Some good account at last.'”
“But, Sam, if we work for you, you must tell us that story about Ruth
Sullivan.”
“Lordy massy! yis,--course I will. I've had the best kind o' chances
of knowin' all about that 'are. Wal, you see there was old Gineral
Sullivan, he lived in state and grande'r in the old Sullivan house out
to Roxberry. I been to Roxberry, and seen that 'are house o' Gineral
Sullivan's. There was one time that I was a consid'able spell lookin'
round in Roxberry, a kind o' seein' how things wuz there, and whether
or no there mightn't be some sort o' providential openin' or suthin'. I
used to stay with Aunt Polly Ginger. She was sister to Mehitable Ginger,
Gineral Sullivan's housekeeper, and hed the in and out o' the Sullivan
house, and kind o' kept the run o' how things went and came in it. Polly
she was a kind o' cousin o' my mother's, and allers glad to see me. Fact
was, I was putty handy round house; and she used to save up her broken
things and sich till I come round in the fall; and then I'd mend 'em up,
and put the clock right, and split her up a lot o' kindlings, and board
up the cellar-windows, and kind o' make her sort o' comfortable,--she
bein' a lone body, and no man round. As I said, it was sort o'
convenient to hev me; and so I jest got the run o' things in the
Sullivan house pretty much as ef I was one on 'em. Gineral Sullivan he
kept a grand house, I tell you. You see, he cum from the old country,
and felt sort o' lordly and grand; and they used to hev the gretest kind
o' doin's there to the Sullivan house. Ye ought ter a seen that 'are
house,--gret big front hall and gret wide stairs; none o' your steep
kind that breaks a feller's neck to get up and down, but gret broad
stairs with easy risers, so they used to say you could a cantered a pony
up that 'are stairway easy as not. Then there was gret wide rooms, and
sofys, and curtains, and gret curtained bedsteads that looked sort o'
like fortifications, and pictur's that was got in Italy and Rome and all
them 'are heathen places. Ye see, the Gineral was a drefful worldly
old critter, and was all for the pomps and the vanities. Lordy massy!
I wonder what the poor old critter thinks about it all now, when his
body's all gone to dust and ashes in the graveyard, and his soul's gone
to 'tarnity! Wal, that are ain't none o' my business; only it shows the
vanity o' riches in a kind o' strikin' light, and makes me content that
I never hed none.”
“But, Sam, I hope General Sullivan wasn't a wicked man, _was_ he?”
“Wal, I wouldn't say he was railly wickeder than the run; but he was
one o' these 'ere high-stepping, big-feeling fellers, that seem to be
a hevin' their portion in this life. Drefful proud he was; and he was
pretty much sot on this world, and kep' a sort o' court goin' on round
him. Wal, I don't jedge him nor nobody: folks that hes the world is apt
to get sot on it. Don't none on us do more than middlin' well.”
“But, Sam, what about Ruth Sullivan?”
“Ruth?--Oh, yis!--Ruth--.
“Wal, ye see, the only crook in the old Gineral's lot was he didn't hev
no children. Mis' Sullivan, she was a beautiful woman, as handsome as a
pictur'; but she never had but one child; and he was a son who died when
he was a baby, and about broke her heart. And then this 'ere Ruth was
her sister's child, that was born about the same time; and, when the boy
died, they took Ruth home to sort o' fill his place, and kind o' comfort
up Mis' Sullivan. And then Ruth's father and mother died; and they
adopted her for their own, and brought her up.
“Wal, she grew up to be amazin' handsome. Why, everybody said that she
was jest the light and glory of that 'are old Sullivan place, and worth
more'n all the pictur's and the silver and the jewels, and all there was
in the house; and she was jest so innercent and sweet, that you never
see nothing to beat it. Wal, your Aunt Lois she got acquainted with Ruth
one summer when she was up to Old Town a visitin' at Parson Lothrop's.
