I &fi 0' 
 
 DOT. OF CALIF. WSHItt. W8 M6BLBS
 
 CHRONICLES 
 
 of 
 
 OLD RIVERBY 
 
 BY 
 
 JANE FELTON SAMPSON 
 
 Author of Abroad 
 with the Fletchers," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 1913
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1913 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH <& COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE JOURNEY 1 
 
 II THE ROMANCE OF THE "DUCHESS" . . 9 
 
 III THE FORTUNE TELLER 19 
 
 IV THE FUNERAL ....... 31 
 
 V THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE .... 39 
 
 VI THE CIRCUS 48 
 
 VII UNREQUITED LOVE 57 
 
 VIII THE RECLUSE 64 
 
 IX PATRICK SPELLMAN 74 
 
 X THE MINER'S STORY 83 
 
 XI THE HUSKING 98 
 
 XII THE LITTLE WAIF 108 
 
 XIII THE HAUNTED HOUSE 128 
 
 XIV THE PERCIVALS 141 
 
 XV THE MYSTERIOUS LIKENESS UPON A MIR- 
 ROR 154 
 
 XVI THE FORTUNES OF PHILLIP TURNER . 161 
 
 XVII THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND . ,169
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE JOURNEY 
 
 Judge Winn was a native of Boston. He was a 
 brusque man whose word was law, both in his 
 household and among his associates. Still, when- 
 ever the family physician found any indication of 
 failing health in one of the children, his austerity 
 disappeared and he became as nervous as a 
 woman. When, in the early eighties, he was told 
 that Rachel, his only daughter, required a change 
 of air in order to go on with her studies in the fall, 
 the judge and his devoted wife immediately set 
 about making arrangements for the girl to spend 
 the summer at Old Riverby. 
 
 " Since John Bradley, the inn-keeper, is an old 
 friend of mine, that is just the place for her," 
 declared the judge. 
 
 Rachel Winn, then a girl of seventeen, was tall 
 and slight. Just a suggestion of rose flushed her 
 cheeks, and the wealth of nut-brown hair plaited in 
 two braids and coiled about her head simulated a 
 coronet. There was nothing striking in her per- 
 sonal appearance except when some pathetic tale 
 roused her sympathies 1 ; then the soft brown eyes 
 were expressive of unusual depth of feeling. 
 
 Going to Old Riverby was Rachel's first experi-
 
 ence in traveling without some member of her 
 family. Though that was years ago, and though 
 she has traveled in many lands since then, she re- 
 members and recounts her impressions of the 
 journey with as much interest as if it were the 
 most important one of her life. Among her fellow 
 passengers there happened to be a woman from 
 New York with a black-and-tan dog wearing a 
 broad yellow ribbon around its neck. At her left 
 sat a German and his wife, who spent most of the 
 day in eating and drinking from the contents of 
 a large willow hamper. Who should stop at the 
 inn a week later but the same couple. They regis- 
 tered as Mr. and Mrs. Teschmacher. The name 
 proved too much for the table-waitress, and she 
 called them the Tushmakers. But most amusing 
 of the travelers were a young man and woman who 
 were evidently taking their maiden trip with their 
 first-born, an infant some three or four weeks of 
 age. 
 
 From Barton, where Rachel Winn left the train, 
 it was necessary to go ten or twelve miles' by coach 
 before reaching her destination. That was before 
 the " ghost train " threaded its way through the 
 mountains, or automobiles desecrated the sacred 
 precincts of the hill-towns. There was some doubt 
 in the girl's mind as to whether or not she would 
 arrive without accident. According to her de- 
 scription of the old vehicle, it might have been 
 taken from Noah's ark. 
 
 Some of the spokes in the wheels had been
 
 THE JOURNEY 3 
 
 broken and replaced by unfinished ones, the fellies 
 were crumbling from the tires ; and the dilapidated 
 body, with only a suggestion of yellow paint left 
 upon its sides, tilted dangerously about on rusty 
 thorough-braces. The interior was no less im- 
 paired. The high, narrow seats without up- 
 holstery were most uncomfortable. It was only 
 by taking a firm hold upon a broad leather strap 
 suspended from above that Rachel managed to 
 keep her sitting. 
 
 The four horses, with the appearance of being 
 poorly fed, were each decorated with a crimson 
 worsted tassel that dangled from the hames of 
 his harness. Then, too, the driver was not alto- 
 gether prepossessing. There was something of a 
 hangdog look in his face, whether it was from 
 bashfulness or from natural depravity would be 
 hard to say. 
 
 There was only one passenger beside Rachel; 
 that was a woman from Barton. The girl noticed 
 that the stranger had a basket which she carefully 
 lifted whenever they came to a rough place in the 
 road. She hadn't long to wonder what the recep- 
 tacle contained, for the woman informed her that 
 she was going to visit her daughter and added: 
 
 " I thought I might as well kill two birds with 
 one stone, so I'm takin' some aigs over to 'Squire 
 Bailey that keeps the corner store. He ain't no 
 swearin' man, but he'll take his oath on my aigs' 
 every day in the week." 
 
 The chug, chug of the wheels, as they rattled
 
 back and forth upon the ungreased axles, was ac- 
 companied by the sonorous voice of the Barton 
 woman, who made a strenuous effort to acquaint 
 the city girl with the characteristics of the Old 
 Riverby people. Rachel paid little attention to 
 what she said about the inn-keeper's family, and 
 her long story about the minister and his arduous 
 duties seemed unimportant. But when the woman 
 mentioned a family in which all of the children 
 were born with six toes upon each foot and six 
 fingers upon each hand, Rachel became interested. 
 That information was supplemented by a detailed 
 account of " dark Marjory," a strange woman 
 who lived in a log house near the base of Mt. Man- 
 son, and who sometimes told fortunes for the vil- 
 lage girls and boys. The loquacious stranger 
 told about the fortune teller's dark eyes lighting 
 up and flashing like fire, and about her purple- 
 black hair just touched with threads of white. 
 Continuing she said : 
 
 " Dark Marjory keeps three black cats for luck. 
 They set 'round the hearth by night blinkin' and 
 lappin' their chops while the corn cakes and ven'son 
 cooks before the fire. When she come to the vil- 
 lage she had some money, so folks 1 said, and two 
 or three rings. She can't have much now though, 
 for she hain't got but one dress to her back, and 
 that's all out to the elbows." 
 
 " Poor thing! " Rachel ejaculated. 
 
 " But for all she's in such poverty," the stranger 
 continued, " they say the woman has got a little
 
 THE JOURNEY 5 
 
 gold cross that she won't part with for love nor 
 money. She wears it on a long string of beads, 
 and I've been told that she holds it in her hand 
 when she tells fortin's." 
 
 Just then a terrible clap of thunder burst from 
 the clouds, the wind increased in force, and before 
 the coach reached the village a perfect tornado 
 swept down the valley. Finally a blast from the 
 driver's bugle announced their arrival at the inn. 
 Colonel Bradley, the landlord, with lantern in 
 hand, appeared on the piazza. It was only by 
 holding on to shrubbery that bordered the walk 
 that he was 1 able to reach the coach. At the 
 door of the inn stood Mrs. Bradley with a flaring 
 candle. 
 
 In spite of the cordial greeting given Rachel 
 by the host and hostess, she was somewhat home- 
 sick, and would gladly have remained in her room 
 during the evening. She knew that would seem 
 odd, so, slipping on a pink muslin dress and put- 
 ting on a string of pink coral beads, she went down 
 to the parlor, never dreaming that each newcomer 
 at a small hotel is a target for criticism. Fortu- 
 nately, however, the summer was still young and 
 only a few of the migratory birds had returned to 
 the hills. Among them were three or four dow- 
 agers who came early and stayed late, a tired 
 mother with her children just out of school, and 
 a bride and groom. 
 
 The furnishings of the room consisted of a 
 square piano which stood between the two front
 
 6 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 windows, a black haircloth suite, a red and green 
 carpet having large figures, and several family 
 portraits that looked mournfully down from their 
 oval black walnut frames. Upon seeing two coffin 
 plates side by side on the mantel the " creeps " 
 went down Rachel's spine. " To be sure," she 
 thought, " the bouquet of crystallized glass in the 
 blue vase beside them gives a less funereal appear- 
 ance than they would otherwise have; still they 
 seem incongruous ornaments for the drawing- 
 room of a public house." 
 
 To go back to Rachel's first night in the village ; 
 the river's incessant roar disturbed her somewhat. 
 By a cloud-burst its banks were overflowed and 
 the water ran past the inn like a mill tail. Before 
 morning, however, the stream lowered somewhat 
 and left the grassy border fresh in verdure and 
 tinged with the yellow of honeysuckles. In the 
 garden morning-glories nodded to one another and 
 smiled through raindrops that trembled upon their 
 dainty petals. Geraniums which had been housed 
 during the winter, were putting forth their scarlet 
 blossoms, sweet-peas were budding, and the hedge 
 of red roses that bordered the wall flamed in color. 
 
 Beyond the garden-wall lay the road. Then 
 came the river, separating the village from a high 
 bluff upon which stood an old ruin. That relic of 
 a great industry had no semblance to a stronghold. 
 There were neither embattled towers nor a port- 
 cullis. Still, that city girl with an imaginative 
 turn of mind at once peopled it with mythical
 
 THE JOURNEY 7 
 
 characters. While at breakfast some one inci- 
 dentally said that the dilapidated structure was 
 an old furnace once used by an iron company. 
 You can imagine how her air-castle was shaken. 
 It was saved from total destruction, however, by 
 the lady next her on the left, who said : 
 
 " A strange looking man lives there. The 
 townspeople think he is a monk." 
 
 Before the erection of the academy, the new 
 church, and the iron bridge which spans the crys- 
 tal waters, Old Riverby was a picturesque bit of 
 landscape that lured many an artist from less at- 
 tractive scenes. Passing the inn one came to the 
 village green shaded by leafy maples. Beyond, 
 on the right, an old, red sawmill flanked the 
 stream; on the left stood a tumble-down tavern. 
 That ancient hostelry had sheltered many a noted 
 personage and had been the scene of much old-time 
 revelry. In early days it was there that stage 
 drivers changed horses and in the meantime re- 
 freshed the inner man. 
 
 Beyond the old tavern and not far from it, a 
 long row of cottages bordered one side of the 
 street. They were all constructed after the same 
 fashion. The doors opened side by side in the 
 middle of the front of each, and a chimney at either 
 end overtopped the roof. They were called the 
 company houses. After the prosperous days of 
 the iron company passed they, with the exception 
 of one, were rented to employees of the thread 
 factory. That one was occupied by the widow
 
 8 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Starkey, who did millinery for the townspeople, 
 embroidery for some city shop, and kept a few 
 small wares for sale. 
 
 The " Duchess," as the villagers called the 
 widow Starkey, was a charming woman. The 
 children all knew and loved her, and the young 
 men and women found her a wise counselor when 
 slight difficulties arose in their love affairs. She 
 knew full well that the course of true love never 
 runs smoothly. 
 
 But no one knew more, both of the sunshine 
 and shadows in the lives of the people, than the 
 genial landlord and his self-sacrificing wife. Col- 
 onel Bradley, with a good word for everyone, was 
 always ready to lend a hand. And it was Mrs 1 . 
 Bradley who made the wedding-cake, draped the 
 bridal veil at every marriage in the village, and 
 withal tended the sick and comforted the sorrow- 
 ing. There are those who still remember her care- 
 worn face as she returned from a night's watching 
 with some one of the thread-makers' children. 
 When remonstrated with for needlessly wearing 
 herself out, her reply was : 
 
 " 'As much as ye have done unto the least of 
 these the same have ye done unto the Father.' '
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE " DUCHESS " 
 
 Scarcely twenty-four hours passed after Rachel 
 Winn's arrival in the village before she was the 
 all-absorbing topic of conversation. The young 
 people were wondering if she, like other city girls 
 who had been there, would be too proud to notice 
 them. And some of the parents who had heard 
 Colonel Bradley speak of Judge Winn as one of 
 the blue bloods of the " Hub " were at their wits' 
 end to know why he sent his daughter to an un- 
 pretentious country inn to spend the summer. 
 Mrs. Bradley set the minds of the parents at rest, 
 and before a week Rachel was sufficiently popular 
 with the younger set to be considered one of 
 them. By that time she had also become a favor- 
 ite with the " Duchess." 
 
 The " Duchess " was born in a red farmhouse 
 with a gambrel roof. It may still be seen at the 
 summit of Marvin Hill overlooking the village and 
 sheltered by a clump of maples that flaunt their 
 crimson coloring every autumn. Joshua Mar- 
 vin inherited the estate, together with two or three 
 mortgages, from his father. Happily, the storks 
 made frequent visits at the old homestead during 
 the payment of the encumbrances and there were 
 five children, all girls.
 
 10 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 No prettier sight was ever seen in Old Riverby 
 than the Marvins on their way to divine service 
 on Sunday mornings. Joshua, in his figured satin 
 waistcoat, his black neckstock and stovepipe hat, 
 looked a veritable lord as he reined his span of 
 bays up to the meetinghouse steps. 
 
 The Marvin girls were unusually attractive 
 when they grew to womanhood. Julia, the eldest 
 one, married a Methodist preacher and settled in 
 Detroit. Martha had all kinds of escapades, and 
 finally married a physician and went to northern 
 New York to live. Lavinia captured a college 
 professor, and Patience, a fascinating girl, gave 
 her heart and hand to a lawyer whose home was 
 in Baltimore. That left Katherine, the youngest 
 one, who became Mrs. Starkey, the only one on 
 the stocks, so to speak. When some one joked 
 Mr. Marvin about Katherine being the old maid of 
 the family he said: 
 
 " If she is it will be her own choice ! She has 
 had chances in plenty, but my ' Kit ' has too 
 much of her father's good sense to hurry about 
 leaving home." 
 
 Alas for the blindness of parents ! One day the 
 credulous father learned that his beautiful, cul- 
 tured daughter was in love with Francis Gray, the 
 tin peddler. In spite of the fact that he was 
 the son of Esquire Gray who kept a large store 
 at Lyndon Crossroads, bartering in tinware was 
 too common an occupation for him who aspired 
 to become the husband of one of the Marvin girls ;
 
 ROMANCE OF THE " DUCHESS " 11 
 
 at least, so thought Joshua. When young Gray 
 asked him for Katherine's hand in marriage he 
 was beside himself with rage. He refused his 
 request and forbade his daughter to see her lover 
 again. 
 
 To all appearances the affair was ended, but 
 when farmer Jones over at East Branch had his 
 first apple-bee that fall, it was quite obvious that 
 Cupid was still on the wing. There the two met 
 and had the first dance together. Doubtless they 
 would have continued the harmless amusement had 
 not Joshua Marvin appeared on the scene. He 
 threatened to horsewhip the young man if he ever 
 set foot in town again; then, taking his daughter 
 by the arm, he escorted her to the dressing-room. 
 What passed between the irate father and the in- 
 dignant girl during their breakneck ride home will 
 never be known. But old Rose Dorman, maid- 
 of-all-work at the farmhouse, said: 
 
 " Katherine was locked into her room and kept 
 there till she promised to comply with her father's 
 wishes." 
 
 The excitement of the affair brought an attack 
 of heart trouble upon Mrs. Marvin, from which 
 she never recovered. During her long illness the 
 seemingly penitent Katherine was both nurse and 
 housekeeper. Soon after her mother's death news 
 came that Francis Gray had married the daughter 
 of a Denver banker. Then, proving that troubles 
 never come singly, word was received that Julia, 
 who married the Methodist divine, had left her
 
 18 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 husband and was coming home to live. The 
 younger sister waited till the minister's wife was 
 comfortably settled with her family, which con- 
 sisted of two lively boys, a poll parrot and a Scotch 
 terrier; then she said to her father: 
 
 " Since there seems to be no further need of my 
 services here, I have arranged to go to Westfield 
 where I shall engage in the millinery business." 
 
 " What ! One of Josh Marvin's girls out in 
 the world earning her own living? " the surprised 
 parent exclaimed. " You may as well give that 
 notion up first as last ! " 
 
 Katherine's eyes flashed with indignation, but 
 she wisely refrained from making any reply. 
 Nevertheless, she carried out her plans according to 
 her own judgment. The excitement attendant upon 
 her leaving home scarcely lost its interest for the 
 villagers when word came that she had married 
 Colonel Starkey, a retired army officer. The sew- 
 ing-circle met that week. Naturally the Starkey- 
 Marvin wedding was discussed at length. When 
 old lady Sawyer, who attended the circle for the 
 first time for months, heard the news, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Has the girl gone clean crazy ? Why, the 
 colonel is old enough to be her father ! " 
 
 " May and December ! May and December ! " 
 ejaculated Mrs. Spriggins in reply. " The frost 
 of one'll sap the sunshine from the other ! " 
 
 " So, so, Melviny," declared the widow Miller. 
 " And who knows more about it than you do after
 
 ROMANCE OF THE " DUCHESS " 13 
 
 marrying Dan Spriggins, twice your age and not 
 any too agreeable into the bargain ! " 
 
 "What!" said Jane Saunders. "You don't 
 say that Kittie Marvin has taken up with that old 
 soldier who has nothing but a pair of rusty spurs 
 to show that he was ever in the service? And all 
 because she couldn't have Francis Gray! Well I 
 never ! " 
 
 Two years later the colonel died. If Katherine 
 Starkey cringed beneath the fetters which bound 
 her to a paralytic whom she never loved, the world 
 was none the wiser. Immediately after the funeral 
 she gathered up what remained of his misspent 
 fortune, came back to the village, and opened the 
 little shop. 
 
 Year after year passed, one as uneventfully as 
 the other. Finally, one day the loafers at the 
 corner store were startled from their usual phleg- 
 matic condition by Mrs. Bailey, the postmistress, 
 announcing the fact that a letter had just come 
 for the " Duchess " which bore a foreign post- 
 mark. The missive was passed out to Joe West, 
 who said he was going up that way and would take 
 it along. After looking it carefully over he passed 
 it back. Mintie Mills, the church organist, hap- 
 pened in just then and offered to take it to the 
 owner. 
 
 It couldn't be said of Mintie that she had eyes 
 all over her head, but that nothing escaped her 
 notice was a foregone conclusion, as 1 everyone in 
 the village could testify. The following day she
 
 14 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 called at the corner store, ostensibly to get a 
 paper of needles. She had no more than crossed 
 the threshold when she exclaimed: 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Bailey, you should have seen the 
 ' Duchess ' when she opened that letter ! She 
 turned so pale that I actually thought she was 
 going to faint. She couldn't have read more than 
 two or three lines when she stepped into the bed- 
 room. When she came out her cheeks were aflame 
 with color, and she began talking about the 
 weather." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mrs. Bailey, " that certainly 
 did look suspicious ! Now, Mintie," she went on, 
 " far be it from me to think ill of any one, but 
 may that letter not have come from some gentle- 
 man friend that she met when she was in Europe 
 with the colonel? Of course, as I said before, far 
 be it from me, but I don't suppose we who live 
 here in this country town know anything about 
 the goings-on amongst the upper ten folks in cities ! 
 Be that as it may, I shall be on the lookout to see 
 who she writes to hereafter." 
 
 As it happened, no letters except those which 
 went to her sisters were mailed by the " Duchess." 
 Rachel Winn frequently took long rides on horse- 
 back. Perhaps she could have informed the na- 
 tives regarding a few missives that were mailed 
 miles away which bore the address of a gentleman 
 across the seas. 
 
 It was the last Sunday in August that the 
 " Duchess " appeared at church in a lavender and
 
 ROMANCE OF THE "DUCHESS" 15 
 
 white striped silk instead of her black cashmere. 
 That was sufficient to set the villagers' heads nod- 
 ding and their tongues wagging. Even old Nabby 
 McNeil, the Scotch washerwoman at the inn, said : 
 
 " It means nea gude for a widdie to be sheddin' 
 her weeds." 
 
 To spy upon the movements of her neighbor 
 Mrs. Binley, who lived next door to the widow 
 Starkey, sent her twelve-year-old daughter in be- 
 fore nine o'clock Monday morning to buy a yard 
 of pink cambric, a fabric which she well knew 
 the woman never kept. Upon the child's return 
 her mother said: 
 
 " I suppose the * Duchess ' is all tidied up and 
 busy with her sewing? " 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, " and the lace she is put- 
 ting onto a petticoat with more than a dozen tucks 
 in it is that wide," measuring it upon her fore- 
 finger. 
 
 That much information increased Mrs. Binley's 
 curiosity to see for herself what was going on next 
 door. It immediately came to her that she was 
 in need of a spool of thirty-six cotton to make 
 the buttonholes in Jamie's shirt which was begun 
 the fall before. After wiping the suds from her 
 buxom arms and taking a look into the wash- 
 boiler, she tapped at her neighbor's door. 
 
 Before opening it the " Duchess " dropped her 
 sewing into a cretonne-covered basket beside her 
 and took up a wrister that she was knitting for 
 Johnnie Miles, an orphan. She little dreamed
 
 that her customer saw the whole proceeding 
 through the lace drapery, or that she closely eyed 
 the unfinished plum-colored silk dress that lay 
 across a chair in the adjoining room. 
 
 Without stopping to mention that Chestina was 
 down with the mumps, that Jamie's throat was 
 covered with white patches, or that Susan lacked 
 only thirteen of being at the head of her class, 
 Mrs. Binley purchased her spool of cotton and 
 hurried home. 
 
 " I wonder what I have done to offend her," 
 thought the " Duchess." " She usually lingers to 
 have a little chat." 
 
 The woman scarcely reached home before she 
 began preparations to go down street. The fol- 
 lowing is her soliloquy that one of the neighbors 
 overheard : 
 
 " I can't be without fever-drops for Jamie ; then 
 how am I goin' to know for certain that Chestiny's 
 got the mumps 'less I git some vinegar for her to 
 drink? I'll put the biler back, a little soakin' 
 more or less won't hurt the clo'es." 
 
 Then the children were told not to sit in a 
 draught with the baby, and of all things to be 
 careful that he didn't fall out of his crib. A 
 few twists given the frowsy red hair, a change 
 from the everyday print dress to her Sunday one, 
 and the woman was off to circulate what informa- 
 tion she had gained. One couldn't blame the poor 
 thing for delighting in a bit of innocent gossip. 
 A multiplying family, together with a shiftless
 
 ROMANCE OF THE " DUCHESS " 17 
 
 husband, wouldn't be considered a bed of roses by 
 any woman. In any case the " Duchess " was 
 soon overrun with trade. Even old ladies who 
 hadn't been to the village for years, came to see 
 her under one pretext or another. One wanted a 
 new cap ; another patted her on the shoulder pat- 
 ronizingly and said: 
 
 " I think my old one will do if freshened up with 
 a bit of new ribbon adjusted by your deft fingers." 
 
 One day, the first of October, a distinguished 
 looking gentleman driving a pair of spirited black 
 horses stopped at the inn for dinner. As soon as 
 the stranger entered the house and the horses 
 were taken around to the stable, every man at the 
 corner store made it his way to have a look at 
 the unusually fine equipage. Mr. Bailey, the 
 store-keeper, who knew something about horses, 
 said: 
 
 " That's a fine pair. Match to a t, even to 
 the white stars in their foreheads." 
 
 " That may be," rejoined Daddy Cooms, who 
 never owned the clothes on his back, " but they 
 wouldn't hold a candle to the pair I had when I 
 lived in Platsburg." 
 
 Thereupon Jim Downs put in an appearance 
 and had something to say regarding the noble ani- 
 mals. All too soon for the loafers' pleasure, the 
 gentleman ordered his carriage and rode away. 
 You can imagine what gaping there was among 
 them when they saw him stop at the home of the 
 " Duchess." The excitement reached its climax
 
 18 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 when they saw her come out, closely veiled, and 
 ride away with him. It was all explained, however, 
 when the Diocville Republican came the next day. 
 That gave a detailed account of a wedding that 
 took place at Lyndon Crossroads the night before. 
 The readers could scarcely believe their eyes when 
 they saw that Katherine Marvin Starkey had be- 
 come the bride of Francis Norton Gray, a 
 wealthy planter from Australia.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER 
 
 Mrs. Bradley cautioned Rachel Winn about go- 
 ing off too far alone. In spite of that, one day, 
 lured on by murmuring streams and whispering 
 breezes, she took no note of time or of the dis- 
 tance and before she knew it was 1 half-way up 
 Mt. Manson. Stopping to take breath, she 
 turned and saw inky black clouds pierced with 
 forked lightning piled high in the west. Before 
 she had time to retrace her steps the thunder 
 came crash upon crash, till it seemed as if the 
 mountains were being rent from their foundations. 
 The wind increased in force, and mammoth trees 
 swayed to and fro like so many withes. Nearly 
 paralyzed with fear, Rachel sought shelter be- 
 neath an overhanging boulder. She had no more 
 than reached the place of safety when the storm 
 broke over the mountain. It soon spent its fury, 
 however, and the sun came out all the brighter 
 for having had its face washed. 
 
 Then the girl began to wonder how she was to 
 find her way down the steep slope. Every trace 
 of her footprints had been obliterated by the 
 downpour of rain. The thought that she might 
 have to remain there all night and no knowing 
 how much longer was appalling. 
 
 19
 
 Every tree and shrub was loaded with rain- 
 drops, and the thickly growing ferns beneath them 
 were simply drenched. Rachel's bedraggled skirts 
 impeded walking, and in zigzagging from side to 
 side she lost her way. After wandering about 
 some time she finally came to the blazed trail, but 
 there was no sign of a path. It had been washed 
 away ; in its place only a deep gulch remained. As 
 that was impassable, she crept along through un- 
 derbrush and treetops left by the woodsmen. 
 
 Rachel noticed that the sun was rapidly going 
 down. All the horrible things that a vivid imag- 
 ination could picture were passing through her 
 mind when she saw a shaft of smoke rising in the 
 distance. While wondering if it were really 
 smoke, or if it were only fog rising from some pool 
 of water, it melted into a purple haze and crept 
 along over the meadows. In her haste to reach the 
 dwelling whence it came, she stumbled over rocks 
 and thorny brambles. 
 
 " Never mind," Rachel thought, " once there and 
 I shall be safe." 
 
 Nearing the old shack, which stood at the edge 
 of the woods, she hesitated about asking favors 
 of one who lived in such a rude structure. There 
 was no alternative, however; she had lost her way 
 and was unable to reach the village without the 
 aid of some one. It seemed an interminable 
 length of time after she knocked at the casement 
 of the half-open door before there was any re- 
 sponse. Finally, who should appear but " dark
 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER *1 
 
 Marjory," the fortune teller. Rachel recognized 
 her at once from the description given by the Bar- 
 ton woman, her fellow passenger on the coach, 
 and from what the village boys and girls had told 
 her. Since she had promised herself that some 
 day she would hear what the strange woman had 
 to say about her future, Rachel thought : " Isn't 
 this remarkable that I should be brought to her 
 very door? " Still, she felt somewhat timid when 
 she found herself face to face with the mysterious 
 character. It was with difficulty that the girl 
 found words to explain the situation. 
 
 In spite of the woman's threadbare garments, 
 she looked a veritable queen. From her tall, erect 
 figure and dark skin, bronzed by exposure, one 
 might have supposed that she descended from some 
 race of red men, but her graceful bearing and gen- 
 tle manners were undeniable evidence that patrician 
 blood coursed her veins. 
 
 Was it because of her youth and inexperience 
 that Rachel was attracted to the strange woman 
 the moment she heard her dulcet voice, or was it 
 by some subtle charm which she held over her? 
 
 The fortune teller spoke in perfect English at 
 first, then she began a low muttering in French 
 and at the same time fumbled something in the 
 bosom of her dress. After the incoherent mum- 
 bling ceased, she urged Rachel to remove her wet 
 clothing and dry it by the fire. The wanderer 
 gladly acted upon her suggestion. She had been 
 thinking :
 
 22 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " A pretty figure I shall make returning to the 
 village in this plight." 
 
 True to what the Barton woman said, there were 
 the three black cats. At the sound of rattling 
 dishes they all gave one prolonged meow, lapped 
 their chops and sat down on their haunches to 
 await further proceedings. 
 
 " Have a cup of tea with me," said the fortune 
 teller to her guest, " and I will see what the future 
 holds for you." 
 
