Next we looked into the left-hand bedroom; it was in precisely the same condition. We made it fast in the same manner.
Then we opened and entered the parlor. This was the bleakest room of any—large, square, lofty, totally bare, cold and damp.
"Nothing here," said Mrs. Hawkins, looking around.
Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r-r-rattle-te-bang-ang-ang! the phantom ball rolled, and scattered the ninepins.
"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" shouted the hollow, ghostly voices.
They seemed to be in the very room with us, reverberating in the very air we breathed, echoing from the four walls around, and from the ceiling above us!
"Jesu, Mary!" cried Cassy, dropping on her knees.
"Oh! oh! oh!" gasped Alice, clinging to me.
"This is very unaccountable," said our grandmother, looking all around the room, where nothing but bare walls and bare boards met the view.
We looked at each other in silence for a few moments, and then Mrs. Hawkins said:
"Come! let us look into the dining-room, and then call up Hector to assist us in searching the grounds."
We passed on into the next room and locked the door behind us, as we had locked every one in our tour through the house. That room was closely packed with furniture, over which we had to clamber our passage.
While we were doing so, once again sounded the detonating roll of the ball, the rattling, scattering of the pins, and the hollow peals of laughter, all echoing around and around us, as it were, in the same rooms.
Alice again seized her grandmother.
Cassy fell over a stack of washtubs, and called on all the saints to help her.
Mrs. Hawkins ordered Alice to let her go, and Cassy to get up, and me to move on.
She was obeyed. A great general was our grandmother, and we all knew it!
We left the dining-room, locking the last door behind us. We dodged the dark, blind alley, sheltered the candle from the drizzling mist, and went around into the kitchen and called Hector from above.
The old man answered, and soon came toddling down the narrow stairs.
"Hector, have you heard those noises?" inquired Mrs. Hawkins.
"The Lord between us and evil! I've heern, mist'ess! I've heern!"
"What do you suppose it is?"
A dubious, solemn shake of the head was the old man's only reply.
"Can't you speak, Hector? How do you account for these noises? Come! no mysteries; answer if you can; what are they?"
"Dead people!" groaned the old man, with a shudder.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Mrs. Hawkins.
But I could see that even she was paler than usual.
"Come, Hector! There is no one in the house—that is certain. And no one can get into it while we are gone, because it is locked up. Now fasten up the kitchen, and let us go and search the grounds, and unkennel any interlopers that may be lurking there."
We came out and secured the kitchen door, and began our tour of the garden.
As we left the door, our watchdog ran out to join us.
This circumstance, while it greatly assisted us in our search, very much increased the perplexity of our minds. Had the dog heard the noises that had disturbed us, and if so, why had he not given the alarm?—or, on the other hand, were dogs insensible to supernatural sights and sounds? We could not tell; but we were glad to have Fidelle snuffing and trotting along before us, confident that if there were a human being lurking anywhere in the garden, he would smell him out. So we went up one grass-grown walk and down another, between rows of gooseberry bushes, currant bushes, and raspberry bushes, all damp and dripping with mist, and through alleys of dwarf plum trees, and all along the hedges of evergreen inside the brick wall, and past the iron gate, which was still chained, as it had been left, and then around in the stable, coachhouse, henhouse and smokehouse, each of which we found securely locked, and, when opened, damp, musty and vacant; and so we looked over every foot of ground, and into every outbuilding, finding all safe and leaving all safe; and at last, without having discovered anything, we arrived again at the dining-room door.
We all entered, locked the door after us, clambered over the piles of furniture, and passed on into the parlor.
The parlor, as I have said, was as yet unfurnished, damp and cold. Yet there we paused for a little while to take breath.
"There is nothing concealed in the garden, and nothing in the house; that is demonstrated. These strange manifestations must admit of a natural explanation; but I confess myself at a loss to explain them," said Mrs. Hawkins.
"Oh! ole mist'ess; 'fess it's de ghoses, honey! 'fess it's de ghoses! Memorize how nobody was ever able to lib in dis cussed house!" pleaded Cassy.
"Oh, yes, grandmother, do let's sit up here all night to-night, and move out early to-morrow morning," entreated Ally.
"What do you say, Madeleine?" inquired my grandmother.
"I say, brave it out!"
"So do I, my girl!" replied Mrs. Hawkins.
"Oh, for de love o' de Lord, don't ole mist'ess! don't, Miss Maddy! don't! It's a temptin' o' Providence! Leave de 'fernel ole place to de ghoses, as has de bes' right to it!" prayed Cassy.
"We'll see about that!" said our grandmother. "But come! all seems quiet now; we will go to bed, and investigate further to-morrow."
"Yes, ole mist'ess, honey, I knows all is quiet jest now, but——"
"Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!—Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!" burst a peal of demoniac laughter, resounding through and through the room, and close into our ears.
"The Lord between us and Satan!" cried Cassy, dropping the candle, which immediately went out and left us in darkness.
While, peal on peal, sounded the demoniac laughter around us.
Cassy fell on her knees and began praying:
"St. Mary, pray for us! St. Martha pray for us! all ye hooly vargins and widders, pray for us lone women! St. Peter, pray for us! St. Powl pray for us! All hooly 'postles and 'vangellers, pray for us poor sinners!—Saint—Saint—Saint—oh! for de Lor's sake, Miss Ally, honey, tell me de name o' that hooly saint as met a ghose riding on Balaam's ass and knows hows—how it feels!"