Your Aunt Lois was a gal then, and a pretty good-lookin' one too; and,
somehow or other, she took to Ruth, and Ruth took to her. And when Ruth
went home, they used to be a writin' backwards and forads; and I guess
the fact was, Ruth thought about as much of your Aunt Lois as she did o'
anybody. Ye see, your aunt was a kind o' strong up-and-down woman that
always knew certain jest what she did know; and Ruth, she was one o'
them gals that seems sort o' like a stray lamb or a dove that's sort o'
lost their way in the world, and wants some one to show 'em where to go
next. For, ye see, the fact was, the old Gineral and Madam, they
didn't agree very well. He wa'n't well pleased that she didn't have no
children; and she was sort o' jealous o' him 'cause she got hold o' some
sort of story about how he was to a married somebody else over there in
England: so she got sort o' riled up, jest as wimmen will, the best on
'em; and they was pretty apt to have spats, and one could give t'other
as good as they sent; and, by all accounts, they fit putty lively
sometimes. And, between the two, Ruth she was sort o' scared, and
fluttered like a dove that didn't know jest where to settle. Ye see,
there she was in that 'are great wide house, where they was a feastin'
and a prancin' and a dancin', and a goin' on like Ahashuerus and
Herodias and all them old Scriptur' days. There was a comin' and goin,'
and there was gret dinners and gret doin's, but no love; and, you know,
the Scriptur' says, 'Better is a dinner o' yarbs, where love is, than a
stalled ox, and hatred therewith.'
“Wal, I don't orter say _hatred_, arter all. I kind o reckon, the old
Gineral did the best he could: the fact is, when a woman gits a kink
in her head agin a man, the best on us don't allers do jest the right
thing.
“Any way, Ruth, she was sort o' forlorn, and didn't seem to take no
comfort in the goin's on. The Gineral he was mighty fond on her,
and proud on her; and there wa'n't nothin' too good for Ruth. He was
free-handed, the Gineral wuz. He dressed her up in silks and satins, and
she hed a maid to wait on her, and she hed sets o' pearl and dimond; and
Madam Sullivan she thought all the world on her, and kind o' worshipped
the ground she trod on. And yet Ruth was sort o' lonesome.
“Ye see, Ruth wa'n't calculated for grande'r. Some folks ain't.
“Why, that 'are summer she spent out to Old Town, she was jest as chirk
and chipper as a wren, a wearin' her little sun-bunnet, and goin' a
huckle-berryin' and a black-berryin' and diggin' sweet-flag, and gettin
cowslops and dandelions; and she hed a word for everybody. And everybody
liked Ruth, and wished her well. Wal, she was sent for her health; and
she got that, and more too: she got a sweetheart.
“Ye see, there was a Cap'n Oliver a visitin' at the minister's that
summer,--a nice, handsome young man as ever was. He and Ruth and your
Aunt Lois, they was together a good deal; and they was a ramblin' and
a ridin' and a sailin': and so Ruth and the Capting went the way o' all
the airth, and fell dead in love with each other. Your Aunt Lois she
was knowing to it and all about it, 'cause Ruth she was jest one of them
that couldn't take a step without somebody to talk to.
“Captain Oliver was of a good family in England; and so, when he made
bold to ask the old Gineral for Ruth, he didn't say him nay: and it was
agreed, as they was young, they should wait a year or two. If he and
she was of the same mind, he should be free to marry her. Jest right on
that, the Captain's regiment was ordered home, and he had to go; and,
the next they heard, it was sent off to India. And poor little Ruth she
kind o' drooped and pined; but she kept true, and wouldn't have nothin'
to say to nobody that came arter her, for there was lots and cords o'
fellows as did come arter her. Ye see, Ruth had a takin' way with her;
and then she had the name of bein' a great heiress, and that allers
draws fellers, as molasses does flies.
“Wal, then the news came, that Captain Oliver was comin' home to
England, and the ship was took by the Algerenes, and he was gone into
slavery there among them heathen Mahomedans and what not.
