“Oh, mother, I could not stay away any longer from you. It seemed a long
time to me.”
“Why, my child, in your letter you said you was happy and would stay two
weeks, as your uncle and cousins would not take ‘no’ for an answer and
wished we should come and live with them; and I was nearly making up my
mind to go up there for a while and see the country. Perhaps it would be
agreeable to my health.”
The mother was viewing her child critically while speaking. Noticing
Nettie’s face changing from a bright crimson hue to a pale color, and
not answering her, she said, “Has my little girl quarreled with anyone
out there and come home angry?”
“No, no mother,” answered Nettie.
“It is worse than that, mother; I will tell you all, as no true mother
would advise her child to do wrong. I will tell you all, but do not
think for one moment I was telling you an untruth when I told you I
could not stay longer. I could not under the circumstances, and it
seemed a long time to leave you here alone. Well, mama, now for my
story: My cousins made a party for me last Friday evening, as you know
Friday was my birthday, and invited all the young people in that
vicinity, and among them was a rich young man, highly esteemed for his
true manliness. Cousin Warren says he has known him ever since he can
remember, as they have grown up and trudged to school together, and says
he never caught him in a lie. That is saying a good deal about him.
Well, the Monday before the party cousin went to town and I went down to
a beautiful lake on uncle’s farm to gather flowers. I sat down on the
brink of the lake and some of the flowers fell into the water. I was
wondering how to get them when the same young man spoken of came and
fished them out. He gave me his card, and the night of the party he told
me the same old, old story.”
“What did you tell him Nettie?”
“Oh, nothing in particular. The most I told him at last was if he proved
true to me in the future I was his.”
“Nettie, dear, do you really love him?”
“Yes mother, with my whole heart. But I have run away and if he really
loves me he will hunt me up,” said Nettie, her face beaming with smiles.
“Nettie,” said her mother, “pray what is the name of your admirer?”
“Paul Burton, of Pine Island. The name was given to the farm many years
ago. It is a beautiful farm enclosed by the forest, and there is a
little lake on it; and in the center pine trees are growing. I was out
with cousin and he took me by there.”
Nettie was speaking with enthusiasm and hearing her mother repeating the
name she turned and noticing her mother’s pale face said, “Mother, what
ails you? Are you sick?”
“No, Nettie, the name sounds familiar. What kind of a looking man is
this Paul Burton, and what is his age?” asked the mother.
“He is tall—about six feet—well proportioned, his eyes are dark blue,
and he has auburn hair, and is a picture to behold,” answered Nettie.
“Blue eyes and auburn hair; did his hair curl?” asked her mother.
“Yes,” answered Nettie, “and he is about twenty-two or three. He lives
alone with his mother, who is a frail, sickly woman.”
“Did you ever see her?”
“No, mother, but cousin says she is tall and dark complexioned, with
black eyes, and her given name is Margaret or Margretia, I do not know
which.”
“It is the same woman and must be their son. Oh, my God! why have I come
to this?” exclaimed Mrs. Spaulding.
“Why, mother, what is the matter, and who are you referring to?” asked
Nettie, noticing her mother’s pale face.
“My child, one you never saw—and I hope you may never meet him or any of
his descendants.”
“Why, mother. His descendants should not be cruelly judged by his
conduct. You speak as though he had been guilty of some great criminal
act. I do not see what he has to do with Paul Burton, the young man I
was speaking of,” said Nettie, turning and looking out of the window.
“If I had known it would have troubled you, mother, I would not have
told you anything about him. You seemed so anxious to know why I
returned so soon I thought it proper to tell you all. The young man was
supposed rich and I was a poor girl with only my good name to sustain. I
deemed it best to try his love. If he loves me sincerely he will find
me; if he does not, it is better I should be far away. Do you not think
my act justifiable, mother?”
“Yes, my child, you did what is right and proper, and I am glad you came
home, and I hope my conjecture is not true,” answered the mother
sorrowfully.
Nettie went to her mother and pressed a kiss on her pure fair brow. She
had passed through many severe trials, yet she remained beautiful—only a
trifle pale. Time made little impression upon the fair form of the once
beautiful Minnie Hilton, one of old England’s fair daughters.
“Nettie, I have a long story to tell you. It might prove a good lesson
to you in the future, as you are young and inexperienced in this world
of sunshine and shadow, and you may draw conclusion from the story.
“My child. I hope you will not have to endure the troubles and sorrows
like the lady of whom I am going to speak.”
“Oh! mama, do tell me now, as I am anxious to hear it. I am sure it is a
warning to me,” said Nettie, tapping the velvety cheek of her mother.
“Well, Nettie, many years ago in England there once stood a neat cottage
surrounded by a group of beautiful trees, and just within hearing of the
big bell in London. What a happy little home it was before the
revolution broke out in this country. England was all confusion,
especially among the second and lower classes of people. The inmates of
that little cottage numbered four—father, mother, a lovely girl of
eighteen summers, and a lad of sixteen, as honest a boy as ever lived
and a kinder heart never beat today. Well, the father had to help to
fill the ranks of England’s army and came over here to fight for King
George. How noble and manly he looked in his red coat as he mounted his
coal black steed. He made a fearless and brave soldier, as many of his
comrades testified on their return home. But he who kissed his wife and
children an affectionate farewell never returned to receive their
welcome embrace of joy as did many of his fellow soldiers. As the news
spread quickly over the old domain that the battle of Bunker Hill had
been fought many tears fell for the fallen soldiers who fell in that sad
fray.