"It was Saul or Samuel, or the Witch of Endor, I forget which," said Alice, whose knowledge of the Old Testament, never very precise, was frightened out of her.
"St. Saul, St. Samuel, St. Witchywinder, pray for us, as met a ghost yourself and knows how it feels."
And still, while Cassy prayed her frantic prayers, and poor old Hector told his beads, and Alice trembled and clung to me, the demon laughter resounded around and around us. We were in such total darkness that I had not seen Mrs. Hawkins withdraw herself from the group, nor suspected her absence until we heard her firm, cheery voice outside near the dining-room door, saying:
"What can any one think of this? Come here, Hector! Come here, children!"
We all went—expecting somedenouement.
Mrs. Hawkins telegraphed to us to be perfectly silent, and to step lightly. She turned the angle of the house and walked up the blind alley between the back of the house and the back of the kitchen; when she had got about midway of the walk, she stopped, and silently pointed to the rank weeds and bushes that grew closely under the wall of the house.
"There! what do you think of that?" she said, in a low voice.
We looked, and at first could see nothing; but, on a closer inspection, we perceived a very faint glimmer, a mere thread of red light, low down among the bushes.
We looked up at Mrs. Hawkins for explanation.
"After the candle fell and went out," she said, "I slipped out, with the intention of exploring again, and this time alone, and in darkness. I came up this blind alley, and, looking sharply, descried that glimmer of light. And now I am convinced that the revelers, human or ghostly, are below there, in that old, disused cellar that we were made to believe was nearly full of water, and required to be drained. Don't be agitated, children! take it coolly," concluded Mrs. Hawkins, stooping down to put aside the weeds and bushes.
Just at this moment another detonating roll of the ball, and scattering fall of the pins, and peal of hollow laughter, resounded from below.
Urr-rr-rr-r-r-r-rattle bang-ang-ang! "Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho! ho! A dead shot!"
"Too late, young gentlemen! Your fun is all over! Your game is up! You are discovered! Come forth!" said Mrs. Hawkins, who, down upon her knees, pulled away the bushes, turned up the old, broken and mouldy cellar door, and discovered the scene below.
A rudely fitted-up bowling alley, occupying the further end of the room, and some eight or ten youths, no longer engaged in rolling balls, but, on the contrary, standing in various attitudes of detected culpability.
"Come! come forth!" commanded Mrs. Hawkins.
And they came, climbing up the rotten and moldering steps, and the very first who put his impudent head up through the door into the open air was Will Rackaway!
"Oh! Will," exclaimed Alice, reproachfully.
"You! Will?" questioned Mrs. Hawkins, in scandalized astonishment.
"No! the ghost of O'Donnegan," replied the youth, in a sepulchral voice.
"Reprobate!" exclaimed our grandmother.
"Now, indeed, indeed, I was only taking the liberty of entertaining my friends in my kind Aunt Hawkins' cellar. Quite right, you know! Only don't tell father, and I'll never do so no more!" pleaded Will, with mock humility.
"Dismiss your comrades, sir! and come into the house! I shall send for your father to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Hawkins, in a stern voice.
There was no need to dismiss the intruders; they were climbing up the dilapidated steps as fast as they could come, and slinking away with averted heads, trying to conceal their faces, which Mrs. Hawkins did not insist upon discovering. When they were all gone, Will followed us into the house.
"Now, then, sir, explain your conduct," ordered Mrs. Hawkins.
And Will, with an air of mock humility and deprecation, obeyed.
The account he gave was briefly this: Himself and several other youths, sons of very strict parents, who proscribed ninepins with other games, had, out of some old timber and furniture left of O'Donnegan's old ninepin alley, that had been taken down and carried away, fitted up the old, disused cellar for their games. They had played there recently every night, with no other intention than that of amusing themselves, and of keeping their game concealed—with no thought of enacting a ghostly drama, until, to their astonishment, they gradually learned that these revels were mistaken for ghostly orgies, and had given the house its unenviable reputation of being haunted—a joke much too good for human nature, and especially for boys' human nature, not to carry out. Everything favored their concealment. The cellar was reputed to be half full of water, and was long disused, and every cellar window, except the narrow, hidden one that they had turned into a door, was nailed up. Besides, the front division of the cellar was really two feet deep in water, and when there was any great risk of discovery they had a means of letting it in to overflow the back division, so that their fixtures were all covered. Thus for months they had played the double game of ninepins and of a ghostly drama!
Need I say more? Will was let off with a lengthy lecture, which I have reason to believe did him a vast deal of good, as he is now the staid father of a family, and pastor of a church. Mrs. Hawkins was for the next nine days the wonder of the neighborhood for having so valiantly exorcised the ghosts. And we settled down in perfect content in the fine old house, to which we possessed the double right of rental and of conquest.
The spring following Carrie Howard's death Rice Corner was thrown into a commotion by the astounding fact that Captain Howard was going out West, and had sold his farm to a gentleman from the city, whose wife "kept six servants, wore silk all the time, never went inside of the kitchen, never saw a churn, breakfasted at ten, dined at three, and had supper the next day!"