“Folks seemed to think it was all over with him, and Ruth might jest as
well give up fust as last. And the old Gineral he'd come to think she
might do better; and he kep' a introducin' one and another, and tryin'
to marry her off; but Ruth she wouldn't. She used to write sheets and
sheets to your Aunt Lois about it; and I think Aunt Lois she kep' her
grit up. Your Aunt Lois she'd a stuck by a man to the end o' time ef't
ben her case; and so she told Ruth.
“Wal, then there was young Jeff Sullivan, the Gineral's nephew, he
turned up; and the Gineral he took a gret fancy to him. He was next heir
to the Gineral; but he'd ben a pretty rackety youngster in his young
days,--off to sea, and what not, and sowed a consid'able crop o' wild
oats. People said he'd been a pirating off there in South Ameriky. Lordy
massy! nobody rightly knew where he hed ben or where he hadn't: all was,
he turned up at last all alive, and chipper as a skunk blackbird. Wal,
of course he made his court to Ruth; and the Gineral, he rather backed
him up in it; but Ruth she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. Wal,
he come and took up his lodgin' at the Gineral's; and he was jest as
slippery as an eel, and sort o' slid into every thing, that was a goin'
on in the house and about it. He was here, and he was there, and he
was everywhere, and a havin' his say about this and that; and he got
everybody putty much under his thumb. And they used to say, he wound the
Gineral round and round like a skein o' yarn; but he couldn't come it
round Ruth.
“Wal, the Gineral said she shouldn't be forced; and Jeff, he was smooth
as satin, and said he'd be willing to wait as long as Jacob did for
Rachel. And so there he sot down, a watchin' as patient as a cat at a
mousehole; 'cause the Gineral he was thick-set and shortnecked, and drank
pretty free, and was one o' the sort that might pop off any time.
“Wal, Mis' Sullivan, she beset the Gineral to make a provision for
Ruth; 'cause she told him very sensible, that he'd brought her up in
luxury, and that it wa'n't fair not to settle somethin' on her; and
so the Gineral he said he'd make a will, and part the property equally
between them. And he says to Jeff, that, if he played his part as
a young fellow oughter know how, it would all come to him in the
end; 'cause they hadn't heard nothing from Captain Oliver for three or
four years, and folks about settled it that he must, be dead.
“Wal, the Gineral he got a letter about an estate that had come to him
in England; and he had to go over. Wal, livin' on the next estate, was
the very cousin of the Gineral's that he was to a married when they was
both young: the lands joined so that the grounds run together. What came
between them two nobody knows; but she never married, and there she was.
There was high words between the Gineral and Madam Sullivan about his
goin' over. She said there wa'n't no sort o' need on't, and he said
there was; and she said she hoped _she_ should be in her grave afore he
come back; and he said she might suit herself about that for all him.
That 'are was the story that the housekeeper told to Aunt Polly; and
Aunt Polly she told me. These 'ere squabbles somehow allers does kind o'
leak out one way or t'other. Anyhow, it was a house divided agin itself
at the Gineral's, when he was a fixin' out for the voyage. There was
Ruth a goin' fust to one, and then to t'other, and tryin' all she could
to keep peace beteen 'em; and there was this 'ere Master Slick Tongue
talkin' this way to one side, and that way to t'other, and the old
Gineral kind o' like a shuttle-cock atween 'em.
“Wal, then, the night afore he sailed, the Gineral he hed his lawyer
up in his library there, a lookin' over all his papers and bonds and
things, and a witnessing his will; and Master Jeff was there, as lively
as a cricket, a goin' into all affairs, and offerin' to take precious
good care while he was gone; and the Gineral he had his papers and
letters out, a sortin' on 'em over, which was to be took to the old
country, and which was to be put in a trunk to go back to Lawyer
Dennis's office.
