IN THE ORCHARD AGAIN.
Among the many advantages which fiction, history and recollection
have over present reality one is that they make time their servant, I
have in a few paragraphs sketched events which were several years in
occurring; and I have purposely omitted many details, the narration
of which would have been laborious to me and the perusal of which
would have been tedious to the reader. It was in October that Ratke
regained possession of his farm. It was in the following May that the
closing scenes of my story occurred.
The warm spring night was a continuation of twilight. There was mirth
in the club-house, from which at intervals came the sound of dancing
and of a violin. All the hired men of the previous year were there,
for they were fond of frequent reunions. Daggett, whose zest for
practical jokes seemed unbounded, had inherited from his grandfather
a silk tile, which was very tall and very old. This worn-out hat he
had by using much flattery sold to Archer and had induced him to wear
it to Break o'Day, where it and its owner were greeted with yells of
derision. The defrauded purchaser on his return discovered that ink
had been secreted in the lining in such a manner that it had dripped
down and streaked his face with red. Daggett was saved from a
chastisement by the interference of the men, who had much trouble in
holding the infuriated Archer.
The major was in the tool-house whittling, tinkering and
philosophizing to his heart's content. He had removed his coat and
vest and his face was animated with interest. On the floor were many
pieces of newly whittled wood and many cast irons. He was holding in
an upright position an S-shaped bar about his own height, which he
was giving the last few touches with his jack-knife "This will
greatly increase the modulus of the machine," remarked the old man to
himself, as he surveyed his work. "This saves the use of one wheel
and cog. Unless I am mistaken, it will strike the bar exactly on the
center of percussion."
John and Manie, who had been married the preceding winter, and who
lived at Lansing, were sitting in the parlor of the new dwelling,
with their chairs touching each other and Manie's hand resting on his
shoulder. The door leading to the sitting-room was opened by Mrs.
Grippin, who thrust her head inside the parlor.
"Why don't you folks have a light?" she said sharply. "Sitting there
in the dark when there ain't any need of it, just as though we didn't
have money enough to buy kerosene."
"We have thought nothing about the light," replied John.
"Just as you like," said Mrs. Grippin, as she closed the door. "Set
in the dark like heathens if you want to. Some folks are so funny
about such things."
"How little we are talking," remarked John. "Do you not feel lonely
in so dull society?"
"No, not in the least," answered Manie. "I am never lonely except
when I am with one whom I wish to entertain, but who has no concern
for things in which I am interested. Left without interruption to my
own reflections, I am quite capable of self-entertainment."
"My tongue has been inactive to-night," said John, "but my thoughts
have been busy. I have been thinking of last summer when I sat in
this room, or its counterpart, and conducted a suit which, to tell
the truth, I had no reasonable chance to win."
"So you call those visits a courtship, do you?" asked Manie, with a
smile which the darkness concealed, though it could not hide the
raillery expressed in her voice and words. "Your main care seemed to
be to keep me from knowing your real sentiments, but I readily
guessed them from the first in spite of all your precautions."
"Yes," admitted John, "I was afraid to make known my longing. While I
was in uncertainty, I had hope; but I did not know how unhappy I
might be when doubt was dispelled. My sex frequently offends by an
excess of presumption."
"The most frequent offenses," replied Manie, "are caused by a lack of
presumption, although the grossest are caused by its excess."
"That is a strange and questionable theory," replied John.
"Do you think so?" said Manie. "I know a dozen young men who are kept
by timidity from enjoying the society of ladies whom they admire.
Their addresses, which would be welcomed, are long deferred. They
worship at a distance; and by and by, when they summon up their
laggard courage and are repulsed, they do not mistrust that their
offers are declined only because they are proffered too late. The
ladies, whose attractions are appreciated by other admirers, look
with scorn on the tardy advances."
"Now, my little philosopher," said John, "you are, as ever,
argumentative. To-night I am too happy for controversy. I feel like
dreaming rather than arguing. Come into the orchard with me, Manie."
Silently they passed to the orchard. The sky was almost cloudless and
was brilliantly lighted by its thousand lamps. They seated themselves
at the foot of a tree and reclined against its trunk. It was with a
feeling of security that Manie let her head drop on his shoulder. As
far as man could love, as far as man could cherish, as far as man
could protect, he would "love, cherish and protect." She had given
him her heart when he was poor in money and in position. Now the poor
had become rich, the despised had become honored, the weak had become
strong.
They looked long at the fragments of apple-blossoms which were
dropping in the moonlight. One other May they had been in that
orchard, aye, under that very tree, and had marked the beauty of the
sight, a beauty enhanced by the manifold augmentation of fancy. How
vividly they remembered that Sabbath morning. Nor could they forget
that night when, almost in the same place, in the net-work of
moonbeams which came between the apple limbs, they had uttered their
first words of love.
"At one time," said John, "I was nearly convinced of the vanity of
all aspirations. I thought that happiness, if it comes, must be a
surprise, that whatever felicity is anticipated is sure to be kept
from us. Now I know that I was wrong. I dreamed of the bliss which I
should enjoy when I had won you, and I have realized it a
thousand-fold. Now, Manie, you must not dispute me this time. I do
not wish you to prove that I have had no enjoyment."
THE END.
[Transcriber's Notes]
This work was scanned and processed with optical character
recognition (OCR) by Google. However, there was much to fix before it
could be a proper e-book. For instance, stray characters, incorrect
characters, hyphens to be removed, entire pages missing or gibberish.
This repair work was completed and the book released through the
Gutenberg Project by Nathan Hartley. Nathan performed this work in
honor of his Great-Great-Great-Grandfather George Washington Holland
Jr., from whom these stories are believed to have originated.
From "An Account of Ingham County From Its Organization" by Frank
Turner, George Fuller and Michigan Pioneer and Historical Society.
http://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/micounty/ARH7656.0001.001/292 "G. W.
Holland was historian and poet laureate of Bunkerhill and other
townships where he resided for forty years. After 1876 he became the
regular correspondent of the Ingham County Democrat and News, the
Leslie Local, Stockbridge Sun and Lansing Sentinel. He was justice of
the peace for twenty-two years, so could write from his court docket
all kinds of stories. His pen name was "Rough and Ready," and he
edited a set of stories about White Oak and Leroy townships,
"Chronicles of Break o'Day." These were revised and made into a book
by E. Everett Howe that had quite a sale. Four editions were
published by Robert Smith Printing company."
[End Transcriber's Notes]