ALICE JOHNSON
The Sabbath dawned at last. The doctor had not yet made his appearance
in the village, and Saturday had been spent by him in rehearsing to his
sisters and the servants the wonderful things he had seen abroad, and in
lounging listlessly by a window which overlooked the town, and also
commanded a view of the tasteful cottage by the riverside, where they
told him Mrs. Johnson lived. One upper window he watched with peculiar
interest, from the fact that, early in the day, a head had protruded
from it a moment, as if to inhale the wintry air, and then been quickly
withdrawn.
"Does Miss Johnson wear curls?" he asked, rather indifferently, with his
eye still on the cottage by the river.
"Yes; a great profusion of them," was Mrs. Richards' reply, and then the
doctor knew he had caught a glimpse of Alice Johnson, for the head he
had seen was covered with curls, he was sure.
But little good did a view at that distance afford him. He must see her
nearer ere he decided as to her merits to be a belle. He did not believe
her face would at all compare with the one which continually haunted his
dreams, and over which the coffin lid was shut weary months ago, but
fifty thousand dollars had invested Miss Alice with that peculiar charm
which will sometimes make an ugly face beautiful. The doctor was
beginning to feel the need of funds, and now that Lily was dead, the
thought had more than once crossed his mind that to set himself at once
to the task of finding a wealthy wife was a duty he owed himself and his
family. Had poor, deserted Lily lived; had he found her in New York, he
could not tell what he might have done, for the memory of her sweet,
gentle love was the one restraining influence which kept him from much
sin. He never could forget her; never love another as he had once loved
her, but she was dead, and it was better, so he reasoned, for now was he
free to do his mother's will, and take a wife worthy of a Richards.
Anna was not with the party which at the usual hour entered the family
carriage with Bibles and prayer books in hand. She seldom went out
except on warm, pleasant days; but she stood in the deep bay window
watching the carriage as it wound down the hill, thinking first how
pleasant and homelike the Sabbath bells must sound to Charlie this day,
and secondly, how handsome and stylish her young brother looked with his
Parisian cloak and cap, which he wore so gracefully. Others than Anna
thought so, too; and at the church door there was quite a little stir,
as he gallantly handed out first his mother and then his sisters, and
followed them into the church.
Dr. Richards had never enjoyed a reputation for being very devotional,
and the interval between his entrance and the commencement of the
service was passed by him in a rather scornful survey of the time-worn
house. With a sneer in his heart, he mentally compared the old-fashioned
pulpit, with its steep flight of steps and faded trimmings, with the
lofty cathedral he had been in the habit of attending in Paris, and a
feeling of disgust and contempt was creeping over him, when a soft
rustling of silk, and a consciousness of a delicate perfume, which he at
once recognized as aristocratic, warned him that somebody was coming;
somebody entirely different from the score of females who had
distributed themselves within range of his vision, their countrified
bonnets, as he termed them, trimmed outside and in without the least
regard to taste, or combination of color. But the little lady, moving so
quietly up the aisle--she was different. She was worthy of respect, and
the Paris beau felt an inclination to rise at once and acknowledge her
superior presence.
Wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting, the lady deposited
her muff upon the cushions, and then kneeling reverently upon the
well-worn stool, covered her face with the hands which had so won the
doctor's admiration. What a little creature she was, scarcely larger
than a child twelve summers old, and how gloriously beautiful were the
curls of indescribable hue, falling in such profusion from beneath the
jaunty hat. All this Dr. Richards noted, marveling that she knelt so
long, and wondering what she could be saying.
Alice's devotion ended at last, and the view so coveted was obtained;
for in adjusting her dress Alice turned toward him, or rather toward his
mother, and the doctor drew a sudden breath as he met the brilliant
flashing of those laughing sunny blue eyes, and caught the radiant
expression of that face, slightly dimpled with a smile. Beautiful,
wondrously beautiful was Alice Johnson, and yet the features were not
wholly regular, for the piquant nose had a slight turn up, and the
forehead was not very high; but for all this, the glossy hair, the
dancing blue eyes, the apple-blossom complexion, and the rosebud mouth
made ample amends; and Dr. Richards saw no fault in that witching face,
flashing its blue eyes for an instant upon him, and then modestly
turning to the service just commencing. So absorbed was Dr. Richards as
not to notice that the strain of music filling the old church did not
come from the screeching melodeon he had so anathematized, but from an
organ as mellow and sweet in its tone as any he had heard across the
sea. He did not notice anything; and when his sister, surprised at his
sitting posture, whispered to him of her surprise, he started quickly,
and next time the congregation arose he was the first upon his feet,
mingling his voice with that of Alice Johnson and even excelling her in
the loudness of his reading!