“Wal, Abner Ginger, Polly's boy, he that was footman and waiter then
at the Gineral's, he told me, that, about eight o'clock that evening he
went up with hot water and lemons and sperits and sich, and he see the
gret green table in the library all strewed and covered with piles o'
papers; and there was tin boxes a standin' round; and the Gineral a
packin' a trunk, and young Master Jeff, as lively and helpful as a rat
that smells cheese. And then the Gineral he says, 'Abner,' says he, 'can
you write your name?'--'I should hope so, Gineral.' says Abner.--'Wal,
then, Abner,' says he, 'this is my last will; and I want you to witness
it,' and so Abner he put down his name opposite to a place with a wafer
and a seal; and then the Gineral, he says, 'Abner, you tell Ginger to
come here.' That, you see, was his housekeeper, my Aunt Polly's sister,
and a likely woman as ever was. And so they had her up, and she put
down her name to the will; and then Aunt Polly she was had up (she was
drinking tea there that night), and she put down her name. And all of
'em did it with good heart, 'cause it had got about among 'em that the
will was to provide for Miss Ruth; for everybody loved Ruth, ye see, and
there was consid'ble many stories kind o' goin' the rounds about Master
Jeff and his doin's. And they did say he sort o' kep' up the strife
atween the Gineral and my lady, and so they didn't think none too well
o' him; and, as he was next o' kin, and Miss Ruth wa'n't none o' the
Gineral's blood (ye see, she was Mis' Sullivan's sister's child), of
course there wouldn't nothin' go to Miss Ruth in way o' law, and so that
was why the signin' o' that 'are will was so much talked about
among 'em.”
“Wal, you see, the Gineral he sailed the next day; and Jeff he staid by
to keep watch o' things.
“Wal, the old Gineral he got over safe; for Miss Sullivan, she had a
letter from him all right. When he got away, his conscience sort o'
nagged him, and he was minded to be a good husband. At any rate, he
wrote a good loving letter to her, and sent his love to Ruth, and sent
over lots o' little keepsakes and things for her, and told her that he
left her under good protection, and wanted her to try and make up her
mind to marry Jeff, as that would keep the property together.
“Wal, now there couldn't be no sort o' sugar sweeter than Jeff was to
them lone wimmen. Jeff was one o' the sort that could be all things to
all wimmen. He waited and he tended, and he was as humble as any snake
in the grass that ever ye see and the old lady, she clean fell in with
him, but Ruth, she seemed to have a regular spite agin him. And she that
war as gentle as a lamb, that never had so much as a hard thought of a
mortal critter, and wouldn't tread on a worm, she was so set agin Jeff,
that she wouldn't so much as touch his hand when she got out o' her
kerridge.
“Wal, now comes the strange part o' my story: Ruth was one o' the kind
that _hes the gift o' seein'. She was born with a veil over her face!_”
This mysterious piece of physiological information about Ruth was given
with a look and air that announced something very profound and awful;
and we both took up the inquiry, “Born with a veil over her face? How
should _that_ make her see?”
“Wal, boys, how should I know? But the fact _is so_. There's those as is
wal known as lies the gift o' seein' what others can't see: they can
see through walls and houses; they can see people's hearts; they can
see what's to come. They don't know nothin' how 'tis, but this 'ere
knowledge comes to 'em: it's a gret gift; and that sort's born with the
veil over their faces. Ruth was o' these 'ere. Old Granny Badger she
was the knowingest old nuss in all these parts; and she was with Ruth's
mother when she was born, and she told Lady Lothrop all about it. Says
she, 'You may depend upon it that child 'll have the “_second-sight_,”'
says she. Oh, that 'are fact was wal known! Wal, that was the reason
why Jeff Sullivan couldn't come it round Ruth tho' he was silkier than
a milkweed-pod, and jest about as patient as a spider in his hole a
watchin' to got his grip on a fly. Ruth wouldn't argue with him, and she
wouldn't flout him; but she jest shut herself up in herself, and kept a
lookout on him; but she told your Aunt Lois jest what she thought about
him.
“Wal, in about six months, come the news that the Gineral was dead. He
dropped right down in his tracks, dead with apoplexy, as if he had been
shot; and Lady Maxwell she writ a long letter to my lady and Ruth. Ye
see, he'd got to be Sir Thomas Sullivan over there; and he was a comin'
home to take 'em all over to England to live in grande'r. Wal, my Lady
Sullivan (she was then, ye see) she took it drefful hard. Ef they'd a
been the lovingest couple in the world, she couldn't a took it harder.
