Wheat and Huckleberries Part 17

But there was another, carved more than once, which might well cause a deeper shudder. It ran:-

"Beneath this stone Death's prisoner lies, Ye stone shall move, ye prisoner rise, When Jesus, with Almighty word, Calls his dead Saints to meet their Lord."

"Dreadful theology, don't you think?" Mr. Hadley said, turning with a little s.h.i.+ver to the girls, and their grandfather added his a.s.sent to theirs with emphasis. "Yes, Jesus hasn't got any dead saints. They or'

to have remembered what He said Himself, that G.o.d is not the G.o.d of the dead, but of the living."

But by far the greater number of these ancient headstones were marked with texts of scripture, and however mirth might be provoked by sentiment or phrase from other sources, the simple dignity of the book of books always brought back seriousness and reminded on what word the hearts of men had leaned, through the long generations, to endure the old, old sorrow of death. The faith of the fathers, not their fas.h.i.+ons, was the thought which one must bear away in the end from such a spot.

They had paused longest by the graves of Ruel Saxon's people, and again as they left the place he lingered for a moment by the low gray line of stones. "They were G.o.d-fearing men and women, all of them," he said, with tender reverence in his voice; then, lifting his face, he added, with inexpressible pride and solemnity:-

"My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth, But higher far my proud pretensions rise- The son of parents pa.s.sed into the skies."

That was the last word spoken before they let down the bars in the old stone wall and made their way back to their horses. Possibly the young man, who was so anxious to establish his family record, may have caught, at that moment, a new thought of ancestral honors.

It had been a full afternoon, and it was a late one when they reached the farmhouse. Mr. Hadley would have mounted to his buggy at once after helping Stella down, but the deacon interposed.

"Why, it's high time for supper," he said, "and you mustn't drive back to Hartridge without having a bite to eat, you or your horses either."

"Of course not," said Stella, cordially. "We count on your staying to supper." And then she added archly, "I really think you ought, for the sake of your great-great-grandfather."

"Whom your great-great-grandmother could never get rid of?" he replied, laughing. "I'm not sure but on his account I ought to go, to convince you that his descendants at least can turn their backs on pleasure."

But he did not insist on doing it, and it is extremely doubtful whether Jabez Bridgewood ever enjoyed a meal under the old roof more than Philip Hadley enjoyed the one that followed. The fact was, both Stella and her mother had foreseen that the delays and digressions of the old gentleman in showing his party around would consume the afternoon, and bring the young man back at about this time. They had conferred carefully as to the setting of the table in the best old-fas.h.i.+oned china, with a pretty mingling of Stella's hand-painted pieces; the menu had been settled to a nicety in advance, and the delicate French salad, which Mr. Hadley p.r.o.nounced the best he had ever tasted, had been compounded by Stella herself before leaving the house.

Tom and Kate, who were just in from a tramp to a distant pasture, had their places with the others. Tom had objected at first to sitting down with "the nabob," as he called their guest, but Kate's persuasions and his own curiosity finally overcame him.

The meal was a social one. The girls talked of their intended outing, and Mr. Hadley, who was much interested, made some capital suggestions.

Then a question or two drew him out in regard to his own summer, and he talked quite charmingly of a yachting trip in July. There was a plan for the White Mountains early in September. He had succeeded better than usual in killing time this summer, he said; to which he added gracefully, that he believed no other day of it had been as pleasant as this which was just ending.

This brought them back to the excursion of the afternoon, and Esther in particular grew quite eloquent over the delights of it.

"That's what it is to live in an old country," she said wistfully. "You feel as if you belonged to the past as well as the present when you stand in the places where the things you've read of really happened. I think it's beautiful to have historic a.s.sociations."

There was an approving murmur over this sentiment, but Kate did not join in it. There was no mistaking its implied suggestion of a point in which New England had the advantage over her native state. She might possibly have let it pa.s.s if Tom had not had the indiscretion at that moment to press her foot under the table. Up to this point her part in the conversation had been mostly questions, but now she advanced an opinion boldly.

