Arrow in a Sunbeam, and Other Tales

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  A BIT OF SHORE LIFE.

  I often think of a boy with whom I made friends last summer, duringsome idle, pleasant days that I spent by the sea. I was almost alwaysout of doors, and I used to watch the boats go out and come in; and Ihad a hearty liking for the good-natured fishermen, who were lazy andbusy by turns, who waited for the wind to change, and waited for thetide to turn, and waited for the fish to bite, and were always ready togossip about the weather, and the fish, and the wonderful events thathad befallen them and their friends.

  Georgie was the only boy of whom I ever saw much at the shore. The fewyoung people living there all went to school through the hot summerdays at a little weather-beaten schoolhouse a mile or two inland.There were few houses to be seen, at any rate, and Georgie's house wasthe only one so close to the water. He looked already nothing but afisherman; his clothes were covered with an oil-skin suit, which hadevidently been awkwardly cut down for him from one of his father's, ofwhom he was a curious little likeness. I could hardly believe that hewas twelve years old, he was so stunted and small; yet he was a stronglittle fellow; his hands were horny and hard from handling the clumsyoars, and his face was so brown and dry from the hot sun and chillyspray, that he looked even older when one came close to him. The firsttime I saw him was one evening just at night fall. I was sitting onthe pebbles, and he came down from the fish-house with somelobster-nets, and a bucket with some pieces of fish in it for bait, andput them into the stern of one of the boats which lay just at the edgeof the rising tide. He looked at the clouds over the sea, and at theopen sky overhead, in an old wise way, and then, as if satisfied withthe weather, began to push off his boat. It dragged on the pebbles; itwas a heavy thing, and he could not get it far enough out to be floatedby the low waves, so I went down to help him. He looked amazed that agirl should have thought of it, and as if he wished to ask me what goodI supposed I could do, though I was twice his size. But the boatgrated and slid down toward the sand, and I gave her a last push as theboy perched with one knee on her gunwale and let the other foot drag inthe water for a minute. He was afloat after all; and he took the oars,and pulled manfully out toward the moorings, where the whale-boats anda sail-boat or two were swaying about in the wind, which was rising alittle since the sun had set. He did not say a word to me, or I tohim. I watched him go out into the twilight,--such a little fellow,between those two great oars! But the boat could not drift or loiterwith his steady stroke, and out he went, until I could only see theboat at last, lifting and sinking on the waves beyond the reef outsidethe moorings. I asked one of the fishermen whom I knew very well, "Whois that little fellow? Ought he to be out by himself, it is growingdark so fast?"

  "Why, that's _Georgie_!" said my friend, with his grim smile. "Blessye! he's like a duck; ye can't drown him. He won't be in until teno'clock, like's not. He'll go way out to the far ledges when the tidecovers them too deep where he is now. Lobsters he's after."

  "Whose boy is he?" said I.

  "Why, Andrer's, up here to the fish-house. _She's dead_, and him andthe boy get along together somehow or 'nother. They've both gotsomething saved up, and Andrer's a clever fellow; took it very hard,losing his wife. I was telling of him the other day: 'Andrer,' says I,'ye ought to look up somebody or 'nother, and not live this way.There's plenty o' smart, stirring women that would mend ye up, and cookfor ye, and do well by ye.'--'No,' says he; 'I've hed my wife, and I'velost her.'--'Well, now,' says I, 'ye've shown respect, and there's theboy a-growin' up, and if either of you was took sick, why, here yebe.'--'Yes,' says he, 'here I be, sure enough;' and he drawed a longbreath, 's if he felt bad; so that's all I said. But it's no way for aman to get along, and he ought to think of the boy. He owned a goodhouse about half a mile up the road; but he moved right down here aftershe died, and his cousin took it, and it burnt up in the winter. Fouryear ago that was. I was down to the Georges Banks."

  Some other men came down toward the water, and took a boat that waswaiting, already fitted out with a trawl coiled in two tubs, and somehand-lines and bait for rock-cod and haddock, and my friend joinedthem; they were going out for a night's fishing. I watched them hoistthe little sprit-sail, and drift a little until they caught the wind,and then I looked again for Georgie, whose boat was like a black spoton the water.

  I knew him better soon after that. I used to go out with him forlobsters, or to catch cunners, and it was strange that he never had anycronies, and would hardly speak to the other children. He was veryshy; but he had put all his heart into his work,--a man's hard work,which he had taken from choice. His father was kind to him; but he hada sorry home, and no mother,--the brave, fearless, steady little soul!

  He looked forward to going one day (I hope that day has already dawned)to see the shipyards at a large seaport some twenty miles away. Hisface lit up when he told me of it, as some other child's would who hadbeen promised a day in fairy-land. And he confided to me that hethought he should go to the Banks that coming winter. "But it's socold!" said I; "should you really like it?"--"Cold!" said Georgie."Ho! rest of the men never froze." That was it,--the "rest of themen;" and he would work until he dropped, or tend a line until hisfingers froze, for the sake of that likeness,--the grave, slow littleman, who has so much business with the sea, and who trusts himself withtouching confidence to its treacherous keeping and favour.

