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SARAH'S CHOICE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE NORTON FAMILY 
 
 BY 
 
 The Author of " Jake^' " Skegg's Bound Girl,'' Etc 
 
 3' 
 
 Copyrighted 1887 
 By laird & LEE 
 
 
 « NOV 25 18: 
 
 CHICAOO 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS 
 
 Clark and Adams Streets 
 
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SARAH'S CHOICE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Good-morning, Miss Jane, may I walk with you 
 to school?" 
 
 I looked up from the early spring flowers I was 
 gathering out of the border in our old-fashioned door- 
 yard into a face rivaling my flowers in beauty and 
 delicacy, the face of my favorite pupil, Sarah Nor- 
 ton. I was the district schoolma'am. My mother and 
 I lived in a little six-room cottage just across the road 
 from John Norton's ample farm-house. My mother 
 was a widow, my father having died v/hen I was a babe. 
 My poor mother, during my childhood days, thought 
 it a strange dispensation of Providence that gave her 
 the sole care of such an unruly, contrary child as I 
 proved to be, for we were as unlike, and as far apart 
 as the antipodes, seldom agreeing upon any point. 
 My mother was a chronic hypochondriac, and, as I well 
 remember, spent much of her time in tears. She be- 
 lieved that everything she had — good, bad, or indif- 
 ferent — came straight from the hands of an overruling 
 Power; so she accepted me as the " thorn " that was to 
 teach her patience and make her humble. Many times 
 I have heard her wish, with a long drawn sigh, that my 
 poor, dear father had lived to help her bear the burden 
 of raising me, while I came to feel secretly glad that he 
 had died before he knew me. 
 
 My mother was very pious, but her religion was so 
 full of tears, groans, and misgivings, that, God forgive 
 me, as I look back to my early life, I am forced to 
 believe that her gloomy piety caused me much discern- 
 
O SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 fort, if not positive unhappiness. However, in spite of 
 what seemed to me at the time to be very great obstacles 
 in the way, I lived through my uncomfortable child- 
 hood. After I attained my majority, having had 
 some school advantages, I decided to teach, as it was 
 necessary that I do something toward the support of 
 myself and mother. We had a little of our patrimony 
 left when I quitschool, and, as an economical move, we 
 concluded to leave the town in which I was born and 
 raised, and seek a home in the country. So it hap- 
 pened that we came to this quiet spot, situated among 
 the beautiful hills of central Ohio. 
 
 At the time my story opens, I was much younger 
 than I now am. My mother's health, never very strong, 
 was feeble. We had exchanged places. I had assumed 
 the role of protector and advisor, but alas! I had no 
 good orthodox religion to intrude upon her. Mine was 
 of that uncertain character that sees possible salvation 
 for every one, and I wanted sunshine, not shadow, and 
 laughter instead of tears. My mother took it as an 
 additional cross that I should turn out to have such a 
 " worldly bent of mind," notwithstanding all the pious 
 precepts I had been brought up on, and she spent 
 even more of her time in tears and prayers over me 
 than she did in my wretched childhood. And yet, all 
 things considered, we got along very well together in 
 those last years of her life. Poor mother! my heart 
 bleeds for you when I think of you now, for I see 
 through older eyes, and can realize how hard it must 
 have been for you to believe your only child all 
 wrong. 
 
 But life seemed full of sweet promises, blotting out, 
 for the time, every sense except that of enjoyment; 
 this delightful May morning as, adding a bunch of sweet 
 violets to my bouquet, I pinned them at Sarah's throat, 
 while humming merrily the song: 
 
 " Flowers, beautiful flowers, 
 I gathered them all for you," etc. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 7 
 
 After pausing to note the effect, I bade my mother good- 
 by, and we, Sarah and I, started for the school-house, 
 which stood in a patch of woodland about a c carter of 
 a mile distant. 
 
 It was a bright morning, the air seemed full of sweet 
 sounds, the songs of bi^ds, the hum of bees, the cackle 
 of barnyard fowls, the low of cattle, and all the noise of 
 busy farm life, was music in my ears, fori loved the 
 country, even the " gee, whoa, haw" of Jones, at his 
 ploughing mingled not unpleasantly. 
 
 The sun shone through the branches of the trees 
 which stood in John Norton's yard, lighting up the 
 dew drops, glistening on the leaves and grasses, trans- 
 forming the rather plain country home into a scene of 
 beauty. 
 
 Mrs. Norton, a pale, sweet-faced woman, stood 
 on the front steps, shading her eyes from the sun- 
 light with her hand, watching us as we passed through 
 the big gate the men had left open when they went to 
 their work. We nodded gayly back to her as we took 
 our way across the fields. 
 
 But a something in the expression of Mrs. Nor- 
 ton's face haunted me through the day. Such an 
 unspeakable tenderness and yearning as she looked 
 after her child. She had spoken to me of late of how 
 this daughter of hers was fast growing up to wonTan- 
 hood. " The time, " she said, " seemed so short since she 
 was a wee, toddling child, and now in such a little while 
 she must take her place in the world, to act for her- 
 self/' She knew from her own experience that life's 
 pathway was strewn thicker with thorns than roses, 
 and it was not without some misgivings that she 
 contemplated the future of the child whose peculiarly 
 sensitive organization she understood better than any- 
 one else. But Mrs. Norton had little time for senti- 
 ment, her life was full of the pressing, practical things 
 which clamor for immediate attention, and as my infant 
 class slowly and laboriously spelled over the words of 
 
8 Sarah's choice 
 
 their lesson, I pictured her turning reluctantly away 
 from the sweet sunshine and anxious thoughts for her 
 child's future to attend to her unfinished morning 
 work. I saw her busy hands washing the breakfast 
 dishes and arranging them in their respective places 
 on the paper-covered shelves of the cupboard. I saw 
 the shining row of tinware hung on the whitewashed 
 wall over the work table, and the kitchen floor swept 
 clean of every speck of dust, for Mrs. Norton was a 
 notable housewife, her white floors and cheerful rooms 
 being the envy of the other housewives of the neigh- 
 borhood. Mentally I followed her from the kitchen to 
 the spring-house. There was milk to skim and crocks 
 to wash and set on the bench in the sun, and perhaps 
 a churning to do and the butter to dress. When this 
 work was finished, the same routine she had gone 
 over every day for so many years, often with aching 
 limbs and throbbing head, back she must go to the 
 house to put the dinner on, for John Norton was not 
 a man to wait patiently for his meals, and I knew that 
 at exactly half past eleven a toothsome repast of 
 boiled meat and vegetables, with perhaps a dessert of 
 apple pie, would be smoking on her table. Just then 
 my mind wandered off to a comparison of this luscious 
 dinner, which I felt sure Mrs. Norton was preparing, 
 with the cold lunch awaiting me in my basket, and I 
 was brought back to a sense of my duties by a piping 
 voice calling out : 
 
 " Teacher, Jimmy Blake's a-pinchin* me." 
 
 " 'Tain't so!" shouted the accused; "he's got my 
 spellin' book, and won't give it up." 
 
 After peace and order had been restored, by bring- 
 ing both refractory pupils upon the floor to stand until 
 they were supposed to be penitent, I called up my first 
 reader class, and proceeded to impart knowledge in a 
 more vigorous and less abstracted manner. 
 
 I was with the Nortons so much I was familiar with 
 every phase of their domestic life, while they had come 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 9 
 
 to look Upon me as one of themselves and took no 
 precautions to keep from me family secrets. 
 
 Mr. Norton was called a wealthy farmer by his less 
 prosperous neighbors. They stood a little in awe of 
 him — partially on account of his wealth, but more, I 
 think, because of some peculiar characteristics of the 
 man himself He owned a fine, well-improved farm of 
 some two hundred acres. He was a stern taskmaster, 
 thoroughly practical and possessed of untiring energy. 
 
 He kept everything " up to the mark," as he 
 expressed it, on his farm, being always ahead of his 
 neighbors in the seeding and reaping of his crops. His 
 purse had expanded, perhaps, at the expense of his 
 heart. He had commenced life in poverty, but full of 
 determination and enthusiasm. The world, however, 
 was not particularly kind to him. He had had to fight 
 his own way; no one stretched forth to him a helping 
 hand; what wonder if his soul shriveled up a little as 
 he went along. Possessing an iron will and a healthy 
 physique, he made his way, step by step, until now he 
 was independent. He was self-made, and he took a 
 pride in the fact. If not generous, he was just; every- 
 thing he had he had made by honest toil. Why should 
 he now divide his hard-earned wealth? Let others do as 
 he had done. It did not occur to him that possibly 
 he had been endowed with a bigger brain or a stronger 
 body than some of those he had outstripped on his 
 road to independence. Sixteen years ago he had 
 asked sweet Mary Endly to be his wife; she was an 
 orphan, and had been tenderly reared in the home 
 of an aunt. Her educational advantages had been 
 better than that afforded the average country girl, 
 and her aunt, naturally enough, did not at first 
 favor John Norton's suit, for she had dreamed of 
 something better in store for her niece, than the lot 
 of a farmer's wife. But Mary, looking upon the hand- 
 some, broad-shouldered young fellow in adoration, 
 consented to share his fortunes, wondering why heaven 
 
lO SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 had so favored her, and never, I am sure, to the day 
 of her death, did she allow herself to beheve she had 
 been mistaken in the man she had chosen; her love 
 for him was too loyal for that, and served as a mantle 
 to hide from her all his defects. True, I know there 
 were times when her heart was heavy and sick with its 
 burden of care, she longed for the sympathy which a 
 husband alone can give. But John Norton, strong and 
 self-reliant, up to this time had needed no sympathy 
 himself, and was unable to understand a nature that 
 did need it. So, although conscious of the fact that 
 in some way there was something amiss in her life, 
 Mary Norton turned bravely away from the truth, even 
 deluding herself into the belief that if she was not happy 
 it must be her own fault. Mr. Norton was never 
 abusive. There was a quiet dignity about his wife 
 that forbade that, if he had been so inclined, but he 
 was not; he simply lacked those qualities in himself 
 that would have enabled him to sympathize with one 
 so sensitive and refined as his wife. Two children had 
 been born to them who were now fifteen and thirteen. 
 These children were very unlike, both in appearance 
 and in disposition. Charles, the elder, was a rollicking, 
 fun-loving boy, with a decided antipathy to farm 
 work, and, in fact, to any kind of work, mental or 
 physical. But Sarah! how can I describe her? Beautiful 
 I thought her, but her beauty was not • so much the 
 beauty of faultless features and perfect proportions, 
 but of that inner grace of the soul which was stamped 
 upon the expressive face, and reflected through the 
 large gray eyes. Tall, grave and thoughtful beyond 
 her years, she seemed older than her brother. 
 
 The parents had decided that Charles should be 
 educated and fitted for a profession. Mr. Norton 
 inclined to the law, cherishing in his secret heart a hope 
 that he might some day in the future see his son a suc- 
 cessful lawyer. So Charlie, as we called him, was 
 attending the public school at Brownville, a town some 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY II 
 
 five miles distant, preparatory to being sent to college. 
 He was not particularly fond af going to school, but 
 being indifferent as to his standing in his classes, it was 
 rather to be preferred to working on the farm. During 
 the pleasant weather he boarded at home, going to and 
 from school on horseback. The rides across the country 
 were quite to Charlie's taste; scampering up hill and 
 down on his fleet-footed pony was a pastime not to be 
 despised, and made up to some extent, at least, for 
 the monotony of the school hours. 
 
 But Sarah's mind had already reached out far 
 beyond his. She seemed to realize, even at this early ^ 
 age, the fact that there was something solemn, myste-i 
 rious and unfathomable in human life. A something 
 she could feel, but could not understand, and was con- 
 stantly groping after. 
 
 Lying on their backs, as these children often did, 
 looking straight up to the clear heavens, she would 
 be filled with wonder as to what there was beyond the 
 blue dome and beneath the green earth. She would 
 hear the voices of unseen spirits in the air, and people, 
 in her imagination, the world above and the world 
 below, catching glimpses of spectral forms, listening to 
 strains of unearthly music, or fancying the discordant 
 sounds of wailing. While her brother saw nothing 
 but the blue of the sky, the gold and fleece of the 
 clouds skirting the horizon, and heard nothing more 
 mysterious than the sweet hum of nature, the chirp- 
 ing of birds and the buzz of insects, all of which filled 
 him with a lazy delight. 
 
 Oh! the memory of those children brings tears to 
 my eyes as I sit here, a gray-haired woman, look- 
 ing back to their youth, and mine. How I loved them 
 both, although they were so different. All my own 
 interests and individuahty seemed swallowed up in 
 theirs. I was equally happy when joining in a frolic 
 with Charlie or sitting, trying to teach Sarah some 
 fancy stitches — for which she showed but little interest, 
 
12 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 for fancy work was not her forte by any means, while 
 listening to her wise child-talk. It seems to me, now, 
 as I think of her, that she was as mature in thought 
 as her would-be preceptress, although I was the elder 
 by many years. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 In the evening I called to see Mrs. Norton, as I 
 was in the habit of doing very frequently on my way 
 home from school. 
 
 Mrs. Norton seemed weary. 
 
 " Sarah," said she, " you will have to help me this 
 evening. I undertook to do a little extra work to- 
 day and I am tired. Aunt Beckey sent me word this 
 morning that she intended coming over to-morrow to 
 remain until after services next day. You know we 
 have quarterly meeting Sunday, and I want to get my 
 work along so I will have time to visit some with her." 
 
 " Why, mother, how pale you are, "exclaimed Sarah. 
 " Do sit down and rest. Let me finish the work. I 
 am sure I can just as well as not." 
 
 "Oh, no, child," replied the mother, " 1 have no time 
 to sit down. There is enough for both of us to do. I 
 must set my sponge ; I want to bake light rolls to- 
 morrow for Sunday. Then I must' do a little work in 
 the garden ; there's the bed for the onions not even 
 spaded, and I have not got my lettuce seed sown yet. 
 I'll warrant Aunt Beckey has lettuce almost ready for 
 the table. Mrs. Pratt was over this morning, and she 
 said her's was two inches high." 
 
 " Of course," I interposed, with a wry face, " you 
 would expect that of Mrs. Pratt's lettuce." 
 
 " Yes, she is always ahead and I am always behind. 
 Seems to me I can't get over work as fast as I use to; 
 there is so much to be done too." Mrs, Norton looked 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 3 
 
 wistfully around with a sigh as if trying to make out 
 what it was that was wrong with her. A foreboding 
 of some coming calamity, I knew not what, chilled my 
 heart, and Sarah gazed at her mother with a troubled 
 face. ** You dear little woman," I cried, cheerily, as 
 I put my arm around her, " you are all right, you do 
 more work now than two persons ought to do," and I 
 hugged her close to me, away down in my heart blam- 
 ing John Norton for being so blind. A word of com- 
 mendation from him occasionally would have lightened 
 her load wonderfully. Just then Charley came rushing 
 in carrying his coat. 
 
 " Oh mother," said he, " see what happened to-day 
 we were playing base when John Grey caught me by 
 the pocket and just look here," displaying the aforesaid 
 pocket hanging over with a long rent at each corner. 
 
 " Charlie, how could you be so careless," cried Mrs. 
 Norton surveying the coat with a distressed counten- 
 ance. 
 
 " Now, mother, I couldn't help it, you know, " said he, 
 thrusting his hands in his breeches pockets and walk- 
 ing off with an injured air. 
 
 ' The mother took the coat and laid it on her work- 
 basket, for she knew it must be mended before she 
 retired that night. 
 
 " Poor mother," said Sarah, compassionately. 
 
 "Can you come over to-morrow, Jane? You will 
 enjoy a visit with Aunt Beckey," said Mrs. Norton, as 
 I was leaving. 
 
 " I can, indeed," I repHed, heartily. " Perhaps you 
 have something I can do while I am listening to Aunt 
 Beckey's queer talk; isn't there some stitches to be 
 taken in time?" 
 
 Mrs. Norton smiled. " I wouldXiV^ to have Sarah's 
 white dress let down for Sunday; the child grows so 
 fast," she said, turning to Sarah, who stood by her 
 side. " She looks awkward in short dresses. " 
 
 And true, Sarah's head was above her mother's 
 
14 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 shoulders. I promised to come over and make the 
 desired change in the dress, and took my leave, but I 
 paused in the yard to look again at the pretty pict- 
 ure framed in by the doorway, of the sweet, pale- 
 faced mother and her blooming daughter, and yet 
 something in the picture caused a lump to rise in my 
 throat and a sudden rush of tears to my eyes — the one 
 so fragile her hold on life seemed slipping from her; 
 the other so full of promise. 
 
 The next morning was as beautiful as the preceed- 
 ing one. The air was balmy, the sun poured down 
 upon the tender buds just peeping through the earth — 
 caressing and encouraging them to come forth, while 
 the hardier leaves and grasses took upon themselves a 
 brighter green and new life. The long-promised warm 
 weather had come. After I had helped my mother do 
 the morning work I went over to Mr. Norton's. The 
 children were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Aunt 
 Beckey. Mrs. Norton had opened up her best room. 
 It was a pleasant room to look at in spite of the incon- 
 gruous mixture of colors in it. It was light and airy. 
 The walls were hung with bright paper, with here and 
 there a picture, colored prints, and family photo- 
 graphs framed in black walnut. There was a red and 
 green wool carpet on the floor. The wooden chairs 
 were shining with varnish and gay with impossible 
 flowers. A large split-bottomed rocking-chair was 
 placed invitingly in the center of the room. A glass 
 of early spring flowers adorned the linen-covered table, 
 which stood against the wall under the mirror. The 
 spotless white curtains were tied back with ribbons. A 
 rose-bush had climbed up over the porch, and some of 
 its budding branches were drooping in at the open 
 windows. Back of this room and adjoining was the 
 spare chamber; the door stood open to display the bed, 
 with its fresh white drapery. 
 
 " Mary," said Mr. Norton, before going to his work, 
 " have Beckey's horse put in the stall furthest from 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 5 
 
 the stable door. Jones will unharness and feed it at 
 noon." 
 
 While it was yet early in the day, Aunt Beckey's 
 one-horse vehicle was seen moving slowly down the 
 road, drawn by the old horse, who, notwithstanding 
 his long associations with her, seemed the exact 
 reverse of his mistress, his laziness and lack of spirits 
 being " scand'lous," as Aunt Beckey expressed it. 
 Perched upon the seat, erect and watchful, sat the 
 owner of the outfit, clutching the lines tightly, for Miss 
 Brown fully believed there was a streak of depravity 
 in most sentient things, and she did not know at 
 what moment it might break out in even such an 
 apparently docile creature as old Dobin. " Never 
 trust to appearances " was one of her mottoes. 
 
 We were all at the gate to meet her when she drove 
 up. The children took the horse to the stable, while 
 Mrs. Norton and I moved toward the house with our 
 guest. Rebecca Brown was a distant relative of Mary 
 Norton's, but was called Aunt by all who knew her. 
 She was an angular, wiry spinster of some forty-five 
 years, with a shrewd, sharp-featured, but kindly face. 
 She was a little unmerciful in her criticisms on the 
 weaknesses of human nature sometimes, but ever mer- 
 ciful in her charities — ever ready to heal the wounds 
 she made with her tongue by the works of her hands. 
 She owned a little patch of ground with a cottage on it, 
 some miles distant from Mr. Norton's, where she lived 
 with only her cat and dog, her cow, horse and chickens 
 for company. 
 
 "Animals is the gratefullest creeters you kin hev 
 around you," she said to me at one time, as a sort of 
 apology for her love for them. 
 
 "Now look at that cat," indicating her own big torn 
 cat, " his eyes is a brimin'full of afifecshun. No human 
 bein' ever looks at me thet way; they never turns agin 
 you either, an' you kin go on lovin' them to the end, 
 with so much satisfacshun." 
 
1 6 Sarah's choice 
 
 But Aunt Beckey did not isolate herself with her 
 pets. She visited the people for miles around and was 
 loved and feared alternately by those who received her 
 attentions, love predominating when her hands were at 
 work and fear when her tongue told some unpleasant 
 truths. 
 
 " Bless me, Mary!" said Miss Brown, after she had 
 divested herself of her bonnet and shawl, laying them 
 carefully on the spare bed, and had taken a seat in the 
 big rocking-chair, which Mrs. Norton insisted she 
 should do, " pears to me," adjusting her spectacles, 
 and scrutinizing Mrs. Norton closely, " you grow 
 poorer and paler every time I see you. What ails you 
 child? air you workin' yourself to death? ain't you 
 feelin' well?" 
 
 " Oh, I guess so, auntie," said Mrs. Norton in 
 answer to the last question, " you know I always was 
 thin. I do not think I can stand as much as I used to, 
 but that is natural, is it not?" 
 
 " No, it's not nateral fur you to look the way you 
 do, Mary," said Aunt Beckey, bluntly. " You need 
 rest and should have help. " 
 
 " Seems to me I ought to do our work," said Mrs. 
 Norton, thoughtfully, " our family is small. There is 
 Mrs. Blake does all of her work, and she has six 
 children, and the three younger ones nothing but 
 babes. Then, Sarah is getting so she is quite a help 
 to me. " 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Aunt Beckey, getting out her 
 knitting work, " but I do think, Mary, that you don't 
 put that child to work as much as you orto. It would 
 keep her mind off of things she has no bizness to be 
 a-thinkin' about. I tell you, Mary, there is no good 
 comin' of a girl readin' so many books an' a-ponderin' 
 of mysteries. Why, she's onnateral,'' and Aunt Beckey 
 bent forward in her chair, emphasizing her words with 
 vigorous shakes of the knitting needle she held in her 
 hand. " What do you think that child said to me, the 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 7 
 
 very last time she visited me? She was playin' with 
 Dick, the cat, an' all of a sudden says she: * Auntie, 
 do you really believe God loves His people?* This 
 sort o' startled me, an' I jerked myself around: ' Why, 
 says I, *of course. Sarah, don't your Bible teach that?' 
 'Yes,' says she, ' but do you really believe He has an 
 awful place where He puts them when they're bad, and 
 keeps them there forever and ever?* Now, of all neus- 
 ances in this world, I do think that a child who is al- 
 ways askin' questions one can't answer is the worst, but I 
 tried to explain, that, no doubt, they would be fearfully 
 punished forever if they wouldn't be saved in this 
 world. ' Even,' says she, * if they didn't know any 
 better than to be bad?' Now, would you believe 
 me, Mary/' said Aunt Beckey, slowly, " I sorter hesi- 
 tated over that." 
 
 I had seated myself with my work by the window 
 where the rose-bush climbed, so I could get the sweet 
 spring air and yet could watch our visitor, and I am 
 sure that she flushed slightly with shame as she ad- 
 mitted this. 
 
 " But," she continued, " I finally sed it must be so." 
 She sprung to her feet, and says she: 'Then I hate 
 such a God,' an you orto hev seen her face, Mary; her 
 eyes were like two big blazes, and she squeezed Dick 
 in her excitement, until the cat squalled; she dropped 
 him, and throwin' her apron over her head to hide her 
 cryin', ran around the house. I tell you, Mary, she 
 gave me sich a turn, I haven't got over it yet. " 
 
 Again I glanced up at Aunt Beckey, there was a 
 bright, red spot on each cheek, and she was nerv- 
 ously picking up stitches in her knitting work; evi- 
 dently, in her agitation, she had drawn out the 
 wrong needle. Mrs. Norton smiled faintly, and said, 
 " Oh, Sarah will come around all right when she gets 
 older; she is so kind-hearted she cannot bear to think of 
 people suffering, and the idea of people suffering forever 
 Sarah's Choice 2 
 
1 8 Sarah's choice 
 
 fills her mind with horror. When she is older she will 
 see things in a different light." 
 
 Mrs. Norton said this hesitatingly. Perhaps she 
 was thinking, as I was, that there were questions con- 
 nected with human life and human destiny that chil- 
 dren could solve about as well as older persons. She 
 herself, no doubt, had had perplexing questions arising 
 in her mind, but was too busy to dwell upon them. 
 
 " Well," said Aunt Beckey, " it is not good for girls, 
 or women either, to think or read too much. My 
 experience is thet that woman is happiest who excepts 
 what her Bible and preacher teaches an tries to do her 
 dooty, — not," she added, significantly, '' but what we 
 all hev our innermost thoughts, Mary, but there is no 
 use a speakin 'em." 
 
 Silence fell upon us for the space of a few minutes. 
 I was inwardly exasperated at Aunt Beckey for express- 
 ing such narrow views in regard to women, but I own 
 that my timidity kept me quiet, and as I watched the 
 two I wondered if visions of rebellious thoughts in 
 their own past were trooping up before them, of doubts 
 and fears fought down with determined wills, for what 
 is a woman Avithout faith. 
 
 " Begin to doubt," Miss Brown had said to me once 
 with a grave shake of her head, " and there's the end 
 on it." When the conversation was resumed again, 
 the topics discussed were entirely of a social and 
 domestic character. 
 
 Sarah came in to ask me to go with her to the 
 orchard where the apple trees were just bursting into 
 bloom. As we walked along Sarah was chatting about 
 a book she had been reading, that I had loaned her. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Jane," said she, " I cried over it nearly 
 all the time I was reading it, " and as she looked up at 
 me her grey eyes were moistening with tears. 
 
 " What did you do it for, Sarah?" said I, " you know 
 the book is only make-beheve." 
 
 " Oh, but it is so real, so true. Why, I have had 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY I9 
 
 just such feelings as Maggie had, and then how dread- 
 ful for her to die so young." 
 
 " We all have to die whenever the good Lord sees 
 fit to call us," said I lightly, reaching up on tip-toe 
 after a twig of blossoms for her. 
 
 " But to die so young — so young," she kept repeat- 
 ing mechanically, while she unwittingly crushed the 
 pink and white buds in her hands. 
 
 " Well," cried I, " your blossoms are dying an early 
 death, at any rate, how sad — how sad," and I laughed 
 mockingly. 
 
 At this moment Charlie came bounding over the 
 bars, which led into the orchard, with a whoop and rush- 
 ing up to us said: "Mother told me to tell you to 
 come right in to dinner. I want you to hurry too, 
 for I am as hungry as a young bear. " Oh!" looking 
 up into the tree under which we stood. " This is 
 the Rambeau apple tree. Don't I wish that instead of 
 the blossoms it was full of ripe apples — rich, juicy ap- 
 ples," and he rubbed his hands and smacked his lips as 
 if tasting them in imagination ; then he suddenly turned 
 and started for the house. We chased after him, but when 
 he reached the bars he executed a handspring so deftly 
 he was half way to the house by the time we had 
 climbed over. At the kitchen pump Mr. Norton and 
 his hired man, Jones, were washing their hands and 
 discussing the advisability of planting the corn at once 
 or waiting until the ground became warmer. Mr. 
 Norton nodded pleasantly, for however taciturn and 
 morose he might be with others, he always had a 
 pleasant word or a joke for me, which made me like 
 the man. 
 
 " Miss Jane," said he, as he rubbed dry his brawny 
 arms and hands with a coarse crash towel, " Vv^hy are 
 schoolmarms so much better than the rest of mankind 
 that they should have two days of rest out of the week, 
 instead of one?" 
 
 " Brain work," said I, sententiously, " is exhaustive; 
 
20 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 we need more rest than the ordinary mortal who works 
 with his hands." 
 
 " Ha, ha," laughed Mr. Norton, " teaching a b c's 
 and spelling exhausts you, does it? That don't speak 
 very well for your brains, eh ?" but I had slipped into 
 the house and feigned not to hear his retort. After 
 we were settled at the table, Jones among the rest, for 
 he always ate with the family, Aunt Beckey was asked 
 to say grace, whicli she did with all due solemnity, and 
 then Mr. Norton helped the plates. 
 
 " John," said Aunt Beckey, " air you goin' to 
 quarterly-meetin' to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Not if I know myself," said Mr. Norton. " I have 
 worked hard all the week and I want to rest to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " But John, goin' to church would, or orter rest 
 you." 
 
 " But I know that dressing up in Sunday clothes and 
 sitting stiffly through a quarterly-meeting sermon 
 would tire me," said Mr. Norton, looking at me with a 
 twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Norton," said I, recklessly; 
 " Sunday clothes are tiresome, and so are preachers 
 sometimes." 
 
 Aunt Beckey gazed fixedly at me for a moment and 
 then said, gentty, " Flippancy ain't particlarly becom- 
 in' to you, Jane." 
 
 I felt her rebuke more keenly than I cared to let on. 
 Fortunately for me, just then Mrs. Norton urged each 
 one of us to partake of more chicken. 
 
 ■' Aunt Beckey," said she, " you are not eating half a 
 dinner. " 
 
 But if Aunt Beckey was not, Jones was, for never had 
 I in my life before seen any creature, human or other- 
 wise, bolt food as fast as he had done from the moment 
 he sat down to the table. And he must have the very 
 choicest dishes too. Jones always disgusted me with 
 his cringing manners, his rapacious appetite and 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 21 
 
 nasal drawl. That evening as my mother and I sat 
 in the twilight on the front steps of our cottage, silently- 
 watching the moon, which seemed to be playing hide 
 and seek with the clouds, we saw the minister of the 
 Waterford circuit and the presiding elder drive 
 up to Mr. Norton's gate. We knew they had 
 come to spend the night. Mrs. Norton was a Meth- 
 odist, and attended church regularly at the Meth- 
 odist church in the little village of Waterford. Mr. 
 Norton held himself aloof from all churches, but did 
 not object to ministers visiting his family, and as 
 Mrs. Norton always spread a good table they fre- 
 quently availed themselves of her hospitality. It was 
 a notable fact that ministers of the Gospel seldom 
 spoke to Mr. Norton of spiritual things. Something 
 in the man discouraged them ; if now and then one of 
 unusual courage broached the subject to him he inva- 
 riably pointed out the failings of the church-members 
 mercilessly, and ended with comparing them rather 
 unfavorably with some he knew outside the pale of the 
 church, which argument, if answerable, was, to say 
 the least, unpleasant, and Mr. Norton's would-be 
 spiritual adviser was glad to change the subject, but 
 they ate of his viands as heartily and cheerfully as if 
 he was one of the most orthodox of Christians. 
 
 The next morning my mother and I walked slowly 
 over the hill and along the country road leading to the 
 httle church. My mother seldom went out except to 
 attend " preaching. " When we reached our destination 
 we found a goodly array of all sorts of country vehicles 
 standing in the church-yard. A few young men were 
 lingering talking outside the door, to whom I nodded 
 as I helped my mother up the steps, for there in the 
 country everybody was acquainted. 
 
 Soon we were listening to the presiding-elder's really 
 eloquent discourse on the sublimity of Christ's life and 
 the grandeur of His death. And when he dwelt upon 
 the Savior's agony on the cross, caused, not by His own 
 
22 Sarah's choice 
 
 suffering, but because of the sins of the world, Sarah*s 
 eyes were shining and her cheeks glowing. This was 
 something her mind could grasp. There was an answer- 
 ing chord in her own heart. The sermon finished with 
 a description of the home awaiting the followers of the 
 crucified Christ. Mrs. Norton's face was a picture to 
 gladden angels. Her eyes were closed, as though she 
 had no use for earthly sight, but was looking with her 
 mind's vision, far away to that better land, and had 
 already tasted of its rest and peace. " Ah, Mr. Norton," 
 thought I, *' perhaps you did miss something afterallby 
 staying at home. " I would have sobbed aloud, but just 
 then my attention was attracted to Aunt Beckey, who 
 was nodding amen so emphatically that the artificials on 
 her bonnet had become disarranged and stood straight 
 up in front, causing my sob to turn to a giggle. But 
 little she cared, for she, in imagination with her resur- 
 rected Savior, was *' walking the golden streets of the 
 new Jerusalem" — a favorite phrase of hers when speak- 
 ing in class-meeting. But my poor mother sat beside 
 me and groaned. Charlie was sitting by an open win- 
 dow. He might as w^ell have been deaf, as far as the 
 sermon was concerned, for he was watching a bird 
 building its nest in the swinging branches of a tree, the 
 balmy air meanwhile fanning his face and lifting his hair 
 gently from his forehead. While the impressive cere- 
 mony of passing the bread and wine was in progress, that 
 awful boy was lost in thoughts entirely of an earthly 
 nature, pertaining to plans for his own enjoyment. 
 
 After dinner Aunt Beckey had her horse harnessed 
 and took leave of the family, but before going she 
 managed to have a word with Mr. Norton when his 
 wife was not present. I was there, having come over 
 to bid Aunt Beckey good-bye, and to present her with 
 a pot of jam from my mother. 
 
 " I tell you, John," said she, " Mary's ailin'. You 
 orto call in a doctor, an' she should have help with 
 her work. " 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 23 
 
 Mr. Norton looked at me in a dazed sort of way. 
 Such a thing had never occurred to him. 
 
 " Why, she never complains," said he sharply. 
 
 " No," said Aunt Beckey, " she is not one of them 
 kind as will, as long as she kin stand up; but mark my 
 words, John, she needs rest, an' if she doesn't get it 
 soon it'll be too late." 
 
 Mr. Norton evidently felt uncomfortable over what 
 she had said, but I think soon dismissed the subject 
 from his mind as one of Aunt Beckey's vagaries. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 One afternoon, several weeks later, I was sitting 
 with Charlie and Sarah on the banks of the shallow 
 ravine which crossed Mr. Norton's back yard. This 
 was our favorite resort. 
 
 There was a spring at the upper side of the yard 
 where the milk house stood; from it a httle stream 
 trickled down through the ravine, crossing the lane and 
 ending in a goose pond in the lot below. The banks 
 of this hollow were covered with wild sweet williams, 
 while violets and ferns grew near the water, and wild 
 grape vines trailed over the trees. Ah, beloved spot ! 
 I am ever haunted with memories of thee, both painful 
 and sweet. I close my eyes and again hear the trickle 
 of the little stream along its uneven bed, and I seem to 
 detect the odor of violets in the air. Visions of two 
 bright young faces are before me: the one, with its 
 laughing blue eyes, never serious except when vexed; 
 the other, so tender in expression, yet so strong, as 
 if ready to do battle against the whole world if neces- 
 sary. 
 
 It was vacation for all of us. I had closed the sum- 
 mer term of school. Charlie was home for tv/o months. 
 He was enjoying just the kind of life he loved best. 
 
24 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " Girls," said he, " I wish this vacation could last 
 always. I hate to think of school. I wish the fellows 
 that invented books had to study 'em," and he kicked 
 viciously at a stone, sending it splashing into the 
 stream below. 
 
 " Why Charlie," said I, " how would it do for your 
 father to spend all his time lying around under shade 
 trees, swinging on grape vines and hunting bird's 
 nests." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Charlie, " after one's a grown man 
 its a different thing. " 
 
 " But," said I, " you will soon be a man, now is your 
 time to go to school and fit yourself for what you will 
 have to do when you are grown." 
 
 " Oh!" cried Sarah, " I wish I was a boy, and had 
 your chance Charlie. Do you know, Jane," said she, 
 sinking her voice, " I threw myself on my bed the 
 other day and had a good cry because I wanted to be 
 a boy so bad." 
 
 " Don't blame you a bit," said Charlie, compassion- 
 ately, " girls are such muffs. I would go hang myself 
 if I was one." 
 
 " Well," said I, " my boy, if you are not more indus- 
 trious in the future than you have been in the past, the 
 chances are that Sarah will accomplish more in this 
 world than you ever will, if she is a girl. " 
 
 Charhe switched the head off of some tall grasses 
 growing near, and then" said reflectively. " What 
 would you make of yourself, Sarah, if you wei^e a 
 boy." 
 
 " I don't know sure," said she, slowly, " but I think 
 I'd be a preacher like our presiding-elder; but do you 
 know, I would only preach about Heaven. I wouldn't 
 tell the people anything about the other place; I don't 
 believe it does anybody any good. What if my mother 
 took me every day and held me over a big fire, saying 
 to me, 'if you do not love and obey me, I will drop you 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 2$ 
 
 in,' do you think I would love her better for such 
 threats?" 
 
 Charlie looked at Sarah with a mingled expression 
 of wonder and contempt, and then again commenced 
 switching the grasses. As for me, she gave me as 
 much of a turn as she had Aunt Beckey a few weeks 
 before. I stitched rapidly at my fancy work, while 
 trying to say carelessly, " Do not let your mind dwell 
 so much upon these questions you cannot understand, 
 Sarah." 
 
 " Whoop la!" sang out Charlie, " this is jolly; here 
 comes Jack and Ruth," and he turned to greet the 
 new comers. 
 
 Jack and Ruth Underwood were the children of an 
 adjoining farmer. They were almost inseparable com- 
 panions of the Norton children. Jack was a fine speci- 
 men of a farmer boy; he was sixteen years old, tall 
 and finely proportioned, with a frank, open counte- 
 nance. Ruth was two years younger than he — a 
 pretty, laughing, little country maiden. Jack had been 
 the sworn champion of Sarah as far back as he could 
 remember; at school no other girl compared with her 
 in his eyes. She was always his choice in their games, 
 and any advance from Sarah toward him, made his 
 young heart throb with delight. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Jane," said Ruth as she sank down on the 
 grass at my feet, *' I do think you do the beautifulest 
 fancy work. Mother says if you would only show me. 
 I have just finished crocheting a tidy for our big rocking 
 chair. I do so like such work, don't j/<?^/, Sarah?" 
 
 Sarah looked a little uncomfortable while she con- 
 fessed that although she liked to look at embroideries 
 and fancy work of all kinds, she did not like to work 
 at them. 
 
 " Why not," cried Ruth, opening wide her blue eyes 
 in surprise. " Why, Sarah, I would rather do it than 
 eat." 
 
 " Well," said Sarah, " I do not like to work at any- 
 
26 Sarah's choice 
 
 thing where you have to count stitches, or keep con- 
 stantly watching for fear you do something wrong. 
 You've got to keep your mind right on it all the 
 time." 
 
 There lay the trouble. Needlework that required 
 close attention was drudgery indeed to Sarah. Work 
 that employed her fingers only w^as all right but her 
 mind must be left free to wander at will. Sarah and 
 Ruth strolled away gathering wild flowers, while Jack 
 and Charlie improvised a swing from a grape vine with 
 which, when done, they sent the girls up into the air 
 amid many shouts of laughter. 
 
 Oh, happy, innocent children, I mused to myself as 
 I watched them, how unconscious of all that lies before 
 you. Must you awake to deceit, vice and disappoint- 
 ment? Is there no way to shield you from temptation 
 or knowledge of evil; no way to keep those pure hearts 
 pure — those clean hands clean? Alas, alas, these 
 children are even now on the verge of manhood and 
 womanhood and one of them, at least, already feels 
 something of the feverish heat and limitless longings 
 of the matured human heart, and I fetched a sigh that 
 would have done my mother credit. 
 
 Before separating Sarah and Ruth and I arranged 
 to pay, on the next day, a long-promised visit to Aunt 
 Beckey Brown. Charley and Jack both declared they 
 could not be induced to accompany us. No, indeed, 
 not they, and we retorted that the trouble lay in the 
 fact that Aunt Beckey had not invited them. But Mrs. 
 Norton suggested that the boys ride over in the even- 
 ing and accompany us home. So, in the morning, 
 Jones hitched old Bill, the staid family horse of the Nor- 
 tons, into the open buggy. Sarah and Ruth, fresh in 
 very recently laundried calico, seated themselves in it, 
 leaving a space between them for myself, w^ho, it was 
 decided, should do the driving, as I was the oldest and 
 presumably the wisest. After many injunctions "to be 
 careful" we started. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 2"] 
 
 " Be sure to have the horse watered," called out Mr. 
 Norton, as we were disappearing around a bend in the 
 road. 
 
 We were very jolly as we jogged along, for old 
 Bill stubbornly refused to be coaxed out of a walk. 
 Sometimes we laughed long and loud, not at anything 
 in particular, but because we found it necessary to get 
 rid of exuberant spirits. Finally we came to the gate 
 that led into Aunt Beckey's lane. How unfortunate 
 the poor mortal who has no personal knowledge of 
 country lanes. The narrow, winding country lane has 
 charms all its own, charms with which its handsome 
 city cousin, dignified by the name of avenue, cannot 
 compete. J have always had a w^eakness for them. I 
 cannot see one now without feehng an indescribable 
 longing to be a child again, wandering idly and un- 
 thinking in a quiet, shady lane. " Aunt Beckey's lane 
 does credit to its kind," I said, as we slowly made our 
 way through it, so narrow that the ovci hanging bushes 
 brushed us on either side, and we gathered the ripen- 
 ing fruit from the branches of the cherry trees over 
 our heads. 
 
 Aunt Beckey's dog. Brave, met us at the gate, and 
 his loud demonstrations soon brought his mistress to 
 the door. 
 
 " Es I live an' move!" she ejaculated. Then calling 
 to us to " come straight to the house," she disap- 
 peared. As we walked up the pathway, bordered w^ith 
 big bunches of Lady Washington, we caught glimpses 
 of her hurriedly wiping her hands and changing her 
 work-apron for a company one. When we reached 
 the porch she was there to welcome us. " Dear hearts, 
 to think you've really come," she cried, as she gave 
 each of us a vigorous hug. I think she held Sarah the 
 longest, but then she was Mary's child. 
 
