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THE STORY OF 
 
 AUNT PATIENCE 
 
 / 
 
 BY ^ I^jT 
 
 ^^ 
 
 y 
 
 T^ MARY d/bRIMH 
 
 AUTHOR <iH " (.KANDMa's AITIC TKEASUKHS, 
 FTC, I-TC. 
 
 " i.KANDMA S MKM()Kli;S, 
 
 Il.l.lJSTKATHI) HV !•". C. C.OKIHJN 
 
 NEW YORK ^^OfCO.V,. 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY /^^^o''^""^'" '"^ 
 
 31 Wkst Twenty- riiiKi) STNi;ri' 
 1893 
 
 hoc I i^^ ' 
 
 ^^ 
 
 OF 
 
 ■K 
 

 ^^^ 
 
 Col'VK'UiHl, l8gj, liv 
 
 E. P. nUTTON" .t CO. 
 
 I'ress of .(. J. Lutle & Co. 
 Astor riace, New York 
 
 y 
 
TO 
 MRS. FRANK H. WHHDEN 
 
 (()!•■ I'KOVIDHNCK, K. 1.) 
 
 THIS STOKY IS AFFHCTinNATHLY DKDICATKD 
 BY THK AUTHOR 
 
 M. 1). B. 
 
ti^t of 3ilUi;stration)S 
 
 When her form was slender and graceful, 
 
 Initial A with liead, .... 
 
 When Patience sat spinning alone, 
 
 tlappy young lovers, .... 
 
 "Forgive 'em, father!" .... 
 
 Miles — miles from the rockbound shore ! 
 
 As he walked by the sea one day, 
 
 " Dear, I've somethin' to say," 
 
 One night he walked with her down the hill, 
 
 Jack suddenly barred the way, 
 
 She milked the cows. 
 
 As the dawn cre[)t into the sky, 
 
 So she stood at the kitchen doorway. 
 
 If she wept — 'twas only at night, 
 
 "Wal, now, if the gal's got a secret," 
 
 The shadows of evening softly closed. 
 
 Raised his iiand for that eager "tap," 
 
 /-> 
 
 I'ACE 
 
 0)ifispLece 
 
 9 
 13 
 
 18 
 20 
 
 23 
 26 
 29 
 35 
 39 
 41 
 43 
 45 
 49 
 '51 
 53 
 54 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTKA'J'IONS. 
 
 Alas for Jack ! ere the night was spent, 
 
 " Fie ! foolish lass that you are 1 " . 
 
 Longed that he, too, might go, 
 
 Took loving, reverent care, 
 
 In tlie shadowy gloom sat I'atience, 
 
 The old clock in the corner. 
 
 Patience had pressed her own wan cheek, 
 
 A stranger knocked at the farmhouse door. 
 
 Was wont to sit with his briar pipe, 
 
 A glimpse of the restless sea. 
 
 Back to the house they went at last. 
 
 Writing in the Bible, .... 
 
 Aunt Patience kniltins'-, .... 
 
 58 
 61 
 
 64 
 
 65 
 69 
 
 73 
 76 
 
 ^3 
 
 88 
 
 99 
 107 
 1 10 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 QUAINT old soul is Aunt Patience 
 now, 
 With the snows of time 
 in her hair, 
 And the signs of the years 
 behind her 
 In her wrinkled old face, 
 still fair 
 In its frame of snowy white muslin — 
 The cap with its stiffened crown — • 
 And the speech of that tender heart of hers, 
 In the glance of her eyes so brown. 
 
 In the " auld lang syne," when Patience 
 
 Was only a " slip of a girl," 
 With eyes like the stars of a summer night, 
 
 And ffold in her hair's soft curl ; 
 
lO THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 When her form was slender and graceful, 
 And her light step buoyant and free — 
 
 Ah ! pretty little " Aunt Patience " ! 
 What a fair young creature was she ! 
 
 The joy of her doting mother, 
 
 The light of her father's eyes ; 
 " A sunbeam brighter " — they fondly said — 
 
 "Than those of the sunny skies." 
 She was up with the birds in the morning, 
 
 She sang with the birds all day ; 
 And the household cares, were they many or few, 
 
 Slipped merrily out of the way. 
 
 There were plenty of lovers to woo her. 
 And sue for her heart and her hand ; 
 
 But her heart had chosen its own love — 
 A " sailor-boy," young Jack Rand. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. II 
 
 And him she crowned with that worship 
 Which love ever yields to its king; 
 
 And sweet the melody, day by day, 
 
 Her young heart was learning to sing. 
 
 But that was her own shy secret, 
 
 Safe hidden till Jack should speak. 
 If he needed a " hint," what would he more 
 
 Than the blush on her pretty round cheek? 
 It always welcomed his greeting. 
 
 Had he used his blue eyes to see; 
 But bold and brave as a sailor lad, 
 
 Yet a very shy lover was he. 
 
 So he came on nights with the other boys, 
 
 After the "chores" were done, 
 And he looked at Patience the while they talked, 
 
 And he envied them every one. 
 
12 THE S/OA'Y or AIW'T PATIIiNCE. 
 
 Vox he knew it was said in ihc villai^e 
 Thai "a wild youn^' rover" was he, 
 
 And he feared the "old folks" wouldn't trust 
 him — 
 Whatever his promises might be — 
 
 To W(;d with their honuN' young daughter, 
 
 Since wooing her every day 
 Were lovers more worthy (as jjoor Jack knew) 
 
 Than lie to win her away. 
 But his hcai-t went on with its lox'ing, 
 
 In spite of its fears ; and that love — 
 Though Jack kept guartl o'er his lips so well — 
 
 Shone brio'ht as the stars above, 
 
 And as steadily, out of his honest eyes. 
 
 And think )-ou Patience was blind ? 
 No, no ! for she knew in her woman's heart 
 
 How love its own way could llnd. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 So she trou))lecl no whit o'er her waiting, 
 But olad and contented, each day, 
 
 She put her hand to the household plough, 
 And worked the brioht hours away. 
 
14 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 But at last — at last, on an evening 
 
 When Patience sat spinning alone, 
 And the tossincr sea off the roueh Maine coast 
 
 Was making its weird, wild moan, 
 And the wind came rushinof and howline 
 
 In its chase of the slanting rain — 
 There came a sound on the step outside, 
 
 And a tap on the window-pane. 
 
 "Now, who can it be on a night like this?" 
 
 Quoth Patience, with half a frown. 
 As she stopped her wheel, and thought with dread 
 
 Of "those wearisome boys from town; 
 An' mother an' father a-sleepin', 
 
 An' I with my stint to do ! " — - 
 But she opened the door, and into her cheek 
 
 The red of a June rose flew. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Jack gave her a glance as he entered, 
 
 And his own cheeks glowed with red. 
 He shook himself free from his sailor coat ; 
 
 " Whew! a pretty rough night!" he said. 
 " So I steered for this cosey harbor here ; 
 
 An' I'm mightily glad to see 
 There ain't any other craft in port. 
 
 An' the coast seems clear for me." 
 
 IS 
 
 Deeper the blush on the girl's young cheek, 
 
 But she merrily tossed her head : 
 " No sensible craft would put out to sea 
 
 On a night so wild," she said. 
 Then bravely laughed young sailor Jack : 
 
 " Ay ! risky enough, my dear ! 
 But I — I came"— he reached his arm 
 
 And suddenly drew her near. 
 
1 6 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 And sought her eyes with his own, and cried 
 
 " My girl, be it wrong or right, 
 If ever I speak the truth of my heart, 
 
 Speak it I must to-nigJit ! 
 I came to look for a Httle mate — 
 
 A mate wlio will ship with me, 
 An' stick to mc true, an' trust me, too, 
 
 A-sailin' over life's sea. 
 
 " It's yo2t I'm wantin' — just jw/, lass ! 
 
 Now, what's the truth of your heart ? 
 If you're bound to another man, dear, 
 
 Why, say good-by, an' — we'll part. 
 P^or I sha'n't be teasin' you, darlin'. 
 