  Andrew West, Georgie's father, was almost as silent as his son atfirst, but it was not long before we were very good friends, and I wentout with him at four o'clock one morning, to see him set his trawl. Iremember there was a thin mist over the sea, and the air was almostchilly: but, as the sun came up, it changed the colour of everything tothe most exquisite pink,--the smooth slow waves, and the mist that blewover them as if it were a cloud that had fallen down out of the sky.The world just then was like the hollow of a great pink sea-shell; andwe could only hear the noise of it, the dull sound of the waves amongthe outer ledges.

  We had to drift about for an hour or two when the trawl was set; andafter a while the fog shut down again gray and close, so we could notsee either the sun or the shore. We were a little more than four milesout, and we had put out more than half a mile of lines. It is veryinteresting to see the different fish that come up on thehooks,--worthless sculpin and dog-fish, and good rock-cod and haddock,and curious stray creatures which often even the fishermen do not know.We had capital good luck that morning, and Georgie and Andrew and Iwere all pleased. I had a hand-line, and was fishing part of the time,and Georgie thought very well of me when he found I was not afraid of abig fish, and, besides that, I had taken the oars while he tended thesail, though there was hardly wind enough to make it worth his while.It was about eight o'clock when we came in, and there was a horse andwagon standing near the landing; and we saw a woman come out ofAndrew's little house. "There's your aunt Hannah a'ready," said he toGeorgie; and presently she came down the pebbles to meet the boat,looking at me with much wonder as I jumped ashore.

  "I sh'd think you might a' cleaned up your boat, Andrer, if you wasgoing to take ladies out," said she graciously. And the fishermanrejoined, that perhaps she would have thought it looked better when itwent out than it did then; he never had got a better fare o' fishunless the trawls had been set over night.

  There certainly had been a good haul; and, when Andrew carefully putthose I had caught with the hand-line by themselves, I asked his sisterto take them, if she liked. "Bless you!" said she, much pleased, "wecouldn't eat one o' them big rock-cod in a week--I'll take a littleha'dick if Andrer 'll pick me one out."

  She was a tall, large woman, who had a direct, business-likemanner,--what the country people would call a master smart woman, or aregular driver,--and I liked her. She said something to her brotherabout some clothes she had been making for him or for Georgie, and Iwent off to the house where I was boarding for my breakfast. I washungry enough, since I had had only a hurried lunch a good while beforesunrise. I came back late in the morning, and found that Georgie'saunt
was just going away. I think my friends must have spoken well ofme, for she came out to meet me as I nodded in going by, and said, "Isuppose ye drive about some? We should be pleased to have ye come upto see us. We live right 'mongst the woods; it ain't much of a placeto ask anybody to." And she added that she might have done a good dealbetter for herself to have staid off. But there! they had the place,and she supposed she and Cynthy had done as well there as anywhere.Cynthy--well, she wasn't one of your pushing kind; but I should havesome flowers, and perhaps it would be a change for me. I thanked her,and said I should be delighted to go. Georgie and I would make her acall together some afternoon when he wasn't busy; and Georgie actuallysmiled when I looked at him, and said, "All right," and then hurriedoff down the shore. "Ain't he an odd boy?" said Miss Hannah West, witha shadow of disapproval in her face. "But he's just like his fatherand grandfather before him; you wouldn't think they had no gratitudenor feelin', but I s'pose they have. They used to say my fathernever'd forgit a friend, or forgive an enemy. Well, I'm much obligedto you, I'm sure, for taking an interest in the boy." I said I likedhim: I only wished I could do something for him. And then she saidgood-day, and drove off. I felt as if we were already good friends."I'm much obliged for the fish," she turned round to say to me again,as she went away.

  One morning, not long afterward, I asked Georgie if he could possiblyleave his business that afternoon, and he gravely answered me that hecould get away just as well as not, for the tide would not be right forlobsters until after supper.

  "I should like to go up and see your aunt," said I. "You know sheasked me to come the other day when she was here.

  "I'd like to go," said Georgie sedately. "Father was going up thisweek; but the mackerel struck in, and we couldn't leave. But it'sbetter'n six miles up there."

  "That's not far," said I. "I'm going to have Captain Donnell's horseand wagon;" and Georgie looked much interested.

  I wondered if he would wear his oil-skin suit; but I was much amazed,and my heart was touched, at seeing how hard he had tried to puthimself in trim for the visit. He had on his best jacket and trousers(which might have been most boys' worst), and a clean calico shirt; andhe had scrubbed his' freckled, honest little face and his hard littlehands, until they were as clean as possible; and either he or hisfather had cut his hair. I should think it had been done with a knife,and it looked as if a rat had gnawed it. He had such a holiday air!He really looked very well; but still, if I were to have a picture ofGeorge, it should be in the oil-skin fishing-suit. He had gone out tohis box, which was anchored a little way out in the cove, and hadchosen two fine lobsters which he had tied together with a bit offish-line. They were lazily moving their claws and feelers; and hisfather, who had come in with his boat not long before, added from hisfare of fish three plump mackerel.

