The arrow of gold, or, The shell gatherer a story that unfolds its own mysteries and moral |
 |
KATY'S HUSBAND. |
 | The arrow of gold, or, The shell gatherer |  |
KATY'S HUSBAND.
BY EMILY R. PAGE.
Sunshine, the rich, red sunshine of the early
morning is drifting brightly into the broad valley
where merry Katy Ingols lives; resting goldenly
on the quaint, steep roof of the old farm-house;
running laughingly along by the border
of the deep wood, whose bosom is heavy and
dense with eternal shadow; or laying lazily upon
the green before the cottage door, where clusters
of bright king-cups and purple violets grow
thick among the short, tender grass.
Yonder, at the foot of the long lane, where
the oak boughs meet and cross each other overhead,
and where great spangles of dew glisten
among the nibbled and trampled clover knots, is
the fair Miss Katy herself, sitting on a low stool
beside her favorite brindle, and humming a pleasant
air, that seems to have something of a slower
and sadder tone than her usual rippling trill.
The little bonneted head is bowed demurely at
her task, shutting out even a glimpse of the
pretty face, with its full, pouting lips and sparkling
black eyes, except, now and then, when
Brindle stretches her neck impatiently forward,
and snuffs longingly at a fresh sprig of grass
beyond her reach, and then a musical voice calls
out, “So, so, Brindle,” in the gentlest of tones,
and the uplifted head reveals a tear or two on
the bright face, and a very troubled look in the
restless eyes.
What can have clouded Katy's sunny spirits?
Katy, the wildest, merriest gipsey in the whole
village—who is never tired of saying and doing
odd things for everybody's amusement, and never
so happy as when planning extravagant games,
to be played off at some unfortunate offender's
expense! Sprightly, laughing, roguish Katy—
disturbing the gravity of staid mammas and
spectacled papas, and upsetting the propriety of
prim, young ladies, and bringing low the pride
of the cane-flourishing, checked-pantalooned
young sprigs of the neighboring town! Everybody's
sunbeam, everywhere welcome, the universal
favorite among the old and young of Upton,
what can make Katy unhappy? And if she
isn't unhappy, what is the meaning of that rueful
visage and quivering lip? It is strange.
Poor Katy!
Perhaps that most petulant and ill-natured of
bodies, Katy's step-mother, has been overturning
the phials of her hatred upon her devoted head,
and making her the victim of some newly devised
plan of injustice or unkindness; but no!
that cannot have saddened Katy, for she always
laughs when her step-mother storms, and keeps
quietly about her duties, growing merrier and
more mischievous than ever. So, once more,
what can have made Katy unhappy?
Just as busily she keeps at her task, humming
nothing for our curiosity; so we are not
likely to learn the secret from her. But perhaps
the handsome youth, with the fine hazel eyes
and curling locks, who is leaning thoughtfully
over the rails yonder, and looking so tenderly,
and, it seems to us, regretfully, at busy Kate, in
her modest gown and sun-bonnet—perhaps he
can explain the mystery of the clouded face and
tearful eyes.
Ah! yes, we have it now. It is a love affair,
dear reader—a real love affair, our word upon
it, for no less a power than wicked Cupid's could
have wrought such mischief with merry, way-ward
Katy. There is confession in the very
raptures of the young man's gaze, as his eyes
are bent so fixedly, and with a look of such tender
sadness, upon the little form before him.
Yes, yes, it is all plain enough now; he it is
who has stolen into the fold of Miss Katy's affection,
and the sombre face, with its funeral-like
aspect, is in one way or another ascribable
to him, we're sure of it, and, in good sooth, we
do not wonder, for he is a country youth, with
an honest, intelligent face, and an air of graceful
ease, that speaks of cultivation and good breeding.
Suddenly a movement of Katy's arouses him,
and placing his hand on the topmost round of
the rustic bars, he springs lightly over, and
steals cautiously up behind the unwary damsel,
in whose shiny tin pail the foamy milk is rising
higher and higher, till now it is almost overflowing.
As Katy pushed aside the rough stool, and
stooped to lift the brimming pail, a quiet “good
morning, Katy,” was spoken in the richest of
voices, just by her side, and a hand, stronger and
browner than hers, relieved her of her burden.
“O, Ben, how could you frighten me so sadly?”
said startled Katy, with a woefully deprecatory
look, which ended with a smile and a blush
that made her tenfold more bewitching than before.
“But where are you going?” she added,
looking wonderingly at the nicely starched linen,
and fine holiday suit, in place of the accustomed
straw hat and checked frock of the farmer.
The young man looked grave, in spite of a
prodigious effort to appear cheerful, and drawing
his fair questioner aside, under the shadows
of the great trees that bordered the lane, said,
hastily:
“Katy, I have come to bid you good-by. In
half an hour I shall be on my way to New York,
to take passage in the first steamer outward
bound for San Francisco.”