 Though my heart's so full of you, dear, 
 That I would have braved a sea of fire 
 
 Only to get at you here. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. I J 
 
 " An' look in your eyes, an' tell you 
 
 That, wild as they call me, I'm true, 
 An' stanch, an' trim, from stem to stern, 
 
 In the heart I'm offerin' to you ! — 
 What, Patience! cryin'? Hush, darlin' ! "* — 
 
 He laid his hand on her head — 
 " I'll never be good enough for you ; 
 
 An' maybe I shouldn't have said 
 
 " These things, if they've troubled you, lassie. 
 
 But then, I am free to confess 
 That I never did have any patience. 
 
 Though 'Patience' I long to possess! 
 An' now, when I've come here to get it" — 
 
 She smiled, and answered him back : 
 " You find it all ready and waitin' for you ; 
 
 An' — I hope you won't— /(^^^ it — Jack!" 
 
i8 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Happy young lovers ! Together 
 
 They sat in love's silence, so sweet, 
 That neither heeded the passing- of Time 
 
 With his train of moments so fleet. 
 For silence is eloquent always, 
 
 And it then had so much to say, 
 That at last the old clock in the corner spoke, 
 
 And ordered young Jack away. 
 
THE Sl'ORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 1 9 
 
 He kissed her once, and he kissed her twice, 
 
 And ran back with a hiugh for ''three;" 
 For "Old ' Rory O'More' was right, I'm sure, 
 
 An' 'there's luck in odd numbers,'" said he. 
 And the wind died down, and the moaning 
 
 Passed from the sea away, 
 While the stars came out to lighten the sky 
 
 And watch for the dawn of day. 
 
 Well, the "old folks" learned in the morning 
 
 How "little mice always play" — 
 As the saying runs — when by lucky chance 
 
 The "watchful cat is away." 
 The story their lassie told them 
 
 Troubled them much for awhile. 
 But the fond and faithful old mother — 
 
 She was the first to smile. 
 
20 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 % And daily she coaxed the farm- 
 er, too, 
 \ f#*? His willing consent to yield ; 
 Laying- her hand on the 
 old man's arm, 
 Ere he went (with his 
 frozvii) to the field 
 For his daily toil, and his 
 sore-vexed heart 
 
 Brimful of its jjrudo'e 
 'gainst Jack. 
 .vsp "■ Forgive 'em, father ! " 
 she said, " an' try 
 *» -^ ^"* ^__^ To smile on 'em when 
 
 you come back ! " 
 
 And the day when he did forgive them. 
 
 And placed in Jack's hand his own, 
 And proved to " the children " his full consent 
 
'J- 1 If: STORY OF Al^NT PATIENCE. 21 
 
 P>y word, and by look, and tone — 
 That day Uj Patience seemed l)riinmin;4 
 
 With sunshine that never before 
 Had fallen from skies so ^^olden bri_c(ht, 
 
 To cover the landscape o'er. 
 
 And so the conrtship went steadily on, 
 
 And there; wasn't a lad but knew 
 There was no use strivini^^ 'o^ainst "lucky Jack;" 
 
 For Patience had nothing to do 
 With nirting-, and playin.o- thos(; cunnini^ tricks 
 
 Which come with these modern times, 
 When a i^drl scarce belom^^s to her own b(;trothed 
 
 Till the rin;g of the wedding chimes. 
 
 Not a lad amongst them so winning 
 
 As Jack, with his saucy blue eyes, 
 Where seemed to linger the shadow and shine 
 
 That one finds in the soft June skies. 
 
2 2 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 And the way in which he loved Patience 
 
 Was true and honest enough, 
 Had Jack been less of a sailor-boy, 
 
 And born of a steadier stuff. 
 
 But he loved the sea with his might and main, 
 
 And there came a time at last, 
 When he wearied, he said, of " loafin' on land," 
 
 And longed for the ropes and the mast ; 
 And to walk the decks of a ship again. 
 
 He knew he would gladly yield 
 The uttermost charms of the village home — 
 
 Its beauties of hillside and field, 
 
 Its rest, its peace, and its quiet. 
 
 Though he had loved each of them well. 
 
 And loved them the more for his sweetheart's sake, 
 Ay, better than words could tell. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 n 
 
 But oh ! for a breath of the ocean, 
 
 Miles— miles from the rockbound shore ! 
 
 He had lived on the sea in days gone by — 
 Should he never live there more ? 
 
 Such a little lad when he journeyed first 
 
 With "daddy" over the sea, 
 Proud, and prouder as older he grew, 
 
 Till a "sailor" he learned to be! 
 Then there were the distant voyages, 
 
 Father and he to^-ether, 
 
24 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 With mother at home to watch and wait, 
 And pray for the wind and weather ! 
 
 And then — the lonely home-coming ! 
 
 (The father — under the sea /) 
 And only Jack, \\nt\\ his loving young heart, 
 
 The help and comfort to be 
 Of the waiting and weary mother ! 
 
 Oh, well ! He had done his best ; 
 And never again had he left her home, 
 
 Till she died, with her head on his breast. 
 
 And Jack, you wonder what kept him 
 Still bound to the rocky shore ? 
 
 Ah, love had caught and enslaved him then ; 
 He thought of the sea no more. 
 
 'Twas only Patience he wanted, and where 
 She lived he was happy to be. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 25 
 
 And Jack, the sailor, grew merry and gay, 
 " And what cared he for the sea ? " 
 
 There were merry boys in the village, 
 
 And girls to be merry with, too. 
 And the ''girl of girls'' who had caught his heart. 
 
 And was thrilling it through and through. 
 E'en while — as the old-time yearnings 
 
 Began to gather again— 
 He put them aside with a stern resolve. 
 
 And told his heart they were vain. 
 
 But now, alas ! for the lovers ; 'twas true, 
 Jack, loving his sweetheart no less. 
 
 Yet longed and longed for the old free life. 
 And the ocean-wind's caress. 
 
 Till his soul was filled with a wild desire 
 To sail to some distant land. 
 
THE STORY OF A L.\ J r.lllh.XOE. 
 
 I 
 
 r:r-^-;:s-.. 
 
 W oiiKl l\itii'nct.' inari'v Him now, tluni^iu lu\ 
 AikI ship wilh him, haiul in haiul ? 
 
 All this, aiul more, he Avas poiulorin^- o'er. 
 
 As ho walkoci 1>\' tho sea one tlav, 
 While the i^listenino' wa\"es in the snnlii^ht 
 
 Seonunl to Inx'kon him lai' a\\a\'. 
 lie IkitihI his hreast to the hret^zt^s. 
 
 Aiul iil'ied his head on hii^h. 
 And his blue eyes dancetl as he watelied the waves. 
 
 Then he turned away with a si^h. 
 
THE SJ'OA'V OF A ex/' r.l'lll'.NCK. 
 
 "I'll Icll her tlu; tnilh!" he saitl to hiinst:lf, 
 
 •.' I'll t(;Il licr the truth to-iiii^lu ! 
 It'll grieve her, I know, an' hrini^' the; tears 
 
 To her pretty brown eyes so bright. 
 But oh, she's j)r(jiiiise(l herself to me. 
 
 She; i^avc hk; her //car/ witli her hand, 
 An' she knows — slu; /'fn)7os I am sailor-born! 
 
 An' my ^irl will inulerstand 
 
 " How a sailor can smoth(;r for lack of ' room' 
 
 When he wearies of bein' on shore ! 
 An' she knows — (iod bU^ss her! — that but for her 
 
 I'd ha\'(; left here lon^- befon;. 
 So I'll tell her to-nioht ; an' why should I fear, 
 
 When my own little mate; is she ? 
 But oh, will she let me i^'o alone, 
 
 Or ship as my wife with me?" 
 
28 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 That night they walked to the village store, 
 
 To the villaore store and back. 
 But never a word of the thought on his mind 
 
 Had come from the lips of jack — 
 Though many the things they chatted about, 
 
 In their own dear lover-like way — 
 Till they paused at length at the garden gate. 
 
