 | The homestead on the hillside, and other tales |  |
The Gilberts;
OR,
RICE CORNER NUMBER TWO.
1. CHAPTER I.
THE GILBERTS.
The spring following Carrie Howard's death, Rice Corner
was thrown into a commotion by the astounding fact
that Capt. Howard was going out west, and had sold his
farm to a gentleman from the city, whose wife “kept six
servants, wore silk all the time, never went inside of the
kitchen, never saw a churn, breakfasted at ten, dined at
three, and had supper the next day!”
Such was the story which Mercy Jenkins detailed to
us, early one Monday morning, and then, eager to communicate
so desirable a piece of news to others of her acquaintance,
she started off, stopping for a moment as she
passed the wash-room, to see if Sally's clothes “wan't
kinder dingy and yaller.” As soon as she was gone, the
astonishment of our household broke forth, grandma wondering
why Capt. Howard wanted to go to the ends of
the earth, as she designated Chicago, their place of destination,
and what she should do without Aunt Eunice,
who, having been born on grandma's wedding day, was
very dear to her, and then her age was so easy to keep!
last tea-drinking with us, I saw how badly they all
felt, and how many tears were shed, I firmly resolved
never to like anybody but my own folks, unless, indeed, I
made an exception in favor of Tom Jenkins, who so often
drew me to school on his sled, and who made such comical
looking jack-o'-lanterns out of the big yellow pumpkins.
In reply to the numerous questions concerning Mr. Gilbert,
the purchaser of their farm, Mrs. Howard could only
reply, that he was very wealthy and had got tired of living
in the city; adding, further, that he wore a “monstrous
pair of musquitoes,” had an evil looking eye, four
children, smoked cigars, and was a lawyer by profession.
This last was all grandma wanted to know about him,—
“that told the whole story,” for there never was but one
decent lawyer, and that was Mr. Evelyn, Cousin Emma's
husband. Dear old lady! — when, a few years ago, she
heard that I, her favorite grandchild, was to marry one
of the craft, she made another exception in his favor, saying
that “if he wasn't all straight, Mary would soon make
him so!”
Within a short time after Aunt Eunice's visit, she left
Rice Corner, and on the same day wagon load after wagon
load of Mr. Gilbert's furniture passed our house, until
Sally declared “there was enough to keep a tavern, and
she didn't see nothin' where they's goin' to put it,” at the
same time announcing her intention of “running down
there after dinner, to see what was going on.”
It will be remembered that Sally was now a married
woman—“Mrs. Michael Welsh;” consequently, mother,
who lived with her, instead of her living with mother, did
not presume to interfere with her much, though she hinted
pretty strongly that she “always liked to see people mind
their own affairs.” But Sally was incorrigible. The dinner
sweeping the back room — which I did, leaving the dirt
under the broom behind the door — while Mrs. Welsh,
donning a pink calico, blue shawl, and bonnet trimmed
with dark green, started off on her prying excursion, stopping
by the roadside where Mike was making fence, and
keeping him, as grandma said, “full half an hour by the
clock from his work.”
Not long after Sally's departure, a handsome carriage,
drawn by two fine bay horses, passed our house; and, as
the windows were down, we could plainly discern a pale,
delicate-looking lady, wrapped in shawls, a tall, stylish-looking
girl, another one about my own age, and two
beautiful little boys.
“That's the Gilberts, I know,” said Anna. “Oh, I 'm
so glad Sally's gone, for now we shall have the full particulars;”
and again we waited as impatiently for Sally's
return as we had once done before for grandma.
At last, to our great relief, the green ribbons and blue
shawl were described in the distance, and ere long Sally
was with us, ejaculating, “Oh, my — mercy me!” etc.,
thus giving us an inkling of what was to follow. “Of all
the sights that ever I have seen,” said she, folding up the
blue shawl, and smoothing down the pink calico. “There's
carpeting enough to cover every crack and crevice — all
pure Bristles, too!”
Here I tittered, whereupon Sally angrily retorted, that
“she guessed she knew how to talk proper, if she had n't
studied grarmar.”
“Never mind,” said Anna, “go on; Brussels carpeting
and what else?”
“Mercy knows what else,” answered Sally. “I can't
begin to guess the names of half the things. There's mahogany,
and rosewood, and marble fixin's,—and in Miss
ones—”
A look from Anna restrained me this time, and Sally
continued.
“Mercy Jenkins is there, helpin', and she says Mr. Gilbert
told 'em his wife never et a piece of salt pork in her
life, and knew no more how bread was made than a child
two years old.”
“What a simple critter she must be,” said grandma,
while Anna asked if she saw Mrs. Gilbert, and if that tall
girl was her daughter.
“Yes, I seen her,” answered Sally, “and I guess she's
weakly, for the minit she got into the house she lay down
on the sofa, which Mr. Gilbert says cost seventy-five dollars.