Aunt Polly, she said it was all 'cause she thought so much of him, that
she fit him so. There's women that thinks so much o' their husbands,
that they won't let 'em hev no peace o' their life; and I expect it war
so with her poor soul! Any way, she went right down smack when she heard
he was dead. She was abed, sick, when the news come; and she never spoke
nor smiled, jest turned her back to everybody, and kinder wilted and
wilted, and was dead in a week. And there was poor little Ruth left all
alone in the world, with neither kith nor kin but Jeff.
“Wal, when the funeral was over, and the time app'inted to read the will
and settle up matters, there wa'n't no will to be found nowhere, high
nor low.
“Lawyer Dean he flew round like a parched pea on a shovel. He said he
thought he could a gone in the darkest night, and put his hand on that
'ere will; but when he went where he thought it was, he found it warn't
there, and he knowed he'd kep' it under lock and key. What he thought
was the will turned out to be an old mortgage. Wal, there was an awful
row and a to-do about it, you may be sure. Ruth, she jist said nothin'
good or bad. And her not speakin' made Jeff a sight more uncomfortable
than ef she'd a hed it out with him. He told her it shouldn't make no
sort o' difference; that he should allers stand ready to give her all he
hed, if she'd only take him with it. And when it came to that she only
gin him a look, and went out o' the room.
“Jeff he flared and flounced and talked, and went round and round a
rumpussin' among the papers, but no will was forthcoming high or low.
Wal, now here comes what's remarkable. Ruth she told this 'ere, all the
particulars, to yer Aunt Lois and Lady Lothrop. She said that the night
after the funeral she went up to her chamber. Ruth had the gret
front chamber, opposite to Mis' Sullivan's. I've been in it; it was a
monstrous big room, with outlandish furniture in it, that the Gineral
brought over from an old palace out to Italy. And there was a great big
lookin'-glass over the dressin'-table, that they said come from Venice,
that swung so that you could see the whole room in it. Wal, she was a
standin' front o' this, jist goin' to undress herself, a hearin' the
rain drip on the leaves and the wind a whishin' and whisperin' in the
old elm-trees, and jist a thinkin' over her lot, and what should she
do now, all alone in the world, when of a sudden she felt a kind o'
lightness in her head, and she thought she seemed to see somebody in the
glass a movin'. And she looked behind, and there wa'n't nobody there.
Then she looked forward in the glass, and saw a strange big room, that
she'd never seen before, with a long painted winder in it; and along
side o' this stood a tall cabinet with a good many drawers in it. And
she saw herself, and knew that it was herself, in this room, along with
another woman whose back was turned towards her. She saw herself speak
to this woman, and p'int to the cabinet. She saw the woman nod her head.
She saw herself go to the cabinet, and open the middle drawer, and take
out a bundle o' papers from the very back end on't. She saw her take out
a paper from the middle, and open it, and hold it up; and she knew that
there was the missin' will. Wal, it all overcome her so that she fainted
clean away. And her maid found her a lyin' front o' the dressin'-table
on the floor.
“She was sick of a fever for a week or fortnight a'ter; and your Aunt
Lois she was down takin' care of her; and, as soon as she got able to be
moved, she was took out to Lady Lothrop's. Jeff he was jist as attentive
and good as he could be; but she wouldn't bear him near her room. If he
so much as set a foot on the stairs that led to it she'd know it, and
got so wild that he hed to be kept from comin' into the front o' the
house. But he was doin' his best to buy up good words from everybody. He
paid all the servants double; he kept every one in their places, and
did so well by 'em all that the gen'l word among 'em was that Miss Ruth
couldn't do better than to marry such a nice, open-handed gentleman.
“Wal, Lady Lothrop she wrote to Lady Maxwell all that hed happened; and
Lady Maxwell, she sent over for Ruth to come over and be a companion for
her, and said she'd adopt her, and be as a mother to her.