 Rachel thanked her, but it was with considerable 
 hesitancy that she accepted the invitation. She 
 had been told that tea was injurious to the com- 
 plexion, so while making a pretense of drinking 
 she poured the greater part of the fragrant bever- 
 age into a flower-pot beside her. As the life- 
 reader turned the cup round and round in her 
 hand she looked into it and said: 
 
 " I see a letter and a would-be lover ! " An 
 expression of incredulity must have passed over 
 Rachel's face, for the woman continued, saying: 
 " Truth it is I tell you. And he carries something 
 over his shoulder. Perhaps he is an artist with 
 his trappings." Before Rachel had time to reply 
 the woman mused : " Beware, young girl, be- 
 ware." Then she said: "What folly! Why 
 warn a fair-haired maid? Love will fall as lightly 
 upon her heart as the evening dew does upon a 
 rose." 
 
 "Oh!" Rachel ejaculated, "then you think 
 them incapable of real affection."
 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER 23 
 
 " No, not that exactly, but it is the dark-eyed 
 maiden who goes on loving, even when her heart 
 is broken." 
 
 The poor demented creature soon forgot that 
 she was reading Rachel's fortune and began telling 
 her own sad life-story. The woman told Rachel 
 that she was born in France, and that while on the 
 way to America her mother died. Then came an 
 account of grieving for the lost parent, and of 
 the unhappy days spent with her father, who soon 
 placed her in a convent. There it seems she re- 
 mained till she was eighteen years of age, rarely 
 hearing from her father except through the sister 
 superior. The color came to the woman's cheeks 
 and her eyes flashed with indignation as she said: 
 
 " When I left that institution the remittance 
 which had been sent quarterly no longer came, and 
 I was compelled to go out into the world and earn 
 my own living. Think of it," said she with in- 
 creasing resentment, " my father, who should have 
 been my protector, has been living in luxury all 
 these years while I have suffered the pangs of hun- 
 ger, and, worse still, have been looked upon with 
 suspicion." 
 
 Rachel knew the last statement to be true. 
 Many of the villagers spoke of " dark Marjory " 
 as some immoral creature who doubtless had for 
 some reason come away from her kind to live in 
 seclusion. And all because she concealed her great 
 sorrow instead of parading it before an unsympa- 
 thetic world.
 
 24 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 To return to the fortune teller's story: It was 
 at a banking house in New York that she first 
 saw her husband-to-be. Upon his arrival in the 
 new world he called at the bank to exchange his 
 remaining francs for American money. By some 
 inexplicable influence the young woman at a desk 
 near the paying teller's counter was led to look 
 up at the stranger. Their eyes met and by the 
 invisible force more subtle than that which at- 
 tracts steel to the magnet their souls were united. 
 
 " It was the old story of love at first sight. 
 And though it was told in a fragmentary way, 
 the thread of it was easily followed." Looking 
 out into the deepening twilight the fortune teller 
 mused : " My Francois was all the world to me." 
 Then she told of the delightful walks taken with 
 her lover, and of the theatres, balls and parties 
 which she attended with him. 
 
 Finally the woman rose and went into the ad- 
 joining room. By a slight tap of her heel upon 
 the floor one of the boards was removed. From 
 beneath it she took a willow basket which contained 
 a beautiful evening gown of white filmy stuff 
 trimmed with pearls and rare old lace. A wild, 
 irrational laugh escaped her as she exclaimed: 
 
 " That is what I wore when the fatal step was 
 taken! If any one dares say that I am not the 
 wife of Fran9ois Bourdillon I'll flaunt it in his 
 face ! " With increasing excitement she said : 
 " I swear by all the gods in heaven and all the imps 
 in hell that when I wear it again it will be in the
 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER 25 
 
 presence of Him who, being pure, sees no evil ! '* 
 
 Rachel trembled at this outburst, but the next 
 moment the woman was perfectly calm and began 
 telling about her child that died in infancy. That 
 brought on a paroxysm of grief. The poor thing 
 wept piteously when she said that it was soon 
 after the child's death that her husband confessed 
 to having left the priesthood for the pleasures of 
 the world. 
 
 " I couldn't believe him at first," the woman said. 
 " I thought it only idle talk. When I found it 
 to be true my heart was broken, and something 
 seemed to give way in my aching head. As you 
 see, I am no longer like other people. 
 
 " Child," she went on, " failing to keep a sol- 
 emn vow is a deplorable act. But much greater 
 is the crime when a man breaks his vows to the 
 Almighty. It is all over with him. It were better 
 had he never been born. 
 
 " How I begged my husband to return to his 
 duties and thus expiate the wrong. That he re- 
 fused to do while he had me. Though I loved him 
 with all my heart and with all my soul, I could 
 no longer respect him. And let me tell you that 
 it is far more degrading for a woman to live with 
 a man whom she loves and cannot respect than 
 with one whom she respects but is unable to love. 
 So to be loyal both to myself and to him I came 
 away." 
 
 " Oh, how could you ? " Rachel ventured to ask. 
 The woman made no reply, but went on to say :
 
 26 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " I shall never forget that night ! There lay 
 my Franois, sleeping as sweetly as a babe when 
 I crept in to have one last look at his handsome 
 face. When I passed the little empty crib my 
 heart almost failed me. I hesitated, and was 
 about to remove my wraps when something seemed 
 to say: 'Are you also a weakling?' I faltered 
 no longer, but hurried out into the darkness. 
 
 " I took the midnight train for Boston, where 
 I soon found employment as teacher of French. 
 All too soon, however, unforeseen circumstances 
 arose which compelled me to seek employment else- 
 where. As I gave evasive answers regarding my 
 private affairs, the mother of my pupils became 
 anxious lest I was an unfit person to whom to en- 
 trust her children. When she thought no one was 
 within hearing she broached the subject to her 
 husband, expatiating at length upon the harm that 
 might come from having one in her family of whom 
 she knew absolutely nothing. The good man, who 
 had learned when it was too late that he had been 
 duped by a pretty girl, made no reply. Finally 
 he ventured to say: 
 
 " * There seems nothing wrong about the young 
 woman except that she doesn't care to discuss her 
 private affairs.' That infuriated his wife, and 
 she retorted, saying: 
 
 " * The reason for your lack of interest in this 
 important matter is evident. Your undue friend- 
 liness with the woman who poses as a French 
 teacher has been quite obvious of late.'
 
 THE FORTUNE TELLER 27 
 
 " ' To the pure all things are pure,' said Mr. 
 Wilds, whose ire was aroused by the false accu- 
 sation. 
 
 " That her husband suspected her of having 
 deceived him was too much for the woman. She 
 made no reply, but when he turned around she 
 was about to faint. At sight of the wife's condi- 
 tion the man was terrified, and immediately called 
 the family doctor. The old gentleman well knew 
 the trouble was occasioned by some domestic infe- 
 licity, but very wisely diagnosed the case as one 
 of nerves. After writing a prescription and giv- 
 ing orders that the patient be kept perfectly quiet 
 for a couple of weeks, he went away. The peni- 
 tent husband saw to it that the physician's or- 
 ders were carried out. The following day the 
 children were sent into the country, and I was 
 discharged." 
 
 " Oh, how shameful ! " Rachel exclaimed. " And 
 all on account of that deceitful woman." 
 
 " That is life," said the fortune teller. " When 
 I wrote Mrs. Wilds, asking for a recommendation, 
 she declined to grant my request. She said that 
 it would be unfair to vouch for one of whom she 
 knew so little. A week later one of the daily pa- 
 pers came out with a notice which said : ' Beware 
 of an attractive young woman who under the pre- 
 tense of being a teacher of French is trying to 
 gain entrance to the homes of the well-to-do. 
 Theft is doubtless her object.' 
 
 " That ended all hope of procuring another
 
 28 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 situation to my taste," said the story-teller. 
 " Closely veiled, I went out day after day, seeking 
 employment as seamstress, all to no avail. 
 Finally, my money being nearly gone, I took a 
 place as chambermaid in a fashionable hotel. 
 Scarcely had a week passed when, upon entering 
 the room of one of the guests, a bloated, half-in- 
 toxicated man attempted to embrace me. To 
 escape further insult I left the house without even 
 stopping to give my notice." 
 
 Rachel's sympathies were so wrought upon that 
 two tears were coursing down her cheeks before 
 she was aware of it. A blush came to her face 
 as she wondered whether or not her mother would 
 approve of her listening to such tales, even though 
 they were true. There seemed to be no alterna- 
 tive, however, for the woman went on, saying : 
 
 " My last position was that of nursery-maid in 
 a physician's family. In a home where wealth 
 and luxury was displayed on every hand I felt 
 that I had finally reached a haven of peace. But, 
 alas, the mistress proved to be a flighty, shallow- 
 minded woman who cared little for her beautiful 
 child and less for her husband. There was no 
 congeniality between the couple, and all show of 
 affection was merely a pretense. As I daily saw 
 the existing state of affairs, my heart sank within 
 me. I sometimes questioned if such a thing as 
 sincerity existed. With the coming of spring the 
 young mother suggested taking a trip to Europe 
 and leaving me in charge of her child. I agreed
 
 29 
 
 to remain, and fully intended to, but something 
 happened the night before the woman was to sail 
 that made it impossible for me to keep my prom- 
 ise." 
 
 " What could have occurred to change your 
 mind at that late hour? " Rachel queried. 
 
 " The doctor was in the habit of coming to the 
 nursery frequently. It seemed very nice of him 
 to be so interested in little Philip, but when he 
 hinted that I was the attraction which brought 
 him there, I thought it high time to leave his house. 
 I made no effort to find another situation, and lest I 
 lose faith in all mankind, I came away to live in 
 the peace and purity which Nature gives." 
 
 The trials with which the woman was beset in 
 a great city having been told, she stroked the folds 
 of the bridal robe with her hands, and said : 
 
 " This and a few other articles of clothing were 
 all that I brought from home. With such trouble 
 I little thought that I should live so long." She 
 lowered her voice, as if some one might be listen- 
 ing, and said : " Nearly a year ago I heard that 
 a man in the garb of a monk had taken up his 
 abode in the old furnace. My first thought was: 
 ' Can it be that my Fra^ois has also wearied of 
 the world and come away to the hills? ' To make 
 sure whether or not it was he, I ventured up to 
 the old ruin at the dead hours of night. The 
 moon was just coming up over the mountains and 
 by a single ray of its pallid light his face was 
 revealed."
 
 30 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " And was it really your husband? " Rachel 
 asked in a whisper. 
 
 " Yes," said the woman mournfully. " And 
 when I saw his worn and haggard face I was filled 
 with remorse. I was about to throw myself upon 
 his heaving breast and implore his forgiveness for 
 having left him when the same voice that spoke to 
 me so long ago whispered : ' Are you also a weak- 
 ling? ' " 
 
 Again the fortune teller counted her beads. 
 Again she murmured a prayer. Then she said 
 to Rachel: 
 
 " Now you are wondering why I don't leave Old 
 Riverby and seek a home elsewhere. You will 
 cease to wonder when the master passion, love, 
 takes possession of your heart. Then you will 
 understand woman's weakness. You will learn, 
 perhaps to your sorrow, that to breathe the same 
 atmosphere, to look upon the same scenes, and to 
 watch the ever changing seasons with him you love, 
 even though he is unaware of your presence, give 
 some degree of happiness." 
 
 By that time the twilight had merged into dusk. 
 Even then Rachel's new-found friend declined to 
 accompany her to the village, but after the girl 
 made a solemn promise never to reveal her secret 
 the woman led the way out to the highroad.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE FUNERAL 
 
 The scribe has often wondered if city life tends 
 to dull the sympathies, or if in rural districts 
 death is more thought of on account of its infre- 
 quency. It is a well-known fact that the dweller 
 in a great metropolis is usually unacquainted with 
 the people next door to him. Even when the in- 
 vincible guest calls them to higher life he knows 
 it not, unless, perchance, he sees mournful looking 
 streamers suspended from their bell-knob. 
 
 How different in the country! There each one 
 has a personal interest in his neighbor and the 
 boundary of the neighborhood is unlimited. When 
 one of their number passes on, the funeral is at- 
 tended by acquaintances from far and near. The 
 farmer leaves his plowshare in the mold, he dons 
 his Sunday clothes, his Sunday manners, and wends 
 his way to the parish church. The thrifty house- 
 wife also leaves her task unfinished that she, too, 
 may be present at the performance of the last sad 
 rites, and thus assure the bereaved family of her 
 sympathy. 
 
 A dread disease claimed many victims during 
 
 Rachel Winn's first season at Old Riverby. If 
 
 31
 
 32 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 her parents had known of the danger to which 
 she was exposed they would have sent for her at 
 once. That was before the germ theory came 
 into fashion, however, and people attended funerals 
 without the least thought of fear. 
 
 Rachel, never having been present upon such 
 an occasion, was anxious to see what manner of 
 ceremony was performed. When a young girl, 
 the eldest daughter of the Burns family that lived 
 up under the mountain, was taken away she asked 
 permission to attend the services with Mrs. Brad- 
 ley. 
 
 About the first to arrive at the church were 
 Deacon Pilsbury and his wife from Norwood. 
 The deacon's horse had been allowed to prance 
 down the village street on weekdays. It seemed 
 as if the creature knew that it was not Sunday, 
 for upon being reined into the churchyard he 
 showed his disapproval by tearing up to the steps 
 with such fury that the buggy was nearly upset. 
 The deacon's hat fell off, and Mrs. Pilsbury's best 
 bonnet would have met the same fate except for 
 the broad ribbon ties which were securely fastened 
 under her chin. As it was, the jolting disar- 
 ranged her bonnet so that the flowers upon the 
 congregation side mounted high above her 
 smoothly parted hair. The woman wouldn't have 
 known the difference if Mintie Mills hadn't come 
 in and exclaimed: 
 
 "Why, of all things, Mrs. Pilsbury, I didn't 
 know that it was the fashion to have the trimming
 
 THE FUNERAL 33 
 
 of one's bonnet on the top of it instead of on the 
 side!" 
 
 That disturbed the old lady somewhat, but after 
 Mrs. Bradley adjusted her headgear she went up 
 the aisle with the same dignity and the same squeak 
 in her shoes that it was her wont to have. It was 
 a question whether Mrs. Pilsbury sat three seats 
 nearer the pulpit than usual that she might see 
 how much weeping the mourners did, or if she was 
 anxious to see how they appeared in their borrowed 
 weeds. In any case, the black bonnet belonging 
 to Mrs. Bradley which was worn by a member of 
 the bereaved family was not returned to its owner 
 till late in the fall. One day, while on his way to 
 Barton with a load of grain, Mr. Burns stopped 
 at the inn, and what should be dangling from one 
 of the stakes of his cart but that crape bonnet ! 
 
 To go back to the gathering of the congrega- 
 tion. Not long after the Pilsburys arrived teams 
 were seen coming from both directions, while others 
 were picking their way down over the rough places 
 on Ripton hill. The boys smiled audibly when 
 old Doctor Bronson from Barton arrived. His 
 cream-colored cob was harnessed into a two- 
 wheeled sulky which was covered with yellow 
 posters, that declared his spring-bitters to be the 
 best on the market. 
 
 After him came the Peasleys, all wearing white 
 sunbonnets. The Peasley family consisted of a 
 widow and her seven daughters. If the truth may 
 be told, they had a struggle to make both ends
 
 34 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 meet, so to speak. It grieved the good Christian 
 mother that she was unable to buy suitable head- 
 covering in which her children could appear at 
 church ; therefore, out of an old white muslin skirt 
 that she had before her marriage she fashioned a 
 sunbonnet for each of them. Their heads, bob- 
 bing up and down with every step, and the capes 
 of their bonnets fluttering in the breeze were sug- 
 gestive of a swarm of white butterflies. 
 
 There seemed no difference in the gathering at 
 the church from that of Sundays till a line of 
 carriages was seen winding its way down the moun- 
 tain road. First in the procession came Mr. 
 Bradley's three-seated wagon. In that rode the 
 members of the immediate family of the deceased. 
 Then came a long wagon, with boards laid across 
 for seats, and two or three buckboards. 
 
 When the bereaved family entered the church 
 all conversation was carried on in undertones. 
 Rachel Winn was deeply impressed by the solem- 
 nity of the scene, and heartily wished that she had 
 remained at home. It hadn't occurred to her that 
 the casket would be carried up the aisle, followed 
 by the weeping mother clinging to the arm of her 
 husband. Nor had she pictured the little brothers 
 and sisters, with tear-stained faces, following close 
 to their parents. She suppressed a sob as the 
 minister broke the silence by saying, very slowly 
 and in a deep, sonorous voice: 
 
 " The Lord giveth and he also taketh away, and 
 blessed be the name of the Lord."
 
 THE FUNERAL 35 
 
 Dr. Quimby, the regular preacher, was ill and 
 unable to officiate, and old Parson Mumford of 
 Lyndon Crossroads was requested to fill his place. 
 Mr. Bradley and Farmer Brooks of East Branch 
 exchanged knowing glances when the venerable 
 divine mounted the rostrum, and a suppressed gig- 
 gle came from the seat where Belle Bartlett and the 
 new schoolmistress sat. One whispered to the 
 other, saying: 
 
 " Goodness ! I wonder what he will be moved to 
 say on this occasion ! " 
 
 It could not be said that the preacher had the 
 corpulency which is too frequently seen in men of 
 advanced age and sedentary habits. On the con- 
 trary, he belonged to the " lean and hungry " type. 
 The baldness of his head extended to the nape of 
 his neck, and a few stray hairs on either side of 
 the barren waste resembled a fringe of grass bor- 
 dering a desert. His deep-set grey eyes peered 
 from beneath shaggy brows, and his falcon nose 
 kept guard over a wide mouth in which two or 
 three belated teeth were conspicuous. 
 
 When the mourners were seated and quiet per- 
 vaded the house, except for the voices of two women 
 near the door who, in audible whispers, were dis- 
 cussing the best method of preserving strawberries, 
 the parson rose, and with measured tread advanced 
 to the praying-desk. Raising his hand, as if to 
 pronounce a benediction, he reiterated his former 
 statement :
 
 36 CHRONICLES OP OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " The Lord giveth and he also taketh away, 
 and blessed be the name of the Lord." 
 
 Then came the reading of a hymn that was 
 sung by a choir of a dozen or more voices. The 
 words, already solemn, were made doubly so by a 
 tune in long meter, and by each member of the 
 choir making a strenuous effort to outdo his 
 neighbor in giving pathos. Anne Eliza Jenkins 
 droned her singing to such length that when the 
 others were through she was piping up in a shrill 
 soprano: 
 
 " Our days are as the grass or like the morning 
 flower." 
 
 The singing over, and the bustle attendant upon 
 the people again getting seated, the reverend gen- 
 tleman began a prayer that consumed nearly half 
 an hour. That was supplemented by singing an- 
 other hymn which, if possible, was more doleful 
 than the first one. Then came a lengthy discourse, 
 beginning with: 
 
 " The Lord giveth," and so on. He might as 
 well have taken any other passage of Scripture 
 for his text. That the Lord giveth and also tak- 
 eth away met with small consideration compared 
 with the detailed account of everlasting punish- 
 ment which the speaker declared would be meted 
 out to transgressors. Gasping for breath in his 
 excitement, he exhorted all present to take heed 
 lest they be struck down without a moment's warn- 
 ing. Dante's " Inferno " would pale to nothing-
 
 THE FUNERAL 37 
 
 ness in comparison with the lake of fire and brim- 
 stone vividly portrayed. Nearly exhausted with 
 his effort to set forth the danger of sinning, the 
 preacher began an address to the mourners. 
 After expatiating at length upon the virtues of 
 the deceased to them collectively, he appealed to 
 each one personally to follow in the path of recti- 
 tude which had been trodden by the loved and lost 
 one. When nothing further could be said regard- 
 ing their spiritual welfare, he bethought himself 
 that it was an opportune time in which to make 
 a few suggestions about the physical good of the 
 congregation. He began by saying: 
 
 " Naow, bretherin and sisters, jest a word 
 'baout this turrible disease that is mowin' daown 
 both good and bad. The Lord be praised we've 
 been marcyfully spared over'n aour taown. 
 Prob'ly it's because we took time by the forelock, 
 so to speak. When any one of us has a tech of 
 sore throat we take a piece of red flannel and a 
 thin slice of fat pork with a dash of cayenne pep- 
 per thereon and bind it 'round the offendin' mem- 
 ber. We also take a little West Injy m'lasses and 
 put a dash of the same warmin' ingregient thereto 
 and let it bile and bile. On goin' to bed we take 
 a dose of that." 
 
 It is doubtful how much more would have been 
 said on the subject had it not dawned upon the 
 preacher that the congregation was leaving the 
 church. Many who seemed in haste to get home 
 lingered about the vestibule and went in again to
 
 38 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 view the remains of the deceased. Farmer Bricket 
 looked at the sky, noted which way the wind was, 
 and called out: 
 
 " Come, Mandy, don't be dawdlin'. There's 
 goin' to be a shower and old Jim don't care about 
 gittin' his feet wet ! " 
 
 The poor woman was disappointed with having 
 been denied the privilege accorded her neighbors, 
 but she knew her husband too well to delay after 
 he said the word. 
 
 The Stone girls, two aged spinsters, went 
 around twice to make sure whether the burial robe 
 was of new material, or if it was an outgrown 
 dress of Susie Byfield's that was given to the family 
 when they were burned out the fall before. Mrs. 
 Binley, who lived neighbor to the " Duchess," told 
 Mrs. Bradley that it seemed a pity to have a gold 
 ring buried with the girl, even if her beau did give 
 it to her. Then she went on to say: 
 
 " I heard something said about taking it off, 
 and curiosity or no curiosity, I'm goin' 'round 
 again to see whether they have or not." 
 
 It would be needless to say that Parson Mum- 
 ford's untimely remarks were the talk of the town 
 for the next two weeks. To prevent a similar 
 occurrence, the church officers decided that upon 
 no occasion would he be allowed to occupy that 
 pulpit again.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE 
 
 Housed for nearly a week by a drizzling rain- 
 storm, the ladies at the inn became nearly dis- 
 tracted with Kensington work. There seemed to 
 be no end of bitter-sweet berries on Rachel Winn's 
 turquoise table-cloth. To acquire a certain de- 
 gree of composure for her distraught nerves, she 
 spent one day in making necessary repairs on her 
 wardrobe. Another afternoon was consumed in 
 unfolding and counting for the dozenth time the 
 little gifts which she had prepared for different 
 members of her family. 
 
 There was a pincushion covered with bright 
 beads that she bought of the " Duchess'," a needle- 
 book tied with pink ribbon, and birch-bark napkin 
 rings for everyone in her household. When the 
 key turned in the trunk the clock struck three. 
 " Three hours before supper ! " Rachel thought. 
 " What can I do in all that time? " 
 
 To be sure, there were plenty of people in the 
 house, but each one had something of her own 
 affairs to attend to. The dear old lady Almy 
 always took a nap from three till five. The 
 
 woman from Chicago, who had two half-grown 
 
 39
 
 40 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 daughters, usually gave the younger one a cold 
 shower bath in the middle of the afternoon. Ev- 
 eryone was aware of that fact, for the unearthly 
 shrieks that came from the child as the mother 
 poured ice-cold water down her spine were enough 
 to raise the roof from its crossbeams. Rachel 
 might have gone to Miss Beman's room and heard 
 for the hundredth time about her love affairs, all 
 of which proved a failure. That didn't appeal to 
 her, however, and she went down to the parlor. 
 
 Samuel, the maltese cat, was the only occupant. 
 He lay stretched out on the hearthrug fast asleep. 
 Rachel played snatches from one piece and another 
 on the piano. When she began singing Keble's 
 hymn, " Sun of my Soul," Samuel yawned, gave 
 one meow, turned over and went to sleep again. 
 The girl never fully decided whether the cat's 
 audible expression was intended for an encore, or 
 if it was given to voice his disapproval of her 
 performance. 
 
 In any case, Rachel left the piano to examine 
 the contents of the parlor cabinet. It was a home- 
 made affair decorated with fruit and flowers in 
 leather-work. A long green box filled with stereo- 
 scopic views found place on the top shelf. In the 
 front of that, ranged side by side, stood ambro- 
 types of former members of the Bradley family. 
 One of them portrayed a handsome woman. Her 
 large dark eyes and her cheeks, with a flush of rose 
 in them, were set off by a wealth of lustrous black 
 hair. The hair was brought down over the ears
 
 THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE 41 
 
 and carried to the coil at the back of the head. 
 She wore a black velvet gown with flowing sleeves 
 edged with choice lace. The neck was finished with 
 a broad lace collar caught together with a cameo 
 pin. Her ear-rings with long pendants matched 
 the brooch. Beside this picture stood one of a 
 little lad in a figured velvet suit. His round, 
 chubby face was shaded by an abundance of shin- 
 ing ringlets. 
 
 A photograph album in crimson covers con- 
 tained more recent likenesses. Old Elder some- 
 body or other with a bald head occupied the first 
 page. Then came Grandma Bradley and her hus- 
 band. While Rachel was trying to make out the 
 date on two large old-fashioned coppers which 
 were carefully folded in a scrap of yellow paper, 
 Mrs. Bradley came in and casually remarked: 
 
 " Those have been used for generations to close 
 the eyes of deceased members of the family." 
 
 " Oh ! " Rachel exclaimed, and dropped them as 
 if they had been red-hot coals. 
 
 Upon the second shelf lay a leather-covered 
 hymn book worn at the corners, a book of war 
 songs and a collection of old ballads. The lower 
 shelf contained a history of the United States, a 
 story of the life of Christ, the family Bible and a 
 few other books. Mrs. Bradley took up a small 
 volume and said: 
 
 " That is the first book that I ever owned. How I 
 used to weep over the trials of Winnie Malone, the 
 heroine ! I am thinking that if such doleful tales
 
 42 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 were written for children in these days they would 
 forever remain on the shelves of the bookseller." 
 Taking up a small morocco Bible, she said: 
 " There is a tale of true love connected with this 
 little volume. I only wish that I could get Uncle 
 James to tell us about it." 
 
 Before Mrs. Bradley had time to make further 
 comment the side door opened and James Farns- 
 worth, a member of the household, entered. Turn- 
 ing to him, she remarked : 
 
 " You have said again and again that you 
 would tell me about the romance concerning this 
 Bible. Now, I am going to hold you to your 
 promise." 
 
 Uncle James, as Mr. Farnsworth was called by 
 the villagers, as well as by his family, was a bach- 
 elor of seventy summers. An abundance of snowy 
 locks fell about his broad shoulders, a flush of pink 
 was still upon his cheeks, and his deep blue eyes 
 were expressive of gentleness and sweetness of 
 character. He was something of a recluse, pre- 
 ferring the companionship of Nature to that of 
 his fellow-men. On account of his reticence, it 
 required much persuasion on the part of Mrs. 
 Bradley to induce him to speak of his early love 
 affair. The story once begun, however, he forgot 
 all else, and in fancy lived his boyhood days over 
 again. In the beginning he said: 
 
 " Strange as it may seem, when only a lad I 
 used to dream of leaving Old Riverby and going 
 to the city to live. From what I saw of city peo-
 
 THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE 43 
 
 pie summering here in the mountains, I thought 
 they must live a real story-book life. They had 
 good clothes in plenty, fine horses and carriages 
 and an abundance of money. What more could 
 one ask? When I reached the self-sufficient age 
 of seventeen my father reluctantly consented to 
 let me leave home and try my hand at earning my 
 own living." The story-teller then mused, say- 
 ing : " I can remember just how everything looked 
 as I climbed up beside the stage driver the morning 
 I went away. Tige, the yellow and white hound 
 that we had had ever since he was a pup, sat at 
 the corner of the house. When the coach started 
 he gave an unearthly howl. I looked back, and 
 there stood my father with his hands in his trou- 
 sers pockets and his old felt hat drawn down over 
 his eyes. My mother was drying her tears with 
 the corner of her apron, while sister Julie clung to 
 her skirts and cried for me to come back." There- 
 upon Rachel ventured to say: 
 
 " Why, my brother Robert is' already eighteen 
 and he wouldn't think of leaving home to go among 
 strangers." 
 
 " Probably not," said Mr. Farnsworth. Then 
 he continued, saying: "We went as far as 
 Bridgeton the first day. On the next we arrived 
 at Compton, where I felt like the man who said 
 he couldn't see the town for the houses. How 
 vividly the barroom in that old Compton tavern 
 comes to me, the long counter where drinks were 
 served, the large basket-bottomed chairs, and the
 
 44 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERRY 
 
 enormous fireplace which was piled high with great 
 maple logs that smoked and sizzled! 
 