"Well, I must say I never wanted to live in an old country on that account," she said. "I remember when mother used to read Child's History of England to us, I was always glad that our country began later, and that we didn't have those cruel times, when people were beheaded for nothing, and princes' eyes put out by their wicked uncles, in our history at all. Those things you've been hearing about this afternoon-there wasn't anything very beautiful about some of them. That poor old thing they drowned-I don't suppose she was any more a witch than I am. And that rock where Whitefield preached-it was a mean bigoted thing to keep him out of the churches, and I should think good people would be ashamed every time they looked at the rock."

There was silence for a minute when she ended. Then Mr. Hadley said, with a smile, "In other words, if you have historic a.s.sociations at all, you want those of the very best sort." To which he added, lifting his eyebrows a trifle, "I presume you wouldn't object to Bunker Hill and Lexington!"

Kate took a swallow of water before speaking. Then she said with dignity: "I have never regarded Bunker Hill and Lexington as local affairs. I think they belong to the whole country!"

Mr. Hadley made her a bow across the table. "Capital!" he said. "I surrender."

"If you knew how my cousin Kate stands up for everything connected with her own part of the country, you'd surrender in advance any attempt to impress her with the beauties of ours," said Stella, laughing. "Talk of loyalty to one's home!"

"Well, you certainly have a remarkably fine section of country out your way," said Mr. Hadley, graciously. "My father was there buying grain one summer, and I remember he came back perfectly enthusiastic over everything except the ague, which he brought home with him, and had hard work to get rid of. I suppose you'll admit that you do have some chills and fever lying round in your low lands."

"Oh, people have to have something," said Kate, carelessly, "but ague isn't the worst thing that ever was. People very seldom die of it, and it's really the most interesting disease in the world. I could give you a list as long as my arm of the ingenious ways country people have of curing it; and some of them are perfectly fascinating, they're so queer.

You ought to hear my father talk about ague."

There was an explosion of laughter at this. "Kate," cried Stella, "you're as bad as the old woman who was challenged to find a good quality in his Satanic majesty, and immediately said there was nothing like his perseverance. But really, if one must discuss chills and fever, don't you think they're a little, just a little plebeian?"

"Oh," said Kate, "anything's plebeian-if you've a mind to call it so-that keeps people moping and ailing. But there are lots of things more 'ornary' than chills. It was when they were all coming down with them, don't you know, that Mark Tapley found the first chance he ever had to be 'jolly' when 'twas really a credit to him!"

The laughter took a note of applause now from Mr. Hadley. "Miss Saxon,"

he exclaimed, turning to Stella, "don't let's press her any further; she's positively making a cla.s.sic of the ague. If she says much more, we shall all be wanting to go out there for the express purpose of getting it."

"But ten chances to one you wouldn't get it, if you did," said Kate. "As a matter of fact, we don't have much of it nowadays. It was part of the newness of the country, and draining the land has carried most of it off."

There was nothing to be said to this. She was in possession of the field at both ends, and they retreated from the subject with a last volley of laughter.

After supper Tom told Kate confidentially that she had "done 'em up in good style. Though I'll warrant," he added severely, "that you'd brag as much as anybody if you had some of the old places we have out your way."

And then he observed that the nabob wasn't half bad. He didn't know as 'twas strange that the girls had taken such a fancy to him.

As it happened, Esther was thinking of him at that very moment. She had just finished reading a letter from Morton Elwell,-a letter written, as he happened to mention, before five one morning of a day that was to be full of work. How well she knew that it was one of many-days that followed each other without break or pause save for the Sabbath's rest!

And then she thought of Mr. Philip Hadley with his summer devices for "killing time." She wondered why life should be so easy for some, so strenuous for others; and, for the first time, she thought of it with a sort of resentment that Morton Elwell should work so hard and have no summer pleasuring.

CHAPTER XI

AN OUTING AND AN INVITATION

The next week came that never-to-be-forgotten outing which gave the Northmore girls their first glimpse of Boston, and their first acquaintance with the sea. Till the morning they started there was no talk of anything else. Stella, who knew better than her cousins what occasion might demand of dress in a stylish watering-place, bent all her artistic skill to the revising of garments, and even Kate and Esther, whose wardrobes were mostly new, found some chance for retouchings, some need of new laces and ribbons.

