SETH WINTERS AND HIS FRIENDS
Seth Winters was known as the best blacksmith in the country. The horses
he shod never went lame, the tires of the wheels he repaired rarely
loosened: consequently his patronage was extensive and of the best.
Better than that, his patrons liked the man as well as his work and they
were more than willing to grant him a favor--almost the first he had
ever asked of them.
First, he visited Mrs. Cecil and counseled with her concerning the
scheme he had formed: and she having most heartily approved it, he lost
no time in mentioning it to each and all who came to his shop. The
result was that on a sunny morning, not long after Dorothy's homecoming,
there gathered before the little smithy an assemblage of all sorts and
conditions of men and vehicles, which filled the road for a long
distance either way, and even strayed into the surrounding woods for a
more comfortable waiting-place.
In the wagons were also many women, farm-wives mostly, all gay with the
delight of an unexpected outing and the chance to bestow a kindness.
"Amazing! How it warms the cockles of one's heart to be good to
somebody!" cried Seth, his benign face aglow with the zest of the thing,
as one after another team drew near and its occupants bade him a smiling
"Good-morning!" "The very busiest time of all the year for farmer
folk--haying, crop-raising, gardening--yet not a soul I asked has failed
to respond, in some shape or other."
"Of course not! It's as good as a county fair or a Sunday-school picnic,
Cousin Seth! I wouldn't have missed it for anything!" cried a merry old
voice behind him, and he turned to see Mrs. Calvert nodding her handsome
head in this direction and that, with that friendly simplicity of manner
which had made her so generally liked. For, though she could be most
austere and haughty with what she called "common and presumptuous
people," she had an honest liking for all her fellow-creatures who were
honest and simple themselves.
"Now, Betty! But I might have known you would come--you're always on
hand for any 'doin's.' Though don't you dare to give your own generosity
free rein. This is strictly a case 'of the people, by the people, for
the people.' Blue-blooded aristocracy and full purses aren't 'in it,'"
warned the smith, in an alarm that was more real than feigned, knowing
that his impulsive old friend could spoil the pleasure of many by
exceeding them in giving.
"Oh! I shall take care. I've only sent one team, a couple of men--one
the gardener, the other a carpenter who was working on the place,
and--Do you know, Seth Winters, you barrier-destroying old
'Socialist!'--that the man positively refused to take pay for his day's
labor, even though he can ill afford to lose his time? 'No, ma'am,' said
this aristocrat of the saw and plane, 'I claim the right to do a decent
turn to a neighbor, same as another.' Rich or poor it doesn't appear to
make a bit of difference--give them a chance at this sort of thing and
they all lose their heads."
Seth laughed. Such "Socialistic" principles as these were the ones he
advocated, not only by word but by his whole noble life. For him wealth
had but one purpose--the bettering of these other folk to whom wealth
had not been given. Then he asked:
"What of Jim Barlow? Is he one of the 'men' you furnished for the day?"
"Will you believe me--he is not? When that young Herbert Montaigne rode
around this morn-thing, before breakfast, to say that his father was
sending two men with a mowing machine and that he, Herbert, was going to
ride on the horse-rake himself, Jim was talking to me. He was full of
enthusiasm and earnest to explain that nothing in our own home garden
should suffer because of his taking this day off. He would work overtime
to make up--as if I would let him! But as soon as Herbert came, just as
enthusiastic himself, down goes my James's countenance to the very
bottom of despair. What I love about that boy is his naturalness!"
exclaimed this lively old lady, irrelevantly.
"Keep to the subject in hand, please, Cousin Betty. The reason of Jim's
gloom perplexes me. I should have thought he would have been----"
"Oh! he was; he did; he must have been, he should have been, he would
have been--all the tenses in the grammar you choose. If it hadn't been
for my precious little Dorothy. That small maid----"
She paused so long and seemed so amused that again he spoke:
"For her sake alone I should think he would be pleased to find others
ready to befriend her."