 Then — " Dear, I've somethin' to say " — 
 
 He whispered, laying his hand on hers. 
 
 And looking with anxious eyes 
 Straight into the pair so soft and brown, 
 
 Which held a sudden surprise 
 As Patience answered him : " Speak, my lad, 
 
 An' whether for good or ill, 
 If you've got into trouble, why, never mind, 
 
 Be sure that I'll love you still." 
 

 '3)r-^<='1:\ 
 
 "DEAR, I've somethin' to say." Page 28. 
 
'P THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 "Now bless you, darlin', for tliat ! " cried he, 
 
 And his heart rose light as air ; 
 For he thought to himself, "No fear of squalls. 
 
 For the wind blows free an' fair." 
 Then he tokl the truth of his restless soul, 
 
 How it longed for the rolling sea. 
 And she gazed at him with pain in her eves, 
 
 And — "Tell me no more!" plead she. 
 
 " But wait till the spring is here — do wait ! 
 
 Give this no thought till then. 
 Promise^ me, jack?" — Oh, t(>arful eyes! 
 
 Jack kissed them again and again, 
 And talked of the sea (to her) no more 
 
 As the days went pleasantly by; 
 And before they knew it, the world grew sweet 
 
 And fair 'neath the springtime sky. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 3I 
 
 But yet — though at work with the other lads, 
 
 And striving- to be as they 
 (For his sweetheart's sake), the sailor's heart 
 
 Went sailing the sea each day, 
 Till Patience grew sober with many fears 
 
 Which clouded her eyes so bright, 
 And lay on her heart through the day's fair hours, 
 
 And haunted her dreams by night. 
 
 Once more Jack spoke of the old desire; 
 
 But she laid on his lips her hand. 
 ''Please wait till ihc fa// shall come," she said, 
 
 " Be patient till then on land ! " 
 And Jack spoke out : " Will you wed me //icUy. 
 
 An' sail with me far away ? 
 The father an' mother will spare you, dear, 
 
 If we promise not long to stay." 
 
32 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT TATIENCE. 
 
 Well, summer passed, and the fall had come, 
 
 And the sweethearts walked together ; 
 And they talked of this, and they talked of that, 
 
 And they laughed at the windy weather 
 Which made so free with the soft gold hair 
 
 Jack smoothed with a loving hand 
 On the girl's low brow ; but alas ! alas ! 
 
 For the question of " sea or land"! 
 
 It was waiting below their smiling, 
 
 It was hiding in eacli young heart. 
 The summer had gone, the fall was come — 
 
 How soon must these lovers part? 
 Or, parting not, how soon would they sail ? 
 
 And what of the old folks then ? 
 They looked at each other — did Patience and 
 Jack, 
 
 And — the trouble began again. 
 
TIIK STORY Of AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 And "trouble" it was, iiuleetl ; for both 
 
 Grew petulant as they walked, 
 And the more they argued the matter, 
 
 More angrily still thc;y talked ; 
 Till Patience, tossing her pretty head, 
 
 Cried out with her sharp despair: 
 " Go you to the sea, if you like ; for inc 
 
 There are lads enough an' to spare!" 
 
 00 
 
 " That's so, an' all of 'em better 
 
 Than a loafin' land-lubber like me ! 
 
 An', savin' yourself, the ocean's a thing 
 1 love better than life!" cried he. 
 
 Then he saw that her cheek was paling, 
 She saw that his eyes were wet. 
 
 And — well — they kissed — as lovers all do 
 
 When a quarrel they wish to forget. 
 3 
 
|. riir: siory of aunt patience. 
 
 Was that tlic end of the " arouiiuMU " too? 
 
 Not so, save just for awhile. 
 " I'll ha\-e j)atienc(.^ for Patience, and win my 
 cause," 
 
 Saiil jack lo himself with a smile. 
 And his love tor his swec^theart ^rew and i^rew, 
 
 And his lon^iiiL^- [ox sea as well ; 
 And l^itience — into her little heart 
 
 A jealousy came to tlwell. 
 
 rOr how could a lover want the sea 
 
 II his Jicai-f were on the A?';/c// 
 ''Is he learnin' to care for it better than me? 
 
 W\\ I don't understand ! " 
 i\nd so she worried herself with thouo'ht. 
 
 And shacUnvs were oathering around 
 The two youno- hearts, ere half of love's joy 
 
 Or its perfect peace had been found. 
 
ONK NIt;irT HE WALKED WITH HER DOWN THE IIII.E. Pai^'C 36. 
 
36 THE STORY OF AUA'7' PATIENCE. 
 
 One night he walked with hcM" ch)wn th(; hill 
 
 111 search of the straying cows, 
 And paused at last for an earnest talk, 
 
 Leaving the kine to browse 
 And tinkle their bells all undisturbed 
 
 Along the pasture lane. 
 " While just once more — an' the last," said he, 
 
 He ar<ju(>d his cause a^'ain. 
 
 " I'll sure be back in a year, lass, 
 
 Vox jny lieart an' my soul an; true! 
 An' many's the pretty bit of a gift 
 
 I'll be bringin' back, darlin', for you. 
 But oh, my girl, I was hopin' 
 
 That you — that you zvoiilclift stay 
 Contented at home, when the man of your heart 
 
 Is sailin' the seas away. 
 
77/ A- STOKV OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 n 
 
 <' Don't you think yen will ship with mc, dearie, 
 
 When you think it over a bitr'"— 
 - You've had my answer, my lad," she cried, 
 
 ''You may do as you like with it!" 
 Then she scornfully swung herself around, 
 
 And gave a toss of her head, 
 And after the cows she started alone, 
 With nothing more to he said. 
 
 Her lover followed her slowly then, 
 
 Angry, and sorrowful, too. 
 " Shall I stay ashore like a useless wreck, 
 
 I'rettin' the whole ye-ar through, 
 'Cause a woman would kc-ep me loafm', 
 
 Against the wish of my heart.'' 
 Never! oh, never!" h.. angrily cried, 
 
 -We'll laugh a good-by— then part." 
 
38 7 HE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 They had reached the kitchen door-yard ; 
 
 Jack suddenly barred the way. 
 " Before we part for the ni^^ht," said he, 
 
 " Is there nothin' you have to say ? 
 Through all of our courtin', sweetheart, 
 
 We've dealt fairly enough together. 
 So don't be strivin' for clouds, dear, 
 
 Let's hold to the pleasanter weather. 
 
 " I've got to get /// in the world, lass ; 
 
 A livin' viw sea I can earn ! 
 So don't be blaniin' a sailor, 'cause 
 
 His heart for the sea will yearn! 
 I find no fault with the land, for 
 
 I found my sweetheart here ; 
 But a sailor is only half a man 
 
 When he's loahn' on shore, my dear. 
 
JACK SUDDENLY BARRED THE WAY. Pai^C 
 
40 THE sroRY of aunt patience. 
 
 " vSo give us a kiss for j)cacc, dear heart, 
 
 An' another one for oood-night. 
 I know when you think tliis over a hit 
 
 You'll own that I'm in the right." 
 But Patience: answertxl with only a laugh 
 
 (Though sore in lier heart was she) : 
 " Sail, yes, sail, as soon as you like ! 
 
 But you'll carry no mate in ;;/r / " 
 
 The quarrel was on in earnest now ! 
 
 Whichever was wrong or right, 
 They were both too hurt and angry to part 
 
 As lovers and sweethearts that night. 
 Jack turned about, and whistled a tune, 
 
 To show that he didn't care. 
 
 There were "plenty of girls in the village!" and 
 so 
 He spent his evening there. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 41 
 
 And Patience — well, she milked the cows 
 ('Twas work she was wont to do; 
 
 But pleasanter far when Jack took hold, 
 And the task was shared by two) ; 
 
 And she tried to sing as she filled her pail, 
 But the tremulous notes at last 
 
42 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Died utterly out of sound, tlie while 
 Hot tears were gathering fast. 
 
