Eventide

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From this rough dwelling proceeded tones of mirth and hilarity. How
strangely they sounded in the lone solitude of nature! Through an open
window might be seen a group, seated round a small table, consisting of
two young men, and an old woman in a high starched cap, with a huge pair
of iron-bowed spectacles mounted on her Roman nose. A child was sleeping
on a pallet in a corner of the room, and one of the young men passed the
candle a moment over the low cot, and, gazing intently on the sleeper,
asked in a lively, careless tone,

"Sacri, Aunt Patty! is that your baby, or the fair spirit that unrolls
the destinies of mortals to your inspired vision?"

"She is neither one nor t'other," answered the old woman. "Now please to
hold that candle up here close to my eyes."

"But I want to know who that is asleep there; for I've a notion she is
more concerned in my destiny than anything you'll find in that old
teacup."

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed the woman musingly, as she continued to peer,
with a mystic expression of countenance, into a small and apparently
empty teacup, which she turned slowly round and round in her skinny
hand, muttering at intervals in an ominous undertone.

"Well, Aunt Patty, out with it!" said the youth at length, tired of her
long silence. "Isn't it clear yet? Here's another bit of silver; toss
that in, and stir up again;" and he threw a shining half-eagle down on
the table. The woman's face brightened as she clutched it eagerly.

"Come, now let's hear," continued the young man, "what's to be Mr.
Lawrence Hardin's destiny."

"May be, if you saw all I see in this cup, you would not be so eager to
know its contents," said the crone in a boding voice.

"What! Whew, old woman! croaking of evil when I've twice crossed your
palm with silver! This is too bad."

"But don't you know the decrees of fate are unalterable?" said the
woman, solemnly.

"O, law, yes! but I didn't know an old cracked saucer was so
formidable."

"It is no saucer, sir; it is a cup, and your destiny is in it."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the other young man; "pretty well wound up,
Hardin, if your destiny is contained in a teacup."

"Hush!" exclaimed the crone in an angry tone. "More than his or yours,
you noisy chatterer! The whole world's, I may say, is in the cup."

"In the _pot_, you mean," said the youth, knocking with his bamboo
stick on the side of a small, black teapot, that stood at the old
woman's right hand.

"Well, yes; in the pot, I should say, perhaps," added she in a softened
tone.

"The world's destiny is in a teapot, and Aunt Patty Belcher pours it
forth at her pleasure; that's it;" and here they all joined in a hearty
laugh.

"That will do," said Hardin at length; "now read off, good Dame Belcher.
Sumpter is digesting his fortune. Give me a more palatable one than
his."

The old woman rubbed her long, peaked nose violently, and then raising
her eyes slowly to the young man's face, said, "Thou art ambitious,
Lawrence Hardin!"

"Wrong there, most reverend sorceress!" exclaimed the one called
Sumpter.

"Now, hark ye!" exclaimed the old crone; "I won't be interrupted. I
guess I know my own cups."

"Be quiet, be quiet, Jack!" said Hardin. "Why will you be so
presumptuous as to gainsay a prophet's assertions! Go on, Aunt Patty; he
will not disturb you again."

"Well, I tell you again," said the woman, casting a disdainful glance on
Sumpter, who had withdrawn to a chair at the foot of the cot-bed, and
was regarding attentively the tiny form lying there wrapped in tranquil
sleep, "I tell you _again_, you are ambitious. You want to be thought
great. You want to be first. You thirst for power for the sake of bowing
others to your will. You have rich parents _now_, and are surrounded by
all that heart could wish; but, mind ye, there's a dark cloud in the
rear. It threatens tempest and desolation. Soon your parents will be
dead, and you hurrying from your rich, splendid home to seek your
fortune in a distant country. You will seem to prosper for a while, and
then it blackens again. You can see yourself," she added, holding the
cup before the young man's face, "that black clump in the bottom."

"I see only a few tea-grounds your turnings and shakings have settled
together," remarked he, carelessly.

"Destiny placed them as they are, young men," said the hag, solemnly.

"May be so," he added; "but tell me, how long shall I live? Shall I be
successful in love, and will my lady be handsome?"

"Thou wilt live longer than thou wilt wish; ay, drag on many years when
thou wouldst fain be sleeping in the earth's cold bed! Thou wilt
love,--thou wilt marry, and thy lady will be beautiful as the day-star."

"Enough, enough!" exclaimed the youth, starting to his feet. "Do you
hear, Jack? Is not mine a brave fortune? I shall love, marry, and my
wife will be a goddess of beauty."