Such was the story which Mercy Jenkins detailed to us early one Monday morning, and then, eager to communicate so desirable a piece of news to others of her acquaintance, she started off, stopping for a moment as she passed the wash-room to see if Sally's clothes "wan't kinder dingy and yaller." As soon as she was gone the astonishment of our household broke forth, grandma wondering why Captain Howard wanted to go to the ends of the earth, as she designated Chicago, their place of destination, and what she should do without Aunt Eunice, who, having been born on grandma's wedding-day, was very dear to her, and then her age was so easy to keep. But the best of friends must part, and when at Mrs. Howard's last tea-drinking with us I saw how badly they all felt, and how many tears were shed, I firmly resolved never to like anybody but my own folks, unless, indeed, I made an exception in favor of Tom Jenkins, who so often drew me to school on his sled, and who made such comical looking jack-o'-lanterns out of the big yellow pumpkins.
In reply to the numerous questions concerning Mr. Gilbert, the purchaser of their farm, Mrs. Howard could only reply that he was very wealthy and had got tired of living in the city; adding, further, that he wore a "monstrous pair of musquitoes," had an evil-looking eye, four children, smoked cigars, and was a lawyer by profession. This last was all grandma wanted to know about him—"that told the whole story," for there never was butonedecent lawyer, and that was Mr. Evelyn, Cousin Emma's husband. Dear old lady! when a few years ago, she heard that I, her favorite grandchild, was to marry one of the craft, she made another exception in his favor, saying that "if he wasn't all straight, Mary would soon make him so!"
Within a short time after Aunt Eunice's visit she left Rice Corner, and on the same day wagon-load after wagon-load of Mr. Gilbert's furniture passed our house, until Sally declared "there was enough to keep a tavern, and she didn't see nothin' where theys' goin' to put it," at the same time announcing her intention of "running down there after dinner, to see what was going on."
It will be remembered that Sally was now a married woman—"Mrs. Michael Welsh;" consequently, mother, who lived with her, instead of her living with mother, did not presume to interfere with her much, though she hinted pretty strongly that she "always liked to see people mind their own affairs." But Sally was incorrigible. The dinner dishes were washed with a whew, I was coaxed into sweeping the back room—which I did, leaving the dirt under the broom behind the door—while Mrs. Welsh, donning a pink calico, blue shawl, and bonnet trimmed with dark green, started off on her prying excursion, stopping by the roadside where Mike was making fence, and keeping him, as grandma said, "full half an hour by the clock from his work."
Not long after Sally's departure a handsome carriage, drawn by two fine bay horses, passed our house; and as the windows were down we could plainly discern a pale, delicate-looking lady, wrapped in shawls, a tall, stylish-looking girl, another one about my own age, and two beautiful little boys.
"That's the Gilberts, I know," said Anna. "Oh, I'm so glad Sally's gone, for now we shall have the full particulars;" and again we waited as impatiently for Sally's return as we had once done before for grandma.
At last, to our great relief, the green ribbons and blue shawl were descried in the distance, and ere long Sally was with us, ejaculating, "Oh, my—mercy me!" etc., thus giving us an inkling of what was to follow. "Of all the sights that ever I have seen," said she, folding up the blue shawl, and smoothing down the pink calico. "There's carpeting enough to cover every crack and crevice—all pure bristles, too!"
Here I tittered, whereupon Sally angrily retorted, that "she guessed she knew how to talk proper, if she hadn't studied grammar."
"Never mind," said Anna, "go on; brussels carpeting and what else?"
"Mercy knows what else," answered Sally. "I can't begin to guess the names of half the things. There's mahogany, and rosewood, and marble fixin's—and in Miss Gilbert's room there's lace curtains and silk damson ones"—
A look from Anna restrained me this time, and Sally continued.
"Mercy Jenkins is there, helpin', and she says Mr. Gilbert told 'em, his wife never et a piece of salt pork in her life, and knew no more how bread was made than a child two years old."
"What a simple critter she must be," said grandma, while Anna asked if she saw Mrs. Gilbert, and if that tall girl was her daughter.
"Yes, I seen her," answered Sally, "and I guess she's weakly, for the minit she got into the house she lay down on the sofa, which Mr. Gilbert says cost seventy-five dollars. That tall, proud-lookin' thing they call Miss Adaline, but I'll warrant you don't catch me puttin' on the miss. I called her Adaline, and you had orto seen how her big eyes looked at me. Says she, at last, 'Are you one of pa's new servants?'
"'Servants!' says I, 'no, indeed; I'm Mrs. Michael Welsh, one of your nighest neighbors.'
"Then I told her that there were two nice girls lived in the house with me, and she'd better get acquainted with 'em right away; and then with the hatefulest of all hateful laughs, she asked if 'they wore glass beads and went barefoot.'"
I fancied that neither Juliet nor Anna were greatly pleased at being introduced by Sally, the housemaid, to the elegant Adaline Gilbert, who had come to the country with anything but a favorable impression of its inhabitants. The second daughter, the one about my own age, Sally said they called Nellie; "and a nice, clever creature she is, too—not a bit stuck up like t'other one. Why, I do believe she'd walked every big beast in the barn before she'd been there half an hour, and the last I saw of her she was coaxing a cow to lie still while she got upon her back!"