 " It was a cold, raw day, and there were a good 
 many guests of one kind and another. One old 
 fellow took no note of time just sat there and 
 snored, till the proprietor slapped him on the shoul- 
 der and told him that he had better hire a hall if 
 he intended giving an entertainment. When a 
 rakish looking fellow asked me if I was a stranger 
 in town, I gave him a short reply, and took good 
 care that my few shillings were safe in my waist- 
 coat pocket. Doubtless he would have continued 
 the conversation if Mr. Churchill hadn't called me 
 out to one side." 
 
 " Who was Mr. Churchill, pray? " queried Mrs. 
 Bradley. 
 
 " Why, that was the man who hired me and 
 took me to Midland some ten miles away. When 
 it began to grow dusk the horses quickened their 
 pace and trotted briskly along till we reached the 
 farmhouse, where a lighted candle stood in the 
 window. We had scarcely halted when Mrs. 
 Churchill appeared at the door and exclaimed: 
 
 "'Why, Nathan! Has anything happened? 
 You are fully an hour late.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps I am, mother,' the good man replied, 
 ' but when you see the prize I have brought home 
 there will be no scolding.' 
 
 " * Sakes alive ! ' said the woman. ' I hope you 
 haven't bargained for another lot of salt mackerel. 
 There's half a kit-full down cellar now. And if
 
 THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE 45 
 
 you have bought another web of indigo blue calico, 
 every woman in the neighborhood will have to buy 
 a dress pattern in order for us to get rid of it ! ' 
 Mr. Churchill laughed good-naturedly and said: 
 
 " ' I may as well tell you, Maria, that I have 
 found a young man who will do the chores about 
 the place and assist you with the dairy work.' ' 
 
 The white haired man sat ruminating for a 
 time; then he continued, saying: 
 
 " What an ideal home that was for a strange 
 lad to go into ! Both Mr. and Mrs. Churchill were 
 God-fearing people, and their children, Mary, a 
 girl of sixteen, and the twin boys, five years of 
 age, were carefully brought up." Then he went 
 on to say : 
 
 " How plainly that low-studded sitting-room 
 comes to me. A large mahogany table stood in 
 the centre of the room, and an old settle brought 
 from England stood by the fireplace. It was 
 there that the twins read their a, b, c's by the fire- 
 light, or fell asleep after a game of blindman's 
 buff. At one side of the room stood a long sofa 
 with great arms at either end. It was unadorned, 
 either by crazy patchwork or by afghans, but 
 above it hung an exquisite picture in needlework 
 done by Mrs. Churchill. It portrayed ' Rebecca 
 at the well.'" 
 
 " Why, the bitter-sweets on my table-cloth 
 would pale to nothingness in comparison to such a 
 piece of work as that," Rachel commented. 
 
 " They might," said the story-teller, " if one
 
 46 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 considered that the most of the woman's spare 
 time was consumed in darning stockings, or mend- 
 ing trousers for the lively twins." Returning to 
 his story, the old gentleman said : " I had been 
 with the Churchills three years and more when my 
 mother was taken very ill. I immediately left 
 Midland for home, fully intending to return in a 
 few weeks, for, in spite of our youth, Mary 
 Churchill and I were already engaged. I was 
 detained beyond my expectation to be, however, 
 and then, upon the eve of returning to claim Mary's 
 hand in marriage, I received a letter from her 
 saying that she couldn't think of leaving her par- 
 ents while she was still so young. Thinking that 
 she had become interested in some one else, jealousy 
 took possession of me, and instead of making any 
 effort to learn the truth, I at once took passage 
 for California. Three long years I lived, hoping 
 against hope that some day Mary would be mine. 
 Finally I learned that it was all over with me ; she 
 had married Julius Barstow, a promising young 
 lawyer." 
 
 Though the disappointed lover traveled in many 
 lands, he never set foot in Midland again till the 
 spring before he sat telling the tale of his early 
 romance. In explanation he said that he was 
 passing through the town on his way to Compton 
 when it occurred to him that some of his friends 
 of fifty years before might be living. His desire 
 to hear something of them prompted him to leave 
 the train and inquire of the station agent regard-
 
 THE RED MOROCCO BIBLE 47 
 
 ing the Churchill family. When told that they 
 were all gone except the widow Barstow, whom the 
 neighbors spoke of as Mary Churchill, he decided 
 to call upon her. In continuing he said: 
 
 " When the tones of that old brass knocker re- 
 sounded through the hall my heart actually stood 
 still, and the creaking of the rusty hinges, as the 
 door swung back upon them, added another note 
 to my discomfort. Before Mrs. Barstow had time 
 to reply to my question if she were the lady of the 
 house, I asked if she had forgotten her girlhood 
 friend. Removing her spectacles, she exclaimed: 
 
 " ' Can this be James Farnsworth? ' " 
 
 Both Mrs. Bradley and Rachel waited in breath- 
 less silence, wondering what would come next. 
 Finally the old gentleman said: 
 
 " The three score and ten years have dealt 
 kindly with the woman. To be sure, the lustre of 
 youth has faded from her eyes, but a holier light 
 born of patience and forbearance shines forth from 
 them. And her once brown hair is even more beau- 
 tiful since touched by Time's frosty fingers. When 
 I rose to come away Mary took the little Bible 
 from the bookcase and, passing it to me, said : 
 
 " * This is yours ; if you remember, I gave it to 
 you on your twentieth birthday.' 
 
 " I opened the book, and the petals of a four- 
 leaf clover fell to the floor. Through a mist of 
 tears our eyes met. No word was spoken, but the 
 April breeze sighing through the pines at the 
 gateway whispered of regret."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE CIRCUS 
 
 That the circus is the great event of the sum- 
 mer season in a country village is a well-known 
 fact. It was the last of August when glowing 
 advertisements foretelling its coming to Old Riv- 
 erby were placed upon the corner store, upon the 
 tumble-down tavern, and upon nearly every barn 
 in town. Among the most important features 
 portrayed were richly caparisoned horses ridden 
 by gayly dressed women, a baby elephant be- 
 decked in silver trappings, a camel upon which the 
 Siamese twins were mounted, and a trained bear 
 dancing with a two-headed girl. It was the can- 
 did opinion of the farmers round about that it 
 would surpass any show that had ever been there. 
 Many of them decided that, rain or shine, they 
 would take a day off and see it. 
 
 One morning while Johnnie Lawson, a simple- 
 minded fellow, was standing open-mouthed before 
 one of the flaming posters Mr. Bailey, the post- 
 master, came along, and said: 
 
 " Come, come, Johnnie, don't be standing there 
 admiring the show girls." 
 
 " You go 'long ! I ain't dewin' nothin' of the 
 kind," said the youth, " but I sh'ld like to ketch 
 
 48
 
 THE CIRCUS 49 
 
 holt of that woman's clo'es and pull 'em daown a 
 notch or tew." 
 
 " What, don't you like the looks of her cos- 
 tume? " 
 
 " Like it? Wa'al I don't s'pose it'll make any 
 diffunce whe'er I dew or not; she's up there 
 and I cal'late she plans on stayin' till the show's 
 over." 
 
 " I guess she will," said Mr. Bailey, " unless 
 there comes a heavy rain." 
 
 Great preparations were made for the coming 
 event. Every housekeeper in the village cleaned 
 her windows, dusted her braided mats, and opened 
 her parlor blinds in expectation of some visitor. 
 The flower gardens were cleared of weeds, the 
 plants were stripped of their withered blossoms, 
 and the front steps of every one of the company 
 houses shone with a fresh coat of slate-colored 
 paint. Then, too, several of the boys built long 
 tables beneath the trees at the roadside for the 
 purpose of selling maple sugar, corn-balls, lem- 
 onade and doughnuts to the patrons of the ex- 
 hibition. When some one remarked that it might 
 rain and spoil their fun, old Grandpa Miles, stand- 
 ing near, said : 
 
 " I've lived here nigh on to seventy year and I 
 never knowed it to rain of a circus day yet ! " 
 
 The mysterious charm by which the show agent 
 governed the weather has never been explained, 
 but true to past records, the morning broke per- 
 fectly clear, and the blue haze which had hovered
 
 about the mountains for a week or more gave way 
 to the sun. 
 
 The residents of a city wouldn't think of start- 
 ing early in the morning to attend a matinee, but 
 before eight o'clock the day of the circus inhab- 
 itants of the outlying districts began to gather on 
 the village green. Some of them hitched their 
 horses in the sheds at the rear of the town-hall, 
 others tied theirs to the bordering maples. To 
 be sure, they each had errands to do. Some 
 brought their molasses jugs and oil cans to have 
 them filled, others took time by the forelock and 
 bought material for their winter coats and trou- 
 sers. And some there were who got married. The 
 guests of the inn were still at breakfast when a 
 sunburned swain, with his arm around his buxom 
 fiancee, drove up to the side door and called out 
 to the kitchen-girl, saying: 
 
 " Is the jestice of the peace to home? " 
 
 Susan, the scullery-maid, was " a button short," 
 as the English would say. In addition to her other 
 peculiarities she had a habit of stammering. 
 Partly opening the dining-room door, she said: 
 
 " Mi-mi-mister Bradley, is the jestice of the 
 pieces here? " 
 
 It required only a glance at the couple for the 
 landlord to anticipate their errand. When he in- 
 quired of the young man what he could do for him, 
 the rustic replied: 
 
 " Wa'al, yer see it's this way. Me an' Betsy 
 have been courtin' quite a spell 'long back, and I
 
 THE CIRCUS 51 
 
 thought we might's well git hitched while we was 
 daown to the cirkis and have the pesky job over 
 with." 
 
 Mr. Bradley led the way to the parlor where, 
 in the presence of Mrs. Bradley and two or three 
 of the guests, the couple were made man and wife. 
 The groom was profuse in his thanks for what he 
 termed " dewin' the job up braown." He felt 
 first in one pocket and then in another, and finally 
 said: 
 
 " I hain't got much dosch 'baout me this mornin* 
 but the fust time I come to the village I'll bring 
 yer a peck of the hansomest lady-finger pertaters 
 that yer ever laid yer eyes on. They'll bake in- 
 side of fifteen minutes and jest melt in yer maouth." 
 
 It might have been nine o'clock when an elderly 
 man and woman, driving a typical " Rosinante," 
 came jogging down the road. From their gor- 
 geous array one might have thought that they 
 belonged to the company which was to perform in 
 the afternoon. The old lady's dress was an in- 
 digo blue with orange flowers scattered over it. 
 Upon her head she wore a speckled black and white 
 shaker bonnet which was trimmed with a band of 
 green barege around the crown, and a cape of the 
 same material, perhaps half a yard in width, fell 
 over her shoulders. In her hand she carried a 
 large palm-leaf fan. The flowing grey locks of 
 her spouse came from beneath a dilapidated stove- 
 pipe hat. The figured cashmere robe which he 
 wore reached nearly to the ground, while a pair
 
 52 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 of carpet slippers, down at the heels, covered his 
 feet. 
 
 It was a great day in the village, and a busy 
 one for the landlady of the inn. Before twelve 
 o'clock every seat at the long tables was taken. 
 There were young men and their sweethearts and 
 several old farmers, who under the pretense of buy- 
 ing a scythe or a whetstone, came in to see the 
 show. 
 
 Nearly every young man's hair was parted in 
 the middle and combed smoothly down at the sides. 
 Instead of the four-in-hand tie so fashionable at 
 present, each refractory collar was held in place 
 by a bowknot of red, blue or green. The girls 
 were in light muslins, white piques, and rose- 
 trimmed hats. In spite of their bashfulness, it 
 was plain to be seen that they were delighted to 
 dine at a public house with their beaux. But 
 it is doubtful if they were any happier than the 
 parents who, with their children, sat in their car- 
 riages and ate a luncheon brought from home. 
 
 Mr. Carpenter, the village photographer, was 
 overrun with business. Of course, all of the young 
 people wanted to exchange tintypes. Then it was 
 an opportune time for parents to have their chil- 
 dren's likenesses taken. Who should drive up 
 about noon but Mrs. Plimpton, together with her 
 three sons and four daughters. While the mother 
 hitched the horse the eldest girl assisted the other 
 children to alight. Then came the adjusting of 
 Lydia's bonnet and the completing of buttoning
 
 THE CIRCUS 53 
 
 up Ruth Ann's dress. That done, the woman 
 pulled Jonathan's hat down till it rested upon the 
 tops of his ears. The youngster just in trousers 
 stood like a martyr while she scrubbed his face with 
 the corner of her handkerchief, and plastered his 
 hair smoothly back from his forehead. All being 
 ready, they marched single file up the long flight 
 of stairs to the studio. 
 
 Mr. Carpenter was naturally a serious man, 
 but when he saw the Plimptons arrayed before him 
 it was with difficulty that he refrained from laugh- 
 ing. That the family was not over-stocked with 
 this world's goods was a well-known fact, but the 
 artist hadn't long to conjecture as to where the 
 funds came from to pay for so many pictures. 
 After giving another touch to some garment of 
 each child, Mrs. Plimpton said: 
 
 " No wonder that you are surprised to see me 
 here with the lot of 'em! The truth is the Mish- 
 nery 'Ciety sent me money to buy shoes for the 
 childern so they could go to Sunday school. That 
 was what I planned on doin' when I started out, 
 but on the way down to the village I bethought 
 myself that the poor things hain't never been to 
 a circus, and that I hain't got a likeness of one 
 on 'em." 
 
 The photographer was a religious man. Doubt- 
 less his conscience whispered that it was wrong 
 to take for pictures money which had been con- 
 tributed for the furtherance of church work, but 
 from a business point of view he saw no harm in
 
 54 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 it, and proceeded to group the family. The result 
 was that Mrs. Plimpton became the happy pos- 
 sessor of a picture of her brood and had sufficient 
 change left to pay entrance fees to the show. 
 
 The animals belonging to the hippodrome came 
 into the village some time during the night. All 
 was quiet, except for the braying of a donkey, till 
 about one o'clock in the afternoon. Then the 
 thunderous tones of a bass drum announced that 
 the show was about to begin. From Rachel 
 Winn's room she heard the peals of laughter and 
 thought how amusing it must be. 
 
 If the truth may be told, Rachel, at the ad- 
 vanced age of seventeen, had never been to a circus. 
 With every outburst of applause she became more 
 and more convinced that her early education had 
 been sadly neglected. Thereupon she decided to 
 take the reins into her own hands. 
 
 " There is to be another performance tonight ; 
 why should I not attend? " she thought. The idea 
 had no more than taken shape in her mind when 
 she seemed to hear her mother say : 
 
 " You certainly cannot go alone ! " 
 
 " Of course not ! That is what I have heard 
 ever since I can remember." 
 
 The goddess of good fortune was mindful of the 
 girl, however, and at supper-time an artist who 
 was stopping at the inn invited her to go to the 
 evening exhibit with Dorcas Pendleton, the village 
 physician's daughter, and himself. 
 
 It would be needless to say that they went suffi-
 
 THE CIRCUS 55 
 
 ciently early to get good seats, or that they were 
 plentifully supplied with peanuts and sticks of pink 
 and white striped candy. In spite of the fact 
 that the tent was a flimsy affair dimly lighted by 
 sperm oil lamps, which flickered and flared in the 
 breeze, every seat was taken in less than half an 
 hour. There were old people and young ones, and 
 children of all ages, even to babes in arms. 
 
 The band struck up what was supposed to be the 
 " Blue Danube " waltz. Immediately the bare- 
 back riders, two of whom were women in abbrevi- 
 ated costumes, appeared on the scene. The usual 
 feats of cantering, vaulting and hurdle jumping 
 over, they disappeared amid great applause. 
 Then came a baby elephant that waltzed around 
 and picked up handkerchiefs and bits of candy to 
 the delight of all present. Then two clowns in 
 grotesque trappings came in. One asked the 
 other : 
 
 " Why is an elephant like an amateur trav- 
 eler? " 
 
 " I dunno, unless it is because it wears a grey 
 coat." 
 
 " No, no, guess again ! " 
 
 " Well, perhaps it's because he sees all the 
 pretty girls." 
 
 "Oh! You're way off 7 ," said the jester. 
 " Why, it is because he never loses sight of his 
 trunk." 
 
 Instead of a camel being ridden by the Siamese 
 twins, as represented on the posters, the diminu-
 
 56 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 tive donkey that had made his sonorous voice 
 heard throughout the forenoon was mounted by 
 two boys tied together with a green scarf. The 
 trained bear proved to be nothing more than a 
 Newfoundland dog that waltzed with a girl who 
 wore a mask over her face and another upon the 
 back of her head, hence the two-headed girl. 
 
 A hiss came from the rear seats, but it was 
 immediately drowned by the applause given an 
 Egyptian snake charmer who appeared on the 
 scene. Men rose in their seats and swung their 
 hats as they cheered the daring performer. With- 
 out the least fear she played with the seemingly 
 venomous creatures as if they were kittens. To 
 the amazement of all, she wound them around her 
 waist and nestled their heads upon her naked 
 shoulders. Some in the audience shrieked and 
 others fainted, still the woman continued to 
 fondle the largest one; she even put her fingers 
 into its mouth. In the midst of the uproarious 
 applause came a loud report. Instantly a shower 
 of sawdust burst from the python's side and com- 
 pletely enveloped the fair enchantress. 
 
 One can readily imagine that the hearty ap- 
 plause changed to denunciation of the manager of 
 the fake show. There is no knowing what might 
 have happened to him except for the timely inter- 
 vention of the constable and two or three other 
 influential citizens, who saved him from the infu- 
 riated crowd and assisted him to leave town under 
 the cover of night.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 One dreamy, hazy afternoon in August Mrs. 
 Bradley and Rachel Winn drove to Norwood. The 
 fields on the right as they ascended Ripton Hill 
 were waving with golden grain; on the left, black 
 stumps were conspicuous among the fireweed that 
 flaunted its bright banners. The stillness was 
 broken only by an occasional locust that poured 
 forth his lazy song. 
 
 At the height of land they passed a small one- 
 story dwelling with scarcely a window from which 
 panes of glass had not been broken. The chimney 
 was topped out with a rusty stovepipe, the shin- 
 gles were much the worse for wear, and the piazza 
 across the front was littered with corn-husks, green 
 apples and tomatoes left there to ripen. In the 
 unkempt door-yard stood four or five tow-headed, 
 barefooted children in blue and white checked 
 gingham pinafores, gaping at the passers-by. 
 
 " Poor Silas," said Mrs. Bradley, " how differ- 
 ent things might have been." Then she gave 
 Rachel a detailed account of the tragedy in the 
 life of him who, with his ever increasing family, 
 occupied the squalid home. " Yes," said the 
 
 woman mournfully, " Silas Marshall was one of 
 
 57
 
 58 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 the most promising young men in Old Riverby ten 
 years ago. Think of him now with his slovenly 
 wife and that brood of unattractive children ! " 
 
 " Why, how came he to marry one so much be- 
 neath him ? " Rachel queried. 
 
 " Oh, it was another case of a man taking up 
 with any kind of a woman when he fails to get the 
 one he wants." 
 
 " Then he cared for some one else? " 
 
 " Yes, and his devotion for Laura Burton began 
 when he was a mere lad. Laura was about fifteen 
 when by her grandfather's will she was enabled to 
 have a melodeon. No one thought anything of 
 Silas spending Sunday evenings with her. She 
 played for her own pleasure and profit ; if he en- 
 joyed hearing her surely there was no harm in 
 that. In time she became quite proficient in mu- 
 sic. When the church organ was bought Laura 
 was engaged to play it." 
 
 " And did Mr. Marshall still wait upon her ? " 
 Rachel ventured to ask. 
 
 " Yes, and no. Why, he walked home with her 
 from church the same as he had always done, but 
 after a while, to the amazement of everyone, it 
 became known that she was infatuated with Mor- 
 ton Phelps, a dapper young man who stopped at 
 one of the mountain hotels. It was not till the 
 stranger had won Laura's heart that Silas realized 
 what a mistake he had made in not declaring his 
 love for her long before. His reason told him that 
 it was all over with him, but his heart said no,
 
 UNREQUITED LOVE 59 
 
 and he went to the girl and told her of his fond- 
 ness for her. She was as much startled by the 
 declaration as he was that he had made it. 
 
 " ' It has taken you sometime to reach a con- 
 clusion regarding your affection for me,' Laura 
 said lightly. 
 
 " ' I should have spoken long ago,' returned 
 Silas, ' only that I thought you knew it all the 
 while. You surely will not think of marrying 
 that stranger, and thus wreck both your own life 
 and mine ! ' 
 
 " ' How absurd ! ' Laura retorted. ' You know 
 that I am devoted to my music, and I can assure 
 you that I have no intention of giving it up for 
 matrimony.' 
 
 " You see," said Mrs. Bradley, " the girl had 
 regarded Silas as a friend nothing more. Her 
 only regret in the matter was that she had injured 
 him whom she so highly respected. Everyone 
 pitied the young man, but the only evidence of his 
 disappointment was that he lost interest in his old 
 companions and was rarely seen at the village. 
 
 " Laura was in a state of pleasurable excitement 
 all the while. Why should she not be with youth, 
 talent and the devotion of a handsome young man 
 who seemed ready to fall down and worship her? 
 
 " The summer passed all too soon for the lovers, 
 and the seat in church occupied by the stranger 
 was vacant. The color faded from Laura's 
 cheeks, and the habitual smile no longer played 
 about her mouth.
 
 " * I'm sorry for her,' said Mrs. Beal, as we 
 came out of church one Sunday. ' But she is old 
 enough to know that that fop doesn't want any- 
 thing of her but to amuse himself while away from 
 his city friends.' Then who should pipe up with 
 an opinion but Mrs. Binley, who said: 
 
 " ' I believe that Mrs. Burton is wholly to blame 
 for her daughter's conduct. Why hasn't she 
 taught her that " the lust of the flesh Idlleth the 
 spirit." ' 
 
 " Oh ! People are bound to talk," declared 
 Mrs. Bradley. Then she went on to say : " With 
 the return of summer came Morton Phelps, more 
 ardent in his devotion for Laura than ever. It 
 was a question among the villagers whether it was 
 the tonic prescribed by Doctor Pendleton or if 
 It were the presence of the young man that brought 
 the roses back to her cheeks. The girl wasn't so 
 much to blame for being infatuated. Even the 
 married women admired Morton Phelps' charming 
 manners, and didn't hesitate to remark upon the 
 striking figure he made when riding about the 
 country on his chestnut thoroughbred. 
 
 " Laura well knew that people were criticising 
 her for receiving attention from one of whose past 
 life she knew absolutely nothing. Still she con- 
 tinued to walk and ride with him at every oppor- 
 tunity. When fall came, like the other migratory 
 birds, he took his departure. After all their in- 
 timacy there was no engagement ring upon the 
 girl's finger. That proved too much for her
 
 UNREQUITED LOVE 61 
 
 proud, sensitive spirit and with the falling of the 
 leaves she began to fade. It was a hard struggle 
 that the poor child made for life. In spite of 
 unkind remarks made by some of the villagers, 
 there was not one among them who did not feel 
 a personal loss when the sweet girl was no longer 
 with us." 
 
 " The first lover was equally false," Rachel ven- 
 tured to say. " It seems that he no sooner lost 
 his sweetheart than he married some one else." 
 
 " Silas Marshall was a sincere mourner," de- 
 clared Mrs. Bradley with considerable emphasis. 
 " The villagers still believe that he would have 
 been single to this day if that bold character had 
 been less persistent in following him up ! " 
 
 Rachel was glad when they reached Norwood. 
 The bright, happy faces of the school-children were 
 a pleasure to see. They were marching across the 
 green on their way to a picnic. One youngster 
 acted as drummer, and another was red in the 
 face with trying to play a broken flute. Old 
 Kate, the mare, pricked up her ears and was in- 
 clined to shy. Her better judgment prevailed, 
 however, and she finally trotted down the street 
 as if nothing had happened. 
 
 Upon reaching Parker's store, where everything 
 could be bought from an ounce of mustard seed to 
 a mowing machine, the proprietor assisted the 
 ladies to alight and hitched their horse. Mr. 
 Parker was a tall, spare man with red hair, blue 
 eyes and a fringe of sandy whiskers around his
 
 62 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 face. He inquired after all the Old Riverby peo- 
 ple from Deacon Munsej, the town representative, 
 to Grandma Stillman who lived at the poor-farm. 
 Then, eying Rachel closely, he said : 
 
 " Who is this slip of a gal, Mis' Bradley? One 
 of your city boarders ? " 
 
 Thereupon Mrs. Bradley introduced Rachel to 
 him and told him that it was her first visit to Old 
 Riverby and that she was charmed with the place. 
 
 " I suppose she knows the " Duchess " by this 
 time? " 
 
 Without waiting for her friend to reply Rachel 
 said: 
 
 " Oh, yes, and I think she is lovely ! " 
 
 "Do, do you? Wa'al you can bate you ain't 
 the only one that thinks so. The ' Duchess ' 
 wouldn't be a widder now nor Jake Parker 
 wouldn't be keepin' old bach's hall if she'd had 
 eyes for anybody but that tin-peddler, Gray, when 
 she was a gal." 
 
 Mrs. Bradley, well knowing Mr. Parker's weak- 
 ness on that point, changed the subject by asking 
 for several articles which she wished to purchase. 
 All being ready, the shoppers returned home by 
 way of the river road. When they crossed the 
 bridge and turned the corner at the church the 
 inn-keeper's wife said: 
 
 " Just think of it ! A whole afternoon without 
 hearing any complaints from the guests about 
 headaches, heartaches or jealousies of one another. 
 Why, it has given me a new lease of life ! "
 
 63 
 
 Whether old Kate understood what was said and 
 became imbued with the same spirit of hilarity will 
 never be known, but she immediately started upon 
 the run. In spite of the close rein held over her, 
 she veered to the left, the forward wheel of the 
 carriage caught in the rear wheel of a buckboard 
 which stood in front of the old tavern, and Mrs. 
 Bradley and Rachel came near being upset. The 
 mare kept right on at the same pace, however, till 
 they turned into the yard. Then the wise old 
 creature walked leisurely up to the stable door 
 and neighed for her supper.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE RECLUSE 
 
 As 1 you already know, it was the summer before 
 Rachel Winn went to Old Riverby that a stranger 
 took up his abode in the old furnace. It was of 
 no use to any one else, so his right to remain 
 there was not questioned. 
 
 Soon after Rachel's arrival she wrote home a 
 description of the village and of the people whom 
 she had met. She gave a detailed account of the 
 recluse, of his living in an old ruin on the hillside, 
 and very unwisely said that she hoped to make 
 his acquaintance. The return mail brought her 
 no less than half a dozen letters, nearly all of 
 which charged her not to think of such a thing. 
 In the tear-stained one from her mother Rachel 
 was gently reproved for having a morbid curiosity 
 about unusual characters. Her Aunt Mintie, who 
 lived in the family, sent a long missive warning 
 her of the dangers that surrounded a young girl 
 even in a country village. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," the spinster wrote, " there is 
 many a wolf in sheep's clothing in these days." 
 
 The last letter to be read came from Rachel's 
 nine year old brother, who said in his masterful 
 
 way: 
 
 64
 
 THE RECLUSE 65 
 
 " Rachel, don't you mind what mamma and 
 auntie tell you about not going to see the boogy- 
 man. I say go ahead. Perhaps he was once a 
 neighbor to Hannah Dustin and can tell you all 
 about killing the Injuns." 
 
 The anxiety on the part of the girl's friends 
 was needless, for it was no easy matter to make 
 the acquaintance of the stranger. He rarely 
 left his hermitage by day. When he did it was 
 only to stroll over the hills through a thickly 
 wooded forest. There he found young squirrels 
 and rabbits, which he brought home. Some of the 
 villagers looked upon the taming of such animals 
 with suspicion. They thought that by the pro- 
 lific propagation of their kind the neighboring 
 gardens would be overrun with them. As it 
 turned out, their fears on that score were unneces- 
 sary. 
 
 One night in the latter part of September the 
 old ruin was reduced to ashes. It was between 
 twelve and one o'clock when the church bell gave 
 the alarm. The first stroke had scarcely ceased 
 to vibrate before every man, woman and child in 
 the village was up and out. When they saw the 
 structure all ablaze, a cry arose: 
 
 " Save the hermit ! Save the hermit ! " One 
 after another said to his neighbor: 
 
 " You lead and I'll follow." 
 