"In a way, of course, he is, though man-like, or boy-like, he'd very
much rather _do_ the befriending than have such a handsome young fellow
as Herbert take it out of hand. That lad was just fetching! He'd dressed
the part to perfection. Had on a loose white flannel blouse knotted with
a blue tie--his color: his denim knickers might have been the finest
riding trousers; and his long boots--I fancy there was more money went
to the cost of them than you'd spend on yourself in a year. And all to
make himself fair in the eyes of a little maid like Dorothy. But blood
will tell. My Dolly----"
"Remember, she _isn't_ your Dolly, Elizabeth Somerset Cecil Calvert,
however you may now love and covet her. She's a charming small woman, as
many another lad than poor Jim or gay Herbert will find some day. But I
didn't dream that jealousy began so early in life, or that such a
matter-of-fact person as young James Barlow could be jealous."
"He is. He is intensely so, though probably he doesn't know it himself.
I fancy it is about the first time he has been brought into contact with
other lads of his own age, and he is keen enough to see his own
disadvantage. Herbert's nod to Jim was wholly friendly, I thought, but
Jim resented it as patronizing. Silly fellow! And so he promptly changed
his mind about affairs and decided that not for any consideration could
he leave his garden and his 'duty' till the day's work was done. Then,
if he had any time, my lord of the potato-crop may condescend to appear
at Skyrie. Also by that time, he doubtless thinks, a white-handed
aristocrat like Herbert will have tired of the affair and betaken
himself back to the Towers where he belongs. Oh! I do love young folks!
They are so transparent and honest in showing their feelings that
they're wonderfully interesting. As for my Dolly C.--Seth Winters, I
believe that I will really have to ask those Chesters to let me have her
for 'keeps,' as the children say."
"No, no, dear friend. Don't. You must not. It were most unwise. Leave
the girl to grow up in the station to which God has assigned her, no
matter by whose human hands the deed was done. At present she is fair,
affectionate, simple, and womanly. To be suddenly transplanted into a
wealthy home would spoil her. For once, put your generous impulses aside
and leave Dorothy Chester alone, to be a comfort to those who have
devoted their lives to her. And now, that sermon's ended! Also, I
believe that all have come who promised, which is a remarkable thing in
itself. You're walking, I suppose? So am I; and we'll start on together,
while I signal the rest to follow."
So they set forth, a worthy pair of white-haired "children," who could
not grow old because they lived so very near that Heaven whence they had
come to earth: and behind them fell into line all the motley assortment
of carts and wagons, with the clattering mowing machine from the Towers
bringing up the rear.
Mother Martha was in what purported to be a garden, trying to persuade
Pa Babcock to plant things that would yet have time to mature that
season, and was at her wits' end to find arguments to stem his eloquent
reasons why he should do otherwise. Quoth he:
"Now, of all the satisfactory vegetables grown, asparagus, or
sparrowgrass, as the unenlightened around here call it--asparagus
contains more nourishment and the properties----"
"But, Mr. Babcock, please don't dig any longer in that trench. It will
have to be four or five feet deep and so much labor. My husband was
reading all about it in one of his catalogues that he's just sent for,
and it would take at least three years for asparagus to grow strong
enough to begin cutting. Besides the roots are too expensive. And that
terrible trench, so big, filled with stones----"
"Excuse me, ma'am, there's plenty of stone at Skyrie to fill the
asparagus beds of the nation: or if not quite that----"
"But I must insist, since you've refused to listen to John about it,
that you stop fooling with this trench and plant some late potatoes. We
bought some seed ones from Mrs. Smith and my little girl is cutting them
into pieces already. We were shown that by leaving one or two 'eyes' the
pieces would grow just as well as whole tubers. Everybody needs potatoes
and they can do without asparagus!" and too exasperated for further
speech poor mother Martha folded her arms and brought her sternest
glances to bear upon her hired man.
He had kept his word and appeared upon the morning following his
engagement, and for a time he had been left to his own devices: his
inexperienced employers judging that any man who had been brought up in
the country must be wiser in farming matters than they. Besides, the
storm that had threatened on the night of his first visit had proved a
most disastrous one. The roof had "leaked like a sieve," as pessimistic
Jim Barlow had declared it would, "give it storm enough to try it":
rusty-hinged shutters had broken loose, stopped-up drains had
overflowed, the cellar had become a pool of water, and the cherished
furniture brought from the little home in Baltimore had, in several
rooms, been ruined by the moisture. Moreover, father John had taken a
severe cold and been kept in bed in his own more sheltered apartment;
where he consoled himself with the gardening catalogues he had written
for and whence he endeavored to direct their hired man.