  "They're always glad to get new fish," said he. "The girls can't abidea fish that's corned, and I haven't had a chance to send 'em up anymackerel before. Ye see, they live on a cross-road, and the fish-cartsdon't go by." And I told him I was very glad to carry them, or anything else he would like to send. "Mind your manners, now, Georgie,"said he, "and don't be forrard. You might split up some kindlin's fory'r aunts, and do whatever they want of ye. Boys ain't made just tolook at, so ye be handy, will ye?" And Georgie nodded solemnly. Theyseemed very fond of each other, and I looked back some time afterwardto see the fisherman still standing there to watch his boy. He wasused to his being out at sea alone for hours; but this might be a greatrisk to let him go off inland to stay all the afternoon.

  The road crossed the salt-marshes for the first mile, and, when we hadstruck the higher land, we soon entered the pine-woods, which cover agreat part of that country. It had been raining in the morning for alittle while; and the trunks of the trees were still damp, and theunderbrush was shining wet, and sent out a sweet, fresh smell. I spokeof it, and Georgie told me that sometimes this fragrance blew far outto sea, and then you knew the wind was north-west.

  "There's the big pine you sight Minister's Ledge by," said he, "whenthat comes in range over the white schoolhouse, about two miles out."

  The lobsters were clashing their pegged claws together in the back ofthe wagon, and Georgie sometimes looked over at them to be sure theywere all right. Of course I had given him the reins when we firststarted, and he was delighted because we saw some squirrels, and even arabbit, which scurried across the road as if I had been a fiery dragon,and Georgie something worse.

  We presently came in sight of a house close by the road,--anold-looking place, with a ledgy, forlorn field stretching out behind ittoward some low woods. There were high white-birch poles holding upthick tangles of hop-vines, and at the side there were sunflowersstraggling about as if they had come up from seed scattered by thewind. Some of them were close together, as if they were whispering toeach other; and their big, yellow faces were all turned toward thefront of the house, where people were already collected as if there wasa funeral.

  "It's the auction," said Georgie with great satisfaction. "I heard 'emtalking about it down at the shore this morning. There's Lisha Downsnow. He started off just before we did. That's his fish-cart over bythe well."

  "What is going to be sold?" said I.

  "All the stuff," said Georgie, as if he were much pleased. "She'sgoing off up to Boston with her son."

  "I think we had better stop," said I, for I saw Mrs. 'Lisha Downs, whowas one of my acquaintances at the shore, and I wished to see what wasgoing on, besides giving Georgie a chance at the festivities. So wetied the horse, and went toward the house, and I found several peoplewhom I knew a little. Mrs. Downs shook hands with me as formally as ifwe had not talked for some time as I went by her house to the shore,just after my breakfast. She presented me to several of her friendswith whom she had been talking as I came up. "Let me make youacquainted," she said: and every time I bowed she bowed too,unconsciously, and seemed a little ill at ease and embarrassed, butluckily the ceremony was soon over. "I thought I would stop for a fewminutes," said I by way of apology. "I didn't know why the people werehere until Georgie told me."

  "She's going to move up to Boston 'long of her son," said one of thewomen, who looked very pleasant and very tired. "I think myself it isa bad plan to pull old folks up by the roots. There's a niece of hersthat would have been glad to stop with her, and do for the old lady.But John, he's very high-handed, and wants it his way, and he says hismother sha'n't live in any such place as this. He makes a sight o'money. He's got out a patent, and they say he's just bought a newhouse that cost him eleven thousand dollars. But old Mis' Wallis,she's wonted here; and she was telling of me yesterday she was onlygoing to please John. He says he wants her up there, where she'll bemore comfortable, and see something."

  "He means well," said another woman whom I did not know; "but folksabout here never thought no great of his judgment. He's put up somesplendid stones in the burying-lot to his father and his sister Mirandathat died. I used to go to school 'long of Miranda. She'd have beenpleased to go to Boston; she was that kind. But there! mother wassaying last night, what if his business took a turn, and he lost everything! Mother's took it dreadfully to heart; she and Mis' Wallis werealways mates as long ago as they can recollect."

  It was evident that the old widow was both pitied and envied by herfriends on account of her bettered fortunes, and they came up to speakto her with more or less seriousness, as befitted the occasion. Shelooked at me with great curiosity, but Mrs. Down told her who I was,and I had a sudden instinct to say how sorry I was for her, but I wasafraid it might appear intrusive on so short an acquaintance. She wasa thin old soul who looked as if she had had a good deal of trouble inher day, and as if she had been very poor and very anxious. "Yes,"said she to some one who had come from a distance, "it does come hardto go off. Home is home, and I seem to hate to sell off my things; butI suppose they would look queer up to Boston. John says I won't haveno idea of the house until I see it:" and she
looked proud andimportant for a minute, but, as some one brought an old chair out atthe door, her face fell again. "Oh, dear!" said she, "I should like tokeep that! it belonged to my mother. It's most wore out anyway. Iguess I'll let somebody keep it for me;" and she hurried offdespairingly to find her son, while we went into the house.