 No one dared take the initiative, however. 
 They stood appalled before the fiery crucible. It 
 required a stout heart to enter the burning build-
 
 ing when the flames like a thousand-headed hydra 
 licked up the shingles as if they were dried parch- 
 ment, and when with each falling timber livid 
 tongues of fire pierced the darkness. Finally 
 there was a jostling of the people and a tall figure, 
 wrapped in a long loose robe with a hood that 
 concealed the features, rushed through the crowd 
 and on into the very face of death. A moment 
 and the newcomer brought out the prostrate form 
 of the recluse. The heroic deed performed, the 
 figure disappeared as mysteriously as it came. 
 Old Uncle Spencer, whose mind was somewhat 
 turned on the subject of religion, took the un- 
 known personage to be an angel. Others thought 
 that some daring adventurer's name would be 
 heralded throughout the country the next day. 
 
 The unfortunate man was carried across the 
 river to the inn. Upon examination by Doctor 
 Pendleton it was found that life was not extinct. 
 Though revived by stimulants, the man fully 
 realized that he had but a short time to live. Mo- 
 tioning everyone except the doctor to leave the 
 room, he said: 
 
 " Naturally, my life of seclusion has been com- 
 mented upon by the villagers. Doubtless some of 
 them have thought me demented, while perhaps 
 others have looked upon me as a fugitive from 
 justice. As I am so soon to pass to that bourne 
 whence no traveler returns, I wish these good peo- 
 ple to know that I a neither a lunatic nor a crimi- 
 nal."
 
 THE RECLUSE 67 
 
 " In the contour of your face and in your nat- 
 ural bearing I have seen the true gentleman," said 
 the doctor. " There can be no question but blood 
 tells." 
 
 With that encouragement the dying man went 
 on to say: 
 
 " Many years ago Count Bourdillon came to 
 America to settle his uncle's estate. Much of the 
 property was in Washington. While there he 
 met and fell in love with Miss Ruth Wellington, 
 daughter of Senator Wellington. Immediately 
 after the count's engagement to the young woman, 
 urgent business necessitated his speedy return to 
 France. By persuasion on the part of her lover 
 the girl was prevailed upon to forego the pleasure 
 of a large wedding, and to be married quietly the 
 day before sailing. Two years later an heir was 
 born to the couple. I am that son, and whether 
 my coming brought more of joy than sorrow to 
 my mother's homesick heart I cannot say. 
 
 " My father worshipped his beautiful wife, but 
 his religion was paramount to all else. I have 
 always believed that, though my mother united 
 with the Catholic church, at heart she remained 
 a Protestant. She was heartbroken when I was 
 sent away to study for the priesthood. Though 
 still young I, too, had my doubts as to whether I 
 loved the church sufficiently to become a leader of 
 its people." 
 
 The man said no more, and like the last flicker- 
 ing blaze of a candle his life passed out. The
 
 68 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 leaves of a much worn note-book bearing the name 
 of Francois Bourdillon revealed the rest of the 
 sad story. Doctor Pendleton translated the jour- 
 nal, which read as follows : 
 
 " Would to God that I could return to my child- 
 hood ! Again to walk in the old rose garden, hand in 
 hand with my sainted mother. Again to hear her 
 gentle voice and to feel the touch of her soft lips in 
 a good-night kiss. Ah ! Those were happy days, 
 but I knew it not. I see, when it is too late, that 
 I should have listened to the voice within which told 
 me that I was unfit for the priesthood. I now real- 
 ize that it was pride and ambition which I mistook 
 for religious fervor that induced me to carry out my 
 father's wishes. The goal is now reached, and still 
 my restless soul is unsatisfied. I think of a broader 
 life by day and dream of it by night. Unless I can 
 loose the fetters that bind me I would rather die." 
 
 The next entry in the diary dated some time 
 later consisted of long prayers for deliverance 
 from illness and from rough seas that buffeted the 
 vessel upon which he came to America. 
 
 Months passed before anything else was written. 
 Meanwhile, Cupid must have sought out the 
 stranger, for when once more he took up his pen 
 the sketches were radiant with color. The sky 
 was no longer grey and threatening. It was 
 draped with pearl-grey and old-rose, with violet 
 and pale pink, and with royal purple fringed with 
 gold. Every tree and shrub whispered of love
 
 THE RECLUSE 69 
 
 to the lover; their leaves took on a more tender 
 green, their blossoms perfumed the air with un- 
 usual aroma, and the birds among their branches 
 never poured forth such melody. 
 
 " The sentiment expressed in those halcyon days 
 was too tender to repeat," said Doctor Pendleton. 
 " I read page after page of which I made no 
 translation. There are some things too sacred 
 to be flaunted before the eyes of a cold, critical 
 world. It was the same old story of love's young 
 dream ; what need to tell it ? " 
 
 The next entry made three years later, which 
 told of the death of the hermit's child and of the 
 mysterious disappearance of his beautiful wife, 
 brought tears to the good old doctor's eyes. 
 Upon a page dated September twenty-eighth was 
 written : 
 
 " Something tells me that my days are numbered. 
 Since time has robbed me of all that made life worth 
 living I would not have it otherwise. If with all my 
 suffering I have not expiated the crime of failing in 
 my vows to the church, further judgment from the 
 Almighty cannot come too soon. Each day spent in 
 a probationary existence will bring me that much 
 nearer the haven of peace where I hope to be re- 
 united with those I love." 
 
 Rachel Winn had thus far carefully guarded 
 the fqrtune teller's secret. But, well knowing 
 that the hermit's rescuer was none other than his 
 faithful wife, she felt justified in telling the story 
 to Mrs. Bradley. She thought:
 
 " Who knows where the poor creature sought 
 shelter after disappearing from the crowd last 
 night? Or who can tell but, overcome by 
 fatigue, she may have died ? " 
 
 Mrs. Bradley scarcely waited to hear the last 
 of the sad tale. She hurried downstairs and out 
 into the garden to find her husband. Within half 
 an hour the inn-keeper and his wife and Rachel 
 Winn were on their way to the home of " dark 
 Marjory." Old Kate started off at a brisk trot, 
 as if she knew that she was on some errand of 
 mercy. The long shadows and the purpling 
 mountains already foretold the coming of night, 
 and the mournful song of a whip-poor-will came 
 across the meadows. Upon reaching the hovel 
 and finding the door and windows closed, Mr. 
 Bradley said: 
 
 " Since the place has been vacated, there can 
 be no harm in entering." 
 
 When he opened the rickety door and found 
 no one in the kitchen, he passed on to the bedroom. 
 There, upon an old couch covered with a fine 
 linen sheet, lay the lifeless form of the woman whom 
 they sought. The visitors stood amazed. That 
 inexplicable influence felt in the presence of death 
 rendered them speechless. Mrs. Bradley was the 
 first to break the silence. She said: 
 
 " Think of it, John ! This poor creature has 
 actually died here alone under the very eaves of 
 our village, and we pretend to be Christian peo- 
 ple ! " She took a step forward and hesitated, as
 
 THE RECLUSE 71 
 
 if afraid that the lifeless corpse might rise up 
 and denounce her. Upon removing the dainty 
 handkerchief with which the face was covered, she 
 was surprised that the features, distorted in 
 life, were so beautiful in the repose of death. 
 The luxuriant hair, formerly disheveled, lay in 
 smoothly plaited braids about the low broad 
 forehead. The burial robe was the wedding dress 
 which the woman had shown to Rachel Winn only 
 a few weeks before. A plain gold ring encircled 
 the third finger of the left hand, and a rosary with 
 a gold cross attached to it was suspended from 
 her neck. 
 
 Mr. Bradley picked a scrap of paper from the 
 floor, and reading the inscription upon it, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Poison ! " Then he went on to say : 
 " Doubtless the shock of again seeing her husband 
 restored the woman's reason. Rather than live 
 without him she has taken her own life." 
 
 The question arose, what should be done? It 
 was already dusk and neither Rachel nor Mrs. 
 Bradley would remain there alone. It was finally 
 decided that Rachel should drive down to the vil- 
 lage and carry the sad news. In less time than it 
 takes for the telling, Doctor Pendleton and Mr. 
 Glines, the undertaker, were on their way to 
 the desolate home. The lone woman was carried 
 to the inn, where the following day funeral serv- 
 ices were held for her and her husband, and they 
 were buried side by side in the Bradley family
 
 72 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 lot. The tragic ending of the two unhappy lives 
 made a deep impression on the villagers. To this 
 day children speak in whispers as they strew the 
 unmarked graves with wild flowers. 
 
 News of the conflagration spread rapidly. 
 Many came from adjoining towns to see the 
 smouldering ruins. Others, out of morbid curi- 
 osity, came to view the newly made graves and to 
 hear what they could about the fated couple. 
 Day after day groups of old men, each leaning 
 upon his staff, together with young men and their 
 sweethearts, wandered about the hillside and gave 
 their opinion as to how the fire started, and as to 
 whether it was from the flames or from smoke that 
 the hermit lost his life. 
 
 The day before the burning of the old furnace 
 is still remembered by many of the town's people. 
 It was dull in the morning, and the three artists 
 who had just come to the inn hesitated about go- 
 ing out sketching. It cleared toward noon, how- 
 ever, and they took their art materials, their 
 white umbrellas and a box of lunch, and started. 
 Toward night, with the sun swinging low in the 
 west, a golden mist permeated the atmosphere and 
 tinged the moutain peaks with unusual splendor. 
 The perfect stillness, which seemed to portend 
 some coming evil, was broken only by the bleat- 
 ing of a young lamb in the pasture across the 
 river. 
 
 The artists returned just at twilight, each 
 bringing a sketch of some picturesque spot. The
 
 THE RECLUSE 73 
 
 " ohs " and " ahs " from the guests about the 
 delicate coloring were lost on the hungry trio. 
 Having had only a light lunch since morning, the 
 delicious supper claimed their undivided attention. 
 It was not till all were gathered around the 
 wood fire in the parlor that the tongues of the 
 three were loosed. Then the halls fairly rang 
 with laughter at their jokes. Each one may have 
 had his share of peculiarities accorded to men of 
 genius. In any case, they were indeed a jovial 
 company. Strangely enough, not long ago, one 
 who was then a guest of the inn, came across a 
 pencil sketch which was drawn that evening by 
 one of the merrymakers. He has since become a 
 famous artist, therefore, it would never do to men- 
 tion his name.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 PATRICK SPELLMAN 
 
 Without some mention of the carriage driver 
 who took the guests of the inn to the mountains 
 time and again, and who amused them with his 
 droll sayings, the chronicles of Old Riverby would 
 be incomplete. A typical son of Erin was Pat- 
 rick Spellman, with a heart full of love for his 
 neighbors, for his Mary Ann, and for his brood 
 of fair-haired children that looked as much alike 
 as so many peas in a pod. A twinkle in his mild 
 blue eye suggested joviality, and his head was as 
 full of yarns as an old reel. But withal, if the 
 truth may be told, Pat was in the habit of tip- 
 pling. 
 
 The Spellmans lived in a log house about half- 
 way between Old Riverby and Barton. Mrs. 
 Bradley never went that way without calling to 
 see how the wife and chilrden were getting along, 
 and the best of it was she never went empty-handed. 
 Either apples or seedcakes for the little ones al- 
 ways found place in her capacious hand bag. And 
 she never forgot to take a package of her delicious 
 green tea to the hard-working mother. 
 
 Rachel Winn chanced to be with the inn-keeper's 
 
 wife one day when she called upon the driver's 
 
 74
 
 PATRICK SPELLMAN 75 
 
 family. The children, well knowing that some 
 treat was in store for them, flocked around the 
 good woman like so many chickens around their 
 breakfast. They followed her into the house, and 
 having been told that they were as shy as par- 
 tridges, Rachel didn't expect to see them again. 
 But while she sat there in the carriage they came 
 out, one after another. 
 
 To the great disappointment of the Spellmans, 
 their children were all boys. When the fourth 
 one, a delicate, effeminate little fellow came, word 
 went out that it was a girl. They named him 
 Mikanna, and kept him in dresses a number of 
 years after he should have been in trousers. 
 Though the child was nine years of age when 
 Rachel first saw him, he was still in petticoats, and 
 wore his hair in a braid down his back. Whether 
 he knew instinctively that he was unsuitably clad 
 would be hard to say; however, he concealed him- 
 self behind a large pine at the corner of the house 
 and, like a squirrel, took occasional peeps at the 
 stranger. 
 
 Mrs. Spellman followed Mrs. Bradley out to the 
 carriage and in her inimitable way expressed her 
 gratitude for the timely contribution. The joy 
 of her Irish soul lighted her countenance as she 
 said: 
 
 " Shure, mum, it's the loikes av yersilf that 
 makes loif wort' livin'." 
 
 " I dont know about that," said Mrs. Bradley. 
 
 " Oh, go way wid yer blarney ! " exclaimed the
 
 woman. " Ye know it's the trut' Oi'm tellin' yees. 
 And phat's that Oi hurud about yer good man? 
 God bliss *im! Pat tells me he have been apinted 
 prisident av the timperence saciety." 
 
 " Mr. Bradley has been elected representative of 
 the town, if that is what you mean. And I am sure 
 that he will do all in his power to prevent liquor 
 being sold. There are already too many families 
 in poverty on account of men drinking up their 
 earnings. Even Pat, as good as he is, would be 
 better off without his toddy." 
 
 In spite of Mrs. Bradley's kindness and gen- 
 erosity, the wife objected to hearing her spouse 
 criticised. The expression of pleasure and the 
 deferential manner of the woman instantly changed, 
 and she said, with considerable emphasis : 
 
 " Niver a wourd will Oi hear about Pat Spellman ! 
 Shure the Holy Mother knows Oi tuck him for 
 bither or wourse, and dthrink or no dthrink, he's 
 an hanast man. And tha's more'n can be said 
 av many a progidunt phat Oi've seen dronin' round 
 wid a face an as lang as yer arum and at the 
 same toime hatchin' up some boggle to chate his 
 neighbors out av their oie-taath." 
 
 When well out of hearing Mrs. Bradley said: 
 
 " I ought not to have mentioned Pat's weakness 
 to Mary Ann. Though she upbraids him unmerci- 
 fully herself, she seriously objects to having any 
 allusion to his failings made by others. If I do 
 say it, I think he would be different if he had a 
 
 / * 
 
 more gentle companion. You must have seen, Miss
 
 PATRICK SPELLMAN 77 
 
 Winn, that he is very kind-hearted, and his good 
 humor will cure a case of blues sooner than any 
 other known remedy." 
 
 Rachel quite agreed with her. Many a time 
 when the girl was on the point of crying with home- 
 sickness Pat's original sayings dispelled her gloom 
 and brought forth peals of laughter from her. It 
 was no unusual thing to see the driver on the 
 veranda spinning his yarns while waiting for the 
 mail coach, or perhaps to do some little chore for 
 the busy landlady. One night a pompous young 
 man, a late arrival, thinking to be very patronizing, 
 said to him: 
 
 " I take it that you came from the old coun- 
 try." 
 
 " Faith, it was in Ireland that Oi was bornd," 
 said Pat. " But Oi could 'av been bornd in 
 Ameriky just as well." 
 
 " How was that? " queried the guest. 
 
 " Oh, that's as plain as the nose on yer face, 
 but we furiners have a few sacrets phat wa ain't 
 wearin' on our schlaves." 
 
 Without further comment the upstart thrust 
 his hands into his pockets and sauntered down 
 the road. 
 
 When Mr. Bradley asked Pat how much Lawyer 
 Ripley paid him for gathering his apples, his re- 
 ply was : 
 
 " Faix, Oi don't remimber just how much it 
 was, but phativer he paid me he chated me out 
 av."
 
 78 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 With Mrs. Spellraan's nervous temperament, it 
 was not strange that she was subject to attacks 
 of hysteria. Doctor Pendleton was frequently 
 called upon such occasions. One time when he 
 arrived at the unkempt home he found Pat nearly 
 as badly off as his wife. He was in a frenzy of 
 fear lest she was going mad. As the woman went 
 on crying and laughing alternately, he exclaimed: 
 
 " For the love av the saints, Mary Ann, will ye 
 niver come to yer sinces? Shure, ye act the most 
 loike a fool Oi iver seen yees ! " When told by the 
 physician that the woman's illness was largely due 
 to imagination, Pat said: "Holy Mither! If 
 that's phat ye call it, thin bad scrans to Mag 
 Nasons ! " 
 
 While driving along the brink of Glen River 
 one day, a gentleman in the party asked Pat if 
 he ever fished on that stream. 
 
 " Shure Oi have that, yer honor, and aizy fishin' 
 indade it was, wid niver a bite barin' wan from 
 a muskater that tuck the top av me ear clean aff 
 at the first lick." 
 
 The passengers, except a lone spinster who had 
 a horror of spiders, bugs and bumblebees, smiled 
 audibly. She shivered and drew her veil closer 
 about her face. The others had heard too many 
 of Pat's yarns to accept them without a grain of 
 seasoning. Mention of the noisome insects re- 
 minded him of an unpleasant experience which 
 he once had while guiding a Boston naturalist 
 through the mountains, and he said:
 
 PATRICK SPELLMAN 79 
 
 " Talk about muskaters ! These around here 
 ain't to be schpoken av in the same day wid the 
 wans an Sout' Mountain ! " He then proceeded 
 to give a detailed account of his wanderings 
 through the woods, of getting lost, and of spend- 
 ing the night beneath an old caldron kettle that 
 had been left by sugar makers. " Yis," said the 
 story-teller, " the perfisser shuck loike an aspect 
 leaf whin he hurud the noisy cratures pipin' up 
 wid their evenin' chunes. The first wan was no 
 more than complated whin he stoirted wid a con- 
 fission. Shure, Oi told 'im Oi was no prast 
 phativer, but he kipt roight an wid his blarney. 
 Since this company have no acquaintance wid the 
 gintleman there can be no harum in sayin' that 
 among ather things too indacent to repate he con- 
 fissed to sthalin a quarter out av his ould grand- 
 mother's sthockin'! Whin he rached that pint 
 the bill av the largest varmint av the lat come 
 trough the old kittle and stuck straight into his 
 back. Holy Mither ! Phat a howl wint up ! Oi 
 suppose he fought it was the ghost av the old 
 lady afther him wid a rid-hot poker." 
 
 " You must have been at your wits' end to 
 know what to do," said Doctor Manser, who al- 
 ways sat with the driver. 
 
 " Faix," said Pat, " Oi paid little attintion to 
 the ind av me wits, but belave me, the inds av 
 thim blatherin' bills was headed down an the in- 
 soide av that ould caldron in less toime than it 
 takes to tell about it."
 
 80 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " I suppose you had no further trouble," com- 
 mented the doctor. 
 
 " Roight ye are, soir. It was just at the break 
 o' day whin Oi hurud a flutterin' av wings. 
 Thinkin' it was a flock av wild geese goin' sout', 
 Oi turned over and wint to schlape. And would 
 ye belave me, before Oi waked up thim muskaters 
 flew aff and tuck the ould kittle wid 'em." There 
 was no time for comment for, turning to the doc- 
 tor, Pat said : " Ye orter been wid me wan day 
 last season whin Oi fished up Pike Stream." 
 
 "Why so? " queried the doctor. 
 
 " Ye'd av seen a soight the likes av phat ye 
 wouldn't lay yer eyes an ag*in in a loife-time." 
 
 " Since that was the case, you had better tell 
 us about it. What was it ? " 
 
 " That's precoisely the quistion Oi axed mesilf. 
 Thin Oi said, says Oi, ' Pat Spellman, don't ye be 
 afther lavin' these diggin' widout makin' yersilf 
 wise to that onnatural thing.' So Oi relaved me- 
 silf av the most av me clo'es and climbed up the 
 bare face av a lidge. And phat should Oi find 
 but a woodchuck's hole ten feet long stickin' 
 straight out av the bank." 
 
 The truth of Pat's statement was not ques- 
 tioned, for at that moment a man with a hand 
 organ and monkey came out from a thicket beside 
 the road. The horses were inclined to shy, but 
 Pat stopped long enough to hear " The Wearing 
 of the Green " played, and to see the wise little 
 creature perform some of his antics. It is doubt-
 
 PATRICK SPELLMAN 81 
 
 ful if the Hibernian ever saw a monkey before. 
 In any case, he winked at the doctor and said : 
 
 " If that ain't wan av the O'Houligan b'ys 
 from Cork, thin Oi'll eat me head." 
 
 Poor Pat! It was only the next day that he 
 came to grief. After imbibing too freely with 
 friends that he met in Barton, he lost control of 
 his horses and they ran away with him. His 
 right leg was so seriously injured that amputa- 
 tion was necessary. In spite of his failings, every- 
 body was fond of Pat, and without the least hesi- 
 tancy the villagers turned to and cared for him 
 and his family. Be it said to his credit, however, 
 he signed the pledge two days after the accident, 
 and never tasted liquor again. The erstwhile 
 erratic Mary Ann became as gentle toward him 
 as need be. The neighbors declared that she was 
 prouder of him hobbling around on an old wooden 
 stump than she ever was before. She said to 
 Grandma Bradley: 
 
 " Oi find that it's not laigs altogither phat 
 makes a man. Wid the wan left Pat is more av a 
 gintleman than he was wid the two av 'em. Shure, 
 if he should lose the ather wan Oi don't know but 
 he'd be fit for prisidint av the United States." 
 
 Paradoxical as it may seem, the accident proved 
 the beginning of the man's prosperity. The 
 climax of his good fortune came when through 
 the death of an uncle he was left a goodly sum of 
 ready money. 
 
 " Why," said Grandma Bradley in telling about
 
 it five years later, " the whole townspeople were 
 as pleased with Pat's good luck as if it had been 
 their own." 
 
 The happiness of the household was completed, 
 however, by an old stork that had been nesting 
 among the spokes of Dame Fortune's wheel for 
 nobody knows how long. One night it came down 
 from its perch and left a beautiful girl baby for 
 Pat and his Mary Ann.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE MINER'S STORY 
 
 One evening during a September gale, Miss 
 Dinsmore, a guest at the inn, proposed having 
 a fagot party. Mr. Pelton, the village school- 
 master, remarked: 
 
 " I wonder what kind of a party that is ! " 
 
 Miss Dinsmore made no explanation, but when 
 a bundle of twigs was brought from the wood-shed 
 she distributed them among the guests who sat 
 around the fire on the hearth, and said: 
 
 " You must each, in turn, cast your twig into 
 the flames, and while it is being consumed either 
 repeat a poem, sing a song, or tell a story." 
 
 Paul Sibley from Chicago was the first to re- 
 plenish the fire, after which he rose, strode into 
 the parlor, and struck two or three chords at 
 random on the piano. Rachel Winn said: 
 
 " Perhaps he will give us ' Captain Jinks.' ' 
 Miss Gilman who sat next to her remarked: 
 
 " I hope he will sing ' Pins and Needles by the 
 Dozen.' " 
 
 They were both widely off the mark. In his 
 despondency at the thought of leaving Dorothy 
 Quimby, the minister's daughter, with whom he 
 
 had fallen desperately in love, he was not in a 
 
 83
 
 mood for comic songs. And his rich tenor voice 
 resounded through the halls in " Maid of 
 Athens." 
 
 Though the gentleman present made no com- 
 ment, they exchanged knowing glances and a 
 smile went round. 
 
 Grandma Bradley was the next to contribute 
 her fagot to the fire. They all wondered whether 
 she would repeat a hymn, or some passage of 
 Scripture. To their surprise she sang, in a low, 
 sweet voice: 
 
 " Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler his way 
 While the nightingale's song is in tune, 
 For I never, never more with my true love shall stray 
 In the sweet silver light of the moon." 
 
 An elderly lady from Dixville, who was visiting 
 the family, quoted: 
 
 " He liveth long who liveth well, 
 All else is life but flung away. 
 He liveth longest who can tell 
 Of some true thing truly done each day." 
 
 Miss Oilman gave Hannah Moore's lines : 
 
 " Alone I walked upon the strand, 
 A pearly shell was in my hand " 
 
 As burning of fagots was part of the program, 
 Rachel Winn thought something from the " Fire 
 Worshipers " would be apropos to the occasion. 
 So while her branch was crackling in the flames 
 she repeated:
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 85 
 
 ' 'Tis moonlight over Oman's sea ; 
 
 Her banks of pearl and palmy isles 
 Bask in the night-beams beauteously, 
 And her blue waters sleep in smiles." 
 
 Mr. Cameron, Grandma Bradley's son-in-law 
 from Denver, sat near Rachel, and was the next 
 to contribute to the flames, but he begged to be 
 excused from giving a recitation. 
 
 " Indeed, we cannot excuse you," said Miss 
 Dinsmore. " You, too, must contribute to the 
 cluster of gems." 
 
 The inn-keeper came in at that moment and 
 declared that one of Mr. Cameron's mining stories 
 would be in keeping with the wild night. Seeing 
 that by no manner of means would the company 
 be put off, Mr. Cameron began by saying: 
 
 " Four years' service in the Civil War inspired 
 me with a desire for further adventure, and there 
 seemed no better place to find it than out in the 
 gold fields of California. I thought I had seen 
 all kinds of men, but when I came in contact with 
 those miners I found that I was mistaken. There 
 was still another type. 
 
 " My first venture was made at Hang Town, 
 Dead Man's Canyon. I took up an old claim and 
 did very well till the drought came on. The 
 mines through that section depend upon the rain 
 for water. If we had a rainy winter they could 
 be worked seven or eight months ; if not, they were 
 useless.
 
 86 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " The first real desperado that I fell in with 
 was Jim Snow, a half-breed, He was a good 
 banjo-player, a fine singer, an expert at cards 
 and altogether a hail-fellow-well-met. I became 
 acquainted with him on the coach going over the 
 mountains from Hang Town to Shingle Springs. 
 That was a station at the end of a branch road 
 running out from Sacramento into the pine coun- 
 try. He told a pathetic tale about his wife be- 
 ing ill in Mexico, and that he had no money to 
 pay his fare home. I, like some unsophisticated 
 youth, was all sympathy and bought his ticket to 
 San Francisco, and intended to pay his fare to 
 Mexico. And thereby hangs a tale : 
 
 " When Shingle Springs was reached an officer 
 stepped up to me, and asked to see me alone. 
 Once by ourselves, he said: 
 
 " * Are you aware of whom you have for a 
 companion ? ' 
 
 " ' To be sure,' I replied. ' His name is 
 Snow.' 
 
 " * He is a stage-robber,' declared the officer. 
 * And I suspect that he robbed the sluicers at 
 Pizaro's place two weeks ago ! ' 
 
 " Thereupon he took the man in hand and 
 searched his valise. Finding nothing that would 
 lead to suspicion, he set him free. Seeing that 
 the suave gentleman paled under the scrutinizing 
 gaze of the officer, it occurred to me that he put 
 a bundle into my trunk that morning. I mentioned 
 the fact to the servant of the law, and he lost no
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 87 
 
 time in examining its contents. You can scarcely 
 imagine my feelings when it was found that the 
 package contained between seven and eight thou- 
 sand dollars' worth of gold dust. Snow scented 
 mischief, and disappeared into the forest. I was 
 so vexed with having been duped by the rascal 
 that I put my trunk into a miner's cabin and with 
 the officer and two other men started in pursuit 
 of him. After two days' unsuccessful search we 
 returned, and I never saw the desperado again till 
 the last of February, '71, about a month before 
 Chris Lopez, the noted bandit, was shot." 
 
 The guests of the inn listened with breathless 
 interest as Mr. Cameron went on to say : 
 
 " It was in the fall of '70 that I went into the 
 San Gabriel Canyon. Thirty-two men accom- 
 panied me, of whom fourteen were Spaniards, 
 seven were Chinese and the rest were nearly all 
 Americans of the hardest type. Among them 
 were Tom Burns, Bogus Smith, Bill Dooley, Sam 
 Hickman, and French Joe who, with a pretty girl 
 and her child, took up his abode in an old shack 
 just across the river from our cabin." In 
 describing some of those men Mr. Cameron said: 
 " Burns was of medium height with no surplus 
 flesh. His hair, coal-black, was as straight as 
 that of an Indian. His piercing black eyes, sunk 
 deeply into their sockets, resembled bits of ebony 
 in a bronze setting, while two of his front teeth 
 were conspicuous for their absence. Bogus 
 Smith was tall, well proportioned, and had the
 
 strength of a Hercules. His coarse, red-brown 
 hair fell in abundance over his forehead. His 
 eyes were steel-grey, and his mouth, somewhat 
 small, enclosed a set of teeth that were perfect 
 except for discoloration from excessive use of 
 tobacco." Mr. Cameron hesitated and turning 
 to Grandma Bradley said: "I am afraid that I 
 shall shock the young ladies if I go on with this 
 story." 
 
 " Nonsense, Nathan," she replied. " Instead 
 of shocking them it will broaden their sympathies 
 to hear something of the lives of those less 
 fortunate than themselves." 
 
