University of Virginia Library

40. CHAPTER XL.

On the confines of this highland solitude stood a
comfortable-looking farm-house, with only the usual
complement of sheds and barns; but, on approaching
near enough to peep within its belt of maples and elms,
a splendid sign was revealed to the delighted eye of the
weary traveller, promising “good entertainment for
man and beast. Thus invited, Everard and Cora
sought admission, and were received with a very civil
nod from the portly host, who sat smoking his pipe by
the window, “thinking of nothing at all;” at least so
said his face, while his great dog lay just outside, ready
to bark at customers.

The cognomen of this worthy transplanted Yankee,
—the landlord, not the dog,—was, as the sign assured
the world, Bildad Gridley; and the very tall, one-eyed
“ottomy” who sat knitting by the other window, was
addressed by him as “Miss Dart.” Mr. Gridley, a
widower, in the decline of life, and “Miss Dart,” a
poor widow, who, in return for a comfortable home,
assisted his daughter Arethusa to do “the chores.”
There was yet another member of the family, Mr.

Gridley's son Ahasuerus, but he had not yet appeared.
Miss Arethusa was a strapping damsel, in a “two-blues”
calico, and a buff gingham cape, with a towering
horn comb stuck on the very pinnacle of her head,
and a string of gold beads encircling her ample neck.

The arrival of our city travellers, at this secluded
public, produced at first quite a sensation. Few passengers,
save the weary pedlar, or the spruce retailer
of books, clocks, or nutmegs, found their way to these
penetralia of Nature. Now and then, indeed, some
wandering sportsman, or some college student picturesquing
during his fall vacation, or perhaps a party
of surveyors, rested for a night at the Moon and Seven
Stars; but usually, although those much bedaubed
luminaries had given place to “an exact likeness,” as
said Mr. Gridley, “of Giner'l Lay-Fyette,” with his
name, as was most meet, in yellow letters below the
portrait, the house was as silent as if it had not borne
the ambitious title of an inn, and the farming business
went on with scarcely an occasional interruption.

But now the aspect of things was materially changed.
Everard had signified his desire to remain in so beautiful
a spot for a week or two at least, provided Mr.
Gridley could board—himself “and—and—this lady,”
he added, for he could not call Cora his wife, though
he tried.

The landlord, with a scrutinizing glance at poor
Cora, said he rather guessed he could accommodate
them for a spell; and then went to consult the other
powers. Our “happy pair,” each tormented by an
undefined sense of anxiety and conscious wrong, which
neither was willing to acknowledge to the other,

awaited the return of honest Bildad with a tremblement
de cœur, which they in vain endeavoured to overcome.
At length his jolly visage reappeared, and they
were much relieved to hear him say in a more decided
tone than before, “Well, sir! I guess we can 'commodate
ye.”

And here, how I might moralize upon the humbling
effects of being naughty, which could make these
proud young citizens, who had felt so wondrously well-satisfied
with their own dignity and consequence only
a week before, now await, with fearful apprehension,
the fiat of a plain old farmer, who, after all, was only
to board and lodge them. The old gentleman had
such a fatherly look, that both Everard and Cora
thought of their own papas; and now began to reflect
that may be these papas might not after all see the
joke in its true light. But neither of them said such
a word, and so I shall pass the occasion in silence.

They were shown to a small white-washed room on
the second floor, possessing one window, guiltless of
the paint brush, now supported by means of that
curious notched fixture called a button, so different
from the article to which the title of right belongs. A
bed adorned with a covering on which the taste of the
weaver had expatiated, in the production of innumerable
squares and oblongs of blue and white; a very
diminutive and exceedingly rickety table stained red;
a looking-glass of some eight inches breadth, framed in a
strip of gorgeous mahogany, and showing to the charmed
gazer a visage curiously elongated cross-wise, with
two nondescript chairs, and an old hair trunk, bearing
the initials “B. G.” described in brass nails on its

arched top, constituted the furniture of the apartment.

Cora busied herself in arranging things as well as
she could, Mr. Gridley called her “quite a handy young
woman, considering she had n't been brought up to nothing;”
and while this employment lasted, she managed
to maintain a tolerable degree of cheerfulness; but
when all was done, and she paused to look around her,
such a tide of feelings rushed upon her, that her pride
at length gave way, and sitting down on the old trunk,
she buried her face in her lap, and burst into a passion
of tears.

Everard tried to comfort her as well as he could,
but his own heart was overcharged; and after a few
ineffectual efforts, he threw himself on the floor at her
side, and wept almost as heartily as she did. As soon
as his feelings were relieved by this overflowing of
nature, he felt heartily ashamed of himself, and lifting
Cora to the window, insisted that she should look out
upon the glorious prospect which it commanded. She
struggled to regain her low seat, that she might indulge
to the uttermost this paroxysm of remorse and misgiving;
but he pursued his advantage, and held her before
the window till the fresh breeze had changed the current
of her sad thoughts, and thrown her rich curls into
a most becoming confusion; and then, reaching the
eight inch mirror, held it suddenly before her still
streaming eyes. And now, like true boy and girl,
they were both seized with incontrollable laughter, and
sat down and enjoyed it to the uttermost.

“How foolish we look,” said Cora at length. Oh,
Everard! if mamma—” but at that word her pretty

eyes began to fill again, and Everard declared she
should not say another word.

“Let us take a walk,” said he, one of your own long
rambling walks. You know we have yet to find a
spot lovely enough for you to live in.” And the volatile
girl was all gaiety in a moment.

They were on their return after a very long ramble,
when they came to a dell deep enough to make one
think of listening to the talkers in Captain Symmes'
world; and this Cora declared to be the very home of
her dreams. This and none other should be her
“forest sanctuary;”—Qu. What was she flying from?—
here should the cottage stand, under whose lowly roof
was to be realized, all of bliss that poet ever painted.

Oh? it was too delicious! and all the good thoughts
took flight again.