WEBB
A clatter of departing hoofs, a swirl of dust--and Nancy was left alone
on the hot railroad platform of North Hero. Her heart had seemed to
fix itself in one painful lump in her throat. She was so very, very
close to facing her adventure!
"If you please, can you tell me in what way I can reach Freedom?" Her
faltering voice halted the telegraph operator as he was about to turn
the corner of the station.
"Freedom? Well, now, old Webb had ought 'a been here for the train.
Isn't often Webb misses seein' the engine come in! Just you go in and
sit down, Miss, he'll come along," and scarcely had the encouraging
words passed the man's lips than a rickety, three-seated,
canopied-topped wagon, marked "Freedom Stage" turned the corner.
"_Hey_, Webb, here's a lady passenger goin' along with you to Freedom!
And did you think the express would wait fer you?"
Webb and his dusty, rusty and rickety wagon was a welcome sight to poor
Nancy. It had already seemed to her that her journey was endless and
that Freedom must be in the farthest corner of the world. For the
first few hours she had been absorbed by her grief at parting with
Anne. But a night in a funny little hotel in Burlington had given her
time to reflect upon her undertaking and it had assumed terrible
proportions in her eyes. The courage and confidence she had felt with
her chums, back in the room in the dormitory, deserted her now.
"Goin' to Freedom you say, Miss?" the man Webb asked, a great curiosity
in his eyes. "Wal, you jes' come along with me! Had an order for
Tobiases and it set me late, but we'll git thar. Climb up here, Miss,"
and with a flourishing aside of his reins he made room for her on the
dusty seat he occupied.
Nancy handed him her big bag and climbed easily over the wheel into the
seat he had indicated. Then with a loud "get-ap" and a flourish of his
whip they rumbled off on the last leg of Nancy's journey.
"Ain't ever been to Freedom before?" he asked as they turned the corner
of the maple-shaded street of the little town, and the horses settled
down into a steady trot. "Reckon not or old Webb 'ud have known
ye--ain't any folks come and go on this here island thet _I_ don't
know," he added with pride, dropping his reins for a better study of
his passenger.
The air was fragrant with spring odors, the great trees met in a
quivery archway overhead, the meadow lands they passed were richly
green; Nancy's failing spirits began to soar! She threw a little smile
toward the old man.
"I've never been in Freedom before--though I'm a Leavitt," she ventured.
Her words had the desired effect. The man straightened with interest.
"Wal, bless me, are ye one o' Miss Sabriny's folks? And a-goin' to
Happy House when ye ain't ever seen it?"
Nancy nodded. "I'm Anne Leavitt," she answered carefully. "And I have
never seen my Aunt Sabrina. So I have come up from college for a
little visit. And I think _everything_ is lovely," she finished,
drawing a long breath, "though, goodness knows, I thought I'd never get
here!"
She was uncomfortably conscious that the old man was regarding her with
open concern.
"Funny, no one ain't heard a word about it! So ye're Miss Sabriny's
great-niece and a-comin' to Happy House from your school fer a visit!"
"Why, yes, why not?"
"Wal, I was jes' thinkin' you'd never _seen_ Happy House. And I guess
most folks in Freedom's forgotten Miss Sabriny hed any folks
much--count of the trouble!"
"Oh, _what_ trouble, please, Mr. Webb?"
The old man shook his reins vigorously against the horses' backs.
"Webb, you're an old fool--an old, dodderin' fool! Of course this here
trouble was a long spell ago, Miss, and don't belong to Leavitts young
like you. I s'pose it want much, anyways, and I guess Miss Sabriny
herself's forgotten it else you wouldn't be a comin' to Happy House!
I'm an old man, missy, and thar ain't been much in Freedom as I don't
know about, but an old un'd ought 'a know 'nough to keep his tongue in
his head. Only--you come to Webb if anything bothers you and you
needn't call me _Mr_. Webb, either, for though I'm one of Freedom's
leadin' cit-zuns and they'd never be a Memorial Day or any kind of
Fourth of July doin's in Freedom without _me_--nobody calls me Mister
Webb and you jus' come to me----"
Nancy, forgetful now of the pleasant things about her, frowned.
"You're very nice to me, Webb, and I'm glad to have made a friend so
soon! I think the trouble _has_ been forgotten. Anyway, I'm only
going to stay a little while."
"And a good thing it'll be fur Miss Milly, too."
"Miss Milly----" asked Nancy.
"It ain't no easy life fur her livin' with Miss Sabriny holdin' the
sword of wrath over her poor head, and there's lots of folks think Miss
Milly'd be a heap happier in the old graveyard than in Happy House,
'lowin' as how both feet are in the grave anyway. But this ain't no
cheerful talk to hand out to you, Miss, only I cal'late you'll make
Miss Milly a heap happier--shut up the way she is."