 Taking up the thread of his story Mr. Cam- 
 eron went on, saying: 
 
 " Burns was wanted for murder committed 
 while robbing a man at Los Gadus. Although 
 he evaded punishment by law, justice was meted 
 out to him at the hands of Bogus Smith who in a 
 fit of anger struck him down about a month after 
 we went into camp." 
 
 Miss Gilman gave a start and exclaimed: 
 
 " What, did that Mr. Smith really kill him? " 
 
 " Certainly, a man's life doesn't count for much 
 with such characters. 
 
 " Apropos to Chris Lopez," said the story-teller, 
 " it was about twelve o'clock one night that we 
 were aroused by tramping of horses and rattling 
 of spurs. I looked out and saw that the cabin was 
 surrounded by a posse of bandits. Upon open- 
 ing the door Joe Vasquez, their leader, and Lopez,
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 89 
 
 his lieutenant, walked in. Vasquez asked if I 
 were in charge. When told that I was, he drew 
 his revolver and said: 
 
 " ' We want something to eat and we want it 
 damned quick ! ' 
 
 " It goes without saying that I made no delay 
 in calling the chef. He rehearsed a few oaths 
 about getting up at that hour to feed the sons-of- 
 sea-cooks. Upon hearing a revolver drop, Vas- 
 quez turned to me and said: 
 
 " ' Sir, I shall hold you responsible if any trou- 
 ble occurs. We've come here for grub, and we're 
 going to have it.' 
 
 " I opened the door of the sleeping-room," said 
 the narrator, " and found the men up and armed 
 with their repeaters. Upon being told who our 
 uninvited guests were, they quietly crept back into 
 their bunks. The hot lunch finally ready, it 
 was found that there was only room for half of 
 the party to eat at one time. When they were 
 through the others came in. Who should be 
 among them but the notorious Jim Snow. He 
 said to me: 
 
 " ' I've seen you before.' Then, turning to 
 his companions, he made some remark in Spanish. 
 Calling me to the rear of the cabin he said, in an 
 undertone : ' Now, pard, if you will come with us 
 you needn't want for money. We're going to re- 
 tire within four or five months. We robbed the 
 stores at Trespass last week, and to-night we shall
 
 90 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 do up Gospel Swamp.' Then he said, ' You must 
 have considerable gold dust on hand.' 
 
 " * We haven't cleaned up for over two weeks,' 
 I replied, ' and lately our clean-ups have been 
 small.' 
 
 " * That's an old story,' said Snow. ' Only a 
 tenderfoot would expect me to be caught by such 
 chaff.' He then informed me that one of my men 
 kept him posted regarding matters in our camp. 
 By that time the others were ready to proceed 
 on their errand of plunder, and calling to him, 
 they rode away." 
 
 Drawing her chair closer to Mr. Cameron's, 
 Grandma Bradley exclaimed: 
 
 " Oh, what dreadful creatures ! And to think, 
 Nathan, that you were at their mercy." 
 
 Without seeming to hear her he continued, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " They couldn't have gone more than ten rods 
 before my men were up and down the trail after 
 them. I soon heard firing and the crashing of 
 boulders. The men came in about daybreak and 
 said that they fired at the villains while they were 
 crossing the river about three miles below the 
 North Fork. I didn't put much stock in their 
 story, but from what a miner told me who came 
 in two days later, there was no doubt but some of 
 the bandits were disabled by the onslaught. 
 
 " After that the men settled down to work and 
 everything was, apparently, all right. Still, I 
 kept wondering who was playing the Judas. I
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 91 
 
 was in company with John McKay at that time. 
 We were suspicious that the bedrock of our 
 sluicers had been removed and the tracks of the 
 thief had been covered by letting on a stream of 
 water. One night after supper I told McKay 
 that we should have a big clean-up in the morning, 
 and that if he would take the watch at the head 
 of the sluicer till twelve o'clock I would relieve 
 him then. 
 
 " The moon was bright, so I didn't light up," 
 said the story-teller. " About half past eleven 
 some one peeped in at the window. I looked out 
 and who should be hurrying down the canyon but 
 French Joe. I took my rifle, stole out of the 
 cabin, went up near the sluicer and met McKay. 
 We had scarcely concealed ourselves behind a 
 clump of bushes when we heard a low whistle. It 
 was immediately answered by some one on the 
 other side of the river. French Joe told his ac- 
 complice to turn on two or three inches of water. 
 " ' By the time it gets down here,* said he, * I'll 
 be through.' 
 
 " We let him get to work. After he had filled 
 his gold pan and replaced the bedrock, McKay 
 took aim and fired. We saw him drop and waited 
 for the other man to make his appearance. He 
 evidently scented powder, and sought shelter 
 among the boulders. The next morning found 
 every man at his work except French Joe. We 
 sent over to find why he didn't come; the man 
 brought back word that he had met with an acci-
 
 92 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 dent and wouldn't be around for a day or two. 
 Though the shooting was done to protect our 
 property," said Mr. Cameron, " it is a deed which 
 has always weighed heavily upon McKay's con- 
 science. French Joe died within a month after- 
 wards, and left the young girl and her child home- 
 less." 
 
 " Poor thing," said half a dozen of the listen- 
 ers in the same breath. 
 
 " After his death the question arose, what 
 should be done with the girl and her ' kid,' as the 
 child was called by the miners. We knew that for 
 several weeks the river would be too high for them 
 to leave the canyon. You may have read about 
 the San Gabriel River, which has a fall of two 
 hundred and fifty feet to the mile. On account 
 of its having many short curves, and having to 
 be crossed more than a hundred times in going a 
 distance of fifteen miles, the stream is nearly im- 
 passable in the rainy season. However, while 
 McKay and I were making plans to care for the 
 girl, illness decreed her fate. She was stricken 
 down with fever and lived only a few days." 
 
 At that juncture of the story, Grandma Brad- 
 ley was seen to wipe away the tears that were 
 bound to come to her eyes. 
 
 " When all was over with the mother." Mr. 
 Cameron went on to say, " we took the child to the 
 cabin. The little fellow cried for her more or less 
 at first but, childlike, was soon pacified. He 
 amused himself day by day with chipmunks that
 
 93 
 
 came and ate crumbs from his hand. The cook 
 soon became very fond of the youngster. I often 
 wondered if it were memories of the man's child- 
 hood, or if it were thoughts of his own little ones 
 that brought the tears which frequently fell upon 
 the cheeks of the sleeping boy." With a tremor 
 in his voice the grey-haired Westerner said: 
 " The little fellow certainly was attractive. His 
 large dark eyes were shaded by long lashes, his 
 cheeks were like roses, and every hair of his abun- 
 dant ringlets was like a thread of shining gold." 
 
 " Another stray pearl," Miss Dinsmore re- 
 marked. 
 
 " About a week after French Joe was taken 
 away," said Mr. Cameron, " we heard that Vas- 
 quez and his followers had stolen nine horses and 
 had killed a Mexican by the name of Pedro. Also 
 that they were lying in wait for us. McKay and 
 I didn't propose to be caught napping. With 
 some of our most trustworthy men we started out 
 to find the marauders. After following their trail 
 three days, their hiding place was disclosed by 
 blue smoke curling up from the mountain-side. 
 Fortunately, we came upon them unawares. Lo- 
 pez, more courageous than his leader, crept stealth- 
 ily through the tall grass till he was within twenty 
 feet of us. When he arose shots were exchanged, 
 and he dropped to the ground. Vasquez made 
 good his escape into the forest, and the rest of 
 the gang lost no time in following his cowardly 
 example.
 
 " To go back to what I was saying about the 
 child: when we were about to leave the canyon 
 the question arose, who should have him. Some 
 suggested that he belonged to the owners of the 
 camp, others said that the cook had the best 
 right to him. Bogus Smith, who had never 
 shown the least interest in the little fellow, was 
 heard to say: 
 
 " * I mean to have that " kid." I can git big 
 money for him in Frisco.' 
 
 " There was so much talk about it," said the 
 narrator, " that McKay and I decided the draw- 
 ing of lots to be the only satisfactory way of 
 settling the matter. The method suggested was 
 to place several sticks of different lengths upon 
 the table and let each draw one. This was to be 
 done three times in succession; the one getting the 
 shortest piece every time should be the winner. 
 Bogus Smith was always officious, he offered to 
 cut the sticks. As chance would have it, the cook 
 won. In a trice Bogus, unseen by the others, 
 separated his stick, which was in two sections, and 
 dropping a part of it into his sleeve, held up a 
 shorter piece than any of the others. Though 
 the men well knew that he had played some trick, 
 they were still divided in opinion as to whom the 
 child should be given." 
 
 With every word the listeners became more and 
 ,nore interested. Grandma Bradley caught Mr. 
 Cameron by the sleeve and said: 
 
 " Why, Nathan, you don't mean to tell me that
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 95 
 
 you allowed that wretch to have the child? " 
 
 " No, mother," he replied, " the matter was 
 decided by a power beyond man to control. There 
 had been a scarlet spot on either cheek of the 
 boy for two or three days; he had eaten little, 
 and was restless in his sleep. That very night 
 after those ruffians quarreled about the right of 
 ownership he grew worse, and just as the first 
 flush of morning kissed the mountain-tops his 
 spirit passed out. 
 
 " When one of the men died from accident or 
 otherwise we were not at a loss to know how to 
 dispose of his remains. But when that innocent 
 child was taken away we thought it merited a 
 different burial from what was given lawless crimi- 
 nals. 
 
 For want of something better we wrapped the 
 delicate, waxen figure in an old piece of linen 
 and placed it in a plain wooden box. Accom- 
 panied by every man in camp except Smith, we 
 buried the boy beside his mother beneath the 
 sheltering branches of an oak. Though the souls 
 of those men were smirched with many a crime, 
 there was not one among them whose eyes were 
 not dimmed with tears when we turned away from 
 the grave of our little comrade." 
 
 " I was hoping that that miserable Smith would 
 come in for his share of punishment," said Mr. 
 Pelton. 
 
 " We left that for a higher power," said Mr. 
 Cameron. Then he quoted :
 
 96 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Though the mills of God grind slowly, 
 
 Yet they grind exceeding small; 
 Though with patience He stands waiting, 
 With exactness grinds He all." 
 
 Rachel Winn was very courageous when, with 
 Miss Dinsmore and Miss Gilman, she went up- 
 stairs that night. But upon being left alone, she 
 hurriedly bolted her door, fastened the windows 
 securely, and drew the shades. She felt as if 
 some robber was about to pounce upon her, either 
 from under the bed or from the closet, which was 
 a portable affair consisting of a broad shelf with 
 a figured cretonne curtain in front of it. 
 
 " What, did that drapery move ? " she thought. 
 It seemed to the girl as if every hair of her head 
 stood on end. Upon going to the closet and find- 
 ing nothing but her articles of wearing apparel, 
 she gained sufficient courage to look under the 
 bed. She found nothing there, however, but an 
 old cheesecloth duster which had been dropped 
 by the chambermaid. Thereupon Rachel retired, 
 but to say that she had the sleep of the blest 
 would be far from the truth. She dreamed of 
 towering mountains, of deep gorges through 
 which rivers dashed from crag to crag. To cap 
 all, the place seemed to be inhabited by des- 
 peradoes similar to those of whom she had so 
 recently heard. Thankful, indeed, was she upon 
 waking to find that the personages of her dreams,
 
 THE MINER'S STORY 97 
 
 together with the terrible storm, had passed into 
 nothingness. 
 
 It was a glorious morning. The river banks 
 were tufted with late golden-rod, purpling wild 
 asters and red strawberry vines. On the hillside 
 beyond pale yellow birches, flaming sumacs, silver 
 poplars and evergreen trees mingled in a sym- 
 phony of coloring.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE HUSKING 
 
 With the Indian summer came corn hustings 
 and apple bees. Major Hicks, who lived on the 
 southerly slope of Ripton Hill, was noted for get- 
 ting his harvesting done two weeks earlier than 
 those who lived on the meadows. He had the first 
 husking of the season. A general invitation, 
 which included both the villagers and the neigh- 
 boring farmers, was given out. Through the 
 kindness of the artist at the inn and Dorcas Pen- 
 dleton, with whom Rachel Winn went to the circus, 
 she was privileged to have another glimpse of the 
 joys of rural life. 
 
 The sun, like a ball of fire, crimsoned the hori- 
 zon as the young people sauntered up the hillside. 
 Some were hand in hand, others looked for 
 four-leaf clover, or lingered at the cold spring 
 where they refreshed themselves with its limpid 
 waters. While they watched the crystal foun- 
 tain boiling out of the shining sand, teams 
 slowly zigzagged from one side of the road 
 to the other and stopped now and again to rest. 
 Who should be in one of the carriages but 
 the bride and groom whose marriage ceremony 
 
 Rachel witnessed on the morning of circus-day. 
 
 98
 
 THE HUSKING 99 
 
 Just as they passed the young man remarked: 
 
 " Wa'al, Betsy, the' ain't no use in talkin', if 
 the pertaters on the burnt lot don't turn aout fust 
 class you won't git a fore-room stove this winter. 
 That's as true as you're a foot high." 
 
 The young woman's waist was no longer en- 
 circled by the arm of her spouse. He held the 
 reins in one hand, in the other one he carried the 
 whip with which he snipped the blossoms from 
 sedge-grass that grew in tufts by the roadside. 
 Dorcas Pendleton remarked that their honey- 
 moon must be on the wane. 
 
 Flickering lights above the wide open barn doors 
 greeted the guests. Deep bays on either side were 
 stacked to the eaves with fragrant herds-grass, 
 and scaffolds above the stables were piled high 
 with sheaves of wheat and trembling oats just 
 ready for threshing. The great barn was lighted 
 from end to end with lanterns which swayed in the 
 breeze and cast long shadows upon the merry com- 
 pany. Nimbly flew the busy fingers till every 
 silken sheath had been despoiled of its treasure. 
 At sight of a red ear the roof resounded with 
 laughter and the finder was compelled to pay a 
 forfeit. 
 
 The natives well knew that, the husking over, 
 a sumptuous repast awaited them. Plans for 
 their further entertainment were a secret known 
 only to Major Hicks and his wife. It might 
 have been half past nine, or perhaps it was ten 
 o'clock, when supper was announced.
 
 The gorgeous decorations of the dining-room 
 so completely absorbed the attention of everyone 
 that they nearly forgot the savory food before 
 them. The immense fireplace was banked with 
 late golden-rod, delicate frost-flowers and pur- 
 pling wild asters, and cluster upon cluster of crim- 
 son sumac blossoms was piled upon the dark man- 
 tel. From each corner of the room ropes of 
 evergreen came to the centre and were fastened 
 to the ceiling with branches of flaming maple. 
 A deer's head, decorated with ferns and trailing 
 partridge vines bright with scarlet berries, adorned 
 the space above the sideboard. 
 
 As to the rich repast, one couldn't refrain from 
 repeating the old saying: " The tables groaned 
 under the weight of good things." There were 
 baked beans in plenty and brown bread, the like 
 of which was never cooked except in a brick oven. 
 Then the home-cured ham with the breath of 
 smoke still upon it and the thinly sliced tongue, 
 cooked to a turn, were a feast in themselves, to say 
 nothing of the hot rolls that just melted in one's 
 mouth. What should come next but baked 
 Indian pudding, piping hot and swimming in 
 cream. That was followed by mince, apple, and 
 pumpkin pie with sage cheese for trimmings. 
 Then baskets piled high with delicate greenings, 
 nut-brown russets and rosy-cheeked pippins were 
 passed round. And new cider was served as freely 
 as water. 
 
 The feast over, the host conducted his guests
 
 THE HUSKING 101 
 
 out through a long walk and up a winding stair- 
 case to a hall above the granary. The newly laid 
 floor was fragrant with aroma of pine, and ropes 
 of evergreen that adorned the rafters of the un- 
 finished roof were sweet with the breath of the 
 forest. Though the neighbors had heard consid- 
 erable hammering, they never suspected that the 
 major was preparing a dance-hall. Old Jimmie 
 Pike and his third wife, who occupied a dilapi- 
 dated house down by the river, had heard more 
 or less pounding going on for a month or more, 
 but neither of them could locate the sound. The 
 old man was deaf in his right ear and his wife 
 was similarly afflicted with her left one, so they 
 rarely agreed upon the direction whence noises 
 came. The night before the husking the old fel- 
 low was a little " over the bay " and unusually 
 garrulous. He insisted that the noise came from 
 across the river where the Hartwell boys were 
 splitting logs. The old lady, with equal assur- 
 ance, declared that it came from the Hicks's. It 
 was never known how the matter was settled, but 
 Farmer Miller said : 
 
 " The' ain't no doubt but Mirandy carried 
 the day. She usually holts her own in an argi- 
 munt." 
 
 Dancing was most agreeable to the young peo- 
 ple. They could scarcely wait for the major 
 to tune his violin. A quadrille was the first figure. 
 The young men and women, and even the older 
 ones, made no delay in forming sets. All being
 
 102 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 in readiness, the major, who was both musician 
 and prompter, called out in a sonorous voice: 
 
 " All balance to partners, right hand to part- 
 ners, balance there, left hand back," and so on, 
 till every change was completed. Virginia reel 
 came next in order. That was followed by round 
 dances. Rachel Winn was pleased with that an- 
 nouncement, but by the time she had been around 
 the hall two or three times with Job Gilson her 
 ardor was somewhat dampened. Job could repeat 
 the Scriptures from Genesis to Revelations, and 
 Shakespeare's writings were as familiar to him 
 as a, b, c, to a schoolboy, but in the terpsichorean 
 art his education had been sadly neglected. That 
 " a full head has a close mouth " Rachel didn't 
 question. However, Job did vouchsafe one re- 
 mark to her during their gyrations around the hall. 
 He said: 
 
 " This is the first time that I've tackled this 
 nonsense, and you bet it'll be the last, the way the 
 sweat is wiltin' down my Sunday collar." 
 
 Next came a quadrille which Rachel danced 
 with a young man from Norwood, who was at 
 home from college on his vacation. Doubtless he 
 had forgotten the names of all farming utensils. 
 Be that as it may, he certainly had developed a 
 superabundance of self-assurance. He remarked: 
 
 " This is awfully nice to be privileged to dance 
 with one who so well understands the art. In fact, 
 I am grateful for any respite from the monotony
 
 THE HUSKING 103 
 
 of Norwood. It seems so provincial, don-cher- 
 know." 
 
 Just then Mr. Hicks called out: 
 
 " Eight hands round." Thus the upstart was 
 prevented from making further conversation till 
 one of the violin strings had to be adjusted. 
 Then, dropping his head to one side, and crossing 
 his hands as if to have his picture taken, he said 
 to Rachel: 
 
 " Beg pardon, but I didn't get your name." 
 
 " Oh, didn't you? Why, it never occurred to 
 me that you would want it." 
 
 " But really, I am all at sea as to what to call 
 you. May it be Brown, Jones or Robinson ? " 
 
 " Neither," Rachel replied. And thinking to 
 have a little sport she said, " White, if you please." 
 
 " Ah ! And may I ask where you came from, 
 Miss White?" 
 
 " From Barton," was the quick reply. 
 
 " Barton," he ejaculated. " But where did you 
 learn to dance ? " 
 
 " Why, at home, to be sure." 
 
 Of course, the pompous youth took that with 
 a grain of salt. When he referred to Dorcas 
 Pendleton for information she gave him an evasive 
 answer. 
 
 The townspeople were fond of Farmer Hicks 
 and his wife. It was with regret that they heard 
 him say: 
 
 " While the others are taking breath Rhoda,
 
 104 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 my daughter, will give a little exhibition of waltz- 
 ing." 
 
 Unfortunately, the daughter was neither tall 
 like her father, nor plump and rosy like her 
 mother. In fact, it would be difficult for one to 
 describe the girl. To say that she had a sylphlike 
 figure and the grace of a princess would be to 
 prevaricate. A feather bed with a string tied 
 around the middle would simulate her shape more 
 nearly than anything else that comes to mind. 
 
 " Yes," said the major, when the artist from the 
 inn congratulated him on Rhoda's accomplish- 
 ments, " she likes to dance as well as her old dad 
 likes to fiddle." Then he played faster than ever. 
 
 The question arose, would the girl faint from 
 exhaustion, or would she continue the strenuous 
 exercise till nothing was left of her but the blue 
 ribbon that held her corkscrew curls in place? 
 Rachel Winn was nearly convulsed with laughter 
 at the ridiculous figure which the girl presented, 
 but well knew that her good reputation in Old 
 Riverby would be lost for all time if she ventured 
 to smile. She saw by the twinkle in the artist's 
 eye that he, too, was struggling for mastery over 
 the humorous side of his nature. 
 
 " What," said he to Dorcas and Rachel, " is it 
 not a little close here? I think a whiff of fresh 
 air would do us all good." 
 
 When they returned to the hall the major had 
 just finished playing the " Blue Danube " waltz. 
 Uncle Rufus Giles said :
 
 THE HUSKING 105 
 
 " Come, Major, give us a jig." Thereupon 
 the musician started off in full tilt with the 
 " Fisher's Hornpipe." 
 
 Inspired by the hilarity of the girls and boys, 
 the vigor of youth returned to Uncle Rufus, and 
 he danced like a lad of sixteen. Billie Benson, as 
 the old gate-tender at Barton was called, caught 
 the spirit and exclaimed: 
 
 " I'll be jiggered if I'm goin' to be outdone by 
 any Old Riverby chap ! Give us ' Money Musk,' 
 Major, and I'll see what I can do with shakin' a 
 huff." 
 
 That the fires of youth still burned within the 
 old man was evident. The tattoo of his heels 
 upon the floor, the graceful pose of his body, and 
 the double-shuffle, done with perfect ease, were a 
 delight to all. Widow Branscom watched every 
 step with interest. When the dancer completed 
 the last measure, he caught her by the hand, and 
 said: 
 
 " Now, Jane, give us the pigeonwing the same 
 as you used to forty years ago." 
 
 " Yes, yes, do, Mrs. Branscom," came from all 
 parts of the hall. She declined to comply with 
 the request, but almost unconsciously she began 
 taking the steps. Rich color came to her cheeks, 
 and her dark eyes lit up with unusual brightness 
 as she seemed to be transported back to her girl- 
 hood. 
 
 Farmer Gove from Glen River nudged the art- 
 ist, and said:
 
 106 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " That's goin' some, Mister ! It don't seem 
 only yesterday sence Widder Jane was a gal, and 
 a master harnsome one she was, and no mistake ! 
 I've had a good deal of sympathy for her ever 
 sence her man died. I know how dog-gone lone- 
 some 'tis not to hev a soul to speak to when night 
 comes. Gee whiz ! I could write a book 'bout 
 what I've suffered sence Marthy died." 
 
 " Why on earth don't you propose to the 
 widow?" queried the artist. 
 
 " Perpose? That's the durned of it," said Mr. 
 Gove. " I've harnessed old White-foot more'n 
 once to come down and ask her to keep house for 
 me, but 'fore I'd git half-way to the village my 
 courage'd fail and I'd turn the hoss round and 
 go back home, lonesomer'n ever." 
 
 Mr. Gove was not the only one interested in 
 Widow Branscom. Just behind him stood Doctor 
 Kempton from Norwood, and Deacon Jones of 
 Old Riverby, who dropped in to see the dancers. 
 They were both single men. The deacon was 
 heard to say: 
 
 " Well, Doc, I'm surprised that you haven't dis- 
 covered Mrs. Branscom's good points before this 
 and taken her for a helpmate." 
 
 " You are, are you ? " said the doctor. " Well, 
 I've thought the same thing about a certain dea- 
 con that doesn't live more than forty miles from 
 here." 
 
 "Have, have you? Ha, ha! Well, no one 
 would ever come up with my Nancy, so I plan
 
 THE HUSKING 107 
 
 on letting things slide along the same as they have 
 for the past ten years." 
 
 As the last pirouette of the figure was given, one 
 of the violin strings broke and the whole company 
 began singing, " We Won't Go Home till Morn- 
 ing." 
 
 However much of truth there was in the dea- 
 con's statement that no one could fill the place of 
 his old love, he was the first to leave the hall in 
 expectation of taking Widow Branscom home. 
 While he was unhitching his horse and selecting 
 suitable words with which to clothe a proposal of 
 marriage, the wise old doctor was shaking her 
 hand cordially and congratulating her upon her 
 youthful appearance. The flush that came to 
 her cheeks evinced the joy which his words brought 
 to her lonely heart. 
 
 If the truth may be told, Doctor Kempton was 
 one of her old beaux. It would be needless to add 
 that he made no haste as he drove down Ripton 
 Hill with Mrs. Branscom snugly tucked in beside 
 him. But it would be no harm to mention that in 
 less than a month after the husking " Widder 
 Jane " ceased to be and Doctor Kempton's wife 
 was busy making her winter's supply of deli- 
 cacies for the table.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 
 
 Rachel Winn spent many an afternoon in 
 Grandma Bradley's room. One day the old lady 
 rose hurriedly, peered over her spectacles at the 
 passing coach, and said : 
 
 " I believe that is Elsie Brodeur on the front 
 seat." 
 
 " And who is she, pray tell me? " Rachel asked. 
 
 " Why, she is the wife of Doctor Kendal of New 
 York, but in spite of the fact that their marriage 
 took place ten years and more ago, I still find my- 
 self calling her by her maiden name. Yes, Elsie 
 Brodeur has had a real story-book life." That 
 was sufficient to rouse Rachel's curiosity, and she 
 exclaimed in girlish excitement: 
 
 " Oh, do tell me about it! " 
 
 The good woman despised anything that savored 
 of gossip, still she delighted in relating strange 
 incidents in the lives of Old Riverby people. Why 
 should she not have a fund of such information, 
 since she had always lived there, with the exception 
 of two years spent at Norwood Academy? 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock. The shadows of 
 the elms across the road had begun to lengthen 
 
 when the white-haired woman measured the stock- 
 
 108
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 109 
 
 ing leg upon which she was knitting, rolled it up 
 neatly, and remarked: 
 
 " I never could do more than one thing at a time, 
 so if I am to tell you about the strange happenings 
 in Elsie's childhood the knitting will have to go 
 till another day." 
 
 " It is too bad to neglect your work," Rachel 
 said. At the same time she thought how much 
 worse it would be if she had to wait for the story. 
 
 After wiping her spectacles and carefully ad- 
 justing them, the woman began by saying: 
 
 " Brodeur was not a pleasing name to John 
 Norton, Elsie's grandfather, who was English to 
 the backbone, and who looked upon the French 
 people as a frivolous set. It was a good many 
 years ago that the Nortons settled here. Mr. 
 Norton was a sober, industrious man, a blacksmith 
 by trade. His wife was a thrifty woman, but with 
 their four lusty boys and one daughter to support, 
 they found it a hard matter to make both ends 
 meet, so to speak. The result was that as soon 
 as each boy was able to earn a dollar or two a 
 month he was let out to some farmer. The father 
 declared, however, that in any case Alice, the 
 daughter, should not leave home. Nevertheless, 
 when a lucrative position was offered her at a tav- 
 ern in York State, she persuaded her father to let 
 her accept it. 
 
 " A letter which Alice wrote home soon after 
 she went away told of Jack Preston being desper- 
 ately in love with her. She described him as six
 
 feet three in height, very slight in build, and as 
 having freckles upon his face that resembled the 
 spots on a trout's back. Though she expatiated 
 at length upon the looks of her would-be-lover, she 
 carefully concealed the fact that the son of a 
 wealthy fur-dealer from Canada was equally fond 
 of her." 
 
 " Perhaps she cared for him," Rachel ventured 
 to say. 
 
 " So it proved." 
 
 " And did he marry her? " 
 
 " Yes, and if the truth may be told, the poor 
 girl soon died of a broken heart." 
 
 " Why, what caused her sorrow ? " 
 
 Without seeming to hear Rachel, the woman 
 went on, saying: 
 
 " It was from Mira Barstow, an old friend of 
 mine who attended school at Norwood at the time 
 I did, that I heard of the misfortunes of the aris- 
 tocratic Canadian and his girl-wife. Then I 
 little dreamed that she was our neighbor's daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " How strange! " Rachel ejaculated. 
 
 In explanation the story-teller continued, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " My friend was an attractive girl. She mar- 
 ried Joe Redmon, a worthless fellow, and went to 
 Canada to live. Her father bitterly opposed the 
 match, and immediately made a will which cut 
 Mira off from all right to his property. After 
 the death of her husband five years later, she was
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 111 
 
 obliged to earn her own living. It was then that 
 she found employment as seamstress or nurse, as 
 the case required, with the Brodeurs, a wealthy 
 family in Quebec. Still she kept her little home 
 at Four Corners, a small settlement some five miles 
 away. 
 