  There is so little to interest the people who live on those quiet,secluded farms, that an event of this kind gives great pleasure. Iknow they have not done talking yet about the sale, of the bargainsthat were made, or the goods that brought more than they were worth.And then the women had the chance of going all about the house, andcommitting every detail of its furnishings to their tenacious memories.It is a curiosity one grows more and more willing to pardon, for thereis so little to amuse them in everyday life. I wonder if any one hasnot often been struck, as I have, by the sadness and hopelessness whichseems to overshadow many of the people who live on the lonely farms inthe outskirts of small New-England villages. It is most noticeableamong the elderly women. Their talk is very cheerless, and they have amorbid interest in sicknesses and deaths; they tell each other longstories about such things; they are very forlorn; they dwellpersistently upon any troubles which they have; and their pettydisputes with each other have a tragic hold upon their thoughts,sometimes being handed down from one generation to the next. Is itbecause their world is so small, and life affords so little amusementand pleasure, and is at best such a dreary round of the dullesthousekeeping? There is a lack of real merriment, and the fun is anodd, rough way of joking: it is a stupid, heavy sort of fun, thoughthere is much of a certain quaint humour, and once in a while a flashof wit.

  I came upon a short, stout old sister in one room, making all theeffort she possibly could to see what was on the upper shelves of acloset. We were the only persons there, and she looked longingly at aconvenient chair, and I know she wished I would go away. But my heartsuddenly went out toward an old dark-green Delft bowl which I saw, andI asked her if she would be kind enough to let me take it, as if Ithought she were there for a purpose. "I'll bring you a chair," saidI; and she said, "Certain, dear." And I helped her up, and I'm sureshe had the good look she had coveted while I took the bowl to thewindow. It was badly cracked, and had been mended with putty; but therich, dull colour of it was exquisite. One often comes across abeautiful old stray bit of china in such a place as this, and Iimagined it filled with apple-blossoms or wild roses. Mrs. Walliswished to give it to me, she said it wasn't good for any thing; and,finding she did not care for it, I bought it; and now it is perchedhigh in my room, with the cracks discreetly turned to the wall. "Seemsto me she never had thrown away nothing," said my friend, whom I foundstill standing on the chair when I came back. "Here's some pieces of apitcher: I wonder when she broke it! I've heard her say it was one hergrandmother gave her, though. The old lady bought it at a vandoo downat old Mis' Walton Peters's after she died, so Mis' Wallis said. Iguess I'll speak to her, and see if she wants every thing sold that'shere."

  There was a very great pathos to me about this old home. It must havebeen a hard place to get a living in, both for men and women, with itswretched farming-land, and the house itself so cold and thin and wornout. I could understand that the son was in a hurry to get his motheraway from it. I was sure that the boyhood he had spent there must havebeen uncomfortable, and that he did not look back to it with muchpleasure. There is an immense contrast between even a moderatelycomfortable city house and such a place as this. No wonder that heremembered the bitter cold mornings, the frost and chill, and the dark,and the hard work, and wished his mother to leave them all behind, ashe had done! He did not care for the few plain bits of furniture: whyshould he? and he had been away so long, that he had lost his interestin the neighbours. Perhaps this might come back to him again as hegrew older; but now he moved about among them, in his handsome butsomewhat flashy clothes, with a look that told me he felt conscious ofhis superior station in life. I did not altogether like his looks,though somebody said admiringly, as he went by, "They say he's worth asmuch as thirty thousand dollars a'ready. He's smart as a whip."

  But, while I did not wonder at the son's wishing his mother to go away,I also did not wonder at her being unwilling to leave the dull littlehouse where she had spent so much of her life. I was afraid no otherhouse in the world would ever seem like home to her: she was a part ofthe old place: she had worn the doors smooth by the touch of her hands,and she had scrubbed the floors, and walked over them, until the knotsstood up high in the pine boards. The old clock had been unscrewedfrom the wall, and stood on a table; and when I heard its loud andanxious tick, my first thought was one of pity for the poor thing, forfear it might be homesick, like its mistress. When I went out again, Iwas very sorry for old Mrs. Wallis; she looked so worried and excited,and as if this new turn of affairs in her life was too strange andunnatural; it bewildered her, and she could not understand it; she onlyknew every thing was going to be different.

  Georgie was by himself, as usual, looking grave and intent. He hadgone aloft on the wheel of a clumsy great ox-cart in which some of themen had come to the auction, and he was looking over people's heads,and seeing every thing that was sold. I saw he was not ready to comeaway, so I was not in a hurry. I heard Mrs. Wallis say to one of herfriends, "You just go in and take that rug with the flowers on't, andgo and put it in your wagon. It's right beside my chest that's packedready to go. John told me to give away any thing I had a mind to. Hedon't care nothing about the money. I hooked that rug four year ago;it's most new; the red of the roses was made out of a dress ofMiranda's. I kept it a good while after she died; but it's no us tolet it lay. I've given a good deal to my sister Stiles: she was overhere helping me yesterday. There! it's all come upon me so sudden; Is'pose I shall wish, after I get away, that I had done thingsdifferent; but, after I knew the farm was goin' to be sold, I didn'tseem to realize I was goin' to break up, until John came, day beforeyesterday."