"How far are we from Freedom?" asked Nancy, abruptly, thinking as she
did so that, if they were a very long way, she would have an
opportunity to learn from her garrulous friend all she needed to know!
"Two mile from the turn yonder by the oak," the old man answered.
For a few moments both maintained a deep silence. Nancy, her thoughts
in a tumult, was wondering what question she would ask first--there was
so much she wanted to know--the "trouble," "Miss Milly and the sword of
wrath" or what he meant by "Happy House." The last post stirred her
curiosity; then, too, it did not seem just nice to pry from this old
man.
"Why do they call the Leavitt place 'Happy House'?"
"Wal, I guess it ain't because it's exactly _happy_, and some sez mebbe
as how it's been a curse! Folks comes here to Freedom and looks at the
old place and there's somethin' printed about it in a little book they
sell up at Tobiases in Nor' Hero, only I ain't much on the readin'.
B'lindy Guest knows the story by heart, and she can tell you more'n I
can."
"Oh, _please_, Webb, I can't make head or tail out of what you are
saying," laughed Nancy pleadingly. "Who _called_ it Happy House first?"
"B'lindy sez the book sez that it was the first Anne Leavitt as come to
Nor' Hero called it Happy House and they hed one of these here mantels
made out o' marble over in London and fetched across with the letters
right in it spellin' Happy House! And she helped fix it up with her
own hands she'd kind o' set such store by the idee, right thar in the
settin' room and the very next day she slipped off sudden like and died
like a poor little flower. And there ain't been much happiness in
Happy House from them days since! B'lindy knows the hul story; jes'
'sits written."
"Oh, how _thrilling_!" cried Nancy, breathing very fast. She had an
uncontrollable desire to halt Webb and the Freedom stage right on the
spot in order to write to Claire Wallace. But at that moment, around
the turn by the old oak galloped a horse and rider. Because it was the
first living creature Nancy had seen since leaving North Hero, she was
startled.
"_Hey_ there, Webb," the rider cried, whirling out of the path of the
old wagon.
And Webb called back in cheery greeting: "_Hey_, Pete!"
Through the cloud of dust Nancy had caught a glimpse of a pair of merry
eyes set deep in a face as brown as the dark shirt the man wore.
Turning impulsively in her seat she noticed, with an unexplainable
sense of pleasure, that the bare head of the rider was exceptionally
well shaped and covered with short curly hair. Then, to her sudden
discomfiture, the rider wheeled directly in the road and pulled his
horse up short.
It was, of course, because he was the first real person she had seen on
this big lonely Island that prompted her to nod ever so slightly in
response to his friendly wave! Then she turned discreetly back to Webb.
"Who is he?" she asked, in what she tried to make an indifferent tone.
"Peter Hyde an' as nice a young fellar as ever come to Freedom! Ain't
been here much more'n a week and knows everybody. He's old man
Judson's hired man and he's goin' to make somethin' of that ten-acre
strip of Judson's some day or my name ain't Cyrenus Webb!"
"_Judson's hired man_!" cried Nancy, chagrined. What _would_ Anne
think of her--to have recognized, even in the slightest degree, the
impertinence of this fellow! Her face burned at the thought.
"Seems to have a lot of learnin' but he's awful simple like and a
hustler. Nobody knows whereabouts he come from--jes' dropped by out of
some advertisement old Judson put in the papers up Burlington way."
"Tell me more about Freedom," broke in Nancy with dignity. "Is it a
very old place?"
"Wal, it's jest as old as this Island, though I ain't much on readin'
or dates. Folks on Nor' Hero's pretty proud of the hul Island and
B'lindy sez as how it's printed that folks settled here long 'fore
anyone, exceptin' the Indians, ever heard of Manhattan Island whar New
York is. Used to be French first round here but they didn't stay long,
and then the English come down 'fore the Revolution and the Leavitts
with them, I guess. This here Island's named fur Ethan Allen, you
know, and folks sez old Jonathan, thet works up at Happy House, is a
connection of his. All the folks round here's related some way or
other to them pi'neers and I guess if we hed to put up a fight now we'd
do it jest as brave as them Green Mountain Boys! The old smithy's been
standin' on the four corners for nigh onto one hundred years and the
meetin' house facin' the commons, B'lindy sez, is older than the
smithy. And up the Leavitt road thar's a tablet these here Daughters
of somethin' or other from Montpelier put up for some pi'neers that
died fightin' the Indians while their women folks set off in boats for
the mainland. I heard B'lindy tell that at the last social down at the
meetin' house. I cal'late some of them pi'neers were Leavitts, at
that, fur it want long before that the pretty lady came who hed the
name built in the mantel. B'lindy knows--she can tell jes' what day
the pretty lady come and the very room she died in. B'lindy was born
in the old house and she and Miss Sabriny growed up like sisters though
B'lindy's a good sight younger and spryer like than Miss Sabriny!"
From the warmth of his tone Nancy guessed that there was a weak spot in
Webb's heart for B'lindy.