 " I hadn't heard from Mrs. Redmon for years," 
 said the narrator, " in fact I scarcely knew 
 whether or not she was living, when one day, 
 greatly to my surprise, I received a letter from 
 her. The first pages were reminiscences of our 
 schooldays. Then came an account of misfor- 
 tunes which had befallen her since last we met. 
 That was followed by a pathetic story of a young 
 man and woman whose lives were being sacrificed 
 on account of family pride." 
 
 Instead of relating the story, the aged woman 
 went to an old mahogany secretary and took out 
 a package of letters. As she untied them and 
 looked them over one by one, her eyes "filled with 
 tears. The last two were from her girlhood 
 friend. Passing one of them to Rachel she said: 
 
 " Read the sad tale for yourself." 
 
 In the first missive Mrs. Redmon said that her 
 employer's son had secretly married a hotel wait- 
 ress. Then came a detailed account of the 
 stormy interview between the young man and his 
 father when the latter heard of the marriage, also 
 of the young man's illness occasioned by the quar- 
 rel. Mrs. Redmon closed by saying that the girl- 
 wife was coming to remain with her till other
 
 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 arrangements could be made. When Rachel fin- 
 ished reading the first letter Grandma Bradley 
 said: 
 
 " You must know that I was very anxious to 
 hear how the affair ended. It was months before 
 I received another word. I began to think that 
 I should never hear from Mira again when this 
 came." She handed Rachel another letter which 
 told of the arrival of Jean Brodeur's wife at Four 
 Corners, of what the gossiping neighbors had to 
 say about her, and of her death which occurred 
 two months later. Much was said of the young 
 woman's pleasure in fashioning garments for the 
 little stranger that was soon expected. Following 
 that, the writer went on to say : 
 
 " Alas for human hopes ! Another harrowing 
 interview between Mr. Brodeur and his son brought 
 on a relapse of fever from which the young man 
 never recovered. Immediately after Jean's death 
 his wife went to Montreal, where their child was 
 born, and where the young mother soon passed 
 away. 
 
 " While packing up the belongings of the dead 
 woman I found letters from her husband, also 
 their marriage certificate. Upon the back of the 
 important document was the name and address of 
 her father. The last offices having been performed 
 for the mother, I was at a loss to know what to do 
 with the infant daughter that survived her. I 
 thought of my own little one that passed on years 
 ago, and my heart was so touched with pity that
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 113 
 
 I brought the child home with me. To my face my 
 neighbors say : ' How sweet of you to take such 
 a care upon yourself.' Behind my back it is quite 
 another story. But don't pity me, Martha," the 
 writer went on, " criticism, however unkind, cannot 
 rob me of the happiness that I find in this mother- 
 less babe." 
 
 " Poor Mira," said grandma, with a sigh, " I 
 never heard from her again." 
 
 " What a strange ending of the romance," 
 Rachel thought, but she made no comment. 
 Finally the woman resumed the telling of her 
 story by saying : 
 
 " Something like eight years later a little girl, 
 unaccompanied by any one, was sent down on the 
 train from Quebec and was put off at Barton. 
 Either from fear or from loneliness at finding 
 no one at the station, she sat down on the doorsill 
 and cried herself to sleep. 
 
 " I well remember that cold, bleak day," said 
 the narrator. " The October frosts had already 
 tinted the meadows brown, the golden-rod and 
 wild asters had lost their bright coloring, and the 
 crickets had ceased to sing except for a few be- 
 lated ones that gave an occasional chirp. Why, 
 even now it saddens me to think of that child left 
 alone in such a desolate place. Fortunately, 
 some one wanted to take the midnight train going 
 north. Except for that, the little waif would 
 have remained there all night, or perhaps have been 
 carried off by some wild animal."
 
 114 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Oh, how perfectly dreadful ! " Rachel ex- 
 claimed. " What ever became of her? " 
 
 " You know," said grandma, " the Good Book 
 says, * Not a sparrow falleth.' " 
 
 " Yes," Rachel replied, with the air of a full- 
 fledged theologian. " But there are not many 
 who are interested in other people's children ! " 
 
 " Too true," said grandma with a sigh. " But 
 naturally Mr. Tilton, the station agent, woke the 
 child and carried her home with him. To this 
 day he delights in telling about the incident. He 
 describes her thoughtful brown eyes, her wealth of 
 dark curls, and her rosy cheeks. If he has a 
 patient listener he describes the checked blue and 
 green dress, the shoes with copper toe-caps, and 
 the little plaid shawl that she wore. And he 
 never tires of repeating the story the child told 
 when questioned as to her name and where she 
 came from. He says that she answered with a 
 note of pride in her voice: 
 
 " * My name is Elsie, and I come from Four 
 Corners. I lived with Mamma Redmon till she 
 took sick and died.' 
 
 " * With whom did you live after that? ' asked 
 Mr. Tilton. The child looked around as if fearful 
 lest some one might be listening, then she said in 
 a tone of resentment : 
 
 " ' With an awful naughty woman that used to 
 beat me an' call me names w'at I wouldn't like to 
 tell. She said I grow'd like Topsy, 'thout no 
 papa an' mamma. I don't know who Topsy is,'
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 115 
 
 she added, * but I guess it's an old witch-woman 
 w'at comes out of the woods an' eats up little chil- 
 dern.' 
 
 " When undressing the child," said the story- 
 teller, " Mrs. Tilton found a marriage certificate 
 in an old handkerchief which was pinned to her 
 clothing, the contracting parties being Jean Bro- 
 deur and Alice Norton. Seeing that John Nor- 
 ton's name and address were on the back of the 
 document, the Tiltons brought the child over here 
 the following day. 
 
 " The men who stood by while Mr. Norton read 
 the contents of the time-worn paper wondered why 
 he was so deeply affected. When he took the little 
 stranger by the hand and led her to the house, 
 Mr. Tilton told them about finding her at the sta- 
 tion and about the marriage contract. They all 
 understood; they remembered Alice Norton and 
 well knew the sorrow that her mysterious' disap- 
 pearance caused her parents. There was not one 
 in the company who did not sympathize with his 
 neighbor. Even brusque old Jimmie Mills was 
 seen to wipe his eyes frequently as he sauntered 
 down the road toward the starch factory. 
 
 " There was a great to-do when it became known 
 that a daughter of Alice Norton had been brought 
 home to her grandparents. Poor child, she was 
 shunned by some of the children. That * the first 
 shall be last and the last first ' has again come 
 true. Now there isn't one in the village who 
 doesn't love and respect her.
 
 116 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Many a rainy day Elsie whiled away for her 
 grandfather in reading to him. In turn he used 
 to tell her about his childhood spent in England. 
 The stone cottage covered with ivy and enclosed 
 by an evergreen hedge lost none of its beauty in 
 his description. And the old sailing vessel which 
 brought his family to America was not forgotten. 
 Elsie never tired of hearing about his mother 
 gathering her six children around her morning, 
 noon and night, and giving them their meals from 
 a small tin trunk that contained the food. He 
 usually concluded by saying that his mother's seed- 
 cakes and plum duff were better than any that he 
 had ever eaten since. 
 
 " Elsie was between twelve and thirteen years 
 old," said the story-teller, " when her grandmother 
 was taken away. Rather than have a stranger 
 come into the home to manage affairs, Mr. Norton 
 decided that he and the little girl could get along 
 very well by themselves. That was sufficient for 
 the busybodies." In an undertone, as if some 
 neighbor might hear her, she said : " With all 
 due respect for the villagers, I must confess that 
 every community has more or less of such people. 
 I won't mention any names, but one of the neigh- 
 bors said to me : 
 
 " * Land sakes ! Ain't it a pity to have Mr. 
 Norton living there alone when there's the Widder 
 Brackett on Ripton Hill hain't got a soul to cut 
 a stick of wood or to draw a pail of water for her !
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 117 
 
 He goes mopin' round and tellin' that there never 
 was such another woman as his wife.' ' 
 
 " What strange people you have here," Rachel 
 commented. 
 
 " If you think that odd," said her friend, " I 
 don't know what you will think of what our old 
 minister said to Mr. Norton regarding a second 
 marriage. The old gentleman called at the black- 
 smith shop one day, ostensibly to get his horse 
 shod. After exhausting the subject of the drought 
 and the rainstorm that followed, and giving his 
 opinion as to their effect upon the crops, he said, 
 in his usual nasal tone: 
 
 " ' Well, Brother Norton, has it ever occurred 
 to you that it is your duty to take unto yourself 
 another helpmate? ' The man assured him that 
 he had given the matter no consideration. Noth- 
 ing daunted, the elder went on, saying: 'You 
 know the Scripter tells us to look after the widders 
 and fatherless, and I'm inclined to think it means 
 more 'specially the widders. Now there's Mis' 
 Bliffin over to Northfield Corner; a better woman 
 never trod shoe-leather. She's got a big family 
 to fetch up and nobody to help her. Bliffin was 
 a good man enough as fur's the world goes, but 
 he never see the inside of a meetin'-house in his 
 life. And as to his children, why, man alive! 
 They never even heard about Jonah swallerin' the 
 whale nor about Eve makin' Adam out of a rib 
 and a thousand and one other things that's neces- 
 sary to know in order to be saved.'
 
 118 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " In reply Mr. Norton said : ' Well, Parson, I 
 think of no one more capable of training the 
 young Bliffins than you are.' 
 
 " That silenced the elder for the time being. 
 Finally he said : 
 
 " ' I've thought of that myself before now, and 
 as you don't 'pear to be interested, I guess I'll ride 
 over some day and see about where I stand in 
 the widder's affections.' ' 
 
 That was too much for Rachel, and she laughed 
 outright. After her merriment subsided the story- 
 teller continued, saying: 
 
 " It was soon after that conversation that Elsie's 
 life was completely changed, and through cir- 
 cumstances which could have been guided only 
 by the hand of Providence." 
 
 " Oh ! How interesting ! In what way did it 
 come about? " Rachel queried. 
 
 " While on her way to school one morning," said 
 grandma, " Elsie found a purse containing several 
 gold pieces. When returning home with her 
 treasure-trove many plans of how she would spend 
 it flitted through her mind. Her dream of hap- 
 piness was shattered, however, when told by her 
 grandfather that he would place a notice in the 
 postoffice, so that the owner might claim his prop- 
 erty. 
 
 " The days came and went and weeks crept into 
 months; still no one called for the purse. Finally, 
 one morning, the first of September, a gentle tap 
 came at the front entrance of the Norton
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 119 
 
 home. That door was seldom opened, and the 
 rusty hinges actually groaned when it swung back 
 upon them. Whom should Mr. Norton find stand- 
 ing there but a distinguished looking middle-aged 
 woman. 
 
 " ' Whatever brought such a personage here 
 at this early hour? ' the man thought. He had 
 not long to wonder, for the visitor soon made 
 known her errand. She said that while on her 
 way to the mountains in June she lost her purse 
 and, thinking that an attempt to find it would be 
 like hunting for a needle in a haymow, she did 
 nothing about it. The woman continued, saying: 
 
 " ' The money which the silken trinket con- 
 tained was of little value compared with that of 
 the article itself. It once belonged to my mother, 
 and from association I prized it highly.' 
 
 " The description of the purse was so accurate," 
 said the story-teller, " that Mr. Norton immedi- 
 ately gave it to the woman. She was profuse in 
 her thanks and offered to repay him for his trou- 
 ble. He declined to accept remuneration for what 
 he termed merely doing his duty. 
 
 " The caller seemed in no haste. While she 
 lingered and chatted school-time came and Elsie, 
 much to her regret, was obliged to be on her way. 
 After the child was well out of hearing the stran- 
 ger made several inquiries regarding her. The 
 man thought nothing of that, but in a few days 
 he received a letter from the stranger expressing 
 a wish to adopt Elsie. The letter was signed,
 
 120 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 ' Mrs. Rudolph Champlain, Janesville, New York.* 
 
 " The old gentleman read the missive twice be- 
 fore he fully comprehended its import. Then he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " ' What ! A Norton give away his own flesh 
 and blood? Never! ' But in spite of that decla- 
 ration, when for the third time he read the letter, 
 he mused, saying : * I don't know but she is right. 
 It has come to me a good many times lately that 
 the girl needs the training which only a woman can 
 give.' 
 
 " When Elsie returned from school her grand- 
 father took her upon his knee, and together they 
 perused the neatly written pages. At first she, 
 like any youngster, was delighted with the pros- 
 pect of going to live with the ' story-book lady,' as 
 she called Mrs. Champlain. Then, at the thought 
 of being separated from all that was dear to her, 
 she told her grandfather that she would never leave 
 him. The days that passed between the receipt 
 of the letter and Elsie's going away were sad ones 
 for the lonely old man." 
 
 " What! Did he really let her go? " 
 
 " Yes," said the narrator, " and Mr. Norton 
 told me himself that parting with the child was 
 like losing another Alice. 
 
 " ' But,' said he, ' I couldn't deprive the girl of 
 her rights. You know, Mrs. Bradley, as well as 
 I do that she has good blood in her veins.' 
 
 " I couldn't dispute him. With each year, the 
 strength of character of Elsie's English mother
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF Ifcl 
 
 and the refinement inherited from her French father 
 became more and more apparent. 
 
 " After considering the matter from every point 
 of view, and consulting two or three old friends 
 of the family, Mr. Norton wrote Mrs. Champlain, 
 telling her that he had decided to place his grand- 
 daughter in her care. Their neighbors told me," 
 said the story-teller, " that it was interesting to 
 see the womanliness with which Elsie prepared her 
 scanty wardrobe for going away. But it touched 
 their hearts with pity when they saw her bidding 
 good-bye to her hens and chickens that she had 
 carefully tended, and to the black and white kitten 
 that was all her own. 
 
 " The day that Elsie and her grandfather left 
 Old Riverby was clear and crisp, and in spite of 
 the fact that they were so soon to be separated, 
 they enjoyed the ever changing scenery. Mrs. 
 Champlain met them at the station. I suppose," 
 said grandma, " that one can scarcely imagine the 
 girl's joy in that first ride in a beautiful carriage 
 drawn by prancing horses, or her surprise when 
 she entered that magnificent home." 
 
 " Why, this is a fairy tale in real life ! " Rachel 
 ejaculated. 
 
 " To be sure it is," declared the narrator. " The 
 first time Elsie returned to the village she told me 
 that the furniture in her chamber was mahogany 
 and that the high-posted bed had figured blue 
 satin draperies caught back from the corners. 
 Then in her childish glee she added:
 
 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " ' And do you know, I have the bureau all to 
 myself!' Then she said: 'What a silly coot I 
 am telling all about my room and not so much as 
 asking if your old tabby-cat has found any new kit- 
 tens since I went away. But really, Mrs. Bradley,' 
 she went on, ' you can't imagine how strange 
 I felt while unpacking my inexpensive clothes 
 amid all those lovely furnishings. I just trembled 
 lest it should prove to be a dream. But now, for 
 all that Mr. and Mrs. Champlain are so kind to 
 me, some nights I cry myself to sleep thinking 
 about Old Riverby and wishing I were back here.' 
 
 " The Champlains were fine people," said 
 Rachel's informant. " Their foster daughter had 
 the same advantages that would have been given 
 their own child had she been spared to them. Yes, 
 Elsie went to one of the finest boarding schools in 
 the country, and before we realized how time was 
 flying, she was ready to graduate. But her pleas- 
 ures, like those of other mortals, were not unal- 
 loyed with pain. One day soon after graduation 
 she overheard a girl say : 
 
 " * I don't envy Elsie Champlain if she did get 
 the highest per cent in music of any one in the 
 class ! She is only an adopted child, and, further- 
 more, there is a question as to whether or not her 
 parents were ever married.' ' 
 
 The story-teller sat musing for awhile then she 
 said: 
 
 " I have never fully made up my mind whether it 
 was from fondness for the young man that Mr.
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 128 
 
 Champlain invited Doctor Kendal to pass the 
 Christmas holidays with him, or if he thought to 
 make a match for his ward. Be that as it may, it 
 was a case of love at first sight. It was an open se- 
 cret that after the doctor's return to New York 
 there was a regular correspondence between him 
 and the girl. For sometime Elsie read his letters to 
 her foster parents. Finally a missive came which 
 she carefully concealed. One stormy night, how- 
 ever, when they sat by the fire that burned low on 
 the hearth, she told her benefactors that the last 
 letter from her friend contained a proposal of mar- 
 riage. When congratulated upon her good fortune 
 in having gained the affections of such an estimable 
 man, she burst into tears. After regaining suffi- 
 cient composure, Elsie told Mr. and Mrs. Cham- 
 plain what she had overheard her classmate say. 
 Furthermore, she declared that she would never be- 
 troth herself to any man till the mystery spoken 
 of had been solved. Acting upon the decision, she 
 wrote to the young man declining his offer, and 
 telling him her reasons for doing so. 
 
 " That made no difference to one of Doctor 
 Kendal's strength of character. He replied at 
 once, saying that he would bide her time. Then 
 came a beautiful diamond ring, which Elsie kept 
 carefully concealed till her engagement was an- 
 nounced. She has told me since her marriage that 
 no one could fancy how she longed to flaunt the 
 costly token in the face of the girl who caused her 
 humiliation.
 
 124 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " As in a fairy tale," the narrator went on, 
 " everything came out all right. After her grand- 
 father's death, while looking over articles which 
 for many years had been accumulating in the attic, 
 Elsie came across an old leather-covered trunk 
 which contained many time-worn account books 
 and old bills belonging to him. Upon the top of 
 them lay a bundle of letters tied together with 
 faded pink worsted. When she lifted it the moth- 
 eaten threads broke, and away went the long for- 
 gotten missives scattered over the floor. The first 
 envelope to be picked up was larger than the 
 others, and what think you? When Elsie 
 opened it she found her mother's marriage certifi- 
 cate." 
 
 " Oh, you don't mean it ! " Rachel exclaimed in 
 breathless excitement. 
 
 " Indeed I do, and once in possession of the doc- 
 ument, the girl lost no time in returning home. 
 It goes without saying that Mr. Champlain and 
 his ward were soon on their way to Quebec. What 
 they learned from a hotel clerk convinced them 
 that Mr. Brodeur, a retired fur-dealer, living in a 
 beautiful chateau situated some distance from the 
 city, was Elsie's grandfather. They called upon 
 him, and were told that his business affairs were in 
 the hands of an agent who could be found at 403 
 Rue de Frontenac. Nothing daunted, Mr. Cham- 
 plain insisted upon seeing the gentleman personally. 
 After much parley the aristocrat led the way to an 
 adjoining room."
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 125 
 
 " Why, it seems as if I can see the gouty old 
 crosspatch limping along," Rachel commented. 
 
 " Be that as it may," said her friend, " when 
 told that the young woman was the daughter of his 
 son, Jean Brodeur, the old fellow flew into a rage 
 and declared his visitors to be impostors. How- 
 ever, after venting his wrath, he mused, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " ' Yes, I had a son who brought disgrace upon 
 the family by marrying a woman beneath him so- 
 cially. I never saw her, nor did I care to. It 
 was enough for me that through her I lost my only 
 son.' 
 
 " Mr. Champlain waited till the man regained a 
 certain degree of composure, then he told him 
 about the little girl that was sent from Four Cor- 
 ners to Barton by some unknown person. He then 
 took the marriage contract from his pocket, and 
 said: 
 
 " ' Sir, whether or not you wish to acknowledge 
 any relationship to my ward, this is undeniable 
 proof that she is your granddaughter.' Before 
 the old gentleman had time to reply, Mr. Cham- 
 plain continued, saying : ' Allow me to say that 
 we are not here upon a mercenary errand. Since 
 evil-minded people have seen fit to question the 
 legitimacy of her birth, and as she is virtually en- 
 gaged to be married to a most estimable young 
 man, I have taken this means to ferret out the 
 truth of the matter.' 
 
 " I was told," said Rachel's friend, " that Mr.
 
 126 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Brodeur turned deathly pale when confronted with 
 the facts. He soliloquized, saying: 
 
 " ' Why, it comes to me, now. Mrs. Redmon, 
 who lived at Four Corners, was employed by us 
 for years. I remember that soon after my son's 
 death she went to Montreal and brought an infant 
 home with her. The child might have been six or 
 seven years old when the woman was thrown from 
 a carriage and seriously injured. A day or two 
 before her death a messenger came and said that 
 Mrs. Redmon had a secret which she must confide 
 to me. I paid no attention to it, and the first I 
 knew the faithful soul passed away.' Then, 
 grasping his guest by the arm, the old man cried : 
 ' My God ! This must have been the secret ! ' 
 
 " Elsie told me," said the narrator, " that the 
 unhappy man cried like a child, and was profuse 
 in his thanks to Mr. Champlain for having cared 
 for her. He also offered to remunerate him hand- 
 somely for all trouble to which he had been on her 
 account. He then made inquiries regarding the 
 prospective bridegroom. When told his name and 
 that he was a physician, his face lighted up, and 
 he said : 
 
 " ' Kendal, Kendal, that is the name of my 
 daughter's husband. He has a nephew who is a 
 physician. From your description he must be the 
 same person ! ' 
 
 " If you believe me," said grandma, " the hith- 
 erto erratic old gentleman begged Elsie to come 
 and live with him ! Under the circumstances she
 
 THE LITTLE WAIF 127 
 
 was unable to accept his hospitality. Without 
 the least bitterness, however, she assured him that 
 he would be a welcome guest in her home whenever 
 it pleased him to visit her. 
 
 " The bridegroom proved to be the same Doctor 
 Kendal whom Mr. Brodeur had mentioned. With 
 her grandfather, her uncle and aunt, together with 
 their sons and daughters, Elsie's family was well 
 represented at her wedding. And thus it is," 
 concluded the story-teller, " that the wheel of for- 
 tune turns."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 
 
 Nearly every town used to boast of its haunted 
 house. Old Riverby was no exception to the rule. 
 There certainly was something uncanny about the 
 tumble-down chimneys and decaying walls of the 
 old Bensil house. It was situated in an open field 
 some distance from the road. No woman or child 
 dared go that way alone in the evening, and it was 
 a foregone conclusion that some men in the village 
 would rather climb Ripton Hill than to pass there 
 after dark. 
 
 The members of the inn-keeper's family were not 
 given to superstition, and it never occurred to 
 them to caution Rachel Winn about visiting the 
 old place. One day, when the girl was a bit home- 
 sick and preferred the companionship of " Jane 
 Eyre " to that of the guests, she wandered along 
 the river road and, coming to the old estate, made 
 bold to enter, even though there was a sign which 
 prohibited trespassing. Venturing through the 
 half-open gate that hung upon one hinge, she found 
 herself on a broad walk paved with cobblestones. 
 She kept on to the piazza where, with her first 
 footfall upon the lower step, the board gave way, 
 
 and she came near falling headlong. Nothing 
 128
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 129 
 
 daunted, she tried another step and still another 
 till she finally reached the landing. Upon seeing 
 the stranger two bluebirds nesting among the 
 vines were frightened away. They soon returned, 
 however, each bringing food for the young ones. 
 
 Almost within reach stood a moss-covered well- 
 curb with its weather-beaten sweep halting in mid- 
 air. Beyond lay the unkempt flower garden. In 
 spite of the weeds, poppies scarlet, pink and 
 white grew abundantly, and hollyhocks, which 
 had sown themselves year after year, swayed in 
 the breeze. Then, too, velvet marigolds peeped out 
 from among blue and white bachelor's buttons. 
 The garden was separated from a field that sloped 
 down to the river by a hedge of old-fashioned blush 
 rosebushes. 
 
 Rachel had read only a few pages when she heard 
 a rustling of dry leaves. Turning, she saw a chip- 
 munk sitting on his haunches and looking at her 
 as much as to s'ay: 
 
 " What right have you here upon private 
 grounds ? " In spite of his airs, he filled his cheeks 
 with peanuts that were thrown to him and darted 
 out of sight. 
 
 Rachel resumed her reading and took no note of 
 time till she saw Lyman Tedford going over the 
 hill with his cows. She then gathered up her 
 skirts and hurried down the grass-grown path, 
 which was already wet with dew. It was nearly 
 seven o'clock when she reached the inn. Mr. 
 Bradley looked up from his paper and said:
 
 130 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Well, Miss Oddity, where have you been ? " 
 Before the girl had time to reply, he added : " We 
 were about to send the town-crier after you ! " 
 
 While going upstreet with Dorcas Pendleton 
 that evening, Rachel incidentally mentioned that 
 she spent the afternoon at the old Bensil estate. 
 Daddy Bean, a veteran of the Civil War, hap- 
 pened to hear her. He stopped short and, bal- 
 ancing himself upon his wooden leg, said: 
 
 " Did you actilly go to that ha'nted house, 
 Miss ? " When Rachel assured him that she did, 
 he went on to say : " You better be shy of that 
 place, for they say the ghost of old lady Bensil 
 appears there betimes. No wonder she can't rest 
 in her grave with * Pete ' Bliss, that gran'son of 
 hern, at large! There's them that says he was 
 blamed ugly to the poor old creter 'fore she died. 
 And everybody in town knows that he run off 
 with what money there was in the house 'fore the 
 relations had a chance to hear the will read. He 
 allus was kind of a dare-devil chap, that ' Pete,' ' 
 muttered the old soldier. 
 
 Rachel ventured to ask if the worthless fellow 
 ever returned to Old Riverby. To that her in- 
 formant said: 
 
 " Guess not ! He's bright enough to know 
 there's three counts outstandin' ag'in him here. 
 One for stealin', another for skippin' out of the 
 sarvice and the third for leadin' poor Mary Aldin 
 astray and then leavin' her 'thout no father to her 
 baby."
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 131 
 
 The girls waited to hear no more, but passing on, 
 left the old man to his ruminations. Then be- 
 gan Dorcas Pendleton's story of the strange hap- 
 penings at the haunted house. 
 
 " Why," said she, " I have heard my mother 
 say that a man from Barton who bought the place 
 had scarcely moved in when his cows began to 
 give bloody milk, and every member of the family, 
 even to the hired man, was taken with a violent ill- 
 ness like that of poisoning ! " 
 
 " In that case, what did the new owner do ? " 
 Rachel queried. 
 
 " He sold the place back to the heirs for less 
 than half what he gave for it, and returned to 
 Barton." 
 
 " And has it been tenantless ever since? " 
 
 " With the exception of about two months, when 
 it was occupied by a French-Canadian who left 
 on account of hearing strange noises which came 
 from the attic. But it has recently been sold to 
 a gentleman from Chicago who purposes to have 
 it for a summer home." Then Dorcas went on, 
 saying : " My father declares he is a crank on 
 the germ theory, and says that every tree and 
 shrub is to be cut down. Even the old well-curb is 
 to be destroyed to give place to a sun-parlor ! " 
 
 " What a pity," Rachel exclaimed, " that the 
 beauty which age alone gives a place should be 
 marred by one who has no appreciation of any- 
 thing but dollars and cents ! " She soon revealed 
 the fact that the remark was not original by say-
 
 132 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 ing that that was what her father said when a 
 real estate agent denuded the hillside near their 
 home of its trees and erected an unsightly tene- 
 ment block. " If the old Bensil place were mine," 
 Rachel continued, " only necessary repairs should 
 be made, and the well-curb and its long-armed 
 sweep should remain as an ornament." 
 
 Dorcas quite agreed with her. She, too, liked 
 the charm of the old house as it was. 
 
 The Bradley household was awakened at a late 
 hour that night by some one knocking at the side 
 door. The landlord, thinking that it might be 
 one of the thread-makers on a spree, turned over 
 and went to sleep again. The ; pounding con- 
 tinued, however, till he arose and, looking out of 
 the window, asked what was wanted. In reply a 
 trembling voice cried : 
 
 " For God's sake, let me in ! " 
 
 The inn-keeper delayed no longer, but slipped 
 on some of his clothing, and hurried down to the 
 door. Who should be there but Peter Bliss, the 
 scapegrace of whom Daddy Bean had given such 
 an unpleasant account! The man, both coatless 
 and hatless, stood aghast. It was only by his 
 unmistakable red-brown hair and the purple scar 
 beneath his left eye that Mr. Bradley recognized 
 him. 
 