That tall, proud-lookin' thing they call Miss Adaline,
but I'll warrant you don't catch me puttin' on the
Miss. I called her Adaline, and you had orto seen how
her big eyes looked at me. Says she, at last, `Are you
one of pa's new servants?'
“`Servants!' says I, `no, indeed; I 'm Mrs. Michael
Welsh, one of your nighest neighbors.'
“Then I told her that there were two nice girls lived
in the house with me, and she 'd better get acquainted
with 'em, right away; and then with the hatefulest of all
hateful laughs, she asked if `they wore glass beads and
went barefoot.”'
I fancied that neither Juliet nor Anna were greatly
pleased at being introduced by Sally, the housemaid, to
the elegant Adaline Gilbert, who had come to the country
with anything but a favorable impression of its inhabitants.
The second daughter, the one about my own
age, Sally said they called Nellie; “and a nice, clever
creature she is, too — not a bit stuck up like t'other one.
Why, I do believe she'd walked every big beam in the
saw of her, she was coaxing a cow to lie still while she got
upon her back!”
How my heart warmed toward the romping Nellie, and
how I wondered if, after that beam-walking exploit, her
hooks and eyes were all in their places! The two little
boys, Sally said, were twins, Edward and Egbert, or, as
they were familiarly called, Burt and Eddie. This was
nearly all she had learned, if we except the fact that the
family ate with silver forks, and drank wine after dinner.
This last, mother pronounced heterodox, while I, who
dearly loved the juice of the grape, and sometimes left
finger marks on the top shelf, whither I had climbed for
a sip from grandma's decanter, secretly hoped I should
some day dine with Nellie Gilbert, and drink all the wine
I wanted, thinking how many times I'd rinse my mouth
so mother should n't smell my breath!
In the course of a few weeks the affairs of the Gilbert
family were pretty generally canvassed in Rice Corner,
Mercy Jenkins giving it as her opinion that “Miss Gilbert
was much the likeliest of the two, and that Mr. Gilbert
was cross, overbearing, and big feeling.”
2. CHAPTER II.
NELLIE.
As yet I had only seen Nellie in the distance, and was
about despairing of making her acquaintance, when accident
threw her in my way. Directly opposite our house,
and just accross a long green meadow, was a piece of
early in May, I saw Nellie. I had seen her there
before, but never dared approach her; and now I divided
my time between watching her and a dense black cloud
which had appeared in the west, and was fast approaching
the zenith. I was just thinking how nice it would be
if the rain should drive her to our house for shelter, when
patter, patter came the large drops in my face; thicker
and faster they fell, until it seemed like a perfect deluge;
and through the almost blinding sheet of rain I descried
Nellie coming toward me at a furious rate. With the
agility of a fawn she bounded over the gate, and with the
exclamation of, “Ain't I wetter than a drownded rat?”
we were perfectly well acquainted.
It took but a short time to divest her of her dripping
garments, and array her in some of mine, which Sally said
“fitted her to a T,” though I fancied she looked sadly out
of place in my linen pantalets and long-sleeved dress. She
was a great lover of fun and frolic, and in less than half
an hour had “ridden to Boston” on Joe's rocking-horse,
turned the little wheel faster than even I dared to turn
it, tried on grandma's stays, and then, as a crowning feat,
tried the rather dangerous experiment of riding down the
garret stairs on a board! The clatter brought up grandma,
and I felt some doubts about her relishing a kind of
play which savored so much of what she called “a racket,”
but the soft brown eyes which looked at her so pleadingly,
were too full of love, gentleness, and mischief to be resisted,
and permission for “one more ride” was given,
“provided she'd promise not to break her neck.”
Oh, what fun we had that afternoon! What a big rent
she tore in my gingham frock, and what a “dear, delightful
old haunted castle of a thing” she pronounced our
house to be. Darling, darling Nellie! I shut my eyes,
creature she was when I saw her first, as she was when
I saw her for the last, last time.
It rained until dark, and Nellie, who confidently expected
to stay all night, had whispered to me her intention
of “tying our toes together,” when there came a
tremendous rap upon the door, and, without waiting to
be bidden, in walked Mr. Gilbert, puffing and swelling,
and making himself perfectly at home, in a kind of offhand
manner, which had in it so much of condescension
that I was disgusted, and, when sure Nellie would not
see me, I made at him a wry face, thereby feeling greatly
relieved!
After managing to let mother know how expensive his
family was, how much he paid yearly for wines and cigars,
and how much Adaline's education and piano had cost,
he arose to go, saying to his daughter, “Come, Puss,
take off those, — ahem! — those habiliments, and let's be
off!”
Nellie obeyed, and just before she was ready to start,
she asked, “When I would come and spend the day with
her?”
I looked at mother, mother looked at Mr. Gilbert, Mr.
