The wooded hills and pastures of eastern Massachusetts are so close to
Boston that from upper windows of the city, looking westward, you can
see the tops of pine-trees and orchard-boughs on the high horizon.
There is a rustic environment on the landward side; there are old
farmhouses at the back of Milton Hill and beyond Belmont which look as
unchanged by the besieging suburbs of a great city as if they were
forty miles from even its borders. Now and then, in Boston streets,
you can see an old farmer in his sleigh or farm wagon as if you saw
him in a Berkshire village. He seems neither to look up at the towers
nor down at any fashionable citizens, but goes his way alike
unconscious of seeing or being seen.
On a certain day a man came driving along Beacon Street, who looked
bent in the shoulders, as if his worn fur cap were too heavy for head
and shoulders both. This type of the ancient New England farmer in
winter twitched the reins occasionally, like an old woman, to urge the
steady white horse that plodded along as unmindful of his master's
suggestions as of the silver-mounted harnesses that passed them by.
Both horse and driver appeared to be conscious of sufficient wisdom,
and even worth, for the duties of life; but all this placidity and
self-assurance were in sharp contrast to the eager excitement of a
pretty, red-cheeked girl who sat at the driver's side. She was as
sensitive to every new impression as they were dull. Her face bloomed
out of a round white hood in such charming fashion that those who
began to smile at an out-of-date equipage were interrupted by a second
and stronger instinct, and paid the homage that one must always pay to
beauty.
It was a bitter cold morning. The great sleighbells on the horse's
shaggy neck jangled along the street, and seemed to still themselves
as they came among the group of vehicles that were climbing the long
hill by the Common.
As the sleigh passed a clubhouse that stands high on the slope, a
young man who stood idly behind one of the large windows made a
hurried step forward, and his sober face relaxed into a broad,
delighted smile; then he turned quickly, and presently appearing at
the outer door, scurried down the long flight of steps to the street,
fastening the top buttons of his overcoat by the way. The old sleigh,
with its worn buffalo skin hanging unevenly over the back, was only a
short distance up the street, but its pursuer found trouble in gaining
much upon the steady gait of the white horse. He ran two or three
steps now and then, and was almost close enough to speak as he drew
near to the pavement by the State House. The pretty girl was looking
up with wonder and delight, but in another moment they went briskly
on, and it was not until a long pause had to be made at the blocked
crossing of Tremont Street that the chase was ended.
The wonders of a first visit to Boston were happily continued to Miss
Nancy Gale in the sudden appearance at her side of a handsome young
gentleman. She put out a most cordial and warm hand from her fitch
muff, and her acquaintance noticed with pleasure the white knitted
mitten that protected it from the weather. He had not yet found time
to miss the gloves left behind at the club, but the warm little mitten
was very comfortable to his fingers.
"I was just thinking--I hoped I should see you, when I was starting to
come in this morning," she said, with an eager look of pleasure; then,
growing shy after the unconscious joy of the first moment, "Boston is
a pretty big place, isn't it?"
"We all think so," said Tom Aldis with fine candor. "It seems odd to
see you here."
"Uncle Ezra, this is Mr. Aldis that I have been telling you about, who
was down at our place so long in the fall," explained Nancy, turning
to look appealingly at her stern companion. "Mr. Aldis had to remain
with a friend who had sprained his ankle. Is Mr. Carew quite well
now?" she turned again to ask.
"Oh yes," answered Tom. "I saw him last week; he's in New York this
winter. But where are you staying, Nancy?" he asked eagerly, with a
hopeful glance at uncle Ezra. "I should like to take you somewhere
this afternoon. This is your first visit, isn't it? Couldn't you go to
see Rip Van Winkle to-morrow? It's the very best thing there is just
now. Jefferson's playing this week."
"Our folks ain't in the habit of attending theatres, sir," said uncle
Ezra, checking this innocent plan as effectually as an untracked
horse-car was stopping traffic in the narrow street. He looked over
his shoulder to see if there were any room to turn, but was
disappointed.
Tom Aldis gave a glance, also, and was happily reassured; the street
was getting fuller behind them every moment. "I beg you to excuse me,
sir," he said gallantly to the old man. "Do you think of anything else
that Miss Gale ought to see? There is the Art Museum, if she hasn't
been there already; all the pictures and statues and Egyptian things,
you know."
There was much deference and courtesy in the young man's behavior to
his senior. Uncle Ezra responded by a less suspicious look at him, but
seemed to be considering this new proposition before he spoke. Uncle
Ezra was evidently of the opinion that while it might be a misfortune
to be an old man, it was a fault to be a young one and good looking
where girls were concerned. "Miss Gale's father and mother showed me
so much kindness," Tom explained, seizing his moment of advantage, "I
should like to be of some use: it may not be convenient for you to
come into town again in this cold weather."
"Our folks have plenty to do all the time, that's a fact,"
acknowledged uncle Ezra less grimly, while Nancy managed to show the
light of a very knowing little smile. "I don't know but she'd like to
have a city man show her about, anyways. 'T ain't but four miles an' a
half out to our place, the way we come, but while this weather holds I
don't calculate to get into Boston more 'n once a week. I fetch all my
stuff in to the Quincy Market myself, an' I've got to come in day
after to-morrow mornin', but not till late, with a barrel o' nice
winter pears I've been a-savin'. I can set the barrel right for'ard in
the sleigh here, and I do' know but I can fetch Nancy as well as not.
But how'd ye get home, Nancy? Could ye walk over to our place from the
Milton depot, or couldn't ye?"
"Why, of course I could!" answered his niece, with a joy calmed by
discretion.
"'T ain't but a mile an' three quarters; 't won't hurt a State 'o
Maine girl," said the old man, smiling under his great cap, so that
his cold, shrewd eyes suddenly grew blue and boyish. "I know all about
ye now, Mr. Aldis; I used to be well acquainted with your grandfather.
Much obliged to you. Yes, I'll fetch Nancy. I'll leave her right up
there to the Missionary Building, corner o' Somerset Street. She can
wait in the bookstore; it's liable to be open early. After I get
through business to-day, I'm goin' to leave the hoss, an' let her see
Faneuil Hall, an' the market o' course, and I don't know but we shall
stop in to the Old South Church; or you can show her that, an' tell
her about any other curiosities, if we don't have time."
Nancy looked radiant, and Tom Aldis accepted his trust with
satisfaction. At that moment the blockade was over and teams began to
move.
"Not if it rains!" said uncle Ezra, speaking distinctly over his
shoulder as they started. "Otherwise expect her about eight or a
little"--but the last of the sentence was lost.
Nancy looked back and nodded from the tangle to Tom, who stood on the
curbstone with his hands in his pockets. Her white hood bobbed out of
sight the next moment in School Street behind a great dray.
"Good gracious! eight o'clock!" said Tom, a little daunted, as he
walked quickly up the street. As he passed the Missionary Building and
the bookstore, he laughed aloud; but as he came near the clubhouse
again, in this victorious retreat, he looked up at a window of one of
the pleasant old houses, and then obeyed the beckoning nod of an
elderly relative who seemed to have been watching for his return.
"Tom," said she, as he entered the library, "I insist upon it that I
am not curious by nature or by habit, but what in the world made you
chase that funny old horse and sleigh?"
"A pretty girl," said Tom frankly.