 Rachel Winn's chamber was immediately over 
 the office. By means of an aperture in the floor 
 through which the stovepipe came she heard the 
 following conversation.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 133 
 
 " Explain yourself ! " demanded the landlord. 
 " Why have you of all persons turned up at this 
 hour of the night ? " 
 
 " God, man ! " said the wayfarer, " I don't won- 
 der you ask. Give me time, and I'll tell you ! " 
 
 The two men stepped inside, and Mr. Bradley 
 said : " Go on with your story, I am listen- 
 ing." 
 
 It was then that the criminal confessed to having 
 ill-treated his aged grandmother. He also con- 
 fessed to having stolen her money while she lay 
 on her deathbed. To that cowardly act the crime 
 of desertion was added. Then he went on to say 
 that when he read about the sale of the old place 
 he couldn't resist the temptation to return to it 
 once more before it passed into the hands of 
 strangers. 
 
 " At dusk," the outcast continued, " I took a 
 boat from Norwood Landing and came down the 
 river. I concealed the skiff under a pile of brush- 
 wood and climbed the steep slope, thinking to be 
 off again before daybreak. I carefully crept over 
 the knoll at the rear of the barn, and put my 
 ear to the ground now and again to find if any 
 teams were passing. All being quiet, I proceeded 
 toward the house. I had gone but a few steps 
 when an owl hooted. My hair fairly stood on 
 end ; it seemed as if the devil himself was after 
 me!" 
 
 " Never mind about your bosom friend," said 
 Mr. Bradley. " Go on with your story."
 
 134 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 The man resumed the telling of his weird ex- 
 perience by saying: 
 
 " The house seemed strange till I reached the 
 room which I occupied when a boy. There was 
 no furniture left except an old couch; upon that 
 I threw myself and fell asleep. When I woke the 
 sun was streaming through the shutters. I well 
 knew that to think of leaving town during the 
 day was out of the question, so I spent the morn- 
 ing in reading old letters that for years have been 
 hidden away in a secret closet. Toward night I 
 was startled by hearing footsteps. Fearing that 
 the officers had apprehended me, my heart actually 
 stood still. I crept down over the stairs and 
 peered out beside the window shade, to find that a 
 young girl sat on the piazza reading. I was 
 about to take her into my confidence and ask her 
 to bring me something to eat, when she closed her 
 book and started down the walk. 
 
 " When night came, thinking to watch the light- 
 ning and perhaps to hear the rain patter on the 
 roof, I again threw myself onto the couch. 
 Again I fell asleep and dreamed that I was on the 
 very brink of the infernal regions. There, stirred 
 by laughing demons, was the brimstone from which 
 came suffocating fumes. I turned and saw my 
 mother with arms outstretched to save me from 
 the fiery pit. Upon the wall, in words of flame, 
 was written every evil deed of my life." 
 
 " It must have been a broad space that held 
 them," said Mr. Bradley contemptuously.
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 135 
 
 " Right you are," conceded the culprit. 
 " And the betrayal of poor Mary stood out 
 brighter than all the rest. And what do you 
 think? When I woke there were groans coming 
 from the attic. That was too much for me, and 
 instead of trying to find my way downstairs, I 
 leaped from the chamber window and ran till I 
 reached your door." Then, in a subdued voice, 
 the penitent said : " As a servant of the law, John 
 Bradley, do with me what you will." 
 
 " The question is, what can I do in a case like 
 yours ? " 
 
 " Help a poor devil to become a man ! " Then 
 the outcast went on to say : " Those who are 
 well-born can scarcely understand what odds a 
 man has to .contend with who has bad blood in his 
 veins. It is like a drop of poison ; it contaminates 
 one's whole being unless by some means it can be 
 eradicated ! " With increasing fervor he con- 
 tinued, saying : " You know that my mother was 
 one of the best women in the world. You also 
 know what she suffered from the villain that she 
 unwisely chose for a husband." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Bradley, " but what of that? " 
 
 " Simply that the good inherited from her cries 
 out for the regeneration of the evil tendencies be- 
 queathed me by my lawless father. If any man 
 can help me you are the one." 
 
 " What can I do, since there is theft, desertion 
 and bastardy laid at your door? " 
 
 " In the first case," said the culprit, " I can
 
 136 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 repay, and with interest, the sum taken from the 
 family estate. As to desertion, the war has been 
 over too long for that to cause my arrest." 
 
 " But what of the girl who died, leaving a 
 fatherless child ? " 
 
 In reply to that the man said : 
 
 " You won't be too hard on me when I tell you 
 that I have supported the boy ever since he was 
 born." 
 
 Mr. Bradley was astonished at that revelation. 
 Without further comment, he showed Peter Bliss 
 to a room and told him to remain there till morn- 
 ing, when he would see what could be done for 
 him. 
 
 It was the next day, or perhaps it was the one 
 after that, when Mr. Philbrick and Mr. Folsom, 
 the village carpenters, went out to the old Bensil 
 estate to begin alterations. It required consider- 
 able courage on the part of both to enter the 
 haunted house. Mr. Folsom took his rifle along 
 and laughingly remarked that he would shoot 
 every ghost and goblin that appeared. All went 
 well the first day and the second, but upon the 
 third a storm set in, and a moaning sound was 
 heard which seemed to come from the upper part 
 of the house. As the wind increased in force it 
 became louder and louder. Finally the carpenters, 
 in a frenzy of fear, dropped their tools and started 
 for home. 
 
 Within an hour's time everyone in the village 
 knew of their supposed narrow escape from what
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 137 
 
 they believed to be some horrible creature inhabit- 
 ing the unused loft. In the meantime, Peter's 
 strange experience was bruited abroad. That, to- 
 gether with settling the charges preferred, kept 
 him busy answering questions. In spite of the 
 crimes to which Rachel Winn heard him confess, 
 she pitied the poor fellow, and was glad to know 
 that by remunerating the Bensil heirs for what 
 he had taken from them he was set free. 
 
 A week later two college students, stopping at 
 one of the mountain hotels, came down to the vil- 
 lage and begged the privilege of spending a few 
 days at the old rookery, as they called the haunted 
 house. They had evidently heard of the ghost 
 stories, and doubtless thought to add something 
 startling to their already long list of adventures. 
 
 Deacon Frost was a good Methodist, still he 
 had a leaning toward spiritualism. He said, with 
 an air of disgust: 
 
 " Jest as if them city chaps know more'n all 
 Old Riverby folks ! Hain't there been apparitions 
 seen in other places in town? Didn't Mis' Dob- 
 bins' mother 'pear to her the night 'fore her baby 
 died?" 
 
 There were others who also believed the strange 
 happenings at the unoccupied house were due to 
 supernatural causes. 
 
 As the new owner was in Europe, the students 
 were given permission to remain there as long 
 as they wished. Each one fitted himself out with 
 a revolver and sufficient ammunition to destroy
 
 n 
 
 138 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 an army. They were at the old domicile more 
 than a week without hearing or seeing anything 
 unusual. They began to think that the whole 
 story was a hoax. They said one to the other : 
 
 " Probably that old drapery at the window was 
 what Bliss took to be the ghost of his mother. 
 And as for the noise, that might have been in his 
 own head. I take it that he is no stranger to 
 champagne." 
 
 While discussing the matter, the wind gave a 
 low whistle through the vines that grew in pro- 
 fusion over the veranda. That was immediately 
 answered by a wail from the attic. One of the 
 young men turned to the other and said: 
 
 " Pshaw! Is that what all the talk is about? " 
 
 The words had scarcely passed his lips when the 
 noise became like the shrieks of a maniac. They 
 both sprang to their feet, and with revolvers in 
 hand, hurried toward the garret door. Upon try- 
 ing to open it they found the bolt rusted into 
 the socket. With a knock from the butt of one 
 of the pistols it receded, and the door flew open. 
 The rafters of the unfinished apartment were so 
 completely interwoven with cobwebs that it seemed 
 impossible for anything to live there. Still, with 
 considerable bravado, the ghost hunters proceeded 
 up the narrow, rickety stairway. Upon reaching 
 the top, they saw a large aperture in the wall ad- 
 joining the barn. 
 
 " The mystery is solved," said one of the 
 marauders." But it remains to be seen what kind
 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE 139 
 
 of game we have to deal with." The other one 
 pointed to a dark object, and whispered: 
 
 " There's the chap." 
 
 " Where? " queried his companion. Then he, 
 too, saw something away under the eaves that, in 
 the dim light, resembled a huge brown bear. The 
 more courageous of the two advanced toward the 
 strange object. He was about to fire when he 
 thought he saw it move. Thereupon he retraced 
 his steps, and gave his friend an opportunity to 
 exhibit his skill as a huntsman. Despite the valor 
 of both, they decided that to fire and miss the mark 
 would prove disastrous. Acting upon that de- 
 cision, they backed gingerly down the stairs and 
 closed the door. Upon reaching the village, wild 
 with excitement, they found plenty of men and 
 boys ready to assist in the capture of the noisome 
 creature. 
 
 Deacon Frost was somewhat chagrined at hav- 
 ing his belief in spirits disproved; still he took a 
 club and joined the group that was bent on de- 
 stroying the strange beast. 
 
 Mr. Bradley declared that he didn't take any 
 stock in the cock-and-bull story told by the 
 students; still he, too, went with the others on 
 their murderous errand. Upon his return he said 
 that the strange object proved to be nothing but 
 an old buffalo coat with which a hole in the roof 
 had been calked. When questioned by the guests 
 regarding the noises heard, he said that they were 
 produced by a toy whistle which the mischievous
 
 140 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Pete " remembered to have placed beneath the 
 coping when he was a youngster in order to 
 frighten the housemaids. And thus were ex- 
 plained the mysterious happenings at the haunted 
 house.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE PERCIVALS 
 
 Lord and Lady Percival, as the villagers called 
 an elderly couple of that name, lived in a pic- 
 turesque white cottage just beyond the church. 
 They were interesting people. Both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Percival had an air of refinement which be- 
 spoke good breeding. Strange as it may seem, 
 they lived in the village a long time before their 
 neighbors were able to make out just who they 
 were or where they came from. It is needless to 
 say that great excitement prevailed when, through 
 a guest of the family, it became known that there 
 had been a broken engagement between the couple 
 and that, in spite of inexorable fate which had 
 separated them for years, they had finally married. 
 The secret once out, the old gentleman and lady 
 didn't hesitate to tell about their early attach- 
 ment, their long separation, and their happy re- 
 union. 
 
 Dorcas Pendleton was a great favorite with 
 both Mr. Percival and his charming wife, therefore, 
 Rachel Winn was privileged to hear their ro- 
 mantic story at first hand. One evening when the 
 
 girls sat on the rose-covered veranda with the 
 141
 
 142 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 elderly people, the queenly hostess started up as 
 from a reverie, and said: 
 
 " How little one half of the world knows how 
 the other half lives ! " 
 
 " What put that trite saying into your head? " 
 her husband asked. 
 
 " Why, I was just thinking how little the aris- 
 tocrats living on Beacon Hill sixty years ago knew 
 or cared about Jesse Brown's wife and children." 
 Then, as if her husband had never heard the tale 
 before, or perhaps it was for the benefit of the 
 girls, she continued, saying: " To be sure, our 
 family was thought much of while we lived in a 
 fine house, and my father came sailing into Boston 
 harbor now and again with a well-filled purse! 
 But when he went away and didn't return for 
 two years and more, and my mother was obliged 
 to rent three small rooms to live in, her friends dis- 
 appeared like dew before the sun, so to speak. 
 Some of them even passed us by without a look of 
 recognition. We children didn't mind so much, 
 but poor mother felt it keenly." 
 
 " Oh, then you were born in Boston," Rachel 
 ventured to say. 
 
 " Certainly," said the woman with an air of 
 pride. " My early childhood days were spent play- 
 ing beneath the famous old elm on the Common. 
 Except for circumstances of which I shall tell you 
 later, Boston would have been my home to this 
 day." 
 
 The story-teller then gave an account of being
 
 THE PERCIVALS 143 
 
 separated from her mother and her little brothers 
 and sisters when she was but twelve years of age, 
 and of going to Vermont to live with a distant 
 relative of her father. A tear stole down the 
 woman's cheek as she said that each one of the 
 children insisted upon giving her some toy to take 
 away with her, and that her mother wept piteously 
 while packing up the simple wardrobe. 
 
 " Well I remember looking out of the coach 
 window and bidding them all good-bye," said the 
 story-teller. She continued, saying : " How 
 vividly I recall the dense forests through which we 
 passed before reaching the old tavern, where Mr. 
 Bertram met me, and his wife whom I was to call 
 aunt. Riding over hill and dale brought joy to 
 my childish heart, and I nearly forgot my grief 
 at leaving home. But the * creeps ' go down my 
 spine even now when I think of the forbidding ex- 
 pression upon Aunt Malinda's face. I felt in- 
 stinctively that Uncle Silas would be a friend to 
 me. When he lifted me down from the carriage 
 I suggested going to the barn to assist in un- 
 harnessing the horses. One look from aunt settled 
 the matter. She said : ' I am amazed that a 
 girl of your age should be so bold.' But there," 
 said the narrator, " my early experience in Pratt- 
 ville would better be passed over." 
 
 " And did you never return to Boston ? " Dor- 
 cas asked. 
 
 " No, dear," said the woman, " and the worst 
 of it was when I was something like fifteen years
 
 144 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 old I overheard Aunt Malinda tell Uncle Silas that 
 upon my father's return from sea two weeks after 
 I left home a letter came from him requesting her 
 to bring me to Boston. She also confessed to hav- 
 ing destroyed the missive lest it fall into my hands 
 and make me more homesick than I already was." 
 
 " That certainly was a dastardly act, mother," 
 said Mr. Percival, " but if you had returned to the 
 ' Hub ' who would be looking out for me these 
 days?" 
 
 " True enough, Dyer," the fond wife responded. 
 " It is an ill wind that blows good to no one." 
 Then the woman's mind reverted to the time when 
 she and her husband first met, and she said: 
 " Don't you remember the old church in Pratt- 
 ville where we used to listen to sermons an hour 
 long? " 
 
 Mr. Percival made no reply, but remarked: 
 
 " I was thinking of Bob Wilmot who put his 
 head in at the door when several clergymen 
 were dining at his father's house and exclaimed: 
 ' There goes the last dandelion ! ' I think the 
 venturesome youth finally became a minister. If 
 so, doubtless he has robbed many a youngster of 
 the remaining bit of some toothsome delicacy." 
 
 " Be that as it may," rejoined Mrs. Percival, 
 " I saw so much of parsons whom aunt entertained 
 that I enjoyed the going to and coming from 
 church far more than I did their preaching. 
 Especially when you walked home with me. And 
 how perfectly furious aunt was whenever you
 
 THE PERCIVALS 145 
 
 lingered at the gate for a last word ! It was when 
 she found that you had made a proposal of mar- 
 riage that her ungovernable temper reached the 
 danger point." 
 
 From the narrative it was evident that Mrs. 
 Bertram was jealous of any attention shown her 
 ward, especially that coming from young men. 
 However, it seems that Mary Brown outwitted the 
 meddlesome woman, and finally became engaged. 
 That true love never runs smoothly was again 
 verified. The girl's betrothed was immediately 
 called to England on important business, and by 
 unforeseen events was detained beyond all expecta- 
 tion. When month after month passed without 
 any word from him, either to his fiancee or to his 
 parents, Mrs. Bertram became more unkind to 
 the girl than usual. She taunted her with saying 
 that doubtless young Percival went away to rid 
 himself of such a ne'er-do-well." The story- 
 teller's eyes flashed with indignation while relating 
 some of the trying incidents which occurred dur- 
 ing the years of waiting for her absent lover. 
 
 " Finally," said she, " exasperated beyond en- 
 durance, and believing Dyer to have been lost at 
 sea, I declared that I would marry the first man 
 that proposed to me." 
 
 According to the heroine's own story, fate 
 seemed to take a hand in the matter. About that 
 time Leonard Douglas, a young man from Canada, 
 came to Prattville and fell desperately in love with 
 her.
 
 146 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 " Girl-like I married him," said the story-teller. 
 Then in explanation she said : " Mr. Douglas was 
 a fine young man, good enough for any girl. But 
 when a woman gives her hand in marriage her 
 heart should go with it. I didn't deceive him. I 
 told him about my engagement to Mr. Percival, 
 and tried to assure him that he would always be 
 first in my affections. In spite of that, with the 
 conceit of his kind, he thought when once I was his 
 I should forget the old lover. But this isn't tell- 
 ing the girls about my going to Canada to live, 
 where I found people so different from those in 
 the States." 
 
 " Why," said Dorcas, " my mother came from 
 Quebec, and we think she is the dearest woman in 
 the world." 
 
 " * When place we seek, or place we shun, the 
 soul finds happiness in none,' " said Mrs. Percival. 
 " Mr. Douglas was a kind, indulgent husband, 
 and in the first years of our married life we had 
 a beautiful home. Leonard was delighted when 
 John Nelson, our first child, was born. He said: 
 " * Don't you think you love me just a wee bit 
 more, Mary, since I am the father of the 
 youngster? ' 
 
 " I was ready to burst into tears with think- 
 ing how different it might have been, so I made 
 no reply lest I should betray my feelings. How- 
 ever, the infant's prattle brought a deeper sense 
 of regard for its father than I had ever felt be- 
 fore. And when two years later little Margaret
 
 THE PERCIVALS 147 
 
 came I truthfully told Leonard that I was more 
 fond of him than I was on our wedding day." 
 
 Dorcas and Rachel looked up to see how Mr. 
 Percival would take that. Instead of being in the 
 least offended, he said: 
 
 " Small return, mother, for a good man's de- 
 votion." 
 
 Taking no notice of her husband's remark, the 
 woman went on with telling about Mr. Douglas's 
 failure in business, and about moving to York 
 State. Then followed an account of the man be- 
 coming discouraged and of his spending money at 
 the alehouse which should have been spent for 
 food and clothing for their children. 
 
 " It was during those wretched days," said the 
 story-teller, " that I heard from my mother for 
 the first time in many years. She had written to 
 several families bearing the name of Douglas, all 
 to no purpose. By some good fortune, however, 
 that letter chanced to reach me. She said that 
 my father's long absence from home at the time I 
 came away was occasioned by the villainy of one 
 of his crew who, through base falsehoods, caused 
 him to be incarcerated in a Spanish prison. She 
 also said that his voyage since then had been suc- 
 cessful, and that he had finally given up following 
 the sea. The letter stated that he had just 
 disposed of his vessel and received a large sum of 
 money. She closed by saying: 
 
 " ' You will readily understand that, in spite of 
 our good fortune, we cannot be happy till every
 
 148 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 means has been taken to find our dear, absent 
 daughter, that she may share with the other chil- 
 dren what rightfully belongs to her.' 
 
 " I read the daintily written lines over and 
 over again," continued Mrs. Percival, " before I 
 could be sure that some strange hallucination was 
 not passing through my tired brain. When I 
 realized the truth of the message which they 
 brought, my heart fairly leaped for joy. My 
 childhood home came vividly to mind. There was 
 my mother with the gentle blue eyes and flaxen 
 hair. There were the children ready for bed, 
 kneeling beside her in their evening devotions. 
 Then, too, I fancied that I could hear Granny 
 Vroom, the old Dutch fruit-vender across the way, 
 calling out in her broken English : ' Cherries all 
 ripe ! Cherries all ripe ! ' 
 
 " My first thought was that I would immediately 
 send for money to defray the expenses of my 
 family to Boston. But when I saw John Nelson 
 with his only pair of trousers out at the knees, 
 and Margaret, poor child, wearing a faded calico, 
 and thought of their besotted father who might 
 come staggering in from the tavern at any mo- 
 ment, my heart sank within me. May God for- 
 give my inordinate pride," said the woman, " but 
 lest some one of my family should seek me out and 
 find me in such straitened circumstances, I never 
 replied to my mother's loving missive." 
 
 " Oh, how cruel," Rachel thought, and perhaps
 
 THE PERCIVALS 149 
 
 she said so under her breath. In any case, the 
 woman continued, saying: 
 
 " Strangely enough, through an accident which 
 happened to Mr. Douglas two weeks later I was 
 left a widow." 
 
 Rachel afterwards confessed to Dorcas that she 
 was somewhat relieved by that declaration. She 
 said that she had been wondering how the woman 
 ever rid herself of her undesirable companion. 
 
 " Let me tell you," said Mrs. Percival, " in spite 
 of what the Good Book says about caring for 
 widows and the fatherless you would be amazed to 
 know the petty meanness of women and the cruelty 
 of men. When I think of Doctor Fisher who 
 turned me and my children out of house and home 
 two days after the burial of my husband, and of 
 the wife who declined to furnish me with any more 
 sewing because I was no longer a tenant of theirs, 
 I wonder if they may not still be wandering about 
 purgatory seeking peace for their sordid souls." 
 
 " ' Beneath the clouds the starlight lurks ; 
 through showers the sunbeams fall,' " quoted Mr. 
 Percival. " A year later when the widow Douglas 
 was in the depths of despair, who should appear on 
 the scene but a lone bachelor with a heart full of 
 love and a purse full of gold for her." 
 
 " So you did, Dyer, God bless you ! And the 
 world can never know how kind you were to my 
 children ! " 
 
 " Never mind about that," said the man, " since
 
 150 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 they became men and women of whom we both may 
 be justly proud." 
 
 " The story will not be complete," said Mrs. 
 Percival, " till you tell the girls about your peril- 
 ous sea-voyage which changed our first plans for 
 marriage." 
 
 Curfew was already ringing, but Dorcas as- 
 sured her friends that she and Rachel were in no 
 haste. Thereupon Mr. Percival began his tale 
 of adventure. 
 
 " Upon leaving New York the weather was all 
 that could be desired. We had been out but a few 
 hours when a dead calm settled down upon us. 
 That was followed by a terrible storm. Our vessel 
 was tossed about like a feather by waves moun- 
 tain high. Within a short time the passengers and 
 many of the crew were ill. The captain lost his 
 bearings, and it soon became evident that the 
 staunch ship was going to pieces. I strapped my- 
 self to a beam and soon lost consciousness. When 
 I came to I was lying upon the shore of a tropical 
 island. Above me, and looking inquiringly into my 
 face, stood a young girl. She belonged to the un- 
 civilized race inhabiting that bit of paradise which 
 had been dropped down in mid-ocean. She 
 brought me a gourd of water and a basket of 
 freshly gathered fruit. On regaining sufficient 
 strength, I crawled to the shelter of a palm tree. 
 Many of the natives gathered around me and per- 
 formed strange incantations. My first thought 
 was that they were about to take my life, but from
 
 THE PERCIVALS 151 
 
 certain gestures I concluded that they thought 
 me to be a god sent to bless them. Those people," 
 said the narrator, " neither Spanish nor Malay, 
 had the blood of both nations. Their bronze-like 
 bodies were partially concealed by long straight 
 black hair that fell loosely about their shoulders. 
 They lived in caves and subsisted on fish, wild fowl, 
 roots and herbs. 
 
 " Month after month I wandered up and down 
 the shining strand, hoping against hope to sight 
 a sail. The monotony was broken only by occa- 
 sional visits from my benefactor, the young girl 
 who at first befriended me. She brought me gar- 
 lands of flowers and danced in graceful, rhythmic 
 movements. Then again she would sing in weird 
 strains that resembled the moaning of the sea. 
 That her childish, simple heart was touched with 
 affection for me could not be doubted. By means 
 of gestures and a few words of the girl's strange 
 language, which I learned to understand, she 
 begged me to bring her away with me. However 
 much I would have liked to see the effect of civili- 
 zation upon her untutored mind, I had not the 
 heart to separate the child from her people and 
 her natural environment. 
 
 " To return to myself," said the story-teller, 
 " one can scarcely realize my joy when upon wak- 
 ing one morning I heard voices unlike those of the 
 islanders. To my surprise I saw several men near 
 at hand. ' This is my chance,' I thought. 
 Sheltered by the luxuriant tropical vines, I ven-
 
 152 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 tured near enough to learn that they were pirates 
 whose vessel was anchored near the shore. I had 
 nothing to fear from them, since my only earthly 
 possession consisted of a one piece garment made 
 of bark. Parley on my part was needless, for 
 the desperadoes saw the situation at a glance. 
 Whether those murderous corsairs saved me for 
 humanity's sake, or if it were for selfish motives, 
 will never be known. In any case, they took me 
 along when they set sail and locked me into a 
 small cabin beneath the ship's deck." 
 
 " Oh, how perfectly dreadful ! " Dorcas ven- 
 tured to say. 
 
 " From exhaustion I fell asleep, but was soon 
 awakened by the splashing of oars and the cries 
 of infuriated men. Finally the confusion ceased, 
 and only voices of men conversing in low tones were 
 audible. Then came a sound like that of splitting 
 wood. Nearer and nearer it came till, with a tre- 
 mendous blow, down crashed the door of my 
 prison-house and I stood face to face with an 
 English sailor. 
 
 " After relating my tale of misfortune I was 
 taken on deck, where the villainous outlaws lay 
 weltering in their own blood. It seemed that 
 the English vessel had been in pursuit of the 
 marauders for sometime. After overcoming them 
 and taking possession of their spoils, the crew of 
 the Mentone set fire to the viking ship and 
 returned to Liverpool. Upon hearing my name 
 and recalling the fact that my father was once a
 
 THE PERCIVALS 153 
 
 schoolmate of his, Captain Bentley gladly gave 
 me passage, and upon going ashore furnished me 
 with funds to defray my expenses home." 
 
 Dorcas and Rachel were profuse in their thanks 
 for the evening's entertainment. They declared 
 it to be more interesting than any " Arabian 
 Nights " tale.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS LIKENESS UPON A 
 MIRROR 
 
 A foot-path led out from the highroad about 
 halfway between the village and Barton. It con- 
 tinued on through a pine grove and up over a 
 hillside to a small dwelling. The structure, with 
 a suggestion of red paint upon it, had small 
 balconies beneath the windows and a broad piazza, 
 after the fashion of a Swiss chalet. The steps 
 leading to the veranda were crumbling to pieces 
 and the balustrades were fast losing their hold 
 upon the spiral rods. This dilapidated house 
 stood in the midst of a clump of tall white birches 
 which, if approached at nightfall, appeared like so 
 many ghosts. 
 
 The villagers declared that the face of a woman 
 upon the mirror in the living-room prevented 
 curious visitors from entering the old ruin. See- 
 ing the apparition they quietly withdrew, and 
 carefully closed the door. They went so far as 
 to say that no one had ventured beyond the thresh- 
 old of the porch since the owner went away. 
 
 As the story goes, an artist, with the eccentrici- 
 ties of his kind, came to Old Riverby years before 
 Rachel Winn made her first visit there, and erected 
 
 154
 
 THE LIKENESS UPON A MIRROR 155 
 
 the " House in the Woods." That was the name 
 over the door, but it was more frequently spoken of 
 as the "Artist's Retreat." 
 
 The name didn't matter, but when the old gentle- 
 man went away, and after an absence of two or 
 three weeks returned with a handsome young wife, 
 the town was all agog. Many a gossip, shaking 
 her head and gesticulating with her initial finger, 
 declared that the time would come when she would 
 be running off with a younger man. It was only 
 conjecture on the part of the busybodies still, 
 the prediction came true. It happened naturally 
 enough. The second summer after the artist 
 settled in the cottage Jaffery Blondin, a wealthy 
 young sport from the South, came to " The Ridge- 
 wood." Blondin had done crayon work and had 
 dabbled in oils somewhat. Upon hearing of the 
 famous painter near at hand, he immediately made 
 arrangements to study with him. 
 
 " To be sure," he thought, " I can spare two 
 mornings each week. Sister Constance will gladly 
 excuse me from riding with her. And hang it! 
 Ruth Atherton will have to acquiesce in my plans." 
 In speaking of Miss Atherton, his fiancee, to a 
 friend he said : " Great Scot ! It makes a differ- 
 ence whether a fellow is engaged to a girl from 
 choice or merely from principle." He told some 
 one else that he didn't propose to give up his club, 
 or to let the paint dry on to his brushes to please 
 any woman. 
 