There was a slight pause, and Katy's face
grew very pale, and her voice had a tone of reproach,
as she asked:
“Why didn't you speak of this last night,
Ben?”
“Ah, my child, 'twas for the very purpose
that I wished you to meet me at the beech
grove, intending to tell you all, but whenever I
touched upon the subject—as you know I once
or twice did—you grew so sad and silent that
my heart misgave me, and I was fain to go
away with all my bright plans unrevealed, and
the farewells, which more than all else I had
come to utter, unspoken. But we will not let
that trouble us now, Katy. My lack of courage
to say what my heart would have bidden me,
has perhaps spared us both a deal of unnecessary
trouble. We have no time now for useless regrets,
and it is, no doubt, better that it is so.”
And the young man tried to look philosophical
and resigned, but the traitor hand which
smoothed the short, crisp curls of the little
bright head that lay on his shoulder, had a
quick, nervous motion that betrayed every whit
of the agitation he was struggling to conceal.
“Promise me once more, dear Katy, that you
will not be sad when I am gone—that nothing,
not even the mistaken kindness of a father, shall
turn your heart from me; and let me return to
find you the same true, loving Katy that I now
leave you.”
“I do, I do!” sobbed Katy; and folding her
for a moment to his breast, the farewell kiss was
given and received, and with a murmured “God
bless you, my child!” the young man turned
quickly away.
Re-crossing the bars with a light bound, and
resuming his valise—which he had left under the
shadow of the wall, he soon gained the main
road, and then walked briskly forward towards
the nearest railway station.
Meanwhile, Katy, who dared not to be absent
from the morning meal, bathed her swollen eyes
in the rude drinking-trough, where Brindle had
just plunged her brown nose, and hurriedly drying
these with the corners of her apron, lifted
her full pail, and walked wearily up the lane.
Presently the unmusical voice of her step-mother
screamed forth a shrill “Kat-i-ee,” and
quickening her steps, she soon passed under the
low archway of the old wood-house, and disappeared
at the little back door.
Farmer Ingols was a plodding, practical, old-fashioned
body, treading reverently in the steps
of his father before him, and never venturing
out of the path in which he had walked. Knowing
little of the outward world, beyond the rustic
pale of the simple village where he lived, he
set his face resolutely and decidedly against
whatever bore the stamp of modernism, and
looked on with placid contempt as one after
another of the old landmarks were swept down,
and improvement upon improvement crept up to
his very door.
Out of the way as he was of the great whirl
of tireless action, where change succeeds change
with the rapidity of thought, and invention and
discovery are continually crowding out the old,
it was scarcely strange that the ripples of this
ceaseless outer-current, which stole in upon the
quaint neighborhood of Upton, and gradually
spread wider and wider about him, should be regarded
with surprise and suspicion; yet, with
the primitive notions that seemed to have grown
up with the man, till they formed part and parcel
of his nature, had he lived in the very heart
of progression, with the din, and rush, and jostle
of the onward movement around him, he
would still have steeled his heart, and closed his
eyes, and gone on in the beaten track, feeling
that any deviation therefrom would be a reflection
upon the venerated wisdom of those who
had been pioneers in the way.
Thus obstinately conservative was Farmer Ingols;
yet he was kind hearted and generous natured,
and withal an upright and honest man—
rigidly correct in principle, but weak, unsound
and wavering in judgment—easily biased and
overborne, yet in his prejudices, strong, bitter
and unrelenting.
Such a man was the father of Katy Ingols.
Long ago, while Katy was a golden-haired baby,
ere Ingols Farm had as many broad acres and
smiling orchards as now, the wife of his early
choice, his guide and counsellor, and guardian
angel, from whose tender pleadings he never
turned aside impatiently, and to whose gentle
voice and look of love he yielded all the sternness
of his nature—she was gathered from his
bosom, her hand was stayed in its labors, and
her smile was darkened away from his heart,
leaving him a lonely, sorrowful widower, and
Katy—little, unconscious, baby Katy—a motherless
orphan.
Years crept on, and when the leaves of seven
autumns had faded and drifted into lonesome
furrows over the buried Mary, and another came
to the old farm-house as the wife of its master,
and the mother of his darling Katy, who had
grown a laughing, roguish maiden, people gossiped
and wondered, and found it passing strange
that he should have given the place of the gentle
being, whom he had loved and lost, to one so
widely unlike her; for the now Mrs. Ingols was
a cold-hearted, scheming, ambitious woman,
whom many accused of manœuvre and deceit
in securing her position as mistress at Ingols
Farm.
Certain it is that her strange self-will, joined
with great perseverance, gained for her many
contested points, as Farmer Ingols soon discovered,
to his sorrow; for what with her unconquerable
energy of purpose, and irresistible violence
of temper, the reins of government very
shortly passed from his hands into her own.
