The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 97, November, 1865

V >> Various >> The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 16, No. 97, November, 1865

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To-night, however, I must have betrayed my new mood to the first glance
of her keen eye; for, after the other scholars had stumbled noisily out
of the room, she turned to me, saying,--

"Well, Sandy, often as you have been here, I have never seen your visor
of reserve or diffidence lifted until to-night. Do you mean to let me
share your happiness? Bob Tims has been telling me that the rosy-faced
girl up by Fresh Pond has smiled upon him; and Tracy Waters says he's
'going to hoe his own row next year, and not spend his strength for Dad
any longer': they are both happy in their way, but, mind, I don't expect
such confidences from you, Sandy."

Miss Darry spoke without satire. She sympathized with these rough
natures far more than with many of the more polished whom she met in
society, and I could not withhold my confidence from the cordial smile
and ready ear which waited to receive it.

So I related the incident of the afternoon, revealing unconsciously, I
suppose, many a budding hope, which waited only the warm sun of
opportunity and encouragement to burst into blossom.

"I am very glad for you, Sandy," she said, giving me her hand, as I
concluded. "Your village friends would probably advise you to hoard the
money as so much towards a forge; while others, less judicious than your
new friend, would say, 'Give up your trade, and support yourself by your
brain'; but I say, support yourself by your forge, and let what surplus
power you have be expended on your mind."

And here let me hold the thread of my story a moment, to express my
sense of the wisdom of Miss Darry's advice. It would be well, perhaps,
if more men, when striving to elevate their condition, should still rely
upon the occupation to which they have been trained, as a stepping-stone
to something better. Now and then comes an exceptional character, a
David Grey, who must follow the bent of his genius, and listen so
intently to the melody to which his soul is set that the coarser sounds
of daily toil are dumb for him; but usually the Elihu Burritt who
strikes hard blows with hands and brain alike is the man to achieve
success.

"Your friend may be worth far more to you than his money," continued
Miss Darry, thoughtfully. "He can do much more for you than I, if he
only will."

"Do you know him?" I exclaimed. "Tell me who he is."

"A tall, dark-eyed gentleman, on a magnificent horse," she replied,
playfully. "I shall know him, Sandy, from your description, if I meet
him."

And she placed my crayon-study before me, changing so entirely from
confidential friend to teacher, that I had no resource but to relapse
into my customary shyness.

After the lesson, we consulted as to the purchases to which my money had
best be applied. She offered to buy the books I needed in the city, to
which she was going soon for a visit, but she insisted on supplying me
with drawing-materials as before. Our good-bye was said more cordially
than usual, and I drew on my overcoat and closed the door with the
comfortable feeling that my welfare was becoming a matter of interest to
others besides myself.

CHAPTER IV.

The man who drove over from the hillside with Miss Darry was always
waiting in the sleigh when I went out from my lesson. To-night, however,
he was not to be seen. Supposing he had merely stopped for one more
glass than usual at the tavern, I walked down the street, but, finding
that he did not appear, and disliking to leave Miss Darry alone in the
school-house, so late in the evening, I resolved, as I approached the
turn which led into Main Street, to go back and investigate the matter.
The tavern was beyond the school-house, at a little distance from the
village,--as, indeed, it should have been, to insure sleep to its
quiet-loving inhabitants. As I approached the school-house again, I saw
Miss Darry, warmly muffled for the drive home, walking also in the
direction of the tavern. "She surely cannot know what rough men go
there," I thought, and, conquering my awkwardness, I ran after her.

"Miss Darry!" I cried, when within a few steps of her. She turned, and I
strode to her side. "I am going to the tavern to look after your driver;
it will never do for you to go there alone. Hadn't you better go back to
the school-house and wait for me?" I said.

"You must have a great deal of native gallantry, Sandy. One would
imagine, from your lot in life, you had not been used to seeing women
shielded from disagreeable duties. I will go on with you, and wait
outside," she answered, smiling. So we walked on together.

The sleigh stood before the tavern-door. A warm buffalo was thrown over
the horse, who was, nevertheless, pawing impatiently in the snow, as if
aware that it was time to go home. Asking Miss Darry to get into the
sleigh, for I would not have taken the liberty of assisting her for the
world, I hastened up the low wooden steps, and, pushing open the door,
stood inside the bar-room. I had heard snatches of song, as we drew
near, and, afraid lest they should reach Miss Darry's ear also, I closed
it after me. A few of the village loafers were there, with the addition
of one or two less harmless characters, who, strolling through the
country, had tarried here for refreshment and a frolic: among the latter
was the man for whom Miss Darry was waiting, stretched in a state of
intoxication on the floor. I made my exit as soon as by a glance I
comprehended matters, yet not soon enough to escape the recognition of
the villagers, who cried out, "Come on, Sandy Allen!--don't slink off
that way!--let's have a drink!"