  She was very friendly with me, when I said I should think she would besorry to go away: but she seemed glad to find I had been in Boston agreat deal, and that I was not at all unhappy there. "But I supposeyou have folks there," said she, "though I never supposed they was sosociable as they be here, and I ain't one that's easy to makeacquaintance. It's different with young folks; and then in a case o'sickness I should hate to have strange folks round me. It seems as ifI never set so much by the old place as I do now I'm goin' away. Iused to wish 'he' would sell, and move over to the Port, it was suchhard work getting along when the child'n was small. And there's one ofmy boys that run away to sea, and never was heard from. I've alwaysthought he might come back, though everybody gave him up years ago. Ican't help thinking what if he should come back, and find I wa'n'there! There; I'm glad to please John: he sets everything by me, and Is'pose he thinks he's going to make a spry young woman of me. Well,it's natural. Every thing looks fair to him, and he thinks he can havethe world just as he wants it; but _I_ know it's a world o' change,--aworld o' change and loss. And you see, I shall have to go to a strangemeetin' up there. Why, Mis' Sands! I am pleased to see you. How didyou get word?" And then Mrs. Wallis made another careful apology formoving away. She seemed to be so afraid some one would think she hadnot been satisfied with the neighbourhood.

  The auctioneer was a disagreeable-looking man, with a most unpleasantvoice, which gave me a sense of discomfort, the little old house andits surroundings seemed so grave and silent and lonely. It was likehaving all the noise and confusion on a Sunday. The house was so shutin by the trees, that the only outlook to the world beyond was a narrowgap in the pines, through which one could see the sea, bright, blue andwarm with sunshine, that summer day.

  There was something wistful about the place, as there must have beenabout the people who had lived there; yet, hungry and unsatisfied asher life might have been in many ways, the poor old woman dreaded thechange.

  The thought flashed through my mind that we all have more or les
s ofthis same feeling about leaving this world for a better one. We havethe certainty that we shall be a great deal happier in heaven; but wecling despairingly to the familiar things of this life. God pity thepeople who find it so hard to believe what he says, and who are afraidto die, and are afraid of the things they do not understand! I keptthinking over and over of what Mrs. Wallis had said: 'A world of changeand loss!' What should we do if we did not have God's love to make upfor it, and if we did not know something of heaven already?

  It seemed very doleful that everybody should look on the dark side ofthe Widow Wallis's flitting, and I tried to suggest to her some of thepleasures and advantages of it, once when I had a chance. And indeedshe was proud enough to be going away with her rich son; it was notlike selling her goods because she was too poor to keep the old homeany longer. I hoped the son would always be prosperous, and that theson's wife would always be kind, and not ashamed of her, or think shewas in the way. But I am afraid it may be a somewhat uneasy idleness,and that there will not be much beside her knitting-work to remind herof the old routine. She will even miss going back and forward from theold well in storm and sunshine; she will miss looking after thechickens, and her slow walks about the little place, or out to aneighbour's for a bit of gossip, with the old brown checkedhandkerchief over her head; and, when the few homely, faithful oldflowers come up next year by the door-step, there will be nobody tocare any thing about them.

  I said good-by, and got into the wagon, and Georgie clambered in afterme with a look of great importance, and we drove away. He was verytalkative: the unusual excitement of the day was not without itseffect. He had a good deal to tell me about the people I had seen,though I had to ask a good many questions.

  "Who was the thin old fellow, with the black coat, faded yellow-greenon the shoulders, who was talking to Skipper Down about the dog-fish?"

  "That's old Cap'n Abiah Lane," said Georgie; "lives over toward LittleBeach,--him that was cast away in a fog in a dory down to the Banksonce; like to have starved to death before he got picked up. I'veheard him tell all about it. Don't look as if he'd ever had enough toeat since!" said the boy grimly. "He used to come over a good deallast winter, and go out after cod 'long o' father and me. His boatsall went adrift in a big storm in November, and he never heard nothingabout 'em; guess they got stove against the rocks."

  We had still more than three miles to drive over a lonely part of theroad, where there was scarcely a house, and where the woods had beencut off more or less, so there was nothing to be seen but the unevenground, which was not fit for even a pasture yet. But it was notwithout a beauty of its own; for the little hills and hollows werecovered thick with brakes and ferns and bushes, and in the swamps thecat-tails and all the rushes were growing in stiff and stately ranks,so green and tall; while the birds flew up, or skimmed across them aswe went by. It was like a town of birds, there were so many. It isstrange how one is always coming upon families and neighbourhoods ofwild creatures in the unsettled country places; it is so much likeone's going on longer journeys about the world, and finding town aftertown with its own interests, each so sufficient for itself.

  We struck the edge of the farming-land again, after a while, and I sawthree great pines that had been born to good luck in this world, sincethey had sprouted in good soil, and had been left to grow as fast asthey pleased. They lifted their heads proudly against the blue sky,these rich trees, and I admired them as much as they could haveexpected. They must have been a landmark for many miles to thewestward, for they grew on high land, and they could pity, from adistance, any number of their poor relations who were just able to keepbody and soul together, and had grown up thin and hungry in crowdedwoods. But, though their lower branches might snap and crackle at atouch, their tops were brave and green, and they kept up appearances,at any rate; these poorer pines.