As if divining his wishes in the matter, his mother turned to the
eagerly expectant doctor, whom she introduced as "My son, Dr. Richards."
Alice had heard much of Dr. Richards from the young girls of Snowdon.
She had heard his voice in the Psalter, his responses in the Litany, and
accepted it as a sign of marked improvement. He could not be as
irreverent and thoughtless as he had been represented by those who did
not like him; he must have changed during his absence, and she frankly
offered him her hand, and with a smile which he felt even to his finder
tips, welcomed him home, making some trivial remark touching the
contrast between their quiet town and the cities he had left.
"But you will help make it pleasanter for us this winter, I am sure,"
she continued, and the sweet blue eyes sought his for an answer as to
whether he would desert Snowdon immediately.
What a weak, vacillating creature is man before a pretty woman like
Alice Johnson. Twenty-four hours ago, and the doctor would have scoffed
at the idea that he should tarry longer than a week or two at the
farthest in that dull by-place, where the people were only half
civilized; but now the tables were turned as by magic. Snowdon was as
pretty a rural village as New England could boast, and he meant to enjoy
it for a while. It would be a relief after the busy life he had led, and
was just the change he needed! So, in answer to Alice's remark, he said
he should probably remain at home some time, that he always found it
rather pleasant at Snowdon, though as a boy he had, he supposed, often
chafed at its dullness; but he saw differently now. Besides, it could
not now be dull, with the acquisition it had received since he was there
before; and he bowed gracefully toward the young lady, who acknowledged
the compliment with a faint blush, and then turned toward the group of
"noisy, ill-bred children," as Dr. Richards thought, who came thronging
about her.
"My Sabbath school scholars," Alice said, as if in answer to these
mental queries, "Ah, here comes my youngest--my pet," and Alice stooped
to caress a little rosy-cheeked boy, with bright brown eyes and patches
on both coat sleeves.
The doctor saw the patches, but not the handsome face, and with a
gesture of impatience, turned to go, just as his ear caught another
kiss, and he knew the patched boy received what he would have given much
to have.
"Hanged if I don't half wish I was one of those ragged urchins," he
said, after handing his mother and sisters to their carriage, and
seating himself at their side. "But does not Miss Johnson display
strange taste? Surely some other one less refined might be found to look
after those brats, if they must be looked after, which I greatly doubt.
Better leave them, as you find them; can't elevate them if you try. It's
trouble thrown away."
Just before turning from the main road into the park which led to
Terrace Hill, they met a stylish little covered sleigh. The colored
driver politely touched big hat to the ladies, who leaned out a moment
to look after him.
"That's Mrs. Johnson's turnout," said Eudora. "In the winter Martin
always takes Alice to church and then returns for her."
"And folks say," interposed Asenath, "that if the walking is bad or the
weather cold, both Alice and her mother go two miles out of their way to
carry home some old woman or little child, who lives at a distance. I've
seen Alice myself with half a dozen or more of these children, and she
looked as proud and happy as a queen. Queer taste, isn't it?"
John thought it was, though he himself said: "It is like what Lily would
have done, had she possessed the power and means."
"Well, brother, what of Miss Alice? Was she at church?" Anna asked
softly. "I need not ask though, for of course she was. I should almost
as soon think of hearing that Mr. Howard himself was absent as Alice."
"That reminds me," said John, "of what you said concerning Mr. Howard
and Alice. There can't be any truth in it. She surely does not fancy
him."
"Not as a lover," Anna replied. "She respects him greatly, however,
because he is a clergyman."
"Is she then a very strong church woman?" John asked.