How my heart warmed toward the romping Nellie, and how I wondered if after that beam-walking exploit her hooks and eyes were all in their places! The two little boys, Sally said, were twins, Edward and Egbert, or, as they were familiarly called, Bert and Eddie. This was nearly all she had learned, if we except the fact that the family ate with silver forks, and drank wine after dinner. This last, mother pronounced heterodox, while I, who dearly loved the juice of the grape, and sometimes left finger marks on the top shelf, whither I had climbed for a sip from grandma's decanter, secretly hoped I should some day dine with Nellie Gilbert, and drink all the wine I wanted, thinking how many times I'd rinse my mouth so mother shouldn't smell my breath!
In the course of a few weeks the affairs of the Gilbert family were pretty generally canvassed in Rice Corner, Mercy Jenkins giving it as her opinion that "Miss Gilbert was much the likeliest of the two, and that Mr. Gilbert was cross, overbearing, and big feeling."
As yet I had only seen Nellie in the distance, and was about despairing of making her acquaintance when accident threw her in my way. Directly opposite our house, and just across a long green meadow, was a piece of woods which belonged to Mr. Gilbert, and there, one afternoon early in May, I saw Nellie. I had seen her there before, but never dared approach her; and now I divided my time between watching her and a dense black cloud which had appeared in the west, and was fast approaching the zenith. I was just thinking how nice it would be if the rain should drive her to our house for shelter, when patter, patter came the large drops in my face; thicker and faster they fell, until it seemed like a perfect deluge; and through the almost blinding sheet of rain I descried Nellie coming toward me at a furious rate. With the agility of a fawn she bounded over the gate, and with the exclamation of, "Ain't I wetter than a drownded rat?" we were perfectly well acquainted.
It took but a short time to divest her of her dripping garments, and array her in some of mine, which Sally said "fitted her to a T," though I fancied she looked sadly out of place in my linen pantalets and long-sleeved dress. She was a great lover of fun and frolic, and in less than half an hour had "ridden to Boston" on Joe's rocking-horse, turned the little wheel faster than even I dared to turn it, tried on grandma's stays, and then, as a crowning feat, tried the rather dangerous experiment of riding down the garret stairs on a board! The clatter brought up grandma, and I felt some doubts about her relishing a kind of play which savored so much of what she called "a racket," but the soft brown eyes which looked at her so pleadingly were too full of love, gentleness, and mischief to be resisted, and permission for "one more ride" was given, "provided she'd promise not to break her neck."
Oh, what fun we had that afternoon! What a big rent she tore in my gingham frock, and what a "dear, delightful old haunted castle of a thing" she pronounced our house to be. Darling, darling Nellie! I shut my eyes and she comes before me again, the same bright, beautiful creature she was when I saw her first, as she was when I saw her for the last, last time.
It rained until dark, and Nellie, who confidently expected to stay all night, had whispered to me her intention of "tying our toes together," when there came a tremendous rap upon the door, and without waiting to be bidden in walked Mr. Gilbert, puffing and swelling, and making himself perfectly at home, in a kind of off-hand manner, which had in it so much of condescension that I was disgusted, and when sure Nellie would not see me I made at him a wry face, thereby feeling greatly relieved!
After managing to let mother know how expensive his family was, how much he paid yearly for wines and cigars, and how much Adaline's education and piano had cost, he arose to go, saying to his daughter. "Come, puss, take off those—ahem—those habiliments, and let's be off!"
Nellie obeyed, and just before she was ready to start, she asked when I would come and spend the day with her.
I looked at mother, mother looked at Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Gilbert looked at me, and after surveying me from head to foot said, spitting between every other word, "Ye-es, ye-es, we've come to live in the country, and I suppose" (here he spit three successive times), "and I suppose we may as well be on friendly terms as any other; so, madam" (turning to mother), "I am willing to have your little daughter visit us occasionally." Then adding that "he would extend the same invitation to her, were it not that his wife was an invalid and saw no company," he departed.
One morning, several days afterward, a servant brought to our house a neat little note from Mrs. Gilbert, asking mother to let me spend the day with Nellie. After some consultation between mother and grandma, it was decided that I might go, and in less than an hour I was dressed and on the road, my hair braided so tightly in my neck that the little red bumps of flesh set up here and there, like currants on a brown earthen platter.
Nellie did not wait to receive me formally, but came running down the road, telling me that Robin had made a swing in the barn, and that we would play there most all day, as her mother was sick, and Adaline, who occupied two-thirds of the house, wouldn't let us come near her. This Adaline was to me a very formidable personage. Hitherto I had only caught glimpses of her, as with long skirts and waving plumes she sometimes dashed past our house on horseback, and it was with great trepidation that I now followed Nellie into the parlor, where she told me her sister was.
"Adaline, this is my little friend," said she; and Adaline replied:
"How do you do, little friend?"
My cheeks tingled, and for the first time raising my eyes I found myself face to face with the haughty belle. She was very tall and queenlike in her figure, and though she could hardly be called handsome, there was about her an air of elegance and refinement which partially compensated for the absence of beauty. That she was proud one could see from the glance of her large black eyes and the curl of her lip. Coolly surveying me for a moment, as she would any other curious specimen, she resumed her book, never speaking to me again, except to ask, when she saw me gazing wonderingly around the splendidly-furnished room, "if I supposed I could remember every article of furniture, and give a faithful report."