 Throwing open the door of her best room she invited 
 us to enter. All I can remember now of that little 
 parlor is its bright wool chain carpet — Aunt Beckey 
 
28 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 was considered great on wool chains — and its wooden 
 rocking-chairs, with white crochet tidies on their backs 
 and feather cushions on their bottoms. A picture of 
 Napoleon Bonaparte, painted on glass, stood on the 
 mantel shelf. The great hero had a rosebud mouth 
 and very red cheeks, and a belt with a sword in it. I 
 have been in many grander parlors since, but never in 
 one more restful. A mixed odor of hops, lavender, 
 and rose leaves filled the air, while Dick purred and 
 rubbed contentedly about our feet. It was an agree- 
 able change after our drive through the hot sun. 
 
 "Aunt Beckey," said Sarah, "don't you sometimes 
 get tired of living so quiet and humdrum?" 
 
 "I dunno as 'tis so quiet," declared Aunt Beckey. 
 '' Tears to me there is always somethin' wantin' at the 
 neighbors. This blessed minit there's William Gary 
 down with the fever, an' his wife jest up with her babe 
 two weeks old, an' Mrs. Moore's got a quilt in, an' the 
 Robison childerii air sick with measles — seems as if 
 they all think I can always be on hands, tv^o." 
 
 " But, Auntie," said Sarah, squaring herself before 
 the picture on the mantel, "don't you ever feel as 
 though you would like to go out into the world and do 
 something great, something to be talked about?" 
 
 " Mercy sakes! the child oughter hev been a boy," 
 gasped Aunt Beckey. "But, Sarah, let me tell you, an* 
 when you get older you'll find it's truth, so don't 
 forget I said it to you, it's not them whose names is 
 soundin' all over the world as does the most good." 
 
 Aunt Beckey went out, leaving Sarah staring blankly 
 at the picture. 
 
 At the dinner table Aunt Beckey told us solemnly 
 that she knew that she, for one, could take no pleasure 
 in eating the chicken pie for she had had to kill Mollie 
 Brown to make it. She hoped it would taste like any 
 other chicken to the rest of us, but she was not the 
 person to enjoy sucking the bones of a friend such as 
 Mollie had been. We breathlessly demanded an 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 29 
 
 explanation, and learned that MoUie Brown was the 
 black pullet with tht gray and gold feathers on her 
 neck, and a topknot that gave her an air of great dignity. 
 Aunt Beckey expatiated at length upon her beauty and 
 intelligence. 
 
 " But why did you kill her? " cried Sarah, her sym- 
 pathies all aroused. " Why didn't you kill some other 
 one?" 
 
 "Now, there you've got me," said Aunt Beckey, 
 mournfully. " There's not another one as I could 
 a-spared any better, or as well. I called 'em all around 
 me, an' talked to 'em about it. You'd be surprised to 
 see how they'd hold their heads to one side' an' look so 
 knowin'. Shouldn't wonder ef they understood every 
 word I sed. But Nanney, she was settin'. Old Whitie 
 had jest come off with a brood. All the others was 
 layin'. 'Mong all them chickens, Mollie was the only 
 idle one; so I argued: usefulness is better 'an beauty. 
 But, girls, I feel as though I'd committed a crime," 
 and Aunt Beckey caught up her slat bomiet and fanned 
 herself energetically with it. We ate of the chicken 
 pie gravely and appreciative^, but unsparingly. 
 
 It was not Aunt Beckey 's way to remain in low 
 spirits long at a time. When we had finished our dinner 
 she had quite recovered herself. I am not sure but 
 our fondness for the pie contributed somewhat toward 
 restoring her equilibrium. We went with her to see 
 her feathered pets, nineteen of them in all. We were 
 duly enlightened as to the name, age and genealogy of 
 each one of them. 
 
 " They're the peartest, knowin'est things," said Aunt 
 Beckey, running her hand over Whitie's plump back, 
 while we cuddled her fluffy chicks. " Do yer know," 
 she spoke slowly and reflectively, " I can't look 'em in 
 the eyes without a feelin' comin' over me that they 
 must hev souls." 
 
 *' Oh! horrible!" screamed Sarah, springing to her 
 feet. " And we butcher them!" 
 
30 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 We gazed into each other's faces with the feeHng 
 that we were something akin to murderers and canni- 
 bals. We said nothing. What could we say? Aunt 
 Beckey shook her head, turning slowly down the path 
 that led to the garden. We followed and there, reveling 
 in fresh delights in the shape of luscious yellow, red and 
 black raspberries, like other sinners, we tried to forget. 
 When Charlie and Jack came in the evening we were 
 ready to declare to them that the day was fraught with 
 much that was enjoyable. We rode home in the twi- 
 light, startling some of the staid farmers with our 
 snatches of songs and boisterous laughter. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On the following morning Sarah came over with a 
 request from her mother that I go with her, Sarah, to 
 visit the Jones family. Jones had remarked at the 
 breakfast that the baby was " frettin'." We went 
 " across lots " through a piece of woodland, stopping a 
 moment to watch the tiny fish gliding among the white 
 pebbles in the shallow water of a little brook, then 
 pursued our way through a narrow back lane to the 
 North line, where Jones' "house was situated. It was a 
 little log hut, containing but one room, which was used 
 as kitchen, living-room and sleeping-room, all in one. 
 Everything about the place betokened squalor. There 
 had once been a fence in front of the house, but a few 
 leaning posts and some broken rails were all that was 
 left of it, and these were fast disappearing in the shape 
 of kindling-wood. Great chunks of mortar had fallen 
 from between the logs, giving the inmates more 
 fresh air than was consistent with comfort or health in 
 bad weather. Some of the window-panes were broken, 
 and the apertures were filled with rags. As we 
 approached, a'pig was rooting around the open door- 
 
OR THE NORTON FAxAlILY 3 1 
 
 way, and chickens were picking the crumbs from the 
 floor. Three dirty, half-clad children stood gaping at 
 us as we drew near. 
 
 " Where is your mother, Tommy?" we asked of the 
 elder child. 
 
 " She's in there," he answered, pointing toward the 
 door. 
 
 A slatternly, discouraged-looking woman came for- 
 ward. " Good morninV' she said, nodding to both of 
 us. " Come in an' take cheers," dusting them off with 
 her apron, " Haow's yer mother?" turning to Sarah. 
 
 " Very well," answered Sarah. " Mr. Jones said the 
 baby was sick and mother wanted us to call and see it. " 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Jones, going toward a wooden 
 cradle that stood in one corner of the room. " She's 
 ben sick nigh onto two weeks naow. I dunno what ails 
 her; per'aps she's cuttin' teeth. Tommy an' Mary wuz 
 sick most all the time when they wuz teethin'." 
 
 We went to the cradle to look at the child. It was 
 sleeping. It's wan, little face was such a pitiful sight 
 Sarah could scarcely refrain from taking it in her arms 
 in spite of its f;lth and rags. 
 
 " Mother told me to ask you if there was anything 
 she could do for you?" said Sarah, as she glanced 
 around pityingly at the contents of the room. 
 
 The breakfast-table stood just as the family had left 
 it after partaking of the morning repast, with its soiled, 
 worn cloth, its few chipped cups and saucers and 
 cracked plates. 
 
 " I dunno," the woman answered, sullenly, " Jones 
 lets me git along as best I can. It's a heird lot, 'n me 
 with four chiluns. I told him las' night, when he went 
 up tew the village, es how I'd got to hev coffee, 'n 
 sugar, 'n things; but he sed he'd only got money enuff 
 fur his bacca. Tommy! " she cried, as that tow-headed 
 urchin was about to venture in, '' you git out; yer not 
 fit fur decent folks tew see. Pears to me," she added, 
 
32 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 apologetically, " them chilerns allers in the dirt, 'n there's 
 nothin* tew fix em up with. " 
 
 We took leave and walked slowly homeward. Sarah 
 was very quiet, evidently she was thinking of that little 
 white mite of humanity, lying in its cradle in that squalid 
 home. Later on we arrived at Mrs. Norton's sitting- 
 room door, in a weary and depressed state of mind. 
 
 Mrs. Norton had company; Mrs. Pratt, the widow, 
 whose farm lay on the east of Mr. Norton's, had dropped 
 in. Mrs. Pratt was a childless widow; she had seen 
 trouble in her time, having buried some infant children 
 and her husband; but hers was not an impressionable 
 nature, and her trials had left little impress on that calm, 
 hard face. The glitter of her cold, blue eyes kept all 
 timid creatures at a distance; cleanHness and neatness 
 was written all over her, from the prim folds of her 
 white neck -handkerchief to the spotless stockings on 
 her feet. 
 
 " Well," asked Mrs. Norton, " how did you find the 
 baby?" 
 
 Sarah told her mother of the condition in which we 
 found the Jones family. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Norton to Mrs. Pratt, "they are 
 really in a bad way. It makes my heart ache to go 
 there." 
 
 " They have their own thriftlessness and improvidence 
 to thank for the most of their troubles I suppose," 
 answered Mrs. Pratt, coldly. 
 
 ** That may be," replied Mrs. Norton gently, " but 
 then there is everything in the way people are raised, 
 you know. Perhaps Mrs. Jones was never taught to be 
 tidy, and so does not know how to go about it. At 
 any rate, I pity the children; they are not to blame." 
 
 " When parents are so trifling the children have to 
 suffer for it as a natural consequence. It's a law handed 
 down from the Bible. Mrs. Jones can see how other 
 people do. I reckon she knows the use of water and 
 soap. As for Jones, they do say he has taken to drink. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 33 
 
 Now, what's to be done with such people as that, I'd 
 like to know? They are lazy, good-for-nothing things 
 and expect hard-working people like us to keep them 
 up. For my part I don't believe in encouraging any 
 such persons. Let 'em starve awhile; then they will 
 be glad to go to work. " 
 
 As she said this Mrs. Pratt brought her bonnet strings 
 into their proper position by a dexterous twist of her 
 bony hands and arose to go. I thought I had never 
 seen her eyes snap quite so determinedly. 
 
 That evening Mrs. Norton filled a basket with articles 
 of food for Jones to carry home to his family. But 
 that night the baby died, and for once at least, tender 
 hands washed it clean and arrayed it in a little half- 
 worn white dress that some mother had spared from her 
 child's wardrobe. Poor little waif, upon the sea of life 
 the billows of adversity proved too much for its puny 
 strength. The kindly touch and well-meant help came 
 too late to do it any good. Sympathy rarely comes in 
 time, especially to those who need it most. 
 
 But two days later and Sarah and I were again walk- 
 ing across the fields toward Jones', house to attend the 
 funeral of the babe. A goodly funeral it was too. The 
 women of the neighborhood evidently were taking an 
 interest in the family, the interest though tardy seemed 
 genuine. 
 
 " Lauk! it makes me tired to think on it," one 
 woman was saying to a knot of listeners. " However 
 little else these poor people may hev, they allers has 
 plenty o' children. They jest comes up like weeds." 
 
 " Oh, for shame, Jane, a-flying into the face o* Provi- 
 dence like that," answered one of her neighbors. 
 
 " Sucli shiftlessness! " said an energetic voice on the 
 other side of me. I turned; it was Mrs. Pratt. " Would 
 you believe it," she continued, " I just scraped the dirt 
 off them children, an' there wa'nt a whole dud in the 
 house. I went all through just to see what they did 
 Sarah's Choice j 
 
34 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 have. But what can you expect of people that live 
 and sleep with their pigs? " and Mrs. Pratt's nose went 
 up into the air, while her listeners pulled long faces and 
 groaned in horror of such depravity on the part of the 
 Jones family. The said family were huddled up in one 
 corner of the room, the children with wide open eyes 
 and a tear drop here and thereon their pale, scared faces. 
 The mother had her head buried in her apron. Jones sat 
 leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, slowly 
 turning around the hat he held in his hands. In front 
 of them lay the dead babe. Some neighbor men 
 brought in a plain cofhn, in which the little inanimate 
 form was laid. The family then took leave of it. They 
 wept much as any one weeps over their dead, and for a 
 time, let me say it to our credit, we all forgot that they 
 were paupers and mingled our tears quite freely with 
 theirs. Sarah and I then started toward home, not 
 caring to go to the graveyard. Sarah was in a state of 
 total abstraction. The birds were twittering and flitting 
 here and there among the trees, peeping through the 
 branches at us with their round, wise little eyes. Squir- 
 rels went scampering along the fences, and turning, 
 looked saucily back; as we passed through the pasture, 
 old Bill gazed after us in astonishment, for he had 
 neighed softly and put up his nose for the usual pat, 
 but had received none. 
 
 My own spirits were low. The face of the dead babe 
 with its Avorn, pinched features would float before me. 
 My mind would wander over its brief existence, trying 
 to find an excuse for it. Brought into the world without 
 any voice of its own in the matter, fed on poor diet 
 and clothed in dirt and rags, its little life of a year and 
 a half full of colic and baby tears, at the end long days 
 of pain, then death, and what for? We talk of affliction 
 being a good schooling for the human heart. But how 
 would it affect this babe who suffered as the dumb 
 brutes suffer w^ithout knowing why. 
 
 As we passed through the bars leading into the high- 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 35 
 
 way in front of Mr. Norton's house, Sarah spoke up 
 impetuously, " Jane, if I was God, I would make this 
 world over." 
 
 " What kind of a world would you have?" asked I. 
 
 " I'd have one without death and without paupers 
 in it," she cried. 
 
 " Sarah," said I, lightly, " you'd better makeup your 
 mind to take the world as it is; nothing you can do 
 will change it." 
 
 " No," she repHed, dejectedly. " But, at least," she 
 continued, brightening up, " I can help peoole, and I 
 will ! " 
 
 " Poor child ! " I said to myself, as I turned toward 
 my mother's cottage, " you can not realize what a wee 
 drop your help will be." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was the last Sunday in August. Jack and Ruth 
 had come over on a visit to the Nortons. I had taken 
 my hat and slipped out, after my mother had composed 
 herself for her usual Sunday afternoon nap, and joined 
 the children at our favorite spot on the bank of the 
 ravine. Charlie was gloomy and inconsolable. The 
 next week he must again start to school; visions of long 
 examples to be solved, geography lessons with big 
 unpronouncable names and English grammar, of which 
 he never could get the faintest sense, filled his mind with 
 dismal forebodings. He was to commence Latin gram- 
 mar the coming term, too. So he did not know what 
 might be in store for him in the way of hard tasks. 
 Another unpleasant feature was the fact that he was to 
 board at Brownville, Mr. Norton having decided that 
 during the ploughing and seeding season he could not 
 spare Charlie a horse. He envied Jack to-day. He 
 even intimated that w^orking some on the farm would be 
 
36 Sarah's choice 
 
 preferable to being sent off to school. The thought had 
 never entered Jack's mind to be other than a farmer. 
 His father would be most unhappy if he thought there 
 was any danger of his only son forsaking him and the 
 farm to become " one of them college chaps," for whom 
 Mr. Underwood felt a supreme contempt. As for 
 lawyers, " they were rascals, every one of 'em," in 
 his estimation. He thought John Norton was paving 
 the way to all sorts of tribulations for himself and family 
 by educating his son with a view of making a lawyer of 
 him. But Jack loved the farm and loved farm work. 
 His parents were kind, his home pleasant. On Sun- 
 day morning he and Ruth, having dressed themselves 
 neatly, would walk to Sabbath School, remaining for 
 preaching which took place some few minutes after the 
 close of the school. Here they met their young friends, 
 their minds not so engrossed with the Bible lesson but 
 what they found a chance to laugh and chat as only 
 young people can. Then on their home way Jack 
 invariably walked with Sarah, carried her books and 
 twirled her parasol when she was not using it. Jack 
 felt that this was the life for him. He wanted nothing 
 better. What could there be better? So he was ready 
 to sympathize with Charlie. But Ruth, whose at all 
 times rather uncertain gravity was upset by his dolorous 
 countenance — all the more funny because so unusual, 
 laughed immoderately at him. 
 
 " Oh, Charlie! " said she. " What a goose you are 
 to look so glum. You'll have lots of fun. You won't 
 have to study very hard, 'cause you know you always 
 played more than you studied at district school, just like 
 the rest of us, except Sarah; she was always moping 
 over her books. She ought to make a school-ma'am, 
 like Miss Jane." 
 
 " I'd like to be a school-ma'am like Miss Jane," inter- 
 posed Sarah, gravely. 
 
 " Oh, but you'd be a crosser one," said Ruth. " I 
 know you'd be like Miss Patience Drew down in the 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 2il 
 
 Hollowood district; wear spectacles and look too cross 
 for anything. You'd shake your finger this way at the 
 children, saying: * Now, if I catch you whispering I 
 shall be under the necessity of punishing you severely' " 
 
 Sarah laughed. Ruth was a privileged character. 
 
 But Jack protested. *' Do stop your nonsense Ruth. 
 Sarah looks no more like Miss Patience than I do." 
 And surely there was contrast enough between his 
 broad, happy face and the face of the lady in ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "Well," said Sarah, "I wish I could go to school 
 with Charlie. District school doesn't commence fortwb 
 months yet; that is so long to wait." 
 
 " I wish they'd let you go in my place if you want to 
 go so badly," said Charlie, as he savagely struck down 
 a tender weed with his foot. 
 
 " Oh, come, Charlie! " said I. " It is not so bad. 
 You can be at home every Saturday while the weather 
 is good; then there is Christmas vacation." 
 
 " I know what I do," said Charlie, after an interval 
 of silence. " I know where there is a bee tree. Nobody 
 in this wide world knows it but me." 
 
 " Shall you tell Charlie, " chorused Jack and the girls 
 breathlessly. Even I sat up suddenly upon the ground 
 where I had been half reclining, for honey was a luxury 
 not to be despised. 
 
 CharHe's newly-acquired importance as the possessor 
 of a secret quite restored him to good humor, and after 
 some coaxing on the part of the others, consented to 
 take them to the tree. I declined to go, but promising 
 to be on hands when the tree should be made to deliver 
 up its sweets, I went in to visit with Mrs. Norton. As 
 we sat talking, among other things, of Sarah's desire to 
 go to school, Mrs. Norton ventured, while nervously 
 folding and unfolding the newspaper she held in her 
 hands, to say to her husband: 
 
 " Father, don't you think we might send Sarah to 
 
3^ Sarah's choice 
 
 Brownville, along with Charlie? She is so anxious to 
 go to school?" 
 
 " Why, wife! What nonsense! " Mr. Norton spoke 
 sharply. He deemed it necessary to always speak 
 sternly to any member of his family. " What good can 
 come of it? She can get learning enough at the district 
 school." 
 
 " Well, but you know, father, we have but two terms 
 the whole year here, and it is so long before the winter 
 term begins. Sarah thinks she wants to teach when she 
 gets a little older. " 
 
 " Well, if she does, Mary Morse taught last summer; 
 she never went off to school. I say there is no use in 
 It, anyway; she will marry some farmer one of these 
 days, then what good will an education do her?" 
 
 " True," I interposed, with some bitterness. 
 
 He did not notice me, but continued: " Too much 
 learning only makes a fool of a woman, anyway." 
 
 " For shame, Mr. Norton!" I exclaimed indignantly 
 
 "Oh you needn't fly up, Miss Jane, at ^vhat I have 
 said, he niterrupted, jocosely; " it doesn't hit yo?i one 
 way or another. " 
 
 This was a great deal of talking for Mr. Norton to do 
 at one time. He now resumed his newspaper. Mrs 
 Norton knew from the signs that it was useless to uro-e 
 the matter further. Sarah shed bitter tears when her 
 mother told her of the result of the conversation The 
 Norton children seldom asked a favor of their father 
 themselves. The mother was their intercessor, and as 
 we have seen, was not always a successful one. 
 
 So Sarah had to give up, for the present at least 
 her dream of going off with Charlie to Brownville The 
 lovely autumn days were succeeded by bleaker ones 
 Finally the cold weather came in earnest. I opened the 
 winter term of the district school. Jack, Ruth and 
 Sarah were numbered among the big scholars. 
 
 The shabby old school house, with its broken panes of 
 glass. Its dilapidated weather-boarding which the boys 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 39 
 
 delighted to pick at, its dingy blackboards, and its 
 whitewashed walls covered as far as one could reach with 
 the prints of dirty fingers. But it was dear to me then 
 in spite of all this, and the memory of it now most prec- 
 ious. I fancy that he who never attended school at a 
 country school-house has missed a big slice of the sweets 
 of life. No memories to haunt him of the playground in 
 the woods, the most vv^onderful woods, too, that ever 
 blessed one's vision; of the noon spells, with their din- 
 ners of doughnuts, and bread and apple-butter, eaten 
 out under a shade tree if the weather was warm, or if 
 cold, by the old-fashioned wood stove; of the stream in 
 which he dabbled, or on which he skated; of the beech 
 trees, with trunks covered with initials cut by handy 
 penknives; of the play-house, with cupboard full of 
 broken china, acorns and white pebbles, and with floors 
 covered with moss carpets; of the games, the coasting, 
 the racing after chlppering squirrels ! Ah, life without 
 such memories would be barren to my mind. 
 
 As Christmas approached Sarah and her mother were 
 planning to make Charlie's vacation as pleasant as pos- 
 sible. They resolved to make a little party and have a 
 Christmas tree. Sarah took Ruth and I into her con- 
 fidence. For several weeks we three were very busy 
 when out of school buying and making little presents 
 for certain loved ones. The day before Christmas Ruth 
 came over to help us plant the tree. Jones had cut for 
 us a beautiful limb from one of the large pine trees 
 growing in Mr. Norton's yard. This we converted into 
 a very satisfactory tree, decorating it with strings of 
 snowy popcorn and tiny wax candles. When we had 
 finished we surveyed our work with great glee. 
 
 "Ain't it a beauty," cried Ruth, dancing around it. 
 " What will the boys think of it, I wonder?" meaning 
 Jack and Charlie. I have no doubt in her secret heart 
 she hoped that Charlie at least would be pleased. 
 
 Sarah ran for Mrs. Norton. She could not feel 
 wholly satisfied until her mother had seen and approved 
 
40 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 of the tree. The party was to be a young people's 
 party, but there was to be a few older ones present. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Underwood were invited; so also were 
 Aunt Beckey Brown and my mother. 
 
 The evening before Christmas Charlie came home. 
 We noticed a change in him. Indeed, Sarah and I dis- 
 cussed the matter gravely. We agreed that the change 
 was not an improvement. He had acquired quite a 
 pretentious swagger in his walk. His voice had grown 
 loud and rough. He asserted himself, too, in a 
 decidedly mannish way. However, we would not have 
 for the world hinted to his mother that we were dis- 
 satisfied with these symptoms. Her eyes followed him 
 admiringly. Once she whispered to me: " How ha*nd- 
 some he grov/s." 
 
 Christmas day dawned cold and stormy. The leafless 
 branches of the trees drooped almost to the ground with 
 their burden of snow, which was still falling thick and 
 fast, while the pine trees outside with their bunches of 
 green peeping through their white mantle, rivaled in 
 beauty the tree which stood so prim in one corner of the 
 parlor. Shortly after dinner I took my mother over and 
 ensconced her in Mrs. Norton's largest rocking-chair, 
 with a cushion beneath her and one at her back. So 
 comfortable she looked as she sat plying her knitting 
 needles, she ought to have been happy ; but my mother 
 was never happy. She simply endured life. 
 
 *T wish you a happy Christmas, Mother Tomkins," 
 said Mrs. Norton, coming in and extending her hand in 
 cordial greeting. 
 
 " You know well enough, Mary," my mother an- 
 swered, looking mournfully over her spectacles, " I 
 never take any stock in carryings on like this, but Jane 
 forced me to come. I told her, however," she con- 
 tinued, drawing out her handkerchief, *' before we 
 started, that it was no place for such as me. " By this 
 time the handkerchief had reached her eyes. Happily, 
 just then, nothing daunted by the storm, Aunt Beckey 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 4I 
 
 dfove Up to the gate. Mrs. Norton had sent her an 
 urgent invitation to come early. Jones was over. He 
 thought, no doubt, that judging from past experience, 
 there might be something in Mrs. Norton's pantry for 
 him, so he was sort of hanging around. He had cut a 
 few sticks of wood, had kept the front path clean of 
 snow, and was at the gate to meet Aunt Beckey, help- 
 ing that lady out of her wagon with a great show of 
 respect, hoping, I suppose, that she would remember 
 him with something more substantial than mere thanks. 
 
 " Eh, Jones, glad to see you makin' yerself useful," 
 observed Miss Beckey, dryly. " There's a bushel 
 o' taters in the hind end of the wagon; the're prob'ly 
 not as big as some I hev,^ but I thought I'd bring 'em 
 along fur a little Christmas gift fur yer wife." By this 
 time we were all out welcoming her. 
 
 " Well, Mary, how air yer feelHn' by this time? 
 Hearts alive! how thin ye air." Aunt Beckey caught 
 her by the shoulders, squaring her around so she could 
 get a good look at her. 
 
 " Never mind me, auntie," said Mrs. Norton, smiling. 
 " I am all right." Miss Brown shook her head. 
 
 " Aunt Beckey, you must see the Christmas tree before 
 the company comes," cried Sarah, leading the way. In 
 the evening the remainder of the invited guests arrived. 
 The Underwood family came in their big sled. Charlie 
 and Jack almost hugged each other in their delight at 
 meeting. Ruth looked very pretty in her blue cash- 
 mere dress, her light, wavy hair tied back with a ribbon 
 that matched her dress in color. Mrs. Underwood was 
 a dumpy, fleshy lady who, when walking, moved along 
 with a sort of rolling gait, her red face beaming with 
 good-nature and her tight dress bursting at the waist 
 seams. Mr. Underwood was a small, wiry individual, 
 a secondary part of his wife, to whom he was in the 
 habit of appealing with great deference. If Mrs. U. 
 corroborated what hd said, the thing was settled in his 
 mind beyond all dispute. Besides the guests I have 
 
42 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 mentioned there were a number of young people from 
 the neighborhood. The presents were now all arranged 
 on the Christmas tree, and there was nothing to do but 
 light the candles. 
 
 ** Miss Jane, light them," whispered Sarah. 
 
 I threw open the parlor door, inviting the guests to 
 enter. Ah, what a blaze of beauty. Surely it was a 
 pretty picture. The white, blue, scarlet and green, with 
 here and there a touch of gold, all glimmering in the 
 soft glow of the candles. The young people flitting 
 around, cheeks and eyes radiant with excitement. Their 
 tongues busy with jokes and repartees. 
 
 " Ah, John," said Mr. Underwood, rubbing his thin 
 hands, " these things are a good thing once in a while. 
 I like to see the young people enjoy themselves. In- 
 deed, it doesn't hurt us old 'uns to thaw up occasionally, 
 eh, wife?" Mrs. Underwood nodded approval. Her 
 husband felt that he had said the right thing. 
 
 " We'd better all be saying our prayers," said my 
 mother with a sniff behind her handkerchief 
 
 " Tut! Sister Tomkins," snapped Aunt Beckey, " I 
 hain't no kind o' patience with religion that's allers 
 weepin'. Let the young folks laugh while they can; 
 it's better for their constitutions." 
 
 The presents were now distributed. Each one had 
 been remembered by some one. Jack had been a 
 long time selecting a present for Sarah, as I afterward 
 found out. He seemed to have felt instinctively that 
 she would prefer a book to any little trinket. So he 
 finally selected a copy of poems, after much debating 
 in his mind on the subject, and some help from the 
 clerk from whom he bought it. He seemed to feel 
 very anxious as to how she would receive it. But 
 Sarah was honestly delighted with it. So Jack be- 
 trayed an unusual elevation of spirits the remainder of 
 the evening. Then there were knitted scarfs and cuffs 
 and mittens for the boys, and dainty handkerchie^^ and 
 nicknacks for the girls. There was also a pair of warm 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 43 
 
 woolen socks for Mr. Norton from his wife and a pair 
 from Aunt Beckey; an album for myself from those of the 
 young people present who were my scholars. A warm 
 shoulder shawl for my mother and one for Aunt 
 Beckey. Mr. and Mrs. Underwood, too, had remem- 
 bered each other. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " If men by tears could heal their several ills, and 
 by their weeping bring the dead to hfe, then gold 
 would be of far less price than tears. " 
 
 Thus sung the poet long before the Christian era. 
 Still we weep, and have wept over our dead without 
 avail through many centuries, each succeeding genera- 
 tion finding it no easier to give up their loved ones. A 
 cure can not be discovered for this grief. Philosophy 
 may help us to endure, rehgious faith may soften the 
 anguish, but the fact remains that there is a vacant 
 chair, a familiar voice missing, a fresh grave in the 
 church-yard. 
 
 In the spring, just as the violets were beginning to 
 peep through the cold earth, Mrs. Norton took to her 
 bed. She did not know what was the matter, but she 
 felt so weary she could no longer stay up. Sarah hung 
 over her in an agony of apprehension. Even Mr. Nor- 
 ton was alarmed. During all the seventeen years of 
 their married life his wife had never given up to be 
 sick, except when her children were born. He told 
 Jones to put old Bill into tlie wagon and go for Dr. 
 Bates. ** Then," said he, " come around for Aunt 
 Beckey and bring her at once." Turning to me he 
 added, " She will know better than any one else what 
 ought to be done." 
 
 I think he felt a twinge of uneasiness for fear the good 
 woman might bring some sharp accusations against 
 him. But she must be brought. When Jones was ready 
 
44 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 I went with him, thinking I could better tell Aunt 
 Beckey of the situation of things at the Nortons. 
 When we arrived at her gate, we saw her in the gar- 
 den, spading up some early beds. She gazed over the 
 palings at us for a moment, then hastily unpinning her 
 dress, which she had tucked up to prevent its being 
 draggled in the morning dew, she hurried down to meet 
 us, and as I saw from her expression, was fully pre- 
 pared for the sad news we had brought. Before I had 
 finished my story she was at work preparing to go back 
 with us, talking as fast as she could all the while, either 
 to herself, to Jones, or the cat, or to me. 
 
 " I told yer so, Beckey Brown," said she, as she folded 
 a second dress in her basket. *' I've seed it a comin'," 
 adding a fresh gingham apron to the dresses. " John 
 Norton's a fool, an' I'll tell him so, too. Good gra- 
 cious, Mr. Jones, look at yer dirty feet a leavin' tracks 
 all over, and, as I live, you've gone an' spit your ter- 
 bacar juice on that floor, an' it jest scrubbed this 
 mornin'. Now I've got to clean it afore I can go," 
 and she flourished the broom in such close proximity 
 to Jones that tliat individual was glad to retreat to the 
 yard. " Oh, Jane," said she, still tragically flourishing 
 the broom, " I've been a dreadin' this moment for a 
 year an' more. I've begged the Lord to put it off, but 
 he knoes best, an' its here." 
 
 Aunt Beckey's tears rolled down her nose, mingling 
 with the water on the floor she was scrubbing. After 
 taking tender leave of her dog and. cat she announced 
 that she was ready. Notwithstanding her hurry she 
 had not forgotten to put up a jug of milk and a poke 
 of cornmeal for Jones' family. She said she would 
 *' run across lots to Parker's to get Nancy to milk the 
 cow and look after things while she was gone," instruct- 
 ing us to wait for her in the road at the foot of the 
 hill. 
 
 Mr. Norton took the promised rating from Miss 
 Srown with unusual meekness, for he was too anxious 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 45 
 
 about his wife — too thankful that Aunt Beckey was 
 there — to dispute the charges she made against him. 
 After the first storm was over she was as tender of 
 " John's " welfare as of any of the family. 
 
 There were many days of suffering. Then the 
 mother lay dead. Her eyes had wandered lovingly 
 from one to another of the dear faces that gathered 
 around her in her last moments, but they rested longest 
 upon Sarah — the strongest tie that bound her to earth 
 — her sensitive, tender-hearted child, whom no one 
 understood, or could soothe or comfort so v/ell as she 
 who gave her birth. 
 
 But now all was over ; the neighbors had taken pos- 
 session of the house to prepare for the funeral. Aunt 
 Beckey 's grief was great and sincere, but she wiped 
 the tears away with one hand while she worked with 
 the other. I ensconced myself in a corner of the 
 kitchen, too heavy-hearted to wish to talk or be talked 
 to. I was arranging some mourning for Sarah ; Aunt 
 Beckey was there busy at work. 
 
 " Janb," said she, " I was jest a sayin' to myself, says 
 I, * Becky Brown, the dinner to-morrer shall be pre- 
 cisely sech a one as Mary herself would have ef she 
 could be here,' poor soul. Lord, what a disappointin', 
 raspin, world this is!" Then she fell to crying harder 
 than ever. And I am not sure but her tears helped to 
 salt the pie crust she was making. *' Well, Jones," 
 turning to that person, who had just made his appear- 
 ance in the doorv/ay. 
 
 " A — a drefful loss this. Miss Brown, daon't yeh 
 think ?" stammered he, somewhat taken aback by her 
 sharp tones. 
 
 " Its well for j/ou to say so, Jones. It'll be some time 
 afore ye'll meet with another that'll be as good to you — 
 a helpin' you without askin' whether you desarved it or 
 no." 
 
 " I knaow, I knaow," said Jones, hastily, " n' that's 
 what I come to say." 
 
46 Sarah's choice 
 
 " No doubt that's what yer here fur, Jones," inter- 
 rupted Aunt Beckey, dryly. " But you make yerself 
 useful and I'll see that you get something fur it. I want 
 the front yard cleaned. Rake it all off, then sweep it 
 clean es this here floor." 
 
 Jones disappeared, glad to get away, for though 
 he loved ease, it was not much of an object to him when 
 coupled with Aunt Beckey's company and unpleasant 
 remarks. 
 
 Mrs. Pratt entered, trim, neat and placid as usual. 
 " I have come for the day, Miss Brown," said she, 
 untying her bonnet strings. " I said to myself there 
 will be a great deal to do, Mrs. Norton having been 
 poorly so long, because Sarah doesn't know much 
 about housekeeping, and the v/ork wouldn't be kept 
 along. Just between you and I, Miss Brown, I don't 
 think it right to raise a girl thatv/ay." Mrs. Pratt had 
 on several occasions caught Sarah with a book in her 
 hands. " I have said to Mrs. Norton, says I, ' there 
 will come a time when Sarah will have to know how to 
 keep house, so she ought to be taught these things as 
 she grows up; she could then take so much care off 
 your hands.* But Mrs. Norton, poor woman, was 
 always too easy with her children." 
 
 " It's not for us as hasn't any children, Mrs. Pratt, 
 to say what should be done with 'em, nor what should 
 n't. Nor it's not for us to sit in jedgment on that 
 dear soul as lies in the room yonder, who is an angel 
 in Heaven this blessed minit, if anybody is," and 
 Aunt Beckey flounced out of the kitchen into the 
 open air to recover her equanimity, for she could not 
 stand calmly by while a member of the Norton family 
 was being criticised. 
 
 Mary Norton had been like an own daughter to her. 
 If she saw fit to give her, or some one of her family, 
 advice, on any subject, she went straight to them and 
 dehvered it; but before others their characters were 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 47 
 
 sacred. But Mrs. Pratt was not in the least discon- 
 certed. 
 
 " I shan't be put out by a finicy old maid," she said 
 to me. By this time she had rolled up her bonnet 
 strings, pinning them carefully, and laid the bonnet on a 
 closet shelf. She then proceeded to examine the pastry 
 and to taste the seed cakes. When Miss Brown returned 
 she found her sniffing at the fresh leg of veal a neighbor 
 had brought in, to make sure that it was sweet. Dis- 
 gusted, I left the kitchen, and crossing the hall timidly, 
 laid my hand on the knob of the door leading into the 
 parlor. Impelled by a fascination I could not resist, I 
 went in, but avoided looking toward the corner where, 
 on her hard bed, lay all that was left of my friend. 
 What a strange dread and superstition seizes upon us 
 when in the presence of the dead. We walk on tiptoe, 
 holding our breath with fear-stricken faces. I slipped 
 into a chair by the window, where the rose-bush grew 
 that she had planted. Everything I saw reminded me of 
 her. I laid my head on the window-sill and wept. 
 
 Sarah had been wandering from place to place me- 
 chanically, not knowing what she did. Her faculties 
 seemed benumbed. Some of the neighbors had admin- 
 istered consolation to her with well-meant kindness, 
 but she scarcely heard them. They had quoted Scrip- 
 ture to her by the hour, urging upon her the necessity 
 of reconciling one's self to the inevitable. The hand of 
 the Lord was in it. His people must meekly submit, 
 and kiss the hand that smites. Then, with a flourish of 
 their handkerchiefs, they had wiped away their tears, 
 and — their sorrow. But nothing could comfort Sarah; 
 her grief was too deep, too new. While I sat weeping 
 by the window she came into the room. She did not 
 see me, but creeping timidly to where the dead mother 
 lay, she scanned eagerly and imploringly the white, set 
 face, as if hoping it might all prove a wretched delu- 
 sion, and she stroked the poor, still hands, but there 
 was no answering look from the face, no caress from 
 
48 Sarah's choice 
 
 the hands that never refused to caress her before. In 
 tearless agony she rushed out. I followed her to the 
 old haunt by the ravine, where she threw herself face 
 downward upon the grass. I lifted her head to my lap, 
 smoothing the tangled hair from her feverish cheeks. 
 Then the pent-up anguish broke forth. I knew it was 
 best to let her alone. Finally, exhausted, she sat up, 
 looking vacantly out before her. There was a new ex- 
 pression on her face. In these few hours she had 
 grown older. She had received a wound that vv^ould 
 heal in time, but the scar would remain forever. 
 
 Tabby came and rubbed softly against her, the while 
 looking up into Sarah's face, with mild, beseeching 
 eyes, asking in her dumb way v/hy she was not noticed, 
 wholly unconscious of any cause for misery in the fam- 
 ily in which she had lived so long. I remember wonder- 
 ing in a vague sort of way if it was not a good thing 
 after all to be a cat. Just then there was a commotion 
 in the house ; a sister of Mr. Norton's, from another 
 county, had arrived, and we were called in. 
 
 Mr. Norton had gone out on the farm to be alone 
 with his sorrow, for sorrow it was, the greatest that he 
 had ever experienced ; and with it, I think, a feeHng 
 akin to remorse; a picture of his wife's tenderness and 
 untiring devotion haunted him, an awakened perception 
 of the fact that he had not been mindful enough of her 
 comfort, added bitterness to his bereavement. But Mr. 
 Norton was very reticent and I could only guess at his 
 thoughts and feelings. Charlie had gone off to the 
 woods. He, too, wanted to be alone. I had talked with 
 him in the morning ; he felt the loss of his mother 
 keenly. He wondered, now that she was dead, why 
 he had not been more thoughtful of her when she was 
 living ; his heart smote him when he remembered how 
 often he had wounded her through his thoughtlessness. 
 If she could only come back, he felt he would devote 
 his whole life to her. How many of us have had the 
 same feelings, when a friend or neighbor is laid away 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 49 
 
 under the sod. When they have slipped from our 
 reach forever, we suddenly awaken to the fact that we 
 were often unkind, even cruel in our treatment of them, 
 and we are seized with remorse and an intense longing 
 to make amends. 
 
 The day set for the funeral came. The neighbors 
 flocked in, for gentle Mary Norton had been well liked, 
 and they remembered now, if they had not thought 
 much about it before, that during the many years she 
 had resided in their midst her conduct had been above 
 reproach in every respect. There was a bustle of 
 preparation, then all was quiet, and the pastor coming 
 forward spoke feehngly of the virtues of the departed, 
 holding up her life of piety as one worthy of imitation. 
 Then we all followed the hearse with its burden over 
 the hill to the village churchyard. They lowered the 
 coffin into the grave; then followed the hollow rattle of 
 the earth upon the lid. I felt like shrieking. Every 
 shovelful seemed to strike my heart. Some one 
 clutched my arm and with a sharp cry fell to the ground 
 at my feet. It was Sarah. We gathered her up ten- 
 derly and carried her back to the desolate home. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Poor child," said Aunt Beckey tenderly, tucking 
 the quilt around Sarah, who had finally fallen asleep 
 through the combined influences of the different potions 
 Aunt Beckey had been dosing her with. " Ef she 
 sleeps till mornin' mayhappen she'll 'scape a sick spell. 
 'Twouldn't take much I'm a thinkin' to lay her aside her 
 mother. Lord, I hope and pray I mayn't hear enny 
 more knocks on my door till they knocks fur me." 
 
 " Knocks on your door, Aunt Beckey ?" I asked in 
 surprise. ''What do you mean ?" 
 Sarah* s Choice /f. 
 
50 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " Jane, our family allers liez a warnin' afore a death," 
 she answered gravely. " The warnin' is three knocks on 
 the chamber door. My father has told me how his 
 father an' his grandfather heerd 'em, and just afore 
 mother tuck down with her last sickness, father says to 
 me one mornin', 'Beckey, there's trouble comin'. 'Why?' 
 says I. *I heerd the three knocks on my door las' 
 night,' says he. Then we watched an' waited. When 
 mother tuck sick we knoeditwas theend. Jist so when 
 father died. I heerd 'em distinct as could be. An' the 
 night afore you an' Jones came after me, there came 
 tap, tap, tap, slow and solemn like, right in the middle 
 o' the night on my bedroom door. Seemed as ef I was 
 sound asleep, but suddenly sprung wdde awake jest in 
 time to hear 'em. The first person I thought of wuz 
 Mary, so I knoed 'twas her they wanted. Land o' 
 Goshen!" she gasped, " what's that ?" 
 
