Among green New England hills stood an ancient house, many-gabled,
mossy-roofed, and quaintly built, but picturesque and pleasant to the
eye; for a brook ran babbling through the orchard that encompassed it
about, a garden-plat stretched upward to the whispering birches on the
slope, and patriarchal elms stood sentinel upon the lawn, as they had
stood almost a century ago, when the Revolution rolled that way and
found them young.
One summer morning, when the air was full of country sounds, of mowers
in the meadow, black-birds by the brook, and the low of kine upon the
hill-side, the old house wore its cheeriest aspect, and a certain
humble history began.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Di."
And a head, brown-locked, blue-eyed, soft-featured, looked in at the
open door in answer to the call.
"Just bring me the third volume of 'Wilhelm Meister,' there's a dear.
It's hardly worth while to rouse such a restless ghost as I, when I'm
once fairly laid."
As she spoke, Di PUlled up her black braids, thumped the pillow of the
couch where she was lying, and with eager eyes went down the last page
of her book.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Laura," replied the girl, coming back with the third volume for
the literary cormorant, who took it with a nod, still too content upon
the "Confessions of a Fair Saint" to remember the failings of a certain
plain sinner.
"Don't forget the Italian cream for dinner. I depend upon it; for it's
the only thing fit for me this hot weather."
And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds of her white gown more
gracefully about her, and touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she was
drawing.
"Little daughter!"
"Yes, father."
"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my bag, for I must go at once;
and some of you bring me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."
The old man went away into his imaginary paradise, and Nan into that
domestic purgatory on a summer day,--the kitchen. There were vines
about the windows, sunshine on the floor, and order everywhere; but it
was haunted by a cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied
incense rises to appease the appetite of household gods, before which
such dire incantations are pronounced to ease the wrath and woe of the
priestess of the fire, and about which often linger saddest memories of
wasted temper, time, and toil.
Nan was tired, having risen with the birds,--hurried, having many cares
those happy little housewives never know,--and disappointed in a hope
that hourly "dwindled, peaked, and pined." She was too young to make
the anxious lines upon her forehead seem at home there, too patient to
be burdened with the labor others should have shared, too light of
heart to be pent up when earth and sky were keeping a blithe holiday.
But she was one of that meek sisterhood who, thinking humbly of
themselves, believe they are honored by being spent in the service of
less conscientious souls, whose careless thanks seem quite reward
enough.
To and fro she went, silent and diligent, giving the grace of
willingness to every humble or distasteful task the day had brought
her; but some malignant sprite seemed to have taken possession of her
kingdom, for rebellion broke out everywhere. The kettles would boil
over most obstreperously,--the mutton refused to cook with the meek
alacrity to be expected from the nature of a sheep,--the stove, with
unnecessary warmth of temper, would glow like a fiery furnace,--the
irons would scorch,--the linens would dry,--and spirits would fail,
though patience never.
Nan tugged on, growing hotter and wearier, more hurried and more
hopeless, till at last the crisis came; for in one fell moment she tore
her gown, burnt her hand, and smutched the collar she was preparing to
finish in the most unexceptionable style. Then, if she had been a
nervous woman, she would have scolded; being a gentle girl, she only
"lifted up her voice and wept."
"Behold, she watereth her linen with salt tears, and bewaileth herself
because of much tribulation. But, lo! Help cometh from afar: a strong
man bringeth lettuce wherewith to stay her, plucketh berries to comfort
her withal, and clasheth cymbals that she may dance for joy."
The voice came from the porch, and, with her hope fulfilled, Nan looked
up to greet John Lord, the house-friend, who stood there with a basket
on his arm; and as she saw his honest eyes, kind lips, and helpful
hands, the girl thought this plain young man the comeliest, most
welcome sight she had beheld that day.
"How good of you, to come through all this heat, and not to laugh at my
despair!" she said, looking up like a grateful child, as she led him in.
"I only obeyed orders, Nan; for a certain dear old lady had a motherly
presentiment that you had got into a domestic whirlpool, and sent me as
a sort of life-preserver. So I took the basket of consolation, and came
to fold my feet upon the carpet of contentment in the tent of
friendship."
As he spoke, John gave his own gift in his mother's name, and bestowed
himself in the wide window-seat, where morning-glories nodded at him,
and the old butternut sent pleasant shadows dancing to and fro.