"Yes," said the crone; "but mark, she will not love you."

"Whew! How is that? Not love me? And wherefore not, old woman?"

"Because she will love another," repeated the hag in a low, but firm,
decided tone.

"But you are spoiling your fair pictures, Aunt Patty," said Hardin.

"Destiny is destiny," said she with a solemn look.

"Ay, yes; I forgot!" he exclaimed, laughing gayly. "Come, Sumpter, let's
be off. I am afraid our good seeress will discover you and I fighting a
duel in that ominous cup, or brewing a tempest in her teapot."

"Ha, ha, ha! it is not impossible," ejaculated Sumpter. "Now I believe
she did say I would go out of the world in a terrible uproar, shooting
somebody or getting shot myself. Which was it, dame?"

"Time will tell you soon enough, young man," returned the woman, in an
angry, scornful tone.

"O, don't be cross, good Aunt Patty!" he said, noticing her dark looks;
"don't mind my balderdash. Here's another piece of silver for you. Now,
good-night, and long live Scraggiewood and the seeress, Madam Belcher!"

"Good-night, young men, and God bless ye, I say!" exclaimed the crone,
her eye brightening at sight of the silver.

"Just tell me the name of the little sleeper," said Sumpter, lingering a
moment, while Hardin turned the carriage which had brought them to the
forest-cottage.

"What do you want to know her name for?" asked Aunt Patty.

"O, because she resembles a sister I lost," returned Sumpter after a
brief hesitation.

"Well, it is my niece, Annie Evalyn."

"Ah! she lives with you?"

"Yes; ever since she was born a'most. Her father and mother died when
she was a baby."

"Hillo, Sumpter!" said Hardin, from without, "trying to coax a prettier
sequel to your fortune? Come on!"

Sumpter hurried forth, and the carriage rattled away over the rough road
of Scraggiewood.

CHAPTER II.

"A holy smile was on her lip,
Whenever sleep was there;
She slept as sleep the blossoms hushed
Amid the silent air."

The sun was peeping through the crevices of the rock-built cottage when
old Dame Belcher, the fortune-teller, awoke on the following morning.

"Well, about time for me to be stirring these old bones," she murmured.
"Good fees last night;" and here she drew a leather bag from beneath her
pillow, and chuckled over its contents; "these little siller pieces will
buy plenty of ribbons and gewgaws for hinny, so she can flaunt with the
best of them at Parson Grey's school. She was asleep here last night
when the young city chaps came, and don't know a word about their visit;
I carried her off in my arms to her own little cot, after they were
gone, and I'll creep into her room a moment now to see if she still
sleeps."

Thus saying, the old woman slipped on her clothes, and, crossing a rude
entry, lightly lifted a latch and entered a small, poor, though very
tidy apartment. A broken table, propped against the rough, unplastered
wall, contained a bouquet of wild flowers tastefully arranged, and
placed in a bowl of clear water, some writing materials, and a few books
piled neatly together. A fragrant woodbine formed a beautiful
lattice-work over the rough-cut hole in the wall which answered for a
window. Two chairs covered with faded chintz, and a small cot-bed
dressed in white, completed the furnishing. On this latter, breathing
softly in her quiet sleep, lay a lovely child, on whose fair, open brow
eleven summers might have shed their roses. The old woman approached,
and with her wrinkled palms smoothed away the heavy masses of chestnut
hair that curled around her childish face.

"Bless it, how it sleeps this morning!" she said, in a low whisper; "but
it must not have its little hands up here;" and she parted the tiny
fingers that were locked above the graceful head, and laid them softly
on the sleeper's breast. "I may as well go, while she sleeps so quietly,
and gather a dish of the crimson berries she loves so well, for her
breakfast; they will be nice with a dish of old Crummie's sweet milk;"
and, pinning a green blanket over her head, the old woman went forth on
her errand.

Meantime the child awoke, and, seeing the sunbeams stealing through the
net-work of vines, and streaming so warm and bright over the rough,
stone floor, started quickly from her couch, and, robing herself in a
pink muslin frock, issued from her room, carolling a happy morning song.
She sat down on a bench before the door of the cottage, and in a few
moments her aunt appeared, bearing in one hand a white bowl filled with
purple berries, and in the other a bucket of milk, all warm and frothing
to the brim.

"O, then you are up, hinny!" she said, on seeing the child; "just look
at what aunty has got for your breakfast. Now, you come in and pick over
the berries with your little, nice, quick fingers, and I'll spread the
table, strain the milk, and bake a bit of oaten cake, and we'll have a
meal fit for a king."

