_Thursday, May 21, 1868._ When I inquired at breakfast if I could have
Jacob's horse for the day, I found that, as he was in use for the
crop, Miss Towne had already had her horse put singly into their
rockaway for school, and Miss Murray's into the chaise for my use. So
when they started for school, I followed along in company as far as
the end of the Village road, where Mr. N. now has a store, and,
turning on to the more familiar road, soon found myself crossing the
creek over Mr. Philbrick's bridge,--one of the very few in decent
repair,--and on my way to Captain John Fripp Homestead. The entire
absence of gates, and as a consequence of pigs, or _vice versa_, made
my drive an easy one, and I did not have to get out once. It had
seemed hot early, but light clouds and a fresh breeze kept it cool all
day. I turned up the familiar avenue to Folsom's, after passing
through one field in which the houses are still, though more
scattered. The avenue was clean and trim, and the house
corresponded,--a new piazza and steps all freshly painted, fresh paint
inside, and paper on the walls made everything look uncommonly
spruce. The schoolroom is now the parlor, and my sofa and cushion
grace it still!
Mr. Alden met me very cordially at the foot of the steps, and I went
in to see the other occupants, Mr. and Mrs. Waters and their son. I
had a pleasant call and talk, and then, refusing their earnest
invitation to spend the day, as Coffin's Point was my one object, I
pursued my lonely way. Trees cut down, and houses moved and built in
the middle of the field, with the absence of fences, gates, and pigs,
were the most noticeable changes, and I drove along, meeting no one,
until I came to the pine woods on the right opposite old Frank's
ground, just before you turn into the Pine Grove field. The woods were
all thinned out, logs lying in every direction. Hoeing the corn
planted there were two women I thought I recognized, and, walking the
horse, I leaned forward to see who was the man further on. Then I
stopped and asked him whose the land was he was working, when he began
an account of how "it used to be McTureous and Mr. Thomas Coffin buy
'em,"[203] which I cut short with--"Yes, I know that, but is it your
own now? What is your name?" "My name Able, ma'am; dis lan' mine, yes,
ma'am"--and then--"Oh! my Lord! Der Miss Hayiut, an' me no know um!"
and he dropped his hoe and came scrambling and running to the road.
Sarah and Elsie, whom I had just passed, and Martha further on, came
out at his call, grinning and pleased, and then he and Martha began
directly upon what I had done for Rose,[204] their gratitude, and
willingness that I should keep her forever. Then they talked of how
hard the last year or two had been, and there were many reiterations
of "Ebery word Mass' Charlie and Mr. Philbrick tell we come true."
"Tell 'em tousan howdy over for we--long too much for shum. We fin'
'em out now."
A few steps more brought me into the Pine Grove field, and I turned
towards the house, followed by half a dozen small children, only one
of whom I knew or knew me,--little Abigail. Towards the house whom
should I come upon but Flora and her Sarah, a great girl. She was
pleased as could be, but told me I should find no one at the Grove.
Old Monah was dead, and all the old people had bought land and lived
at the Point. They were working for Mr. Ward, glad enough to earn a
little ready money for food. I went on to see Mrs. Vaughn, and as she
had not come up from school, walked down to the praise-house, seeing
no one I knew but old Binah.
School had dispersed, so I walked back to the house, and dined there,
and then for Coffin's Point. Once inside the line--for the gate is
not--I met the familiar breeze of the Big Pasture, but its altered
face. The houses are back as far as the creek on one side and the
woods on the other,--two or three quite large and with piazzas,--the
praise-house near the corner of the wood. I was a long time passing
through it, for they all dropped their hoes and came down to shake
hands. I got Uncle George to follow along with hammer and nails to
mend the chaise, as the floor was so broken I could not put my feet on
it, and the bag of oats had dropped through on the way. I had tied the
halter to the dasher and wound it round the bag, so there was no loss.
The dilapidation was a pleasing reminiscence of old times, and George
was pleased enough to earn a quarter by patching it up. Then I drove
on to the house, where are only a Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair left in
charge. Mrs. S. was very polite, and asked me up into our old parlor,
which did not look as pleasant as in the old time. Garibaldi was out
at pasture, so I could not have the ride I coveted while my horse was
eating his dinner. As I had never been into the schoolhouse since it
was finished, I borrowed the key and walked down to it. As I pulled
the rope to hear the sound of the unused bell, Robert came in, quiet
as ever, but greatly pleased, and asking many questions about Mass'
Charlie and Mr. and Mrs. Soule. I found the people were coming up to
be paid, so I went back to the yard and stood there as they came up to
the schoolroom door, across which was the old school table, with
Primus behind it, and Mr. Sinclair, looking over his list. Then I
walked on the beach, and Robert put my horse in and I drove off.
Mike had followed me up the road, loud in his regrets for the "good
ole times when Mass' Charlie and de fust gang white people been here."
"Mr. Philbrick de fustest man in de worl'. General Bennett[205]
couldn't--couldn't--fetch de fust feathers round his heart!" whatever
that may be.