 There was a tap on the door. I was so frightened 
 I almost fell off my chair. But the door opened and 
 Mr. Norton entered. 
 
 " How is Sarah," he asked anxiously. 
 
 " She's sound asleep," answered Aunt Beckey, " I'm a 
 thinkin' she'll be all right now," and once more she 
 patted the bed clothes affectionately and peered kindly 
 into the face of the sleeping girl. 
 
 " Why Jane," exclaimed Mr. Norton noticing me as 
 I sat glaring at him with the cold perspiration standing 
 out on my face. " What's the matter? you've been over- 
 doing yourself," he went on not waiting for an answer, 
 " you go right home and get to bed." 
 
 I arose mechanically and followed him down-stairs. 
 He told Charlie to go with me to my gate. Indeed I 
 could not have gone alone. Spectres were stalking 
 every where, dim forms pursued me, rushed before me, 
 waved their ghostly arms over me. When we reached 
 the gate my teeth were chattering as if in an ague fit. 
 
 " Jane," said Charlie as he was about to leave me, 
 " if you don't look out you'll be sick." 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 
 
 51 
 
 " Come on Charlie, clear to the door," I urged, pull- 
 ing him along. 
 
 " What's the matter," he asked, but I could not ex- 
 plain. My mother met me at the door and helped me 
 to bed, my nervous system had received a shock from 
 which I did not readily recover. I kept my bed for 
 several days. When I did get up my first thought was 
 of Sarah, I must see her. 
 
 I found her but the ghost of her former self, going 
 about restlessly from place to place as if impelled 
 through some hidden power to keep in motion. She 
 complained that everything seemed changed. The sun- 
 shine was less bright, even the flowers had lost some of 
 their color and fragrance. She had tried to interest 
 herself, she told me, in planning the garden plots, but 
 I knew from the quivering lips and unfinished explana- 
 tion that harrowing thoughts of her mother, whose 
 special work this had always been, had driven her away. 
 Together we went down to the goose pasture and seated 
 ourselves on the green sward to watch the geese as 
 they floated around on the pond. But to Sarah, they 
 had never looked so dirty or the water so filthy.' The 
 flock of goslings that had been her delight a few weeks 
 ago had changed their yellow down for pin feathers. 
 
 " Ugly little things! " commented Sarah. 
 
 We turned avv^ay. Arm in arm we wandered to the 
 woods. There the breezes moving gently among the 
 leaves, the soft swish of the water against the stones in 
 the little stream at our feet made soothing music. Under 
 its influence some of the bitterness in Sarah's heart 
 was dispelled. Long we talked of the dear lost mother, 
 trying to picture her as entered upon that new life rest- 
 ing from all the wearisome struggles of the world. Tears 
 flowed freely; but they were refreshing tears, cooling 
 the parched soul, as the summer shower freshens the 
 scorched earth. 
 
 When we returned to the house in the evening, Sarah 
 was more cheerful. Aunt Beckey was delighted. 
 
52 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " She's been a mopin' around so, I hadn't the heart 
 to leave her. But I guess she'll be all right now, an' I 
 must be lookin' arter things at home. Ann Duncan is 
 comin' in the mornin' — you know the Duncans in the 
 holler. Well, John has hired Ann, an' you must look 
 arter them as much as you kin, Jane. Don't let Sarah 
 fret alone. Its the worst thing in the world. So long 
 as a body kin air their troubles, they won't kill, but ef 
 they're bottled up tight in the heart, they gnaws and 
 cankers like, an' then there's the mischief to pay." 
 
 So after Aunt Beckey had initiated the new girl into 
 the ways of the house, Jones took her home to her pets 
 that she had neglected so long. Charlie was to go back 
 to school in a few days. He was going rather willingly. 
 The atmosphere of his home seemed very heavy. His 
 father was more grave than usual. Sarah's pale, 
 troubled face made him uncomfortable. His own 
 spirits were depressed. He wanted a change. I was 
 not teaching this summer, so I spent a great deal of my 
 time at the Nortons. Jack and Ruth came over to see 
 Charlie before he went away. It was their first visit 
 since the death of Mrs. Norton; out of respect for their 
 great sorrow they had kept aloof from the bereaved 
 family. The visit was a constrained one. Charlie was 
 moody, and banged the door when he came in or went 
 out, or sat with his hat pulled over his eyes. Jack 
 only dared look the sympathy he felt for Sarah. I 
 knew he longed to say something to comfort her, but 
 somehow the words always stuck in his throat. 
 
 " Shall you go to Sabbath school next Sunday, 
 Sarah?" he finally managed to get out. 
 
 Sarah started as if she had been dreaming, and 
 answered : " No — that is, I don't know. " She re- 
 lapsed again into silence. 
 
 " The lesson is the 22nd chapter of Luke," he sug- 
 gested timidly. 
 
 " Yes," she said absently, her eyes were looking 
 straight out of the window in the direction of the village 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 53 
 
 churchyard, and it was plain that her thoughts were 
 there too. 
 
 Ruth sat with a half frightened expression on her 
 face, glancing furtively now and then toward the corner 
 of the room, where a few days before she had seen that 
 white-shrouded figure lying, as if she was afraid that 
 in some inexphcable manner it might assume shape 
 again. When they arose to go Jack looked disap- 
 pointed and unhappy. 
 
 However, in time youth triumphed. Sarah's cheeks 
 began to take on more color, and her step resumed 
 some of its former elasticity. The scene of her mother's 
 death became less vivid, and her mother a sweet memory. 
 Farmer Norton prepared his ground just as carefully ; 
 he sowed and reaped his grain with as much precision 
 as he had done of yore ; his farm smiled all over with 
 prosperity this year, as it had done in the past eighteen. 
 Did he miss the gentle wife sleeping so quietly just 
 over the hill? If he did he made no sign. He had 
 worked harder this year than usual ; he and Jones had 
 toiled early and late, much to Jones' discomfort, and 
 good crops had rewarded them. 
 
 Charlie's vacation had come and gone. The Autumn, 
 with its red and gold leaves deepening into brown, then 
 later on shriveling up and falling, with its wheat seed- 
 ing, its corn husking, and wood hauling, was past. 
 
 During these months Aunt Beckey had made fre- 
 quent visits to the Norton's, advising Sarah, looking 
 after Mr. Norton's wardrobe and directing the girl. 
 " Itscurus," she said during one of these visits, " what 
 a do-less set these hired help air; unless there's some- 
 body to trot around after 'em, there won't be a thing 
 done right. 'Pears as ef they don't know beans about 
 managing. Ef you'd let 'em alone they'd git things in 
 sech a tangle they couldn't be unraveled in a month. 
 The trouble is they takes no interest in things. But," 
 she added, charitably, " you can't ^ expect 'em to take 
 an interest in what isn't their own." 
 
54 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 Mrs. Pratt, too, very kindly looked after the wel- 
 fare of the family. She came over and personally 
 superintended the soap making. She tried to be very 
 agreeeable, growing quite merry over Sarah's and my 
 inefficiencies in housekeeping. But we did not like her 
 well enough to enjoy her jokes. One day, while on 
 some benevolent errand, meeting Mr. Norton in the 
 front yard, she made some feeling remarks to him about 
 his loneliness. She herself, she said, had experienced 
 sad changes. Then she pressed her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. 
 
 "As though there could h^ any tears in those eyes," 
 I said to myself as I watched her from my seat on the 
 porch. During the summer the family received many 
 delicacies for the table prepared by her hands. When 
 winter came on she offered to knot some comforts for 
 them. Mrs. Pratt knew the exact condition of the 
 household affairs at the Nortons. In the early summer 
 she had counted the blankets and folded them away, 
 scented with camphor to protect them from the ravages 
 of the moths. She had assorted the table linen, telling 
 the girl what to use week days, on Sundays, or for 
 company. She had also assisted in filling the fruit jars, 
 wrapping them carefully in paper to exclude the light. 
 
 " Somebody has got to look after these things, so 
 why shouldn't I?" she said to me. " Sarah is no good 
 about the house and" — with a sudden burst of feeling — 
 " the family shan't suffer from neglect if I can help it; 
 'twouldn't be Christian-like to let 'em." 
 
 "But," I protested, " I understand all about these 
 things, and Aunt Beckey particularly requested me to 
 look after them." 
 
 "You? Well now, Jane, that's good." Mrs. Pratt 
 put down the jar she was holding and came nearer, 
 looking me straight in the face — there was something 
 so repellant in the expression of her cold blue eyes — 
 " Jane, let me tell you; folks will talk if you are around 
 here very much — a girl like you, not overly young any 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 55 
 
 more. It'll be said you're setting your cap for Mr. 
 Norton. Not, of course, that I believe anything of the 
 kind, but people will have their say, you know. You 
 needn't get angry about it," she added, retreating, "for 
 what I've said is for your own good. " 
 
 " Your motives are no doubt perfectly pure and 
 unselfish," I answered bitterly, and walked out of the 
 room, leaving Mrs. Pratt to finish her self-imposed 
 duties alone. If I had disliked her before I hated her 
 now. I felt that I could never willingly speak to her 
 again. 
 
 I opened the winter term of school. Jack, Ruth and 
 Sarah were again among my pupils. I realized that 
 this would probably be their last term at the district 
 school. Jack was getting to be quite a young man, 
 while Sarah and Ruth were putting on young lady 
 manners and gowns. 
 
 During the holidays CharHe came home. But there 
 was no Christmas party; no Christmas tree at the Nor- 
 tons' this year. Charlie declared it was awfully " slow." 
 His father told him he better try to think of something 
 besides fun. Then Charley sulked, and went off to the 
 Underwoods. 
 
 The snow and ice finally disappeared under the influ- 
 ence of the warm sun. The songs of the robins awak- 
 ened us in the morning, while the sound of Jones' voice 
 at his plowing greeted us the livelong day. Sarah and 
 I raked the sod clean that covered the grave of Mrs. 
 Norton. We put fresh soil around the pinks at the 
 head and pruned the rosebush at the foot. We had 
 rubbed off the white marble stone dozens of times to 
 make sure that there was not a speck of mildew on it. 
 We had read over and over the inscription: " Asleep in 
 Jesus," Sarah repeating the words caressingly, as if 
 they comforted her. " Papa must come next Sunday 
 to see how nicely we have fixed it up," said she. " It's 
 just a year, Jane, since the awful day we laid Mamma 
 here. To think we have done without her a whole 
 
5^ Sarah's choice 
 
 year! Yet," she added, reflectively, " the world goes 
 on just the same." 
 
 The very next day, while sewing with my mother, a 
 neighbor came in with most startling news. " Mr. Nor- 
 ton," she said, " was about to take to himself a new 
 wife in the person of Mrs. Pratt. " 
 j' Impossible! " I stoutly declared. 
 " But it has come straight," said the neighbor. " Mrs. 
 Blake's a sister of Mrs. Pratt, an' she told Mrs. Smith 
 she was invited to be present at the marriage." 
 
 That evening, late, Sarah came in. I knew the 
 moment I saw her face that the story was true. Too 
 miserable to say anything, she laid hter head in my lap, 
 weeping. I gathered from her that her father was to be 
 married the following day, and would bring his wife 
 home immediately. 
 
 What could he be thinking about, I v/ondered, as I 
 leaned faint against the window frame. A man of his 
 sense to give his children such a mother, to take to 
 himself such a wife. What could have possessed him? 
 By what witchery did she accomplish it? But I must 
 hide my tears, my secret. It must have been her 
 property; no woman will ever believe in the personal 
 attractions of another of her sex. He wanted to join 
 the farms; and I laughed hysterically. Sarah looked up 
 reproachfully. 
 
 You may just as well laugh, too," I said. " If they 
 have made up their minds to marry, our tears will not 
 prevent them, though we shed them by the gallon." 
 
 When it became fully known that Mr. Norton had 
 married Mrs. Pratt the whole neighborhood was up in 
 arms Their indignation arose, no doubt, partially from 
 the fact that Mrs. Pratt was not a favorite with her 
 neighbors; they felt the marriage an insult to the 
 dead wife whom they had loved; at least they knew 
 now that they had loved her very much; and partially 
 from the fact that they h?d not been consulted in the 
 matter. The courtship had been conducted so slyly 
 
fc)> 
 
 OR THE NORTON FAMILY 57 
 
 they had not even suspected what was going on. So 
 that many unkind remarks, such as, " What a shame 
 an' her not cold in her grave," accompanied by a ges 
 ture toward the village graveyard; "deceitful thing 
 shouldn't wonder li she did all the courtin','' floated on 
 the air the mild May morning the news was handed 
 round. 
 
 " What d.0 yoiL think about it, Miss Jane?" asked one 
 of the neighbors who had dropped in to talk it over. 
 
 " Mr. Norton undoubtedly had a right to choose for 
 himself," I replied, steadily, but keeping my eyes on 
 my work. 
 
 " Shall you go in soon? " 
 
 " I expect I shall." I then slipped off to my room. 
 Burying my face in my pillow, I cursed my fate. 
 Call? Yes! every maligner of us would call, and that 
 right soon; I, because I must feign indifference, the rest, 
 through curiosity. 
 
 Not until the third day after the v/edding did we 
 hear from Aunt Beckey. On the morning of that day, 
 which was Saturday, happening to look out of my win- 
 dow, I saw a figure in a calico gov/n and slat sunbonnet, 
 tying a horse to the hitching-post across the road. 
 
 " It is Aunt Beckey!" I exclaimed joyfully. When she 
 had finished, instead of going into Mr. Norton's, she 
 turned toward our cottage. I ran to the door. Throw- 
 ing it Avide open, I was soon in her arms. We wept 
 together; she for Mary, I, for myself. 
 
 " As soon as I heard it," she said, after having 
 recovered herself a little, " I says to myself, * Beckey 
 Brown, you've got to go right over there, much as you 
 dislike it; for,' says I, * Mary, I'll not forsake yer 
 children. That woman's got no more heart 'n a lobster.' 
 But one dursn't to say a word. 'Twouldn't do any good 
 now, ef one darst. I cum past Mary's grave on my 
 way over. Everything seemed so peaceful-like, with 
 the birds chirrupin' softly. Said I, * I'm glad she sleeps 
 
58 Sarah's choice 
 
 so well 'n so soun'.* Jane, put on yer bonnet, an' we'll 
 go over together. " 
 
 When we presented ourselves at John Norton's gate, 
 Jones met us. Poor soul! If Gabriel's trumpet had 
 sounded the last call, he could not have looked more 
 bewildered and disconsolate, for well he knew it was all 
 up with him at the Norton's. He had been living 
 sumptuously during the last year. Sarah had supplied 
 his wants more liberally and with less judgment than 
 her mother had. Jones spoke in husky tones as he 
 answered Miss Brown's question as to whether the 
 bridal pair were at home, in the affirmative. His agita- 
 tion was far greater than it had been on the day the 
 first Mrs. Norton was laid in her grave. With reason, 
 too, for already the second Mrs. Norton — as I afterward 
 learned — had intimated to him that she thought him a 
 shiftless, lazy person, whose bad habits would bring him 
 to the alms-house. 
 
 The bride met us with her usual self-possession. Her 
 face wore the same cold expression. But could it be 
 possible there was triumph shining in -her eyes when- 
 ever they encountered mine? The customary congratu- 
 lations were spoken; then Sarah was sent for. Poor girl. 
 The struggle that was going on in her was written on her 
 sensitive face. Alas! her stepmother could read it as 
 well as we. She had not dreamed of her father bring- 
 ing her another mother; in fact it had not occurred to 
 her that such a thing could happen. Nov/ that he had 
 actually done it, she was almost prostrated with despair. 
 She felt that the memory of her dead mother had been 
 outraged. For her place to have been filled by any 
 woman would have caused her pain; but to be filled by 
 this wotnaii was monstrous. She seemed at first inclined 
 to throw herself bodily into Aunt Beckey's arms, but 
 something — I think it was a look from her step- 
 mother — deterred her, so she shook hands with us, 
 then ended up with bursting into tears and running out 
 of the room. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 59 
 
 " It's most nateral, you know," said Aunt Beckey, 
 apologetically. 
 
 " She is a strange girl," answered Mrs. Norton, her 
 brows contracting ominously. 
 
 But the subject was dropped. Soon our hostess 
 was taking us over the house, explaining where she 
 was going to make changes; how things were in a fear- 
 ful condition, " which was to be expected considering 
 the circumstances," she added magnanimously; how 
 she should dismiss the help as soon as the spring clean- 
 ing was done, and she should make a new rag carpet 
 for the kitchen, making a sitting-room of it, and ban- 
 ishing the cooking-stove to the back porch, which she 
 would have enclosed, converting it into a summer 
 kitchen. The parlor carpet should be thoroughly 
 cleaned, the windows covered with close paper blinds 
 to keep the flies and the sunshine out, and the room 
 shut up, with various other bits of information which 
 we were supposed to relish. The second Mrs. Norton 
 looked almost youthful as she warmed up to some- 
 thing like enthusiasm over her new prospects. 
 
 Aunt Beckey whispered to me, " she'd mebbe bin 
 too fast when she spoke agin her; she hoped to the 
 land she had." 
 
 Sarah was present at the dinner-table. She had re- 
 covered her spirits somewhat. Mr. Norton smiled 
 grimly at Miss Brown's pleasantries; dishes were 
 praised, which caused the new mistress to beam 
 graciously upon us all, so encouraging poor Jones that 
 he handed up his plate to be helped the second time, 
 feigning not to see that lady's astonishment. This 
 might be his last chance to get a full meal. 
 
 After dinner Aunt Beckey took Sarah out for a walk, 
 ostensibly to look at the garden and the spring calves, 
 but in reality to have a good talk with her. ^ Of course I 
 went with them. Aunt Beckey tried to reconcile Sarah 
 to her new life, advising her to be patient — all would 
 come right; even in her anxiety to comfort, pointing out 
 
6o 
 
 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 in the stepmother some virtues which, away down in 
 her heart, she must have known that person did not 
 possess, and bolstering up excuses for the father that he 
 did not deserve. To all of which Sarah answered some- 
 times impatiently, sometimes sadly; at one time upset- 
 ting Aunt Beckey's composure entirely by saying she 
 wished she was lying over yonder by the side of her 
 mother. She vv^as honest in her wish. Just then life 
 looked blank enough to her. She seemed to feel in- 
 stinctively that her stepmother disliked her. She knew 
 she despised her stepmother. Not that Sarah was a 
 vindictive, stubborn, unlovely girl, (as her stepmother 
 afterward asserted,) but there was really nothing in the 
 character of the above-mentioned person to justify 
 Sarah in loving her. It would have been impossible 
 for the majority of young girls, placed in the same 
 situation that Sarah was, to have felt the keen anguish 
 that she did. They would have rebelled, would have 
 quarreled, fought, deceived and gloried in it. But 
 something in Sarah's soul revolted from such a life; the 
 degradation of it crushed her. 
 
 When we returned to the house Mrs. Norton eyed 
 us with suspicion. Evidently she had not liked our 
 long stay. Aunt Beckey left early in the day. 
 
 " I'll happen in often," she said, sweetly, to Mrs. 
 Norton at parting. " I'm used to comin' here, and 
 you know," she added facetiously, " old habits is hard 
 to break." She avoided looking at Mrs. Norton when 
 she said this. She simply did not want to see the 
 gleam of distrust in that person's eyes. She knew it 
 was there. 
 
 " John, let Sarah cum over an' stay with me some- 
 times. I'm ofin lonely. Now, I'll jest run home with 
 Jane a minit to say good-bye to her mother, an' Jones 
 can hev my wagin' ready. " 
 
 ** Jane," said she, a little later, " you keep a watch on 
 Sarah. If things don't go right, jest let me know. Ef 
 that woman teches Mary's child I'll tech her in sech a 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 6 1 
 
 way as she won't want to be handled," and Aunt 
 Beckey's eyes snapped fire. " Now that woman '11 
 make John Norton hoe the rows or my name isn't 
 Beckey Brown, whilst poor Mary dasn't hardly to say 
 anything was her own. Well, 'pears as If some people 
 gits their punishment in this world. Ef John doesn't 
 git his and more, too, jest tell me." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Jane Tompkins, I would have you understand 
 that 1 don't want you to come coaxing Sarah off* of 
 nights. She shall not while she is under my protec- 
 tion go traipesing over the country of nights. If her 
 past training has been neglected I shall see to it in the 
 future. I'll see that she is brought up into a respect- 
 able woman." 
 
 " Her mother was considered a respectable woman," 
 I said, sarcastically. 
 
 " I'm not a saying a word against her mother except 
 she was too easy when it come to training children. " 
 There was a red spot in either of Mrs. Norton's 
 cheeks. 
 
 I had called to ask her to let Sarah go with me to 
 the spelling school that was to close my summer term. 
 My anxiety for her company made me importunate. I 
 grew bold in my pleadings. 
 
 " But, Mrs. Norton, you make Sarah very unhappy 
 by keeping her so close at home. She needs some 
 recreation. How can you expect any good to come 
 of such a course of treatment?" 
 
 " Jane," she answered, " you know I will not be 
 dictated to. I shall do my duty as a Christian. If 
 Sarah is unhappy, it's because of her own ingratc 
 nature." 
 
 I own I quailed, timid wretch that I was. The 
 
62 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 metallic flashes from Mrs. Norton's eyes cowed me 
 about as completely as would a pistol held at my 
 head. I retreated, but resolved to ask Mr. Norton if 
 she might go. So when hs came in from his work, I 
 made it convenient to meet him in the road in front of 
 his house. 
 
 " Mr. Norton, can Sarah go with me to the spelling 
 school, to-night? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, I reckon she may," he answered. 
 
 That was enough. " Then I will call for her," I 
 said, turning home, pleased with the thought of cir- 
 cumventing Mrs. Norton; not a laudable feeling, but 
 I was so w^orked up over the injustice done Sarah by 
 her stepmother, that I really felt justified then in using 
 any means to help her. 
 
 A little later in the evening, when I stepped up on 
 Mr. Norton's porch, I heard loud talking. There was 
 trouble, and I was at the bottom of it. I felt glad that 
 I was at the bottom of it. I was depraved enough for 
 that. To have put a little bitterness in the second 
 Mrs. Norton's cup, I am afraid, afforded me genuine 
 enjoyment. I am not sure, either, as I look back to 
 that period of my life now, that I can say truthfully 
 that Sarah's wrongs were the sole prompters in my 
 heart. I tapped on the door; Sarah opened it, then 
 stood embarrassed. 
 
 Mr. Norton spoke up quickly, " Sarah get your 
 things on; don't keep Miss Jane waiting." 
 
 Mrs. Norton left the room, shutting the door with a 
 bang. John Norton had asserted himself. 
 
 As we walked along, Sarah said, " After all, Jane, I 
 don't think I ought to have gone. " 
 
 Now that the " flush of victory" was subsiding in me 
 a little, I also was having some misgivings in regard to 
 the part I had been acting. I began to feel that pos- 
 sibly instead of helping Sarah I might be making mat- 
 ters worse for her. That Mrs. Norton, in spite of the 
 fact that she was always actuated by Christian impulses, 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 63 
 
 would have her revenge was not to be doubted. How- 
 ever there was nothing to be done now but go on to 
 the spelHng. When we reached the school-house we 
 found quite a little crowd gathered. All ages, from 
 young children to grown men and women, were there. 
 Even a few fathers and mothers of famihes had come 
 in. Jack and Ruth were there of course. 
 
 " I hardly dared hope you'd be here to-night, 
 Sarah," said Jack, in a low tone. 
 
 " Did you want me to come," asked Sarah, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " You know I did," he answered, petulantly. " We 
 don't have any of the good times Ave used to have, 
 Charlie being away, and we hardly ever get sight of 
 you any more." 
 
 " Charlie is coming home next week." 
 
 I tapped the bell. A lull followed the chattering. 
 I called upon Jack and another boy of his size to 
 " choose up." 
 
 They took central seats together, choosing each to 
 their side in turn, until all who would spell had been 
 called. Jack's first choice was Sarah, consequently she 
 had to take the seat next to his. This was a " red let- 
 ter " occasion to Jack. If I was to get any comfort out 
 of having got Sarah to the spelling, I could take it out 
 of Jack's happiness. He had scarcely had a chance of 
 speaking to Sarah since her father's marriage. The 
 Methodist Church did not organize a Sunday school this 
 summer because of the small attendance. In fact, the 
 little church was dying. It was but a question of time 
 when it would have to give up its struggle for life. Its 
 membership was growing less every year. Not that 
 there was a lack of rehgious sentiment, in our neighbor- 
 hood, but two other denominations had sprung up in 
 our midst, and had established churches. They were 
 younger, more vigorous, and were sapping the life of 
 their mother, for the Methodist Church had been the 
 first — the only church in Waterford for many years. 
 
64 Sarah's choice 
 
 She had cradled the fathers and mothers of the mem- 
 bers of the new denominations. Her offspring affirmed 
 her day of usefulness was over. It was time for her 
 to die. 
 
 Sarah sometimes attended preaching. Jack could 
 catch glimpses of her across the church, for the male 
 portion of the congregation occupied seats on one side 
 of the house and the females on the other. So Jack 
 never got very near to Sarah inside the church. If, 
 for a moment, he found himself face to face with her 
 after the congregation had been dismissed, somehow 
 these latter days he felt so awkward and constrained, 
 he could not seem to find anything suitable to say on 
 such short notice. The consequence was he would 
 soon find himself on his way home, after having 
 exchanged with her but a few commonplace remarks. 
 
 Charlie came home the following week. He had 
 expressed his views in regard to his father's strange 
 choice of a wife quite freely in his letters to Sarah ; so 
 we expected some passages-at-arms between him and 
 his stepmother during his vacation. Shortly after his 
 return he came over to see me. What a tall, hand- 
 some youth he was growing ; but I still found fault with 
 his manners. He used many slang phrases, while he 
 tipped his chair back and talked of " us fellows." 
 Before he left he touched upon the subject of his step- 
 mother. 
 
 *' To think that my father could make such a fool of 
 himself," he said, in tones of the deepest disgust. 
 
 " Charlie, you should not speak so disrespectfully of 
 your father." 
 
 " When a man makes such a complete ass of himself 
 he is not entitled to any respect." 
 
 " Surely," thought I, " our boy gives proof of his 
 superior advantages." 
 
 I resolved to invite the Norton and Underwood 
 young people to tea while Charhe was at home. It 
 would be a little oasis in Sarah's desert. So I mus- 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 65 
 
 tered up courage to go over and lay the matter before 
 Mrs. Norton. 
 
 " So them Underwoods are to be over, are they ? " 
 she asked. " Well, I don't set much store by them. 
 I consider that boy very rude and fast, a-pushing past 
 me Sundays to speak to Sarah, without as much as 
 asking, * by your leave.' " 
 
 Poor Jack ! Nobody had ever called him fast and rude 
 before; but somehow the second Mrs. Norton had the 
 faculty of putting everybody with whom she came in 
 contact on their worst behavior. In her presence one 
 was immediately seized with a desire to do something 
 very devilish. " She was enough to damn a whole 
 neighborhood," was one of Charlie's forcible comments 
 upon her. However, she did not say but what Sarah 
 might come to my tea; so I took it for granted my 
 invitation was accepted, and went away. 
 
 On the appointed evening Jack and Ruth came; and 
 after a time Charlie. He handed me a note from 
 Sarah, in which she simply stated that she could not 
 come. I was furious. I knew perfectly well that her 
 stepmother had prevented her coming. I left my 
 guests in my little parlor and slipped across the road, 
 vowing that I would have it out with that woman, let 
 the consequences be what they might. I went around . 
 to the back door. 
 
 There, seated on the steps, paring potatoes for supper, 
 was Sarah. There were traces of tears on her cheeks. 
 She held up her hands imploringly. " Oh, Jane," she 
 said, " don't say anything; it will only make matters 
 worse. Mother has not forgiven us yet about the 
 spelling." 
 
 Her distress was so sincere I turned away baffled and 
 silenced. Our enjoyment was spoiled for the evening. 
 At least as far as Jack and myself were concerned. 
 Charlie and Ruth did not seem to take the absence of 
 Sarah so much to heart. 
 Sarah's Choice 5 
 
66 Sarah's choice 
 
 The months sHpped by. Aunt Beckey called often at 
 the Nortons' as she had promised. Sometimes she 
 found Sarah washing or scrubbing, sometimes she was 
 weeding in the garden, and again she was picking 
 berries in the patch at the back of the garden; but for 
 all that her stepmother was forever intimating that she 
 was a lazy, ill-grained thing, of whom she could make 
 nothing. She called Sarah ill-grained because she bore 
 in silence her stepmother's persecutions. These inti- 
 mations Aunt Beckey resented in language which, if 
 lacking in elegance, was at least forcible. The conse- 
 quence was that her visits at the Nortons' often ended 
 in her coming over to me in high dudgeon, and it 
 would sometimes take a great deal of vigorous fanning 
 with the slat sun-bonnet to cool her off. 
 
 " To think," she said, on one of those occasions, as 
 she sat on the edge of our back porch with her feet 
 dangling in the air, " That I'd ever a' took sech sass 
 from ennybody. Ef I'd a only been a man an' she'd a 
 bin a man I could a laid her out. An' I'd a done it, 
 too." This was the first time I had ever heard Aunt 
 Beckey express a desire to step outside her woman's 
 sphere. "Ef it wa'nt fur Mary," and her eyes uncon- 
 sciously turned toward the hill that hid the little grave- 
 yard from view, " an' Mary's children I'd never sot 
 foot in that house agin." " 'Taint no use," she 
 continued contemptuously, " appealin' to any good 
 there might be in her, 'cause there haint enny. She 
 aint got nothin' but a gizzard where her heart oughter 
 be. Jane hev you noticed John lately?" she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Not particularly," I answered. 
 
 " Well, you notice him. Ef she isn't creatin' fur 
 him a little hot place on 'arth, then I don't know," 
 and Aunt Beckey agitated her sun-bonnet in a manner 
 that indicated that she derived some satisfaction from 
 this state of affairs. It had been her candidly expressed 
 opinion from the first that John ought to be punished. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 67 
 
 r 
 
 Sarah suffered keenly under the indignities put upon 
 her by her stepmother, but was generally hopeful. 
 She was a born dreamer. It made no difference how 
 unpleasant her task, she could continue her dreaming. 
 Her stepmother could not thwart her in that. But instead 
 of looking forward to love and marriage as the panacea 
 for all her troubles, she, strange girl, dreamed only of 
 a life devoted to the amelioration of others* woes, to 
 the wiping away of others' tears, to the feeding of 
 the hungry, the lifting up of the ignorant— a life 
 which stretched away into the unfathomable future, of 
 which she herself had no definite plans. I sometimes 
 laughed scornfully at her enthusiasm. I told her the 
 world was full of woes and tears. What she could do i 
 would be but a drop in the ocean. But she was a 
 veritable " Joan" in her faith. Like the "Maid of 
 Orleans," God seemed to have spoken to her soul; 
 so she waited and hoped. But what could she do, 
 with a stepmother who would make her a drudge if 
 she could, and who would frustrate her every desire if 
 possible? 
 
 Charlie continued to come home during his vacations. 
 They were not what they had been to him in the past, 
 but it did afford him some amusement to torment Mrs. 
 Norton. Had his brain been half as fertile in the prose- 
 cution of his studies as it was in inventing ways and 
 means of circumventing and worrying his stepmother, 
 he might have become an intellectual giant. 
 
 The clotheshne sometimes came apart, accidentally, 
 of course, just as the last snowy piece of hnen was hung 
 upon it. The black turkey-hen in some unaccountable 
 way got out of her coop with her two days* old brood, 
 and when found had draggled the most of her little 
 flock to death through the wet grass. One evening the 
 spotted cow, always wild and nervous, was suddenly 
 frightened by a white handkerchief waving out from 
 behind the stable. She sprang away, kicking over the 
 bucket of milk, and throwing its contents all over Mrs. 
 
68 Sarah's choice 
 
 Norton, who was milking her. Charhe was so broken 
 up by this last exploit that he hunted Sarah up, who 
 happened to be with me, that she might help him 
 laugh. Sarah remonstrated with him. But Charlie 
 thought it perfectly proper to go to any length in his 
 laudable efforts to tease his stepmother. 
 
 " What did she ever come here for? " he growled. 
 " Nobody wanted her." 
 
 " But think of the effect upon yourself of indulging 
 in such mean little tricks." 
 
 Charlie stared at her with wide open eyes. This 
 was a view of the question he could not understand. 
 I confess I thought her scruples rather far-fetched. I 
 thank God that, through these many years of heart- 
 discipline, I am better able now to appreciate a nature 
 so refined and noble. Charlie fidgeted around, poking 
 holes in my flower-beds with his cane, for he carried a 
 cane now, and then walked off whistling to the Under- 
 woods', where he would entertain Ruth with his droll 
 account of how Mrs. Norton looked with the milk 
 dripping from her. 
 
 Mrs. Norton could make nothing off of her step- 
 son. He did not like or respect her and he made no 
 pretensions. If she complained to his father, that 
 person would not interfere, but went on his way 
 silently. 
 
 The Jones family were, if that was possible, ekeing 
 out a more starved, destitute existence' than ever 
 before. Their rags were more ragged; their dirt more 
 filthy; their hunger more pressing. Another babe had 
 come to them, but had only lingered in this uncharitable 
 world a few days, then pitying angels gathered it 
 home. Tommy had become greatly attached to his 
 baby brother during the few days of its life, and was 
 sorely grieved and mystified at its death. I wondered 
 what the poor little ragamuffin was thinking about as 
 he stood over the dead babe, bathing its face with his 
 tears. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 69 
 
 " Oh! " whispered Sarah, " if I was God, the tears 
 of that one child should raise the whole family up to 
 Heaven." 
 
 In vain Sarah appealed to her stepmother to aid 
 them. She sent the family an old, half-worn Bible, and 
 preached long dissertations to Jones on the depravity 
 of people in general, and of such as he in particular. 
 
 " It's the only course to take with them, and the only 
 way you can do them any permanent good," said she 
 to Sarah. " You've got to teach such people that their 
 own wicked shiftlessness is at the bottom of all their 
 troubles." 
 
 " But," suggested Sarah, " perhaps they are morally 
 and mentally incapable of doing better." 
 
 •'What nonsense," snarled Mrs. Norton. "They 
 know just as well as I do what's right and what's 
 wrong. If they choose to go to the bad I shall wash 
 my hands of 'em. I don't propose to encourage such 
 vices as indolence and drunkenness." 
 
 Perhaps she was right; but- while there was no 
 apparent improvement in their moral condition under 
 her mode of dispensing charity, their physical suffering 
 was increasing. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was a Christmas morning. I think, three years 
 after Mary Norton had gone to rest. The pinks and 
 the rosebush on her grave were sleeping under two feet 
 of snow, and the marble slab looked dingy in contrast 
 v/ith the pure white cap it had donned during the night. 
 The fall had been a very open one. Such warm, hazy, 
 melancholy days , that some superstitious people were get- 
 ting alarmed for fear we were going to have ^ green Christ- 
 mas, which, according to the old adage, would fatten 
 the graveyard; but fortunately it had commenced snow- 
 ing "the day before, and Christmas morning dawned as 
 
JO SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 beautiful as a maiden decked in her bridal robes. The 
 croakers felt that a great calamity had been averted. 
 
 I sat at my window anxiously watching for Aunt 
 Beckey. She had sent John Norton word that she 
 would spend Christmas with them. I had a special 
 reason for wishing she would come. Mrs. Underwood 
 had invited Charlie and Sarah and myself to spend 
 Christmas evening with them. Jack had come to me 
 the day before and, with a blush, he had asked me to 
 be sure to bring Sarah, but his eyes plead more than 
 did his lips. My only hope in fulfilling his wishes was 
 in the fact that Aunt Beckey was coming. I was afraid 
 she might not venture out on account of the deep snow, 
 so I felt greatly relieved when I spied her turning the 
 corner down the road. Throwing a shawl over my 
 head I met her as she reached the hitching-post at 
 Mr. Norton's gate. In as few words as possible I 
 told her of the plans for the evening, and asked her 
 to aid me in getting permission for Sarah to go. 
 
 ** Come over this arternoon," she said grimly, " we 
 will find some way." 
 
 As I turned home I saw a face disappear from the 
 window of the farm-house. The next moment the 
 front door was flung open and Sarah ran down the 
 path to welcome Aunt Beckey. I wondered what sort 
 of reception Mrs, Norton would give her. 
 
 I went over in the afternoon early, carrying a dish of 
 fresh-made hominy as a propitiatory offering to Mrs. 
 Norton. (My mother was noted for her lye hominy). 
 Mrs. Norton received me frigidly, but Aunt Beckey 
 and I had agreed a long time before, that for the sake 
 of the family we would pretend not to notice her chill 
 receptions. So I handed her the hominy with a 
 message from my mother, which she took, both the 
 message and the hominy, very ungraciously. Evi- 
 dently she did not like uninvited Christmas guests. 
 
 " It's funny," said Aunt Beckey, when Mrs. Norton 
 had left the room for a few minutes, " where John's 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 7 1 
 
 keepin hisself. He didn't come into dinner till we 
 were jest through. He said somethin' about some 
 logs he was gettin' out. ' Why fur the land's sakes, 
 man,' said I, ' hev you takin' to work every day an' holi- 
 days too?' But it was plain he wasn't in a jokin* 
 humor." 
 
 '* Was Jones with him ?" I asked. 
 
 " No ; an' that's what seems so strange. Do you 
 s'pose he's workin' out there with them logs all alone ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" I answered. " Logs are not the worst 
 companions in the world." 
 
 " You're right there," muttered Aunt Beckey. 
 
 " Is Charlie at home ?" I asked after a few moments. 
 
 ** No ; he's off somewhere. I'm afeard John'U 
 never get much comfort out o' that boy, an' that's what 
 comes of sendin' him off and tryin' to make a lawyer 
 uv him. He'll be neither one thing nor t'uther, now ; 
 he hasn't the stuff in him as makes lawyers, an' he'll be 
 spoiled fur a farmer. I wouldn't say this outside the 
 family, nohow tho', Jane, 'an you remember that." 
 Aunt Beckey always considered me one of the family. 
 
 Mrs. Norton returned just then. " Sarah's got a 
 headache," she remarked, as she took out her work. 
 
 Aunt Beckey and I exchanged significant glances ; 
 then we both declared it was too bad, and tried to talk 
 unconcernedly of other things. I had my suspicions. 
 So after a little time, making some excuse, I abruptly 
 left the room, going straight to the kitchen, where I 
 found Sarah, just as I expected, with work enough to 
 keep her busy until night. I snatched up a kitchen 
 apron, and tying it on me, I tucked up my sleeves and 
 commenced helping her with alarming energy. 
 
 " Sarah," I said, " if you do not go with me to Mr. 
 Underwood's to-night I will never forgive you." 
 
 " Oh, Jane, there will be trouble if I do. Mother 
 understands why you are here, and she is determined I 
 shall not go." 
 
 " Let there be trouble," I answered, hotly. " Will 
 
72 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 you allow that woman to ruin your whole life? She 
 has no right to treat you so outrageously, and you have 
 no right to give up to her. Are you going to stick at 
 home here, and slave for her always? " 
 
 " No, not always," said Sarah, slowly; " but, Jane, I 
 feel so sorry for papa. He looks so worried, I do not 
 want any trouble on his account." 
 
 " It would be better for you both if you would assert 
 yourselves," I blurted out. " The idea of letting that 
 woman make the whole family miserable is too 
 ridiculous." 
 
 The door opened, and Mr. Norton entered. 
 
 " Mr. Norton," I exclaimed, impetuously, " cannot 
 Sarah go to the party at Mr. Underwood's to-night? 
 Should she shut herself up here at home, refusing to go 
 among the neighbors when they invite her? " 
 
 Mr. Norton looked from one to the other of us in 
 surprise. I saw that Sarah, with much more delicacy 
 than I had displayed, had kept the whole matter from 
 her father, to save him annoyance. 
 
 " Have you been invited to Mr. Underwood's to- 
 night, Sarah?" he asked. How gentle his voice was. 
 
 "Yes, papa." 
 
 " Then you must go. They will not like it if you 
 do not. Never mind this work here," he continued, 
 with some impatience. " Let it go; what does it 
 matter?" 
 
 "Oh!" I answered, "we will finish the work. It 
 will only be fun if we are together. Now, Mr. Norton, 
 do go in and visit with Aunt Beckey. She is just 
 spoiling for a chat with you. " 
 
 Mr. Norton turned toward the door that led to the 
 best room, with the air of a man doing something very 
 much against his will. In a few minutes Mrs. Norton 
 came into the kitchen. We knew from the expression 
 of her face that she was angry. But Sarah scoured 
 away intently at the pot she was cleaning, while I 
 polished off the china cup I was wiping, holding it up 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 73 
 
 between me and the light to note its transparency, 
 meanwhile trying to look exceedingly innocent. 
 
 " Well, really," she said, sarcastically, " some people 
 can take Hberties in other people's houses." I replied, 
 still very much occupied with the cup, *' that I thought 
 I would help Sarah finish her work, if her head ached." 
 — I suspect that was the first intimation Sarah had of 
 her headache — " I do think, Mrs. Norton, that this is 
 the loveliest china. It is wonderful how you have kept it 
 too ; every piece perfect yet; I have a weakness for 
 pretty china, and I never saw any so handsome as 
 this." It was a set of cups and saucers that Mrs. 
 Norton had brought from her own home. She was very 
 proud of them, so I had disarmed her anger, for a time 
 at least. 
 