As I stood by the sleigh, explaining to Miss Darry the condition of her
driver, a crowd of the half-drunken fellows came out of the tavern, and
staggered down the path toward us. I had not the courage to offer to
drive her home, but she did not wait for me to grow bolder.

"Jump in, Sandy,--no, not on the front seat,--here by me. I am afraid of
those men. Besides, I want to talk with you."

So I seated myself next her, drew the warm robe over us both, and just
as one of the men attempted to seize the reins, declaring he had himself
promised to carry the lady home, I caught them from him, and we drove
rapidly up the street.

Somehow Miss Darry's confession of a little feminine timidity put me
more at ease with her than I had ever been before. I was a strong,
muscular fellow of nineteen, perfectly able to defend myself in
circumstances of ordinary danger, and proud that a woman so superior to
me should trust in my readiness to protect her. Life and vigor tingled
in every nerve of my body; the clear, stinging winter air, exhilarating
to healthy, as wine is to enfeebled bodies, thrilled me with enjoyment;
and I was seated beside the most intelligent and appreciative companion
I had ever known.

How much of my life, with its restless desires and unsatisfied tastes,
must have revealed itself in that ride, which seemed only too short, as
she asked me to drive up the avenue leading to the stone house, whose
beacon I had looked at that same evening from the forge!

"Do you live here?" I asked, in surprise, as we drove swiftly along.

"Yes, I teach Miss Merton's little sisters."

We had no time for further words. The horse stopped before the house,
whose great hall-door swung open, letting a flood of light stream over
the stone steps. A young girl, wrapped in an ermine cape, ran down to
us, followed by the stranger whose appearance in the forge that
afternoon had created such a tumult in my mind.

The scene was a beautiful one. Every shrub and tree on the lawn was
enveloped in a garment of more dazzling purity than the ermine before
me. The moonlight was radiant, the stars sparkled lustrously in the
steel cold sky, the earth was carpeted and canopied with a beauty more
resplendent than the graceful luxuriance of summer. Miss Darry probably
ascribed my immovable position to artistic enjoyment of the landscape,
for I remained perfectly quiet while she explained the cause of her
detention to Miss Merton.

"We have been quite anxious about you," said the gentleman, as she
concluded; and turning to me, "Why, we are indebted for your safe return
to the young man by whom my horse was shod this evening!"

And before I could stammer a reply, Miss Darry exclaimed,--

"Jump out, if you please, Sandy. I should like to do the same."

I did so, mechanically, and was about to stand aside for the gentleman
to offer his hand, but she extended hers to me, and sprang lightly
beside me.

"You will surely take cold, Alice," said the gentleman, drawing Miss
Merton's hand within his arm, and turning to ascend the steps. Then,
first, I awoke from mingled surprise and admiration sufficiently to say
quietly,--

"I must go home. Good evening."

"Not at all," exclaimed the gentleman, turning round; "it is nearly
twelve o'clock, and I verily believe you think of walking back to Warren
to-night. You must take the horse and sleigh, if you go. Shall he not,
Alice?"

Miss Merton, thus appealed to, replied by saying to me,--

"Come in with us, Mr. Allen, and get warmed at least. I have heard Miss
Darry speak of you as the one of her class in whom she is especially
interested; so you see we are not strangers, after all."

There was no condescension in the gentle voice and smile for even my
sensitiveness to detect. I had never been addressed as Mr. Allen before;
and this of itself would have confused me sometimes, but now I forgot
myself in admiration of her.

That face was of perfect contour. Small and delicately fair, soft bands
of light-brown hair shaded the low, smooth brow and large gray eyes,
and the full red lips were tremulous with varying expression. Her hands
and figure were of the same delicate outline as her face. And as her
cape blew aside, I noticed the violet silk she wore, of that blended
blue and purple so becoming to blondes.

It were surely a narrow view, to ascribe this grace of expression and
manner, so peculiarly womanly, this evident desire to please even,
betrayed in careful attention to the artistic finish and details of
dress, to vanity or coquetry merely,--it is so often the outgrowth of a
beauty-loving nature, to be found in some of the most sensitive and
refined of the other sex.