 And pretty Brindle (which Patience loved 
 
 Of her farmyard pets the best) 
 Had no kind pat on her soft white nose, 
 
 When left that night to her rest. 
 She chewed her cud in a mild surprise ; 
 
 But how could f^rindle know 
 That all alone, with her brimming pails, 
 
 TJiat night poor Patience must go ? 
 
 The night wore on, and the stars grew pale. 
 
 (Patience went early to bed, 
 Por — "'Jack, Jic loas sorry to be detained 
 
 Down to tJie store'' she said. 
 Hiding her face from mother's gaze, 
 
 But holding her head on high.) 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 43 
 
 The night wore on, and tlie stars grew pale 
 As the dawn crept into the sky. 
 
 But back to her heart, as the morning- grew, 
 
 Chasing her tears away. 
 Came — shame to tell it ! — the stubborn thoughts, 
 
 All ready to face the day. 
 (Had Jack but known it !) full half the night, 
 
 She had wept for her sailor's sake. 
 But who would dreani, in the morning light, 
 
 That her heart was like to break ? 
 
 " For Jack must know that little care /, 
 If so little, in sooth, cares lie, 
 
44 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 That between that sea an' his sweetheart here, 
 
 He gives his choice to the sea ! " 
 So she stood at the kitchen doorway, 
 
 Feeding her chickens, and sang 
 Till the sweet wild notes of her ofirlish voice 
 
 Over the meadows ransf. 
 
 And the squire's son, who was passing by, 
 
 Stopped at the fence awhile 
 To chat with the maid he would fain have won, 
 
 And she answered him smile for smile — 
 Because (oh, foolish young Patience !) 
 
 Over the road came Jack ; 
 And she thought, "He never shall know from me 
 
 That I'm a-wantin' him back ! " 
 
 So she chatted and laughed in her pretty way 
 With her swain at the fence, while he 
 
so SHE 
 
 STOOD AT THE KITCHEN DOORWAY. Page 44- 
 
/j.6 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Kept wishing with all his might and main 
 
 That her sailor were— out at sea ! 
 And Jack ? There never was merry tune 
 
 So vigorously whistled before, 
 As he sauntered by with his chin in the air, 
 
 And never a olance at that door. 
 
 Ah, well ! if by some quick magic 
 
 To each of those lovers then 
 The thoughts of each heart could hav^e been 
 revealed, — 
 
 Jack, the saddest of men, 
 And Patience, the saddest of women, 
 
 Would have grieved with each other well. 
 And perhaps of this dear old " Aunt Patience " 
 
 There'd have been no story to tell. 
 
 But Jack passed on ; and the squire's son, 
 Seeing that something was wrong, 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 47 
 
 Was glad in his envious heart, and felt 
 
 That perhaps it wouldn't be long 
 Till he and the sailor micrht chano^e about. 
 
 So he plucked up new courage, poor boy ! 
 For little knew he that the girl's gay laugh 
 
 Held no t?'iie note of joy. 
 
 But she suddenly turned around (alas ! 
 
 What weathercocks girls can be !) 
 And the smile died out of her pretty face 
 
 (Since Jack no longer could see 
 Her airs and graces, nor feel the sting 
 
 Of her make-believe scorn). And so 
 She had no more use for the squire's son ; 
 
 He was more than welcome to go. 
 
 And go he did, without more ado, 
 With a curt " good-day " in his ears ; 
 
48 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 For Patience forgot her manners, I think, 
 
 Because of the strange new fears 
 Whicli assailed her heart as Jack went on. 
 
 " For why should he be so gay — 
 When his heart, like mine, should be troubled an' 
 sad ? 
 
 Ah me ! what a weary day ! " 
 
 A "weary day" did it prove, indeed; 
 
 And another followed it, too. 
 And still another, until at last 
 
 A rumor grew, and grew. 
 That "the sailor Jack had gone away, 
 
 With never a parting word 
 For his sweetheart Patience; what could it mean?" 
 
 And all this Patience heard. 
 
 But she gave no sign as she went about 
 Her household duties, not she ; 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 49 
 
 For her eyes were bright, and her songs rang out 
 
 With their okl-time melody. 
 If she o-rieved — there were none who saw it ; 
 
 If she wept — 'twas only at night. 
 
 But the neighbors talked as neighbors will do, 
 And guessed at the wrong and the right. 
 
 No use to question the mother, no ! 
 
 Too true to her girl was she ; 
 And as for " father "—blunt old soul— 
 
 With his eyes ablaze, cried he : 
 
c^O THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " Wal, now, if the gal's £o/ a secret, 
 
 I reckon 'taint yourn, my friend ; 
 An' I reckon 'taint mine — for /f////i '/ " 
 
 So the questioning came to an end. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Two weeks went by — how long they seemed ! — 
 
 And nothing was known of Jack. 
 Then — rid of his anger, and penitent too — 
 
 To the village he hastened back. 
 He came at the close of a day when leaves 
 
 Fell fast from the wind-swept trees ; 
 And he came by the shore, and crossed the rocks 
 
 In the face of the ocean breeze. 
 
 It sent the red of his healthy veins 
 To the bronze of his beardless cheek, 
 
 And tangled his clustering curls, and seemed 
 A boisterous welcome to shriek. 
 
"f<^^i^'^<^'>-\^ 
 
 ■W"^' 
 
 " VVAL, NOW, ir THE GAL's GOT A SKCRK.T." FiJgC 50. 
 
52 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 But Jack, he laughed as he strode ah)ng, 
 
 For all to himself said he : 
 " I will not stop till 1 see my lass, 
 
 An' she has forgiven me ! 
 
 " An' when she learns that in Portsmouth town 
 
 I've found me a berth as mate — 
 Because she loves me, 1 know full well 
 
 That she never will make me wait 
 Till my ship comes back from a foreign port 
 
 Before she will wed, oh no ! 
 She'll give me a kiss, an' her bonny hand, 
 
 An' togctJicr away we'll go ! " 
 
 He lifted his eyes to the western sky 
 Where the sun was sinking to rest ; 
 
 And he pursed his lips to whistle a song, 
 But somehow — it died in his breast. 
 
 For hope might fail, and repent though he might 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 53 
 
 The pride which hacl put them apart, 
 How could he be sure that Patience again 
 Would give him the love of her heart? 
 
 The moon peeped down through her gauzy veil, 
 And the frolicksome wind grew still, 
 
 '1 
 
 And the shadows 
 
 of evening softly closed 
 
 Round the farmhouse under the hill, 
 As Jack stepped out on the road at last, 
 
 And rallied his courage again. 
 As he thought, "If by luck my girl's alone, 
 
 I'll tap on the window-pane ; 
 
" An' maybe she'll come 
 
 with her cheeks aorlow, 
 
 As she did on a time 
 
 before, 
 
 An' I'll stand all handy 
 
 to give her a kiss, 
 
 As she opens the 
 
 old front door." 
 
 With brightening 
 
 eyes and a thrill 
 
 of love, 
 
 He quickened his 
 eager pace. 
 And the light from 
 the "livincr-room" 
 flashed out 
 And threw a beam 
 on his face. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 55 
 
 He softly crept through the garden gate 
 
 And hied to the window-pane, 
 Then raised his hand for that eager "tap;" 
 
 But it fell to his side again, 
 While out from his face the love-light fled, 
 
 And hope from his stricken breast. 
 " Now the best of my life dies here ! "he groaned; 
 
 " I give to the sea the rest ! " 
 
 Then back again to the rocks he sped, 
 And " On — on — on ! " cried he. 
 
 But go as he might, or fast or slow, 
 His eyes seemed ever to see 
 
 The picture they saw through the window there 
 Of the farmhouse under the hill ; 
 
 And he wondered once— should he turn him back- 
 Would he find it waiting still? 
 