The child obeyed readily, and soon the humble tenants of the rocky
cottage were seated at their simple repast.

"I've some good news to tell you, Annie," said the woman, as she cut
open a light, oaten cake, and spread a slice of rich, yellow butter over
its smoking surface.

"What is it, aunty?" asked the child.

"There was two gentlemen here last night, after you fell asleep on my
bed here, and they gave me lots o' siller for reading their fortunes.
I've got it all here in the leather bag for you, hinny; 'twill buy
plenty of gay ribbons to tie your pretty hair."

"O, I would not use it for that, aunty!" said Annie, quickly.

"What then, child?"

"For something useful."

"And what so useful as to make my Annie look gayest of all the village
lasses?"

"Why, that's no use at all, aunty; I shan't have one more pretty thought
in my head for having a gay ribbon on my hair. Use it, aunty, please, to
buy me some new books, so I can enter the highest class in school when
George Wild does. Mr. Grey says I can read and cipher as well as he,
though I am not so old by two years."

"Well, well, hinny, it shall be as you wish; just like your father,--all
for books and learning,--though your mother leaned that way too. Yes, of
all our family she was always called the lady; and lady she was, indeed,
as fine as the richest of them; but poverty, Annie,--O, 'tis a sad thing
to be poor!"

"We are not poor, aunty," said the child, pouring the sweet milk over
her berries; "only see what nice things we have! this rich milk old
Crummie gives us, and this golden butter, and these light, sweet cakes!
O, aunty! if you would only--only"--and she paused.

"Only what, child?" asked the fond old woman.

"But you won't be angry if I say it?" said the child, a conscious blush
suffusing her lovely features.

"Angry with my darling! no."

"Only not tell any more fortunes, aunty; then we should be so happy."

"Not tell any more fortunes! What ails the child? Why, that's the way
half our living comes; and an easy way to earn it, too; much easier than
to sit and spin on the little linen wheel from morning till night."

"Easier, but not so honorable, is it, aunty?"

"Honorable! Yes, child; what put it into your pretty, curly head that it
was not honorable to read future events and take fees for it?"

"Why, sometimes the girls and boys at school laugh and scorn at me, and
call me the old witch's brat, or the young Scraggiewood seeress, or some
such name," said the child, in a tone of sorrowful regret; "and I've
often wished you would not tell fortunes any more. Learn me how to use
the small wheel, aunty, and all the hours when I'm out of school, I'll
spin fast as I can. I know we could get a very good living without your
telling fortunes; don't you think so, aunty?"

"Why, child, I never thought a word about it," said the old woman,
gazing on the beautiful face upturned to hers, and grown so earnest in
its pleading.

"But you will think to-day, while I'm at school, won't you, aunty? I see
George coming for me, now;" and, moving her chair from the table, she
sprang for her satchel and sun-bonnet as her little play-fellow came
over the stile, calling her name.

"You must have on your shoes this morning, hinny," said her aunt; "there
was a heavy dew last night, and the path is wet."

"Yes," said George, "have them on, Annie, for I want you to go with me
by the brook to get some pretty eglantines I saw last night, nearly
bloomed; they are all out this morning, I know."

Annie was soon equipped, and, with a hearty blessing from Aunt Patty,
they took their way hand in hand toward the village school.

CHAPTER III.

"On sped the seasons, and the forest child
Was rounded to the symmetry of youth;
While o'er her features stole, serenely wild,
The trembling sanctity of woman's truth,
Her modesty and simpleness and grace;
Yet those who deeper scan the human face,
Amid the trial hour of fear or ruth,
Might clearly read upon its Heaven-writ scroll,
That high and firm resolve that nerved the Roman soul."