I thought I was insulted when she called me "little friend," and now, feeling sure of it, I tartly replied that "if I couldn't she perhaps might lend me paper and pencil, with which to write them down."
"Original, truly," said she, again poring over her book.
Nellie, who had left me for a moment, now returned, bidding me come and see her mother, and passing through the long hall, I was soon in Mrs. Gilbert's room, which was as tastefully, though perhaps not quite so richly, furnished as the parlor. Mrs. Gilbert was lying upon a sofa, and the moment I looked upon her, the love which I had so freely given the daughter was shared with the mother, in whose pale sweet face, and soft brown eyes, I saw a strong resemblance to Nellie. She was attired in a rose-colored morning-gown, which flowed open in front, disclosing to view a larger quantity of rich French embroidery than I had ever before seen.
Many times during the day, and many times since, have I wondered what made her marry, and if she really loved the bearish-looking man who occasionally stalked into the room, smoking cigars and talking very loudly, when he knew how her head was throbbing with pain.
I had eaten but little breakfast that morning, and verily I thought I should famish before their dinner hour arrived; and when at last it came, and I saw the table glittering with silver, I felt many misgivings as to my ability to acquit myself creditably. But by dint of watching Nellie, doing just what she did, and refusing just what she refused, I managed to get through with it tolerably well. For once, too, in my life I drank all the wine I wanted; the result of which was that long before sunset I went home, crying and vomiting with the sick headache, which Sally said "served me right;" at the same time hinting her belief that I was slightly intoxicated!
Down our long, green lane, and at the further extremity of the narrow footpath which led to the "old mine," was another path or wagon road which wound along among the fern bushes, under the chestnut trees, across the hemlock swamp, and up to a grassy ridge which overlooked a small pond, said, of course, to have no bottom. Fully crediting this story, and knowing, moreover, that China was opposite to us, I had often taken down my atlas and hunted through that ancient empire, in hopes of finding a corresponding sheet of water. Failing to do so I had made one with my pencil, writing against it, "Cranberry Pond," that being the name of its American brother.
Just above the pond on the grassy ridge stood an old dilapidated building which had long borne the name of the "haunted house," I never knew whether this title was given it on account of its proximity to the "old mine," or because it stood near the very spot where, years and years ago, the "bloody Indians" pushed those cart-loads of burning hemp against the doors "of the only remaining house in Quaboag"—for which see Goodrich's Child's History, page —, somewhere toward the commencement. I only know that 'twas called the "haunted house," and that for a long time no one would live there, on account of the rapping, dancing, and cutting-up generally which was said to prevail there, particularly in the west room, the one overhung with ivy and grapevines.
Three or four years before our story opens a widow lady, Mrs. Hudson, with her only daughter, Mabel, appeared in our neighborhood, hiring the "haunted house," and, in spite of the neighbors' predictions to the contrary, living there quietly and peaceably, unharmed by ghost or goblin. At first Mrs. Hudson was looked upon with distrust, and even a league with a certain old fellow was hinted at; but as she seemed to be well disposed, kind, and affable toward all, this feeling gradually wore away, and now she was universally liked, while Mabel, her daughter, was a general favorite. For two years past, Mabel had worked in the Fiskdale factory a portion of the time, going to school the remainder of the year. She was fitting herself for a teacher, and as the school in our district was small, the trustees had this summer kindly offered it to her. This arrangement delighted me; for, next to Nellie Gilbert, I loved Mabel Hudson best of anybody; and I fancied, too, that they looked alike, but of course it was all fancy.
Mrs. Hudson was a tailoress, and the day following my visit to Mr. Gilbert's I was sent by mother to take her some work. I found her in the little porch, her white cap-border falling over her placid face, and her wide checked apron coming nearly to the bottom of her dress. Mabel was there, too, and as she rose to receive me something about her reminded me of Adaline Gilbert. I could not tell what it was, for Mabel was very beautiful, and beside her Adaline would be plain; still there was a resemblance, either in voice or manner, and this it was, perhaps, which made me so soon mention the Gilberts and my visit to them the day previous.
Instantly Mrs. Hudson and Mabel exchanged glances, and I thought the face of the former grew a shade paler; still I may have been mistaken, for in her usual tone of voice she began to ask me numberless questions concerning the family, which seemed singular, as she was not remarkable for curiosity. But it suited me. I loved to talk then not less than I do now, and in a few minutes I had told all I knew—and more, too, most likely.
At last Mrs. Hudson asked about Mr. Gilbert, and how I liked him.
"Not a bit," said I. "He's the hatefulest, crossest, big-feelingest man I ever saw, and Adaline is just like him!"
Had I been a little older I might, perhaps, have wondered at the crimson flush which my hasty words brought to Mrs. Hudson's cheek, but I did not notice it then, and thinking she was, of course, highly entertained, I continued to talk about Mr. Gilbert and Adaline, in the last of whom Mabel seemed the most interested. Of Nellie I spoke with the utmost affection, and when Mrs. Hudson expressed a wish to see her, I promised, if possible, to bring her there; then, as I had already outstaid the time for which permission had been given, I tied on my sunbonnet and started for home, revolving the ways and means by which I should keep my promise.