 It was six o'clock when Sarah entered the room, 
 ready for the party. Poor girl, she had nothing very 
 fine to dress in ; but even in her brown merino, wdth a 
 scarlet ribbon at her throat, she appeared well dressed, 
 and every inch a lady. Mrs. Norton flamed up angry 
 again. 
 
 " Well," she said, " what does this mean ?" 
 
 We all sat for a moment looking at each other. 
 Then Mr. Norton spoke : " I told Sarah she must 
 go to the party to-night ; that they wouldn't like it if 
 she didn't. People are sensitive about such things." 
 
 " Why, surely," said Aunt Beckey, examining Sarah 
 critically through her spectacles, " so your invited 
 out child? Why yes, let her go, Nancy." It was the 
 only time I had ever heard Aunt Beckey call the second 
 Mrs. Norton by her given name. She had said she 
 couldn't for her life do it. "It's jest the thing fur her. 
 Why, that's a purty gown you hev on, Sarah." 
 
 Verily, I thought to myself, if Mrs. Norton lives 
 long enough. Aunt Beckey and I w^ill become adepts 
 at deceit. 
 
 Mrs. Norton seemed unable to find anything to say. 
 Charlie had come in and was dressing. As soon as he 
 
74 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 was ready, we started for Mr. Underwood's. While I 
 was putting on my wraps in the bedroom, Mrs. Norton 
 came in and hissed in my ear, " Jane Tompkins, I don't 
 want you to ever set foot inside my house again. I 
 have my opinion of a person who comes sneakin' into 
 other people's houses, meddHng with other people's 
 affairs." 
 
 " So long as Sarah lives here and her father does 
 not object, I shall continue to come," I retorted. 
 "I have my opinion of you, too. It is certainly not a 
 flattering one." 
 
 I then left her. I was glad Aunt Beckey intended 
 to stay all night, for otherwise I do not know what 
 John Norton might have been made to suffer for his 
 temerity. 
 
 It did my heart good to hear Sarah laugh as we 
 scrambled through the snow, tumbling over drifts and 
 logs. It seemed a long time since I had heard her laugh 
 heartily. Charlie led the way and set as many snares for 
 us as possible, for the oftener we sprawled headlong 
 into the snow the funnier it was for him. Jack and 
 Ruth, with several other young people, came scurrying 
 down through the yard to meet us as we reached their 
 gate. Amid much hilarity we were escorted to the 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Underwood met us at the door, her round, 
 happy face beaming with good will toward everybody. 
 She led us to a bed-chamber, where she hovered 
 around, helping us take off our wraps. 
 
 " Bless me! " she said, putting her arms caressingly 
 around Sarah's slender waist, " how tall you have 
 grown. My Ruth's such a little thing. But Jack 
 makes up for her. I tell him he is going to be a regu- 
 lar giant." By this time we had got to the "company 
 room," where a big fire was roaring in the wood-stove 
 and everything was as bright and cheerful as heart 
 could wish. After the first greetings were over, leav- 
 ing the young people to their own devices, I took out 
 
 i 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 75 
 
 my crochet-work and sat down by Mrs. Underwood. 
 Dear, good woman, she always cut such a comical 
 figure. She was so grotesquely fat. When sitting on 
 a chair she seemed all the time to be trying hard to 
 reach the floor v/ith her toes. If she laughed you 
 looked on in alarm for fear, as was the case with 
 Peggotty, the buttons would begin to fly, but when she 
 got through, you were filled with admiration of thu fact 
 that she had held together so well. 
 
 Mr. Underwood came in. " Why, bless my soul, 
 Miss Jane, I am glad to see you," he said, shaking 
 hands cordially. He then shook hands all around. 
 Coming back he seated himself by the side of his wife 
 and addressed himself to me: "Its bin a longtime since 
 you paid us a visit, Miss Jane. My wife and me was 
 talking it over a short time ago, how unsociable-like the 
 neighborhood v/as growing, and I says ' maybe its as 
 much our fault as ennybodies; didn't I, Jinny?" 
 
 "Yes, you did, Dan'l." 
 
 "So I says, 'let's invite somebody in Christmas jest 
 as a starter.' Seems as ef things are so changed at the 
 Nortons,"he continued, lowering his voice. "I says to 
 wife, 'Let's ask John an' his wife enyway;' 'Very well,' 
 says she, 'will you do the invitin?' and do you know 
 when it came to the pint I couldn't do it." 
 
 " No, he jest couldn't," said his wife. 
 
 " One reason," he went on, "was because I knoed 
 they wouldn't come if I did. John never goes off the 
 farm ennymore exceptin' to haul his stuffs to market. 
 Why, thrashin' and butcherin' times he always sends 
 Jones. One day in the fall, late, I met him on the road 
 to town. He was goin' in an' I was comin' out — met him 
 in the holler there, you know, by Harris' mill. John 
 was sittin' histed up on his load o' grain, lookin' straight 
 down at the lines in his hands, and he didn't seem to 
 see anythin' in this world no more 'an ef he'd bin blind. 
 Them old horses o' his knows the road jest as well as 
 John do^s, and don't need enny drivin'. I waited till I 
 
76 Sarah's choice 
 
 see he was goin' to pass me; then I says, 'Hello, John.' 
 He looked up the queerest, sech an empty look like, 
 an' says he, *Ah, Dan'l', then he let his eyes drop right 
 back to his han's agin. I'm dogged ifit didn't make the 
 cold-creeps run over me to see him look that way. I 
 told my wife about it when I come home, didn't I, 
 Jinny?" 
 
 " Yes; an' Dan'l was all worked up over it; but I 
 say it's that wife o' his. I never could abide her. She 
 alius wants to boss things. I'll never forgit how she 
 tried to lord it over us wimin once at a church meetin'; 
 jest as good as tellin' me to shet my mouth. That 
 was afore you came here, Jane." 
 
 " That's it; ef you want a good home you've got to 
 put a good wife in it. 'Tain't everybody as is so for- 
 tunate as I be," and Mr. Underwood looked at his wife 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Now, Dan'l," cried she, slapping him deprecatingly 
 on the knee. She seemed, however, to fully appreciate 
 the compHment. " But John Norton's first wife was 
 a good woman. " 
 
 " None better," I answered. 
 
 " And I think," she continued, " that Sarah's jest like 
 her," and she turned toward the girl with a look of 
 affection; aye, of motherly affection. 
 
 " Don't count yer chickens yet, Jinny," said her 
 husband, teasingly. 
 
 " How's Miss Brown? " asked Mrs. Underwood, after , 
 a few minutes had elapsed. " I hain't seen her fur 
 months, but Dan'l has." 
 
 " Ain't she a lively one, though," said Mr. Under- 
 wood, laughing. " I overtook her on the road not 
 very long ago. She was goin' home from John Nor- 
 ton's and was mad about somethin' ; 'Why,' said I, 
 * Miss Brown, what's riled you ? ' Said she, ' Dan'l 
 Underwood, some folks is always goin' on about 
 eternal punishment an' everlastin' fire, an' a wantin' 
 'em abolished, but I fur one hope to the land , 
 
 i 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 'T] 
 
 sake there is sech a place. There's some folks in 
 this world as sech a place is too good for.' ^ Why, 
 gracious Peter!' said I, ' Miss Brown, you certainly 
 don't feel that way toward eny poor fellow-creeter.' 
 ' Well, I do; sais she. ' An' I don't think the Lord 'ill 
 call me to account fur it nuther ; ' an' she gave her 
 old mare sech a cut with her whip it fairly startled the 
 poor creeter into a run. It was jest where the road 
 forks, an' I turned off, but I laughed all the way home, 
 think'in' of how funny she looked when the old mare 
 started to run, an' her sun-bonnet flared up in front, an' 
 the frill blew out behind. I told you about it, you 
 
 know, Jinny. " , , , c x. - ^ 
 
 " Yes, but I warrant you she had a reason lor bem 
 mad, for there aint a kinder-hearted soul to be found, 
 an' one that'll do more for you. I expect she's awfully 
 tried at the way things is goin' in Mary's house." Mrs. 
 Underwood then went out to look after her supper. 
 
 Mr. Underwood stirred up the fire, and coming back 
 said : " It's too bad about the old church goin' down. 
 Miss Jane. Seems as if I couldn't give it up. Why, 
 my father and mother went to meetin' there aU 
 their lives, an' were buried from there. It was 
 jest the same way with Jinny's. I do believe I love 
 them very seats, an' every stick o' timber about the old 
 house, an' the sight of that old pulpit allers seems to 
 bring m-e near my God. I beheve, too, "he contmued, 
 with'^energy, " that old church is nearer God than these 
 new upstartin' ones. 'Cause it's always been so humble 
 an' simple, an' the Bible teaches simplicity ef it teaches 
 ennything. I said to my wife last Sunday, I'd jest go 
 over once to the new church on the corner an' see how 
 I liked it ; so I did. I soon got so bewildered with 
 their new-fangled ways o' worship, a standm' up to 
 pray, and a sittin' down to sing, I was all tuck up with 
 wonderin' what they were goin' to do next ; but when 
 the preacher got up an' read his sermon off, I made up 
 my mind that was no preachin' at all. There didnt 
 
yS Sarah's choice 
 
 seem to be any pure Gospel in it, so I come home an' 
 told Jinny ef I was obleged to go to church there, I'd 
 lose what religion I hed, an' if the old church went 
 down we'd hev to set up a little place o' worship in our 
 own house instead." 
 
 " But is not a read sermon better than none at all ?" 
 I asked, laughing. 
 
 Mr. Underwood scratched his head with a puzzled 
 air. " Well," he said finally, ** I never seems to git 
 head nor tail o' what they're talkin' about, an' it stands 
 to reason ef a body don't understand a thing it won't 
 do him enny good. " 
 
 At this moment we were interrupted by a burst of 
 laughter from the young people. The laugh was at 
 Jack's expense, who had paid a forfeit in one of their 
 games, and to redeem it had to kiss Sarah "pigeon- 
 fashion." He had done it with such a blushing con- 
 sciousness of the awful importance of it as to excite 
 the merriment of ^is young companions. 
 
 At this juncture Mrs. Underwood called us to sup- 
 per. We filed out to the big kitchen, which was also 
 used as dining-room, where stood a table loaded down 
 with luscious edibles of every description. There was 
 roast turkey of course; there were other meats and 
 several kinds of vegetables, with mince and pumpkin 
 pies. A huge pound cake adorned one corner of the 
 table, a plate of light bread another, while on still 
 another stood a dish piled up with crisp, hot soda bis- 
 cuit. Good Mrs. Underwood had never heard of 
 courses at table. The whole meal was set out at once; 
 tea and coffee were served when the plates were. In 
 the innocence of her heart she thought everything just 
 right, and was as happy as could be over it. They 
 called it supper; among fashionable people such a meal 
 would have been a dinner. It would have been served 
 differently, although it is doubtful if it would have been 
 better cooked. The hostess, too, under a smiling 
 exterior, would have hid much anxiety as to whether 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 79 
 
 everything would pass off according to the last rules of 
 etiquette. At our supper we were not troubled with 
 any such fears. It was a case of " ignorance is bliss." 
 The host, hostess and company were conscious of being 
 at their very best; they knew of nothing better. If 
 they had been interrogated about it they would prob- 
 ably have indignantly denied that there could be any- 
 thing better, with some show of right on their side too; 
 for I say that for genuine hospitality, for simplicity of 
 manners and palatable food, give me a farmer's company 
 supper. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A MEETING had been called by the steward of the 
 Methodist Church for the purpose of deciding whether 
 or not the little remnant of members should attempt to 
 support a pastor the following year. As the member- 
 ship grew smaller the assessment upon each one had 
 been increased, until it had grown a serious question 
 among them if it were not better to abandon the old 
 Church at once. 
 
 It is not an uncommon thing for religious fervor to 
 experience a material change on account of the demands 
 made upon the purse. 
 
 My mother refused to go to the meeting. She felt 
 in her prophetic soul what was going to happen, and 
 she did not wish to be there to witness it, so Sarah 
 and I walked over together. Mrs. Norton had gone 
 on before. When w^e arrived at the church the little 
 band was nearly all there. Mr. Underwood was walk- 
 ing up and down one of the aisles, looking sadly toward 
 the ceiling — that ceiling to which he had addressed so 
 many prayers, with certain faith that, just above it some- 
 where, God was enthroned and listening. Some of the 
 rest of us looked at it with any other but reverential 
 thoughts, for it was badly water-stained from leaks in 
 
8o SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 the roof, and here and there patches of plastering 
 had fallen, showing the lath — a condition which, while 
 it might inspire younger or less devout minds with con- 
 tempt, did not in the least lessen Mr. Underwood's love 
 or adoration for it. Mr, Goodenough, the steward, 
 was sitting at a desk, going over some figures. Two 
 elderly brothers sat in one corner, engaged in an ani- 
 mated discussion. These were all the males that were 
 present. The females numbered thrice as many. They 
 were chattering away quite lively as we took a seat 
 among them. 
 
 " For my part," Mrs. Norton was saying, " I am not 
 in favor of trying to keep up this society any longer. 
 Two churches in the neighborhood are enough. Ortho- 
 dox religion is just what it is, whether you find it in 
 this church or some other one. I don't see as a little 
 change in government or in the manner of worship 
 makes any difference. I, for one, am determined not 
 to pay another cent toward it." 
 
 ** Speaking of orthodox religion," said Mrs. Smith, 
 turning around to Sarah, " they do say, Sarah, that 
 you hev some queer notions about religion. Don't you 
 feel that you're a Christian?" 
 
 " Oh! Sarah's anything to be contrary," sneered her 
 stepmother, sotto voce^ to the sister that sat beside 
 her. 
 
 " Well, I hope I am a Christian," Sarah said 
 sweetly, " but I always have to arrive at any orthodox 
 conclusions through such a bewildering cloud of doubts, 
 I am afraid you would hardly call me an orthodox 
 one. 
 
 " Doubts?" returned Mrs. Smith. " Why I haven't a 
 one. I know that my Redeemer liveth." She turned 
 up her eyes piously and crossed her fat hands rever- 
 ently. 
 
 This did not deter me, however, from remembering 
 that Mrs. Smith had the reputation of being peculiarly 
 grasping in her nature, and that when I had gone to 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 8 1 
 
 her early in the spring for cabbage plants, she had 
 charged me a good round price for them, although I 
 had expected her to give them to me in kind, neigh- 
 borly fashion. She was more than willing, too, to 
 sacrifice her church for the sake of a few paltry dollars; 
 yet they were thrifty people, with their farm paid for 
 and some money in the bank. 
 
 " It allers vexes me," said Mrs. Green, another good 
 member, ** to hear young 'uns talkin so learnedly about 
 orthodoxy an' sech things. Now, what does they know 
 about it? Isn't it our orthodox religion es has made 
 us what we air? Tell me that? tell me that?" she 
 repeated, triumphantly, as no one seemed inchned to 
 dispute her. 
 
 At this moment Aunt Beckey came in. She lived 
 farther from the village than any of tfie other members, 
 and was rather late. After greeting us she took a seat 
 a little back. Mr. Goodenough called the house to 
 order. He stated the object of the meeting and hoped 
 every one present would speak his or her mind freely 
 upon the subject. 
 
 One of the old brothers in the corner arose. This 
 brother prided himself upon his oratorical ability; he 
 never let pass an opportunity to display it. ** Me and 
 brother Smith," he. said, " has been talkin' it over. 
 We have come to the conclusion that if the old church 
 was goin' down, God was lettin' her. If He was lettin' 
 her, it must be right. If it was right, and she was 
 bound to go, why the sooner the better. So, I say, 
 brethren, let her go, let her go," he repeated, bringing 
 his fist down upon the back of the seat in front of him, 
 and warming up to his subject in true rhetorical style. 
 " We can surely find another home in some other 
 church, where we can say our prayers, sing our hymns 
 and listen to the Gospel; no doubt just as good Gospel, 
 too, brethren, as we have listened to here. We 
 shouldn't be bigoted, you know," (the good brother had 
 Sarah's Choice 6 
 
S2 Sarah's choice 
 
 been noted for bigotry himself when the church was 
 flourishing). He proceeded: '' We can have all these 
 advantages in a larger congregation at a much less 
 expense," 
 
 " Amen," cried Brother Smith. 
 
 " So as I said before, if it's the Lord's will it must 
 be right; and, brethren, we needn't be afraid to vote 
 for lettin* her go." The brother sat down. Silence 
 ensued for a few minutes. Some of the members 
 looked at each other and nodded emphatically, as 
 much as to say, " that's so!" 
 
 Aunt Beckey got up. There was some uneasy wrig- 
 gling in their seats by a few. " Yes," she said, " I knows 
 the old church is a goin' down. I have been watchin' 
 her fur a long time. True, the Lord is lettin' her, too ; 
 but He hasn't helped her on her way. I hev watched 
 people goin' down to perdition. They were bound to 
 go, an' the Lord let 'em. But that's no proof He 
 wanted 'em to go. Some members of this church hes 
 been seekin' her ruin fur years. Some hev already left 
 her ; others air anxious, for reasons best known to 
 themselves, to go. What I want is fur them to stand 
 up manly like an' put the blame where it belongs. 
 Don't yer try to make the Lord yer scape-goat. " 
 
 There was again a few minutes of silence so pro- 
 found as to be oppressive. 
 
 Then Mr. Underwood arose. Turning slowly around, 
 his eyes moved up and down the aisles, over the seats, 
 finally resting on the pulpit. " Brothers and sisters," 
 he commenced, in a trembling voice, " you all know 
 where I stand in this business. You all know how I've 
 stuck to the old church through thick and thin; how 
 I hev declared I could never go into any other. Not 
 that I wants to be mean or stubborn, nor that I 
 have anything particular agin the other churches; but 
 there's a somethin' here in my heart that binds me to 
 her, and 'pears as if there's no room for a new love. 
 When I looks at these old seats, where a number of us 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY S^ 
 
 has sat most o' Sundays since we were bits o' chaps, for 
 some of us were held up tliere afore that pulpit by our 
 mothers while the preacher sprinkled the baptism water 
 over us; when I think of the faces that have greeted me 
 here all my life, an' of them as used to meet with us that 
 we've laid away, one by one, in their graves; when I 
 thinks of all this an' tries to realize that there's to be no 
 more preachin', no more prayer meetin's, no more 
 gatherin' together here; I declare the heartache I hev 
 is much like as if I'd been turned out o' house and 
 home. An, — an my wife, Jinny, feels jest as I do 
 about it." 
 
 Mr. Underwood had been fumbhng in the skirts of 
 his coat for his handkerchief for some time. He novv- 
 succeeded in getting it out. I was becoming nervous 
 for fear the good man would make himself ridiculous. 
 I hoped he would sit down; but after blowing his nose 
 and giving his eyes a few surreptitious wipes, he went 
 on. He acquitted himself quite creditably, too. 
 
 " As for the money, if we were all willing to give the 
 tenth of our stuffs, as the Bible teaches, there wouldn't 
 be any trouble raisin' it; but we don't need to give that 
 much. Our share of the salary is only a hundred and 
 fifty dollars; now, if you'll all agree to pay what's reas- 
 onable like, I'll raise the rest myself. Let's try it 
 another year anyway," he urged. 
 
 The steward, who had preserved a judicious silence, 
 now said that he would put to vote the question whether 
 or not we should continue to support a minister another 
 year. The vote sto^od five ayes to ten noes. Mr. 
 Underwood, jamming his hat over his eyes, went out 
 to his team. His wife lingered but a moment to speak 
 with AuntBeckey, then followed him. 
 
 In fact none of us seemed in a humor to tarry, and 
 the little old church was soon standing empty — for- 
 saken — not anly for a time, but forever. Nay. It was 
 used once afterward; but I anticipate. 
 
 Sarah and I helped Aunt Bcckey into her wagon. We 
 
84 Sarah's choice 
 
 listened to her explode some of her wrath; for while 
 Mr. and Mrs. Underwood had gone home with hearts 
 heavy with sorrow, Aunt Beckey was going home in a 
 different frame of mind. She owned she was mad. 
 She avowed that to some of the members of the old 
 church, religion had grown a burden ; they wanted 
 to throw it off for a time to see how it would go to 
 sin openly ; their hearts were itching after mischief, 
 they wanted a change. She thought probably they 
 would get it some time in the future ; such a one as 
 they had not counted upon. I am glad to be able to 
 chronicle the fact that she did not say she hoped they 
 would. 
 
 Sarah and I walked slowly along the dusty road 
 homeward, commenting upon the meeting and various 
 things. 
 
 " What good people Mr. and Mrs. Underwood are," 
 I remarked. " It's no wonder Jack and Ruth are so 
 nice." 
 
 " Yes," sighed Sarah, " I am glad there are people 
 in this world with hearts. I'd grown weary of it if their 
 were no Aunt Beckeys, and Underwoods and Jane 
 Tomkins in it." 
 
 I laughed. *' You would grow weary of the world if 
 there was no Jack Underwood in it, I have no doubt." 
 
 Sarah laughed in return heartily and unaffectedly, as 
 if she saw nothing in what I had said but a silly joke. 
 " Don't be foolish, Jane, but come," linking her arm in 
 mine, " I want to ask your advice. You know I have 
 been waiting for something to * turn up,' — something to 
 happen, to enable me to break away from the life I am 
 living, and, like Micawber, my faith has been indeed 
 great; but I begin to think there is no use waiting, that 
 I have got to help myself. I am now past seventeen. 
 If I am going to get any more schooling I must be at 
 it. Then I cannot bear to live this way longer. I 
 despise myself sometimes for taking from my step- 
 mother the taunts, the threats and abuse that I do so 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 85 
 
 meekly, as if I was afraid to stand up for my own 
 rights; but if I allow myself to get angry and answer 
 back I feel worse for having come down to her level. 
 The only thing I can do is to getaway from her. What 
 do you say, Jane? What shall I do? " 
 
 " Have you any plans; have you thought of any 
 way?" I asked. 
 
 " Plans?" she sobbed. " Oh, Jane, I have planned 
 until I am nearly crazy. I have laid awake nights 
 trying to contrive what I should do if thrown upon my 
 own resources, and I have come to the conclusion I am 
 not very brave after all. I seem to dread the fuss at 
 home; then when that is over I shrink from the struggle 
 with the world. But don't think that I really falter, 
 Jane. Though I would rather have the way made easy 
 for me, and though I dread trouble, I have made up 
 my mind to face it. The question is, what is the best 
 course to take? " 
 
 " You want to go to school for a time?" I queried. 
 
 " Yes, thanks to you, Jane, I am not so far behind." 
 
 " And then?" 
 
 " We will see," she returned quietly. 
 
 " Sarah," said I, " your best plan is to tell your 
 father all about it. He is a different man from what he 
 was four years ago; if I am not mistaken he will help 
 you; you should tell him anyway. After you have 
 talked with him, you will know better what to do. If 
 he will help you, the way is clear; if he will not, go to 
 Aunt Beckey, she is more than willing to do anythmg 
 
 for you." ■ r i 
 
 By this time we had reached the gate m front ot 
 Sarah's home. As we paused she urged me to go m 
 with her. Although I had told Mrs. Norton so boldly 
 that I should continue to visit Sarah whenever I chose 
 to, I confess I had not found it convenient to do so, 
 except at long intervals. The very atmosphere of the 
 house seemed calculated to paralyze one's courage; but 
 to-day I felt a little reckless, so accepted the mvitation. 
 
86 Sarah's choice 
 
 As we crossed the yard to go to the back door, a 
 woman came so suddenly around the corner of the 
 house as to come in collision with us. She hastily 
 muttered something like an apology and was going on, 
 when Sarah asked who it was. 
 
 " Why, daon't yeh knaow me. Miss Sarah?" she 
 asked timidly. We recognized the voice of Mrs. Jones. 
 Her thin, peaked face was almost entirely concealed by 
 the deep slat bonnet she wore pinned close under her 
 chin. 
 
 " What is the matter?" asked Sarah. 
 
 The woman glanced fearfully back and up at the win- 
 dows, then answered: 
 
 " D'yeh knaow, we're jest starven over there, me 'n* 
 the children, Miss Sarah. I'm so 'shamed ter beg, but 
 I can't see 'em cryin' for somethin' to eat, withaout 
 tryin' tew get it for 'em, so I come over thinkin' I'd 
 find you, but yeh wan't to haome, 'n' Miss Norton she 
 said ef she caught me raound here agin she'd see the 
 'thorities 'n' hev me sent to the poorhaouse." 
 
 A sound of something like a sob came from the 
 depths of the sun-bonnet. Poor soul, she felt that the 
 worst of indignities had been put upon her. Sarah 
 hesitated a moment, then told her to go through the 
 orchard, to the field beyond, where her father was at 
 work, and tell him her story. She beHeved he would 
 help her. Sarah knew her father was alone, for it was 
 one of Jones' days off. He had had many days off this 
 summer; he complained of being sick, but it was well 
 understood that he was wholly responsible for his sick 
 spells ; in fact Jones was going from bad to worse. He 
 was one of those kind of people Aunt Beckey had spoken 
 of in the meeting, — " going down and bound to go" — 
 the money he earned mostly went for whisky and 
 tobacco, instead of being used for the support of his 
 family. 
 
 We watched Mrs. Jones disappear in the orchard ; 
 then we went into the house, where we found Mrs. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY Sj 
 
 Norton in an ill humor indeed. She did not deign 
 to notice me, but commenced upbraiding Sarah for 
 loitering on the way, when she knew there was supper 
 to get, and the evening work to do ; " but some peo- 
 ple," she said, "were incapable of gratitude; if you 
 allow them an inch, they'd take a yard, every time." 
 
 Sarah made no answer, but after seating me, picking 
 up a saucepan, she went to the cellar for some pota- 
 toes. 
 
 "Who's that coming up the walk?" asked Mrs. 
 Norton, sharply. 
 
 I turned to look. A young man in traveling coat 
 and carrying a satchel was walking rapidly through the 
 front yard. He raised his head to scan the windows. 
 Why, it was surely Charlie. I sprang to open the hall 
 door for him. 
 
 " Hello, Jane! " he exclaimed, " I didn't expect to 
 meet you first one." 
 
 " But you have so surprised us," I said. "What is 
 the matter? there is no vacation now?" 
 
 " Don't question me, Jane," he said, in a beseeching 
 tone. 
 
 " All right, then," I replied. " Come in." 
 
 " How are you, mother? " 
 
 He extended his hand to his stepmother. She barely 
 touched it. 
 
 "This is an unexpected pleasure," she said, with 
 irony. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " some great man has said that it 
 is always the unexpected that happens. When its an 
 unexpected pleasure, I advise you to take it and make 
 the most of it, because, you know, it might have been 
 the other thing." 
 
 I thought his gayety seemed forced. Just then Sarah 
 came in. She was so astonished at seeing Charlie she 
 almost let her potatoes fall. 
 
 " Why, Charlie, what has happened?" were the first 
 words she blurted out. 
 
88 Sarah's choice 
 
 . " Happened," he answered, as he hung up his dust- 
 coat. " I am at home; that's what has happened." 
 
 " Well, but," she began. I managed by this time to 
 catch her eye and shook my head. She seemed to 
 understand and stopped off abruptly. 
 
 " Don't question him," interposed the stepmother. 
 " He seems to object to it." 
 
 Charlie's face flamed red. 
 
 " You hdive no right to question me anyhow," he 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, I don't need to," she answered, in a tone that 
 implied much. " If you have been expelled I shall 
 probably know it soon enough." 
 
 Charlie's face turned fairly white with wrath. 
 
 " It's a pity you hadn't been expelled from the earth 
 long ago," he said, in a voice choking with anger. "Why 
 a thing like you should be permitted to live on and on, 
 while so many better people die young, surpasses my 
 comprehension? " 
 
 Sarah and I looked at each other aghast, wondering 
 what would happen next. Mrs. Norton preserved her 
 dignity. 
 
 " I never expected anything from you but 
 ingratitude and disgrace," she said, as she laid the 
 plates for supper, ** so I am not surprised. " 
 
 "Ingratitude!" he repeated in scorn. "What the 
 devil did you ever do for me that I should be grateful, 
 and what under the heavens could disgrace j/^?/? " 
 
 Charlie now abruptly turned his back upon Mrs- 
 Norton. " Where is father? " he asked of Sarah. 
 
 She told him; he went out. I watched him as he 
 crossed the yard into the orchard, walking hurriedly in 
 the direction Mrs. Jones had taken. With a sigh I 
 turned to look for my hat, for as Mrs. Norton had 
 gone to the summer-kitchen, I thought it a good time 
 to take leave. Sarah followed me to the door. As I 
 stood on the steps we looked into each other's eyes for 
 a moment; then simply pressing her hand I went home. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 89 
 
 From my window I saw John Norton come into 
 supper. His step was slow and his shoulders seemed 
 more stooped, as if bending under an additional bur- 
 den. But Charlie walked by his side. Thank heaven! 
 Whatever had happened, the boy had been forgiven. 
 On Monday morning I saw Mr, Norton and Charlie 
 drive away together. After a time Sarah slipped over 
 for a few minutes to tell me that it was only too true 
 that CharHe had been expelled from school. He and 
 several other students had " got on a tare," as Charlie 
 expressed it, and had broken some of the rules of the 
 institution. He had made a clean breast of it to his 
 father, and had urged that he might be allowed to go 
 into a law office at once to read law. He and his 
 father had gone to Brownville to see about it. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Somebody was rapping on our front door. It 
 was early in the morning for visitors. I hastily 
 smoothed my rumpled hair at the little mirror that 
 hung in our kitchen — for there was where I happened 
 to be, helping my mother with the breakfast dishes. 
 I pulled up the soiled ruff at my throat, and having 
 made myself respectable, I hurried to meet whoever it 
 was. 
 
 " Aunt Beckey! " I exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, it's me; you've kept me standin' here a pre- 
 cious long time too, Jane." 
 
 I begged of her to come in, declaring if I had known 
 it was her that was knocking I would not have been so 
 slow. 
 
 " Well, you see, Jane, (I'll jest lay off my bonnet a 
 minit), I hed a warnin' las' night." 
 
 " Not the three raps? " I faltered. 
 
90 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 " No, but I hed a dream, an* I knows it means some- 
 thin'. 
 
 " I dreamed I was standin' alone on the edge of a 
 high precipice. Es I peered over, I seed a creeter of 
 some kind hangin' on to the rocks jest below me, strug- 
 glin' and reachin' up, es fur help. At first things were 
 so dim-like, I couldn't make out much, but presently 
 they grew more distinct, an' I see 'twas Sarah's face. I 
 stood, rooted to the spot, Jane, jest as if I hed the 
 nightmare; an' there she was, slippin' down an' down, 
 an' I couldn't move hand nor foot. 'Twas an awful 
 feelin'; when suddenly, jest above me, a voice cries out, 
 * Save her!' I wakened right up, but Mary's voice was 
 soundin' in my ears. I couldn't sleep enny more. Es 
 soon as 'twas daylight I began gettin' ready to come 
 over to John's. 'Pears as if I didn't come of my own 
 accord, neither," she said, meditatively; " somethin' 
 seemed pushin' me." 
 
 " I would not wonder if you were needed over there, 
 Aunt Beckey," I said. 
 
 " Very well, Jane, you must go with me." 
 
 " Mother," I cried, " come and visit with Aunt 
 Beckey while I tidy myself up." 
 
 The clock struck nine as we stepped off our porch 
 to go over to John Norton's. As we drew near the 
 house, a voice from the back yard, pitched on a high 
 key, reached our ears. 
 
 " I say they shall not have a bite. " 
 
 " They shall have what I have put up for them," 
 came the answer, in a quiet, firm tone, " my father 
 allows it, and you shall not interfere with me." 
 
 " Then I'll show you who's mistress here," cried the 
 first voice, so full of wrath, as to be beyond all control. 
 " Take that, you " 
 
 As Aunt Beckey and I turned around the corner of 
 the house, the irate stepmother lunged forward, off 
 the back porch, sprawling on the walk below ; she had 
 struck at Sarah with the duster she held in her hand, 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 9 1 
 
 but Sarah had stepped to one side, and Mrs. Norton 
 had lost her balance. Tommy Jones stood by, holding 
 a basket. The little wretch was trembling violently, 
 but he clutched his basket tightly. His mother, as we 
 learned afterwards, in the extremity of her want, had 
 sent him over to the Nortons', with many injunctions to 
 be sure to go to Miss Sarah. He did so, and was 
 about to get off with his booty when Mrs. Norton 
 appeared on the scene. 
 
 " Your father shall know of this. Miss," said the step- 
 mother as she gathered herself up. 
 
 " So he shall. I am going right out to the field to 
 tell him." Sarah spoke calmly, but she was frightfully 
 pale. 
 
 " What do you mean," gasped Mrs. Norton, " let me 
 catch you going to the field this time of day, and the 
 work " 
 
 " Get into the house woman an' tend to yer bruizes," 
 commanded Aunt Beckey. "Go tell yer father, Sarah; 
 I'll sit here on the porch till you come back, then you'll 
 go home with me. " 
 
 Motioning to Toriimy to be off with his basket I 
 followed Sarah, leaving Mrs. Norton standing glaring 
 at Aunt Beckey in helpless amazement. 
 
 It was with difficulty that I kept up with Sarah on 
 our way to the field. She fairly flew over the ground. 
 When we reached her father he looked at us in surprise. 
 Sarah endeavored to speak but broke down entirely. 
 Sinking upon a pile of hay she covered her face with 
 her hands and sobbed hysterically. 
 
 I took Mr. Norton aside and explained what had 
 happened as well as I could. I sketched, as graphically 
 and delicately as possible, Sarah's trials and uncongenial 
 surroundings. I spoke of her ambition to fit herself for 
 earning her own living. I told him she had intended 
 to talk with him about her plans early in the summer, 
 but CharHe coming home in trouble had determined her 
 to wait a little longer. Only her anxiety to spare her 
 
92 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 father had kept her patient so long. I urged that she 
 be allowed to go with Aunt Beckey at once. She could 
 walk from there into Brownville to school, so the 
 expense would be insignificant. 
 
 Mr. Norton was visibly moved, and to my suprise 
 offered no objections, but going to Sarah, laid his hand 
 on her head, saying soothingly, " Never mind, Sarah, 
 its all right." This unwonted kindness from her father 
 stirred Sarah to fresh agony. " Oh, papa," she cried, 
 " you must not think I want to leave you." 
 
 " No, no. It's best, I think," he replied, looking 
 away to the west. I saw that he was trying to get the 
 muscles of his face under control. " I wouldn't wonder 
 if we'd have a shower; so I must get to the hay. I 
 will come past Aunt Beckey 's sometimes, Sarah, when I 
 am going to town. Its not much out of the way. Fact 
 is," he continued, trying to speak cheerfully, " I'd just 
 about as soon go that lower road as the upper one. The 
 hills are not so steep if it isn't so dry. You and 
 Aunt Beckey see about the school, and find out how 
 much money you will need." He then bade her good- 
 bye and hurried to his hay. 
 
 Sarah looked after her father with streaming eyes. 
 I took hold of her arm and led her gently away. 
 
 On our way back Sarah was too sad to talk; so we 
 walked along in silence. When we reached the house 
 Aunt Beckey was sitting grim and alone on the porch. 
 Evidently she had vanquished her enemy. We went 
 with Sarah to her room to help her pack her scant 
 belongings. 
 
 "Oh, Jane! " said she, as she handed me a dress from 
 the closet, " I have for so long been looking forward 
 to a time when I might be packing my trunk to leave 
 home, and I thought I should feel so happy; but now 
 that I am actually at it, I feel as though I was doing 
 something wrong." 
 
 " Nonsense, child! " replied Aunt Beckey. " You're 
 not to blame fur any of it." 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 93 
 
 " But I do feel so bad about papa. " 
 
 " Your father will hev to live his own life. You 
 can't live it fur him. He made his bed, an' he'll hev to 
 lie in it," snapped Aunt Becke>. " Better put in yer 
 sun-bunnet, Sarah; it might come handy." 
 
 Mrs. Norton did not make her appearance at all. 
 Sarah knocked on her bedroom door, but received no 
 answer, and was forced to leave without bidding her 
 good-bye; we put the trunk into Aunt Beckey's wagon, 
 then Sarah ran over to see my mother. 
 
 My mother held her tenderly in her arms for a 
 moment, for she loved her dearly and betrayed more 
 affection for her than she ever had for her own child, 
 but I felt no jealousy; it seemed perfectly right that 
 she should love Sarah. 
 
 1 told Aunt Beckey to drive around the road and I 
 would walk with Sarah across the fields as far as the vil- 
 lage, as she had expressed a wish to go by the grave- 
 yard. After we had started Sarah grew more cheerful. 
 She talked hopefully of the future. At last there seemed 
 a possibility of carrying out some of her long-cherished 
 plans. When we reached her mother's grave the flow- 
 ers blooming on it smiled up at us so serenely, the very 
 atmosphere seemed full of a divine spirit, breathing 
 peace and faith into our hearts. Sarah turned away 
 greatly comforted, feeling, she said, as though the 
 spirit of the dead mother had hovered over her, pro- 
 nouncing a blessing. 
 
 Promising to see each other as often as possible, we 
 parted. Sarah climbed up in the wagon by Aunt 
 Beckey's side, while I turned to my way back across the 
 fields in a mixed frame of mind, rejoicing that a change 
 had been effected for Sarah, but sad because of my own 
 loss. However, I soothed myself with the reflection 
 that we should not be separated long. I fully believed 
 that we would, ere many years', have Sarah back incur 
 neighborhood, settled permanently in her own home, a 
 happy wife. Jack's love for her was so honest and so 
 
94 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 great; he was in every respect so worthy, he could not 
 fail to succeed in his wooing. 
 
 At this point in my meditations Jones overtook 
 me. 
 
 " Is it yet dinner-time, Mr. Jones?" I asked. ' 
 
 " No, 'm," he answered. " I'm going tew the barn 
 fur a hay-fork; braoked a prong aouter mine. Oh, 
 Miss Jane, you oughter hev seen the master after you 
 'n Miss Sarah left. He did'nt tech the hay fur nigh on 
 tew 'n hour, but stood leanin' on his fork stock still, 
 starin' at the graoun'. Miss," continued he, earnestly, 
 " I daon't knaow haow it 1 all end up. I tell yeh that 
 woman 't haouse's a keener." 
 
 I did not care to discuss the matter with Jones, so I 
 asked: 
 
 " How are you getting along now, Mr. Jones? " 
 
 "Poorly, poorly, Miss," he answered, dejectedly. 
 " I'm thet bad here," (laying his hand on his abdomen), 
 "yeh daon't knaow; hed to feed on corn pone fur break- 
 fas; it never 'grees with me, Miss, never," and Jones 
 strode on. 
 
 Jones was very fastidious in his tastes for a poor man; 
 corn bread was too coarse a food for his delicate stom- 
 ach. Coffee and meat he must have for every meal if 
 it were possible. He had been pampered at the table 
 of the first Mrs. Norton until he became quite an epi- 
 cure; but it was againstthe principles of the second Mrs. 
 Norton to pamper anybody, and to pamper the hired 
 help meant ruining them, body and soul; so Jones 
 was obliged to come down to his proper level under the 
 discipline of his present mistress. When they had corn 
 bread he had to eat it or no bread at all, for there was 
 no other. If he partook of the butter the second time 
 he encountered the horrified stare of Mrs. N. The 
 meat was allowanced, and he was served with water at 
 dinner and a pale cup of tea at supper, instead of his 
 loved coffee. Jones was unhappy; he felt that he was 
 an injured man, and that he was not getting his just 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 95 
 
 dues. It mattered not to him that his wife and children 
 eked out an existence upon mere scraps. They some- 
 times craved luxuries too, he knew, but he troubled 
 himself little about them; what he wanted was his full 
 meals. Mrs. Norton's broad hints about economy, the 
 high prices of certain things, and her long lectures upon 
 the unwholesomeness of gorging one's-self, was all 
 thrown away upon Jones. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 After Sarah had gone away life seemed very monoto- 
 nous to me, for while I was acquainted with everybody in 
 the neighborhood, my mother and I made but few inti- 
 mate friends, preferring to live much alone; and since 
 they had ceased to hold services at the Methodist 
 church, my mother seldom went out from home. I 
 occasionally spent a day with the Underwoods' and at 
 rare intervals got as far as Aunt Beckey's and Brown- 
 ville. Charlie Norton sometimes called upon us Sat- 
 urday evenings, bringing us little love messages from 
 Sarah, and perhaps, some more substantial token of 
 regard from Aunt Beckey. He would stop a few min- 
 utes with his father, if he could find him in the field or 
 at the barn, but he seldom went inside the house. 
 Then he would go over to the Underwoods' to spend 
 the Sabbath. From what I could learn, I think Charlie 
 got on but indifferently with the study of law, a day 
 in the country, with Ruth by his side, being much more 
 to his taste than the reading of dry dissertations by 
 Blackstone, cooped up in a dingy Httle office. 
 