“Wal, then Ruth she went over with some gentlefolks that was goin' back
to England, and offered to see her safe and sound; and so she was set
down at Lady Maxwell's manor. It was a grand place, she said, and such
as she never see before,--like them old gentry places in England. And
Lady Maxwell she made much of her, and cosseted her up for the sake of
what the old Gineral had said about her. And Ruth she told her all her
story, and how she believed that the will was to be found somewhere, and
that she should be led to see it yet.
“She told her, too, that she felt it in her that Cap'n Oliver wasn't
dead, and that he'd come back yet. And Lady Maxwell she took up for her
with might and main, and said she'd stand by her. But then, ye see, so
long as there warn't no will to be found, there warn't nothin' to be
done. Jeff was the next heir; and he'd got every thing, stock, and lot,
and the estate in England into the bargain. And folks was beginnin' to
think putty well of him, as folks allers does when a body is up in the
world, and hes houses and lands. Lordy massy! riches allers covers a
multitude o' sins.
“Finally, when Ruth hed ben six months with her, one day Lady Maxwell
got to tellin' her all about her history, and what hed ben atween her
and her cousin, when they was young, and how they hed a quarrel and he
flung off to Ameriky, and all them things that it don't do folks no good
to remember when it's all over and can't be helped. But she was a lone
body, and it seemed to do her good to talk about it.
“Finally, she says to Ruth, says she, 'I 'll show you a room in this
house you han't seen before. It was the room where we hed that quarrel,'
says she; 'and the last I saw of him was there, till he come back to
die,' says she.
“So she took a gret key out of her bunch; and she led Ruth along a
long passage-way to the other end of the house, and opened on a great
library. And the minute Ruth came in, she threw up her hands and gin a
great cry. 'Oh!' says she, 'this is the room! and there is the window!
and there is the cabinet I and _there in that middle drawer at the back
end in a bundle of papers is the will!_
“And Lady Maxwell she said, quite dazed, 'Go look,' says she. And Ruth
went, jest as she seed herself do, and opened the drawer, and drew forth
from the back part a yellow pile of old letters. And in the middle of
those was the will, sure enough. Ruth drew it out, and opened it, and
showed it to her.
“Wal, you see that will give Ruth the whole of the Gineral's property in
America, tho' it did leave the English estate to Jeff.
“Wal, the end on't was like a story-book.
“Jeff he made believe be mighty glad. And he said it must a ben that the
Gineral hed got flustered with the sperit and water, and put that
'ere will in among his letters that he was a doin' up to take back to
England. For it was in among Lady Maxwell's letters that she writ him
when they was young, and that he'd a kep' all these years and was a
takin' back to her.
“Wal, Lawyer Dean said he was sure that Jeff made himself quite busy and
useful that night, a tyin' up the papers with red tape, and a packin'
the Gin-eral's trunk; and that, when Jeff gin him his bundle to lock up
in his box, he never mistrusted but what he'd got it all right.
“Wal, you see it was jest one of them things that can't be known to the
jedgment-day. It might a ben an accident, and then agin it might not;
and folks settled it one way or t'other, 'cordin' to their 'pinion
o' Jeff; but ye see how 'mazin' handy for him it happened! Why, ef it
hadn't ben for the providence I've ben a tellin' about, there it might a
lain in them old letters, that Lady Maxwell said she never hed the heart
to look over! it never would a turned up in the world.”
“Well,” said I, “what became of Ruth?”
“Oh! Cap'n Oliver he came back all alive, and escaped from the
Algerines; and they was married in King's Chapel, and lived in the old
Sullivan House, in peace and prosperity. That's jest how the story was;
and now Aunt Lois can make what she's a mind ter out on't.”
“And what became of Jeff?”
“Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was wrecked off
the Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to his
property.”
“Good enough for him,” said both of us.
“Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe
he didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, tho' I'd rather never hed
nothin'. This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful temptation.
“Wal, now, boys, ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we 'll go up
to yer grand'ther's cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits
me dry.”
[Illustration: 5068]