Looking at Miss Merton, therefore, I seemed to have a vision of what
Annie Bray might become, if she were developed from within and
surrounded from without by that halo of refinement which crowned the
lady before me. Already I was developing an Epicurean taste for that
spirit of beauty which flooded Annie Bray's humble life as well as her
own.

Miss Darry spoke to me, as we went up the steps; but to what I assented
I do not know. I listened to the low tones in front of me. I have always
possessed a preternaturally quick ear; but I confess I might have used
it to better purpose on that occasion.

"Now, Hamilton, of course he must stay all night," she whispered, as she
leaned on the gentleman's arm; "and I want you to make him feel
perfectly comfortable in doing so."

"Certainly, if he will; but pray don't spoil him, Alice, darling.
Because he is a youth of some scholarship, a good deal of refinement,
and develops a talent for drawing, it is no reason he should be made to
forget he's a blacksmith."

"It is too late for theories to-night, Hamilton," she replied,
playfully. "I have none, you know, like you and Frank Darry. I only wish
to treat him considerately. _We_ can afford to forget distinctions which
undoubtedly seem a great barrier to him. If he stays, he shares our
hospitality like any other guest."

The answer I did not catch. I had heard enough, however, to feel both
grateful and irritated.

I went in and warmed myself by the coal-fire in the library. I looked
covertly at books and Miss Merton while toasting my hands, and answered
intelligently, I believe, Mr. Hamilton Lang's questions as to the
village and my pursuits there. I did not neglect to speak a few cordial,
yet respectful, words to Miss Darry, at parting; but all I clearly
recall is the fact that I insisted upon going home that night, and that
Miss Merton, kindly offering to lend me any books I could find time to
read, laid her little hand in my rough palm at parting.

CHAPTER V.

There was a variety-store on Main Street, with "JANE DINSMORE" painted
in letters of mingled blue and orange on the sign above its door. Miss
Dinsmore boarded in one of those green lanes whose inhabitants formed
the second circle of Warren society. To this fact it may have been
partly due that she was less appealed to than Mrs. Bray on all questions
of social etiquette; but undoubtedly a more sufficient reason was to be
found in Miss Dinsmore herself, who, though more beloved than any other
woman in the village, had a suppressed, quiet manner, not at all adapted
for leadership. Her reputation was that of having been a pretty, giddy
young girl, a farmer's daughter; but some great crisis had swept over
her life, muffling all the tinkling melodies, the ringing laugh, the
merry coquettings of the village belle. It was rumored that the old
story of disappointed love had changed the current of her life. Jenny
Dinsmore, though humbly born and bred, had been fastidious; the uncouth
advances of her rustic admirers were not agreeable to her; and so the
romance of the fresh young heart was expended on a college youth, who
found his way to Warren from classic halls for the renovation of
physical and moral health, and who, attracted by her pretty face and
figure, made his rustication less burdensome by devotion to her.

Jenny had not one of those weak natures whose influence dies away in
absence. She had inherited some of the old farmer's sturdy traits of
character, and her affections had a clinging tenacity of hold which
would not suffer the young scholar to throw her off so easily. When he
returned to college, he walked the grounds more than once, summoning
through the avenues of embowering elms the slender figure, the smiling
face, with the glow of the setting sun upon it, which had so often
awaited his coming at the stile of the old orchard.

However, parental authority, and the prospect of an ample fortune on
good behavior, soon convinced the young man of his folly. Let us be
thankful, who note this brief sketch of their mingled fortunes, that he
had a tender care for Jenny's trusting nature, and removed the sting
from the sorrow he inflicted by making her believe it inevitable. Thus
this little wellspring of romance forever watered and kept fresh her
otherwise withered life; if subdued, she was not bitter; and no one can
tell how the thin, wan face renewed its youth, and the wrinkled cheeks
their pinkish bloom, caught in that far-off spring-time in her father's
orchards, as, sitting in her solitary room, she remembered the man, now
occupying a prominent position in life, who said, as he bade her
tenderly good-bye, that he would never forget her, no matter what woman
reigned by his fireside, or what children played on his hearth. Perhaps,
in his stately library, no book was so welcome on a winter's evening as
an idyl of rural life, no picture so pleasing as that of some Maud
Muller raking hay or receiving the dumb caresses of the cows she milked.