56 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Was Patience standing even yet 
 
 With the squire's son at her feet, 
 Her hand in his, and his bold black eyes 
 
 Fixed on her face so sweet ? 
 What were those words she had said to Jiim, 
 
 When tossing her head that day 
 So long ago ? " There were plenty of lads, 
 
 If he chose to go sailing away ! " 
 
 Did she mean them surely ? Ay, surely ! 
 
 She had put hiui out of her heart. 
 " Well, then " — he lifted his proud young head- 
 
 " If she cares so little we part, 
 Why, little care // I'm bold, I'm brave!" 
 
 (And he dashed a tear away.) 
 '' An' I'll be with ye, ye wind an' wave, 
 
 Before another day ! " 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 57 
 
 And yet — had he tarried a moment, ere 
 
 He fled from that window-pane, 
 To the angry heart of our sailor-boy 
 
 Sweet peace would have come again. 
 For presently Jo, with a downcast face, 
 
 Came forth from the open door ; 
 His wooing of Patience forever done — 
 
 As she bade him come no more. 
 
 The hand he had clasped— against her will— 
 
 At last she had shaken free. 
 '•For my heart an' my hand are Jack's!" she said, 
 
 '* Wherever the lad may be ! " 
 So Jo went sullenly down the road, 
 
 And vowed he would never go back ; 
 And Patience wearily went to bed, 
 
 And lovingly thought of Jack, 
 
58 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 As lifting her eyes to the moonHt sky, 
 
 And clasping her small hands tight, 
 She prayed, " Wherever he is, dear God, 
 
 Oh, bless my sweetheart to-night!" 
 Alas for Jack ! ere the night was spent. 
 
 Reckless and wild was he, 
 And drank with his mates to the good ship's luck, 
 
 And tossed his cap for the sea. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 59 
 
 Well, it so happened, a village lad. 
 
 While crossing the fields that night 
 (As Jack was fleeing from home and love), 
 
 Chanced there in the moonshine bright 
 To catch a glimpse of our sailor, 
 
 And hailed him merrily then. 
 And Jack had answered him with a laugh : 
 " Good-by— till you see me again ! " 
 
 " An' when'll that be ? " the neighbor called. 
 
 " An' where are you bound ? " asked he. 
 And back on the winds Jack's answer came: 
 
 "Can't teU, for I'm off io sea f '' 
 And Patience, spinning her stent next day, 
 
 That bit of gossip was told 
 By a neighbor who chanced to pass that way. 
 Her heart and her hands grew cold— 
 
6o THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 But never a sign did her face betray 
 
 To the neighbor's curious eyes ; 
 Though a silent moan and a pitiful prayer 
 
 Went up to the pitying skies. 
 Her wheel went round, and round, and round, 
 
 But to her it seemed to say : 
 " Your lover was here, but he eauie not near, 
 
 He has gone forever aivay I " 
 
 And over, and over, and over again. 
 
 As the wheel went merrily round. 
 And the neighbor there with the old folks talked, 
 
 Patience could hear no sound 
 Save only the speech of her spinning-wheel. 
 
 With its endless monotone : 
 ''Your lover zuas here, but he eame not near — ■ 
 
 He has left you ! left you — alone / " 
 
62 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 That year came lovers as once before 
 
 Like bees round a clover bed ; 
 But though she laughed and chatted with all, 
 
 Yet only a shake of her head 
 And a gentle "nay "were her answers, 
 
 Whenever they pressed too far ; 
 Till her mother sighed, and her father growled 
 
 " Fie ! foolish lass that you are ! 
 
 " Will ye never have eyes for a better lad 
 
 Than the fickle-hearted Jack, 
 Who chose the sea, an' to yon, my girl, 
 
 All merrily turned his back ? " 
 But Patience clung to her own dear home, 
 
 And said she wanted no other ; 
 And clung with an infinite love to them — 
 
 The dear old father and mother. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 63 
 
 So months went by, and the seasons passed 
 One after the other away. 
 
 And Patience— as all of us must, you know- 
 Kept pace with old Time each day ; 
 
 Till little by little her girlhood's charms, 
 With the springtide of her life. 
 
 Were changed to the sweeter and richer growth 
 Of its summertide ; and the strife 
 
 Of her tired heart, with its ceaseless love 
 
 For the lover of long ago, 
 Had settled down to a sorrowful " past." 
 
 And though once in a while would flow 
 Her woman's tears from her woman's heart, 
 
 Because of the old-time pain, 
 Yet still the summer of life w^as fair, 
 
 And its smiles would blossom again. 
 
64 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 A few more years, and "mother's" life 
 
 Was finished here below ; 
 And " father," lonely, and sad at heart, 
 
 Lonored that he, too, miq-ht cro. 
 
 " For it cannot be that the lovin' Lord, 
 Who's a-readin' my heart each day, 
 
¥ 
 
 TOOK LOVING, REVERENT CARE. J^Clge 66. 
 
66 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Can s'pose /'// ever he glad again 
 With DiotJicr so far away ? " 
 
 He said to Patience, witli tears of grief 
 
 In his dim old eyes ; and so 
 When the pitying Father heard his moan, 
 
 And called him soon to go, 
 She laid her kisses upon his lips, 
 
 And tenderly closed his eyes, 
 And smiled through her tears for the dear " old 
 folks " 
 
 Together beyond the skies. 
 
 And then, alone, with only her thoughts 
 
 To keep her company there, 
 The " bonnie lassie " of long ago 
 
 Took loving, reverent care 
 Of the dear old home she had loved so well. 
 
 In those days of aidd lang syne ; 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 67 
 
 And over it still, the soft blue sky, 
 And its sunbeams, loved to shine. 
 
 A kindly neighbor she was, to all. 
 
 And many a time they said 
 In pleasant chat : " It was well for the town 
 
 That Patience never would wed." 
 For were they sick, she was there to help, 
 
 And " a capital nurse " was she. 
 And the children lovingly claimed her, too, 
 
 Till ''Aunt Patience" she grew to be. 
 
 As the months went on, and her soft brown hair 
 
 Showed, by and by, a streak 
 Of silver shining prettily there ; 
 
 And the outline of her cheek 
 Put off the oval of younger years, 
 
 And lost its color a bit, 
 
68 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Though over it still a soft sweet blush 
 Would sometimes shyly flit — 
 
 Did she ever think of Jack ? Ah, well, 
 
 By this and that 'twas known 
 That there were times when the patient heart 
 
 Would make its lonely moan ; 
 When, whatsoever her woman's pride, 
 
 And her woman's strength of will, 
 The wound that hurt the heart of the girl, 
 
 In the wo?na?ts heart lived still. 
 
 And once — at the twilight hour 
 
 Of a tender summer's day — 
 A neicrhbor called for a bit of chat 
 
 To while an hour away. 
 To her friendly rap no answer came. 
 
 But the front door stood ajar. 
 
-C K^.^,- 
 
 '\ 
 
 IN THE SHADOWY GLOOM SAT PATIENCE. Pa^e 70 
 
70 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " If Patience is out," the neighbor thought, 
 " I reckon she ain't gone far — 
 
 " So I'll jest step in an' wait a bit." 
 
 But ere she had crossed the floor, 
 A pitiful sight her eyes beheld 
 
 Through the bedroom's open door. 
 In the shadowy gloom sat Patience, 
 
 Her head bowed over her lap. 
 And her finders smoothins^ with tender touch 
 
 A half-worn muslin cap. 
 
 And out of the gloom a stifled sob 
 
 Fell on the neighbor's ear. 
 As she softly turned and retraced her steps. 
 
 " 'Tain't likely /';;/ wanted here," 
 She said to herself ; and her kindly heart 
 
 O'erflowed with its sympathy. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. J I 
 
 " I reckon she's havln' one o' them spells 
 That has always got to be 
 
 " When a woman's had sorrow an' trouble. 
 