"Tell me more about B'lindy," she asked, softly.
"Wal, if you jus' take a bit of advice from an old man you be _purty_
nice to B'lindy! Folks sez that Miss Sabriny's high and mightier than
the worst Leavitt, and they're a mighty proud lot, but I jus' got a
notion that the only person who runs Miss Sabriny is B'lindy and I sort
o' think she runs the hul of Happy House! And now here I am a
gossipin' so with a pretty passenger that I clean furgot to leave off
that chicken wire for Jenkins. _Whoa_, there, whoa, I say!"
Nancy guessed that the cluster of housetops she glimpsed ahead, almost
hidden by the great elms and maples, was Freedom. She stared at them
reflectively. Through Webb she seemed suddenly to feel that she had
known the little tragedies and joys of Freedom all her life. She was
not a bit afraid now to meet Aunt Sabrina or this Miss Milly or
B'lindy. And she was eager to see the old, old house and the spot
where Leavitts had been massacred as they protected their women! After
all, it was going to be very pleasant--this playing at being one of the
old Leavitts! She wished Webb would hurry.
When Farmer Jenkins followed Webb to the wheel of the wagon, Nancy knew
that Webb had lingered to tell of her coming. She met the farmer's
open stare with a pleasant little smile so that, an hour later, he
"opined" to the thin, bent-shouldered woman who shared his name and
labors, that "if that young gal wouldn't set things stirrin' pretty
lively up at Happy House, he'd miss his guess!"
As they approached the outlying houses of the village Webb assumed an
important air. "This here's Freedom, Missy, and I'm proud to do the
honors for Miss Sabriny's niece! It's not big as places go but its
record can't be beat sence Ethan Allen's day. Webb knows, fer I
marched away with the boys in blue back in '61, though I was a
bare-footed youngster, long 'bout fourteen, and couldn't do nothin'
more useful than beat a drum. And thar's our service flag, Missy, and
every last one of the six of 'em's come through hul--thanks be to God!
And thar's the hotel by the post-office and cross here's the school
house which I helped build the winter they wa'n't no call fur the
stage. This is the Common and thet's the meetin' house, as anyone
could see, fur it ain't a line different from the meetin' houses over
at Bend and Cliffsdale and Nor' Hero and all over Vermont, I guess.
Funny how they never wanted only one kind o' meetin' houses! And
here's the old smithy lookin' like it was older than B'lindy 'lowed,
and here's whar we turn to go up the Leavitt road. Seein' how you're
sort of a special passenger I'll go right along up to Happy House,
though it ain't my custum!"
Nancy was tremendously excited. She stared to right and left at the
little old frame and stone houses set squarely in grass-grown yards
flanked by flowerbeds, all abloom, and each wearing, because of tightly
closed blinds, an appearance of utter desertion. On the wooden "stoop"
of the place Webb had dignified by calling a "hotel" were lounging a
few men who had scarcely stirred when Webb in salutation had flourished
his whip at them. The Commons, hot in the June sun, was deserted save
for a few chickens pecking around in the long grass. The green
shutters of the meeting house were tightly closed, too. From the
gaping door of the smithy came not a sound. Even the great branches of
the trees scarcely stirred. Over everything brooded a peaceful quiet.
"Oh, how delicious," thought Nancy. "How very, very old everything is.
_How_ I shall love it!" She leaned forward to catch a first glimpse of
Happy House.
"Back by the smithy thar's old Dan'l Hopworth's place. Shame to have
it on Miss Sabriny's road only I 'low most as long as the Leavitts been
here thar's been some of the no-good Hopworths! Poor old Dan'l's 'bout
as shiftless as any o' them, B'lindy sez, and his grandchillern ain't
any better. And that thar leads down to old man Judson's. His ten
acre piece runs right up to Miss Sabriny's. And _thar's_ Happy House."
Through the giant elms Nancy caught her first glimpse of the vine
covered old stone walls. Her first feeling was of disappointment; in
the square lines of the house there was little claim to beauty. But
its ugliness was softened by the wonderful trees that arched over its
roof; the gray of its walls and the tightly blinded windows gave a
stirring hint of mystery.
The door, built squarely in the middle of the house, opened almost
directly upon a stone-flagged path that led in a straight line to the
road. There was something sternly formidable about it; Nancy, staring
at it with a rapidly beating heart, wondered, when it opened, what
might lie in store for her beyond it!
Webb, with much ado, was swinging her big bag over the wheel.
"Wal, we're makin' history, I guess, with another little Anne Leavitt
comin' to Happy House! Them horses'll stand and I'll jus' carry this
bag up fer you. Come along, Missy, and remember what Webb tells ye--ye
make up to B'lindy!"
Nancy followed him up the path to the door. To herself she was
whispering, over the quaking of her heart:
"Well, good-by Nancy Leavitt--you're _Anne_ now and don't you forget it
for one single minute!"