 I did not visit the Nortons' after Sarah left, but I saw 
 them every day from my window, he going to and 
 from his work, and she, perhaps, chasing across the 
 yard after a chicken that had been bold enough to in- 
 vade her garden, or whisking the spider-webs from 
 around the doors and windows. 
 
g6 Sarah's choice 
 
 The neighbors told funny stories of her parsimony. 
 One had gone there on an errand, and Tabby, the skel- 
 eton of her former self, emerged about half-way from 
 under the house, looking reproachfully for a moment at 
 the intruder. She retreated again, evidently wondering 
 why a cat with so blameless a life as her's had been 
 should be left to such a fate. A sad fate it was, too, 
 for the " scat " of the second Mrs. Norton, emphasized 
 by a flourish of her ever-convenient broom, was enough 
 to strike terror to the heart of the bravest cat. And 
 another told of how Rover, the once frolicsome, well- 
 fed dog, had slunk from him snarling and snapping, his 
 thin sides speaking of meager bones "and few crumbs. 
 
 One morning Jones walked up to our back door, 
 which was standing open. " Good mornin*, Miss," he 
 said to me, at the same time bowing to my mother. 
 " I hev come tew say good-bye to yeh. " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Jones," I asked, " what is up ?" 
 
 " Well, th' shoort 'n' the long V it is I'm goin' tew 
 leave 'm over there," said he, nodding toward the 
 Nortons. 
 
 The thought of Jones leaving had never occurred to 
 me. 
 
 " How can you leave Mr. Norton ? " I cried, aghast. 
 
 " Tain't es I hev ennything agin th' master," he 
 answered, twisting his hat in his hands, " an' thet's th' 
 trewth o' it, but I can't stan' that woman. She's tew 
 blame close-fisted, I swaow! I'm fairly starved, an' th' 
 folks 't haome be in abaout th' same fix, 'n' I've got 
 ter s'port my fam'ly;" and Jones put his hat on his 
 head, and straightened himself up in a vain effort to 
 look manly. 
 
 So Jones gathered up the remnants of his family 
 and household goods, and moved away. He had 
 stood Mrs. Norton's broadest hints regarding his lack 
 of character like a stoic; he had even listened to her 
 outspoken, wholesale condemnation of himself, in 
 every respect, with tolerable composure; but with 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 97 
 
 the departure of Sarah all hope of extra relief for his 
 family had departed as well. Jones' long-suffering 
 patience gave out. He determined to leave in search 
 of a more generous patron. But now when I look back 
 to what followed his leaving, I believe this act of Jones* 
 must have been a great shock to Mr. Norton. The 
 man had Hved on the farm for so many years, Mr. 
 Norton looked upon him as a part of its belongings. 
 His red nose, his respectful salutations in the morning, 
 his family's wants, were matters of course. The day 
 after Jones had left, Mr. Norton was seen leaning upon 
 the bars at the end of the lane leading to the house 
 that had been Jones' home, looking sadly and wistfully 
 at the old hut, as if longing for the familiar sight of the 
 pig at the door-way and the rags in the window. 
 
 One Saturday, seeing Mr. Norton at the barn putting 
 his horses to the hght wagon, I ran over and found, as 
 I had hoped, he was going to Brownville, by way of 
 Aunt Beckey's, so 1 got permission to go with him, as I 
 was longing to see Sarah. 
 
 When we started Mr. Norton seemed in a state of 
 abstraction, answering any questions or remarks of 
 mine in monosyllables. 
 
 When we reached the village he turned his face 
 toward the graveyard, and looked steadily at it as long 
 as we kept in sight of it; then turning suddenly to me, 
 he said: 
 
 " What a kind dispensation of Providence, Jane, that 
 as one grows older the thought of death becomes less 
 and less terrible, until we finally feel it would be a wel- 
 come event." 
 
 " Why, I am sure," J answered, " that is not true of 
 every one, for I have known old people who seemed to 
 enjoy living as well, and who clung to life as tenaciously 
 as young people." 
 
 " Tut ! " said he, testily, " they're fools. Why 
 should any one," he went on, ironically, " want to live 
 Sarah's Choice y 
 
98 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 after their limbs have become rheumatic, their stomachs 
 diseased, and their hearts shriveled up; their ambitions 
 dead," his voice softened, " their friends all dead. 
 Look at them back there, Jane," pointing backward 
 with his whip, " how sweet they sleep! The grass and 
 the flowers and the briers grow above them, the birds 
 sing and the sun shines for them, and the storms sweep 
 over them, but they sleep on; they neither know nor 
 care, — what rest!" and John Norton's head drooped 
 forward until his chin rested on his breast. He seemed 
 lost to the world and in communion with the dead 
 whom he had been talking about. Nor did he speak 
 another word until we halted at Aunt^ Beckey's gate. 
 I was so amazed at the change in the man, I did not 
 attempt to break the silence. 
 
 Aunt Beckey and Sarah both hurried to meet us. 
 
 " Won't you come in, John, and sit awhile? " asked 
 Aunt Beckey. 
 
 " Not now," he answered; " perhaps I will when I 
 come back. How are you getting on at school, Sarah? " 
 and he looked down kindly upon the girl's eager, flushed 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, so well, I think, papa," she cried. 
 
 " Don't you fret yerself about Sarah, John," said 
 Aunt Beckey, patting her affectionately on the shoul- 
 der. ** She's jest es happy es the day is long." 
 
 "That is good," said John Norton, but a look of 
 pain flitted across his face. Perhaps he was thinking 
 of how she should have been made happy in her own 
 home. 
 
 Mr. Norton drove on, and we went up to the house. 
 " Now you girls visit es fast es ever you kin, fur John 
 '11 not stay in town long, I know. He never does now- 
 a-days. I've got my work to 'tend to, an' I shan't 
 bother you." The good soul trotted away thinking we 
 would rather be left alone. 
 
 So Sarah and I took possession of the little par- 
 lor, and while we made a pretense of doing some 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 99 
 
 needle work, Sarah told me all about her life at Aunt 
 Beckey's, and her experiences at school. She was so 
 happy and hopeful. I found out by skillful question- 
 ing, much to my chagrin, that Jack Underwood had no 
 part in this happiness, and that instead of outgrowing 
 the foolish dreams of her childhood, they had taken the 
 shape of earnest conviction as she grew older. 
 
 " Nothing but a life of martyrdom will suit her," I 
 said to myself, savagely. 
 
 Sarah had one source of anxiety, hoAvever ; her 
 father's silvering hair, the deepening lines of his face, 
 and the stooping figure, troubled her. 
 
 " Do you know, Jane," she said, " I sometimes feel 
 that I ought to have stayed v/ithhim ; and yet, when I 
 think of the old hfe at home with my stepmother, it 
 seems to me it would be terrible, impossibUy to go back 
 to it again." 
 
 " You are certainly not called upon to make such a 
 sacrifice," I answered. " What good could you 6.0 any- 
 one if you did make it ? You would only be doing 
 yourself an incalculable injury. Your father certainly 
 derives more pleasure from seeing you happy here, 
 than he would from having you home miserable and 
 dissatisfied." 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Beckey, who had entered the room 
 unperceived by us, " ez I've told you before, Sarah, 
 yer father's Hfe is not yours, nor mine ; he's got to Hve 
 his, an' we've got to live ours. Heaven knows, there 
 wus a time we might hev helped him if he'd only 
 asked our advice, but he didn't ; and now none but the 
 good Lord can help him, and John Norton '11 be mighty 
 shy uv askin' it uv Him, I reckon." 
 
 " Ah, Aunt Beckey," said I, thinking of what John 
 Norton had said to me in the morning, " what do we 
 know of anyone's real thoughts, or feelings, or con- 
 victions. Somebody has said, *we do not wear our 
 hearts on our sleeves for the daws to peck at.' I have 
 frequently thought we might be very much astonished, 
 
lOO SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 if we could, in some way, look into these hidden cham- 
 bers of the soul, Avhere everyone keeps his best treas- 
 ures. What a revelation it would be, I fancy, in regard 
 to some people we have been in the habit of condemn- 
 ing as shallow and utterly commonplace. " 
 
 Aunt Beckey smiled, as she sat with clasped hands, 
 and her eyes fixed on the floor. I knew, as I watched 
 the tender, ho]}r expression that crept over her face, 
 smoothing out the wrinkles and softening the sharp 
 outlines, that she was one of the commonplace, with 
 hidden treasures. 
 
 " Fur gracious sakes!" she exclaimed, starting up 
 suddenly, " I cum in to tell you dinner wus ready, and 
 I a'most forgot it ; an' I guess, Jane, when it cums to 
 the pinch, you'd like somethin' more substantial 'n 
 sentiment to feast on. " 
 
 " Remembering some of your dinners of the past, 
 Aunt Beckey, I confess my weakness," I answered as 
 Sarah and I followed merrily after her. 
 
 Early in the afternoon Mr. Norton came back. He 
 stopped for a short time only. I learned from Aunt 
 Beckey that he never stayed with them long, and yet 
 when he started to leave them he always lingered as if 
 loath to go. 
 
 "Did you see Charlie to-day, John?" asked Aunt 
 Beckey, as we stood halting in the yard. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mr. Norton. 
 
 " How's he gitin' on?" 
 
 " Oh, he is well; but the truth is, Beckey," said Mr. 
 Norton with a sigh, "you were right when you told me, 
 years ago, I better keep the boy on the farm. " 
 
 "Fur the lands sake, now, John," said Aunt Beckey, 
 hastily, "I hope you don't mind all I say." 
 
 Mr. Norton smiled sadly. "Nevertheless, Beckey, I 
 have noticed that whenever you predict a thing it 
 invariably comes to pass." 
 
 "Wish to grachus I hadn't such a long tongue in my 
 head," muttered Aunt Beckey. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY Id 
 
 " Tisn't your fault, Beckey," said Mr. Norton, look- 
 ing kindly at her; " if you've got a long tongue you've 
 got a long head, too." 
 
 Then Mr. Norton and I dimbed into the wagon and 
 started home. I chatted all the way as fast as I could, 
 rehashing everything I thought of in the way of neigh- 
 borhood gossip, determined not to give my companion 
 a chance for melancholy. When we arrived at my gate 
 I flattered myself I left him in a comparatively cheerful 
 state of mind. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Not many weeks later, Ruth Underwood came over 
 to invite me to take tea with them the following Satur- 
 day evening. 
 
 *' Charlie and Sarah are to be there," she said; " Jack 
 is going for them. Do you know Jack has a new 
 buggy, all his own?" and her blue eyes sparkled, while 
 the dimples came and went in the red cheeks. I looked 
 at the sweet, happy face, without a shadow of care, 
 and wondered why it was some people seemed born to 
 happiness and others to trouble. 
 
 The appointed evening proved to be a pleasant one. 
 I found Charlie and Sarah already there when I arrived 
 at Mr. Underwood's. The new buggy had to be 
 duly inspected and commented upon; then Mrs. Under- 
 wood led me to her garden to see her fine cabbages, 
 the grapes just turning purple; and lastly, a bed of fall 
 roses, of which she had secured a variety of colors and 
 was justly proud. 
 
 After tea was over, and the soft light of the moon 
 was growing more and more distinct through the gath- 
 ering darkness, noticing that the young people had 
 slipped out, I took advantage of a lull in the conversa- 
 tion between Mr. and Mrs. Underwood and myself, and 
 
I02 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 followed after them ; nor did it once occur to me that 
 my company might not be wanted. No one was in 
 sight when I reached the yard, so I made my way to an 
 old rustic bench I remembered having seen at the lower 
 side of the yard. As I was about to seat myself on the 
 bench I heard voices coming near, and soon Jack and 
 Sarah passed me, pausing at the bars leading into the 
 orchard. Jack was talking vehemently, and I could 
 hear what he was saying quite distinctly. 
 
 " Sarah, you must take time to think about it. If 
 you only knew how I love you — how I have loved you 
 all my life. I didn't know it always, but I know it now. " 
 It sounded strangely to me to hear Jack plead so boldly. 
 Evidently he had forgotten his shyness because of the 
 pain at his heart. 
 
 " I would do anything you asked of me, Sarah," he 
 went on. " You are all the world to me. I cannot 
 imagine living without you. In every plan for the 
 future I have ever made, you have always been a 
 part. " 
 
 "Oh, Jack! " interrupted Sarah, "do stop. It is no 
 use talking; I have no other feeling than friendship for 
 you. Let us be as we have always been — friends. 
 Am I to blame if I cannot love you?" she cried distract- 
 edly. " Jack, you must not think hard of me. Indeed, 
 I cannot help it." There was a pitiful quaver in her 
 voice. 
 
 " Is it because I am not good enough for you?" he 
 asked slowly. 
 
 "No, no!" she hastened to say. "You must not 
 think that. Jack ; but I want to live differently. 
 What! Spend all my life skimming milk, dusting fur- 
 niture and cooking for farm hands, then, when the 
 end comes, lie down and die a drudge?" — I own that I, 
 sitting back on the bench, thought Sarah's tone a trifle 
 tragic and her words far-fetched — " Do this when the 
 world offers such opportunities for work that willT^enefit 
 not only a few but many, for work that will satisfy a some- 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY I03 
 
 thing here in my heart that I cannot explain ! Oh, Jack, 
 think of the good one life could accomplish if devoted 
 to — ". She broke off suddenly. " What's the use? 
 You won't understand me. Now, suppose I was to 
 settle down here, what would I do? Be a slave to my 
 chickens, my geese, my cows, and — shall I say it — to 
 my husband?" The last was said mischievously. 
 
 " You might make one Hfe happy, at least, by set- 
 tling down here," said Jack, scornfully. " It is doubt- 
 ful if you do even that much if you go on your pro- 
 posed way. You have had so little mercy on me, God 
 help those whom you try to help. " 
 
 Poor Jack! There was rage and despair in his tones. 
 Sarah turned away and walked quickly toward the 
 house. 
 
 Jack flung his arms over the top bar and, with a 
 groan or a curse, I could not tell which, dropped his 
 head upon them. How I pitied him, and in my anxiety 
 to comfort him I forgot it was not an honorable thing 
 to eavesdrop. I went up to him and laid my hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " Don't mind, Jack, you will get over this. There 
 are plenty of good girls who would be proud of your 
 love." He raised his head and looked at me for a 
 moment with haggard eyes, then pulled away impa- 
 tiently. " Look at the old orchard! How beautiful 
 the shadows of the appletrees, in the white moon- 
 light!" Another impatient movement was all the an- 
 swer I got. 
 
 "Do come to the house. Jack," I urged. No an- 
 swer. I waited a few minutes hoping he would 
 speak; then followed slowly after Sarah. She, with 
 Charlie and Ruth, were sitting on the edge of the 
 porch. I sat down with them. Sarah crept close to 
 me and put her hand in mine, but I was vexed with 
 her and did not return the caress. Just then Charlie 
 and Ruth went into the house on some pretext or 
 other. 
 
I04 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 " What is the matter, Jane? " asked Sarah. 
 
 " Think of poor Jack, down by the bars," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Oh, don't yoic turn against me, Jane," she cried, 
 divining at once that I had overheard what had passed 
 between her and Jack. There was so much distress in 
 her voice, my vexation vanished in an instant. I drew 
 her to me, saying: " I shall not turn against you, 
 Sarah, but I am afraid you will regret what you have 
 done to-night. It is no light thing to fling away a 
 good man's love." 
 
 " Oh, Jane, I can't help it," she sobbed. " There is 
 nothing but trouble in the world anyway. Of late I 
 thought I was happy, or nearly so. Now this had to 
 happen, and they will all hate me," and she sobbed 
 afresh. 
 
 " Well, well, don't take on so," I said, endeavoring to 
 console her. '' If you have made up your mind as to the 
 kind of life you want to live, why keep to the one pur- 
 pose; no doubt it will all turn out right in the end." 
 
 " Jane," she said, grasping my hands convulsively, 
 " if you only understood what I feel, what I dream of. 
 I sometimes think I get a glimpse of something better 
 than mere happiness," — she stopped for lack of words 
 to express what she felt. 
 
 While I quoted softly the lines: 
 
 *' But far on the deep there are billows, 
 That never shall break on the beach, 
 
 And I have heard songs in the silence 
 That never shall float into speech. 
 
 And I have had dreams in the valley 
 Too lofty for language to reach." 
 
 Charlie and Ruth came back, and I arose, declaring 
 it was time for me to go home. 
 
 " Jane," whispered Sarah, " I cannot stay here now, 
 I must go home with you." 
 
 Mrs. Underwood and Ruth were astonished when 
 Sarah announced her intention of going with me. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY IO5 
 
 " But Where's Jack," cried his mother, " he must see 
 you home, you'd be afeard to go alone. 
 
 But Jack could not be found. I saw by their faces 
 that the Underwood family were not only astonished, 
 but displeased. Charlie and Ruth volunteered to see 
 us to the line fence, and from there we could go alone. 
 
 The next day Sarah and I talked over the matter of 
 her getting back to Aunt Beckey's, and decided that 
 she would have to see her father and get him to take 
 her. There was no help for it, we would have to go 
 over to the house. 
 
 It was not without some trepidation that we knocked 
 on the front door. We had time to note what a 
 scrubbed-up, barren sort of air there was about the 
 front steps and vineless porch, before the door was 
 opened by Mrs. Norton, who was so taken aback when she 
 saw who her visitors were, that she lost her presence of 
 mind and invited us to enter, in a tone of utter bewil- 
 derment. Mrs. Norton did not appear to change at all 
 as the years came and went. The very gown she wore 
 looked like the identical one she had on the first time 
 I met her, and her white neck-handkerchief and stock- 
 ings were as spotless as of yore. I glanced around 
 the room; the uncarpeted floor was as clean as 
 scrubbing-brush and soap could make it, while every 
 chair seemed to know its place, each one standing stiff 
 and alone against the wall. Mrs. Norton was soon her 
 natural self, and answered Sarah's inquiry in regard to 
 the whereabouts of her father as curtly as possible, 
 while she picked up the open Bible that lay on the 
 table and placed it on her knees, giving us to under- 
 stand that we had interrupted her in her devotional 
 reading. 
 
 " She did not know where John Norton was; out over 
 the farm somewhere, but she didn't pretend to keep 
 track of him. " Then she dropped her eyes to her Bible 
 for a moment, but evidently she could not resist the 
 temptation of unburdening her mind — although she had 
 
io6 Sarah's choice 
 
 told one of the neighbors at the time Sarah left h^r, 
 that she would never speak to her, Sarah, again; nor 
 that impudent Jane Tompkins, either, not even if she 
 lived to be as old as Methusalah — for she went on 
 to say, " that she, for one, couldn't understand how he 
 put in his time Sunday or week days. Anybody could 
 see with half an eye that everything was going to rack 
 and ruin, and the farm was becoming a disgrace to the 
 neighborhood," and she laid the holy book on the table 
 again with no gentle slam. 
 
 There was a flush on Sarah's face and an unsteadiness 
 in her voice as she arose, saying: 
 
 " We will go and look for papa, Jane. " 
 
 We found John Norton after a long search, seated on 
 a log in one of his fields, his hands holding his knees 
 and his hat pulled over his eyes. His gray, haggard 
 face lighted up with pleasure as he greeted us, and we 
 took a seat on the log, one on either side of him. 
 
 " Papa," asked Sarah, " what are you doing? " 
 
 "Doing?" he replied. "Nothing, but its pleasant 
 sitting here in the sunshine." 
 
 " Well," said Sarah, fanning herself with her hat, " it 
 may be pleasant sitting in the sunshine, but it is rather 
 warm walking in it. Papa, " she continued after a pause, 
 " don't you think you ought to have a man on the farm 
 to help you? there is too much work for you." 
 
 " There is no place for a man, " he answered. " Jones' 
 old house is not fit to live in any more, and she, that 
 is," — he hesitated, " it won't do to take a man into the 
 house to board." 
 
 " Great Heavens!" I exclaimed mentally, " mark the 
 man's meekness. " 
 
 " But, papa, why not have the old house repaired, or 
 build a new one?" 
 
 Mr. Norton turned and looked at Sarah, but his eyes 
 soon left her face and seemed fixed away in the dis- 
 tance. After a few minutes he aroused himself and 
 said, "Well; we'll see, we'll see; but do you know I 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY IO7 
 
 have sometimes thought maybe Charlie would come 
 back to the farm. " 
 
 " Papa," fairly screamed Sarah in her astonishment, 
 " would you want him to?" while I cried out abruptly, 
 " Why, Mr. Norton, it would never do;" and then I 
 could have bitten my tongue off for having forgotten 
 myself 
 
 Mr. Norton simply answered, " No, Jane, you are 
 right, it would never do;" then after a moment he 
 added pathetically, " but I do often feel that I would 
 like to have some of my own flesh and blood around 
 me." There was a hungry look on his face and a 
 quivering of the muscles about his mouth. How my 
 heart ached for him, but there was nothing to be said. 
 Sarah hid her face behind her father's shoulder, and 
 while making a pretense of fanning herself, wiped away 
 the tears that would flow for a time in spite of her 
 efforts to check them. I began to talk about other 
 things — anything I could think of — finally drawing 
 Sarah's attention to the fact that she had not yet told 
 her father that she wanted him to take her home. 
 After we had explained the situation to him, he 
 declared that we must go at once, as it was growing 
 late. 
 
 So we started across the fields, Mr. Norton going to 
 his barn to " gear up," and Sarah going home with me, 
 for neither of us felt equal to another encounter with 
 Mrs. Norton. 
 
 As Sarah was about to leave, my mother came up 
 from the garden with a bouquet for Aunt Beckey. 
 There was in it sweet margery, and thyme, and mint; 
 and for color, yellow marigold, blue larkspur and lady 
 slippers; an old-fashioned bouquet, indeed. From such 
 a one a city belle would turn away in disgust, but to 
 me now, it would bring tears to my eyes and stir 
 within me the saddest, sweetest memories; the colors 
 would seem beautiful beyond compare, and the odor 
 intoxicating. 
 
io8 Sarah's choice 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Being anxious to know how Jack would bear his 
 disappointment, and how the family would feel about 
 the affair, I made it convenient to go over, after a few 
 days had elapsed, on an errand ; nor was the errand 
 zvJiolly fabricated. 
 
 I found the good mother in the greatest distress she 
 had ever known in her life before, for the Underwood 
 family had been unusually fortunate in being spared, 
 previous to this, any of the trials which wring the 
 hearts and shadow the lives of most people. As well 
 as she could, for her tears and lamentations, Mrs. 
 Underwood told me of how changed Jack was. He 
 was restless, morose and preoccupied. They could not 
 get a word out of him as to what the trouble was, but 
 they had guessed it, and, naturally enough, bitterly 
 blamed the poor girl who was the umvilling cause of 
 it all. Finally Jack had said abruptly one morning: 
 
 " Father, I want to see something of the world, I 
 have concluded to go away on a trip." 
 
 " To think on it," sobbed the mother, " my poor boy, 
 es was never knowed to want to leave home before, an' 
 its all come of that stuck-up girl. I reckon she has 
 some town feller. My boy's not good enough fur her 
 now, but she'll pay fur it es sure es she's born, a-sendin' 
 him off a wanderer over the face of the earth," and her 
 dumpy form swayed back and forth in the chair in the 
 violence of her grief. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Underwood," I protested with some 
 spirit, " you do Sarah an injustice in blaming her so; 
 she cares for no one else. Her mind is entirely taken 
 up with other plans. She does not want to marry, at 
 least not at present. She certainly has a right to do as 
 she pleases about it. " 
 
 At this moment Mr. Underwood came in. He 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY IO9 
 
 looked at his weeping wife, shook his head, then, with 
 a sigh, sat down. 
 
 " Come, come, Jinny," said he, soothingly. 
 
 " Well, how kin I help it, Dan'l, an' my boy a-goin' 
 away in the mornin'. " 
 
 " Does Jack go so soon?" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Starts in the mornin','' said Mr. Underwood, strain- 
 ing his eyes at the ceiHng to keep back the tears. So 
 we sat in silence for a few minutes, then Mr. Under- 
 Avood said: 
 
 " You see. Miss Jane, we reasoned this way about it, 
 Jinny and I, that if Jack wanted to go it was best to 
 let him go. He haint no heart in the work, an' he 
 haint no heart in ennything. It'll do him good to get 
 away, an' he'll come back cured; an' then," he added, 
 simply, " we knowed he'd go ennyway." 
 
 " Yes," I said, cheerily, " I believe it will all turn out 
 for the best in the end. It will do Jack good to get 
 out in the world. It will make a man of him, and you 
 can do without him for a time. " 
 
 "What if he'd never come back," moaned Mrs. 
 Underwood. " I can't help thinkin' of how that Blake's 
 boy, Tom Blake, you know, went off to visit his uncle, 
 an' tuck the fever an' died." 
 
 " Now, Jinny, wife, look on the bright side, look on 
 the bright side," pleaded her husband. 
 
 " I would like to see Jack before he goes," said I, as 
 I arose to take leave. 
 
 " I don't know where he is," said his father, " but if 
 you'll slip over in the morning — we'll start about nine — 
 you'd be sure to catch him. It might do him good. 
 Miss Jane. Mebbe you could say something to him 
 he'd remember." 
 
 When I went out Ruth followed me, and we had a 
 chat at the gate. She was much more cheerful than 
 her parents, being so happy in her own affairs she could 
 not remain long depressed about anyone else's. 
 
 The next morning I was too late to see Jack. When 
 
no SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 I reached the house, the little one-horse wagon that 
 contained him and his grip-sack was just passing out 
 of sight over the hill, and the poor mother was stand- 
 ing in the yard watching it disappear, while wiping the 
 tears from her cheeks with her blue-checked apron. 
 " Never since the boy was born'd has he given me sech 
 trouble es this." 
 
 " Why, mother, I don't believe you would make any 
 more fuss if it was his funeral," said Ruth. 
 
 The mother could not reply but turned weeping 
 toward the house. So Jack was gone. 
 
 As I walked home I could not but reflect upon the 
 transient nature of everything, except, perhaps, the 
 rocks and hills. The neighborhood about Waterville 
 had so changed during the last ten years that it needed 
 but a new name to completely destroy its identity. 
 Many of the old neighbors had passed away into the 
 unknown; others had sold their farms to strangers and 
 had moved further west. The strangers had built new 
 houses and torn down the old ones. They had intro- 
 duced new customs, new grains, new fruits, new stock, 
 and new ideas generally, for which we ought to have 
 been thankful, but, as a rule, we were not, for Mr. 
 Underwood expressed the sentiments of the majority of 
 the old residents, when he said: 
 
 " These dratted, highfalutin' notions riles me. I feel 
 like tearin' up stakes an' goin' west myself, where 
 mebbe the people air more like they used to be here, 
 afore they'd had all their sense civilized out of 'em." 
 
 It was almost impossible now to get hold of an old- 
 fashioned Rambeau or Spitzenburger apple, new and 
 improved varieties having taken their places; and a 
 garden that had caught advanced ideas was ashamed to 
 grow the sweet old-time pinks, marigolds and bache- 
 lor's buttons, but instead would have carnations, 
 dahlias and roses — not the odorous, double-deep pink 
 rose we were all familiar with, but multifloras, the bril- 
 liant jacqueminot, and the queen. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY III 
 
 To be sure, the graveyard was left us much the 
 same. Advanced ideas have nothing to do with graves. 
 They are simply " six feet long and three feet wide " 
 the world over, and for all time. So, except for now 
 and then a fresh mound, and perhaps every year some 
 new brier-shoots, it remained unchanged. 
 
 And now Jack was gone. I could not feel reconciled 
 to the loss of his happy, handsome face, and his hearty, 
 cheerful greetings. I felt like going back to mingle 
 my tears with his mother's. 
 
 As I neared my home I saw a familiar-looking figure 
 leaning against one of the gate-posts, which, upon 
 closer inspection proved to be Jones. His clothes 
 were, perhaps, a trifle seedier, his eyes a little more 
 puffy and bloodshot ; but the rapidly-working jaws, 
 with the tobacco-juice running from the corners of his 
 mouth, and the loose-jointed, propped-up attitude 
 were perfectly natural. I expressed some surprise at 
 seeing him. 
 
 " Well, yeh see, Miss, I got inter a little flare-up 
 over yonder where I Hve, an' I thought mebbe Mr. 
 Norton 'd help me aout, 'n I faound him here in the 
 barn-yard this mornin' 'n was tellin' him abaout it, 'n I 
 s'pose she was watchin' frum the winders, fur all 't 
 onced she come flaouncin' aout, 'n says she, 'What's 
 up, Jones ?' 'n says I, 'nuthin'; 'n she give me sech a 
 look, 'n says she, * Well, ef they's enything I dew hate 
 its a manthet 'shamed to speak up ; 'n let me tell you, 
 Jones, you needn't try to 'nveigle Mr. Norton into any- 
 thing, fur I'll see to it, *n its my 'pinion you'd better 
 take yourself off.' Mr. Norton, he jest turned withaout 
 a word 'n walked into the barn, 'n she bein' betwixt me 
 'n the barn, I couldn't dew any better 'n walk 'n 'tother 
 direction. So here I be ; taint no use waitin', nuther, 
 fur I'll not get a sight o' him agin. I swan! ef I had a 
 wife like she^ I'd choke her." 
 
 " No, you will not be likely to see him, and if you 
 were to, you would only make him trouble." 
 
112 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " 'N' goodness knows he's got enough o' that." 
 
 " How is Mrs. Jones ? " I asked, to change the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " Only tolable, Miss. Seems tew me she's all dryin' 
 up. I never see a woman fade es she has. She's nao 
 more like what she was when a gurrel 'n a crab-apple's 
 like a pippen. Naow, 'taint so with you, Miss Jane, 'n 
 yeh must be es old es my woman." 
 
 " Try making her happy, Mr. Jones, perhaps you 
 will see a difference," I answered with some sarcasm, 
 not relishing the reference made to my age, and bidding 
 him good-morning, walked into the house, while Jones, 
 after standing for a few minutes, slouched off down the 
 road. 
 
 I found my mother suffering from a severe headache 
 and a feverish restlessness. I persuaded her to lie down 
 and gave her some simple remedies. 
 
 " Jane, I feel queer ; I want to say now that if any- 
 thing happens you must take me back and bury me 
 beside your father." 
 
 " Yes, yes, mother, all will be done as you wish when 
 that time comes, but I hope it will be many years 
 hence. You may live to bury me yet ; " but there w^as 
 a strange dread tugging at my heart. 
 
 ** Jane," not noticing what I had said, " bury me in 
 my old black silk gown. Seems to me I could rest bet- 
 ter in that than anything else. " 
 
 " Mother, try to sleep. As soon as your headache 
 passes away you Avill be all right." 
 
 I then sat down by her and tried to take her mind 
 from herself by telling her about Jack going away, and 
 of Jones' encounter with Mrs. Norton; but the symp- 
 toms of fever increased, and at night-fall I sent for the 
 village doctor. He shook his head gravely and left 
 medicine. The next day he pronounced it a case of 
 typhoid fever. 
 
 For ten days and nights I watched over her, with 
 help from the neighbors^ and then toward the wane of 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY II3 
 
 the eleventh she whispered, " Jane, poor child, you will 
 be left alone," and was gone. I had never thought of 
 life without my mother, and I seemed wholly unpre- 
 pared and overwhelmed by her death. During the 
 days of preparation for burial I was conscious, in an 
 apathetic way, of the fact that the neighbors all came in 
 with kind offers; that Aunt Beckey and Sarah were 
 saying comforting words; that John Norton had held 
 my hand for a moment, and had said in a low voice: 
 " Think of the gain to her, and not of your own loss, 
 Jane ; " and then some relatives came, who had been 
 telegraphed for, and we took the poor, pale mother 
 and carried her back to her early home ; but not until 
 I returned to the empty cottage did the full force of my 
 loss burst upon me. 
 
 Wherever I turned I would see something that would 
 bring her so vividly before me as to make me groan 
 and wail ; now it was her spectacles, then her knitting 
 work, lying idle upon the window-sill, and again, the 
 old Bible, thumbed and stained with age and wear. Oh ! 
 how many things her hands had made and touched ; 
 how sacred they seemed to me, and how I loved her. 
 The barrier of uncongeniality that had kept us apart 
 seemed all swept away now, and I could only think of 
 her as faultless and above all criticism. And there 
 were times, when my heart was full of grief, I would 
 gladly have lain down my life to have seen her for a 
 moment in her accustomed place at the table, or knit- 
 ting at the window. 
 
 So oppressive was my loneliness I determined to 
 adopt some child, and in turning the matter over in my 
 mind I thought of the Jones family. Perhaps I could 
 get Nanny ; but I soon scouted the suggestion as I 
 remembered the little, dirty, unkempt creature; what 
 trouble she would give me with her slatternly habits 
 and her impudence ; the thing was nottobe thought of, 
 and I put it resolutely from me. But I had raised sl 
 Sarah's Choice 8 
 
114 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 ghost that would not down ; the image of Nanny Jones 
 was continually before me, until I found myself imagin- 
 ing her with clean hands and face, and dressed in tidy 
 and w^hole apparel. I remembered, as I mused over it, 
 that the child had rather regular features, and pretty 
 yellow hair. Finally, in imagination I beheld a little 
 girl running about my house in white spencers and 
 frills, with blue eyes and yellow curls, who, with child- 
 ish prattle beguiled me from sad memories, and filled, 
 to some extent, the void in my heart. 
 
 I became restless and determined to hunt up the 
 Jones'. Perhaps a sight of the child whom I had not 
 seen for two years would be enough to dispel these 
 dreams. 
 
 I knew something about the locality to which Jones 
 had moved. I thought I could find him, but it neces- 
 sitated a long drive across the country, so I went over 
 to the Underwoods to get Ruth to go with me. 
 
 Mrs. Underwood held up both her hands in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Jane, you'll rue it sure es fate. They air 
 seek scallewags." 
 
 " Well, they only need help all the worse for that," 
 I replied, doggedly. Not that I was inclined to be any 
 more charitable than most people, but I had this on my 
 mind and I could not get rid of it 
 
 Ruth promised to be on hand In the morning with 
 the light wagon; so the next day about noontime, 
 after making enquiries at many farm-houses, w^e found 
 the Jones family. They were living much as they had 
 on the Norton farm, certainly not in any better condi- 
 tion, nor could they be in much worse. The picture 
 that Nanny presented was as uninviting as filth and 
 rags could make it, but I stubbornly persisted in seeing 
 possibilities beneath the dirt, so I told Mrs. Jones the 
 object of our visit. She 'looked frightened at the 
 proposition and sent one of the children for Jones, who 
 was working near by. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY II5 
 
 Jones had been drinking just enough to make him 
 quarrelsome. He declared " He'd chuck the hull 
 family inter the crick afore they should gao aout to 
 live." When I broached the subject of adopting her, 
 he, in his maudlin condition, was greatly insulted, 
 and it was only by dint of much coaxing and some 
 flattery that I succeeded in getting leave to take the 
 child on trial for a time. 
 
 The mother tidied her up as best she could, dropping 
 now and then a tear in her quiet uncomplaining way. 
 ** Verily," I said to myself, " she loves her child much 
 as more prosperous people love their children. " We 
 started home, I confess not without some misgivings on 
 my part in regard to the experiment I was about 
 to try. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Aunt Beckey and I sat fanning ourselves in a 
 crowded hall in Brownville. It was a warm day in the 
 latter part of June. We had come to witness the 
 graduating exercises of the senior class in the Brown- 
 ville Seminary. Sarah Norton was one of the graduates, 
 which accounted for the presence of Aunt Beckey and 
 myself. Charlie and Ruth were also in the audience 
 somewhere. 
 
 Sarah carried off the honors of the occasion, and 
 Aunt Becky and I swelled with just pride. We could 
 hear the comments on all sides. 
 
 " What a noble-looking girl." 
 
 " What a beautiful face. So much character. " 
 
 " Did you notice that essay? the best in the lot." 
 
 Tears of affection and satisfaction welled up in our 
 eyes. 
 
 ** Dear child," said Aunt Beckey, as she wiped the 
 moisture from her spectacles, '* ef Mary was only here 
 
ii6 Sarah's choice 
 
 to see this, or even ef John had come, 'twould have been 
 some cumfo't." 
 
 " Perhaps Mary does see it all," I answered, as I 
 reached in my pocket for my handkerchief. 
 
 We had tried to persuade John Norton to be present 
 when Sarah graduated, but he simply shook his head, 
 saying, "It was no place for him," and nothing we 
 could say induced him to change his mind. After the 
 exercises were over, and the diplomas presented with 
 appropriate remarks, and Sarah had bid her school- 
 mates good-bye, we, that is, Charlie and Ruth and my- 
 self, went home with Sarah and Aunt Beckey for 
 supper. 
 
 The little cottage, with its shady yard, had under- 
 gone but few changes since the reader was first intro- 
 duced to it, but I noticed gladiolas sprouting where the 
 bunches of Lady Washington used to grow, and the 
 portrait of Bonaparte had disappeared; in its place 
 stood a chromo, whose chief merit lay in its brilliant 
 and decided colors. Even Aunt Beckey, with all her 
 old-fashioned proclivities, was not proof against the 
 .inroads of progress. 
 
 *' It looks good to see you all here again," remarked 
 Aunt Beckey, after we were seated in the little parlor, 
 each in a wooden rocker. 
 
 " If Jack was only here," said Charlie. There was 
 an embarrassed silence which was broken by Aunt 
 Beckey asking Ruth when they had heard from Jack. 
 
 " Oh, he hardly ever writes, we haven't heard from 
 him for months. When he does write he says he will 
 never come back here to stay. He likes it so much 
 better out there." 
 
 " Goodness me ! " ejaculated Aunt Beckey. " Well, 
 he'll come back to see us sometime, won't he ? " 
 
 " O, yes. He says he's coming. I do wish he would 
 hurry up on mother's account, she has never seemed 
 the same since Jack went away. She just frets and 
 frets ; and father, too, for that matter. One would 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 1 7 
 
 think to hear them go on, that they had but one child, 
 and that one was Jack." Ruth laughed. 
 
 Aunt Beckey went to see about her supper. CharHe 
 and Ruth got to themselves in one corner of the room, 
 and seemed to be busy looking over an album, so Sarah 
 and I went out to walk in the yard. 
 
 "Well, Sarah," I asked, linking my arm in her's, 
 " what now ? " 
 
 " My dear Jane, I am going to work," she said 
 gaily. 
 
 " What at ? " 
 
 " I am to teach in one of the departments of the 
 public schools of Brownville. I commence the first of 
 September." 
 
 I looked at her filled with admiration of the busi- 
 ness-like tone, and the courage she displayed. 
 
 " But, Sarah, when are you going to send for Jack?" 
 
 "Now, Jane," she implored, "don't torment me about 
 that any more. I have no desire for, or prospect of any- 
 thing in the future but work." 
 
 " As Jack's wife you might find work to do," I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Jane, what is the use; we have been over and over 
 this ground before, and you know well enough what I 
 mean. I want the kind of work that brings the highest 
 satisfaction to the soul." 
 
 "You will tire of it; your heart will grow cold and 
 your hands feeble after you have battled for a time with 
 ingratitude and disappointment. " 
 
 "Jane," she asked, "have you not derived some pleas- 
 ure from taking Jones' child? Don't you feel a glow 
 of self- approval whenever you think of it? Can you 
 not say honestly, it is one of the best acts of your life? 
 What must be the feelings of one whose whole life is 
 crowded full of such work?" 
 
 "Oh, but Sarah, when you get as old as I am, you 
 will reason differently. In some way, through the 
 inscrutable dispensations of the powers that be, I have 
 
ii8 Sarah's choice 
 
 missed the love of husband and of children. This being 
 so, I simply try to live the best I can; but I tell you, 
 Sarah, the true life for a woman is home life, with all 
 its little hopes and joys, and cares; with a strong heart 
 to love her and share her griefs and pleasures, and little 
 children to press their soft cheeks to her's. There is 
 nothing makes a woman so womanly as motherhood. " 
 
 Sarah made a wry face. " How sentimental you are, 
 Jane; well, some day I expect I shall fall in love, and 
 then I won't be able to help myself, and it will all turn 
 out just as you want it to. But, come, Aunt Beckey is 
 caUing us to supper. " 
 
 Aunt Beckey had been preparing for this day for a 
 whole week, and her supper was a marvel in the way 
 of culinary skill. We ate until I think our hostess was 
 satisfied we were honest in our lavish praise of the good 
 things. 
 
 " These soda biscuit beat anything I ever saw in the 
 way of biscuit. Aunt Beckey," I said. 
 
 She laughed. ** Brother John Simpkins was here to 
 tea the other evenin'. He preaches in the Methodist 
 Church in Brownville, you know. I hed sody biscuit. 
 Says he, 'Sister Rebecca' — he allers calls me that, an* 
 it sort o' tantalizes me, ' did you pray over them bis- 
 cuit when you was makin' 'em? ' He is powerful 
 pius, an' prayer is his stronghold. ' No,' says I, 'I 
 didn't, why?' *I don't see how you ever made sech a 
 success of 'em,' says he. 'Pooh, Brother Simpkins,' 
 says I, 'what's the use uv botherin' the Lord when you 
 don't need to; ef a body knows how to make biscuit, 
 the next thing to do, is to make 'em. It's my 'pinion 
 that a mighty many o' the prayers that's said air hangin* 
 somewhere twixt here and heaven. I fancy the Lord 
 would like to say to the churches sometimes, more 
 work an' less prayin' down there. 
 