But O, how different was the power which ruled
him now, from the mild, persuasive influence to
which he had once yielded himself as to the guidance
of an angel!
Ah! very little affection did the new wife
waste upon her husband, and still less upon the
innocent orphan, Katy, who danced in and out
of her presence like a sunbeam, for in her heart
she hated the sweet child, whom she had sworn
to cherish and care for, even as a mother, because
she was more beautiful and sprightly than
her own little girl, the offspring of a former
marriage, who was scarcely a year younger than
Katy, but whom an injurious system of diet and
over indulgence had made pale, sallow, and
nerveless.
Many were the bitter words and unmerited reproofs
that Katy suffered, and oftentimes the
disobedience and misconduct of the little Adelaide
were attributed to her, and punished with
cruel severity; but Katy was too sunny-tempered,
and too careless and happy, to mind much
for her step-mother's injustice; and so she lived
on, flitting like a butterfly from year to year, till
at last she was grown a pretty young lady, the
pride and belle of the neighborhood, and, at the
opening of our story, the pledged wife of the
richest and most gallant young farmer in the
whole country.
But he, handsome, gay Ben Miller, just at
this interesting stage of affairs, had, oddly
enough, conceived a strange whim to try his fortunes
in the golden land of California, and such
a mania did it become, that no amount of persuasion
nor entreaty could induce him to abandon
alone, with only him left to comfort and support
her, pleaded vainly that for her sake, he would
relinquish so insane a scheme.
His friends ridiculed his cupidity, thinking, in
their honest simplicity, that one who was superior
in point of possessions to all the thriving
yeomanry round about, needed nothing more to
complete the measure of worldly wealth.
But Ben had tired of the hum-drum life of a
farmer, and if success attended this new project,
as he firmly believed it would, he resolved to relinquish
it forever. Besides, he had a keen relish
for the novel, and a fearless, daring spirit,
that courted rough seas and rude gales, rather
than the placid wave and the calm sky, and
there was something irresistible in the thought
of the wild, free life of hazard and hardship that
he would lead away among the rocks and rivers,
and savage fastnesses of that untamed land,
where, in imagination, he had so often pitched
his tent.
There was but one bitter drop in the cup
which he raised to his lips, and that was the
thought of leaving the little sunny maiden, who
had wound herself so closely around all the
fibres of his heart; but he reflected that he
would soon return, with wealth, that rare auxiliary
of worth, sufficient to place her in a situation
better suited to her gifts and graces than the
one she now occupied, and this thought re-assured
and gave him new courage.
Yes, he had set his heart upon going, and he
would go; so, seeing his determination, and feeling
that it would be useless to oppose it, Miss
Katy wisely resigned herself to his caprice, and
even favored it with her approval, because she
knew well that so long as his love of adventure
remained ungratified, he would be restless, discontented
and unsettled; and, although this
sage conclusion of Katy's clouded her bright
spirits for many a day, yet she felt it to be for
the best, and had too much good sense to yield
to fruitless repinings or regrets. Not so with
Katy's father!
What could be more directly in opposition to
all his ancient conservative prejudices than this
present movement of the young man, upon
whom he had so recently smiled as the favored
suitor of his daughter? He was amazed and
horror-stricken as he listened to a recital of Ben's
intentions, and assuring the youngster that he
must be quite out of his wits, positively refused
the paternal sanction to his union with Katy un
less he remained at home, cared dutifully for his
mother, and kept at work like a rational man, to
improve the lands which he had inherited!
Many were the wise maxims which Farmer
Ingols quoted to sustain his point, ending at
length with the firm declaration that he, to
whom he gave his daughter, must be a man of
steady, industrious habits, in whose future sobriety
and prosperity he could feel entire confidence.
Of course this stipulatory consent was a very
serious matter with Ben, until Katy, herself, assured
him of her conviction that a successful
trip to the mining regions, resulting in the acquirement
of a few additional thousands, would
do wonders towards dissipating the very violent
prejudices of her thrift-loving parent, who, like
most matter-of-fact men, had a great leaning towards
the substantial and the palpable, and a
profound contempt for whatever appeared visionary,
or in the least unreal.
Thus assured, Ben proceeded at once to make
arrangements for his immediate departure, which,
however, he found could not be as speedily effected
as he had hoped; for there were tenants
to be secured, and directions to be given, and
disposals to be attended to, and provision to be
made for his mother's comfort. But at last all
were completed, and with a few kind words of
parting, uttered hurriedly under the shadow of
the great trees in the lane, and one long kiss on
Katy's quivering lips, he had gone, and Katy
went busily about her morning duties, crushing
back the gathering tears, and hiding her sorrow
away in her heart, wickedly resolving that she
would be just as gay, and wild, and merry, as
though there were no such bodies as truant lovers
in the world!