His advent, like that of Orpheus in hades, seemed to soothe all
unpropitious powers with a sudden spell. The Fire began to slacken, the
kettles began to lull, the meat began to cook, the irons began to cool,
the clothes began to behave, the spirits began to rise, and the collar
was finished off with most triumphant success. John watched the
change, and, though a lord of creation, abased himself to take
compassion on the weaker vessel, and was seized with a great desire to
lighten the homely tasks that tried her strength of body and soul. He
took a comprehensive glance about the room; then, extracting a dish
from he closet, proceeded to imbrue his hands in the strawberries'
blood.
"Oh, John, you needn't do that; I shall have time when I've turned the
meat, made the pudding and done these things. See, I'm getting on
finely now:--you're a judge of such matters; isn't that nice?"
As she spoke, Nan offered the polished absurdity for inspection with
innocent pride.
"Oh that I were a collar, to sit upon that hand!" sighed John,--adding,
argumentatively,
"As to the berry question, I might answer it with a gem from Dr. Watts,
relative to 'Satan' and idle hands,' but will merely say, that, as a
matter of public safety, you'd better leave me alone; for such is the
destructiveness of my nature, that I shall certainly eat something
hurtful, break something valuable, or sit upon something crushable,
unless you let me concentrate my energies by knocking on these young
fellows' hats, and preparing them for their doom."
Looking at the matter in a charitable light, Nan consented, and went
cheerfully on with her work, wondering how she could have thought
ironing an infliction, and been so ungrateful for the blessings of her
lot.
"Where's Sally?" asked John, looking vainly for the functionary who
usually pervaded that region like a domestic police-woman, a terror to
cats, dogs, and men.
"She has gone to her cousin's funeral, and won't be back till Monday.
There seems to be a great fatality among her relations; for one dies,
or comes to grief in some way, about once a month. But I don't blame
poor Sally for wanting to get away from this place now and then. I
think I could find it in my heart to murder an imaginary friend or two,
if I had to stay here long."
And Nan laughed so blithely, it was a pleasure to hear her.
"Where's Di?" asked John, seized with a most unmasculine curiosity all
at once.
"She is in Germany with 'Wilhelm Meister'; but, though 'lost to sight,
to memory clear'; for I was just thinking, as I did her things, how
clever she is to like all kinds of books that I don't understand at
all, and to write things that make me cry with pride and delight. Yes,
she's a talented dear, though she hardly knows a needle from a crowbar,
and will make herself one great blot some of these days, when the
'divine afflatus' descends upon her, I'm afraid."
And Nan rubbed away with sisterly zeal at Di's forlorn hose and inky
pocket-handkerchiefs.
"Where is Laura?" proceeded the inquisitor.
"Well, I might say that she was in Italy; for she is copying some fine
thing of Raphael's or Michael Angelo's, or some great creatures or
other; and she looks so picturesque in her pretty gown, sitting before
her easel, that it's really a sight to behold, and I've peeped two or
three times to see how she gets on."
And Nan bestirred herself to prepare the dish Wherewith her picturesque
sister desired to prolong her artistic existence.
"Where is your father?" John asked again, checking off each answer with
a nod and a little frown.
"He is down in the garden, deep in some plan about melons, the
beginning of which seems to consist in stamping the first proposition
in Euclid all over the bed, and then poking a few seeds into the middle
of each. Why, bless the dear man! I forgot it was time for the cider.
Wouldn't you like to take it to him, John? He'd love to consult you;
and the lane is so cool, it does one's heart good to look at it."
John glanced from the steamy kitchen to the shadowy path, and answered
with a sudden assumption of immense industry,--
"I couldn't possibly go, Nan,--I've so much on my hands. You'll have
to do it yourself. 'Mr. Robert of Lincoln' has something for your
private ear; and the lane is so cool, it will do one's heart good to
see you in it. Give my regards to your father, and, in the words of
'Little Mabel's' mother, with slight variation,--
'Tell the dear old body
This day I cannot run,
For the pots are boiling over
And the mutton isn't done.'"
"I will; but please, John, go in to the girls and be comfortable; for I
don't like to leave you here," said Nan.
"You insinuate that I should pick at the pudding or invade the cream,
do you? Ungrateful girl, leave me!" And, with melodramatic sternness,
John extinguished her in his broad-brimmed hat, and offered the glass
like a poisoned goblet.
Nan took it, and went smiling away. But the lane might have been the
Desert of Sahara, for all she knew of it; and she would have passed her
father as unconcernedly as if he had been an apple-tree, had he not
called out,--
"Stand and deliver, little woman!"
She obeyed the venerable highwayman, and followed him to and fro,
listening to his plans and directions with a mute attention that quite
won his heart.
