She stood by the window, looking out over the dreary landscape, a woman
of some twenty-five years, with an earnest, even melancholy face, in
which the wistful brown eyes were undoubtedly the redeeming feature.
Jones' Hill, taken at its best, in full parade uniform of summer green,
was not renowned for beauty or picturesqueness, and now, in fatigue
dress of sodden brown stubble, with occasional patches of dingy white
in ditches and hollows and along the edges of the dark pine woods,
was even less calculated to inspire the beholder with enthusiasm.
Still, that would hardly account for the shadow which rested upon
Thirza Bradford's face. She ought, in fact, to have worn a cheerful
countenance. One week before she had been a poor girl, dependent
upon the labor of her hand for her daily bread; to-day she was sole
possessor of a farm of considerable extent, the comfortable old house
at one of whose windows she was now standing, and all that house's
contents.
One week before she had been called to the bed-side of her aunt,
Abigail Leavitt. She had arrived none too soon, for the stern, sad old
woman had received her summons, and before another morning dawned had
passed away.
To her great surprise, Thirza found that her aunt had left her sole
heiress of all she had possessed. Why she should have been surprised
would be difficult to explain. Aunt Abigail's two boys had gone to the
war and never returned, her husband had been dead for many years, and
Thirza was her only sister's only child, and sole surviving relative.
Nothing, therefore, was more natural than this event, but Thirza had
simply never thought of it. She had listened, half in wonder, half in
indifference, to the reading of the will, and had accepted mechanically
the grudgingly tendered congratulations of the assembled farmers and
their wives.
She had been supported in arranging and carrying out the gloomy details
of the funeral by Jane Withers, a spinster of a type peculiar to New
England; one of those persons who, scorning to demean themselves by
"hiring out," go about, nevertheless, from family to family, rendering
reluctant service, "just to accommodate" (accepting a weekly stipend
in the same spirit of accommodation, it is to be supposed). With this
person's assistance, Thirza had prepared the repast to which, according
to custom, the mourners from a distance were invited on their return
from the burying-ground. Aunt Abigail had been stricken down at the
close of a Saturday's baking, leaving a goodly array upon the pantry
shelves, a fact upon which Jane congratulated herself without any
attempt at concealment, observing, in fact, that the melancholy event
"couldn't have happened handier." In vain had Thirza protested--Jane
was inflexible--and she had looked on with silent horror, while the
funeral guests devoured with great relish the pies and ginger-bread
which the dead woman's hand had prepared.
"Mis' Leavitt were a master hand at pie-crust," remarked one toothless
dame, mumbling at the flaky paste, "a _master_ hand at pie-crust, but
she never were much at bread!" whereupon the whole feminine conclave
launched out into a prolonged and noisy discussion of the relative
merits of salt-risin's, milk-emptin's, and potato yeast.
That was three or four days ago, and Thirza had remained in the old
house with Jane, who had kindly proffered her services and the solace
of her companionship. There had been little to do in the house, and
that little was soon done, and now the question of what she was to do
with her new acquisition was looming up before her, and assuming truly
colossal proportions. She was thinking of it now as she stood there
with the wistful look upon her face, almost wishing that Aunt Abigail
had left the farm to old Jabez Higgins, a fourth or fifth cousin by
marriage, who had dutifully appeared at the funeral, with a look as if
he had that within which passed showing, and doubtless he had, for he
turned green and blue when the will was read, and drove off soon after
at a tearing pace.
Jane, having condescended to perform the operation of washing up the
two plates, cups, etc., which their evening meal had brought into
requisition, entered presently, knitting in hand, and seated herself
with much emphasis in a low wooden chair near the window. She was an
erect and angular person, with an aggressive air of independence about
her, a kind of "just-as-good-as-you-are" expression, which seemed to
challenge the observer to dispute it at his peril. She took up the
first stitch on her needle, fixed her sharp eyes upon Thirza, and, as
if in answer to her thoughts, opened on her as follows:
"Ye haint made up yer mind what ye're a-goin' ter dew, hev ye?"
Thirza slowly shook her head, without looking around.
"It's kind o' queer now how things does work a-round. There you was
a-workin' an' a-slavin' in that old mill, day in an' day out, only a
week ago, an' now you can jest settle right down on yer own place an'
take things easy."