Now and then there flitted a little shadow over
the sunshine of her face, and now and then there
was, to be sure, a dreamy look in her eyes, as
she replied to some question of her step-mother's
with an answer quite foreign to the subject; but
it was scarcely noticed, or, if at all, no one suspected
its cause, and when the dinner-hour arrived,
and she seated herself in her accustomed
place, it was with a comfortable feeling of relief,
like that of the actor-novice, who has played
successfully his first part. Mistaken Katy!
Little did she know how unseasonable were her
congratulations! But the hour of trial was yet
to come!
“Waal,” commenced Farmer Ingols, as with
fork plunged to its horny handle in the smoking
between the obstinate bones, he sawed away
very vigorously upon the steaming shoulder of
mutton; “waal, they say young Miller has
cleared out, after all! Run away, I should call
it; as good as that! People ginally—so Captain
Busybody says—don't think he'll ever come
back agin. He's hired Parson Goodman and
his wife to live up there with his mother, and
take care on her two years sartin, and I guess
folks don't know how much longer!”
Here the worthy old gentleman seated himself,
and commenced deliberately filling the six empty
plates that were successively passed to him, as
he continued:
“He's showed himself to be a silly, wuthless
feller, anyhow, leavin' a good home like hisn,
and one that he could allers be sure on, to go
clean off to that humbug California, amongst
the Injuns and bears. It tells just what he is,
though. I don't want to know him no better'n I
do now!” said he, stirring his tea with considerable
energy, and gradually warming with his increased
interest in the subject, as he proceeded:
“Here he's got the best farm in Upton—everything
about in fust rate order—buildin's and
fences in good repair—owns the best stock of
cattle in the country, and there's nothin' to hinder
him from bein' independently rich if he'd
only stay to home and tend to his business like
an honest man. But I'm proper glad I squared
off matters pretty even between him and Katy,
here, and,” as he helped himself to a very large
potato from the bowl standing just by her plate,
he looked with an expression of immense self-commendation
full in her face, which was crimson
with tell-tale blushes, belieing the apparent
unconcernedness with which she listened. But
Farmer Ingols was quite blind—wilfully so, perhaps—to
her agitation, and added, decisively:
“No gal of mine shall ever marry sich a rakish,
unstiddy feller as he, with my consent!”
“You'd better thought of that and said it long
afore, I guess,” sharply remarked Mrs. Ingols,
with an air of majestic indifference. “I allers
told ye no good would come of him,” and so,
indeed, Mrs. Ingols always had; for how could
she be expected to see any merit in a young gentleman
who could pass by her own attractive
lady-daughter, to pay his court to such an unwomanly
romp as Miss Katy?
Yes, Mrs. Ingols had always raised her voice
against him; for it was an exceeding bitter disappointment,
both to her maternal love and
pride, that the pretty white house yonder, in the
valley, and its handsome owner, over both of
which she had once fondly hoped to see her
idolized Adelaide mistress and manager, should
have been virtually surrendered to the possession
of another; and she never forgave either Ben
or her step-child, that they had so ordained it.
It was in part through her influence, perhaps,
that Farmer Ingols had been led to a just appreciation
of the worthlessness of the young man's
character, so manifested in his unfortunate inclination
to forsake the employment of his father's,
and, in defiance of ancient custom, go abroad!
At all events, however, little interest she suffered
herself to manifest in the matter; she secretly
rejoiced in the knowledge of the young man's
departure, involving, as it did, the refusal of
Katy's hand by the obdurate parent; and she
hoped, by clever management, to ensure its early
bestowal elsewhere, that thus she might provide
at last a chance of securing the returning Californian
for her dowerless daughter!
So she reasoned, as she addressed herself diligently
to the well-filled plate before her, now and
then pausing, and gravely sipping her fragrant
Souchong—for the Ingols had always preserved
the time-honored practice of serving up tea at
dinner—and the remainder of the meal was completed
in silence, much to the relief of poor
Katy, who stole quickly away from the table,
and gliding unobserved from the house, was
soon hidden among the heavy shrubbery, midway
down the lane, where, but a few hours before,
she had been fondly clasped to the manly
bosom of her lover, and leaning her head against
the mossy trunk of an old tree, and burying her
face in her hands, she burst into a passion of
tears, which she could no longer restrain.
A few months had gone by, and Katy was
again in the wildest of spirits, overflowing with
mischief and merriment, and just as rosy and
roguish as though she were not, twenty times in
a day, compelled to listen to some ill natured
jeer in open reference to “the renegade lover of
hern,” and as though her obstinate father had
not, in the faithful discharge of what he considered
his duty to himself, persisted in first reading,
and then burning, the only message which
had yet reached her from the wanderer, without
vouchsafing to her even so much as a glimpse at
its contents, but firmly assuring her that all subsequent
communications, from the same source,
would meet with the same warm reception at his
hands, as he tossed it impatiently behind the
chimney. But most unaccountably, to be sure,
none of these things had power to disturb Miss
Katy in the least!