  Georgie pointed out his aunt's house to me, after a while. It was nothalf so forlorn-looking as the others, for there were so many flowersin bloom about it of the gayest kind, and a little yellow-and-white dogcame down the road to bark at us; but his manner was such that itseemed like an unusually cordial welcome rather than an indignantrepulse. I noticed four jolly old apple-trees near by, which looked asif they might be the last of a once flourishing orchard. They werestanding in a row, in exactly the same position, with their headsthrown gayly back, as if they were dancing in an old-fashioned reel;and, after the forward and back, one might expect them to turn partnersgallantly. I laughed aloud when I caught sight of them: there wassomething very funny in their looks, so jovial and whole-hearted, witha sober, cheerful pleasure, as if they gave their whole minds to it.It was like some old gentlemen and ladies who catch the spirit of thething, and dance with the rest at a Christmas party.

  Miss Hannah West first looked out of the window, and then came to meetus, looking as if she were glad to see us. Georgie had nothingwhatever to say; but, after I had followed his aunt into the house, hebegan to work like a beaver at once, as if it were any thing but afriendly visit that could be given up to such trifles as conversation,or as if he were any thing but a boy. He brought the fish and lobstersinto the outer kitchen, though I was afraid our loitering at theauction must have cost them their first freshness; and then he carriedthe axe to the wood-pile, and began to chop up the small white-pinesticks and brush which form the summer fire-wood at thefarm-houses,--crow-sticks and underbrush, a good deal of it,--but itmakes a hot little blaze while it lasts.

  I had not seen Miss Cynthia West, the younger sister, before, and Ifound the two women very unlike. Miss Hannah was evidently the capablebusiness-member of the household, and she had a loud voice, and wentabout as if she were in a hurry. Poor Cynthia! I saw at first thatshe was one of the faded-looking country-women who have a hard time,and who, if they had grown up in the midst of a more luxurious way ofliving, would have been frail and delicate and refined, and entirelylady-like. But, as it was, she was somewhat in the shadow of hersister, and felt as if she were not of very much use or consequence inthe world, I have no doubt. She showed me some pretty picture-framesshe had made out of pine-cones and hemlock-cones and alder-burs; buther chief glory and pride was a silly little model of a house, inperforated card-board, which she had cut and worked after a patternthat came in a magazine. It must have cost her a great deal of work;but it partly satisfied her great longing for pretty things, and forthe daintiness and art that she had an instinct toward, and never hadknown. It stood on the best-room table, with a few books, which Isuppose she had read over and over again; and in the room, beside, weregreen paper curtains with a landscape on the outside, and some chairsranged stiffly against the walls, some shells, and an ostrich's egg,with a ship drawn on it, on the mantel-shelf, and ever so many rugs onthe floor, of most ambitious designs, which they had made in winter. Iknow the making of them had been a great pleasure to Miss Cynthia, andI was sure it was she who had taken care of the garden, and was alwaysat much pains to get seeds and slips in the spring.

  She told me how much they had wished that Georgie had come to live withthem after his mother died. It would have been very handy for them tohave him in winter too; but it was no use trying to get him away fromhis father; and neither of them were contented if they were out ofsight of the sea. "He's a dreadful odd boy, and so old for his years.Hannah, she says he's older now than I be," and she blushed a little asshe looked up at me; while for a moment the tears came into my eyes, asI thought of this poor, plain woman, who had such a capacity forenjoyment, and whose life had been so dull, and far apart from thepleasures and satisfactions which had made so much of my own life. Itseemed to me as if I had had a great deal more than I deserved, whilethis poor soul was almost beggared. I seemed to know all about herlife in a flash, and pitied her from the bottom of my heart. Yet Isuppose she would not have changed places with me for any thing, orwith anybody else, for that matter.

  Miss Cynthia had a good deal to say about her mother, who had been aschoolmate of Mrs. Wallis's--I
had just been telling them what I couldabout the auction. She told me that she had died the spring before,and said how much they missed her; and Hannah broke in upon her regretsin her brusque, downright way: "I should have liked to kep' her ifshe'd lived to be a hundred, but I don't wish her back. She'd hadconsiderable many strokes, and she couldn't help herself much if any.She'd got to be rising eighty, and her mind was a good deal broke," sheadded conclusively, after a short silence; while Cynthia lookedsorrowfully out of the window, and we heard the sound of Georgie's axeat the other side of the house, and the wild sweet whistle of a birdthat flew overhead. I suppose one of the sisters was just as sorry asthe other in reality.

  "Now I want you and Georgie to stop and have some tea. I'll get itgood and early," said Hannah, starting suddenly from her chair, andbeginning to bustle about again, after she had asked me about somepeople at home whom she knew; "Cynthy! Perhaps she'd like to walkround out doors a spell. It's breezing up, and it'll be cooler than itis in the house.--No: you needn't think I shall be put out by yourstopping; but you'll have to take us just as we be. Georgie alwayscalculates to stop when he comes up. I guess he's made off for thewoods. I see him go across the lot a few minutes ago."