"That hop-pole is really an ornament now, Nan; this sage-bed needs
weeding,--that's good work for you girls; and, now I think of it, you'd
better water the lettuce in the cool of the evening, after I'm gone."
To all of which remarks Nan gave her assent; the hop-pole took the
likeness of a tall figure she had seen in the porch, the sage-bed,
curiously enough, suggested a strawberry ditto, the lettuce vividly
reminded her of certain vegetable productions a basket had brought, and
the bobolink only sung in his cheeriest voice, "Go home, go home! he is
there!"
She found John--he having made a free-mason of himself, by assuming her
little apron--meditating over the partially spread table, lost in amaze
at its desolate appearance; one half its proper paraphernalia having
been forgotten, and the other half put on awry. Nan laughed till the
tears ran over her cheeks, and John was gratified at the efficacy of
his treatment; for her face had brought a whole harvest of sunshine
from the garden, and all her cares seemed to have been lost in the
windings of the lane.
"Nan, are you in hysterics?" cried Di, appearing, book in hand. "John,
you absurd man, what are you doing?"
"I'm helpin' the maid of all work, please marm." And John dropped a
curtsy with his limited apron.
Di looked ruffled, for the merry words were a covert reproach; and with
her usual energy of manner and freedom of speech she tossed "Wilhelm"
out of the window, exclaiming, irefully.--
"That's always the way; I'm never where I ought to be, and never think
of anything till it's too late; but it's all Goethe's fault. What does
he write books full of smart 'Phillinas' and interesting 'Meisters'
for? How can I be expected to remember that Sally's away, and people
must eat, when I'm hearing the 'Harper' and little 'Mignon?' John, how
dare you come here and do my work, instead of shaking me and telling me
to do it myself? Take that toasted child away, and fan her like a
Chinese mandarin, while I dish up this dreadful dinner."
John and Nan fled like chaff before the wind, while Di, full of
remorseful zeal, charged at the kettles, and wrenched off the potatoes'
jackets, as if she were revengefully pulling her own hair. Laura had a
vague intention of going to assist; but, getting lost among the lights
and shadows of Minerva's helmet, forgot to appear till dinner had been
evoked from chaos and peace was restored.
At three o'clock, Di performed the coronation ceremony with her
father's best hat; Laura retied his old-fashioned neckcloth, and
arranged his white locks with an eye to saintly effect; Nan appeared
with a beautifully written sermon, and suspicious ink-stains on the
fingers that slipped it into his pocket; John attached himself to the
bag; and the patriarch was escorted to the door of his tent with the
triumphal procession which usually attended his out-goings and
in-comings. Having kissed the female portion of his tribe, he ascended
the venerable chariot, which received him with audible lamentation, as
its rheumatic joints swayed to and fro.
"Good-bye, my dears! I shall be back early on Monday morning; so take
care of yourselves, and be sure you all go and hear Mr. Emerboy preach
to-morrow. My regards to your mother. John. Come, Solon!"
But Solon merely cocked one ear, and remained a fixed fact; for long
experience had induced the philosophic beast to take for his motto the
Yankee maxim, "Be sure you're right, then go ahead! He knew things were
not right; therefore he did not go ahead.
"Oh, by the way, girls, don't forget to pay Tommy Mullein for bringing
up the cow: he expects it to-night. And Di, don't sit up till
daylight, nor let Laura stay out in the dew. Now, I believe I'm off.
Come, Solon!"
But Solon only cocked the other ear, gently agitated his mortified
tail, as premonitory symptoms of departure, and never stirred a hoof,
being well aware that it always took three "comes" to make a "go."
"Bless me! I've forgotten my spectacles. They are probably shut up in
that volume of Herbert on my table. Very awkward to find myself
without them ten miles away. Thank you, John. Don't neglect to water
the lettuce, Nan, and don't overwork yourself, my little 'Martha.'
Come--"
At this juncture Solon suddenly went off, like "Mrs. Gamp," in a sort
of walking swoon, apparently deaf and blind to all mundane matters,
except the refreshments awaiting him ten miles away; and the benign old
pastor disappeared, humming "Hebron" to the creaking accompaniment of
the bulgy chaise.
Laura retired to take her siesta; Nan made a small carbonaro of herself
by sharpening her sister's crayons, and Di, as a sort of penance for
past sins, tried her patience over a piece of knitting, in which she
soon originated a somewhat remarkable pattern, by dropping every third
stitch, and seaming ad libitum. If John bad been a gentlemanly
creature, with refined tastes, he would have elevated his feet and made
a nuisance of himself by indulging in a "weed;" but being only an
uncultivated youth, with a rustic regard for pure air and womankind in
general, he kept his head uppermost, and talked like a man, instead of
smoking like a chimney.