She had stolen a saucy glance at the post-mark
on the unfortunate letter, and (as what woman
under like circumstances would not?) straightway
found means to communicate privately with
her lover, and, wickedly enough, was very happy
in the thought of the unfilial plans she had
devised to defeat the wise purposes of her father!
Perhaps, indeed, from her natural relish for mischief,
and her inherent Eve-like propensities, she
was even happier in the delightful consciousness
of the quiet enjoyment of forbidden fruit!
However this might have been, she was never
more gay or giddy than now, and there was no
end to the wild plans by which she contrived to
punish the presumption of the enamored Upton
youths for taking unfair advantage of Mr. Ben's
absence, to urge their own unsuccessful suits;
or to the quaint, arch drollery with which she
teased and bantered the jealous damsels who
envied her unconscious power.
Just at this juncture came Uncle Lenox, from
the city, with his elegant carriage and splendid
bays, and a retinue of baggage that was really
formidable, and a smiling, good-natured face,
that said very plainly, as he shook hands warmly
and heartily with the whole family, from
Farmer Ingols, who was his only brother, down
to the little dirty chore-boy, with his wide grin
and awkward air, “Yes, yes, I'm welcome; I
know I am—don't trouble yourself to say so—I
shall make myself quite at home with you. Am
glad to see you all, and mean to enjoy my visit
amazingly!”
And so he did, jolly, kind-hearted old gentleman
that he was—not, however, by sitting moped
up in the cheerless parlor all day, where Mrs.
Ingols tried to imprison him, but much to that
worthy lady's horror and scandal, by playing at
hearty games of romps, hither and thither, with
merry Miss Katy, joining with a true relish in
her maddest frolics, and now and then laughing
uproariously as he caught her unsuspectedly by
popping suddenly round a corner, or dodging
from behind an unclosed door.
O, rare sport had Uncle Lenox with his way-ward
little niece, and right well did he enjoy it,
too, and never did weeks whirl by with such
charmed swiftness as the four that he spent at
Ingols Farm, bringing, almost unconsciously,
the hour for his departure.
He had been kind, and frank, and social with
all—he had been good-naturedly bland to the
sharpness and oftentimes rudeness of Mrs. Ingols—blind
to the insipidness and shallow affectations
of her daughter, and blind to the unfortunately
obstinate defects that marred the otherwise
noble character of his brother, whom he
loved with all the warmth and freshness of boyhood.
He had brought the most costly and appropriate
gifts for all; rich shawls and glittering
brocades, and fine furs, for the ladies; and
soft cloths, and handsome garments, a la mode—
a novel dress for Farmer Ingols!—for his brother,
and no one could detect a trace of partiality in
their bestowal. Yet it was, nevertheless, evident
to all that Katy was his favorite, his pet, his
pride—and so she was; and how could he think
of leaving her behind him, of depriving himself
of her sunny presence, of going back to his
splendid home, where there were none to welcome
him but those who served for him, and of
sitting alone in his great, magnificent library,
where there was no sweet, young voice to make
music to his heart, no light, young foot to flit
over the soft carpets, and give life and brightness
to the sombre rooms, and no merry, gushing
laugh to respond to his own happy humor?
No, no! this dismal picture should never be
realized. He had found a treasure in Katy—a
sunbeam to gladden his bachelor home; and so,
to the astonishment of everybody—even Katy
herself—who had never dreamed of such marvellous
good fortune, the morning of Uncle
Lenox's departure found her in the neat travelling
habit, which had been among the number of
his gifts, seated beside him upon the soft cushions
of the great, easy carriage, laughing and
chatting in her lively, rippling way, that reminded
one of the gush and gurgle of a June rivulet,
and rolling pleasantly away to her new home in
the great city.
For once, Farmer Ingols had been induced to
yield his prejudices—not so much from the entreaties
of his brother, or the persuasions of his
wife, as from his own settled conviction that
nothing could so effectually obliterate from
Katy's heart any regretful remembrances of her
lover, or place her so completely beyond the
reach of his power, as thus to remove her
from all the influences which might act in his
favor, or from any possibility of direct communication—so,
with many earnest, secret charges
to Uncle Lenox, touching that “scapegrace of a
feller,” and urging the watchful care which he
direction (to all of which the good man listened
quietly, with now and then a mischievous twinkle
in his fine gray eye), he hopefully resigned
Miss Katy to the guidance and protection of his
brother, rejoicing, as he did so, in the thought
that his plans for defeating her persevering
suitor were now secure of their accomplishment!
Mrs. Ingols, too, very warmly seconded her
husband's decision, and strongly sustained his
belief in regard to the probable result of Katy's
removal—doing so, however, from motives altogether
foreign to Katy's interest, but with an eye
to the advantages which her absence would confer
upon her own precious child, to whom the
field would be unreservedly yielded in the event
of the unfortunate young lover's return!