 " Brother Simpkins nearly choked on his biscuit, an' 
 says he, 'Sister Rebecca, how dare you set your face 
 agin prayer.' I says, 'I'm not; prayer is all right in its 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY II9 
 
 place, but this thing of everlastingly sniveling before 
 the Lord about what you want to do an' what you'd 
 like to do, an' a askin' what sJiall you do, an' never 
 liften' a hand to do anything, don't go down with me; 
 an' there's lots of sech people. The churches air full of 
 'em. They imagine they've done their hull duty when 
 they've sed their prayers.' Brother Simpki.is finished 
 his supper an' went away, but, my dears," she added 
 with mock gravity, "he'll never praise my biscuit agin, 
 depend upon it." 
 
 " I guess you will survive. Aunt Beckey, if he does 
 not," said Charlie. 
 
 When we had finished our supper, it was time for us 
 to take leave, as I had to go home with Ruth to get my 
 little charge, whom I had left with Mrs. Underwood. 
 Charlie rode with us as far as the main highway, then 
 took the opposite direction for Brownville. 
 
 " I did think I'd a had my new rag carpet done and 
 down by this time," said Mrs. Underwood, when a lit- 
 tle later we stood in her parlor; " and them old Notting- 
 ham curtains air too shabby, but I don't seem to take 
 no interest in anything ; ef Jack ud come home mebbe 
 I would feel like I used to." 
 
 I took hold of her broad shoulders and gave her a 
 gentle shaking ; by the way, her shoulders were not so 
 broad and plump as they used to be, and her cheeks 
 were quite flabby. 
 
 " Mrs. Underwood, why do you fret so much about 
 Jack; he is all right, and will be coming home one of 
 these days such a man you will be sorry you did not 
 keep things fixed up, and you will wish you had not 
 spoiled your face fretting; perhaps he will bring a wife 
 with him too, who knows. " 
 
 She shook her head mournfully. " Oh, Miss Jane, 
 you don't know anything about the feelins uv a 
 mother." 
 
 " Well, you have Ruth yet; but it is the old story of 
 the prodigal. They are always the dearest. You will 
 
I20 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 have to run away, Ruth, to make your mother appre- 
 ciate you. " 
 
 ** That's just what I'll do some day, mother mine, if 
 you don't cheer up," said Ruth, laughing, and then we 
 all laughed, for we knew that Ruth fully expected to 
 leave the home nest as soon as Charlie was settled in 
 business, although it was my private opinion that she 
 would have to wait for some time yet. 
 
 " And how has the Httle one done to-day?" I asked, 
 as I took the child by the hand preparatory to starting 
 home. " Has she given you much trouble, Mrs, 
 Underwood?" 
 
 " Not a bit. She was jest real company for me. I 
 think you're fortunate after all in takin' that child, Miss 
 Jane." 
 
 I said to myself, as we walked home, Nanny and I, 
 she prattling of her day's pleasures, that I was glad I 
 had tried the experiment. It had proved a greater 
 success even than I had hoped for. She had been with 
 me a year. She was tractable and teachable, and was 
 greatly improved. The Jones' had not interfered, but 
 looked upon Nanny with mingled pride and awe. Upon 
 the whole I was well pleased; perhaps Sarah was not 
 so far wrong. It is the good deeds we do that brings 
 us the greatest satisfaction. 
 
 We were going through the Norton farm. At this 
 point in my reflections we were obliged to cross a stile, 
 when I had gotten down on the other side I found 
 myself face to face with Mrs. Norton. She was pick- 
 ing berries from the briar bushes that grew along the 
 fence. We each felt that we had to speak, but we did 
 it under protest and as ungraciously as possible. Then 
 it occurred to me that I could give her something to 
 think of for the remainder of the evening. So I 
 lingered and we talked a little about the berry crop, 
 and the weather; finally I remarked that I had been to 
 Brownville to see Sarah graduate. 
 
 " Indeed," she snapped. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 121 
 
 "Yes." I then gave her a flaming description of 
 how well Sarah had acquitted herself, and of the praise 
 she had received from the faculty, dweUing particularly 
 upon the admiration she had excited on account of her 
 beauty and bearing. 
 
 " Humph! What's she going to do now? " 
 
 " She will teach. She has already secured a school 
 m Brownville." 
 
 ** Well, I am glad to hear it. It's time she was good 
 for something. She and that boy have been draining 
 their father of every cent he could make for years." 
 
 " Well, of course, they have a right to his money, if 
 any body has." 
 
 She flared up at this. " I don't see that they have. 
 They are both of age, and ought to support themselves; 
 and I know, and you know as well as I do, Jane Tom- 
 kins, that boy is just living off his father, and doing 
 nothing. He is no good, and never will be; the idea 
 of making a lawyer of him,'' she said, with the greatest 
 contempt. 
 
 " Oh, you will find yourself mistaken some day," I 
 replied, trying to be calm. 
 
 " And, Jane Tomkins, I want you to keep that girl 
 of yours out of my berry patch, the one back of the 
 garden. Somebody s been in it, and I am sure it was 
 that imp." 
 
 I knew the child was not guilty, and I told her so. 
 
 " Oh, you'd take up for her, of course, but I'll never 
 trust any of those lying, thieving Jones' no further than 
 I can see them; their meanness is just born and bred 
 in their bones." 
 
 " So is some other people's," I answered, and I left 
 her. I had meant to aggravate her, but she had been 
 a match for me, and I found myself at " bilin' heat," as 
 Aunt Beckey would say. 
 
 Near my cottage I met John Norton. I stopped to 
 tell him of the honors that had been showered upon 
 
122 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 Sarah that day, and that she was going to teach the 
 next year. 
 
 " I am glad; I am very glad," he answered, rubbing 
 his hands slowly together. " Did you — ," hesitatingly, 
 " did you see Mrs. Norton as you came through? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did you tell her? " he asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And that she was going to teach? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 John Norton walked away with a look of relief on 
 his face, while I went into my house penitent and 
 ashamed. Why should I have tried to make that 
 woman angry when I knew it would cause him trouble. 
 He hoped she would feel mollified now toward Sarah, 
 while I knew there was only bitterness rankling in her 
 heart, and I was partly responsible for it. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 One day in the latter part of the summer following 
 the one in which the events of our last chapter trans- 
 pired, Aunt Beckey and Sarah came over to visit 
 me. 
 
 We had plodded through another year with little of 
 interest to break the monotony. True, one of the 
 churches had inaugurated a series of sociables through 
 the winter, which were largely attended by those in- 
 terested in that particular church; and the Government 
 had allowed us three days for mail delivery at Water- 
 ford instead of two. And, too, Deacon Smith's pretty 
 daughter had eloped with and married the good-for- 
 nothing son of Squire Evans, who lived over in the 
 hollow, where Jane Duncan", John Norton's hired girl, 
 came from. So when I said that the year had been mon- 
 tonous and devoid of interesting episodes, I must have 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY . 1 23 
 
 consulted my own feelings entirely, for surely, to some 
 of the people of the neighborhood, the year could not 
 have been so tedious. 
 
 But my visitors had brought news this day that 
 aroused me from my lethargy. Sarah was going away 
 — going to leave Brownville. A lady from Philadel- 
 phia had been visiting a friend in Brownville, and, 
 combining business with pleasure, she was also in 
 search of a teacher for one of the departments of a 
 charitable institution with which she was connected. 
 The friend, knowing Sarah and her views upon certain 
 subjects, recommended her so highly the lady sought 
 an interview, and the consequence of it was that 
 Sarah was engaged to fill the place. 
 
 "Oh, Sarah!" I cried, "how can you go off and 
 leave us? Why will yow be so cruel? It makes me 
 sick to think of it." 
 
 " There's no use in a body settin' their afiPecshuns on 
 anything in this world. It will only be taken from 'em 
 ef they do. I never mean to love a single critter agin 
 long es I live if I can help it, so there now! " declared 
 Aunt Beckey, bringing her substantial right foot down 
 upon the floor with a whack. Sarah ran out to hide 
 her tears. 
 
 " It's no use, Jane, she's as tender-hearted es a 
 a kitten, but she has made up her mind to go an* 
 nothin' short of imprisonment would keep her, an' we 
 might jest es well send her off cheerfully es to make it 
 so hard fur her; I suppose," she added with a sigh, 
 " it's all right, we don't understand her feelings." 
 
 " I don't see how she ever came 'to have such queer 
 feelings," I replied pettishly. " Has she told her 
 father?" 
 
 " Yes, we told him Saturday; he stopped in on his 
 way from town." 
 
 " What did he say? " 
 
 " He seemed startled like, but I think he felt it was 
 not for him to interfere after the dear child had been 
 
I 24 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 driven from home es she had, so he heaved a big sigh, 
 but said nothin'. Do you know, Jane, I do think 
 John Norton acts singular." 
 
 ** I should think he would. I don't see how he 
 could act natural after having lived with that woman as 
 long as he has. Such an experience would have driven 
 most people to the insane asylum ere this." 
 
 We both laughed, but Aunt Beckey said seriously: 
 " But, Jane, I do really feel anxious about John." 
 
 " Will Sarah go to see her step-mother before she 
 leaves?" 
 
 " I tole her she better call over to-day for decency's 
 sake." So toward evening we held a consultation and 
 concluded to all go over and call upon Mrs Norton. I 
 think Aunt Beckey and I went with Sarah to act as 
 body guard. 
 
 As we walked up the path through the front yard 
 Sarah's eyes filled with tears at the familiar sights. 
 Familiar, yet with a barren, neglected air about them 
 which one could feel, rather than describe. 
 
 " Wonder ef her parlor ever sees daylight," said 
 Aunt Beckey, as she eyed the side of the house with 
 the close-drawn blinds. 
 
 I never could think of that parlor without seeing the 
 dead form of Mary Norton, with the white sheet drawn 
 over it. 
 
 Mrs. Norton opened the door in answer to Aunt 
 Beckey 's vigorous knock. She showed no surprise 
 this time. No doubt she had seen Aunt Beckey and 
 Sarah when they came in the morning, and had antici- 
 pated the possibility of a call. She received us coldly, 
 remarking to Aunt Beckey, with a tinge of sarcasm in 
 her voice: " You are quite a stranger," to which Aunt 
 Beckey made no answer, but explained to Mrs. Norton 
 that Sarah was going away and she wanted to see her 
 and the old place before she went. Evidently Mrs. 
 Norton had heard of Sarah's new plans, but she asked 
 no questions, nor did she make any comments. After 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 25 
 
 some desultory conversation, which seemed a great 
 effort on the part of each of us, we went out into the 
 back yard. Mrs. Norton dechned going with us. She 
 said she " was too much ashamed of the place to want 
 to show it." 
 
 " Dear old ravine," murmured Sarah, as we stood 
 looking down into the little hollow, " I wonder when, 
 and under what circumstances, I will see you again." 
 Then we wajidered down to the goose-pond and to the 
 orchard. There was indeed signs of decay everywhere. 
 The goose-pond v/as dry and there were no geese to be 
 seen; many of the old apple trees were entirely dead, 
 while others were dying. We retraced our steps 
 slowly, going through the house, as Aunt Beckey again 
 observed, " for decency's sake." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Norton, " I suppose you saw that 
 the hen-house is about to tumbledown — the wood- 
 house, too, for that matter, and the drain from the 
 spring has given out, so the water hasn't run down to 
 the watering-trough nor the goose-pond for over a 
 year. I just had to give up trying to keep geese; and 
 John Norton won't fix a thing, not a single thing if he 
 can help it. I'm always poking him up, too, but it's no 
 use." 
 
 ** Mebbe you poke him up too much," suggested 
 Aunt Beckey, blandly. 
 
 Mrs. Norton turned on her sharply, but Aunt Beckey 
 was pinning up a rent in her gown she had made while 
 in the orchard, and looked so innocent, Mrs. Norton 
 concluded to let the remark go, and went on to say 
 that " He says he is getting old and can't work like he 
 used to. Now that is absurd, for look at me. I am 
 only a year younger, and I can stand just as much as I 
 ever could." 
 
 " What's pie fur some is pison fur others," came 
 involuntarily from Aunt Beckey. 
 
 Again Mrs. Norton turned on her. " What do you 
 mean by that, Beckey Brown? " she demanded. 
 
126 Sarah's choice 
 
 " I mean your' one of the ever-bloomin' kind," said 
 Aunt Beckey, sweetly. " You don't grow old like the 
 rest of us. Well, we must be goin'," and she marched 
 straight to the door. So saying our adieus we filed 
 quickly out, leaving Mrs. Norton standing in the mid- 
 dle of her floor, uncertain as to whether she had been 
 insulted or comphmented. 
 
 " Girls," said Aunt Beckey as she panted for breath, 
 " I feel as though I'd choke. Ef I could give that 
 woman a rousin' cowhidin' I'd feel like sayin' : ' Good 
 Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace.' " 
 
 Nanny was sitting on my front steps crying bitterly. 
 Upon inquiry we found that she had returned from 
 school, and seeing Aunt Beckey's wagon standing by 
 the gate, but finding no one in the house, she concluded 
 we must have gone over to Mrs. Norton's, and ventured 
 to hunt us up, appearing at Mrs. Norton's front door 
 while we were back of the house. She timidly inquired 
 for me. Mrs. Norton glared at her and told her to 
 " begone you sneaking imp ; go right straight back 
 home. I'll not have you on the premises, nor none of 
 your tribe. I know what you are." 
 
 Mrs. Norton emphasized her words with a stamp of 
 her foot and a motion toward the frightened girl that 
 sent her flying down the steps unhesitatingly, nor did 
 she slacken her pace until she was safe in the road. I 
 was more than vexed. Nanny was now in her thir- 
 teenth year, but she did not look it, being small and 
 delicate, and quite child-like in appearance. She was 
 also nervous and sensitive, and felt keenly the indignity 
 she had been subjected to. -She could not understand 
 Mrs. Norton's insinuations against her parents. 
 
 " What did they ever do. Aunt Jane, that she should 
 always be throwing 'em up to me ? " she cried. 
 
 " What did you ever do," I replied evasively, " that 
 she should call you names? She is an ill-tempered 
 woman, you must not think about her, or of what she 
 has said." 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 127 
 
 " One might as well be bad, if they're going to be 
 called bad. They's no use in tryin' to be good," sobbed 
 the excited child, 
 
 " Poor child," said Aunt Beckey, patting her on the 
 head. " Don't say that; you know you're all right, an' 
 you needn't care what anybody else says ; you'd feel 
 mighty different, now would'nt you, ef you knowed 
 what she said of you was true?" 
 
 ** Come with me, Nanny, and help me pick some flow- 
 ers, I want a bouquet to take home with me," said 
 Sarah. 
 
 When they came back the tears and the grief had all 
 been charmed away. Nanny looked upon Sarah with 
 mingled awe and adoration, deeming her a little above 
 other mortals. Indeed, once while studying a Bible 
 lesson in which reference was made to angels, and she 
 was trying to get of me a correct idea of them, she 
 exclaimed, " Are they like Miss Sarah, Aunt Jane?" 
 
 So Aunt Beckey and Sarah went away leaving Nanny 
 and I sitting on our front steps. A neighbor woman, 
 a Mrs. Farland, passing b}^, dropped in, she w^as one 
 of the few intimate friends of Mrs. Norton. 
 
 " Oh, no, thankee, don't trouble to go in, I'd jest es 
 soon sit on the steps, its such a warm evening. " 
 
 " Don't you get lonesome. Miss Jane," she asked, 
 after we had talked some about the warm weather and 
 the fruit prospects; " you do stay at home so close." 
 
 " No, not often," I replied. 
 
 " Indeed, and how is Mrs. Norton? " 
 
 " She is well, I believe," I answered dryly. 
 
 " I hear'n tell yesterday that Sarah Norton was goin' 
 to Philadelphy, is it so?" 
 
 " I believe it is. " 
 
 " Sho! well, I do think its terab'l the way that girl 
 carries on." 
 
 I looked at her in surprise. " What has she done?" 
 
 " Oh the way she treated her stepmother, and a run- 
 nin' off from home. Mrs. Blake she telled me all about 
 
128 Sarah's choice 
 
 it;" she said, "not to say nuthin', but Mrs. Norton hed 
 told her es she believed that girl's doins would bring her 
 father in sorrow to his grave; an' now she's goin' off all 
 alone away to Philadelphy; she said she wouldn't won- 
 der ef she'd turn out bad a trapsin about alone. " 
 
 " Great Heavens!" I gasped, " how dare you say such 
 a thing about Sarah Norton? That brave, pure girl is 
 worth a half dozen of you vile gossipers shaken 
 together. Oh! hnsh, don't say another word to me 
 about it. " Then becoming conscious of the fact that 
 my caller was staring at me as if she was afraid I had 
 suddenly been bereft of my senses, and that she was 
 sliding down the steps preparatory to getting away, I 
 realized that in my anger I had said too much, so I 
 begged the woman's pardon. I said, " I have had a 
 bad head all day. I guess I am half crazy. How is 
 your mother standing the warm weather?" 
 
 " She's purty well;" then returning to the subject I 
 wished to avoid, with a toss of her head, she said: "Of 
 course you'd stick up for Sarah Norton, ennybody 
 knows that, but you know as well as I do that a gerl's 
 got to be keerfull an' well looked arter, or she'll get 
 talked about. An' you'll hev to look arter that young- 
 ster o' yourn. Miss Jane;" glancing at Nanny, " You 
 knc .V what she come from." 
 
 My anger was at a white heat again, but with an 
 effort I controlled myself and said, solemnly: " She came 
 from just where you and I came from, Mrs. Farland, 
 from the hands of her God; and we could scarcely prove 
 we were made of better clay." 2> 
 
 " Well, its the fust time I've ever bin insulted by bein' 
 put on a footin' with paupers," she answered, as she 
 flounced through the gateway. 
 
 I watched her as she crossed the road and went into 
 Mrs. Norton's, with a sense of humihation and disgust. 
 What I had said would be talked over, exaggerated, 
 and made far worse than it really was, and it was bad 
 enough at best. Why couldn't I have kept my mouth 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 29 
 
 shut? I covered my face with my hands and fairly 
 groaned. 
 
 "Aunt Jane, what did she mean by sayin' that about 
 me?" asked Nanny, in a tone half curious, half angry, 
 as if not fully understanding. 
 
 I drew her to me. " Nanny, she said no worse of 
 you than she did of Miss Sarah, and you know how 
 good and noble she is. So forget what she said; it 
 amounts to nothing. There is Mr. Norton at the barn, 
 he has come in from his work; run across and tell him 
 Miss Jane would like to know how he stood this warm 
 day; do not stay long." I often sent the child to him 
 on some little pretext or other, because he seemed to 
 like her, and I thought he would be less lonely. 
 
 Left alone, my mind again reverted to what had 
 passed between Mrs. Farland and myself. 
 
 ** Miserable gossiping creatures, they would set 
 themselves up as the guardians of virtue; they, who 
 would sniff the air in search of a word, a hint or a sug- 
 gestion that they might blast the reputation of a 
 defenseless girl; they would fold their righteous robes 
 about themselves and say to the pauper: ' Stand back, 
 we are better than thou art, poor vile thing; remember 
 of what kind of dirt thou art made. We are of pure 
 clay and would not be contaminated; thou wilt, of 
 course, through the force of thy unclean nature, 
 stumble along through life, and finally stumble into 
 hell, but we — ah! we are of the elect." 
 
 " Bah! This narrow, sterile life sickens me. Think 
 of my experience this evening — fit scene to elevate 
 one. No wonder Sarah wanted to leave." I dropped 
 my face in my hands again. 
 
 Nanny came back and broke in upon my bitter 
 reflections, and sitting there, with darkness closing in 
 around us, the head of the drowsy child resting in my 
 lap, listening to the sweet, soft sounds of night, I grew 
 calmer. The chirping crickets, the frogs singing in the 
 Sarah's Choice^ 
 
130 - SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 marshes, the faint sounds of human voices, with now 
 and then the musical notes of some night-bird, fell upon 
 my ears with soothing effect. I turned my face heaven- 
 ward, and while watching the sparkhng stars, a voice 
 seemed to whisper, " Neither are your ways my ways." 
 It brought a great content to my soul, for God, in his 
 own way, would adjust all things aright in the end. 
 The moon, peeping around the house just then, shed a 
 flood of light over us Hke a benediction. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 There was a dozen or more of us gathered in Mrs. 
 Smith's sitting-room. She had invited us to a quilting, 
 and the quilt, tacked to a frame, rested on chairs in the 
 center of the room. It was rolled up from both sides, 
 showing that a great many stitches had been put into it 
 before our assistance was asked for. Indeed, Mrs. 
 Smith had informed us, that she had been *' stitchin' at 
 the thing fur weeks an' I thought I'd just ask the neigh- 
 bors in, an' be done with it. I'm tired o' heven it 
 around. Smith's jammed agin the ends o' the sticks 
 an' knocked the pegs out until it's all gettin' loose — let 
 alone the temper it puts him in. Ah, Mrs. Blake, I'm 
 so glad to see you. Is Mrs. Norton coming? " 
 
 " I think not," answered Mrs. Blake, as she divested 
 herself of her bonnet and shawl. " Sister Norton is 
 getting so she don't go out much." 
 
 We arranged ourselves around the quilt and com- 
 menced work. 
 
 " It's a big job to make a quilt, I tell you," observed 
 Mrs. Green. " My sakes, I've jabbed my finger to the 
 bone nearly. Have you some shorter needles, Mrs. 
 Smith?" 
 
 " Jest look at this feather pattern, Miss Jane; Mrs. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY I3I 
 
 Farland laid it out. Isn't it beautiful? They 'low 
 she's the best kind o' a hand at borders." 
 
 " Sister Norton's got nine quilts laid away that's 
 never been on a bed — every one of them quilted so 
 close it's just like darning work, and the borders all 
 done in double feather patterns. " 
 
 " What a pity she hasn't a darter to hand 'em down 
 to," said a gentle old lady. 
 
 "Well, there's her. step-daughter," suggested a 
 brusque voice. " Miss Jane will you roll that spool 
 this way, please." 
 
 Mrs. Blake looked daggers at the speaker. " You 
 know well enough how that is. Surely Sister Norton's 
 having trouble enough to make a saint of her. " 
 
 " Precious tough material for a saint," said some one 
 in an undertone. 
 
 " But they do say she Avas real hard on Sarah," said 
 the gentle old lady, peering over her spectacles into 
 Mrs. Blake's face. ' 
 
 " O, I'm aware that that's what some people say." 
 I fancied she shot an indignant glance at me, but I 
 was too intent on my work to look up. " But you see 
 I happen to know the whole triUh of the matter. " 
 Mrs. Blake looked around as if to say that if we would 
 but give her a chance she could enhghten us as to the 
 domestic affairs of the Norton's to an extent that would 
 be quite relishing. 
 
 " We are ready to roll our side now," was announced; 
 when that was accomplished, and we were again settled 
 to work, the hum of conversation went on. 
 
 " Do you know. Miss Jane," said my young neigh- 
 bor on my left, " the new minister of the Presbyterian 
 Church is just as nice as he can be ? He is so jolly 
 and says such funny things. He sings divinely, too ; 
 leads all the singing himself. Then he is so handsome; 
 he has such a lovely complexion — pink and white, hkea 
 girl's, and his hair waves back from his forehead beauti- 
 fully. Married ? Oh, no; won't that be fun ? All the 
 
132 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 girl's are goln* for him. (The cotton in this quilt must 
 be awful poor. I have the hardest work in the world 
 to get my needle through for the lumps.) What do 
 you think ? Angy Smith's settin' her cap for him; that 
 girl sets her cap for every unmarried man that comes 
 around. " 
 
 *' What kind of sermons does the new minister 
 preach ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh ; he preaches splendid. There ! I've broken 
 my needle. I knew I would. Miss Jane, could you 
 reach the needle paper ?" As I reached for the desired 
 paper a solemn voice further to the left of me attracted 
 my attention. 
 
 " Butter's lower'n I ever knoed it to be. It don't 
 pay to make it. I wus say in' to Jiiin jest the other 
 day, 'better we let the calves run with the cows and 
 fatten 'em fur the butchers." 
 
 " Well," was the answer, " if we can't sell our butter, 
 I don't know what we women's coming to; for that's the 
 most we have to depend upon for buying things into 
 the house." 
 
 " Yes," said the first voice, " for ye Ct'n't count on 
 eggs, with the chicken cholery so bad." 
 
 " It's queer about Jack Underwood never comhi' 
 back," put in Mrs. Farland; " I should like the shears, 
 Miss Blake. .• They say Sarey Norton's at the bottom 
 o' that, too." 
 
 " T>o yoii know anything about it. Miss Jane? " some 
 one asked. 
 
 This was a poser. What ought I to say? What could 
 I say? I sent up a silent prayer that kind Providence 
 would put the right words into my mouth. 
 
 " Surely we need not pry into Jack Underwood's 
 affairs. Probably he does not want our assistance. He 
 is quite capable, mentally and physically, of taking care 
 of himself. " I said this jocosely, but notwithstanding 
 the aforesaid prayer, it was not well received. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 33 
 
 Mrs. Blake looked her contempt, while Mrs. Farland 
 ejaculated, " Pshaw! " 
 
 Then we quilted in silence for a moment, but only 
 for a moment; the buzz of voices soon commenced 
 again. 
 
 " I invited Mrs. Underwood over to-day," said Mrs. 
 Smith, " but Ruth came last evenin' to say her mother 
 was not well, and that there was no use under the sun 
 in her coming, for she didn't know the first thing about 
 quiltin'." 
 
 " That's the trouble with girls nowadays," said some 
 one, " they're not taught to do much of anything that's 
 useful." 
 
 " O that's not true uv Ruth Underwood," said Mrs. 
 Smith, " she can do a'most everything, an' is es smart 
 as she can be. She'll make a good wife for some- 
 body, I tell ye." 
 
 We all laughed, while my young companion on my 
 left remarked that " it would not be hard to guess who 
 that somebody would be." 
 
 It had been commonly accepted in the neighbor- 
 hood that Charlie Norton and Ruth Underwood were 
 destined for each other, and no one ever thought of 
 interfering in any way. In this case, at least, true 
 love had run smoothly. 
 
 Toward evening we finished the quilt and took it 
 out of the frame; while some remained in to bind it, 
 others of us went out to the garden. It was the kind 
 of garden that all good farmers' wives pride them- 
 selves in. There was a broad walk through the center, 
 with flower-beds bordering either side of it. The 
 remainder of the ground was laid out in plots and 
 planted in vegetables, while currant and raspberry 
 bushes grew by the palings. 
 
 I had plucked some flowers, and while pinning them 
 on my bosom hummed aloud the lines; 
 
134 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 
 Old Thne is still a-flying, 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 To-morrow will be dying. " 
 
 " Miss Jane," said the young girl, who had gushed 
 over the new minister, " do tell me what ivas the 
 trouble between Sarah Norton and Juck Underwood? 
 They used to seem to think so much of each other. " 
 
 " I really can't tell you," I answered lightly, " per- 
 haps they have changed their minds, but let me finish 
 my song, there is some good advice in it for you. " 
 
 — " Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry, 
 For having lost but once your prime, 
 You may forever tarry." 
 
 " You better have followed that advice yourself. Miss 
 Jane," laughed the girl. 
 
 Mrs. Blake had been at the other end of the garden 
 looking at the cabbages ; passing us at this moment she 
 stopped and addressed herself to me. 
 
 " I will have to speak to you, Miss Jane, about that 
 Jones girl you have taken. Mychildren say she is so 
 very quarrelsome, always picking a fuss with them, and 
 sometimes she even throws stones at them." 
 
 " I am both grieved and surprised," I answered, " to 
 hear this; Nanny has always been obedient and quiet at 
 home, probably there is wrong on both sides ; the 
 children must tease her. " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Blake, w^th dignity, " I have ques- 
 tioned my children closely, and I can depend upon them. 
 Whatever else they may be, they are truthful. They 
 say she always commences the quarrels, and when she 
 throws stones at them, all they does is to try to keep 
 out of the way." 
 
 " What good little things they must be," observed 
 the young lady, mischievously, " they're not a bit like I 
 used to be. If any of the school children threw stones 
 at me I'd throw back," 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 35 
 
 Mrs. Blake did not deem it worth her while to 
 answer this, and went on, " I am continually telling 
 my children to let her alone, to keep away from her, 
 that I do not want them to associate with her any way, 
 for you know the old saying, and it's true, too, what's 
 bred in the bone is hard to get out. But really, Miss 
 Jane, I can't have my children stoned by her." 
 
 " I will speak to Nanny about it," I said, turning 
 away, for I recognized the utter uselessness of prolong- 
 ing the conversation with Mrs. Blake. No amount of 
 reasoning or of proof even, if I had it, would convince 
 her that her children were in the wrong, for she was 
 one of those mothers who believe everybody else's 
 children capable of doing monstrous things, but her 
 own were ever models of propriety. 
 
 That evening I talked with Nanny and gathered 
 from what I could draw out of her, that, as I had sus- 
 pected, she was not the only one who had picked 
 fusses or had thrown stones. Of course, I endeavored 
 to impress upon her mind the gravity of her offenses, 
 but when the poor child weepingly declared " that she 
 couldn't be good if they didn't let her alone," I 
 realized that it was unreasonable to expect it of her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "Leave him to God's watching eye, 
 
 Trust him to the Hand that made him. 
 Mortal love weeps idly by, 
 God alone has power to aid him," 
 
 My Dear Jane: — It is now three weeks since I 
 commenced my work here, and I have been too busy 
 to write or to get homesick, but to-night I want to talk 
 to you. I feel the need of companionship and I shall 
 try to imagine you right beside me. 
 
 It is past nine o'clock. The little waifs are all in 
 bed and the most of them asleep. I have just come 
 
136 Sarah's choice 
 
 from the dormitory where I had gone to see that 
 everything was in order for the night. What a sight! 
 It makes one feel hke praying. I have under my 
 charge over sixty of these little wanderers, who seem 
 to have strayed into a world unbidden and unwelcome. 
 As I pass from cot to cot I see faces of every descrip- 
 tion. The little sallow, pinched face which speaks of 
 insufficient food and perhaps hereditary disease, and 
 the rosy-cheeked darling that any parent might be 
 proud of — faces upon which, by heritage, the Hnes of 
 sin and vice seem stamped, and others as sweet and 
 innocent as any child born to love and luxury. Thank 
 God! they are all clean now. If you could see them 
 when they are first brought in! Sometimes one's 
 heart turns sick at the sight of what appears to be such 
 hopeless degradation, but you feel better after they are 
 scrtcbbed. 
 
 My duties are to teach during certain hours of the 
 day. We have a school-room, large and airy; we usp 
 text books and conduct our school upon the usual plan. 
 Then I am expected to march my youngsters to their 
 meals and keep order during the time allotted for eat- 
 ing. At night I must superintend the getting of them 
 to bed properly. 
 
 Dear Jane! Of course I am very new to the work 
 yet, and I must not say much about it; but to comfort 
 you — you poor, dear soul — I will say I do not as yet 
 regret the step I have taken. When I do, I will tell 
 you. Remember me to Papa and Charlie and Ruth, 
 when you see them. I think of you all to-night with 
 tears in my eyes. How is little Nanny getting along? 
 Tell her to gather some of the prettiest, bright autumn 
 leaves she can find and send them to me after they are 
 dried and pressed. Perhaps they will help to awaken 
 new ideas in the minds of my little ones, the majority 
 of whom never saw an autumn leaf or dreamed there 
 was anything half so pretty in a world, which, so far, 
 has held little for them but rags and filth and curses. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 37 
 
 I have written to Aunt Beckey several times since I 
 left — just short notes to let her know I am well, so she 
 will not fret, the precious woman — was there ever 
 such another? Jane, I wish I could have the comfort of 
 holding your hand in mine just now. Good night. 
 
 Your loving Sarah. 
 
 Nanny gathered the leaves and took great delight in 
 selecting the most perfect and those with the richest 
 coloring. We sent them before Christmas. After the 
 holidays were over there came a letter to Nanny from 
 Sarah. 
 
 My Dear Little Nanny: — Your leaves came all 
 right. I never saw prettier ones. As I looked them 
 over I was reminded of how, when a little girl like you, 
 I would sit and play for hours with autumn leaves, 
 weaving them into all sorts of fantastic shapes — all the 
 time wondering why no two were alike — why some 
 were yellow and some were red — why this one looked 
 as if the rich splotches of color had been accidentally 
 dropped upon it — and that one was quite regularly 
 marked; while in others the colors were so artistically 
 blended, I called them changeable, because I thought 
 them like my mother's wedding dress, a changeable 
 silk, a garment which to me in those days embodied 
 everything beautiful, rich, and desirable in the way of 
 raiment. 
 
 Your leaves helped to decorate our school-room for 
 Christmas, adding color, warmth, and beauty to the 
 evergreens. As I explained to my little ones that they 
 came from the country where the flowers grew so 
 abundantly little children could pick as many as they 
 wanted, and where the grasses and the leaves were so 
 plentiful they could play among them all day long, 
 while the birds sang to them, they listened to me with 
 wide open eyes, much as they do when I tell them a 
 fairy story, or talk to them about Heaven; but one, a 
 
138 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 usually timid little creature, forgetting herself for a 
 moment, stepped forward, exclaiming eagerly: "Oh, 
 my mother told me about it. She came from there; 
 she had seen them — " then noticing so many incredu- 
 lous eyes fixed upon her, she shrunk back, frightened 
 and abashed. But I went to her rescue; I told her 
 that I had come from the country, and had seen all 
 these beautiful things, and no doubt her mother had 
 also. 
 
 So, Nanny, you have helped to contribute to the 
 pleasure of these children — have helped to make them 
 happier — are you not glad you could do that much? 
 And now, my little Nanny, plant a plenty of flower seeds 
 in the spring, and keep the beds well weeded, for per- 
 haps I shall visit you next summer. If I do I shall 
 want to revel in bouquets. Kiss Aunt Jane for me. 
 
 Yours in love, 
 
 Sarah. 
 
 So when spring came the thought uppermost in 
 Nanny's mind and mine, was that Sarah was coming 
 home ere long, and everything we did was done with a 
 view to that great event. We went over as soon as the 
 weather would admit of it and cleaned up the turf 
 around her mother's grave, and planted fresh flowers 
 on the top of it. It would pain her, I reasoned, to 
 find it neglected. 
 
 If Jack would only happen home, I kept thinking to 
 myself, for I had by no means given up hope that in 
 some Avay Jack and Sarah would yet be united, if I 
 could but manage to bring them together. I went so 
 far as to get out my writing materials one day to write 
 Jack a letter, but when I got ready, all the fine, persua- 
 sive arguments I had been turning over in my mind to 
 say to him to induce him to return, seemed to lose 
 form, and became a heterogeneous jumble which I could 
 not get into shape again. So after groping around 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 39 
 
 mentally for a time in vain, I threw my pen down in 
 despair. 
 
 I met Mr. Underwood. " When did you hear from 
 Jack?" I asked. 
 
 " O, it's not more'n a month since we had a jjood, 
 long letter from him." 
 
 How is he getting along?" 
 
 " Well, you'd think to read his letter he was gittin' 
 on fine. He has taken up some land out there 'n that's 
 the reason he can't come home; leastwise that's what 
 he says is the reason." 
 
 " Tell him," I said, " that he must come home this 
 summer; that his old friends all want to see him; that 
 his mother is nearly heart-broken over his staying away 
 so long. Surely, if you would urge him, Mr. Under- 
 wood, he would come." 
 
 Mr. Underwood shook his head. " We've said every- 
 thing that could be said, Miss Jane, but he says he 
 can't come till he gits well planted. He writes quite 
 cheerful like. Says he's hearty as a bear, and that 
 when he does come home he'll be so big and brown we 
 won't know him." 
 
 So that was all, and there was nothing encouraging 
 in that; but I had a stout heart. I fully beheved that 
 something would happen to bring about the event I 
 so much desired. 
 
 Along later in the season, one morning, I stood on 
 my back porch watching the undulating waves of the 
 grain-fi^elds as the gentle breeze swept lazily over them; 
 one, tA^o, three fields I could count from where I was 
 standing. The grain was turning yellow; it was 
 almost ready for the reaper, v/hile the air was heavy 
 with the odor of the blossoming clover. " Why, har- 
 vest is upon us," I was just thinking to myself, when 
 Nanny came running around the house exclaiming 
 excitedly: 
 
 " Aunt Jane, there's lots of men gathering over at 
 Mr. Norton's barn." 
 
I40 SARAH S CHOICE 
 
 As she spoke, somebody sprang, apparently with 
 one bound, upon the front porch, and rapped loudly. 
 Oh, my prophetic heart, it gave one leap and seemed 
 to stand still. 
 
 The person who had knocked did not wait for any 
 one to come, but opened the door and shouted through 
 the house, " Miss Jane, have you heard the news? " 
 
 By this time I had got inside the room, but my 
 tongue refused to act, and I could only look at the 
 intruder — one of the neighbor's sons. 
 
 " Mr. Norton's gone and hanged hisself in his barn." 
 He left the door standing wide open, and bounded away 
 to spread the news further. 
 
 I dropped into a chair and sat staring at the men 
 standing in groups in front of Mr. Norton's barn. 
 Every now and then they were joined by a newcomer, 
 who had heard the news and had hastened to the scene. 
 They all appeared excited, but in a subdued sort of 
 way. 
 
 Nanny pulled at my sleeve. " Aunt Jane, is he 
 dead? " she asked, in a whisper. 
 
 I could not speak, for I seemed paralyzed. Perhaps 
 she read the answer in my face, for she went over and 
 sat down by the window, sobbing quietly to herself. 
 " If / could only weep," I thought to myself. The 
 coroner drove up, and after tying his horse, he, with 
 some of the men, went into the barn. In a little while 
 they came out, two and two, carrying a stiff, dark form 
 between them. Still I sat with dry eyes, as if in a 
 dream, watching them move slowly across the road 
 toward the house. 
 
 Rover met them. Poor old dog ! he had survived 
 cuffs and kicks and starvation for this. With frantic 
 demonstrations and pitiful whines he compelled them 
 to stop with their burden. He sniffed around his 
 dead master's face and licked the motionless hands, 
 then, as if realizing what had happened, he dropped on 
 his haunches and set up such a heart-broken wail, even 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY I4I 
 
 the rough men were moved to tears and wiped their 
 eyes, some with red cotton handkerchiefs and others on 
 their shirt sleeves. Again they went on to the house. 
 I got a ghmpse of Mrs. Norton opening the door for 
 them. The sight of her aroused me and sent the blood 
 surging through my veins once more. That woman ; 
 that termagent, that she-devil had done this. She had 
 tormented and exasperated him into taking his own life. 
 She had murdered him; the only man I ever loved. 
 Yes, I dared to say it now; he was no longer hers ; he 
 was free; almost exultingly I repeated over and over to 
 myself as I paced up and down the room wringing my 
 hands, the tears let loose in a flood, " He is free, he is 
 mine." There was comfort in the thought, and after a 
 time a longing came over me to see him ; to kiss the 
 lips I had never dared to kiss before ; to hold the hands 
 I fain would have held through life ; to whisper in the 
 dull ears the secret I had kept so well for so many 
 years. I bathed my face, and telling Nanny to remain 
 at home, started across the road. As I think of it now, 
 I seemed to be walking in a partial trance, my faculties 
 benumbed, with no longer any desire to weep. 
 
 Charlie had just arrived. He was standing in the 
 hall listening to a neighbor's account of how they had 
 found his father. There was an expression of the 
 utmost horror on his white face. I went up to him 
 putting my hand on his arm. 
 
 " O, Jane," he faltered, " this is more than I can 
 bear. " Staggering to the stair-steps he sat down and 
 covered his face with his hands. Turning to the parlor 
 door after a moment's hesitation, I opened it, went in 
 and closed it behind me. I was alone with the dead — 
 my dead. The windows were up, but there were no 
 rose-bushes trailing in at them, and there was a damp, 
 musty smell in the room that the fresh air had not yet 
 dispelled. On a rudely constructed bier lay the dead 
 man, the white sheet drawn close over the face. I 
 could scarcely move my limbs for weakness. There 
 
142 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 was a tightness about my heart which seemed to stop 
 its beating, but half unconscious as I was I reached the 
 still form and turned down the sheet. I stood trans- 
 fixed. He lay with the expression of one who had, 
 indeed, shuffled off mortality, and with it all its vexing, 
 unsolved problems. The face was as innocent as a 
 child's, with a smile of glad content about the mouth. 
 Did some one from over the river meet him in those 
 last moments, and help the poor faltering feet to cross 
 into that country where rest abideth forever? Ah, 
 he did not look as if he missed the clover blossoms, 
 or the ripening grain, or the sunshine of this world. 
 My dead did I say ? As I stood looking at that face I 
 soon realized that he was not mine. I no longer wished 
 to kiss the lips or clasp the folded hands. He had gone 
 to Mary, and he was her's. With a strange relief at 
 my heart and a coming to my natural self, I replaced 
 the sheet and went out. 
 
 Charhe had left the hall. Going on through to the 
 back porch, I found Mr. Underwood sitting on a bench. 
 The tender-hearted little man was weeping. I took his 
 hand. 
 
 " Poor John," he blurted out, and then broke down 
 entirely, sobbing like a child. 
 
 After waiting for him to recover somewhat, I asked: 
 " Has any one gone for Aunt Beckey?" 
 " Bless my soul, "he exclaimed, springing to his feet, 
 "I never thought of it." 
 