  So Cynthia put on a discouraged-looking gingham sun-bonnet, whichdrooped over her face, and gave her a more appealing look than ever,and we went over to the pine-woods, which were beautiful that day. Sheshowed me a little waterfall made by a brook that came over a highledge of rock covered with moss, and here and there tufts of freshgreen ferns. It grew late in the afternoon, and it was pleasant therein the shade, with the noise of the brook and the wind in the pines,that sounded like the sea. The wood-thrushes began to sing,--and whocould have better music?

  Miss Cynthia told me that it always made her think of once when she wasa little girl to hear the thrushes. She had run away, and fallen intothe marsh; and her mother had sent her to bed quick as she got home,though it was only four o'clock. And she was so ashamed, because therewas company there,--some of her father's folks from over to Eliot; andthen she heard the thrushes begin to call after a while, and shethought they were talking about her, and they knew she had been whippedand sent to bed. "I'd been gone all day since morning. I had a greatway of straying off in the woods," said she. "I suppose mother was putto it when she see me coming in, all bog-mud, right before the company."

  We came by my friends, the apple-trees, on our return, and I saw a rowof old-fashioned square bee-hives near them, which I had not noticedbefore. Miss Cynthia told me that the bee money was always hers; butshe lost a good many swarms on account of the woods being so near, andthey had a trick of swarming Sundays, after she'd gone to meeting; and,besides, the miller-bugs spoilt 'em; and some years they didn't makeenough honey to live on, so she didn't get any at all. I saw some bitsof black cloth fluttering over the little doors where the bees went inand out, and the sight touched me strangely. I did not know that theold custom still lingered of putting the hives in mourning, and tellingthe bees when there had been a death in the family, so they would notfly away. I said, half to myself, a line or two from Whittier's poem,which I always thought one of the loveliest in the world, and thisseemed almost the realization of it. Miss Cynthia asked me wistfully,"Is that in a book?" I told her yes, and that she should have it nexttime I came up, or had a chance of sending it. "I've seen a good manypieces of poetry that Mr. Whittier wrote," said she. "I've got somethat I cut out of the paper a good while ago. I think everything of'em."

  "I put the black on the hives myself," said she. "It was for mother,you know. She did it when father died. But when my brother was lost,we didn't, because we never knew just when it was; the schooner wasmissing, and it was a good while before they give her up."

  "I wish we had some neighbours in sight," said she once. "I'd like tosee a light when I look out after dark. Now, at my aunt's, over toEliot, the house stands high, and when it's coming dark you can see allthe folks lighting up. It seems real sociable."

  We lingered a little while under the apple-trees, and watched the wiselittle bees go and come; and Miss Cynthia told me how much Georgie waslike his grandfather, who was so steady and quiet, and always rightafter his business. "He never was ugly to us, as I know of," said she;"but I was always sort of 'fraid of father. Hannah, she used to talkto him free's she would to me; and he thought, 's long's Hannah did anything, it was all right. I always held by my mother the most; and whenfather was took sick,--that was in the winter,--I sent right off forHannah to come home. I used to be scared to death, when he'd want anything done, for fear I shouldn't do it right. Mother, she'd had afall, and couldn't get about very well. Hannah had good advantages.She went off keeping school when she wasn't but seventeen, and shesaved up some money, and boarded over to the Port after a while, andlearned the tailoress trade. She was always called very smart,--yousee she's got ways different from me; and she was over to the Portseveral winters. She never said a word about it, but there was a youngman over there that wanted to keep company with her. He was going outfirst mate of a new ship that was building. But, when she got wordfrom me about father, she come right home, and that was the end of it.It seemed to be a pity. I used to think perhaps he'd come and see hersome time, between voyages, and that he'd get to be cap'n, and they'dgo off and take me with 'em. I always wanted to see something of theworld. I never have been but dreadful little ways from home. I usedto wish I could keep school; and once my uncle was agent for hisdistrict, and he said I could have a chance; but the folks laughed tothink o' me keeping school, and I never said any thing more about it.But you see it might 'a' led to something. I always wished I could goto Boston. I suppose you've been there? There! I couldn't live outo' sight o' the woods, I don't believe."

  "I can understand that," said I, and half with a wish to show her I hadsome troubles, though I had so many pleasures that she had not, I toldher that the woods I loved best had all been cut down the winterbefore. I had played under the great pines when I was a child, and Ihad spent many a long afternoon under them since. There never will besuch trees for me any more in the world. I knew where the flowers grewunder them, and where the ferns were greenest, and it was as much hometo me as my own house. They grew on the side of a hill, and the sunalways shone through the tops of the trees as it went down, while belowit was all in shadow--and I had been there with so many dear friendswho have died, or who are very far away. I told Miss Cynthia, what Inever had told anybody else, that I loved those trees so much that Iwent over the hill on the frozen snow to see them one sunny winterafternoon, to say good-by, as if I were sure they could hear me, andlooked back again and again, as I came away, to be sure I shouldremember how they looked. And it seemed as if they knew as well as Ithat it was the last time, and they were going to be cut down. It wasa Sunday afternoon, and I was all alone, and the farewell was a realityand a sad thing to me. It was saying good-by to a great deal besidesthe pines themselves.