Miss Adelaide, who was languid and listless,
and seldom burdened herself with opinions of
any kind, thought very little, and cared very little
about the matter, except to thank her stars
that there would be no one to tease her now, and
no one to spoil her cozy morning naps by calling
her at unseasonable hours,—and so, it was with
quite a pleasant feeling of satisfaction, among
all parties, that the leave-takings were concluded,
and the group on the porch of the old-fashioned
farm-house stood watching the handsome carriage
till it disappeared round a curve in the
winding road.
“Wife!” exclaimed Father Ingols, as with
great deliberation and composure he re-folded
and placed upon the table, by his side, the letter
which he had just been perusing, “wife!”—a
pause of momentous import succeeded, and
then, while a look of proud satisfaction rested
upon his usually immovable features, he added,
impressively—“Katy is married!”
“She aint, though,” jerked out that lady in a
tone of surprise that labored with ill-suppressed
joy at the announcement, “why, how sudden!
Who is he?”
“That's what I don't know, yet; but hear
what Uncle Lenox says about him,” and unfolding
the letter, he read:
“I think you will be pleased with your new
son-in-law, and approve of my selection, for
which I take upon myself great credit. I believe
he possesses, to an eminent degree, all the
qualifications which you would desire the husband
of your daughter to possess. He is looked
upon as one of the most promising young men
in our city—of good habits, active, talented, re
fined, rich, and withal, a rare good fellow! Let
me congratulate you, my dear brother.”
“There,” said the old gentleman, warmly,
“I allers knowed Katy would make out smart
in the world, if I could get her away from that
good-for-nothing Miller! She may thank me
for putting my foot down that he should never
have her, and sendin' her off with Uncle Lenox;
if I hadn't, ten to one if the sneakin' scamp
hadn't managed to carry her off, unbeknown to
me, afore this time!”
“Well, it's a leetle strange, isn't it,” interrupted
Mrs. Ingols, wearing a pleased look, in
spite of the disagreeable reflection that would
occur to her, that Katy had married a rich husband,
after all, “it's a leetle strange that Miller
is expected home to-morrer!”
“How'd know?” said the farmer, looking
doubtful.
“Parson Goodenow told me, this mornin', as
he stopped to git a drink o' water at the well;
he says they had a letter from him last night that
was mailed to Boston, so he's on his way, and
a'most here, that's sartain.”
“Humph! Well, wonder if his mother
wasn't obleeged to send him money to git
home with. I allers prophesied she would.
See,” he added, musingly, “how long's it been
since he went off?”
“Jest two year the fust of last month,” said
the wife, who, from some unaccountable cause,
had preserved the real date with scrupulous exactness.
“Well, if he comes, let him come. I'm glad
Katy's clear on him, though. But it's curis that
she should be comin' the same day, aint it?”
“She comin' the same day!” echoed Mrs.
Ingols, unable to proceed further.
“Sartain! But I haint read that, have I?”
and turning again to the letter, he continued:
“Expect us all at Ingols Farm to-morrow!
We shall be a merry party, I predict, for I am
just beginning to realize that I am one of the
happiest old fellows in existence, which sets me
in high good spirits, you must know, and then
the new groom and bride are not one whit behind
their old uncle, and when escaped from
city restraint, I cannot answer for the infringements
we may make upon the sober order of
your quiet house.”
“Turn everything topsy turvy, I warrant it;”
and Mrs. Ingols, in the height of her vexation,
flounced from the room, without waiting to hear
another word. * * * * *
The shrill shriek of the locomotive started up
sharp echoes among the neighboring hills, as the
afternoon train came dashing and rushing along
into quiet Upton village.
Farmer Ingols, in his best clothes and double
wagon, into which were harnessed old black Peter
and the bay Jilly, had repaired to the depot
at a seasonable hour, and returned with Uncle
Lenox, Katy, and his new son-in-law, in whom
it was plain that he already felt a deal of fatherly
pride, as he presented him to one after another
of the family. And really, it was a justifiable
pride, for the glowing picture that Uncle Lenox
had painted of Katy's husband was more than
realized in the elegant and gentlemanly Mr.
Burkley, who united, with the most prepossessing
exterior, a faultless manner, and singularly
fascinating address.
Genial, witty and graphic, with seemingly exhaustless
resources, he was the person of all
others to attract and engage the delighted old
gentleman.
For more than an hour, Farmer Ingols listened,
with the most intense interest and admiration, as
the young stranger discoursed, in his charmingly
fresh, piquant style, upon all the various topics
of the times, passing so easily and naturally
from one subject to another, that the transition
was scarcely noticed.
Meanwhile, Katy and Uncle Lenox had stolen
out of the low window that opened on the
porch, and were romping, like children, under
the trees in the great front yard.
Mrs. Ingols, who had only bowed stiffly and
distantly to the young Mr. Burkley, and welcomed
the new comers in a rather crusty manner,
had gone immediately from the room, and
not yet re-appeared.