 No matter how hard she tries 
 To hide it from folks — there's got to be times 
 
 When she jest sets doivn—an cries ! " 
 So thought the neighbor while hastening home, 
 
 As deeper the shadows fell, 
 And old-time memories, one by one, 
 
 With Patience came to dwell — 
 
 As she fondled that wrinkled muslin cap, 
 
 Worn once on a dear, gray head. 
 " Ah, mother s heart was truest of all ! " 
 
 To her own sad heart she said ; 
 And she pressed her lips to the wrinkled folds 
 
 Over and over again, 
 
72 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Yearning for touch of that mother's hand, 
 With infinite love and pain. 
 
 Long, long she sat in the gloaming 
 
 (As oft she had done before) 
 By the chest of drawers in the little room, 
 
 Looking its treasures o'er. 
 There were garments that whispered of " father." 
 
 (She lifted his Sunday coat, 
 And twining the sleeves about her neck. 
 
 Kissed it, with sobs in her throat.) 
 
 There were trifles whicli "mother" had cherished, 
 And things she had worn each day. 
 
 She shook and folded them once again. 
 And laid them, with kisses, away. 
 
 And each and all of them brought her there 
 Some message from out the " past," 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 n 
 
 As down the vista of vanished years 
 Her memory travelled fast, 
 
 Pausinii^ at every " milestone," 
 
 Jiither for smiles or for tears, 
 And taking- comfort 
 as best it could 
 Out of the hopes 
 and fears, 
 The joys and sor- 
 rows of aiLld 
 lang syne. 
 
74 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Till into the woman's heart 
 Peace softly entered and kissed away 
 The tears so ready to start. 
 
 And when the old clock in the corner 
 
 Called out, in its measured way, 
 The usual warning that "time and tide 
 
 For no man or woman could stay," 
 Patience came back to her present, 
 
 Out of her peopled past, 
 And arose, with a laugh that was half a sigh, 
 
 And lighted her lamp at last. 
 
 It shed its beams on her sweet sad face, 
 As she brewed her a cup of tea. 
 
 And Patience was lonely — Patience was sad — 
 And oh, how tired was she ! 
 
 The lamplight shone on her slender hand. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 75 
 
 And burnished a silver ring 
 Which on her finger her lover had placed, 
 With the "wish" that the years might bring, 
 
 To " his own sweet girl, the brightest of days. 
 
 As their love grew more and more ! " 
 " Ah me ! " she sighed, " an' to think how soon 
 
 Those days were shadowed o'er ! " 
 And then, with a mighty rush of tears 
 
 That the old-time love set free, 
 "O Jack! my lover! my lover!" she cried, 
 
 " Why are you so long at sea ? " 
 
 Jack's picture lay on her heart that night; 
 
 She had kissed it ere she slept 
 (As, indeed, she had kissed it many a time. 
 
 For comfort when she wept). 
 Out from the case, blue eyes had looked. 
 
76 
 
 THE STOKY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 With never a shadow or frown, 
 Straight into the eyes they once had loved — • 
 Dear eyes, so wistful and broivii / 
 
 And Patience had pressed her own 
 wan cheek 
 To the pictured face so bright, 
 And she whispered : " Dear, for- 
 give me ; 
 I was wrong, an' you were 
 right ! 
 But I loved you : how I loved 
 you then ! 
 An' I've loved you all these years, 
 An' I'll love you alwa)'s, livin' or dead. 
 
 Through change, through sorrow, through tears!" 
 
 And then, while stars in the quiet sky 
 Kept watch and ward above, 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. J 'J 
 
 With the cherished picture over her heart, 
 
 She dreamed — and found Jicr love, 
 And wandered with him through realms of joy, 
 
 Till he left her, alas ! again ; 
 When back to the zvaking world she came. 
 
 And lifted her burden of pain. 
 
 Days came, days passed, and made the months, 
 
 And the months they spun the years ; 
 And each had brought its goodly freight 
 
 Of hopes, and plans, and fears. 
 And there came a time when the springtide 
 
 Over the earth held sway, 
 And Patience arose one morning 
 
 To the lidit of a beautiful day. 
 
 o 
 
78 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 She stood in her sunny doorway 
 
 Looking" out on the cloudless morn, 
 And smiled at the fair creations 
 
 With the wonderful springtide born. 
 She smiled at the soft green meadows spread 
 
 About her on either side, 
 And lifted her eyes to the skies above, 
 
 So blue, so fair, so wide ! 
 
 " 'Tis a gem of a day. Miss Patience," 
 
 Said Hiram, her hired man, 
 " A day when one can buckle to work, 
 
 An' do jest the best that he can. 
 An' I'm thinkin' you're feelin' the same, ma'am, 
 
 Vov you're lookin' as fresh as a rose! 
 An' that's nat'ral enough, for the shine o' the 
 day 
 
 Has got into your heart, I s'pose." 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " Go 'long with you, Hiram ! " cried Patience, 
 
 A blush on her cheek meanwhile ; 
 And about her lips, and into her eyes, 
 
 There crept a twinkling smil(^ 
 " ' As fresh as a rose,' indeed ! " thought she, 
 
 " An' I — on this very clay 
 A-countin' the half of a century 
 
 Fled from my life away ! 
 
 79 
 
 "Fifty years! Well, I've climbed life's hill 
 
 As well as I could — alone. 
 Though I can look back on many a path 
 
 Where I stopped to fret and to moan, 
 Because, bein' only a woman, 
 
 I couldn't help it; but there! 
 I ain't so old, I'm thinkin', jest yet, 
 
 But I've plenty of strength to spare 
 
8o THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " For goin' along dozvii hill, if so 
 
 The Lord will strengthen my feet 
 (An' I reckon He will), an' lead me on 
 
 To His pastures fair an' sweet. 
 Ah, well! there's a plenty of ' //^z^^Z-a-beens ' 
 
 In this crood old world of ours. 
 We've 2:ot to take our chance of the tJiorns 
 
 If we try to get hold of the fioiuers. 
 
 "An' yet, if my lad had been with me — 
 
 My lad of the long ago — 
 I don't believe these years behind 
 
 Would have tired me climbin' so ! " 
 A shade of sadness crossed her face. 
 
 But — " This won't do ! " cried she. 
 " I've done with rakin' old sorrows up. 
 
 Since they come 'twixt peace an' me ! ", 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 8 1 
 
 ''Fifty years f Why, spry as a girl 
 
 Was Patience Moore that day ; 
 Her wheel went round like a thing alive, 
 
 Till it spun the morn away. 
 But once, just once, to the days of old, 
 
 Did she let her heart go back. 
 And then she fondled that pictured face 
 
 Of her boyish lover! — "Dear Jack," — 
 
 She whispered, laying her lips upon 
 
 The lips of the sailor lad, — 
 " This is viy birthday, love, but I 
 
 Am tryin' not to be sad, 
 Though I wish you could kiss me, dear, once 
 more ! 
 
 Ah, well ! in heaven above 
 (If never again on earth) you'll know 
 
 That Patience zvas true to her love ! " 
 
 6 
 
82 THE STORY OF AUX'T rATIKNCE. 
 
 That sweet day passed ; the western sky 
 
 Was wearing its golden crown, 
 When a stranger knocked at the farmhouse door 
 
 As the sun was Q-oino- down. 
 Hiram was off to the village store 
 
 To spin his usual yarn, 
 And Patience was milking the Jersey cow 
 
 Out in the red-roofed barn. 
 
 And twice, yea, thrice, did this stranger knock 
 
 As he waited without the door ; 
 Then, growing weary, he lifted the latch, 
 
 And stood on the kitchen floor. 
 His hair was gray, and heavy his beard, 
 
 And his face was bronzed and lined ; 
 Rut the eyes w^hich gleamed 'neath the bushy 
 brows 
 
 Were honest old eyes, and kind. 
 
^^■ 
 
 >nip 
 
 ■'\3Hb 
 
 A STRANOKR KNOr'KKD AT THK FARMHOTTSE DOOR. PaP'C 82. 
 