"Yes, but not a bit of a blue," Anna replied. "If all Christians were
like Alice, religion would be divested of much of its supposed gloom.
She shows it everywhere, and so does not have to wear it on set
occasions to prove that she possesses it. How were you pleased with Miss
Johnson?"
"How was I pleased with her? I felt like kissing the hem of her blue
silk, of course! But I tell you, Anna, those ragged, dirty urchins who
came trooping into that damask-cushioned pew, marred the picture
terribly. What possible pleasure can she take in teaching them?"
Anna had an idea of the pleasure it might be to feel that one was doing
good, but she could not explain lucidly, so she did not attempt it. She
only said Miss Alice was very benevolent and received her reward in the
love bestowed upon her so freely by those whom she befriended.
"And to win her good graces, must one pretend to be interested in those
ragamuffins?" John asked, a little spitefully.
"Why, no, not unless they were. Alice could not wish you to be
deceitful," was Anna's reply, after which a long silence ensued, and
Anna dropped away to sleep, while her brother sat watching the fire
blazing in the grate, and trying to decide as to his future course.
Should he return to New York, accept the offer of an old friend of his
father's, an experienced practitioner, and thus earn his own bread
honorably; or, should he remain a while at Snowdon and cultivate Alice
Johnson? He had never yet failed when he chose to exert himself, and
though he might, for a time, be compelled to adopt a different code of
morality from that which he at present acknowledged, he would do it for
once. He could be interested in those ragged children; he could
encourage Sunday schools; he could attend church as regularly as Alice
herself; and, better yet, he could doctor the poor for nothing, as that
was sure to tell, and he would do it, too, if necessary. This was the
finale which he reached at last by a series of arguments pro and con,
and when it was reached, he was anxious to commence the task at once. He
presumed he could love Alice Johnson; she was so pretty; but even if he
didn't, he would only be doing what thousands had done before him. He
should be very proud of her, and would certainly try to make her happy.
One long, almost sobbing sigh to the memory of poor Lily, who had loved
so much and been so cruelly betrayed, one faint struggle with
conscience, which said that Alice Johnson was too pure a gem for him to
trifle with, and then, the past, with its sad memories, was buried.
"Not going to church twice in one day!" Mrs. Richards exclaimed as the
doctor threw aside the book he had been reading, and started for his
cloak.
"Why, yes," he answered. "I liked that parson so much better than I
expected, that I think I'll go again," and hurrying out, he was soon on
his way to St. Paul's.
"Gone on foot, too, when it's so cold!" and the mother, who had risen
and stood watching him from the window, spoke anxiously.
The service was commencing, but the doctor was in no hurry to take his
seat. He would as soon be seen as not, and, vain fop that he was, he
rather enjoyed the stirring of heads he felt would ensue when he moved
up the aisle. At last he would wait no longer, and with a most
deferential manner, as if asking pardon for disturbing the congregation,
he walked to his pew door, and depositing his hat and cloak, sat down
just where he meant to sit, next the little figure, at which he did not
glance, knowing, of course, that it was Alice.
How then was he astonished and confounded when at the reading of the
Psalter, another voice than hers greeted his ear!--a strange, sharp
voice, whose tones were not as indicative of refinement as Alice's had
been, and whose pronunciation, distinctly heard, savored somewhat of the
so-called down East. He looked at her now, moving off a foot or more,
and found her a little, odd, old woman, shriveled and withered, with
velvet hat, not of the latest style, its well-kept strings of black
vastly different from the glossy blue he had so much admired at an
earlier period of the day. Was ever man more disappointed? Who was she,
the old witch, for so he mentally termed the inoffensive woman devoutly
conning her prayer book, unconscious of the wrath her presence was
exciting in the bosom of the young man beside her! How he wished he had
stayed at home, and were it not that he sat so far distant from the
door, he would certainly have left in disgust. What a drawling tone was
Mr. Howard's.
Such were the doctor's thoughts. But hark! Whose voice was that? The
congregation seemed to hold their breath as the glorious singer warbled
forth the bird-like strain, "Thou that takest away the sins of the
world." She sang those words as if she felt them every one, and Dr.