Miss Adelaide lounged dreamily in an easy
arm-chair, into which she had sunk as soon as
the ceremony of introduction was over, and
thought it very stupid to be compelled to sit
and listen to the handsome visitor, who, to her
understanding, talked on the driest of subjects
in the dullest of manners, and yet she had not
sufficient energy to remove herself beyond reach
of the annoyance. But she was spared the
trouble of exerting herself to be relieved of the
infliction, for just as the speaker was growing
animated in the discussion of a favorite theme,
a pretty knot of freshly-gathered flowers shot in
at one of the open windows, and struck him full
in his face, while at the same moment, Katy's
clear, laughing voice, outside, said, saucily:
“Benjamin Burkley! Uncle Lenox and I are
going down to the barns to hunt hens'-nests, and
should be extremely happy to be honored by
your distinguished presence, if agreeable! Take
your father along with you, if you haven't gossipped
sufficiently.” Here the bright curly head
popped suddenly behind a cluster of lilacs, just
in season to escape the flowery missile from the
window, which whizzed through the air and
lodged harmlessly at her feet.
“Jest the same old sixpence,” laughed Farmer
Ingols, as he watched her light form flying, like
a bird, over a neighboring pasture-ground, with
Uncle Lenox in full chase. “Jest sich a giddy-headed
mad-cap as she used to be—nothin' can
sober her—but,” he added, seeing that the young
man had risen, and stood, hat in hand, preparatory
to going out, “you'd better be a leetle careful,
and keep on the look-out, if you're goin' to
venter into them barns with that creetur! She's
got some game brewin' to play off on you, you
may depend! She'd like nothin' better than to
git you up on the high beams, and then slide you
down, head first, and you might break your
neck, like enough. Presume you aint much acquainted
with sich places as farmers' barns?”
“O, yes, sir,” returned the young man, smiling,
“I was born and bred on a farm.”
“Was you, indeed?” said the old gentleman,
with a vast deal of surprise in his tone. “O,
waal, then you'll be safe enough.”
“But you will accompany us, will you not?”
“No. I rather guess I wont, this time; I'll
go out with you, after supper, and show you
over my farm, if you like.”
Of course, Mr. Burkley expressed his satisfaction
with the arrangement, and bowing politely,
passed out.
“Waal,” said the farmer, with a pleasant
sparkle in his eye, as he walked into the kitchen,
where Mrs. Ingols, with a very ominous frown
and nervous motion, was busy in preparing supper,
“Katy's done waal! I tell you what 'tis,
wife, he aint nobody's fool, this Burkley aint!
'Taint every day you see sich a feller as he, depend
upon it, wife, and I feel proud on him, if I
do say it,” and here the old gentleman rubbed
his hands in great good humor, and took two or
three hasty turns up and down the spacious room.
“Waal, waal, I'm glad if she's got somebody
that's good enough for her, and you're suited,
that's all,” replied the lady, rather snappishly,
and in no very congratulatory tone, and then, as
she gave the sieve a more vigorous shake, preparatory
side, she added: “Perhaps if you had 'em to
wait upon, and all the vittels to git, this hot
weather, you wouldn't think it was quite so fine
to have 'em all quartered here, at any rate; but
it is little you care about it, as it is. That's allers
the way—the men can set in the parlor and
take their ease, while their wives are a slavin'
and drudgin' in the kitchen to wait upon their
fine company;” and in the heat of her indignation
she wiped her angular face, and fanned herself
vigorously with the great gingham handkerchief
which she had just unpinned from her
neck.
'Twas of no use for Farmer Ingols to remind
his amiable spouse of the successive “helps”—
the Marys and Susans and Betseys—that her
turbulent temper had driven from the house, till
there was no longer any one who could be induced
to serve her for “love or for money.”
No! 'twas of no use to urge this unpleasant fact
—she would not listen, and Farmer Ingols wisely
retired from her presence.
'Twas plain that this accession to her family
was by no means agreeable to the worthy hostess,
and as her only practicable method of revenge,
she seemed determined upon making
every one about her as uncomfortable as possible,
to which end she took great care to aggravate
her unhappy mood by the most irritating
reflections—trying steadily to persuade herself,
in spite of her own convictions to the contrary,
that she was really the most ill-treated wife in
the world, and had just cause to complain and
look tartly, and be ungracious and inhospitable
to the intruding guests.
But, in spite of all her efforts to be miserable,
one solitary thought, a redeeming source of consolation,
would keep suggesting itself with the
most obstinate pertinacity. Her mind would
keep wandering away from her grievances, and
the biscuit she was kneading, to the handsome
white house in the valley, and, naturally enough,
from the house to the handsome owner, who
had, probably, ere that hour, returned to his inheritance—and
there, how could she repress a
malicious looking grin of satisfaction that the
interesting Mr. Burkley had put a veto upon
Katy's rivalship, and that there was now no hindrance
in the way of her own and Miss Adelaide's
success? She couldn't, of course, and
was looking quite amiably savage, when Katy
danced in at the old back door, with her sprightly
step and sunshiny face, and holding fast, with
both her hands, a hat full of “precious eggs,”
of which she had robbed every attainable nest
within and without the barns.