 "Do send some one at once." Promising to see to 
 it, he hurried off. On my way out, I passed the sit- 
 ting-room door which stood ajar, through which there 
 came the sound of crying and talking together. It was 
 Mrs. Norton. With her was her sister, Mrs. Blake, 
 and two or three other friends who had come in to con- 
 dole with her. As I passed, I heard her say, "It's just 
 as I always told you, them children's worried him into 
 his grave; not that I ever expected he'd go this way;" 
 she stopped to cry a little, " but it's worked on his 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 43 
 
 mind, don't you see; the poor, dear man didn't know 
 what he was doing; from the very moment that 
 girl " 
 
 I heard no more, but hastened out. 
 
 That girl ! Sarah. In my selfish grief, I had scarcely 
 thought of her; had they sent for her? I tried to find 
 Charlie, but could not. I went to a knot of men stand- 
 ing by the yard-fence. They seemed to know that she 
 had been telegraphed to in the morning when they sent 
 a messenger to Brownville for the coroner and Charlie. 
 
 " But I don't think the gal can git here. Miss Jane," 
 said one. "They can't keep him longer'n to-morrow. " 
 
 I Avent home. Oh, Sarah, and this will be your 
 home-coming. As I realized what a terrible shock the 
 news would be to her, I threw myself on the sofa in an 
 ecstacy of grief. 
 
 " Nanny, Nanny," I cried, " go tear up the flowers 
 by the root and let them die. What do we want with 
 anything so beautiful in a world like this. They offend 
 the eye with their bright hues, their sweet odors sicken 
 the already fainting heart. Let everything be black, 
 black, and smell of the grave." 
 
 " Aunt Jane," plead the weeping girl, " did you see 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How did he look," she asked, breathlessly. 
 
 As I remembered that face again I sat up and dried 
 my eyes. " How did he look, Nanny ? He looked as 
 though the moment he left this world was the happiest 
 he ever knew. Why should I grieve so? " 
 
 Along in the afternoon Mr. Underwood brought 
 Aunt Beckey. When I first saw her she w^as fumbhng 
 in a helpless sort of way at my gate-latch. Mr. Under- 
 wood had helped her out of his wagon and was driving 
 across the road to the hitching-post by the Norton gate. 
 I went to meet her. I remember as well as if it had 
 happened yesterday the picture of woe Aunt Beckey 
 presented, with her bonnet all awry and her face so 
 
144 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 drawn with pain it had aged ten years, and she had for- 
 gotten to put on her neck-handkerchief. She trembled 
 with emotion as I put my arms around her to help her 
 up the steps. She could not speak, poor soul! She had 
 grieved sorely over Mary's death, but Mary had been 
 smitten by the hand of Providence, and the affliction 
 must be borne with Christian resignation, with the 
 promises of God to soften her sorrow, but this was the 
 devil's doings, therefore Aunt Beckey was overwhelmed 
 with horror and grief without any hope to mitigate the 
 blow. I seated her in a rocker and proceeded to untie 
 her bonnet, teUing Nanny to make some tea. 
 
 She rested her head against the back of the chair 
 with closed eyes, but after a little, Nanny brought in 
 the tea, and under its reviving influence she sat up, 
 saying, with quivering lips: " Well, Jane, in all our 
 predictin* and prophesyin' we never thought it 'd a 
 come to this." I shook my -head. 
 
 " No, but you will feel better when you have seen 
 him." 
 
 She shrank back, putting up her hands, as if to ward 
 off a sight too horrible to contemplate. 
 
 " Aunt Beckey, when you have looked upon his 
 face you will feel glad he is at rest." 
 
 " Jane," she answered, in her severest tones, " we've 
 allers pulled together purty well in our heretical 
 notions — a gildin' over doubtful souls an' slidin' of em 
 inter Paradise, whether the Lord w^anted em or no, but 
 when it comes to upholdin' suicides, an' a shoutin' 
 glory hallilujah over 'em, then I want you to under- 
 stand I'm not with you. " 
 
 " I am not upholding suicide. Aunt Beckey. I have 
 no excuse to offer. I don't know how it is. I simply 
 know that when you look at his face you feel that the 
 Lord had understood him, and in some way it was all 
 right. No man ever went out of the world sinning and 
 left such a face behind him." 
 
 Aunt Beckey leaned back in her chair with a groan, 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY I 45 
 
 then suddenly clutching at her throat, she exclaimed: 
 " Fur gracious sakes, Jane, I've come off without my 
 neckerchief, and I hed 'low'd ter stay over." 
 
 I assured her she could certainly find something 
 among my collars or handkerchiefs that would answer 
 her purpose. So in selecting a neck garniture her 
 mind was for a time diverted from the painful subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 I WENT over to Mrs. Norton's in the evening to see 
 if I could render any assistance, but was told by one 
 of her friends that there was nothing I could do. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Norton had been, I learned, quite able 
 to superintend all the funeral arrangements herself, 
 even to the minutest details. She had borne up 
 wonderfully well under her affliction, considering that 
 she it was who first found Mr. Norton in the morning. 
 The shock, occasioned by such a discovery, was not so 
 prostrating, but that she was able to give the alarm, and 
 all through the day had made such necessary provisions 
 as the exigency demanded, with her usual clearness 
 and forethought; nor did she, as I saw with my own 
 eyes, neglect to whisk the cat out, (anew cat, by the 
 way, tabby having been gathered, we trusted, to more 
 congenial quarters long before), as usual, or to brush 
 the offending flies, with accompanying invectives, from 
 the kitchen, w^here the odor of an unusual amount of 
 cooking and baking had enticed them. 
 
 " The funeral has been set for to-morrow afternoon 
 at three o'clock," I observed to Aunt Beckey, as I 
 removed my bonnet, after returning home from Mrs. 
 Norton's. 
 
 " Well, perhaps its best if Sarah don't git here in 
 time after all; she'll bear it better not seein' him; but 
 whose agoin* to tell her? " 
 Sarah's Choice lo 
 
146 Sarah's choice 
 
 We sat in silence for a time. Who, indeed, would 
 have the courage to tell Sarah that her father took'his 
 own life. A thought struck me. 
 
 " Aunt Beckey, why need she be told? " 
 
 " Sure 'nuff," ejaculated Aunt Beckey. 
 
 We brightened up as we discussed a plan that was to 
 save both Sarah and ourselves much misery. On 
 account of her work she would probably stay only a 
 short time, and would see but few people. It seemed 
 to us easy enough to keep from her this terrible tale, 
 which, if told her, would shadow her whole Hfe, and, 
 as we feelingly argued, perhaps unfit her, to some 
 extent, for her work. 
 
 Mr. Underwood came to us early the next day. 
 
 " Miss Jane," said he, " I'm havin' the old church all 
 cleaned up this mornin'. Miss Norton she's bound to 
 hev services; though why John Norton, who never went 
 inside a church when he was livin', should be carried 
 into one after he's dead, is more 'n I can explain; but 
 Jinny and me we talked it over an' agreed if they was 
 goin' to hev services the old church was the place to 
 hev 'em, cause, you know, there's where Mary Norton 
 worshiped, an' somehow. Miss Jane, I can't think of 
 John Norton's bein' anybody's husband but Mary's. " 
 
 Mr. Underwood paused to blow his nose and reflect 
 a moment, then, he continued: 
 
 " Oh, Miss Jane, the old church did look good to me 
 when we opened it up this morning, with the sun a 
 shinin' into it, and the woodbine growin* round the 
 door; to be sure the cobwebs an' the dust was thick, and 
 the plasterin's fallen more, but for all that, it seems to me 
 a different spot from any other on earth; why, every- 
 thing in the old shell seems holy, an' the very air's the 
 breath o' God." 
 
 ** Will Mrs. Norton consent to use the old church?" 
 
 " She commenced to make a fuss, but Charlie looked 
 at her in such a way, it silenced her. The boy looks 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 47 
 
 like a ghos', Miss Jane, — an' she finally said she didn't 
 mind." 
 
 '* When does Charlie expect Sarah?" 
 
 " He thinks she can't get here afore the evenin' 
 train; he and Ruth are goin' to meet her." 
 
 Then Aunt Beckj^ and I told him our plan. " Don't 
 let them tell her, Mr. Underwood," I said, "they can 
 say his death was sudden, that he was found dead in 
 the barn.. Tell them to bring her right here." 
 
 Mr. Underwood shook his head as if doubting the 
 wisdom of such a course; and said he was afraid we 
 would make a muddle of it, but finally agreed to it. 
 
 Early in the afternoon a crowd began to gather at 
 the Norton homestead. They came from far and near. 
 When Aunt Beckey and I got there we found the yard 
 full of men, and the house full of women. Many were 
 the comments and speculations regarding the dead man. 
 But people are not wont to speak unkindly of the dead; 
 it is when we are aHve and can feel the torture, that 
 the shafts of envy, of suspicion and of slander, arc 
 thrust into us; but the dead, perhaps because of their 
 inability to writhe and to squirm for the amusement of 
 their tormenters, are, for the most part, left to sleep in 
 peace. And so it was with John Norton ; the general 
 verdict being that his mind had failed him. One 
 woman edged up to Aunt Beckey: 
 
 " What do yoii think about it, Miss Brown?" she 
 asked. 
 
 ** I think ef the devil's got him, he's not much worse 
 off 'n he was before," she snapped, w^hich made the 
 woman start back in amazement. 
 
 " Aunt Beckey," I whispered, " you ought not to 
 have said such a thing ; it will be repeated all 
 around." 
 
 " I'm past carin'," she replied, grimly. 
 
 The undertaker came and the clergyman — the same 
 Brother Simkins that had praised Aunt Beckey's bis- 
 cuit. After a little the people were invited to take a 
 
148 Sarah's choice 
 
 last look at the dead, and the long procession filed 
 slowly through the room where lay the mortal part of 
 John Norton. There was visible surprise depicted 
 on the faces of those who looked at the dead man. 
 They had expected to see traces of a violent and sin- 
 laden death stamped on the features; but, instead, they 
 saw what looked to be the fkce of a saint. When we 
 reached the open air. Aunt Beckey, while wiping away 
 the fast-falling tears, whispered, " Yer right, Jane ; the 
 face is comfortin'. " 
 
 At this moment Jones shuffled up to speak to us. I 
 will say to his credit there was evidence of real feeling 
 in the man's face. Jones had loved " the master," and 
 the moisture in his eyes was not wholly due to their 
 weakness. When he endeavored to speak of Mr. Nor- 
 ton the poor fellow broke down. To help him out, I 
 pulled Nanny around from the other side of me, 
 saying : 
 
 " See what a fine girl she is growing; she is almost a 
 woman. Nanny, here is your father. " 
 
 As I fairly pushed her toward him, I became aware 
 of the fact that the girl was purposely shrinking from 
 him. 
 
 " Won't ye shake hands with yer ole Dad?" said 
 Jones, holding out his hand. 
 
 It was not without some urging on my part that she 
 would do it. 
 
 "She isgrowin'so proud she won't speak tew me," said 
 her father, with some bitterness. 
 
 " Nonsense! Nanny," I said severely, for I was vexed 
 that she should act so, "I am ashamed of you." 
 
 The pall-bearers coming out just then, carrying 
 the coffin to the hearse, diverted our attention, and 
 I saw no more of Jones. The relatives followed 
 the pall-bearers. They were few in number; the 
 widow, a sister of Mr. Norton with her husband, and 
 poor Charlie. They were put into a carriage next 
 to the hearse, and Aunt Beckey and I, with Nanny, got 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 149 
 
 into Mr. Underwood's wagon, which stood the next in 
 line. Then came the people in all sorts of conveyances, 
 from the decent family-carriage down to the dilapidated 
 "big wagon," that had done duty for twenty years. I 
 remember the procession reached almost from the Nor- 
 ton gateway to the village. While the pathway on 
 either side of the road was hned with pedestrians. 
 
 Brother Simkins' sermon was a little lame, but the ^ood 
 man had a difficult task before him. He had to deU- 
 cately touch upon the ungodly life the dead man had 
 led, and the terrible end of it, because it was his duty 
 to warn sinners; and yet he must speak words of hope 
 and consolation to the bereaved family. Naturally there 
 was some clashing of arguments and some incongruous 
 assertions; but no matter, John Norton lay as calmly 
 and peacefully as if he knew his case would be tried at 
 a higher court, where the Judge never errs. 
 
 The services over, in the hush of the approaching 
 evening, when everything in nature seemed in sym- 
 pathy with the mournfulness of the occasion, we laid 
 John Norton to rest, — that rest he had so coveted. 
 Nothing in this world could charm him more. 
 
 " What cares lie; he can not know; lay him low." 
 
 " Now," I thought to myself, " there will be tivo 
 graves to keep." 
 
 That night, about nine o'clock, Charlie and Ruth 
 brought Sarah and left her with us. Poor girl, she 
 grieved sorely at first that she did not get to see her 
 father, but finally said it was best. She could always 
 think of him as she saw him last, smiling sadly down 
 upon her as he bade her good-bye. We found she knew 
 nothing of how her father had left the world; so I 
 instructed Nanny not to say anything at all to her on 
 the subject. The next afternoon, feeling somewhat 
 rested, Sarah said she thought she must go over to 
 see her step-mother. In her sorrow she felt softened 
 
150 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 toward her and was ready to forgive and forget every- 
 thing, saying that perhaps, after all, she had misjudged 
 her. She should say something of the kind to her, 
 and propose that they ignore the past for the dear 
 father's sake. Aunt Beckey and I exchanged glances. 
 We felt uneasy, but we said nothing, and when we 
 found Sarah was determined to go, we volunteered to 
 accompany her. So once more we three were together 
 crossing the road, to call on Mrs. Norton; and let me 
 say right here, that it was the last time. 
 
 Our knock was answered by Mrs. Blake, who simply 
 tossed her head while she held the door open for us to 
 enter the hall, and then, in a curt tone, told us to go 
 into the sitting-room, where Mrs. Norton sat, stiff, 
 stern and uncompromising-looking. She barely nodded 
 in answer to our salutations, but did not get up. After 
 a moment's hesitation we awkwardly dropped into 
 chairs, where we sat fidgeting and wondering what 
 would happen next — at least I did fidget and wonder, 
 for I could not sit comfortably with Mrs. Norton's lynx- 
 eyes upon me. Suddenly Sarah said, pleadingly: 
 
 " Let us forget the past and be friends. I am sure 
 dear papa, if he knew, would be glad. In the light of 
 such trouble as we are in now, these little petty 
 misunderstandings appear so foolish, and should be for- 
 gotten." 
 
 Mrs. Norton had been slowly rising during this 
 speech, and something in her manner compelled us to 
 rise to. I began to regret our coming. My uncom- 
 fortable feelings were increasing to an alarming extent. 
 
 " I tell you how I feel about it, Sarah Norton!" came 
 swiftly and fiercely the answer, " I wish you three and 
 all your breed would get so far away I could never set 
 eyes on you again. I know what you all think and 
 what you all say, I heard of what you said yesterday, 
 Beckey Brown. I've heard of things you've said be- 
 fore, too. You've always egged on this girl against 
 me. You are a conniving, driveling old fool. And 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY T51 
 
 you, Jane Tompkins, who'd a given your head to 
 have " — I threw up my hands as if to ward off the 
 words that crushed me with shame — " married John 
 Norton yourself; you never could forgive the woman who 
 did marry him. Oh, I've understood you all the time. 
 You've done all you could to set the neighbors against 
 me; from the moment I married John Norton to this, 
 I haven't had a minute's peace. Everything that's gone 
 wrong with him or his children has been laid upon iny 
 shoulders. If the crops failed, /was to blame: if the 
 building went to rack / was to blame; if the children 
 ran away from home and grew up fools, /was to blame; 
 and now, when worn out with trouble and disap- 
 pointment, caused by the doings of his own children 
 and the meddling of other people, John Norton takes 
 his own life, and of course I'm " 
 
 " Oh, hush," broke imploringly from the lips of 
 Aunt Beckey. 
 
 Sarah had clutched the back of a chair for support, 
 and stood gazing from one to the other of us, with an 
 expression of terror on her face. " What does she 
 mean?" she asked, in an unnatural voice. 
 
 " Come home, dear," I plead, " and we will tell you 
 all about it. We kept it from you because we wanted 
 to spare you." 
 
 While talking I was pulling her toward the door. 
 In our anxiety for Sarah it did not seem to occur to us 
 to answer Mrs. Norton's tirade. This was a turn in the 
 affair that Mrs. Norton had not counted upon, and her 
 surprise got the better of her. Stepping forward, she 
 exclaimed: 
 
 " Really, I supposed of course " 
 
 We lost the rest of it, for we had got through the 
 door out into the fresh air, which may have revived us 
 physically, but mentally we were in a confused and 
 demoralized condition. Aunt Beckey and I felt humil- 
 iated over the portrait Mrs. Norton had drawn of us 
 with unsparing hand — or unsparing tongue rather — 
 
152 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 although conscious it was in no wise a correct one. 
 We knew we were not guilty of the deeds or motives 
 she had attributed to us; and yet, through shame at 
 having even been accused of them, and regret for the 
 sorrow that had fallen afresh upon Sarah, we felt 
 woefully like criminals, as we led the poor, half-dazed 
 girl back to my cottage, where I left her alone with 
 Aunt Beckey in the little parlor, while I went to pre- 
 pare the supper. When later I returned to them, I saw 
 they had both been weeping and I knew Aunt Beckey 
 had told her all, softening the sad truth as well as she 
 could. 
 
 That night Sarah rested but poorly, tossing and 
 turning in her bed, sleepless and feverish, and arose in 
 the morning pale and spiritless. Along in the day she 
 suddenly announced she would return to Philadelphia 
 immediately. 
 
 " I must get to work, Jane," she said. " There is 
 nothing like work for a heart-ache. While trying to 
 help others in trouble, I will forget, in a measure, my 
 own." 
 
 I looked at her as she sat there, so pallid and delicate 
 in appearance, the transparency of her complexion the 
 more apparent in contrast with the plain black dress 
 she wore. 
 
 " You need rest," I argued, as I smoothed back the 
 heavy brown hair from her forehead. 
 
 " No, no; it gives me too much time to think. Let 
 us go make Mr. Underwood's a little visit, and then we 
 will get Ruth to take Auntie and I home. The next 
 day I will start back to my school. " 
 
 So it was settled; and in the afternoon we went over 
 to Mr. Underwood's. Mrs. Underwood seemed quite 
 conscience-stricken at sight of Sarah's miserable face, 
 and forgetting that she had hated her so terribly, took 
 her in her arms and cried over her, thereby adding to 
 Sarah's distress. 
 
 " 'Pears as if there's nuthin' but one trouble on top 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 53 
 
 uv another enny more," sobbed the little woman. 
 " Livin' don't seem a bit like it used to, and a body 
 can't take no comfort, no how." 
 
 While she sat down to dry her eyes, we all, I am 
 sure, glanced back to a time when, compared with our 
 present condition, we seemed so happy. Earth was 
 a paradise, the grass was greener, the air one long 
 breath of perfume, and the sunshine eternal. Now 
 there was a shadow over everything. 
 
 They tried every argument to induce Sarah to stay 
 longer, but when they found she was determined to go, 
 Ruth cheerfully consented to take her and AuntBeckey 
 home. 
 
 As we stood at the gate after seeing them off Mr. 
 Underwood asked : 
 
 " I wonder what they will do with the farm now. 
 Miss Jane ? " 
 
 "Who?" I asked, absently, my mind having followed 
 the occupants of the little wagon just going over the 
 hill. 
 
 "Why, the Nortons." 
 
 Surely, I had not thought of it. There would have 
 to be a division of the property. 
 
 " Was there a will, Mr. Underwood ? 
 
 " Seems not. I guess John Norton thought the law 
 'ud make a good enough will fur him." 
 
 When I got home that evening I found Nanny in a 
 discontented frame of mind. 
 
 " Aunt Jane," she asked, " couldn't I stay out of 
 school ? " 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Because the school children they jeers me so. The 
 Blakes are at it all the time, and the Smiths. They says 
 I can't never be anybody, for I'm just old drunken 
 Jones' girl, if Miss Jane is tryin' to make a lady of me. 
 Tillie Blake said her mother said there was no use of 
 white-washin' a black sheep, for the wool vv'ould show 
 through." 
 
154 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " Nanny, can't you go straight along and pay no 
 attention to them ? " 
 
 " No, Aunt Jane, I can't," cried the girl fiercely. " I 
 just gets mad and calls 'em names back." 
 
 " O Nanny, Nanny, that is what they want you to 
 do. If they could not torment you they would let you 
 alone." 
 
 " I can't help it, Aunt Jane," she answered, defiantly, 
 and there were angry tears in her eyes as she went out 
 and down the path to the garden gate, where she stood 
 picking to pieces some clover heads she had jerked ofif 
 their stalks with no gentle hand, as she went along. I 
 sat watching her and wondering what she was thinking 
 about. Poor child! I began to understand why she 
 shrank away from her father. She realized, to some 
 extent, that through him she suffered scorn and taunts, 
 and, no doubt, she felt hatred in her heart toward the 
 one whose sins had put a blight upon her life. Naturally, 
 the girl had good instincts, but she was somewhat weak, 
 and being impulsive, was easily led from one extreme 
 to the other. The effect of the jeers and inuendoes of 
 her schoolmates might prove injurious. I felt troubled 
 and at a loss to know what course to pursue in regard 
 to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Charlie Norton and Ruth Underwood were mar- 
 ried the next spring, and came to live on the Norton 
 place. Mrs. Norton had gone back to her old home. 
 She had agreed to take as her dowry a portion of the 
 Norton farm adjoining her land. Sarah did not want 
 the remainder of the farm divided for a time, so it was 
 agreed that Charlie should work the whole of it. He 
 had evidently come to the conclusion that he was better 
 fitted by nature to be a farmer than a lawyer. I think 
 he was helped to this conclusion by his father-in-law, 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 155 
 
 for Mr. Underwood had confided to me, that in his 
 opinion it was more desirable to be a good farmer than 
 a tricky lawyer, " Fur drat 'em, I say. Miss Jane, 
 they're every one of 'em dishonest; it's catch es catch 
 can with 'em every time. 
 
 Under Ruth's supervision the old house was com- 
 pletely metamorphosed. Mr. and Mrs. Underwood 
 took a great interest in their daughter's new prospects, 
 the latter regaining some of her old-time cheerfulness 
 while helping Ruth to fit up. Ruth got the new carpet 
 and the Nottingham lace curtains which Mrs. Under- 
 wood had intended for her own parlor, with so many 
 other things, that I was afraid the home nest would 
 seem barren indeed, with both the young birds gone, 
 and so much of the furniture as well. I suggested some- 
 thing of the kind to Mrs. Underwood, but, mother-like, 
 she could not do too much for her child; nay, her hap- 
 piness increased in proportion to her sacrifices; but 
 when she brought over and placed in Ruth's cupboard 
 some precious bits of blue China that she had always 
 shown with great pride as having belonged to her 
 mother, I felt that she was immolating herself to an 
 extent that would never be appreciated. ^ Ah, these 
 poor mothers, are they ever repaid for their idolatry? 
 
 It was a pleasant change to have Charlie and Ruth 
 living just across the road from me. Why, I said to 
 myself upon first thought, it ought to seem like old 
 times; but, alas! after a moment's reflection I felt that 
 whatever my surroundings might be, the old times could 
 never be reproduced. My heart had undergone so 
 many of those strains that gradually moulds and trans- 
 forms one into a different sort of being, that I could 
 never feel again as I had in the days gone by, and there 
 was no process by which I could be changed back agam 
 in this world. I could not, like Ruth's house, be painted 
 up on the outside, and refurnished in the inside, and 
 thus made as good as new. I should have to look for 
 the old times,— that freshness of joy, that exuberance 
 
156 Sarah's choice 
 
 of spirit, that absence of weight oppressing the heart, — 
 in the nev/ life where we expect eternal youth and a 
 gladness that will last forever. 
 
 But, as I have said, it was pleasant to have Charlie 
 and Ruth for neighbors; to sit on my porch and look 
 across at the prettily-painted front with its lace-draped 
 windows, and the flowers growing in the yard where 
 they had not grown for years. 
 
 Ruth soon had a rosebush climbing up at the parlor 
 window, too, just like it used to when dear Mary Nor- 
 ton was living. 
 
 They were very happy, this young couple. Little 
 Ruth was like a sunbeam, flitting here and there, so 
 bright and cheery, it gladdened one's heart to be with 
 her. Charlie was changed somewhat since his father's 
 death. There was a grave and thoughtful air about 
 him I had never noticed before. He took hold of farm- 
 ing, too, with so much determination, he evidently felt 
 it was time he was making a success of something. 
 
 " Ruth," I said one day, " now, if Jack would come 
 back, and he and Sarah would marry and settle near 
 me, I would be as happy and contented as I ever expect 
 to be in this world." 
 
 Ruth shook her head slowly. " Don't count on it, 
 Jane," she answered. 
 
 " But I must count on it, I have always believed in 
 premonitions, and my heart tells me that some day,' 
 Jack, longing to see his friends once more, will turn his 
 steps homeward: and when Sarah has seen enough of 
 the world to find out what an intolerant, thankless 
 task-mistress she is, she, too, weary and disappointed, 
 will look back to this spot as the one place of refuge. 
 She will suddenly become conscious of the fact that 
 she had always loved Jack and did not know it; and 
 then — Oh, I feel it will come about all right in the 
 end! " 
 
 Ruth smiled incredulously. 
 
 Nanny all this time was leading a troublesome life. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1^7 
 
 Her father now spent much of his time in the county 
 jail for disorderly conduct during drunken sprees, and 
 his family, what was left of it, with the exception of 
 Tommy, had been sent to the infirmary. I am happy 
 to record the fact that two more of the children, born 
 since the death of the babe who died while the first 
 Mrs. Norton was yet living, had been gathered to that 
 land where we hope there is no hunger. Tommy, now 
 almost a man, was working for a farmer. The reports 
 in regard to him were to the effect that he had inherited 
 his father's appetite for drink and was following close in 
 his footsteps. Nanny was made cognizant of these 
 facts fast enough. There are always people sufiiciently 
 kind to see that you are not kept in ignorance of any 
 bits of information that might sting you; and the more 
 you show your misery the gladder they are that they 
 were the first to tell you. There were people in the 
 neighborhood, — people who professed to be Christians, 
 too, — who, instead of being glad that Nanny was so 
 situated that she might escape the fate of her family, 
 seemed only intent upon proving to me that inherited 
 depravity was incurable. As I have said, Nanny was 
 sensitive, and every insinuation, or comment, or sneer 
 upon the condition, the character, or prospects of her 
 family, stung her to the soul; and she flung back at 
 h$r tormentors hateful, insolent words, which pleased 
 them, of course, for it was proof of inborn viciousness. 
 All this was telling on her character and slowly, but 
 surely, shaping it. In choosing her companions, she 
 chose those who were kindest to her, without regard to 
 their character or social standing. 
 
 In sorrow I remonstrated with her, trying to set 
 before her the danger, the end of such a course if per- 
 sisted in ; but her sullen answers were generally that 
 " she could not help it, they drives me to it," or that 
 " she didn't want to be good if bein* good was to be 
 like them." I was very much worried, and consulted 
 with Aunt Beckey about her. 
 
158 Sarah's choice 
 
 " Don't talk to her too much, Jane," said she. 
 " This continu'l dingin' at a body about somethin' aint 
 a goin' to do 'em any good : it only agravates 'em, 
 an' makes 'em more determined to go the other 
 way. " 
 
 " But," I protested, *' I cannot always keep quiet." 
 
 " No, but choose yer times." 
 
 I tried to be discreet, and several months passed 
 without any open rebellion on Nanny's part ; only now 
 and then some hasty words, which were as hastily 
 repented of. When, one evening, I noticed her dressed 
 for going out. I also noticed that she was unusually 
 nervous. I suspected that something was wrong. 
 So I questioned her, and wrung from her the reluctant 
 admissian that she intended going to a singing with a 
 young man whose reputation was not so savory as it 
 might have been. I first tried reasoning with her. 
 " Nanny," I said, " you know what people will say if 
 you go with that young man. Your character is all 
 you have, and it is too precious to throw away." 
 
 ** I don't care," she answered, angrily. " They say 
 I have no character any way," 
 
 " But they cannot say it truthfully if you give them 
 no reason to." 
 
 " I guess I can take care of myself," was the defiant 
 answer. 
 
 " Nanny, when you get older you will see what folly 
 this is; and until you show more discretion I shall 
 have to act for you. You cannot go to-night. It is 
 for your own good that I forbid you." 
 
 " But I must go!" she exclaimed, in dismay. " I have 
 promised him." 
 
 " You should not have done so Avithout consulting 
 me. I will sec the young man when he comes, and 
 explahi to him that you cannot go." 
 
 And then, in a perfect storm of passion, she left the 
 room. In about half an hour I heard footsteps on the 
 porch and a knock at the door. I had taken hold of 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 59 
 
 the latch when Nanny dashed past me, and flinging my 
 hand away, saying, " I will see him myself," she 
 opened the door and passed out, shutting it in my face 
 before I had time to think or act. I went back to my 
 chair dazed and uncertain. I could not see my way 
 clearly. Bitterly I reproached myself for a fool. This 
 was what I was reaping for all my care, my work, my 
 love even; for the girl had grown dear to me. 
 
 "Verily," I thought, as the tears trickled down my 
 cheeks, "the neighbors are right. There is no good in 
 her. I have been sowing seed upon stony ground." 
 After a time Nanny came in and went directly up to 
 her room, without even so much as looking at me; but 
 I felt relieved and glad she had not disobeyed me by 
 going to the singing in spite of my prohibition. The 
 next day Nanny was sullen and silent. I looked in 
 vain for some sign of contrition, of repentance. Late 
 in the evening I v/ent over to Charlie's, and he, with 
 Ruth and I, sat talking on their front porch until long 
 after the stars were out. 
 
 "I had a letter from Jack to-day," said Charlie. 
 
 "Did you," I cried, eagerly. "Do tell me what he 
 says. " 
 
 "He's dead in love with the country out there. Says 
 there is some show of a man's getting rich in a country 
 like that." 
 
 "But when is he coming to see us," I interrupted. 
 
 "Well, in regard to that, he says we better all make 
 up our minds to come out there and settle, for he was 
 a fixture. He did not see how or when he would be 
 able to even visit us, he was so busy." 
 
 "I have no patience with Jack," I said, shortly. 
 
 " Neither have I," pouted Ruth. " To think that he 
 would not even come to our wedding. " 
 
 When I went home the house was all dark, which I 
 marvelled at, and there was a stillness, a loneliness 
 which chilled my heart. I hastily lit a lamp, and look- 
 ing around my eyes caught sight of a crumpled bit of 
 
i6o Sarah's choice 
 
 paper lying on the dining-table. Mechanically I picked 
 it up and read: 
 
 " I have gone away. Don't try to find me, fori will never, never come 
 back, I have gone to people that'll be kind to me if they're not good." 
 
 There was no name signed to it, but it was Nanny's 
 hand-writing. Poor, misguided girl, she had gone to 
 her ruin. I went out and called to Charhe and Ruth 
 who were yet sitting on their porch, asking them to 
 come over. They came quickly. I handed them the 
 paper to read. 
 
 " What shall I do? " I cried. 
 
 " You can do nothing," said Charlie. 
 
 " Dear knows, Jane, you have done your duty by 
 her," said Ruth. " I wouldn't fret if I were you." 
 
 We went up to the room that had been Nanny's and 
 found that she had taken her best clothes and all of the 
 little trinkets she had prized. 
 
 " You had better come over and stay with us to- 
 night, Jane," said Charlie. 
 
 " No," I replied, " I must get used to it, and I may 
 as Avell commence at once." 
 
 They went away leaving me alone, as they thought, 
 but I had companions they wot not of. As I sat there 
 witli my head upon the table, they trooped around me: 
 — the ghosts of the past; of friends with sad, dead 
 faces; of hopes and aspirations that lived for a time, 
 but to be crushed when most prized; of a love unasked 
 and unrequited; of a deed done for sweet charity's sake, 
 that I had hugged to my heart as the one redeeming 
 act of my life, and even while I hugged, it had turned 
 a loathsome corpse in my arms. Truly cheerful, agree- 
 able companions these. 
 
 The next morning I wrote this bitter letter to Sarah: 
 
 Dear Sarah: — Do you remember asking mc, a 
 long time ago, if the taking of Jones' child from her 
 wretched home, and adopting her as my own, had not 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY l6l 
 
 given me more satisfaction than anything I had ever 
 done? I think I acknowledged it had; or if I did not 
 to you, I did to myself. I took such pleasure in doing 
 for the child, that I was deluded into the belief that 
 this one act of mine would pass me through the gates 
 of heaven, even if I had nothing else to recommend 
 me. This delusion lasted for years. I clothed, trained 
 and schooled the child, as conscientiously as if she had 
 been my own; and even now, with utter failure staring 
 me in the face, I can not see how I could have been 
 more faithful in the discharge of my duty to her. This 
 bit of paper that I enclose, will explain what I mean. 
 The girl could not have done worse if she had stayed 
 in her father's house. 
 
 If your charitable efforts turn out as mine have, how 
 much comfort are you going to get out of them? You 
 will have your own wasted life, and from the ruins you 
 may gather sweet consoling memories of scores of 
 ungrateful wretches who have turned away from your 
 teaching, and have gone to perdition in spite of the 
 sacrifices you have made for them. This is what you 
 call living a noble life, is it? the kind of life that is 
 to bring you something better than mere happiness. 
 Truly, I cannot understand why one should prefer 
 dead ashes to living, glowing coals; why they should 
 turn from love, from a bright and cheerful home and 
 congenial and elevating companionship, and clasp to 
 their shivering hearts disappointment, ingratitude and 
 dead hopes, as the best this world can give. 
 
 Oh! Sarah, Sarah, may you never have occasion as I 
 have, to sit down and mourn over the desolate condi- 
 tion, the utter emptiness of your life! I wish you 
 could see how happy Charlie and Ruth are. Forgive 
 me, Sarah, if what I have written sounds harshly. Be- 
 heve me, I love you none the less because you are so 
 blind, so obstinately blind. 
 
 Ever yours, jANE. 
 
 Sarah's Choice ii 
 
1 62 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 In a few days I received the following answer, which 
 made me weep in humiliation, and vow to never again 
 seek to turn Sarah from the path she had chosen: 
 
 My Poor Jane: — I forgive you your seemingly 
 unkind thrusts, for I know they were prompted by your 
 love for me, and I know, too, that your letter was 
 written when you were overwhelmed by one of those 
 waves of despair and distrust that we all have to 
 encounter sometimes. I sincerely mourn with you over 
 Nanny's transgression, but not without hope. Dear 
 little Nanny. Jane, there was good in the girl. Do 
 you believe this mad act of hers has quenched it all? 
 When the glamour of the new life has worn off, your 
 teaching, your kindness, your care, will present them- 
 selves to her in a new light and with new meaning. 
 
 I have faith to believe she will come back to you. 
 Oh, Jane! Hold yourself ready to receive her; not as 
 one ruined or lost, but as one sick, whom you must 
 nurse back to health again. You have sown good seed 
 upon ground not by any means sterile. They will yet 
 grow and bear fruit. Do they who plant the acorn 
 live to see the full-grown oak? We must not expect 
 to always see at once the fruits of our work. The seed 
 may lie in the ground for a long time before sprouting; 
 or a little tender shoot may be broken and stunted; 
 but prune it up and give it a chance again. It may 
 yet grow into a strong and healthy tree. 
 
 I look upon Nanny as the victim, to some extent, of 
 thoughtless people, who, in gratifying their love of 
 gossip and their pride in themselves for being so good 
 and flawless, like the Pharisee of old, never dreamed 
 that at some future time they may be arraigned before a 
 wrathful Judge to answer for helping to beat and bruise 
 and push into the gutter this poor, despised Httle one. 
 Oh, Jane, I wish I had the tongue of a thousand ora- 
 tors and the strength of a thousand men, that I might 
 endure to fight effectively for the poor, the unfortun- 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 63 
 
 ate, the oppressed, who are being trodden in the mire 
 by those who have the advantage of them. Situated as I 
 am, I have opportunities of seeing so many things that 
 makes my blood boil. I cannot help wondering some- 
 times why a righteous God does not in His anger raze 
 the whole universe. But, Jane, there is a better side to 
 life ; a fair, a beautiful side. There are hearts of gold ; 
 there are lives as sweet and simple as the daisies and 
 buttercups ; motives as pure as the dewdrops, and 
 principles as enduring as eternity. Let us keep these 
 in mind and never falter. 
 
 Jane, my whole being is full of sympathy for you, 
 fori love you. Saraii. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 After Nanny left me I plodded on drearily enough. 
 I had quit teaching altogether, of late years, for there 
 were so many more youthful aspirants for the position 
 of teacher, it was difficult for me to secure a school. So, 
 restless and discontented, I looked about for something 
 to interest me. ,My house was lonely again, as it had 
 been after my mother's death, and before I brought 
 Nanny to live with me. I determined to go out more, 
 to attend church regularly, and visit my neighbors 
 oftener. The neighbors seemed to feel kindly toward 
 me in my troubles-. They did not exactly say: " I told 
 you so," but they looked or hinted it; and, having done 
 that, were quite disposed to condole with me. Oh, poor 
 human nature! How prone we all are to remind those 
 who have met with misfortunes that ive had predicted 
 it; some of us, I am afraid, going so far as to feel happy 
 over the fact that we had proved such good prophets. 
 At a tea given by Mrs. Goodenough, Mrs. Blake said 
 to me: 
 
 "It's too bad. Miss Jane, the way that Jones' girl 
 turned out; but I always said she'd come to some bad 
 
164 Sarah's choice 
 
 end. It was so plain to be seen of her; such a shame, 
 too, and you a-lavishing your money and affections 
 upon her; but those sort of creatures never know what 
 gratitude is. 
 
 Before I could answer Mrs. Farland put in: 
 
 " Yes, but Miss Jane allers set the gal up as bein' es 
 good es ennybody; an' that I don't believe in. Sech 
 people ought to be taught to know their station an' 
 keep to it, too." 
 
 " Oh, come now," said good Mrs. Underwood, " let's 
 be charitable. The poor girl hed a hard time of it after 
 all with folks a-naggin' at her. The best of us is too 
 ready a-pickin' up everything bad about people, an' too 
 slow a-seein' enny good in 'em." 
 
 " Well, well," sighed Mrs. Smith, " 'tis quite a chore 
 to live in this world anyway. " 
 
 And I, stitching away at my work, thought to myself 
 that it was, indeed. 
 
 " I sent Ben over yesterday to ask Mrs. Norton," 
 said Mrs. Goodenough, as later on she dispensed her 
 tea and biscuit, " but she hasn't come. She don't seem 
 to go out at all any more." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Blake, in a pathetic tone, " Sister 
 Norton just shuts herself up and grieves over her 
 troubles." 
 
 One day I was with Ruth in her garden. " Ruth," 
 I said, " I have been thinking of what a splendid 
 arrangement it would be if I could get Aunt Beckey to 
 live with me." 
 
 Ruth dropped her hoe, and, sitting down on the 
 ground, laughed and laughed. 
 
 " Well," I said, with some asperity, " I don't see any- 
 thing to laugh about." 
 
 " I do," answered Ruth. " The idea, Jane. You do 
 take the funniest notions. Why, Aunt Beckey would 
 as soon think of moving to China. She would never 
 leave that little old house of her's." 
 
 *' I mean to ask her, anyway. Now, Ruth, I will 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 65 
 
 weed this whole bed for you if you will get Charlie to 
 rig up the buggy for us when he comes in to dinner, 
 and go with me to visit Aunt Beckey this afternoon." 
 
 " Of course I will go with you. You need not weed 
 that bed to pay for it, either. But your plan is too 
 absurd, Jane," and Ruth laughed again. 
 
 We found Aunt Beckey in a little out-house, just 
 finishing picking her geese; she had but five of them. 
 
 " You find me a sight to be seen," she said, brushing 
 at the feathers clinging to her gown. " Thank good- 
 ness, I'm done, though, an' it's the las' time I'll pick 
 them geese. I've made up my mind to that, if I have 
 to give 'em away. I'm gettin' too old for sich work." 
 
 " What is the use of it, Aunt Beckey," said I; " you 
 might as well take things easy the remainder of your 
 life. You ought not to live alone, either. It's not 
 good for any one to live alone." 
 
 " Well, Jane, in respect to that, I don't see es you're 
 enny better off than I am." 
 
 " I quite realize that," I replied, nudging Ruth. 
 
 " Come right into the house now," said Aunt Beckey, 
 cordially, " I'll fix the feathers some other time. I'm 
 jest es glad to see you, es though I was dressed in my 
 Sunday clo'es." 
 
 " Aunt Beckey," I said, after she had changed her 
 dress, and we were all settled comfortably in the little 
 parlor, " I have something on my mind." 
 
 " That's nothing new for you, Jane." 
 
 " But this is something new. It's a great scheme 
 about you." 
 
 "The land! now, Jane, what is it?" asked Aunt 
 Beckey, jokingly. " Hev you found somebody es wants 
 to marry me? I'm only sixty-five, an' past pickin' 
 geese, but I'm a good hand yit at most things; it's a 
 rare chance for some one." 
 