Richards' heart thrilled with an indefinable emotion us he listened.
"Thou that sittest on the right hand of God the Father;" how rich and
full her voice as she sang that alone; and when the final Amen was
reached, and the grand old chant was ended, Dr. Richards sat like one
entranced, straining his ear to catch the last faint echo of the
sweetest music he had ever heard.
Could Alice sing like that, and who was this nightingale? How he wished
he knew; and when next the people arose, obedient to the organ's call,
he was of their number, and turning full about, looked up into the
gallery, starting as he looked, and half uttering an exclamation of
surprise. There was no mistaking the Russian sable fur, the wide blue
ribbons thrown so gracefully back, the wealth of sunny hair, or the
lustrous eyes, which swept for an instant over the congregation below,
taking in him with the rest, and then were dropped upon the keys, where
the snowy, ungloved hands were straying. The organist was Alice Johnson!
There were no more regrets now that he had come to church, no more
longings to be away, no more maledictions against Mr. Howard's drawling
manner, no more invectives against the poor old woman, listening like
himself with rapt attention, and wondering if the music of heaven could
be sweeter than that her bonny Alice made. The doctor, too, felt better
for such music, and he never remembered having been more attentive to a
sermon in his life than to the one, which followed the evening service.
When it was ended, and the people dismissed, she came tripping down the
stairs, flooding the dingy vestibule with a world of sunshine.
"Here, Aunt Densie, here I am. Martin is waiting for us," the doctor
heard her say to the old lady, who was elbowing her way through the
crowd, and who at last came to a standstill, apparently looking for
something she could not find. "What is it, auntie?" Alice said again.
"Lost something, have you? I'll be with you in a minute."
Two hours ago, and Dr. Richards would not have cared if fifty old women
had lost their entire wardrobe. As an attache of some kind to Alice
Johnson, Densie was an object of importance, and stepping forward, just
as Alice had made her way to the distressed old lady's side, he very
politely offered to assist in the search.
"Ah, Dr. Richards, thank you," Alice said, as the black kid was found,
and passed to its anxious owner.
The doctor never dreamed of an introduction, for his practiced eye saw
at once that however Alice might auntie her, the woman was still a
servant. How then was he surprised when Alice said:
"Miss Densmore, this is Dr. Richards, from Terrace Hill," adding, in an
aside to him: "My old nurse, who took care of both mother and myself
when we were children."
They were standing in the door now, and the covered sleigh was drawn up
just in front.
"Auntie first," she said, as they reached the carriage steps, and so the
doctor was fain to help auntie in, whispering gallantly in an aside:
"Age before beauty always!"
"Thank you," and Alice's ringing laugh cut the winter air as she
followed Densie Densmore, the doctor carefully wrapping her cloak about
her, and asking if her fur was pulled up sufficiently around her neck.
"It's very cold," he said, glancing up at the glittering stars, scarcely
brighter than the blue eyes flashing on him. "At least I found it so on
my walk to church," and with a slight shiver the scheming doctor was
bowing himself away, when Alice exclaimed:
"Did you walk this wintry night? Pray, gratify me then by accepting a
seat in our sleigh. There's plenty of room without crowding auntie."
Happy Dr. Richards! How he exerted himself to be agreeable, talking
about the singing, asking if she often honored the people as she had
to-night.
"I take Miss Fisher's place when she is absent," Alice replied,
whereupon, the doctor said he must have her up at Terrace Hill some day,
to try Anna's long-neglected instrument. "It was once a most superb
affair, but I believe it is sadly out of tune. Anna is very fond of you,
Miss Johnson, and your visits would benefit her greatly. I assure you
there's a duty of charity to be discharged at Terrace Hill as well as
elsewhere. Anna suffers from too close confinement indoors, but, with a
little skill, I think we can manage to get her out once more. Shall we
try?"
Selfish Dr. Richards! It was all the same to him whether Anna went out
once a day or once a year, but Alice did not suspect him and she
answered frankly that she should have visited Terrace Hill more
frequently, had she supposed his mothers and sisters cared particularly
for society, but she had always fancied they preferred being alone.