"Did Pa Babcock bring his dinner, Martha?" he had asked on that first
morning, when she was running distractedly about, trying to dry the
damaged furniture and undo the storm's havoc.
"No, dear. He said--just this once it didn't happen to be convenient.
His wife hadn't any cold meat on hand."
"Neither have you, I believe! Well, I will not board him. I will not!
The farm may go to rack and ruin first!" cried Mr. Chester, indignantly.
"The idea! Here are Dorothy and I trying to put our appetites into our
pockets, just to save you labor, and this great, squeaking lout of a
man----"
"John, John! Why, John, I never knew you to be so unjust! If I, with my
quick temper, can have patience, you certainly should."
"But, mother, he's just been doing nothing at all, all this morning!"
cried Dorothy, seconding her beloved father's opinion. "Just 'sort of
nudgin' 'round,' Jim used to call it when I worked that way to the
truck-farm, and I only a little girl. Why, I know I could have pulled
more weeds myself in this time if I hadn't had to help you indoors, even
if I did take that long walk to Heartsease farm. The ground is soaking
wet, weeds would pull just beautifully, I know, 'cause we used to love
to work after a rain, in our little garden at home! Oh! dear! this is
very pretty, but--I wish we hadn't come!"
Alas! This regret was in all their hearts, in that early time at Skyrie.
Views were beautiful but they didn't support life, and though they had
secured a modest sum of ready money to tide them over these beginnings
it had been at the cost of "debt," a burden which the Chesters hated to
bear. But, fortunately, they had scant time for repining, and there is
nothing like active occupation to banish useless brooding.
Hannah herself could well keep one person busy and, of course, her youth
and fleetness ordained that this person should be Dorothy. Bill Barry's
statement that the écru-colored bovine was "lively" and could outrun his
sorrel mare was, at least founded upon fact. Among cattlemen she was
what is known as a "jumper"; and though her behavior upon her first day
of residence at Skyrie was most exemplary her sedateness forsook her on
the next and forever after.
With the best intentions, after having tried her own hand at milking and
succeeding better than she had expected, Mrs. Cheater kindly turned
Hannah "out to grass"--with most unlooked-for results.
"All cattle graze, you know, John; and she really nibbled that bit of
ground clean where she was tied yesterday. Dorothy and I--we won't
hinder our 'man' for a trifle like that--Dolly and I will prop up that
sagging gate, so Hannah won't be tempted to stray away, and give her the
run of this first lot. She might almost mow it for us in time."
"Thus cutting short her winter supply of fodder. Let her have one day
at the 'mowing,' if you choose, then she'd better be put into that old
pasture and left there. I know a good farmer wouldn't let even a
well-trained Quaker cow into his best meadow; even _I_ know that! As for
the pig, since we can't possibly drink all that milk and, as yet, have
no pans in which to store it, he may as well consume it sweet as wait
for it to sour. That will keep him quiet, anyway, and a squealing pig--I
shouldn't like one."
Martha was delighted to find even thus much farm knowledge on her
husband's part, and exclaimed:
"However you guessed that much about things, that meadows are meant for
hay and pigs are raised on sour milk, I don't see! Only, of course, it's
as you often say to Dolly: 'Anybody can use his head for anything he
chooses.' I suppose you've chosen to study farming and so I know we
shall succeed. By the way, Mrs. Smith has sent word over by her little
boy that she is going up to Newburgh this afternoon to do what she calls
'trading.' She sells poultry, and eggs, and butter, and such things,
that she raises on her farm, and takes in exchange all sorts of staple
goods. She said she'd be pleased to have me go along and learn how to
'trade,' 'cause if I was going to be a farmer I'd have to know. I shall
have to take some of that money, too, and buy a churn, some milk pans,
and--Well, so many things it doesn't seem as if we really had a single
necessary article to start with! But it's all the same, of course, in
the end. When we get the loan from Friend Oliver Sands it will be all
right. You and Dorothy will be comfortable while I'm gone, I think, for
our man is right on hand in the garden to----"
"Then, if you love me, keep him there!" pleaded father John, in his
whimsical way. "If he forsakes the garden for the house--Well, _I_ shall
be asleep! As for poor Dolly, if he catches her and tries to convert her
to his ideas, the child has nimble feet and can run. I shall advise her
so to do. But I'm glad you're to have that nice long ride, though I
can't imagine you as ever becoming a good 'trader.'"