 " No, my giddy friend, it is nothing so frivolous as 
 getting married. It is this, I want you to come and 
 live with me," 
 
i66 Sarah's choice 
 
 " Jane, yer crazy," was her contemptuous comment, 
 while Ruth giggled behind her handkerchief. 
 
 " But, Aunt Beckey," I persisted, " do consider the 
 matter. What is the use of you and I living alone when 
 we could live so much happier and less lonesome 
 together? It would be better for you to come to me, 
 for we would have Charlie's right across the way if 
 either of us were taken sick. You could rent your 
 little place and bring your horse and cow and chickens, 
 and anything else you wanted with you. You might 
 take possession of my house and boss everything — 
 anything so I could have you with me." 
 
 " But, Jane, you know the old sayin' that no house 
 is big enuff fur two fam'lys." 
 
 " O, but its different with us. We are not families. 
 At any rate, we could prove the fact that one house is 
 big enough for you and me," I cried. " And then how 
 nice it would be. We could go to church and a-visit- 
 ing together, and in many ways be such a comfort to 
 each other. I can scarcely keep from shedding tears of 
 joy at even the prospect of your coming." 
 
 But Aunt Beckey shut her lips tightly while she care- 
 fully turned the seam in her knitting-work, and would 
 say no more on the subject until, as we were about 
 to leave in the evening, in answer to an imploring 
 look from me, she said, " I'll think about it, Jane; but, 
 depend upon it, I'll do nothin' hasty." 
 
 So, after much pondering and hesitancy on Aunt 
 Beckey's part, and a great deal of coaxing and arguing 
 on mine, the matter was finally arranged and Aunt 
 Beckey was domiciled with me. She wanted it dis- 
 tinctly understood, however, that if at any time she 
 wished to move back to her old home, she could go 
 without creating hard feelings, or a fuss. 
 
 " Well, I shall not be surprised at anything after 
 this," commented Ruth, the day that Aunt Beckey and 
 her belongings were brought over. 
 
 I allowed Aunt Beckey to have her own way about 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 67 
 
 the house, to build her chicken coops and hen's nests 
 where she pleased, and to lay out the garden beds 
 according to her own ideas. I had such a horror of 
 living alone that the manner of doing or managing 
 these Httle domestic matters were of small moment 
 to me. 
 
 There was a dilapidated old stable below the garden 
 that answered for a shelter for her horse and cow, and 
 she got pasture and feed for them from Charlie. It 
 was a source of unfailing amusement for me to watch 
 her as she busied herself about the premises, now nail- 
 ing up to the stable a loosened board, or mending the 
 garden palings, or hovering over her chickens; for she 
 was persuaded that her feathered pe^ needed her con- 
 stant supervision, from the hatching-out process to the 
 end of their existence, whether that came soon by way 
 of the pot and table or later by a natural death, after a 
 long and useful life of egg-laying and chicken-raising. 
 
 We did not speak of Nanny often, for I was 
 exceedingly sore upon the subject, even after this lapse 
 of time. Aunt Beckey understood my feelings and sel- 
 dom mentioned her, and when she did, it was with pro- 
 found pity and a firmly expressed belief that she would 
 ultimately come home. The Httle room that had been 
 Nanny's, we kept just as she left it. • 
 
 A baby boy came to brighten CharHe's home, and to 
 gladden all our hearts. The grand-parents Hved over 
 again the time when their own boy was a babe and 
 made happy their Hves with his pranks and prattle, 
 while Aunt Beckey and I became the httle tyrant's will- 
 ing slaves. We borrowed him whencyer Ruth would 
 give him up to make sunshine in our home. 
 
 The parents named him '' John " in memory of John 
 Norton, but we all nick-named him " little Jack." 
 
 So everything was moving along quite happily, when 
 one morning Charhe, who had been to the village, 
 drove up to my gate. 
 
1 68 Sarah's choice 
 
 " Here's a letter for you, Jane," he cried, tossing it 
 over into the yard. 
 
 " I hope it's from Sarah," said I, as I hurried to pick 
 it up, " she has not been so prompt in answering my 
 letters of late." 
 
 CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 I EXAMINED the envelope, it was postmarked Phila- 
 delphia, but it was not addressed in Sarah's handwriting. 
 I hastily tore it open and read aloud. 
 
 My Dear Miss Tompkins : — I take the liberty of 
 writing to you in behalf of your friend. Miss Norton. 
 She has told me of the close friendship existing between 
 you and herself, and therefore I know you will feel 
 concerned in her welfare. Miss Norton's health has 
 been perceptibly breaking for several months. I have 
 urged her many times to take a vacation for rest and 
 recreation, but she has always scouted the idea of there 
 being anything wrong with her, declaring she felt well, 
 with the exception of a feeling of weariness sometimes, 
 thus lulling my fears. Her services have been so valu- 
 able, in fact, so indispensable, I am afraid I was only 
 too willing to be blinded to her best interests. But I 
 now see the necessity of getting her away from here as 
 soon as possible, as she has failed rapidly within a few 
 days. I shall look to you to arrange for her immediate 
 removal; nothing can benefit her so much as country 
 air. If possible, come for her yourself, or send some 
 one to accompany her home. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 A. M. Brown, 
 Matron of Waifs' Asylum. 
 
 **Youmustgofurher, Jane, an' that this very evenin'," 
 decided Aunt Beckey. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY ^ 1 69 
 
 "Oh! no;" I protested, "not this evening. I am not 
 fixed." 
 
 "Now, Jane, what's the difference about yer fixins, 
 when that poor child's Hfe's in danger? Very well, ef 
 you won't go, I will; I'd jest es soon go to Philadephy 
 in my calico dress an' slat bonnet, es eny other way. " 
 
 I needed no further urging, but set about getting 
 ready. Charhe said he would take me to Brownsville, 
 so toward evening he and Ruth were ready with their 
 two-seated wagon. We persuaded Aunt Beckey to go 
 with us for the pleasure of the ride, and in a few 
 minutes we had started. I felt strangely elated. I 
 was going for Sarah. Once more we would have her 
 with us. 
 
 " And we will keep her now, too, won't we Aunt 
 Beckey? " I cried exultingly. 
 
 I felt not the least concern because she was sick; we 
 would soon have tier all right with our nursing and the 
 pure, country air, and a nourishing diet of fresh milk 
 and fruits. Many were the plans for her comfort that 
 Aunt Beckey and I discussed on our way to Browns- 
 ville. 
 
 Very soon after we reached the station the train 
 came rushing in and I was hustled onto it and away, 
 almost before I could bid my friends a farewell. How 
 long that journey seemed, how impatient I became. I 
 would not reach my destination until some time the 
 next day. I was unused to traveling and, therefore, 
 slept but little during the night. The hours crawled 
 tediously along, the monotony varied by watching my 
 fellow-travelers and thoughts of Sarah; but finally we 
 drew up to the depot of the great city among the in- 
 coming and outgoing of trains, the puffing of engines 
 and screaming of whistles. 
 
 In some trepidation I got out on the platform, carry- 
 ing my modest little bag in my hand. After threading 
 my way for awhile through a bewildering crowd of 
 hack-drivers, cab-drivers and omnibus men, who almost 
 
170 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 drove me wild with their noise, I selected one and gave 
 him the address of the institution in which Sarah hved. 
 He informed me that it was a two-mile drive, and would 
 cost me one dollar, which I agreed to pay. These 
 preliminaries over, we set out. As we drove through 
 the streets, full of sights I was unaccustomed to, I 
 scarcely saw them, my mind was so full of thoughts of 
 Sarah. The shrill cries of the newsboys, the bawling 
 of the fruit-venders, the rattle of the multitude of vehi- 
 cles upon the paved streets, as well as the beauty and 
 magnificence of some of the buildings, were alike 
 unseen, unheard, or I remembered them afterward 
 indistinctly, as we recall dreams. 
 
 " Here's the place, ma'am," announced the driver, 
 as he proceeded to assist me to alight. 
 
 We mounted the steps of a large, plain-looking 
 building. Just over the entrance, in gilt letters, was 
 " Waifs' Asylum." The hackman deposited my bag at 
 the door, I paid him and he left me. I rang the bell 
 and informed the maid who answered it that I wished 
 to see the matron. 
 
 I was shown into a waiting-room. In a little while 
 the matron came. I introduced myself, and she re- 
 ceived me cordially. She was a large, matter-of-fact 
 sort of person, with a good face, hardened a little, per- 
 haps, by a long life of contact with all kinds of 
 people. 
 
 " I am very glad you came so promptly. Miss Tom- 
 kins," she said, as she held my hand; " the journey 
 will be a hard one for her as it is, it is well you did not 
 wait longer. " 
 
 " Does she know? Is she expecting me?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, I told her I had written to you; I will see her 
 now, and tell her you are here, so as to prepare her a 
 Httle; I will then send for you," she started to go but 
 turned back to say, *T beg of you, Miss Tomkins, to 
 control your feelings, so as not to excite her, she is 
 nervous and " 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 17I 
 
 "But, madam," I cried, aghast, "she is not so ill — there 
 is surely no real danger. " She hesitated a moment, and 
 then replied slowly, " We hope not, but be careful, I 
 pray you." 
 
 In a few moments I was sent for, and ascending a 
 flight of stairs, entered a small but comfortable chamber, 
 where, half reclining on a couch, lay Sarah; in a 
 moment I had her in my arms, and in spite of the 
 matron's warning, and my own good resolutions, was 
 weeping copiously over her. 
 
 " Why, you dear old Jane, do you really care so much 
 because I am sick? " she asked fondly. 
 
 " I am only crying for joy," I protested irrelevantly. 
 " We are all so glad we are going to have you home 
 again," but I was seized with such a tremulousness I 
 could scarcely untie my bonnet. What was there about 
 her that made my heart sink and my breath short. She 
 looked so beautiful in her gray wrapper with some soft 
 lace at her throat. Her eyes were larger apparently, 
 and a trifle more sunken, but there was luster in them. 
 She was thinner than of old, but there was color in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " It must be because of that look of her mother," I 
 said to myself. I had never thought the resemblance 
 very noticeable before, but how it had grown upon 
 her. 
 
 "Well," said Sarah, "I long to get back to the 
 country myself. I am so glad you have come, Jane, but 
 it seems ridiculous making such a fuss, doesn't it ? I 
 will be all right again soon, don't you think so ? " and 
 she smiled appealingly up into my face. 
 
 " Of course you will," I replied, " you can't help but 
 get well under such nursing as Aunt Beckey and I have 
 in store for you. I warn you, you will have to be very 
 docile and take all our prescriptions." 
 
 " I fancy that will not be hard to do, and now we 
 will start home to-morrow. You see, I am all ready, 
 for when Mrs. Brown told me she had written to you, 
 
172 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 I knew it would be just like you, Jane, to come as 
 quickly as you could get here." 
 
 So I telegraphed to Charlie that evening when to 
 expect us. The next day having made arrangements 
 to take Sarah to the depot as comfortable as possible, 
 we started home. 
 
 " I shall be back again soon," said Sarah, as she 
 bade the matron farewell. The good woman stood on 
 the steps looking after us with tears in her eyes. 
 
 The journey proved very tiresome to Sarah, and I 
 was glad when the train pulled up at the Brownville 
 station. Charlie and Ruth were there waiting. 
 
 " Hello ! " cried Charhe, trying to look indifferent 
 through his tears. " This is a great way to come home 
 to us, sis." While after the first greetings were over, 
 Ruth fell behind to straighten her quivering lips. 
 
 " Where is the boy ? " asked Sarah. 
 
 " I left him with Aunt Beckey," answered Ruth. 
 
 " Well, if I have to, I suppose I can wait a little 
 longer to see him, but I assure you I am getting very 
 impatient." 
 
 " Be prepared to find him a wonderful child," said 
 Charlie, with mock gravity. 
 
 " Oh, of course," laughed Sarah, *' hear the fond 
 father." 
 
 We all, that is, Charlie, Ruth and I, tried to be very 
 cheerful on our way home, talking the whole of the time 
 incessantly. 
 
 " You'll see lots of changes, Sarah," said Charlie, as 
 we trotted at a lively rate along the dusty road. " But 
 I guess they are mostly changes for the better. See, 
 there is a new house gone up since you left. " 
 
 " And Bessie Green is married to Will Blake, and they 
 have rented the Wilson farm," said Ruth. 
 
 " A precious out they'll make of it, too," added 
 Charlie. 
 
 " You can not always tell what kind of stuff people 
 are made of until they are tried," I replied. " But I 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 73 
 
 think, Sarah, (we were entering the village), that Water- 
 ford will look natural enough to you, except perhaps it 
 has grown dirtier and dingier. " 
 
 " O! you forget the new corner grocery," interposed 
 Ruth, at which we laughed. 
 
 The new grocery was a new blisiness set up in an 
 old, dilapidated building. Waterford did not keep 
 pace with the surrounding country, for we were a com- 
 munity of farmers and took but little interest in the 
 village, aside from the two churches. 
 
 " I know Aunt Beckey will have something good for 
 our supper," said Ruth, " for I saw her and Fido run- 
 ning down a chicken before we left home. She said 
 we must all eat with her this evening." 
 
 " That will be jolly," said I. *' We are in sight of 
 home now. See, Sarah, how prettily Charlie's have 
 fixed up their house and yard; and there is old Bill in 
 the pasture; don't he look natural? He is too old to 
 be of any use now, but Charlie keeps him as a relic of 
 bygone days; and there, yes, there's Aunt Beckey with 
 little Jack in her arms." 
 
 Aunt Beckey conducted herself very discreetly. After 
 she had kissed Sarah, she held her out from her and 
 peered anxiously into her face. 
 
 ** We'll soon hev you all right, dearie," she exclaimed, 
 heartily. " She don't look bad, does she?" appealing 
 to us. 
 
 " Of course she doesn't," we all cried in a chorus. 
 
 And if for a moment there were any lumps in our 
 throats, or doubts in our minds, we choked down the 
 one and scouted the other, and were as merry as chil- 
 dren, while Sarah caressed and complimented little 
 Jack. Then we gathered around Aunt Beckey's supper 
 table. 
 
 " It's one of Aunt Beckey's old time suppers, biscuit 
 and all," cried Ruth. " Doesn't it just make your 
 mouth water, Sarah, to think of those biscuit with 
 chicken gravy on 'em." 
 
174 SARAHS CHOICE 
 
 " Indeed, I feel my appetite already improving," 
 answered Sarah, showing some interest. 
 
 " Was there anybody to see me while I was gone, 
 Auntie ? " asked Charlie, as he helped the plates. 
 
 ** Yes, the butcher was out from town about yer beef 
 cattle. He said he'd look at 'em, an' when you come 
 to town agin, you should call 'round an' he'd give you 
 his price on 'em. " 
 
 We had fitted up the little chamber off the parlor for 
 Sarah, so, soon after supper we showed her to her room, 
 as she seemed weary. Charlie's took their leave, and 
 night settled down upon us. 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 The very next day we had old Dr. Bates come out 
 from Brownville to see Sarah. 
 
 " How like your mother you have grown, Miss," he 
 remarked, as he felt her pulse. However, the old 
 doctor was very reticent ; he would reserve his opinion 
 for some other time, he said. He left her a little medi- 
 cine, but frankly admitted that rest and country air 
 would do her more good than medicines. 
 
 After a few days she began to improve. Aunt 
 Beckey and I vied with each other in trying to invent 
 new delicacies to tempt her appetite, while Charlie and 
 Ruth were constantly proposing and arranging little 
 pleasure excursions to get her out. 
 
 And so the pleasant summer days wore along. 
 
 " I begin to feel quite like myself, physically, but 
 mentally I am a perfect wreck," said Sarali, laughing, 
 one day, as we lounged lazily in the little parlor. 
 
 " Isn't it strange that I do not feel at all like going 
 to work? It seems so pleasant just to lie here and 
 dream away one's life, with you and Aunt Beckey to 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 75 
 
 wait on me. How is that, Jane? Does that sound 
 Hke my old self? " 
 
 " I am glad to note a change," I repHed. " You 
 know I never approved entirely of your old self. I 
 think now you are coming to your senses, which you 
 could not well help doing finally, under two such wise 
 advisers as Aunt Beckey and I." 
 
 "Ah! Jane," she said, still laughing, "you've none 
 of the stuff in you that heroines are made of, and you 
 would have me be just like you. Could you take no 
 pride in me as a second Camilla, or Joan of Arc, or a 
 Florence Nightingale, even?" 
 
 " The true heroines," I answered, " are generally 
 those we never hear of. The farmer's wife who 
 markets good butter all her life, and raises a family of 
 children well ; who keeps her house and garden, and 
 husband's shirts in order, is as much of a heroine as 
 your Camilla or Joan." 
 
 " You are right, Jane. Such a life does require 
 heroism." 
 
 " By the way," she asked after a time, " do they 
 hear from Jack ?" 
 
 " Jack who ? " I inquired, obtusely. 
 
 This was just what I had been waiting for. Jack's 
 name had not been mentioned between us since she 
 came home. Now that she had broached the subject 
 herself, I determined to appear perfectly indifferent in 
 view of the bluffs I had received from her in the past 
 when I had shown so much anxiety in regard to the 
 same subject. 
 
 " Why, Jack Underwood, of course," she answered, 
 a little sharply. 
 
 " Well, why, of course? " I said. " You know there 
 is Jack Hunter; then John Todds call their son Jack — 
 but you don't know him ; they have moved into the 
 neighborhood since you left, — but Jack Underwood. 
 O, yes, I believe they hear from him occasonally," 
 
 " Is — is he married, I wonder?" she queried. She 
 
176 Sarah's choice 
 
 was looking away from me and I could only see the 
 delicate pink cheek next to me, much as I would like 
 to have seen the expression of the gray eyes. 
 
 " I don't know, — that is I suppose not. I would have 
 heard of it if he was. " 
 
 " And has he never been back?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 ** Does he" — after a long pause, — " ever say anything 
 in his letters about coming home?" 
 
 ** I believe not, or if he does I have not heard of it. 
 He likes the west very much and writes that he shall 
 make his home there. " 
 
 Ruth came in just then, bringing her boy with her 
 and the subject was dropped, but what had passed set 
 me thinking; could it be possible that my prophecy 
 was about to come true? Did Sarah feel an interest 
 in Jack after all? If so, how was Jack to find it out. 
 I turned the matter over and over in my mind, not 
 knowing what to do; I was afraid to speak to anyone 
 upon the subject for fear of being laughed at for my 
 pains. 
 
 We were now in the early autumn; the leaves were 
 just beginning to turn yellow, while the apples and 
 peaches were ripening, and the grapes hung in great 
 purple bunches. The atmosphere, too, was growing 
 hazy, and the sun sunk every evening red and somber. 
 The year was passing its prime; beautiful in its 
 gorgeous colorings, but it was a different beauty from 
 the fresh spring-time; like the contrast between our 
 \'outh and the age when the first silver threads appear 
 in our hair. What we have lost in the wayof youthful- 
 ness may be made up to us in the luscious fruits of a 
 well-spent life, and in place of the early bloom the face 
 is expressive of rich experiences, of noble thoughts, 
 and a perfect faith. But, alas! another month, and 
 there will be signs of decay; the fruits will be mostly 
 gathered, and the leaves shriveled with frost. The 
 clouds will be leaden-hued, and the air chilly; the year 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 77 
 
 is slowly but surely dying, and — co are we. Yes, but, 
 through the glad hallelujahs of the coming Christmas, 
 it dies to be born again; and, through the hoar and 
 frost of old age, we look beyond to the joyful awaken- 
 ing. 
 
 Sarah was not so well now; her appetite was fickle; 
 the pink in her cheeks was growing fainter, and the 
 gray eyes larger. Aunt Beckey and I held many anx- 
 ious consultations; sometimes the doctor was with us. 
 He only shook his head ominously. Once he began to 
 say that '' he was afraid of it; with the falling of the 
 leaves " 
 
 " Nonsense!" I cried angrily, and flounced out of the 
 room. 
 
 What passed between him and Aunt Beckey I never 
 knew, for she preserved a discreet silence, and although 
 she studied her Bible more assiduously, she was always 
 cheerful. When she went to sit with Sarah she would 
 entertain her with an account of how the Dominica hen 
 would set in spite of all she could do to her. " She 
 had ducked her again and again to no purpose. She 
 reminded her of some obstinate people she had met 
 with during her long and eventful life — people who 
 wouldn't take advice nohow, be it ever so good, simply 
 because they were bound to go their own way. Now 
 she had her tied to a stake, and if that did not cure her 
 she would make a pot-pie of her, though, to be sure, 
 she'd be mighty poor meat for a pie." Or, she would 
 describe the disgust and dismay of some of the village 
 boys, who came a pillaging among the fruit trees at the 
 back of the garden, when she and Fido suddenly 
 appeared in their midst. Aunt Beckey was sure to be 
 entertaining, whatever she attempted to talk about. 
 
 One morning when I was with Sarah — she did not 
 
 get further than the parlor often now, and I would 
 
 take my work and sit with her as much as possible — 
 
 Aunt Beckey came to the door and asked me to 
 
 Sarah's Choice 12 
 
178 Sarah's choice 
 
 step out. I thought from the expression of her face 
 that something unusual had happened, so I hastened 
 to comply. 
 
 There by the kitchen door stood a dumpy Httle fig- 
 ure hanging its head. 
 
 " Nanny! " I cried, springing toward her, forgetting 
 for the moment everything but my joy that she had 
 come back and that I had loved her. 
 
 "Don't touch me!" she exclaimed, shrinking away; 
 " that is, not yet. I want to see Miss Sarah. She 
 can tell me what to do." 
 
 I turned around, Sarah was standing just back of 
 me. Hearing Nanny's name spoken she had hurried 
 after me. She now held out her hand to the girl, sim- 
 ply saying, ** Come Nanny," and the two went into the 
 parlor and shut the door. 
 
 Aunt Beckey, without a word, walked down to the 
 garden, while I seated myself and waited. It seemed 
 a long time to me, agitated as I was, by the memory 
 of many things of the past, and new hopes for the 
 future, until the door opened, and Nanny came in quite 
 pallid from weeping, and flinging herself at my feet, 
 begged forgiveness. 
 
 " I will try so hard. Miss Jane, to be good and 
 make up for what I've done. I was afraid there 
 was no use trying, for when I told them I was 
 with, that I was coming back, they said nobody decent 
 'ud ever look at me again; but shey Miss Sarah, says 
 there is use; she will help me, she Jias helped me. 
 Seems to me I could never go back to that bad life 
 after what she has said. You see. Miss Jane, I couldn't 
 
 forget, — and oh, I was so miserable " here the girl's 
 
 voice choked with sobs. 
 
 I helped her up, and assuring her of my sympathy, 
 told her to go to her room; she would find we had 
 been keeping it for her, feeling sure that she would 
 come home some time. I then went in and sitting 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 79 
 
 down by Sarah laid my hand in hers. We spoke not 
 a word, there was no need. 
 
 So Nanny took up her old life again, and we did all 
 we could to help her. To be sure some of the neigh- 
 bors commented quite freely upon our lack of discre- 
 tion, aye!- our lack of morals, even, in taking back 
 into our home, and associating with, a creature who 
 had fallen so low. 
 
 At church Mrs. Blake would seat herself and brood 
 of daughters on the opposite side of the house from us, 
 for fear of contamination; while Mrs. Farland sniffed 
 the air significantly, and drew her well-worn silk gown 
 close about her, that we might not brush her as we 
 passed by; but a few forebore to throw stones, and the 
 girl was very grateful for a little kindness. 
 
 As the days went by I grew more and more anxious 
 about Sarah; she would sit in her chair looking at the 
 distant horizon for hours at a time, if we did not molest 
 her. 
 
 "Perhaps," I thought, "she is thinking of Jack. Per- 
 haps if he were to come home she would get well." 
 
 So, after pondering over the matter, I decided to act. 
 I would write to Jack. I would take no one into my 
 confidence; the whole afi"air should rest upon my own 
 responsibility. I managed to get his address from Ruth 
 without exciting her suspicions, and crept off* alone to 
 compose my letter. I found it no easy task phrasing it 
 to suit me, and wasted several sheets of paper in my 
 efforts; but I had tried to write to Jack some years 
 before, and had failed; this time I would not fail. I 
 had determined on that, and this is what I wrote him: 
 
 Dear Jack: — A letter from me, will, no doubt, be 
 a surprise to you. I hope it will make you glad; know- 
 ing, what 1 do, of your sentiments in the past, I beheve 
 it will. You have probably not forgotten a certain fair 
 maiden, for whom, to my positive knowledge, you once 
 felt more than a passing interest. That dear girl is now 
 
i8o Sarah's choice 
 
 home with us, ill, and sadly out of spirits. You know 
 how we all love her, Jack, and can imagine our anxiety 
 in regard to her, so let that be my excuse for daring 
 to vTite to you, and for meddling with other people's 
 affairs. I have reasons for believing, dear friend, that 
 a visit from you would do her more good than all the 
 Doctor's medicines and our nursing combined. I must 
 tell you that not a soul knows that I am writing this to 
 you. I almost feel as though I were wronging the poor 
 girl in the next room, so unconscious of what I am 
 doing; but, Jack, let my love for you both plead for 
 me. If I can but bring about what I confidently believe 
 we all desire, I am not much afraid of reproaches from 
 either of you. Believing that you will act promptly, 
 I am your sincere friend, Jane Tomkins. 
 
 Sealing my letter, I put on my hat and slipped out 
 across the fields to the village to mail it. Once that 
 was done, I retraced my steps in a highly elated frame 
 of mind. Nature herself seemed to partake of my joy; 
 the very breezes caressed my cheeks, and whispered, 
 " Well done. " The bright-hued autumn leaves drifted 
 around my feet in their approval, and a chipmunk sat 
 up on his haunches and laughed in my face. I laughed, 
 too. Oh, how happy I was! When I came to the old 
 school-house I sat down on the steps, and resting my 
 chin on my hand, lived over again the years when John 
 and Mary were living, and I was teaching, with Jack 
 and Sarah and Charhe and Ruth among my pupils. I 
 conned over lessons with them again. I perpetrated 
 jokes with them. I divided my cake among them, and 
 helped them to hunt beachnuts. Yes, and there are 
 our names, that we carved together on that old beach 
 tree, grown over and blurred a little, but still distinct 
 enough to be easily read. 
 
 Ah ! but there were tears running down my cheeks ; 
 I sprang to my feet, " They are tears of joy," I cried. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY l8l 
 
 " We are all here yet but John and Mary, and please 
 God, we will all be happy yet." 
 
 When I reached home Aunt Beckey met me with : 
 " Why Jane, where on 'earth hev ye bin galivalanting ? 
 There's Mrs. Underwood and Ruth in the parlor with 
 Sarah, an' Mrs. Smith's been an' gone. Sakes! yer 
 cheeks air as red as beets." 
 
 I bathed my face and went in to see our company. 
 
 " I was jest a sayin'," said Mrs. Underwood, after 
 the greetings were over, " that we hadn't heard from 
 Jack so long, I beheved he's plannin' a surprise fur us. 
 I sed to father yisterday, sais I, ' it may happen he'll 
 walk in on us some day.' " 
 
 " O, mother, don't build too much on it," said 
 Ruth. 
 
 " Now that's jest like you, Ruth," cried the mother, 
 " you're allers throwin' cold water on my hopes." 
 
 " But I don't want you to be disappointed." 
 
 " I do not believe she will be disappointed this time," 
 said I, warmly, " I have had a queer dream of late, and 
 you know I half believe in premonitions." 
 
 " Yes, but Jane," said Ruth mischievously, " you 
 know some of your premonitions don't seem to come 
 to pass. " 
 
 " Ruth's allers a-croakin'," commented her mother. 
 
 " But if Jack only would come home," I said, "what 
 a royal reception we would give him." I glanced at 
 Sarah, she was looking away toward the sunset. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 I MADE frequent trips to the post-office, hoping that 
 Jack would write; if he should, I did not want his let- 
 ter to fall into anyone else's hands, for I did not wish 
 to be questioned about it. But five days had gone b}- 
 since I had written, and no letter had come in answer. 
 
i82 Sarah's choice 
 
 T gathered a bouquet, and while arranging it on the 
 little table in front of Sarah, I said, "They are almost 
 the last of the flowers, the more tender ones are all 
 killed with the frost; we will not have many more 
 bouquets this fall." 
 
 " Passing away," she murmured, looking at them 
 fixedly; her eyes were unusually brilliant. 
 
 " How bright your eyes are, to-day, Sarah; and your 
 color is better," I remarked, as I rearranged the folds 
 of her wrapper and pinned straight the ruche at her 
 throat. 
 
 " I have been thinking of my little flock back in Phil- 
 adelphia, to-day, Jane," she said, smiling up into my 
 face, " and I have been planning their futures for 
 them. Do you know, I feel as though I was with them 
 in spirit, and must be with them always? " 
 
 " I am jealous of them," I answered, playing with 
 the silky locks on her forehead. " I want you to stay 
 with me for a while yet, in both body and spirit. " 
 
 " I was thinking, Jane," she went on, " if anything 
 was to happen — that is, if I was to die, if the Lord 
 would only appoint me their guardian angel, to go from 
 one to another an invisible presence, to breathe hope 
 into the despondent, to infuse courage into the faint 
 heart, and to strengthen them in temptation; to hover 
 over their sick beds, giving them cooHng draughts, and 
 smoothing the covers straight; assuaging the grief of 
 the sorrowful, and guiding the souls of the dying ones 
 
 home O! Jane, what a mission!" cried the girl, 
 
 panting with emotion. 
 
 I fumbled around in my work-box, pretending to be 
 looking for something; then muttering that " as usual 
 I had left my thread in my room," I went out. Forcing 
 back the tears, I hunted up Aunt Beckey, begging of 
 her to go in to Sarah. 
 
 "" Talk to her and cheer her up," I cried; then jerk- 
 ing my hat from off the nail on which it hung, irritated 
 and unhappy, once more I started for the village. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 83 
 
 " There's a letter for ye to-day sure, m'am," said the 
 postman, as he handed out a yellow-enveloped one. 
 " A letter, indeed! It must be from Jack, too," thought 
 I, as I eagerly scanned it, " for see, that is his postmark." 
 I could but illy conceal my agitation as I took it and 
 hastened back on my way home. When I reached the 
 school-house steps, I sat down to read the precious 
 missive. Yet I hesitated, dreading to open it, and 
 my heart lay like a stone in my bosom. I remember 
 every word of that letter even now, for as I read, they 
 seemed to burn themselves into my brain. 
 
 My Dear Friend : — Your letter was a great sur- 
 prise to me, but I have to confess that it has not made 
 me glad. Indeed, coming as it did just at this time, it 
 has almost unnerved me. However, I must explain; and 
 what I have to tell may as well be told bluntly as 
 otherwise. I am to be married in a few days, and 
 will arrive home next week with my wife. I have 
 written to father, for I did not wish to take them 
 wholly by surprise. 
 
 Dear friend, I have been many years trying to forget 
 a part of my past. I thought I had succeeded, but your 
 letter has opened the wound afresh. It is too late now! 
 Let no one know of what has passed between you and 
 me; yoii cannot blame me, Jane. I have simply followed 
 the advice you gave me one night long ago, as I leaned 
 on the old orchard bars, more dead than alive. Do 
 you remember? Your friend, JACK. 
 
 I cannot well describe the agony and remorse that I 
 felt after reading Jack's letter. All hope for Sarah 
 seemed gone. A sort of confused horror of something 
 dreadful that was about to happen, suffocated me; but 
 the feeling that I had betrayed my dearest friend pre- 
 dominated. What right had I to assume that she 
 cared anything for him. My God! what a mistake I 
 had made in writing to Jack; and yet I was so happy 
 
184 Sarah's choice 
 
 over it. " Oh, Sarah," I groaned, " what a blundering 
 friend I have been to you always." 
 
 For an hour I groveled in my misery on the old 
 school-house steps, — the dirges of the autumn wind 
 among the trees mocking me. When it suddenly oc- 
 curred to me that as Jack had written home, Ruth 
 might even now have heard the news. 
 
 " Oh, they'll tell Sarah!" I almost shrieked aloud, as I 
 sprang to my feet and tore across the fields toward 
 home. I do not know why it was so, but I seemed 
 possessed with the idea that she must not be told, 
 although to expect to keep it from her long was folly. 
 but I had no plans for the future, only she must not 
 know yet — not yet. 
 
 When I reached our cottage everything was quiet: 
 the outside doors stood open; the old yellow hen had 
 walked in, and, undisturbed, was surveying the prem- 
 ises. The parlor door was closed, but from the hum 
 of voices I knew that Aunt Beckey was talking with 
 Sarah, and I caught a glimpse of Nanny pulling onions 
 in the garden, so I concluded all was safe yet, and 
 slipping into my room, threw myself upon my bed so 
 prostrated with grief as to be almost incapable of 
 thought. There I remained until Aunt Beckey, in the 
 evening sought me, saying : 
 
 " Jane, what ails ye ? Here's Ruth wants to see 
 you." 
 
 I knew instinctively what Ruth had come for, so 
 motioning for her to follow, silently led the way out to 
 the yard. 
 
 " Jack's coming home next week," she said, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " Is he ? " She must have been surprised at my 
 apathy, if she had not been so taken up with her own 
 feelings. 
 
 " Yes, and he is going to bring a wife with him, 
 too," and she beat the ground impatiently with her 
 foot. 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 85 
 
 " Is It possible?" I said, still showing little interest. 
 " Do you know, Jane, somehow, I never thought of 
 that happening." This was said almost angrily. 
 
 " Well," I cried, aroused at last. " I don't see why 
 we did not think of it. It was perfectly natural that 
 he should get married. He certainly had a right to, 
 and here we all act as if it wasn't natural, and as if he 
 hadn't a right to." 
 
 " Why, Jane, how queer you talk," said Ruth, eyeing 
 me curiously. 
 
 *' I am all out of sorts, and half sick," I replied, 
 apologetically. " I feel so worried about Sarah. Do 
 you notice that she is not so well, Ruth?" 
 Ruth acknowledged she had. 
 
 " Don't let us bother her now," I said, " with this — 
 this about Jack. I will tell her sometime when the 
 conversation leads up to it. " 
 
 Ruth looked mystified. " Why, Jane, you don't sup- 
 pose she would care?" 
 
 " Of course not," I answered^ hastily. "But there 
 is plenty of time." 
 
 Ruth left me, and I went in to caution Aunt Beckey 
 and Nanny not to worry Sarah about Jack's coming 
 home. 
 
 So the days dragged along; they seemed the longest I 
 had ever hved through, and yet the time had arrived 
 when Jack was expected, and I had not said a word 
 about him or his bride to Sarah. Upon several occa- 
 sions I had tried to get up courage enough, but had 
 put it off each time until it would seem to come easier. 
 For a week Aunt Beckey and I with Nanny had all 
 hovered around the sick girl constantly. I think we 
 felt that she was passing away with the flowers, but we 
 did not speak of it. Nanny never tired of sitting at 
 her feet and drinking in the sweet words of comfort 
 and encouragement she knew so well how to admin- 
 ister. Neither Aunt Beckey or I could begin to reach 
 Nanny's heart as Sarah could. 
 
1 86 Sarah's choice 
 
 This day — the day they were expecting Jack — Aunt 
 Beckey looked pale and mysterious, I had arranged 
 and rearranged every article of furniture in the little 
 parlor a dozen times in my nervousness. 
 
 " Jane," said Sarah, " I am tired ; if you will help 
 me I will lie down awhile. " 
 
 "You dear, old Jane," she said, throwing her arms 
 around my neck, as I tucked the quilt about her, and 
 fondly pressing her cheek to mine, "what a friend I 
 have had in you almost as far back as I can remember. 
 I don't see how I can ever repay you, unless," she 
 added, gaily, "I can be your guardian angel, too." 
 
 "That is what you have always been to me," I 
 replied. "Now rest you well, you know Aunt Beckey 
 has planned a dainty supper for this evening." 
 
 I walked back to the parlor window and stood look- 
 ing out at the fields. The trees were nearly stripped 
 of their leaves, and the farmers were husking their corn, 
 while even the grasses looked brown and dead from the 
 frost. A crow flew over cawing weirdly. Just then a 
 carriage came around the bend in the road, but I paid 
 no attention to it, for I was still looking after the crow, 
 thinking to myself, "thou bird of ill-omen," until it 
 came in front of my window, then I noticed a bearded 
 gentleman in it, and that a girlish face was peering 
 around him as if to get a better look at me. In a 
 moment the gentleman lifted his hat and smiled. 
 
 Heavens! it was Jack. I staggered to a chair stunned 
 and bewildered. For a time I could see nothing 
 but that eager face trying to catch a glimpse of mine. 
 How young she was! 
 
 Mechanically, I got up and wxnt into Sarah's room. 
 She was lying with her face to the wall and her right 
 arm flung over her head, apparently asleep. 
 
 I walked slowly back to my chair. Now, I must tell 
 her — I must — I kept repeating, mentally, while upbraid- 
 ing myself for putting it off so long. 
 
 I felt unreasonably angry at Jack, too. If he must 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 87 
 
 get married, why could he not have the decency to stay 
 away? Why bring that chit of a girl here to taunt us 
 with her pretty face and her youth? "O, Lord, Lord — 
 what a raspin' world this is," as Aunt Beckey would 
 say. 
 
 Again I slipped quietly — so as not to awaken the 
 sleeper — to Sarah's bedside. She lay in the same posi- 
 tion I had found her before. Something so strangely 
 quiet and motionless struck a sudden fear to my heart, 
 and I crept around to the foot, that I might be able to 
 see her face. It was marble white, and her eyes were 
 fixed. 
 
 "Great God! she has gone — she has gone," I shrieked, 
 and fell on my face by her bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " And what has it come to at last, — 
 The dead man propped on a pillow, 
 The journey taken alone, — 
 
 The tomb with an urn and a willow." 
 
 I LAY for several weeks in a low fever; when I 
 became conscious Aunt Beckey and Nanny were ten- 
 derly watching over me. November's bleak winds 
 were whistling around the house and rumbhng with 
 melancholy wailing in the chimneys. I came back to 
 life feeling that it was not worth the struggle, but by 
 degrees nature asserted herself and forced me to accept 
 the gift, whether I would or not. 
 
 Jack and his bride, I was told, had gone away to 
 their western home. The glimpse I had of them through 
 my window was all I saw of them. The affairs of the 
 neighborhood were moving along as usual, but Nanny 
 had news to tell me. Blushing and timid, for she did 
 not know whether I would approve of it, she informed 
 me that she was soon to be married, and to the young 
 man who had first led her astray. Together they had 
 
Sarah's choice 
 
 sinned, together they had determined to redeem their 
 past. The girl's voice was firm now, and there was a 
 steady Hght in her eyes. The words Sarah had written 
 just after Nanny left me came to my mind: "Jane, 
 there was good in the girl; do you believe this mad 
 act of hers has quenched it all?" 
 
 *'Ah, Nanny," I said, in a broken voice, as I folded 
 her in my arms, " you have proved yourself better and 
 stronger than some of us who were so ready to con- 
 demn you." 
 
 I had no fears for her now. The memory of Sarah 
 would always be with her, a silent monitor, ever point- 
 ing the r. ay. 
 
 " But how was I to live," my sore heart cried out. 
 * 'Others could love, and marry, could plan, and execute, 
 because life held something for them; but what was 
 there in it for me? for 
 
 " * She was in her grave, and oh ! 
 The difference to me.' " 
 
 " Jane, " said Aunt Beckey one day when we were 
 talking of Sarah, ** I knew 'twas comin', for I hed 
 heerd the three knocks on my door the night afore it 
 happened, an' I jest got right out o' bed onto my knees 
 and begged of the Lord to take me instead, but, "with 
 a sigh, " 'twas no use. I suppose He knows best, tho' 
 why she should be taken and me left — what's that, Jane, 
 you quote sometimes about the good dyin' first, an' so 
 on? I 'spose I'm one of them as burns to the socket." 
 
 *' Oh, but Aunt Beckey," I cried, with a sudden rush 
 of tears; " there is no dry dust about your heart. " 
 
 The snows of winter have come and gone, and now 
 summer's sunshine blesses us again. Some of the 
 Winter in my heart is melting, too. The shuttle of 
 Time will gradually weave over the rents in our lives 
 and make us whole again — scarred and marred, perhaps, 
 but whole. 
 
 Aunt Beckey and I frequently wend our way to the 
 
OR THE NORTON FAMILY 1 89 
 
 graveyard, for there the three lie side by side; the birds 
 sing their sweet matins over them, while the breezes 
 among the leaves of the trees add their requiems, 
 " peace and rest for the dead. " And I believe their 
 souls dwell side by side in that land where morning 
 reigns eternal. In my heart I can find no creed that 
 will damn either one of them. The father washed 
 clean of his arrogance and selfishness through suffer- 
 ing, the mother in her robes of self-abnegation, the 
 daughter with prayers on her lips for those whom she 
 would help — will not a Judge who understands all the 
 secrets and motives of the human heart, be just to them, 
 and set them to the right of Him? So sure am I of it 
 that as I pluck the weeds from among the flowers grow- 
 ing over the three graves, there is a great singing in my 
 soul in spite of its sorrows. 
 
 "There!" ejaculates Aunt Beckey, as she flings 
 away a plantain. " There's' not another weed left — 
 nothin' but flowers, an' its just so with them up in 
 Heaven, Jane." 
 
 We look into each other's eyes and smile through 
 our tears. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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