“Sad was the news indeed, to hear that the father of this happy
household was no more, during the intervening term of his going away and
time of his death. The daughter of this family was the fairest in
England at that time. Her fame for beauty rang far and near. One day in
summer when the commons were robed in green, besprinkled with buttercups
and daisies, this young lady for a little pleasure rambled over the
green, picking the flowers and thinking of her father who then was far
away in the battle fighting for his king, when close to her she espied a
large stray sheep of the masculine gender. He had probably broken out
from its owner’s enclosure and was wandering over the commons. As soon
as he espied the lady he came toward her with his head bent to the
ground, and the lady gave a scream and was running toward the hedge
fence of thorns; and just as the sheep was about to strike her a young
man rode rapidly between them, striking the sheep with a heavy loaded
whip, which felled him to the ground as though dead. The gentleman
sprang lightly from his horse and picked up the inanimate form of the
lady, as if she was an infant, and bore her to a cottage near by, and by
the aid of spirits she soon returned to consciousness. She had swooned
with fright and had fallen, hitting her head lightly on a rock, cutting
a cruel wound which bled profusely. The young man saw the blood and he
only had thought for the fair young form as he quickly bore it to a
friendly shelter, letting his horse roam at will. The lady was too weak
to walk, so the gentleman went home and took his father’s carriage and
took her home; as he called every day for several days to see how his
patient was getting along he grew deeply in favor with the little family
of the cottage. The young lady looked for his coming and was deeply
grieved when she learned who he was, for he was the son of a baronet, a
gentleman of note among the upper classes of people. He was a lovely
young man, and one beloved by old and young throughout the community. He
called often at the cottage. None of the inmates could tell him to come
no more, as he was both manly and honest, and with each day he grew more
enamored with the little lady he had saved from a cruel death. How time
flew away! Soon his father, who was not noted for kindness, began to
notice his son’s movements, and it soon became known to him where he
wandered. As his son was of age he had him sent off to the war, as he
would then get over his love passion for the little cottager, as he
called the little lady his son admired. Sad was the last meeting of the
young couple, as he came to bid her farewell. Many were the promises
given each to prove faithful until death. Then another blow was given
that household, as he in his red coat rode away leaving his promised
bride to mourn the loss of one she deeply loved. Soon after came the
news of the battle of Bunker Hill, and the father of this little cottage
was no more. Deeply mourned the inmates for the friend and father, and
also for the absence of one who seemed a true friend to all; but he was
the King’s subject and had to go and leave a lover behind him to mourn
his absence, as many over our land today have done, and how sorrowful
the earth seems to the ones left behind.
“The young man went away in hopes of a speedy return, but what a sad
delusion! One year passed, then a second, and a letter came to the loved
one far over the deep that her lover was slain. How deeply that little
girl mourned for her supposed dead lover no human tongue can tell, and
as time flew away many were the changes with the inmates of that
cottage. Finally in time the mother concluded to remove her family over
here to America. She wished to view the resting place of her beloved
companion, and when the shadows of death came to her weary soul her form
might lie in the same soil, beside her husband. Cold and stormy was the
day when the noble ship set sail that bore on its bosom the widow and
her children. It was the following autumn when they landed in New York,
six weeks after setting sail. The widow rented a little cottage and made
the place her future home. Her children both had grown to manhood and
womanhood, and having a good education managed to maintain themselves
respectably.”
“Oh, mama, you did not tell me whether the young lady ever heard
definitely about her lover’s death,” said Nettie, breaking in on her
mother’s narrative.
“My child,” answered her mother, “she left word with some of her friends
that if any news came to them concerning him they should write to her
immediately. She received only one letter bearing news of him. It said
he had returned before the widow had left England. It was reported by
the young man’s proud family that he was dead, for they knew their son’s
disposition would be to fulfill his promise to the ‘little cottager,’ as
they called his promised bride. They were bound it never should be. At
the last meeting before he went to war he frankly told his father he
should marry the girl on his return home; he might disinherit him if he
chose—he would have a few shillings of his own and he would take his
wife over to the new land he was going to fight on. This exasperated the
father to such an extent that he brought his fist down on the table and
swore an oath it never should be. The son did seem not to heed his
father’s words, as he was sure the lady would prove faithful and he
would soon return and claim her, in spite of all earthly beings. The
lady watched and waited until nearly autumn for a letter from her loved
one which never came. During that time she received news of her lover’s
death, then broken hearted, she urged her mother to leave the place
which, with each day, brought memories of the two loved ones who never
would tread o’er its well-remembered threshold. The young lady lived
single eight years. She employed the time in teaching primary school in
the suburbs of the city of New York. Time, the great healer, brought
consolation to the wounded heart. At last she accepted the hand of a
young merchant. The old love was buried beneath the new, but never
forgotten. The young lady’s brother learned the trade of a mechanic but
did not like it very well, and like Washington turned to agriculture as
soon as he earned money enough to buy a farm. The widow often went to
view the grave of her beloved companion, and when her life on earth was
ended her children laid her silent form beside him she loved.”
“Why, mamma!” exclaimed Nettie, the tears trinkling down her fair
cheeks, “it was my own grandmamma, as I can just remember when papa and
Uncle John took her deceased form away and did not get back for a long
time,” said Nettie, speaking slowly.
“Why, mamma, can the young lady you have been speaking about be
yourself?”
“Yes, my daughter, it is the same.”
Nettie was standing by her mother’s chair, stroking the fair brow of her
only parent, deeply thinking over all she had been told.
Soon she said, “Mamma, it was very sad indeed, but I do not see why it
should be a warning to me.”
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