It was during this brief absence that the écru-colored Hannah first
returned to her natural ways, and that Dorothy had to prove herself
"nimble," indeed. Despite the fact that she stood in the midst of the
most luxurious vegetation the dissatisfied cow knew that there was
better in the field beyond. Regardless of the appealing cries of
Daisy-Jewel, this careless mother gave one airy flick to her heels and
leaped the intervening wall; and though her child essayed to follow it
could not, but set up such a bawling that Mr. Chester hobbled out to see
what was amiss.
"Remarkable!" cried Pa Babcock, improving this opportunity to rest from
his not too arduous weeding. "Remarkable how the qualities of a race
horse will sometimes inhabit the bosom of a creature----"
"Dorothy! Dorothy! I guess you'll have to put Dickens down and go get
Hannah back out of that lot. She's made a--a little mistake! Your mother
wants her to graze on the home-piece and mother's our farmer, you know.
Do run drive her back, but look out for her hoofs. She'd take a hurdle
better than any horse I ever saw," called Mr. Chester, laughing; yet
regretting to disturb Dorothy, who had worked industriously beside her
mother to get things into good condition after the drenching of the
rain. She had taken tacks from carpets, carried wet cushions and
blankets out into the sunshine to dry and carried them back again when
fit, and she wanted to rest and read.
"Oh, dear! I don't see anything to laugh at in this! Why couldn't Hannah
stay where she belonged! And just hear that poor little calf! I--I wish
it hadn't been given to me!" fretted the tired girl, yet obediently set
off in pursuit.
Now the former master of Skyrie had divided it into many fields. He had
called these "building lots," and had confidently expected to sell them
at high prices to the rich people who had begun to settle on the
mountain. These dividing walls were stone, like all the others, but
sufficiently narrow to admit of Hannah's leaping them easily. She did
leap them, running from one to another in a manner confusing to herself
and doubly so to Dorothy, pursuing. Fortunately, the wide walls
bordering the square outline of the farm were impassable even to her:
and gradually, pursued and pursuer made their way back to that
home-field whence the race had started.
After all it was the voice of nature conquered, not Dorothy's fleetness.
Daisy-Jewel's bleating and bawling accomplished the return of the
runaway; though not till that too active creature had blundered into the
wrong fields so many times that Dorothy was in despair.
Thereafter, Hannah was always most securely tethered or kept shut up in
her stall within the barn; her mistress finding it easier to cut the
grass and feed her there than to allow her to do it for herself. But
these performances did not endear the creature to anybody: nor was it
comforting to have Pa Babcock--who took no part in any of these
"chasings"--inform them that:
"Of course, that was the reason my friend Oliver sold her to you so
cheap. At ordinary rating that fine blooded cow would have brought at
least a hundred dollars. Of course, too, there had to be some
consideration to offset the price;" and again when, on the morning of
that gathering at Seth Winters's smithy, Hannah had gnawed her fastening
rope in two and started on a tour of the farm, he began to explain:
"There is a way to prevent such----" But had paused abruptly, his
attention attracted to the road below, and finished his possible advice
by the pointing of his grimy finger and the exclamation: "Tiberius
Cæsar! Look a-there!"
Mrs. Chester did look and instinctively sought the society of John and
Dorothy, as a protection against the invasion that threatened them.
"Oh! what can it mean? They are all looking this way as if they were
bound for Skyrie! Wagons, people, such a crowd--tell me, John Chester,
_have you advertised again_? Is it another 'sale'?"
But he shook his head, as much surprised and alarmed as she: till Seth
Winters, the foremost of this invading army, came up to them, and
courteously doffing his hat, explained, with a gay:
"Good-morning, neighbors! Don't be frightened! We are nothing but a
well-meaning _bee_!"