This proved to be a very easy matter; for within a few days Nellie came to return my visit, and as mother had other company she the more readily gave us permission to go where we pleased. Nellie had a perfect passion for ghost and witch stories, saying though that "she never liked to have them explained—she'd rather they'd be left in solemn mystery;" so when I told her of the "old mine" and the "haunted house" she immediately expressed a desire to see them. Hiding our bonnets under our aprons the better to conceal our intentions from sister Lizzie, who, we fancied, had serious thoughts oftagging, we sent her upstairs in quest of something which we knew was not there, and then away we scampered down the green lane and across the pasture, dropping once into some alders as Lizzie's yellow hair became visible on the fence at the foot of the lane. Our consciences smote us a little, but we kept still until she returned to the house; then, continuing our way, we soon came in sight of the mine, which Nellie determined to explore.
It was in vain that I tried to dissuade her from the attempt. She was resolved, and stationing myself at a safe distance I waited while she scrambled over stones, sticks, logs, and bushes, until she finally disappeared in the cave. Ere long, however, she returned with soiled pantelets, torn apron, and scratched face, saying that "the mine was nothing in the world but a hole in the ground, and a mighty little one at that." After this I didn't know but I would sometime venture in, but for fear of what might happen I concluded to choose a time when I hadn't run away from Liz!
When I presented Nellie to Mrs. Hudson she took both her hands in hers, and, greatly to my surprise, kissed her on both cheeks. Then she walked hastily into the next room, but not until I saw something fall from her eyes, which I am sure were tears.
"Funny, isn't it?" said Nellie, looking wonderingly at me. "I don't know whether to laugh or what."
Mabel now came in, and though she manifested no particular emotion, she was exceedingly kind to Nellie, asking her many questions, and sometimes smoothing her brown curls. When Mrs. Hudson again appeared she was very calm, but I noticed that her eyes constantly rested upon Nellie, who, with Mabel's grey kitten in her lap, was seated upon the doorstep, the very image of childish innocence and beauty. Mrs. Hudson urged us to stay to tea, but I declined, knowing that there was company at home, with three kinds of cake, besides cookies, for supper. So bidding her good-bye, and promising to come again, we started homeward, where we found the ladies discussing their green tea and making large inroads upon the three kinds of cake.
One of them, a Mrs. Thompson, was gifted with the art of fortune-telling, by means of tea-grounds, and when Nellie and I took our seats at the table she kindly offered to see what was in store for us. She had frequently told my fortune, each time managing to fish up a freckle-faced boy so nearly resembling her grandson, my particular aversion, that I didn't care to hear it again. But with Nellie 'twas all new, and after a great whirling of tea-grounds and staining of mother's best table-cloth, she passed her cup to Mrs. Thompson, confidently whispering to me that she guessed she'd tell her something about Willie Raymond, who lived in the city, and who gave her the little cornelian ring which she wore. With the utmost gravity Mrs. Thompson read off the past and present, and then peering far into the future she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, my! there's a gulf, or something, before you, and you are going to tumble into it headlong; don't ask me anything more."
I never did and never shall believe in fortune-telling, much less in Granny Thompson's "turned-up cups," but years after I thought of her prediction with regard to Nellie. Poor, poor Nellie!
On the first Monday in June our school commenced, and long before breakfast Lizzie and I were dressed and had turned inside out the little cupboard over the fireplace where our books were kept during vacation. Breakfast being over we deposited in our dinner-basket the whole of a custard pie, and were about starting off when mother said, "we shouldn't go a step until half-past eight," adding further, that "we must put that pie back, for 'twas one she'd saved for their own dinner."
Lizzie pouted, while I cried, and taking my bonnet I repaired to the "great rock," where the sassafras, blackberries, and blacksnakes grew. Here I sat for a long time, thinking if I ever did grow up and get married (I was sure of the latter), I'd have all the custard pie I could eat for once! In the midst of my reverie a footstep sounded near, and looking up I saw before me Nellie Gilbert, with her satchel of books on her arm, and her sunbonnet hanging down her back, after the fashion in which I usually wore mine. In reply to my look of inquiry she said her father had concluded to let her go to the district school, though he didn't expect her to learn anything but "slang terms and ill manners."
By this time it was half-past eight, and together with Lizzie we repaired to the schoolhouse, where we found assembled a dozen girls and as many boys, among whom was Tom Jenkins. Tom was a great admirer of beauty, and hence I could never account for the preference he had hitherto shown for me, who my brothers called "bung-eyed" and Sally "raw-boned." He, however, didn't think so. My eyes, he said, were none too large, and many a night had he carried home my books for me, and many a morning had he brought me nuts and raisins, to say nothing of the time when I found in my desk a little note, which said—But everybody who's been to school, knows what it said!
Taking it all round we were as good as engaged; so you can judge what my feelings were when, before the night of Nellie's first day at school, I saw Tom Jenkins giving her an orange which I had every reason to think was originally intended for me! I knew very well that Nellie's brown curls and eyes had done the mischief; and though I did not love her the less, I blamed him the more for his fickleness, for only a week before he had praised my eyes, calling them a "beautiful indigo blue," and all that. I was highly incensed, and when on our way from school he tried to speak good-humoredly, I said, "I'd thank you to let me alone! I don't like you, and never did!"