  We stopped a while in the little garden, where Miss Cynthia gave mesome magnificent big marigolds to put away for seed, and was muchpleased because I was so delighted with her flowers. It was a gorgeouslittle garden to look at, with its red poppies, and blue larkspur, andyellow marigolds, and old-fashioned sweet, stray things,--all growingtogether in a tangle of which my friend seemed ashamed. She told methat it looked as orderly as could be, until the things begun to growso fast she couldn't do any thing with 'em. She was very proud of onelittle pink-and-white verbena which somebody had given her. It was notgrowing very well; but it had not disappointed her about blooming.

  Georgie had come back from his ramble some time before. He had crackedthe lobster which Miss Hannah had promptly put on to boil, and I sawthe old gray cat having a capital lunch off the shells; while the horselooked meeker than ever, with his headstall thrown back on hisshoulders, eating his supper of hay by the fence; for Miss Hannah was ahospitable soul. She was tramping about in the house, getting supper,and we went in to find the table alr
eady pulled out into the floor. SoMiss Cynthia hastened to set it. I could see she was very much ashamedof having been gone so long. Neither of us knew it was so late. ButMiss Hannah said it didn't make a mite o' difference, there was next tonothing to do, and looked at me with a little smile, which said, "Yousee how it is. I'm the one who has faculty, and I favour her."

  I was very hungry; and, though it was not yet six, it seemed a wholeday since dinner-time. Miss Hannah made many apologies; and said, if Ihad only set a day, she would have had things as they ought to be. Butit was a very good supper and she knew it! She didn't know but I wastired o' lobsters. And when I had eaten two of the biscuits, and hadbegun an attack on the hot gingerbread, she said humbly that she didn'tknow when she had had such bad luck, though Georgie and I were bothsatisfied. He did not speak more than once or twice during the meal.I do not think he was afraid of me, for we had had many a lunchtogether when he had taken me out fishing; but this was an occasion,and there was at first the least possible restraint over all thecompany, though I'm glad to say it soon vanished. We had two kinds ofpreserves, and some honey besides, and there was a pie with a pale,smooth crust, and three cuts in the top. It looked like a very goodpie of its kind; but one can't eat every thing, though one does one'sbest. And we had big cups of tea; and, though Miss Hannah supposed Ihad never eaten with any thing but silver forks before, it happenedluckily that I had, and we were very merry indeed. Miss Hannah told usseveral stories of the time she kept school, and gave us somereminiscences of her life at the Port; and Miss Cynthia looked at me asif she had heard them before, and wished to say, "I know she's having agood time." I think Miss Cynthia felt, after we were out in the woods,as if I were her company, and she was responsible for me.

  I thanked them heartily when I came away, for I had had such a pleasanttime. Miss Cynthia picked me a huge nosegay of her flowers, andwhispered that she hoped I wouldn't forget about lending her the book.Poor woman! she was so young,--only a girl yet, in spite of her havinglived more than fifty years in that plain, dull home of hers, in spiteof her faded face and her grayish hair. We came away in the rattlingwagon. Georgie sat up in his place with a steady hand on the reins,and keeping a careful lookout ahead, as if he were steering a boatthrough a rough sea.

  We passed the house were the auction had been, and it was all shut up.The cat sat on the doorstep waiting patiently, and I felt very sorryfor her; but Georgie said there were neighbours not far off, and shewas a master hand for squirrels. I was glad to get sight of the seaagain, and to smell the first stray whiff of salt air that blew in tomeet us as we crossed the marshes. I think the life in me must be nextof kin to the life of the sea, for it is drawn toward it strangely, asa little drop of quicksilver grows uneasy just out of reach of agreater one.

  "Good-night, Georgie!" said I; and he nodded his head a little as hedrove away to take the horse home. "Much obliged to you for my ride,"said he, and I knew in a minute that his father or one of the aunts hadcautioned him not to forget to make his acknowledgments. He had toldme on the way down that he had baited his nets all ready to set thatevening. I knew he was in a hurry to go out, and it was not longbefore I saw his boat pushing off. It was after eight o'clock, and themoon was coming up pale and white out of the sea, while the west wasstill bright after the clear sunset.

  I have a little model of a fishing dory that Georgie made for me, withits sprit-sail and killick and painter and oars and gaff all cleverlycut with the clumsiest of jackknives. I care a great deal for thelittle boat; and I gave him a better knife before I came away, toremember me by; but I am afraid its shininess and trig shape may haveseemed a trifle unmanly to him. His father's had been sharpened on thebeach-stones to clean many a fish, and it was notched and dingy; butthis would cut; there was no doubt about that. I hope Georgie wassorry when we said good-by. I'm sure I was.

  A solemn, careful, contented young life, with none of the playfulnessor childishness that belong to it,--this is my little fisherman, whosememory already fades of whatever tenderness his dead mother may havegiven him. But he is lucky in this, that he has found his work andlikes it; and so I say, "May the sea prove kind to him! and may he findthe Friend those other fishermen found, who were mending their nets onthe shores of Galilee! and may he make the harbour of heaven by and byafter a stormy voyage or a quiet one, whichever pleases God!"

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