One can never be so certain of good New England weather as in the days
when a long easterly storm has blown away the warm late-summer mists,
and cooled the air so that however bright the sunshine is by day, the
nights come nearer and nearer to frostiness. There was a cold freshness
in the morning air when Mrs. Todd and I locked the house door behind us;
we took the key of the fields into our own hands that day, and put out
across country as one puts out to sea. When we reached the top of the
ridge behind the town it seemed as if we had anxiously passed the harbor
bar and were comfortably in open sea at last.
“There, now!” proclaimed Mrs. Todd, taking a long breath, “now I do feel
safe. It’s just the weather that’s liable to bring somebody to spend the
day; I’ve had a feeling of Mis’ Elder Caplin from North Point bein’
close upon me ever since I waked up this mornin’, an’ I didn’t want to
be hampered with our present plans. She’s a great hand to visit; she’ll
be spendin’ the day somewhere from now till Thanksgivin’, but there’s
plenty o’ places at the Landin’ where she goes, an’ if I ain’t there
she’ll just select another. I thought mother might be in, too, ’tis so
pleasant; but I run up the road to look off this mornin’ before you was
awake, and there was no sign o’ the boat. If they hadn’t started by that
time they wouldn’t start, just as the tide is now; besides, I see a lot
o’ mackerel-men headin’ Green Island way, and they’ll detain William.
No, we’re safe now, an’ if mother should be comin’ in to-morrow we’ll
have all this to tell her. She an’ Mis’ Abby Martin’s very old friends.”
We were walking down the long pasture slopes towards the dark woods and
thickets of the low ground. They stretched away northward like an
unbroken wilderness; the early mists still dulled much of the color and
made the uplands beyond look like a very far-off country.
“It ain’t so far as it looks from here,” said my companion reassuringly,
“but we’ve got no time to spare either,” and she hurried on, leading the
way with a fine sort of spirit in her step; and presently we struck into
the old Indian footpath, which could be plainly seen across the
long-unploughed turf of the pastures, and followed it among the thick,
low-growing spruces. There the ground was smooth and brown under foot,
and the thin-stemmed trees held a dark and shadowy roof overhead. We
walked a long way without speaking; sometimes we had to push aside the
branches, and sometimes we walked in a broad aisle where the trees were
larger. It was a solitary wood, birdless and beastless; there was not
even a rabbit to be seen, or a crow high in air to break the silence.
“I don’t believe the Queen ever saw such a lonesome trail as this,” said
Mrs. Todd, as if she followed the thoughts that were in my mind. Our
visit to Mrs. Abby Martin seemed in some strange way to concern the high
affairs of royalty. I had just been thinking of English landscapes, and
of the solemn hills of Scotland with their lonely cottages and
stone-walled sheepfolds, and the wandering flocks on high cloudy
pastures. I had often been struck by the quick interest and familiar
allusion to certain members of the royal house which one found in
distant neighborhoods of New England; whether some old instincts of
personal loyalty have survived all changes of time and national
vicissitudes, or whether it is only that the Queen’s own character and
disposition have won friends for her so far away, it is impossible to
tell. But to hear of a twin sister was the most surprising proof of
intimacy of all, and I must confess that there was something remarkably
exciting to the imagination in my morning walk. To think of being
presented at Court in the usual way was for the moment quite
commonplace.