 It was not strange that such an unprincipled
 
 156 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 fellow should become infatuated with the artist's 
 charming wife, nor that he should doubt the 
 felicity of her marriage. With his doubts came 
 the assurance that she was the only woman in the 
 world for him. He began to drop in frequently, 
 ostensibly to ask about the mixing of some color, 
 or to see what his instructor was at work upon. 
 Then, too, he frequently lunched with the couple 
 and spent many an afternoon on their broad 
 veranda, the gentlemen talking of art and its in- 
 fluence toward a higher civilization, while the 
 woman's deft fingers were employed with some 
 bit of needle-work. And it was no unusual sight 
 to see the three strolling through the woods to- 
 gether. With his intense desire to note every 
 touch of beauty in the landscape, the artist wholly 
 forgot the presence of his wife and her attentive 
 escort. It was noticeable to others, however, that 
 in crossing a spongy morass or a swiftly running 
 stream the younger man invariably assisted the 
 woman. Thus, in the very presence of the hus- 
 band began the love-making. Doubtless the girl 
 married the elderly gentleman, thinking her ad- 
 miration for his genius to be love. Perhaps she 
 never would have known the difference if the young 
 man hadn't come into her life. Unfortunately, 
 under his seductive influence, her high ideals were 
 soon set at naught. In place of them they made 
 a law unto themselves. 
 
 Miss Blondin and Miss Atherton left the moun- 
 tains the first of September. It was not till the
 
 THE LIKENESS UPON A MIRROR 157 
 
 morning of their departure that they learned of 
 Jaffery's plan to remain a month longer. The 
 sister gracefully accepted his apology for letting 
 her go home without him. She was rather pleased 
 than otherwise that her erstwhile scapegrace of 
 a brother had finally settled down to something, 
 even if it were nothing more than making a few 
 sketches. It was evident to the remaining guests, 
 however, that Miss Atherton, who went away with 
 eyes red from weeping, saw the matter from a 
 different point of view. 
 
 It was the last of October, or to be exact, it 
 was Hallow-e'en night, that the inn-keeper was 
 aroused by a loud knocking. When he opened 
 the door who should be there but the venerable 
 artist, whose face was even whiter than his snowy 
 locks. In his usual courteous manner he inquired 
 if his wife had been there during the evening. 
 The inn-keeper could give him no information con- 
 cerning her. But the chore-boy who slept in a 
 room adjoining the office called out, saying that 
 he saw her driving toward Norwood with young 
 Blondin. He thought it was about dusk when 
 they went away. The man became even paler 
 than he was when he entered. He stood in speech- 
 less amazement; finally he soliloquized, saying: 
 
 " The wretch who entered my house in the guise 
 of a gentleman has robbed me of my wife ! " 
 
 The man made no further comment except to 
 excuse himself for having disturbed the landlord. 
 With lantern in hand he retraced his weary steps
 
 158 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 back to his desolate home. The next morning 
 found the villagers wild with excitement at the oc- 
 currence of what they had long foreseen to be 
 inevitable. They were none the wiser for the way 
 in which the injured man bore the shock. There- 
 after his doors were closed to all visitors. 
 
 The winter came and melted into spring still 
 there was no sign of life at the " House in the 
 Woods," except for the shaft of blue that daily 
 rose from the birches, and for the glimmer of 
 light that nightly peered out into the gloom. 
 
 With the return of summer many of the guests 
 came back to " The Ridgewood." For the first 
 few days after the arrival of each the elope- 
 ment of JafFery Blondin and the artist's handsome 
 wife was the one absorbing topic of conversation. 
 They all expressed sympathy for disappointed 
 Miss Atherton, but none of them evinced the least 
 pity for the young woman who had so ruthlessly 
 been robbed, both of her home and of her good 
 name. The summer was still young when one of 
 the " piazza fixtures " saw by the Washington 
 Star that Jaffrey Blondin had married an heiress 
 from southern California. The paper stated that 
 it was another case of love at first sight. The 
 couple met on a railway train and were married 
 a month later. One of the guests shrugged her 
 shoulders and said that it was high time Jaffrey 
 left off sowing " wild oats." Another, who had 
 marriageable daughters, regretted that he was no 
 longer in the market.
 
 THE LIKENESS UPON A MIRROR 159 
 
 It was something more than a year from the 
 time the artist's wife went away that she returned 
 to him. Many of the villagers still remember the 
 night. It was Christmas eve and bitterly cold. 
 When the widow Lebaron, a French woman, who 
 was maid-of-all-work at the cottage, heard a sound 
 at the front door, she listened to make sure whether 
 it was some one knocking, or if the limb of a tree 
 was grazing the side of the house. Upon open- 
 ing the door there stood her former mistress, pale 
 and emaciated almost beyond recognition. She 
 was thinly clad and her only wrap consisted of an 
 old plaid shawl. Without a word she hurried 
 through the porch past the housekeeper and into 
 the living-room. When the recreant wife saw her 
 haggard features depicted in the mirror which 
 extended from the ceiling to the floor she stood 
 spellbound. Noting the traces of jealousy and 
 despair, she whispered: 
 
 " Can it be that I am so changed? Or has my 
 husband foreseen my misery and portrayed its 
 effects?" 
 
 " That is my masterpiece," said a voice, coming 
 from the shadow of an alcove. 
 
 The words were no more than spoken before 
 the penitent was kneeling beside her distinguished 
 husband. When to every entreaty for pardon he 
 turned a deaf ear, she rose, and, throwing back 
 her shawl, revealed a beautiful babe sweetly sleep- 
 ing on her breast. Before the astonished man 
 found words for utterance, she thrust the child into
 
 160 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 his arms, and hurriedly disappeared out into the 
 darkness. 
 
 The old gentleman passed the little waif to 
 his housekeeper. The following morning he gave 
 it to her as her own, together with means sufficient 
 for their support. When the heartbroken man was 
 well rid of the woman and her helpless charge, he 
 left town as mysteriously as he had come, without 
 so much as turning the key in the door of his 
 house. 
 
 During Rachel Winn's stay in Old Riverby she 
 frequently saw the widow Lebaron and her foster 
 daughter, who was then some fifteen years of age. 
 More than one of the villagers, upon seeing them 
 coming, said to Rachel: 
 
 " Sh! Don't speak of the girl having been 
 adopted. Mrs. Lebaron would be deeply grieved 
 if the child should learn that she is not her 
 mother." 
 
 Some of the villagers believe the likeness of 
 the artist's wife on the old mirror to have been 
 painted by her husband. But to this day there 
 are others who are equally sure that it was done 
 by an unseen hand as a curse upon the woman.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE FORTUNES OF PHILLIP TURNER 
 
 Old Riverby still prides itself on having been 
 the birthplace of several illustrious men. It was 
 there that Governor Willford and Chief Justice 
 Spencer first saw the light of day. Then came 
 the Farwell twins, both of whom distinguished 
 themselves as politicians. But nothing delights 
 the natives more than to relate incidents in the 
 life of Phillip Turner, another of their townsmen 
 who became famous. His father descended from 
 an old English family and his mother was a 
 Van Dyke. But the fact that Phillip was born 
 with a caul seemed of more importance than any 
 number of distinguished ancestors. Rachel Winn 
 was wholly ignorant of what that meant, but re- 
 frained from making any inquiry of Mrs. Hudson, 
 the miller's wife, who was only too glad to relate 
 the story. 
 
 " Yes," said the woman, " it is an actual fact 
 that the child was born with a veil over his face." 
 
 " Ah ! That is what it means," Rachel 
 thought. 
 
 With an air of pride the woman continued, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " As I was the nearest neighbor to the Turners 
 161
 
 162 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 and sent for old lady Tillson, the midwife, myself, 
 who should know more about the strange hap- 
 pening than I do? Then, too, Adelaide and Har- 
 riet, the half-grown daughters, stayed at my house 
 the night their brother was born." Rachel didn't 
 mind where the girls stayed; she was more de- 
 sirous of hearing about the little stranger. 
 Finally the story-teller said. " What a to-do 
 there was when Old Riverby people found that 
 such a strange occurrence had taken place. The 
 little fellow wasn't more than twenty-four hours 
 old before the news was heralded throughout the 
 town. Both men and women went to see the child 
 and many of them didn't hesitate to tell the parents 
 their opinion as to whether the veil portended 
 good, or if it foretold the coming of evil. 
 
 " Girls married so young in those days," said 
 Mrs. Hudson, " that it seemed no time after the 
 boy came into the Turner family before Adelaide 
 and Harriet settled in homes of their own. 
 Adelaide married a wealthy lumber dealer and 
 went West to live, while Harriet, the eldest of the 
 two, married Neil Horton and settled here in the 
 village. In less than a year she became demented, 
 and her parents were obliged to take her home and 
 care for her. It proved a mild form of insanity 
 however; the girl rarely showed signs of violence. 
 Still, according to the doctor's orders, she was 
 locked into her room at night, and a close watch 
 was kept over her throughout the day. It seemed 
 as if Harriet's undoing was the precursor of un-
 
 FORTUNES OF PHILLIP TURNER 163 
 
 ending trouble to the rest of the family. She had 
 been home only a short time when her father was 
 stricken down with a strange illness. After lin- 
 gering between life and death for months, he re- 
 covered sufficiently to sit up, but he never took 
 another step. 
 
 " To go back to Phillip," said the story-teller, 
 " he was then twelve or thirteen years of age. In 
 spite of his youth, he was compelled to leave school 
 and take charge of the farm-work. To be sure, 
 he studied evenings, but that could scarcely make 
 up for what he lost in not attending the daily 
 sessions." To Mrs. Hudson the Turner children 
 seemed like her own, and she said, with consider- 
 able feeling : " Think of that boy with a refined, 
 sensitive nature growing up amid such depressing 
 surroundings ! There sat the father year after 
 year, as helpless as a babe. Leading from his 
 father's room was the one occupied by his de- 
 ranged sister. Then, too, Phillip saw his mother 
 wearing herself out with unceasing care of the 
 two unfortunates, one erratic and unreasonable, 
 the other hilarious or morose." 
 
 Though the hero of the tale was already a man 
 occupying a high position, the trials of his youth 
 touched Rachel Winn's kind heart, and before she 
 was aware of it, her eyes were dimmed with tears. 
 
 " Sunday evenings gave the boy his only respite 
 from care," said the narrator. " He was privi- 
 leged to attend services at the village church and 
 that gave him an opportunity to walk home with
 
 164 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Rose Westwood. Rose was something of a 
 coquette. Her mother frequently threatened to 
 send her away to boarding school if she didn't stop 
 flirting. And Phillip was attractive. The girls 
 were as crazy over him as the boys were over his 
 favorite whom he was wont to call the ' Rose of 
 Old Riverby.' " 
 
 " And how did it turn out? " Rachel asked. 
 
 " Oh, after the fashion of most early love af- 
 fairs. Perhaps it would have ended differently, 
 however, if the Civil War hadn't broken out at 
 that time. Phillip was only seventeen, but hav- 
 ing had great responsibility, he seemed much 
 older. The reading of war news inspired him with 
 patriotism, he enlisted and was soon off* for the 
 South." 
 
 Rachel again interrupted the story-teller by 
 asking if the young man ever returned. 
 
 " Yes," said the woman, " after four years of 
 hard fighting, and after he had ruined his health 
 and lost his right arm." 
 
 " Oh ! And he so young ! " Rachel exclaimed. 
 Then, girl-like, she wanted to know if his sweet- 
 heart remained true to him all that time. 
 
 " Indeed she did not," said Mrs. Hudson. 
 " He hadn't been gone a month when Will Stop- 
 ford from Princeton won her heart without the 
 least effort. That escapade was no more than 
 over when she went to Boston and fell in love with 
 a wholesale jeweler. Phillip's mother thought 
 it no more than right that she should let him know
 
 FORTUNES OF PHILLIP TURNER 165 
 
 how things were going. In spite of her letters he, 
 with the conceit of men, thought it was all talk, 
 and that upon his return Rose would have no 
 thought for any one but him. 
 
 " Alas for human credulity ! " sighed Mrs. Hud- 
 son. " When Phillip lost his arm that settled the 
 matter. Rose didn't hesitate to say that she 
 should never marry a man who was disabled for 
 life. Those who sympathized with Phillip little 
 dreamed that the loss of his arm would bring him 
 to intellectual heights which otherwise he never 
 would have attained." 
 
 " How did that come about ? " 
 
 " In kind of a story-book fashion. For a long 
 time after Phillip came home he lay about the 
 house unable to do anything, another invalid 
 added to the list. His mother was heartbroken 
 at seeing his helplessness. Her face grew thinner 
 and paler as the days went by. But," said the 
 story-teller, " it is a long road that has no turn, 
 and her cares finally began to lessen. First Har- 
 riet, whose life had been despaired of for a long 
 time, passed away. Then Phillip received a letter 
 from Adelaide, urging him to come and live with 
 her. 
 
 " The making ready of Phillip's wardrobe, the 
 scraping of lint for the dressing of his wounded 
 shoulder, and the packing of delicacies for him 
 to eat on the way consumed more time than his 
 mother had planned on. The result was that 
 November was here before he was ready to start on
 
 166 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 his long and tiresome journey. He little dreamed 
 of the obstacles that lay before him, or of the suc- 
 cess with which his efforts to surmount them 
 would be crowned. 
 
 " It was on a cold, rainy night that Phillip 
 reached Bristol where his sister anxiously awaited 
 his coming. The two scarcely recognized each 
 other. He whom Adelaide left a mere boy a few 
 years before was seemingly a broken-down man. 
 And she that went away just a slip of a girl had 
 become a matronly woman. The happy greeting 
 over, they were soon off for the beautiful home. 
 
 " Phillip had never seen anything that equaled 
 the magnificence of the furnishings of his sister's 
 house. Like a will-o'-the-wisp sleep eluded him. 
 He lay there wondering how it was possible for 
 Adelaide to live in such luxury without taking some 
 measures to lighten the burdens of her mother. 
 He soon learned that her husband, Joseph Smalley, 
 was master of the household, even to the small- 
 est expenditure. The millionaire delighted in pos- 
 sessing the handsomest residence in the city, and 
 in knowing that his wife was the best gowned 
 woman in Bristol society, but the world never 
 suspected that his charming companion was not 
 allowed a penny of her own, even for pin money. 
 It seems that Adelaide accepted the situation com- 
 placently and made a pretense of being fond of her 
 churlish husband. Her brother made no com- 
 ment, but he wondered from whom she inherited 
 such meekness.
 
 FORTUNES OF PHILLIP TURNER 167 
 
 " * Surely not from the Turners,' he thought. 
 * Nor from our mother, who, though the personifi- 
 cation of love and devotion, would never endure 
 such humiliation as that from any man.' 
 
 " To go back to Phillip," said the good woman, 
 " he soon became friendly with Mr. Patmore, Mr. 
 Smalley's legal adviser. One day the attorney 
 made bold to ask Phillip if he didn't think a knowl- 
 edge of law would be useful to him. Having been 
 deprived of an early education, Phillip doubted 
 his ability to master such a course of study. 
 Nothing daunted, the good man continued his ap- 
 peal to Phillip by saying: 
 
 " ' A man may lose every limb of his body and 
 still retain perfect mentality.' 
 
 " That son of Old Riverby was no sluggard," 
 said Mrs. Hudson. " He acted upon the sugges- 
 tion of his new found friend and began his task 
 at once, first reviewing lessons which he learned as 
 a boy, then taking up more difficult studies. In 
 a few months he obtained a situation as teacher in 
 a suburban school. And," said the story-teller, 
 " he told me himself that many a night he studied 
 till twelve o'clock and past, lest some question be 
 asked the following day which he could not answer. 
 That state of affairs lasted but a short time, how- 
 ever, for Lawyer Patmore took him into his office 
 and gave him every opportunity to advance in 
 the profession. When, five years later, Phillip 
 came home to attend his father's funeral, he was 
 a full-fledged attorney."
 
 168 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Rachel broke in upon the narrator and said: 
 
 " The Westwood girl must have regretted that 
 she treated him so shabbily." 
 
 " If she did, no one was the wiser. During 
 Phillip's absence she married and settled over in 
 Barton." 
 
 " Your prince of good fortune couldn't have 
 been impregnable to Cupid's darts all that time," 
 Rachel commented shyly. 
 
 " There it is again," said the woman. " It 
 takes the young people to guess such secrets. 
 Every girl and boy in the village declared that 
 Phillip was already engaged when he was here, 
 but we older ones didn't believe it till we received 
 cards for his wedding. The couple now have 
 three half-grown sons who, I am told, are con- 
 siderably set up since their father has been ap- 
 pointed attorney-general of the state where they 
 live." 
 
 To this day Old Riverby people differ in 
 opinion as to whether Phillip Turner's success was 
 due to parental influence or if it came through 
 having been born with a veil over his face.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND 
 
 It was a custom with the pupils of Norwood 
 Academy to have their annual picnic at Lone 
 Island. Through the kindness of Lena Sargent, 
 one of the Old Riverby girls who attended the 
 school, Rachel Winn was invited to join in their 
 holiday. The company met at the old tavern. 
 From there they had a ten-mile drive before reach- 
 ing their destination. The August haze hung 
 about the mountains, and in the fields, tinted with 
 a second crop of red clover, locusts droned their 
 lazy songs. On reaching Mt. Tilson the carriages 
 zigzagged back and forth on a road which re- 
 sembled a narrow white ribbon. Making the final 
 turn, they came to Lake Duncan, a brooch of 
 diamonds on the misty mountain-top. 
 
 An aged boatman living in an old shack near 
 the shore rowed the party to the island. He spoke 
 no word, and Rachel wondered if he were the same 
 mute oarsman who guided Elaine's frail barque 
 down the silent river. Upon landing they found 
 long rustic tables which looked as if they had been 
 there since time out of mind. In any case they 
 were soon spread with snowy linen and luncheon 
 made ready.
 
 170 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Miriam Wolcott was invited to chaperone the 
 party. Though she was past forty and still un- 
 married, no one thought of calling her an old maid. 
 She had been disappointed in love when young, 
 but was not morose or selfish on account of it. 
 Her soulful dark eyes and abundant red-brown 
 curls were a joy to see. The pompadour, the 
 waterfall and puffs came into fashion and went out 
 again for other women, but Miriam never changed 
 her mode of hair-dressing. Some people declared 
 it was because James Swanson, her faithless lover, 
 said that the curls were her crowning glory. 
 However, Miriam's chief delight lay in telling love 
 stories, either old or new. It was after luncheon 
 when some of the girls and boys had strolled off 
 in couples that she began to relate a legend of 
 Lone Island. She prefaced the tale by saying: 
 
 " We are upon the spot where began a romance 
 old in story. The parties concerned were Robert 
 Duncan, a young man of Scottish descent, and 
 Winona, an Indian girl. Though the Indians 
 held undisputed ownership of this region at that 
 time, none of them, except those who went down 
 the river carrying furs which they exchanged for 
 tobacco, liquor and baubles for ornaments, ever 
 saw the face of a white man. 
 
 " The story goes that young Duncan was a 
 sportsman who took great pleasure in going off 
 fishing and hunting all by himself. On one of 
 his solitary excursions he came up the river as 
 far as the turn where our village is situated, and
 
 THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND 171 
 
 thinking to find another stream beyond this moun- 
 tain, he shouldered his canoe and climbed the 
 steep slope over which we just came. Imagine 
 his surprise, when, upon reaching the summit, he 
 saw this beautiful lake which now bears his name! 
 A summer sky was reflected in the opalescent 
 waters, and round about him rose the mountains 
 clothed in their virgin forests. Who wonders that 
 he was so overcome by the charm of it that, upon 
 reaching the island, he left his canoe so near the 
 shore that it drifted away? 
 
 " When the paleface found that his only means 
 of reaching the mainland was gone he no longer 
 saw beauty in anything. Even the songs of the 
 birds with which he had at first been enraptured 
 seemed to be cries of exultation at his misfortune. 
 While subsisting on fruit and berries he wondered 
 what he should do when the frost came and de- 
 stroyed them. Then he bethought himself that 
 he had heard his father say: 
 
 " * There is no trouble like that which is bor- 
 rowed,' also, ' it is the unexpected that most often 
 happens.' 
 
 " Just at that moment, sure enough," said 
 Miriam, " the unexpected actually came to pass. 
 As the young man lay beneath an overhanging 
 boulder meditating upon his father's trite say- 
 ings, he heard the lapping of water on the shore, 
 as if a boat were coming in." Of course, Miriam's 
 listeners thought that an attack upon him by a 
 dozen or more redskins was inevitable. Imagine
 
 172 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 the surprise of everyone when she said : " Be- 
 fore he had time for further conjecture, an Indian 
 girl pushed the prow of her canoe onto the shining 
 strand and stepped out. Unconscious of the pres- 
 ence of any one, she removed her moccasins and 
 waded into the lake. Lest the girl see him and 
 dart off into the wood, young Duncan remained 
 perfectly quiet. When she came out and began 
 removing her leathern garments preparatory to 
 taking a plunge into the lake, he heard a slight 
 rustling of leaves. Looking up, he saw a huge 
 snake suspended from the limb of a tree im- 
 mediately above her. The hunter had seen the 
 same species of reptile before. Well knowing 
 that a thrust of the creature's fangs meant death 
 to its victim, he sprang from his hiding place, 
 picked up the first stick that came to hand and 
 struck the serpent a deadly blow. Winona fully 
 realized what her fate would have been except for 
 the timely act on the part of the stranger. But, 
 never having seen a white man before, she took him 
 to be a wood nymph that, through the kindly in- 
 tervention of some spirit, had been sent there to 
 protect her. 
 
 " From an old guide the young man had learned 
 something of the Indian language. Thus he was 
 enabled to explain to the young creature that he 
 was not a fairy, but a veritable paleface who was 
 in great neefl of her assistance to deliver him from 
 exile." Thereupon some one remarked:
 
 THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND 173 
 
 " I'm inclined to think that if she had been a 
 real redskin his bones would be bleaching here on 
 the shore to this day ! " 
 
 " Don't be too sure that an Indian woman has 
 no sentiment," said Miriam. " When the girl 
 promised to guide the stranger out of the forest, 
 she was already wishing that he might decide to 
 remain. 
 
 " To return to the hermit," Miriam continued, 
 " he was lonelier than ever when again left to him- 
 self. Throughout the night he prayed to be de- 
 livered from his place of bondage ; and all day long 
 he waited for his rescuer. Finally, the sun sank 
 into the west and his heart sank with it. When 
 but a disk of crimson remained above the horizon, 
 he heard the glad sound of an oar. Immediately, 
 as if dropping from the heavens, the dusky maiden 
 stood before him arrayed in ornaments befitting a 
 princess. Around her waist a silver girdle hung 
 loosely. Bracelet upon bracelet adorned the 
 slender arms, while her shapely ankles were be- 
 decked with shining bangles. Then, too, upon her 
 fingers glittered many rings. 
 
 " If the girl saw an expression of disappoint- 
 ment on the stranger's face she made no allusion to 
 it, but told him that her father was a mighty chief 
 who hated even the name of a paleface. 
 
 " ' And why should he not,' said she, ' since our 
 people have endured such cruelty at their 
 hands?'"
 
 174 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 Thereupon one of the girls remarked: 
 
 " I hope she didn't place poor Duncan at the 
 mercy of her unforgiving father." 
 
 " An Indian never forgets a favor done him," 
 said Miriam. " Neither did Winona. In the 
 afterglow which crimsoned the mountain-tops she 
 told the solitary about the deep forests and the 
 animals which inhabited them. She also recounted 
 many roots and herbs and named the wild flowers 
 that grew in abundance near her wigwam. When 
 the girl rose to go, she thought the paleface seemed 
 less anxious to leave his hermitage than he did the 
 day before. Nevertheless, she again promised to 
 guide him out of the forest at the first opportunity. 
 The girl, as pure as the night wind that kissed 
 her bronzed cheek, little dreamed that her in- 
 terest in the young man was the beginning of love. 
 Nor was Robert Duncan aware that by some 
 subtle charm he was becoming more and more at- 
 tracted to the Indian maiden. 
 
 " It is a long road which has no turn." Then 
 Miriam went on to say : " The old chief, having 
 no sons, frequently took Winona, his favorite 
 daughter, on his hunting expeditions. He praised 
 her courage and told her what a splendid warrior 
 she would make. Meanwhile, the girl was trying 
 to lessen his hatred for the white people, and all 
 for the sake of the strange brave. Finally, with 
 great trepidation she shared her secret with the 
 stern parent. The records make no mention of 
 what passed between father and daughter, but
 
 THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND 175 
 
 the fact that the old chief went with her to the 
 island and brought the young man away is con- 
 clusive evidence that the girl won him over to her 
 way of thinking. Whether he took the hermit 
 into his home through pity, or if he wished to 
 learn from him the methods of warfare used by the 
 whites, will never be known." 
 
 " And do you suppose that the young man 
 really did live with those dreadful creatures ? " 
 queried one of the girls. 
 
 "To be sure! And why not?" said Miriam. 
 " If we can believe half that history tells us re- 
 garding the indignities to which the red men have 
 been subjected, I think we shall agree that the 
 Indians were not so much more dreadful than their 
 oppressors." Then she asked: "What one of 
 you can tell me to whom this beautiful land belongs 
 even now, if not to the descendants of the red 
 men?" 
 
 " But to go back to the legend. Duncan's de- 
 votion for his sweetheart soon assured her father 
 of his love for her, and not many moons waxed 
 and waned before the old chief consented to the 
 marriage. Every brave in his tribe was bidden to 
 the wedding, and all night long the forest rang 
 with their merrymaking." 
 
 "And is that the end of the story?" Rachel 
 Winn made bold to ask. 
 
 " Certainly not, as you shall presently hear." 
 Then the story-teller went on to say : " Nearly 
 every twelve months brought a little papoose to
 
 176 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 the happy couple. Some of them had eyes as 
 black as midnight, while others looked out from a 
 heavenly blue. The father adored the dark-eyed 
 ones for resembling their mother, and she wor- 
 shiped the little palefaces for his dear sake. But 
 alas ! True love never runs smoothly. And the 
 time came when like an eagle swooping down upon 
 its prey an army of whites attacked the red men. 
 They drove them out and set fire to their wigwams. 
 Thus, during young Duncan's absence on one of 
 his hunting trips, his family was rendered home- 
 less. Upon his return he found his wife and chil- 
 dren living in a cave on the mountain-side. When 
 he saw the devastation which had been wrought, 
 his heart sank within him. He well knew that 
 those who had befriended him in his time of need 
 had been set upon by his own people. He wept 
 for very shame of his race, and prayed that his 
 face might become bronzed like that of an Indian. 
 It seemed as if the ground opened at that moment 
 and before him stood his father. Murder must 
 have been in the young man's heart when he real- 
 ized that it was through his parent that such 
 misery had come to those he loved." 
 
 " When nearly every one in the company de- 
 nounced Captain Duncan for having committed 
 such a cowardly act Miriam said, in his defence: 
 
 " You must remember that the captain believed 
 his son to have been murdered by the Indians. 
 Therefore, he made a solemn vow to avenge his 
 death. Year after year the half-crazed father
 
 THE LEGEND OF LONE ISLAND 177 
 
 waited. Finally, he gathered together a com- 
 pany of white men and made the onslaught. When 
 he realized what he had done he suffered equally 
 with those whom he had wronged. On bended 
 knees he begged his son's forgiveness, also that of 
 the beautiful wife. He proposed rebuilding the 
 wigwams and recalling the natives. 
 
 " ' To rebuild the homes,' said the son, ' would 
 be an easy matter, but to gather the people from 
 the forest where they have taken refuge would 
 be beyond the power of man to do.* 
 
 " To all similar suggestions the son turned a 
 deaf ear. But when his father urged him to take 
 his family and come down to the lowlands, where 
 a comfortable house could be erected for their 
 occupancy, young Duncan held out no longer, for 
 was there not his wife and children to be consid- 
 ered ? 
 
 " Poor Winona ! Her heart was broken at the 
 thought of leaving the haunts of her childhood. 
 She said good-bye to the singing pines and to the 
 whispering birches. She lingered by the brooklet 
 which had sung its murmuring songs ever since 
 she could remember. And to the woodland birds 
 she bade a sad farewell. When the time came for 
 leaving the forest her father was nowhere to be 
 found. It is believed to this day that he sought 
 shelter among his own kind rather than to live 
 with the hated palefaces." The slanting rays 
 of the sun were already creeping under the tree- 
 tops when the story-teller said : " And thus it
 
 178 CHRONICLES OF OLD RIVERBY 
 
 was that Robert Duncan became the first settler 
 in Old Riverby. His dwelling stood beside our 
 beautiful stream which Winona was wont to call 
 " Minnehaha " or " Laughing Waters." 
 
 That Lone Island was one of Cupid's favorite 
 haunts cannot be doubted. His darts were flung 
 about with such abandon the day of the picnic 
 that even Rachel Winn, the staid Boston girl, was 
 unable to escape them. As if by foreordination (or 
 was it by chance?) there she first met Reginald 
 Parkhurst, of Philadelphia, who three years later 
 led her to the marriage altar.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000 040 743 7