"It will probably be six months before I sit here again, tangling your
threads and maltreating your needles, Nan. How glad you must feel to
hear it!" he said, looking up from a thoughtful examination of the
hard-working little citizens of the Industrial Community settled in
Nan's work-basket.
"No, I'm very sorry; for I like to see you coming and going as you used
to, years ago, and I miss you very much when you are gone, John,"
answered truthful Nan, whittling away in a sadly wasteful manner, as
her thoughts flew back to the happy times when a little lad rode a
little lass in a big wheelbarrow, and never spilt his load,--when two
brown heads bobbed daily side by side to school, and the favorite play
was "Babes in the Wood," with Di for a somewhat peckish robin to cover
the small martyrs with any vegetable substance that lay at hand. Nan
sighed, as she thought of these things, and John regarded the battered
thimble on his finger-tip with increased benignity of aspect as he
heard the sound.
"When are you going to make your fortune, John, and get out of that
disagreeable hardware concern?" demanded Di, pausing after an exciting
"round," and looking almost as much exhausted as if it had been a
veritable pugilistic encounter.
"I intend to make it by plunging still deeper into 'that disagreeable
hardware concern;' for, next year, if the world keeps rolling, and John
Lord is alive, he will become a partner, and then--and then--"
The color sprang up into the young man's cheek, his eyes looked out
with a sudden shine, and his hand seemed involuntarily to close, as if
he saw and seized some invisible delight.
"What will happen then, John?" asked Nan, with a wondering glance.
"I'll tell you in a year, Nan, wait till then." and John's strong hand
unclosed, as if the desired good were not to be his yet.
Di looked at him, with a knitting-needle stuck into her hair, saying,
like a sarcastic unicorn,--
"I really thought you had a soul above pots and kettles, but I see you
haven't; and I beg your pardon for the injustice I have done you."
Not a whit disturbed, John smiled, as if at some mighty pleasant fancy
of his own, as he replied,--
"Thank you, Di; and as a further proof of the utter depravity of my
nature, let me tell you that I have the greatest possible respect for
those articles of ironmongery. Some of the happiest hours of my life
have been spent in their society; some of my pleasantest associations
are connected with them; some of my best lessons have come to me among
them; and when my fortune is made, I intend to show my gratitude by
taking three flat-irons rampant for my coat of arms."
Nan laughed merrily, as she looked at the burns on her hand; but Di
elevated the most prominent feature of her brown countenance, and
sighed despondingly,--
"Dear, dear, what a disappointing world this is! I no sooner build a
nice castle in Spain, and settle a smart young knight therein, than
down it comes about my ears; and the ungrateful youth, who might fight
dragons, if he chose, insists on quenching his energies in a saucepan,
and making a Saint Lawrence of himself by wasting his life on a series
of gridirons. Ah, if I were only a man, I would do something better
than that, and prove that heroes are not all dead yet. But, instead of
that, I'm only a woman, and must sit rasping my temper with absurdities
like this." And Di wrestled with her knitting as if it were Fate, and
she were paying off the grudge she owed it.
John leaned toward her, saying, with a look that made his plain face
handsome,--
"Di, my father began the world as I begin it, and left it the richer
for the useful years he spent here,--as I hope I may leave it some
half-century hence. His memory makes that dingy shop a pleasant place
to me; for there he made an honest name, led an honest life and
bequeathed to me his reverence for honest work. That is a sort of
hardware, Di, that no rust can corrupt, and which will always prove a
better fortune than any your knights can achieve with sword and shield.
I think I am not quite a clod, or quite without some aspirations above
money-getting; for I sincerely desire that courage that makes daily
life heroic by self-denial and cheerfulness of heart; I am eager to
conquer my own rebellious nature, and earn the confidence of innocent
and upright souls; I have a great ambition to become as good a man and
leave as good a memory behind me as old John Lord."
Di winked violently, and seamed five times in perfect silence; but
quiet Nan had the gift of knowing when to speak, and by a timely word
saved her sister from a thunder-shower and her stocking from
destruction.
"John, have you seen Philip since you wrote about your last meeting
with him?"
The question was for John, but the soothing tone was for Di, who
gratefully accepted it, and perked up again with speed.
"Yes; and I meant to have told you about it," answered John, plunging
into the subject at once.