What would the elegant woman, with her costly jewels, India shawls, and
splendid equipage, have thought of this whilom rival, who issued every
summer morning from the lane, in her hand a bunch of those simple
flowers, occupying, as she did, the border-ground between the wild
hemlock and honeysuckle of the wilderness and the exotic of the
parterre, the bachelor's-button, mulberry-pink, southernwood, and
bee-larkspur, destined to fill a tumbler on an end of the counter where
she displayed her most attractive goods?

She prided herself upon the tastefulness and variety of her selections:
ribbons and gowns, pins, needles, soap, and matches for all; jars of
striped candy for well, and hoarhound for sick children; and a little
fragrant Old Hyson and San Domingo for venerable customers. She walked
about gently; was never betrayed into any bustle by the excitement of
traffic; liked all sweet, shy, woodland natures, from Annie Bray to
squirrels; and contracted an affection for me because of my diffidence
and devotion to the former.

Whenever she came to the cottage, she poured oil upon the turbulent
waters of its domestic life; coaxed up Amos as daintily and charily as a
child would proffer crumbs to a bear in a menagerie; pleased Mrs. Bray
by accounts of her city shopping; and petted Annie, giving her
occasionally, in a shy way, some bow or bit of silk, of an especially
brilliant hue, which had caught her eye in town. She was a very useful
member of the Methodist Society, for she had always innumerable odds and
ends for pin-cushions and needle-books; and although her religious
experiences did not seek those stormy channels which the Reverend Mr.
Purdo believed to have been elected for the saints, yet her sympathies
were so ready, her heart so kind, that, when he saw her after a day of
activity collect her bunch of flowers again in her hand, and start, as
she often did, for one of the lanes or outlying farms, to watch through
the night with some sick woman or child, he was fain to remember that
"faith without works is dead."

Miss Dinsmore's store was exceedingly attractive to the young people of
the village. She lent a cordial ear to every matrimonial scheme; was
quite willing that all preliminaries for such arrangements should be
settled within her precincts; and many a tender word and glance,
doubtless, received its inspiration from a conspicuous stand for
bonnets, whose four pegs were kept supplied with those of Miss
Dinsmore's own manufacture, originally white, but so seldom demanded for
village wear that the honey-moon in Warren shed its pale yellow beams on
this crowning article of bridal attire long before it was donned by the
happy wearer. These bonnets were severally labelled on modest slips of
paper, after city nomenclature, "Bridal Hat"; and Miss Dinsmore would on
no account have parted with them for any less occasion, however festive;
so that one consulting her stand had as accurate a knowledge of
impending marriages as could have been obtained from the
"publishing-list" of the "meeting-house."

Moreover, Miss Dinsmore herself was laboring under that hallucination,
not infrequent with maiden ladies rather advanced, that her own
spring-time was perennial; and though by no means disposed to displace
the hero of her youth from his supremacy in her heart, she yet accepted,
with the ordinary feminine serenity, gallant attentions from youths over
whose infant slumbers she had, in times of domestic disturbance, often
presided. Hence it happened that the "Variety Store" often afforded the
first introduction to Warren society; indeed, so sharp was the rivalry
between it, as a lounging-place, and the tavern, that, when a youth was
won over from the bar-room to its counter fascinations, his work of
regeneration was regarded by Mr. Purdo as begun; and the walk round the
corner to the parsonage (which Miss Dinsmore's hats suggested) made his
calling and election sure.

Entering the store, therefore, on one of my leisure evenings, I was not
surprised to find there a number of Miss Darry's class, and the Reverend
Mr. Purdo himself, who had evidently walked in to discover what young
men had sowed their wild oats and were seeking the "strait and narrer
path" between Miss Dinsmore's counter and the wall. Mr. Purdo was of
middle height, and portly; and there was such a sombre hue about the
entire man,--black suit of clothes, jet-black hair, eyebrows, and
eyes,--that it was a relief to find that Nature had relented in her
mourning over making him, and bestowed a sallow complexion, which strove
to enliven his aspect by an infusion of orange. He greeted me with a
mild and forgiving manner, which at once reminded me of the quiet
strolls I occasionally preferred, on a pleasant Sunday, to a prolonged
sitting and homily in the church; but I was glad of his presence, since
it would be likely to restrain the boisterous mirth of the young men,
when I should make known my errand.