He looked sorry for a minute, but soon forgot it all in talking to Nellie, who after he had left us said "he was a cleverish kind of boy, though he couldn't begin with William Raymond." After that I was very cool toward Tom, who attached himself more and more to Nellie, saying "she had the handsomest eyes he ever saw"; and, indeed, I think it chiefly owing to those soft, brown, dreamy eyes that I am not now "Mrs. Tom Jenkins of Jenkinsville," a place way out West, whither Tom and his mother have migrated.
One day Nellie was later at school than usual, giving as a reason that their folks had company—a Mr. Sherwood and his mother, from Hartford; and adding that if I'd never tell anybody as long as I lived and breathed she'd tell me something.
Of course I promised, and Nellie told me how she guessed that Mr. Sherwood, who was rich and handsome, liked Adaline. "Anyway, Adaline likes him," said she, "and oh, she's so nice and good when he's around. I ain't 'Nell, you hateful thing' then, but I'm 'Sister Nellie.' They are going to ride this morning, and perhaps they'll go by here. There they are, now!" and looking toward the road I saw Mr. Sherwood and Adaline Gilbert on horseback, riding leisurely past the schoolhouse. She was nodding to Nellie, but he was looking intently at Mabel, who was sitting near the window. I know he asked Adaline something about her, for I distinctly heard a part of her reply—"a poor factory girl," and Adaline's head tossed scornfully, as if that were a sufficient reason why Mabel should be despised.
Mr. Sherwood evidently did not think so, for the next day he walked by alone—and the next day he did the same, this time bringing with him a book, and seating himself in the shadow of a chestnut tree not far from the schoolhouse. The moment school was out, he arose and came forward, inquiring for Nellie, who, of course, introduced him to Mabel. The three then walked on together, while Tom Jenkins stayed in the rear with me, wondering what I wanted to act so for; "couldn't a feller like more than one girl if he wanted to?"
"Yes, I s'posed a feller could, though I didn't know, nor care!"
Tom made no reply, but whittled away upon a bit of shingle, which finally assumed the shape of a heart, and which I afterward found in his desk with the letter "N" written upon it, and then scratched out. When at last we reached our house Mr. Sherwood asked Nellie "where that old mine and sawmill were, of which she had told him so much."
"Right on Miss Hudson's way home," said Nellie. "Let's walk along with her;" and the next moment Mr. Sherwood, Mabel, and Nellie were in the long, green lane which led down to the sawmill.
Oh, how Adaline stormed when she heard of it, and how sneeringly she spoke to Mr. Sherwood of the "factory girl," insinuating that the bloom on her cheek was paint, and the lily on her brow powder! But he probably did not believe it, for almost every day he passed the schoolhouse, generally managing to speak with Mabel; and once he went all the way home with her, staying ever so long, too, for I watched until 'twas pitch dark, and he hadn't got back yet!
In a day or two he went home, and I thought no more about him, until Tom, who had been to the post office, brought Mabel a letter, which made her turn red and white alternately, until at last she cried. She was very absent-minded the remainder of that day, letting us do as we pleased, and never in my life did I have a better time "carrying on" than I did that afternoon when Mabel received her first letter from Mr. Sherwood.
About six weeks after the close of Mabel's school we were one day startled with the intelligence that she was going to be married, and to Mr. Sherwood, too. He had become tired of the fashionable ladies of his acquaintance, and when he saw how pure and artless Mabel was, he immediately became interested in her; and at last, overcoming all feelings of pride, he had offered her his hand, and had been accepted. At first we could hardly credit the story; but when Mrs. Hudson herself confirmed it we gave it up, and again I wondered if I should be invited. All the nicest and best chestnuts which I could find, to say nothing of the apples and butternuts, I carried to her, not without my reward either, for when invitations came to us I was included with the rest. Our family were the only invited guests, and I felt no fears this time of being hidden by the crowd.
Just before the ceremony commenced there was the sound of a heavy footstep upon the outer porch, a loud knock at the door, and then into the room came Mr. Gilbert! He seemed slightly agitated, but not one-half so much as Mrs. Hudson, who exclaimed, "William, my son, why are you here?"
"I came to witness my sister's bridal," was the answer; and turning toward the clergyman, he said, somewhat authoritatively, "Do not delay for me, sir. Go on."
There was a movement in the next room, and then the bridal party entered, both starting with surprise as they saw Mr. Gilbert. Very beautiful did Mabel look as she stood up to take upon herself the marriage vow, not a syllable of which did one of us hear. We were thinking of Mr. Gilbert, and the strange words, "my son" and "my sister."
When it was over, and Mabel was Mrs. Sherwood, Mr. Gilbert approached Mrs. Hudson, saying, "Come, mother, let me lead you to the bride."
With an impatient gesture she waved him off, and going alone to her daughter, threw her arms around her neck, sobbing convulsively. There was an awkward silence, and then Mr. Gilbert, thinking he was called upon for an explanation, arose, and addressing himself mostly to Mr. Sherwood, said, "I suppose what has transpired here to-night seems rather strange, and will undoubtedly furnish the neighborhood with gossip for more than a week, but they are welcome to canvass whatever I do. I can't help it if I was born with an unusual degree of pride, neither can I help feeling mortified, as I many times did, at my family, particularly after she," glancing at his mother, "married the man whose name she bears."