Through three bright summers had George Wild led Annie Evalyn over the
rough forest path to the village school. They were the only children
residing in Scraggiewood, and, therefore almost constantly together. How
they roamed through the dim old woods in search of moss and wild
flowers, and, in the autumn time, to gather the brown nuts of the
chestnut and beech trees; how many favorite nooks and dells they had, in
which to rest from their ramblings, and talk and tell each other of
their thoughts and dreamings of the life to come! But George would often
say he could not understand all Annie's wild words; he thought her
whimsical and visionary, and it pained him to find her ambitious and
aspiring as her years increased; he would fain have her always a child,
rapt in the enjoyment of the present hour, content and satisfied with
his companionship and aunt Patty's purple berries and oaten cakes,
believing the heaven that closed round Scraggiewood bounded the
universe; for something whispered to his heart, if she went forth into
the wide world, she would not return to him; and he loved her as well as
his indolent nature was capable of loving, and indeed would do a great
deal for her sake. She possessed more power to rouse him to action than
any other person, and she loved him, too, very well,--but very coolly,
very calmly, with a love that sought the good of its object at the
expense of self entirely, for she could bear to think of parting with
him forever, and putting the world's width between them, so he was
benefited and his usefulness increased by the proceeding. And he had
always been her companion and protector. Next to her aunty she ought to
love him; but his mind was not of a cast with hers; he could not
appreciate her dreamy thoughts and aspirations. He was content to fold
his arms, and be floated through life by the tide of circumstances, the
thing he was; but she could not be so; she must trim her sails and stem
the current; within her breast was a spirit that would not be lulled to
slumber, but impelled her incessantly to action; there was a quenchless
thirst for knowledge, unappeased, and it must be slaked.

Mr. Grey, the kind village pastor, who had become deeply interested in
his young pupil during her attendance at the village school, offered to
take her under his charge, and afford her the privilege of pursuing a
course of study with his own daughter, Netta, with whom Annie had formed
a close friendship at school. Aunt Patty said she should be lost without
her "hinny," and George Wild remonstrated half angrily with her, for
going off to leave him alone; but all to no effect--Annie must go.

"But why won't you go with me, George?" she asked, turning her liquid
blue eyes upon his sullen face. "Don't you want to gain knowledge, and
fame, and honor, in the great world, and perhaps some day behold
multitudes bowing in reverence at your feet?"

"No, I want nothing of all this. I've knowledge enough now, and so have
you, if you would only think so. And, as for fame and honor, I believe
I'm happier without them, for I've often heard it remarked, 'increase of
knowledge is increase of misery.'"

"Well, it is not the misery of ignorance," said Annie, proudly. "I am
astonished to hear such sentiments from you, George Wild. I had thought
you possessed a nobler, braver heart than to sit down here beneath the
oaks of Scraggiewood, and waste the best years of your life in sloth and
inaction."

"Why, I've not been sitting alone, have I, Annie?" he asked with an
insinuating smile.

"But you will sit here alone henceforth, if you choose to continue this
indolent life; childhood does not last forever; my child-life is over,
and I am going to work now, hard and earnest."

"For what?"

"_For something noble_; to gain some lofty end."

"Well, I hope you'll succeed in your high-wrought schemes; but for my
part, I see no use in fretting and toiling through this life, to secure
some transitory fame and honor. Better pass its hours away as easily and
quietly as we can."

"We should not live shrunk away in ourselves, but strive to do something
for the benefit and happiness of our species."

"O, well, Annie! if to render others happy is your wish and aim, you
have but to remain here in your humble cottage home, and I'll promise
you you'll do that."

"Why, George," said she, noticing his rueful countenance, "what makes
you look so woe-begone? As if I were about to fly to the ends of the
earth, when I'm only going two little miles to Parson Grey's Rectory,
and promise to walk to Scraggiewood every Saturday evening with you."

"But I feel as if I was going to lose you, Annie, for all that; the
times that are past will never return."

"No; but there may be brighter ones ahead," she answered, hopefully.

George shook his head. None of her lofty aspirations found response in
his bosom; the present moment occupied his thoughts. So the common wants
of life were supplied, and he free from pain and anxiety, he was
content, nor wished or thought of aught beyond. The great world of the
future he never longed to scan, nor penetrate its misty-veiled depths,
and leave a name for lofty deeds and noble actions, that should vibrate
on the ear of time when he was no more.

And thus drifted asunder on the great ocean of life the barks that had
floated on calmly side by side through a few years of quiet pleasure.
They might never spread their sails together again; wider and wider
would the distance grow between them; higher and higher would swell the
waves as they sped on their separate courses; the one light and buoyant
with her freight of noble hopes and dauntless steersman at the helm, the
other without sail or ballast, drifted about at the mercy of winds and
waves.

CHAPTER IV.

"A gentle heritage is mine,
A life of quiet pleasure;
My heaviest cares are but to twine
Fresh votive garlands for the shrine
Where 'bides my bosom's treasure.
I am not merry, nor yet sad,
My thoughts are more serene than glad."