For the first time since their coming, their grandfather really felt himself a little neglected. Occasionally, as he pa.s.sed through the room where the three girls sat busy with sewing and the eager discussion of styles and colors, he murmured solemnly, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity;" and he not only prayed feelingly at family devotions that the young of his household might learn to adorn themselves with "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit," but he selected once for his morning reading a chapter in which warnings were p.r.o.nounced against those who set their hearts on "changeable suits of apparel, and mantles, and wimples, and crisping-pins." However, he was as anxious as any one that his granddaughters should enjoy themselves, and his good-will toward this particular excursion was sufficiently indicated by the trifle which he quietly added to the pin-money of each when they started off.

It does not concern our story, and would take too long to tell all the sights and happenings of the days that followed. Never did two more interested or more appreciative girls than Kate and Esther Northmore walk about the streets of Boston, or take in the meanings and memories which it held in its keeping, and in its dear vicinity.

At Cambridge, as they walked about the grounds of Harvard, whom should they meet but Mr. Philip Hadley? A remarkable coincidence it seemed at the time, though Kate remembered later that Stella had set out with tolerable distinctness the time when they expected to be there, with other details of the Boston visit, that night at the farm.

After that, he had part in all their excursions, and a charming addition he made to the party. Stella was a good chaperon, but he was even better, for he had the _entree_ of a dozen places which they could not have entered without him, and whether it was acquaintance, or a liberal use of money, never were more gracious attentions bestowed on a party of sight-seers. He was really a delightful companion; a good talker, a good listener, and so perfectly at leisure that he was ready to act on the slightest hint of anything that interested the others.

It was a suggestion of Stella's, and a lucky one, as she congratulated herself, which led to the most unexpected incident of the whole visit.

They had been talking, she and Mr. Hadley, of Copleys, as they walked through the Boston art gallery, and he had mentioned suddenly that there was one in his own home; after which came the quick invitation to make a visit that afternoon to the house on Beacon Street.

The others accepted with no special emotion, but Stella was radiant, and, Bostonian as she called herself, it was she who felt most curiosity when they stood, a few hours later, before the door which bore the name of Hadley, in the long row of brown stone fronts. The house was closed for the summer, and Mr. Hadley had made no attempt to open any rooms except the library, but _this_! It occupied all one side of the long hall on the second floor; a room filled with books and pictures and marbles. "A perfect place," as Stella declared, clasping her hands in a transport of artistic satisfaction.

There were books on books. Indeed, the Northmore girls, accustomed as they were to a fair library at home, had not realized that so many books were ever gathered in one room, outside of public places; and there were pictures beside pictures. There was a Corot at which the heir of the house had not even hinted; and the Copley hung beside a celebrated Millais. Whether the young man most enjoyed the keen appreciation of Stella, or the frank, delighted wonder of the others, is a question. He did the honors of the place with the easy indifference of one to the manner born, and it seemed a mere matter of course, when he called the attention of his guests to one choice possession after another, to rare old copies of books and deluxe editions.

Stella's delight seemed to mount with every moment, but Esther grew so quiet at last that the others rallied her on her soberness. She flushed when Stella declared that she looked almost melancholy, and said, with a glance at the shelves, that one should not be expected to be merry in such company.

But, truth to tell, her thoughts had company just then that no other knew. There had come back to her, oddly perhaps, the memory of a day when Morton Elwell showed her the shelf of books in his little room. It was not a handsome shelf-he had made it himself; and the books he had bought, one after another, with savings which meant wearing the old hat and the patch on the boots. How proud he was of those books! There was no easy indifference in his manner as he stood before them with his s.h.i.+ning face, and his hand had almost trembled as he pa.s.sed it caressingly over their plain cloth bindings.

The servant in charge of the house presently answered Mr. Hadley's ring by bringing up a tray with the daintiest of lunches, and he himself set steaming the samovar which stood in a cosey corner. He could preside over pretty china almost as gracefully as Stella herself, when it came to that. Altogether it was a delectable hour which they spent in that library, and the girls all said so in their various fas.h.i.+ons when they parted with Mr. Hadley. Esther, perhaps, said it with more feeling than either of the others. She felt as if she had been part of something she had dreamed of all her life, and yet-it was almost provoking, too-that old, insistent memory had half spoiled the dream.