"I saw him a few days before I came home, and found him more
disconsolate than ever,--' just ready to go to the Devil,' as he
forcibly expressed himself. I consoled the poor lad as well as I could,
telling him his wisest plan was to defer his proposed expedition, and
go on as steadily as he had begun,--thereby proving the injustice of
your father's prediction concerning his want of perseverance, and the
sincerity of his affection. I told him the change in Laura's health
and spirits was silently working in his favor, and that a few more
months of persistent endeavor would conquer your father's prejudice
against him, and make him a stronger man for the trial and the pain. I
read him bits about Laura from your own and Di's letters, and he went
away at last as patient as Jacob ready to serve another 'seven years'
for his beloved Rachel."
"God bless you for it, John!" cried a fervent voice; and, looking up,
they saw the cold, listless Laura transformed into a tender girl, all
aglow with love and longing, as she dropped her mask, and showed a
living countenance eloquent with the first passion and softened by the
first grief of her life.
John rose involuntarily in the presence of an innocent nature whose
sorrow needed no interpreter to him. The girl read sympathy in his
brotherly regard, and found comfort in the friendly voice that asked,
half playfully, half seriously,--
"Shall I tell him that he is not forgotten, even for an Apollo? that
Laura the artist has not conquered Laura the woman? and predict that
the good daughter will yet prove the happy wife?"
With a gesture full of energy, Laura tore her Minerva from top to
bottom, while two great tears rolled down the cheeks grown wan with
hope deferred.
"Tell him I believe all things, hope all things, and that I never can
forget."
Nan went to her and held her fast, leaving the prints of two loving but
grimy hands upon her shoulders; Di looked on approvingly, for, though
stony-hearted regarding the cause, she fully appreciated the effect;
and John, turning to the window, received the commendations of a robin
swaying on an elm-bough with sunshine on its ruddy breast.
The clock struck five, and John declared that he must go; for, being an
old-fashioned soul, he fancied that his mother had a better right to
his last hour than any younger woman in the land,--always remembering
that "she was a widow, and he her only son."
Nan ran away to wash her hands, and came back with the appearance of
one who had washed her face also: and so she had; but there was a
difference in the water.
"Play I'm your father, girls, and remember that it will be six months
before 'that John' will trouble you again."
With which preface the young man kissed his former playfellows as
heartily as the boy had been wont to do, when stern parents banished
him to distant schools, and three little maids bemoaned his fate. But
times were changed now; for Di grew alarmingly rigid during the
ceremony; Laura received the salute like a graceful queen; and Nan
returned it with heart and eyes and tender lips, making such an
improvement on the childish fashion of the thing that John was moved to
support his paternal character by softly echoing her father's
words,--"Take care of yourself, my little 'Martha.'"
Then they all streamed after him along the garden-path, with the
endless messages and warnings girls are so prone to give; and the young
man, with a great softness at his heart, went away, as many another
John has gone, feeling better for the companionship of innocent
maidenhood, and stronger to wrestle with temptation, to wait and hope
and work.
"Let's throw a shoe after him for luck, as dear old 'Mrs. Gummage' did
after 'David' and the 'willin' Barkis!' Quick, Nan! you always have old
shoes on; toss one, and shout, 'Good luck!'" cried Di, with one of her
eccentric inspirations.
Nan tore off her shoe, and threw it far along the dusty road, with a
sudden longing to become that auspicious article of apparel, that the
omen might not fail.
Looking backward from the hill-top, John answered the meek shout
cheerily, and took in the group with a lingering glance: Laura in the
shadow of the elms, Di perched on the fence, and Nan leaning far over
the gate with her hand above her eyes and the sunshine touching her
brown hair with gold. He waved his hat and turned away; but the music
seemed to die out of the blackbird's song, and in all the summer
landscape his eyes saw nothing but the little figure at the gate.
"Bless and save us! here's a flock of people coming; my hair is in a
toss, and Nan's without her shoe; run! fly, girls! or the Philistines
will be upon us!" cried Di, tumbling off her perch in sudden alarm.
Three agitated young ladies, with flying draperies and countenances of
mingled mirth and dismay, might have been seen precipitating themselves
into a respectable mansion with unbecoming haste; but the squirrels
were the only witnesses of this "vision of sudden flight," and, being
used to ground-and-lofty tumbling, didn't mind it.
When the pedestrians passed, the door was decorously closed, and no one
visible but a young man, who snatched something out of the road, and
marched away again, whistling with more vigor of tone than accuracy of
tune, "Only that, and nothing more."