“Why, mamma, haven't you any one to help
you?” said she, sympathizingly. “O, what a
rare chance to display my culinary abilities,”
and in another minute, the flowing muslin skirt
was tucked demurely about her waist, the pretty
sleeves gathered above the dimpled elbows, and
the active little sprite tripping lightly in and out
at the pantry door, preparing tea, mixing tarts,
and spreading the cloths, with all the ease and
skill of an accomplished house maid.
“Guess you haint forgot what I teached you,
if you have got to be a fine lady,” growled Mrs.
Ingols, in acknowledgment of her services, as
they passed into the supper-room; which remark,
considering that Katy's accomplishments in that
branch of domestic education were all of her
own acquiring, without the benefit of any body's
instruction, was rather an equivocal compliment
—but Katy did not reply, except with a quiet
smile, and was soon chattering away as merrily
as a bird, paying no heed to the ill-humor of her
step-mother, who poured the tea with a stiff dignity,
and answered in frigid monosyllables when
addressed.
Notwithstanding her chilling influence, however,
the table-chat was pleasant and free from
restraint, and as soon as the meal was completed,
Farmer Ingols rose abruptly, and turning to Mr.
Burkley, said:
“Now, sir, I guess we'll walk a spell, if you
please—or, mebbe you'd rather ride round the
farm?” he added, inquiringly; “you can jest
as waal.”
But Mr. Burkley declared he greatly preferred
walking, and the two set off in advance of the
rest of the party (which was to consist of Uncle
Lenox and Katy only—Mrs. Ingols and Miss
Adelaide declining to accompany them), with
the promise that they would follow, as soon as
Katy had assisted in setting the “tea-things” to
rights, and Uncle Lenox had completed his accustomed
Havana.
“And whose is the little white cot, just here
at our feet?” asked Mr. Burkley, as the two
gentlemen paused on the height of a gentle slope
commanding a broad view of a fine portion of
Ingols Farm, as well as many of the neighboring
lands.
“O, that belongs to a vagabond of a feller,
who was jest shiftless enough to leave all this
handsome property, and go rovin' off to Californy.
farmer, with a confidential smile, to his companion,
“but when I see what his habits was, I set
him adrift pretty sudden, and managed so that
she could keep clear on him afterwards.”
Here he proceeded to give his son-in-law a
minute account of his successful efforts to preserve
her from the foul clutches of Miller, but
stopped short, as one of Katy's clear laughs, and
the heavier, but no less hearty, “ha, ha, ha!”
of Uncle Lenox, rang out just at his elbow, and
in another instant, Katy was dancing at a good
rate down the slope, followed closely by her hatless
lord, whose beaver she had most skilfully
captured, while he stood-profoundly absorbed
in the story of her former lover's discomfiture.
As they neared the little white cottage, however,
the hat was restored, and somewhat to the good
farmer's astonishment, both disappeared at the
open door.
“Ah!” said he, after a moment's pause, with
an audible chuckle, “I'm glad they're gone in
there; they say young Miller's to be home to-day,
and I guess it'll punish his impertinence
some, to see her with that splendid husband of
hern! I should like to see the meetin'!”
“Suppose we call, then, and get a glimpse of
the fun,” suggested Uncle Lenox.
“So we will, so we will, brother,” and as they
were shown into the pleasant sitting-room, they
caught the murmured words—“Ben, my dear
son Ben, God bless you!”—and saw good, kind
old Mrs. Miller clasped fondly in the warm embrace
of Mr. Burkley!
Close by, stood Katy, looking very conscious
and very wicked, and smiling roguishly, in spite
of her tears; but her smile grew still more mischievous,
as she turned, with great deliberation,
to her father, standing, “a monument of open-mouthed
amazement,” and begged the pleasure
of presenting her husband—Mr. Benjamin Burkley
Miller!
“What! who!” sputtered the farmer, as he
half accepted the proffered hand of his smiling
son-in-law. “You—Mr. Burkley—Ben Miller!
How, in the name of wonder”—but his astonishment
was interrupted by an explosion of merriment
from Katy, and a roar of laughter from
Uncle Lenox, who, having been chief manager
in the plot, of which this was the result, could
smother his excessive enjoyment no longer.
We leave the reader to imagine the indescribable
wrath of Mrs. Ingols, when she discovered
the actual appropriation of the pretty cottage
and owner; but it is necessary to say, that since
the mists of prejudice have been fully dissipated,
Farmer Ingols looks with great complacency and
pride upon Katy's Husband!
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