84 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 They dwelt with a Hngering tenderness 
 
 On the scene before them there, 
 As his toil-stained hand with a reverent touch 
 
 He laid on an old arm-chair 
 Where, long ago, a hale old man 
 
 At the close of a busy day 
 Was wont to sit with his briar pipe 
 
 And smoke the evening away. 
 
 And his heart bridged over with many a thought 
 
 The gulf that lay between 
 The " then " and the " now," and made its moan 
 
 For those joys which " might have been " 
 Since the days of that " auld lang syne," ah. 
 me ! 
 
 When a sweet little lass (the pride 
 Of that old man's heart) would blush at the kiss 
 
 Of the lover close at her side. 
 
WAS WONT TO SIT WITH HIS BRIAR PIPE. Fagt^ 84. 
 
86 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 And even yet her low clear laugh 
 
 Seemed ringing in his ear, 
 As she filled a mug to its very brim 
 
 With cider, sweet and clear. 
 And lifting it up to her father's lips 
 
 (Brown eyes all merry with glee), 
 Cried, " Drink it, daddy, for health, an' luck, 
 
 An' long life for Jack an' me ! " 
 
 And there was the chair with its cushioned scat, 
 
 Still placed by the window low, 
 Just as it stood in the other days, 
 
 When, watchiner the sunset's oflow, 
 The gray-haired mother would sit to rest 
 
 When the cares of the day were done, 
 An<l the lovers were drivin^r the laijirard cows 
 
 Prom the pasture, one by one. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 87 
 
 Oh, the silence drear which had overspread 
 
 Those days of the beautiful past ! 
 Oh ! thoughts which trooped at memory's call, 
 
 So many, and so fast ! 
 Oh ! yearning heart of the man who stood 
 
 On that time-worn kitchen lloor, 
 And never a hand to welcome him 
 
 As in sweet days before ! 
 
 He turned his face to the purple west 
 
 Where the glow had faded from sight ; 
 He caught a glimpse of the restless sea 
 
 In the gray and fading light ; 
 He watched the shadows that gently fell 
 
 On the lanes and meadows around — 
 And never a spot but where his gaze 
 
 Some tale of the old times found. 
 
88 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE RESTLESS SEA. Page 87. 
 
 Then suddenly fell one long, bright ray 
 
 From the sun ere it sank to rest ; 
 Like a benediction it quietly lay 
 
 On earth's broad and loving breast. 
 And the stranger there at the farmhouse door 
 
 Smiled at the message of cheer, 
 And saw that the golden path was stretched 
 
 From that door to the barnyard near. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. go 
 
 And he seemed to hear — how he Hstened then ! — 
 
 The sound of a woman's voice ; 
 Only some bars of a quaint old tune, 
 
 But it made his heart rejoice. 
 For quavering and faint as the tones might be, 
 
 None others had pleased him so ; 
 For the sono- was one that Patience and he 
 
 Had sung in the " long ago." 
 
 Out from the red-roofed barn they stole 
 
 On the fragrant twilight air ; 
 Floating over the golden path 
 
 Which lay between Patience, there, 
 And the strancrer waitinij beside her door. 
 
 And little — dear soul ! — knew she 
 Who listened with tear-wet eyes the while 
 
 She was singing so cheerfully. 
 
90 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " So doss — so doss I " she presently said, 
 
 Soothing the restless cow. 
 ^' Be patient a bit, niy bonny girl! 
 
 So boss ! what's ailin ye now ? " 
 But Daisy's ear had caught the sound 
 
 Of a strange quick footstep near ; 
 And she switched her tail, and lifted her head 
 
 In a sudden, nervous fear. 
 
 For over the floor of the ancient barn 
 
 A shadow presently fell. 
 " Only a neighbor," Patience thought, 
 
 " Some bit of gossip to tell." 
 But ere she lifted her eyes, a voice 
 
 (Which out from days past rang true) 
 Cried, " Patience ! sweetheart ! here am I 
 
 To carry the pails for you ! " 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 No word spoke she, but she stood erect, 
 
 And looked the stranger o'er. 
 He stretched his arms, and his eaeer voice 
 
 Sounded her name once more. 
 " Patience, speak to me, dear ! " he said, 
 
 " An' bid me welcome back ! 
 Wliy, don't you know me, sweetheart ? — 
 
 Your sailor lad — your Jack?" 
 
 91 
 
 She looked at the bronzed and bearded face, 
 
 Till at last he bowed his head, 
 And " Give me a welcome, Patience, 
 
 For the auld lang syne ! " he said. 
 " The years are many, darlin', I know, 
 
 An' the)^'ve made me old an' gray. 
 But the love in my heart — nor time nor years 
 
 Could take from you away. 
 
92 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " Here at the barn we quarreled — 
 
 Do you remember it, dear? — 
 On a luckless day so long ago. 
 
 Let's forgive each other here ! 
 The headstrong lad and the little lass 
 
 Belong to the days long past, 
 But the /lear/s have grown with the years, dear, 
 
 An' should come too^ether at last." 
 
 o 
 
 Into his hand her own she placed. 
 
 " God knows you are welcome back ! 
 The quarrel that parted us in our youth 
 
 Has died with the years, dear Jack. 
 I ought — I ought to have knoivn 'twas you. 
 
 When you spoke to me first, I know, 
 But I'm used to seeiii yoit as you looked 
 
 In the dear days long ago." 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 93 
 
 A twinkle shone in his keen blue eyes 
 
 As he tenderly pressed her hand. 
 " You've kept that picture through all these 
 years ? 
 
 Ah, sweetheart, I understand ; 
 An' here's another to match it, dear, 
 
 An' keep it company ; see ! 
 A dear young face that didrit groiv old 
 
 Along with the years an' me ! " 
 
 He drew, with a laugh, a faded case 
 
 From its resting place o'er his heart, 
 And Patience looked at her girlhood's face, 
 
 And knew she had been a part 
 Of her lover's life through those weary years, 
 
 As he had been filling her own. 
 And then — before the joy in her eyes 
 
 And the smile on her face had flown — 
 
94 ^^^^^ STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Her glad tears came like the summer rain, 
 
 And she cried as a woman cries 
 When the fount of her tears, long sealed, at last 
 
 Yields to some joj'ful surprise, 
 And floods the heart with an ecstasy 
 
 That is kin to pain, we know. 
 So Patience cried till the storm was spent, 
 
 And the tender afterglow 
 
 Of her joy and its peace shone calmly 
 
 Through the eyes Jack loved so well. 
 And he knew, as he kissed those tears away. 
 
 Better than words could tell. 
 Of the woman's patient waiting, 
 
 And of all the lonely years. 
 And he felt that their love had truer grown 
 
 Through its baptism of tears. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 95 
 
 "Come, give me my 'choice again, lass!" 
 
 He gayly cried, " an' see 
 If I choose not here, with my sweetheart dear. 
 
 Only on laud to be ! 
 For you'll surely wed me now, dear? 
 
 An' in the old house together, 
 We'll say good-by to the squalls and gales, 
 
 An' hold to the pleasant weather ! " 
 
 Twas a soft, sweet blush that sprang to her 
 cheek 
 
 As she turned her face away, 
 And trembling, answered with half a laugh, 
 
 "I am fifty years old to-day. 
 An' I'm only a faded 'old maid,' dear, 
 
 An' at this late day of my life 
 Do you think I'm zvorth your marryin' ? 
 
 If I could have been your wife 
 
g6 THE STORY OF AOWT PATIENCE. 
 
 " In the flush of our happy youth, Jack- 
 
 " Hold, there! my girl!" cried he; 
 " If you fancy you're old an' faded. 
 
 Jest take a look at me/ 
 I reckon old Time has marched us on 
 
 To the same old tune, my dear. 
 An' the pi^ettiest woman I've ever known 
 
 Is standin' before me here! 
 
 " A long, steep climb of the years we've had, 
 
 Both you an' I, you know. 
 An' I'm thinkin' we'll find it pleasanter far, 
 
 If we turn together to oro 
 On the journey down the other side. 
 
 So give me a kiss, an' your hand. 
 For no other woman, on earth or sea, 
 
 Has been sweetheart to Jack Rand." 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 9? 
 
