sermons every Sunday, often extending to
"seventeenthly," while occasionally a few of the good deacons slept; and
so, year after year, the windy war continued.
In the meantime the children attended school, played hard, were happy,
grew up, courted, married, and kept on farming, and life in Southton
flowed onward as peacefully as the current of the river that meandered
through it.
Near the eastern border, and beside a merry brook that tumbled down from
the Blue Hill range, was the home of Loring Camp, his wife, and his only
daughter, Liddy. He was not a member of either of the two orthodox
churches, but a fearless, independent thinker, believing in a merciful
God of love and forgiveness, rather than a Calvinistic one, and who
might be classed as a Unitarian in opinion. Broad-chested, broad-minded,
outspoken in his ways, he was at once a loving husband, a kind father, a
good neighbor, an honest man and respected. Tilling a small farm and
mingling with that more or less attention to his trade of a builder, he
earned a good livelihood. A reader of the best books and a thinker as
well, he was firm in his convictions, terse in his criticism, and yet
charitable toward all. His daughter inherited her father's keen
intellect and her mother's fair face and complexion, it is needless to
say, was the pride of his heart and loved by all.
Of Liddy herself, since she is the central figure in this narrative, a
more explicit description must be given. To begin with, she was at the
age of seventeen, a typical New England girl of ordinary
accomplishments, home loving and filial in disposition, with a nature as
sweet as the daisies that grew in the green meadows about her home, and
a mind as clear as the brook that rippled through them. Fond of pretty
things in the house, a daintily set table, tidy rooms, and loving
neatness and order, she was a good cook, a capable housekeeper and a
charming hostess as well. She loved the flowers that bloomed each summer
in the wide dooryard, and had enough romance to enjoy nature's moods at
all times. She cared but little for dress and abhorred loud or
conspicuous garments of any kind. While fond of music, she never had had
an opportunity to cultivate that taste, and her sole accomplishment in
that respect was to play upon the cottage organ that stood in her
parlor, and sing a few simple ballads or Sabbath-school hymns. She was
of medium height, with a charmingly rounded figure, and blessed with a
pair of blue eyes that could change from grave to gay, from mirth to
tenderness, as easily as clouds cross the sun. With the crowning glory
of her sunny hair, a sweet and sympathetic mouth, modest and unassuming
ways, tender heart and affectionate manner, she was an unusually
attractive girl.
Of her feelings toward the boy little need be said; and since he has now
reached eighteen and a moustache, he deserves and shall have an
introduction by his name of Mr. Charles Manson. He was tall, had honest
brown eyes, an earnest manner; was unsophisticated and believed all the
world like himself, good and true. He was of cheerful temper and
generous disposition; hated shams and small conceits, and--next to
Liddy--loved the fields, the woods, and the brooks that had been his
companions since boyhood. She had known him when, at the district
school, he ignored girls; and later, as he began to bring her flag-root
in summer, or draw her on his sled in winter, she had taken more notice
of him. When he left the little brown schoolhouse for good she had
given him a lock of hair, though for what reason she could hardly tell;
and when he walked home with her from his first party she felt startled
a little at his boldness in kissing her. That act had caused a flutter
in her feelings, and though she thought none the less of him for it,
nothing would have tempted her to tell her parents about it. That
experience may be considered as the birthday of her girlish love, and
after that they were always the best of friends. He had never been
presuming, but had always treated her with a kind of manly respect that
slowly but surely had won her heart.
When they met at the academy she feared he might be too attentive, but
when she found him even less so than she expected, unknown to herself,
her admiration increased. While she gave him but little encouragement
there, still if he had paid any attention to another girl it would have
hurt her. By nature she despised any deception, and to be called a flirt
was to her mind an insult. She would as soon have been called a liar. On
the other hand, any display of affection in public was equally
obnoxious. She was loving by nature, but any feeling of that kind toward
a young man was a sacred matter, that no one should be allowed to
suspect, or at least inspect. This may be an old-fashioned peculiarity,
yet it was a part of her nature. It may seem strange, but "Charlie," as
she always called her admirer, had early discovered this and had always
been governed by it.
It is not easy to give an accurate pen-picture of a young and pretty
girl who is bright, vivacious, piquant, tender, sweet and lovable. One
might as well try to describe the twinkle of a star or the rainbow flash
of a diamond. To picture the growth of love in such a girl's heart is
like describing the shades of color in a rose, or the expression of
affection in the eyes of a dog, and equally impossible.
Liddy's home was one of the substantial, old-time kind, with tall
pillars in front, a double piazza and wide hall, where stood an ancient
clock of solemn tick. There were open fireplaces in parlor and
sitting-room, and the wide dooryard was divided by a graveled and
flower-bordered walk, where in summer bloomed syringas, sweet williams,
peonies and phlox. On either side of the gate were two immense and
broad-spreading maples. Houses have moods as well as people, and the
mood of this one was calm, cool, dignified and typical of its fairest
inmate.
When the first term of their academy life together closed, and the long
summer vacation began, Manson called on Liddy the next Sunday evening
and asked her to take a ride. He had called at various times before, but
not as though she were the sole object of his visit. This time he came
dressed in his best and as if he boldly came to woo the fair girl. All
that summer he was a regular caller, and always received the same quiet
and cordial welcome. Together they enjoyed many delightful drives along
shaded roads on pleasant afternoons or moonlit evenings, and each
charming hour only served to bind the chains of love more tightly.
Occasionally they gathered waterlilies from a mill pond hidden away
among the hills, and one Saturday afternoon he brought her to Ragged
Brook--a spot that had been the delight of his boyhood--and showed her
how to catch a trout.
The first one she hooked she threw up into the top of a tree, and as the
line was wound many times around the tip of the limb the fish had to be
left hanging there. Though almost mature in years, they were in many
ways like children, telling each other their little plans and hopes, and
giving and receiving mutual sympathy. It was all the sweetest and best
kind of a courtship, for neither was conscious that it was such, and
when schooltime came after the summer was over, the tender bond between
them had reached a strength that was likely to shape and determine the
history of their lives. How many coming heartaches were also to be woven
into the tender bond they little realized.