Here Mrs. Hudson lifted up her head, and coming to Mr. Gilbert's side, stood proudly erect, while he continued: "She would tell you he was a good man, but I hated him, and swore never to enter the house while he lived. I went away, took care of myself, grew rich, married into one of the first families in Hartford, and—and"—
Here he paused, and his mother, continuing the sentence, added, "and grew ashamed of your own mother, who many a time went without the comforts of life that you might be educated. You were always a proud, wayward boy, William, but never did I think you would do as you have done. You have treated me with utter neglect, never allowing your wife to see me, and when I once proposed visiting you in Hartford you asked your brother, now dead, to dissuade me from it, if possible, for you could not introduce me to your acquaintances as your mother. Never do you speak of me to your children, who, if they know they have a grandmother, little dream that she lives within a mile of their father's dwelling. One of them I have seen, and my heart yearned toward her as it did toward you when first I took you in my arms, my firstborn baby; and yet, William, I thank Heaven there is in her sweet face no trace of her father's features. This may sound harsh, unmotherly, but greatly have I been sinned against, and now, just as a brighter day is dawning upon me, why have you come here? Say, William, why?"
By the time Mrs. Hudson had finished, nearly all in the room were weeping. Mr. Gilbert, however, seemed perfectly indifferent, and with the most provoking coolness, replied, "I came to see my fair sister married—to congratulate her upon an alliance which will bring us upon a more equal footing."
"You greatly mistake me, sir," said Mr. Sherwood, turning haughtily toward Mr. Gilbert, at the same time drawing Mabel nearer to him; "you greatly mistake me, if, after what I have heard, you think I would wish for your acquaintance. If my wife, when poor and obscure, was not worthy of your attention,youcertainly are not now worthy of hers, and it is my request that our intercourse should end here."
Mr. Gilbert muttered something about "extenuating circumstances," and "the whole not being told," but no one paid him any attention; and at last, snatching up his hat, he precipitately left the house, I sending after him a hearty good riddance, and mentally hoping he would measure his length in the ditch which he must pass on his way across Hemlock Swamp.
The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood departed on their bridal tour, intending on their return to take their mother with them to the city. Several times during their absence I saw Mr. Gilbert, either going to or returning from the "haunted house," and I readily guessed he was trying to talk his mother over, for nothing could be more mortifying than to be cut by the Sherwoods, who were among the first in Hartford. Afterward, greatly to my satisfaction, I heard that though, motherlike, Mrs. Hudson had forgiven her son, Mr. Sherwood ever treated him with a cool haughtiness which effectually kept him at a distance.
Once, indeed, at Mabel's earnest request, Mrs. Gilbert and Nellie were invited to visit her, and as the former was too feeble to accomplish the journey, Nellie went alone, staying a long time, and torturing her sister on her return with a glowing account of the elegantly-furnished house, of which Adaline had once hoped to be the proud mistress.
For several years after Mabel's departure from Rice Corner nothing especial occurred in the Gilbert family, except the marriage of Adaline with a rich bachelor, who must have been many years older than her father, for he colored his whiskers, wore false teeth and a wig, besides having, as Nellie declared, a wooden leg! For the truth of this last I will not vouch, as Nellie's assertion was only founded upon the fact of her having once looked through the keyhole of his door and espied, standing by his bed, something which looked like a cork leg, but which might have been a boot! What Adaline saw in him to like I could never guess. I suppose, however, that she only looked at his rich gilding, which covered a multitude of defects.
Immediately after the wedding the happy pair started for a two-years tour in Europe, where the youthful bride so enraged her baldheaded lord by flirting with a mustached Frenchman that in a fit of anger the old man picked up his goods, chattels, and wife, and returned to New York within three months of his leaving it!
And now, in the closing chapter of this brief sketch of the Gilberts, I come to the saddest part—the fate of poor Nellie, the dearest playmate my childhood knew, she whom the lapse of years ripened into a graceful, beautiful girl, loved by everybody, even by Tom Jenkins, whose boyish affection had grown with his growth and strengthened with his strength.
And now Nellie was the affianced bride of William Raymond, who had replaced the little cornelian with the engagement ring. At last the rumor reached Tom Jenkins, awaking him from the sweetest dream he had ever known. He could not ask Nellie if it were true, so he came to me; and when I saw how he grew pale and trembled, I felt that Nellie was not altogether blameless. But he breathed no word of censure against her; and when, a year or two afterward, I saw her given to William Raymond, I knew that the love of two hearts was hers; the one to cherish and watch over her, the other to love and worship, silently, secretly, as a miser worships his hidden treasure.
The bridal was over. The farewells were over, and Nellie had gone—gone from the home whose sunlight she had made, and which she had left forever. Sadly the pale, sick mother wept, and mourned her absence, listening in vain for the light footfall and soft, ringing voice she would never hear again.
Three weeks had passed away, and then, far and near the papers teemed with accounts of the horrible Norwalk catastrophe, which desolated many a home, and wrung from many a heart its choicest treasure. Side by side they found them—Nellie and her husband—the light of her brown eyes quenched forever, and the pulses of his heart still in death!
I was present when they told the poor invalid of her loss, and even now I seem to hear the bitter, wailing cry which broke from her white lips, as she begged them to unsay what they had said, and tell her Nellie was not dead—that she would come back again.
It could not be. Nellie would never return; and in six weeks' time the broken-hearted mother was at rest with her child.