It was a lovely spot, that peaceful vicarage. Tall elms shaded the
sloping roof, and roses and jessamines poured their rich perfume on the
morning and evening air. Here two years of calm, tranquil enjoyment
glided over Annie Evalyn, as she, with unremitting assiduity, pursued
the path of science under the guidance of the good parson. Each day
fresh joys were opening before her, in the forms of newly-discovered
truths. Her faculties developed so rapidly as to astonish her tutor,
wise as he was in experience, and well-taught in ancient and modern
lore.

"Annie," said he, one evening, as they sat together in the family
parlor, "what do you intend to do with all this store of knowledge you
are treasuring up with such eager application?"

She looked up quickly in his face, and a flush for a moment passed over
her usually pale features.

"I know what you would say," he added; "that you think no one can have
_too much_ knowledge--is it not?"

"Do you think one can?" she asked.

"Perhaps not too much well-regulated knowledge; knowledge adapted to an
efficient end and purpose."

Again Annie turned her dark blue, expressive eye full upon his face.

"I mean to put my little store of learning to good use," she said,
thoughtfully.

"Well, so I supposed, Annie. What do you intend to do?"

"Something great and good," she answered, her eye kindling with the
lofty thought within.

"And could you accomplish but one, which should it be?"

"Will not a great thing be a good one also?" she inquired.

He shook his head.

"That does not necessarily follow," he said; "that which is great may
not be good, but remember, Annie, what is _good_ will surely be
_great_."

"I shall consider your words, dear sir," said Annie. "I am much indebted
to you for the privileges your kindness has afforded me, and hope some
day to be able to make a grateful recompense."

"What I do is done freely, my child, and from a sense of duty. Do not
speak of recompense. Has not the companionship you have afforded my
little Netta, to say nothing of myself and sister Rachel, amply repaid
the small trouble your instruction has caused?"

"But you forget in all this I am as much or more the recipient as the
giver. If Netta has found me a tolerable companion, I have found her a
charming one; and all yours and aunt Rachel's teachings--ah! I fear I'm
much the debtor after all," she said, shaking her head, doubtfully, and
smiling in her listener's face with artless simplicity and gratitude.

"No, no, not a debtor, Annie," he said, stroking her bright curls; "I
cannot admit that. Let the benefits be mutual, if you will, nothing
more. I see Netta in the garden gathering flowers. She is a good little
girl, and loves you dearly, though she has none of the brilliancies that
characterize your mind. I do not intend to flatter; go now and join your
friend. I expect a party of western people to visit me to-morrow, and
have some preparations to make for their reception."

Annie bowed, and glided down the gravelled path of the garden. In a
shady bower she found Netta, arranging a bouquet of laurel leaves and
snow-white jessamines.

"O!" she exclaimed, looking up as Annie approached; "there you are, sis.
Now I'll twine you a wreath of these fragrant flowers."

"And I'll twine one for you, Netta," said Annie. "Of what shall it be?"

"Simple primroses or violets; these will best adorn my lowly brow; but
Annie, bright Annie Evalyn, shall wear naught but the proud laurel and
queenly jessamine;" and, giving a twirl to her pretty wreath, she tossed
it over her friend's high, marble-like brow, bestowing a playful kiss on
either cheek as she did so.

"Does it sit lightly, Annie?" she asked.

"Yes, Netta, and now bend in turn to receive my wreath of innocence, not
more pure and lovely than the brow on which it rests."

Netta knelt, and the garland was thrown over her flaxen curls. Thus
adorned, the lovely maidens strolled up the avenue, arm in arm, and made
their way to the study-room, as it was called; a large, airy chamber
fronting the east, situated in a retired portion of the house, to be
removed from noise and intrusion.

"Now you shan't study or write to-night, for who knows when we may have
another quiet evening together? These western friends of father's are
coming to-morrow, and our time and attention will be occupied with them.
I want to hear you talk to-night, Annie. Tell me some of your eloquent
thoughts, your glowing fancies. I'm your poor, little, foolish Netta,
you know."

"You are my dear, dear friend," said Annie, throwing her arms
impulsively round the slender, graceful neck, and kissing the soft young
cheek. "I'm feeling sad and gloomy this evening, and fear I cannot
entertain you with conversation or lively chit-chat."

"Tell me what makes you sad."

"I don't know. Are you never sad without knowing the cause of your
gloomy feelings?"

"No, I think not."

"Well, I am. Often a shadow seems thrown across my spirit's heaven, but
I cannot tell whence it comes; the substance which casts the shade is
invisible. Who are these friends of your father's that are to visit us?"

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