 So there in the tender gloaming, 
 
 At the close of her glad birthday, 
 Patience thankfully turned her heart 
 
 From its old-time troubles away. 
 And sitting alone in the red-roofed barn. 
 
 As they used to long ago, 
 -Patience and Jack" lived over again 
 
 The joys that they used to know. 
 
 The tale of their years was quickly told. 
 
 Alas! 'twas an adverse fate 
 Which had tangled the threads of their lives so 
 
 long. 
 
 And smoothed them all so late! 
 The foolish pride and the angry thoughts 
 
 Which had kept them far apart— 
 .. How small they were for the mischief wrought ! " 
 
 Thought each repentant heart. 
 
 7 
 
98 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Jack told of letters which he had sent 
 
 (By Patience never received) ; 
 He toUl of rumors he had heard 
 
 (And all too well believed) ; 
 He told of shipwrecks here and there, 
 
 And e'en of a prison cell 
 In a foreign land, where an innocent man 
 
 A prey to injustice fell. 
 
 He told of weary wanderings, 
 
 As he tried to get away 
 From the grief and yearning in his heart. 
 
 " But I thought of you every day." 
 He said with a smile to Patience ; 
 
 " But I s'posed you'd married — Jo ! 
 An' I hadn't a right to be hankerin' 
 
 For another man's love, you know ! " 
 
THE STORY OF A ['XT PATIENCE. 
 
 99 
 
 And Patience, liftino- her woncUu'ino- eyes, 
 
 Cried, '' Iloiv could yoti tliijik it true 
 That I could turn to an- p 
 other love 
 After I'd once loved 
 you / 
 " Now, sweetheart, bless 
 you for those words!" 
 The sailor cried, and 
 then, 
 Bowino- his own to her 
 dear, soft lips, 
 He kissed her again 
 and asjain. 
 
 Back to tlu^ house they went at last, 
 Carrying' the pails together, 
 
lOO THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 While Jack looked up at the sky, and smiled 
 At its promise of glad, fair weather. 
 
 "There's never a sign of a cloud, my dear; 
 Please God, there always may be 
 
 x'\s fair a promise in skies above, 
 Through life, for you and me ! " 
 
 There came a day when the sun shone out 
 
 From a sky so clear and blue. 
 It seemed to Patience as though the world 
 
 Had been made all over new. 
 The quaint old church on the hillside, 
 
 Its front doors opened wide. 
 And the sunbeams flocked with the breezes 
 
 And entered side by side. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. lOI 
 
 And the neig:hbors gathered from far and near. 
 
 Matrons and maidens fair ; 
 And the village boys stood round about, 
 
 At the pretty girls to stare. 
 Old Uncle Asa, the sexton, 
 
 In a pompous sort of way, 
 Bustled about with a high regard 
 
 For his dignity that day. 
 
 For he " had a lucddiii on his hands." 
 
 And was busy as he could be. 
 (And " he had privately reckoned on 
 
 A purty consider'ble yW' / ") 
 The gentle, white-haired " parson " 
 
 Was ready in his place, 
 When presently toward the open door 
 
 Turned every beaming face. 
 
I02 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 For up the aisle the bride and groom 
 
 Walked slowly, close together. 
 Each dear old face seemed holding fast 
 
 The shine of the beautiful weather. 
 Before their pastor waiting there, 
 
 They quietly took their stand, 
 And before the conorefration 
 
 He joined them, hand in hand, 
 
 And said the words (he might have said 
 
 In the old days long before) 
 Which bound these lovers, thus late in life, 
 
 To each other evermore. 
 " For Patience Moore, a spinster. 
 
 And Jack Rand, bachelor, 
 Do henceforth wish to be man and wife," 
 
 Said the parson ; " so, therefore, 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 103 
 
 " They come before these present, 
 
 Praying witnesses to say 
 If there should be cause for showinof 
 
 Why they may not wed to-day." 
 Jack raised his head defiantly, 
 
 And squeezed his sweetheart's hand ; 
 And Patience suddenly grew so weak 
 
 She was scarcely able to stand. 
 
 But the minister went on saying 
 
 The words they wanted to hear, 
 And the joys they had missed in younger years 
 
 Seemed close at last, and more dear ; 
 And when the service was ended. 
 
 The honest old sailor turned 
 And clasped in his arms, with a rousing kiss, 
 
 The wife for whom he had yearned. 
 
I04 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 Then spoke the kind old pastor, 
 
 As he clasped the hand of eacn, 
 While the sympathy of his tender heart 
 
 Made faltering his speech : 
 " Though the hill of life ye have climbed apart 
 
 When it might have been trod together ; 
 Though ye have not shared in the light and shade 
 
 Of life's most changeable weather ; 
 
 " Yet, meeting now at the hill-top, 
 
 In the flush of the sunset's glow. 
 I pray that down on the farther side 
 
 Together ye happily go ! " 
 Then he laid his hands in blessing 
 
 O'er the low bowed heads so gray. 
 And the wedding was over, and bride and groom 
 
 Went smilingly on their way. 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. I05 
 
 Over the farmhouse under the hill 
 
 The beautiful skies bent low, 
 While the golden sunbeams 'neath the trees 
 
 Were flickering to and fro. 
 The rose vines climbed to the window sill 
 
 And over the old front door ; 
 And presently Jack and his love passed in, 
 
 Made one forevermore. 
 
 He took her face in his brawny hands, 
 
 And gazed in her tender eyes. 
 " Ah ! old or young," he earnestly cried, 
 
 " No woman under the skies 
 Was ever so sweet a woman as you. 
 
 Whatever you think or say ! 
 Why, Patience Rand (how good that sounds !), 
 
 You're almost a girl to-day ! " 
 
I06 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " An' you, my lover of olden days," 
 
 With a laugh and a blush, she said, 
 " You're half a boy, in spite of the years, 
 
 An' the snow on your dear old head ! " 
 Gently he drew her down to his knee, 
 
 As he sat in the old arm-chair ; 
 And Patience, happy as woman could be. 
 
 Sent heavenward a prayer. 
 
 That night, the old Bible her mother's eyes 
 
 Had read in the vanished years. 
 Patience brought to her husband ; 
 
 And smilino-, even through tears, 
 " Write in it, dear," she said to him. 
 
 And Jack — in the quaintest of ways — 
 A memorial wrote of the "happening" 
 
 Of that "brightest and best of days." 
 
WRITING IN THE BIBLE. Page Io6 
 
108 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 " Married — here in the village church, 
 
 By the parson, Silas Poor — 
 I, sailor an' bachelor, Jackson Rand, 
 
 To the spinster Patience Moore, 
 On this the twentieth day o' May. 
 
 An' as on through life we sail, 
 God keep us clear o' the breakers, 
 
 An' to weather out every gale!" 
 
 Then he signed his name with a flourish, 
 
 And Patience added her own, 
 And Hiram '' ivitnessed'' the thing in a style 
 
 That for penmanship stood alone. 
 Then he joined his hand with the sailor's 
 
 In a shake that was hearty and true, 
 And slyly whispered, " Miss Patience s lost 
 
 Ten years by a-marryin' yon ! " 
 
THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 109 
 
 And Jack^he nodded his head, and winked 
 
 (In his jolly, sailor-like way) 
 One twinkling eye, as he gayly said, 
 
 " We'll be losin' our years from to-day, 
 An' growin' young again — eh, sweetheart?" 
 
 And she answered him with a kiss : 
 " With love in our hearts, an' about our days, 
 
 The years we can scarcely miss." 
 
 So "all is well that cuds well," 
 As the proverb runs, you know ; 
 
 And Patience had her "wedding day" 
 So many years ago, 
 
I lO 
 
 THE STORY OF AUNT PATIENCE. 
 
 That to her 'tis an old, old stoiy now, 
 And she smiles when I like to tell 
 
 This story of dear "Aunt Patience" 
 To those who love her so well. 
 
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