Since seeing Miss Merton, my imagination had been so filled with the
idea of how complete a transformation Annie Bray would undergo, if only
the ugly garments she wore could be pulled away like weeds from her
sweet, flower-like beauty, that I resolved to expend a part of my money
in buying her a dress. With diffidence, therefore, I made known my wish
to Miss Dinsmore, who responded at once with a ready comprehension of
the whole matter.

"I know jest what'll suit you, Sandy. Nothin' like vi'let for blue eyes
and yeller hair; my own was like June butter once, but of course it's
been darker since I've grown up" (Miss Dinsmore's gold was fast becoming
silver); "Sary Ann's is changin', too, I see. Miss Bray says she isn't
over-fond of stirrin' round; and I shouldn't wonder if 't was so. Sary
Ann don't look no more like workin' than a buttercup; but then, as I
tell Miss Bray, corn is made for usin' and flowers for starin' at, and I
don't know as any special sign is set on either of 'em to show which is
the best. Don't mind them youngsters, Sandy; they're always pretty
chipper of an evenin'. You see, I've measured off this piece of
calico,--nine yard and a finger; if you like it, seein' it's for you and
Annie, and a remnant, I'd want it to go cheap."

It was as near the shade of Miss Merton's dress as the coarser material
could copy it; and with all the embarrassment of a novice in such
matters, I signified my wish to take it, when the door swung open to
admit Annie Bray herself, who had come to make some trifling purchase
for her mother.

"All right, Sandy; we'll settle some other time," whispered Miss
Dinsmore, quite aware that I should scarcely like to make so public a
presentation of my gift, and quietly concealing it in a sheet of
wrapping-paper, while Annie, surprised and pleased at seeing me,
approached the counter.

"Bless your sweet face, it isn't often I see it of an evenin'," was Miss
Dinsmore's welcome to her favorite.

"Beauty's but a witherin' flower," said Mr. Purdo, by way of
professional improvement of the occasion, and pointing the remark by a
glance at Miss Dinsmore, whose early bloom he undoubtedly remembered.
"Still it's cause for great gratitude, Sary, that your cheeks are so
rosy,"--here a general laugh warned him of the dangerous admission, and
he added,--"it shows you're healthy, and that's a most aboundin'
blessin'."

"That's so!" exclaimed Tracy Waters. "You're mighty pretty now, Sary
Ann; and it a'n't no use to look ahead to the time when you won't be, is
it?"

Annie's cheeks glowed more deeply still now. She was accomplishing her
errand as quickly as possible; and while Miss Dinsmore tied up her
parcel, Tracy Waters bent over her, whispering. It may have been only
that "innate gallantry" alluded to by Miss Darry that made me reprove
his evidently unwelcome admiration.

"Annie is a shy little thing. Don't you see, Tracy, that she doesn't
like flattery?" I exclaimed, angrily approaching them.

"I see pretty plain that you don't want her to have it from any other
fellow than yourself," he answered, roughly. "Miss Annie," he added, in
imitation of my manner, "supposin' I see you home?"

But I pushed past him and went out of the store with her.

"He says I am to be his little wife by-and-by," said Annie, a most
unusual expression of disgust and alarm ruffling the quiet serenity of
her face; "but that can never be, unless I wish it, can it, Sandy?"

"I should think not, indeed," I answered, smiling at her earnestness.
"When he speaks of it again, tell him I want you myself."

"That would be a good way to stop him," she replied, accepting
graciously this solution of her present difficulty.

CHAPTER VI.

Miss Darry, knowing I could borrow books at Hillside, and that those
which I already possessed were the old English classics, bought for me
in the city only a Greek Grammar, through whose intricacies she proposed
to be my guide, and a box of water-colors, and brought to me some lives
of the old painters from Miss Merton's library.

She bewildered my mind by telling me of all there was in store for it in
the way of work and study. Her interest in my progress seemed to have
received a new impetus from her visit in town. She described the rooms
where were casts of legs and arms, heads and groups of figures, to which
I might one day have access, with the privilege of copying; and in
return I showed her two crayon sketches I had made in her absence.
Michel Angelo might have relished the knotty, muscular development of
the arm I showed her first. If there is beauty and satisfaction in
coarse brute strength, this member of my master's body was worthy of all
praise. On another sheet I had drawn, by way of contrast, Annie's
delicately small and fair, but round, arm and hand, which might have
served in her infancy as models for those of one of Raphael's cherubs.
She liked them both, and said that I should do as well, perhaps, in the
school of Nature as anywhere, for the present.

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