Gilbert looked at me, and after surveying me from head
to foot, said, spitting between every other word, “Ye-es,
ye-es, we've come to live in the country, and I suppose,
(here he spit three successive times,) and I suppose we
may as well be on friendly terms as any other; so madam,
(turning to mother,) I am willing to have your little
daughter visit us occasionally.” Then adding that “he
would extend the same invitation to her, were it not that
his wife was an invalid and saw no company,” he departed.
One morning, several days afterward, a servant brought
mother to let me spend the day with Nellie. After some
consultation between mother and grandma, it was decided
that I might go, and in less than an hour I was
dressed and on the road, my hair braided so tightly in
my neck that the little red bumps of flesh set up here
and there, like currants on a brown earthen platter.
Nellie did not wait to receive me formally, but came
running down the road, telling me that Robin had made
a swing in the barn, and that we would play there most
all day, as her mother was sick, and Adaline, who occupied
two-thirds of the house, would n't let us come near
her. This Adaline was to me a very formidable personage.
Hitherto I had only caught glimpses of her, as with
long skirts and waving plumes she sometimes dashed past
our house on horseback, and it was with great trepidation
that I now followed Nellie into the parlor, where she
told me her sister was.
“Adaline, this is my little friend,” said she; and Adaline
replied, “How do you do, little friend?”
My cheeks tingled, and for the first time, raising my
eyes, I found myself face to face with the haughty belle.
She was very tall and queen-like in her figure, and though
she could hardly be called handsome, there was about her
an air of elegance and refinement which partially compensated
for the absence of beauty. That she was proud,
one could see from the glance of her large black eyes and
the curl of her lip. Coolly surveying me for a moment,
as she would any other curious specimen, she resumed
her book, never speaking to me again, except to ask,
when she saw me gazing wonderingly around the splendidly
furnished room, “if I supposed I could remember
every article of furniture, and give a faithful report.”
I thought I was insulted when she called me “little
“if I couldn't, she, perhaps, might lend me paper and
pencil, with which to write them down.”
“Original, truly,” said she, again poring over her book.
Nellie, who had left me for a moment, now returned,
bidding me come and see her mother, and passing through
the long hall, I was soon in Mrs. Gilbert's room, which
was as tastefully, though perhaps not quite so richly, furnished
as the parlor. Mrs. Gilbert was lying upon a sofa,
and the moment I looked upon her, the love which I had
so freely given the daughter, was shared with the mother,
in whose pale, sweet face, and soft, brown eyes, I saw
a strong resemblance to Nellie. She was attired in a
rose-colored morning-gown, which flowed open in front,
disclosing to view a larger quantity of rich French embroidery
than I had ever before seen.
Many times during the day, and many times since,
have I wondered what made her marry, and if she really
loved, the bearish looking man who occasionally stalked
into the room, smoking cigars and talking very loudly,
when he knew how her head was throbbing with pain.
I had eaten but little breakfast that morning, and verily
I thought I should famish before their dinner hour arrived;
and when at last it came, and I saw the table glittering
with silver, I felt many misgivings as to my ability
to acquit myself creditably. But by dint of watching
Nellie, doing just what she did, and refusing just what
she refused, I managed to get through with it tolerably
well. For once, too, in my life, I drank all the wine I
wanted; the result of which was, that long before sunset
I went home, crying and vomiting with the sick headache,
which Sally said “served me right;” at the same
time hinting her belief that I was slightly intoxicated!
3. CHAPTER III.
THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
Down our long, green lane, and at the farther extremity
of the narrow foot-path which led to the “old mine,”
was another path or wagon road, which wound along
among the fern bushes, under the chestnut trees, across
the hemlock swamp, and up to a grassy ridge which overlooked
a small pond, said, of course, to have no bottom.
Fully crediting this story, and knowing, moreover, that
China was opposite to us, I had often taken down my
atlas and hunted through that ancient empire, in hopes
of finding a corresponding sheet of water. Failing to do
so, I had made one with my pencil, writing against it,
“Cranberry Pond,” that being the name of its American
brother.
Just above the pond on the grassy ridge, stood an old,
dilapidated building, which had long borne the name of
the “haunted house.” I never knew whether this title
was given it on account of its proximity to the “old
mine,” or because it stood near the very spot where,
years and years ago, the “bloody Indians” pushed those
cart loads of burning hemp against the doors “of the
only remaining house in Quaboag”—for which see Goodrich's
Child's History, page —, somewhere toward the
commencement. I only know that 't was called the
“haunted house,” and that, for a long time, no one would
live there, on account of the rapping, dancing, and cutting
up generally, which was said to prevail there, particularly
in the west room, the one overhung by creepers
and grape-vines.
Three or four years before our story opens, a widow
in our neighborhood, hiring the “haunted house,”
and, in spite of the neighbors' predictions to the contrary,
living there quietly and peaceably, unharmed by ghost or
goblin. At first, Mrs. Hudson was looked upon with distrust,
and even a league with a certain old fellow was
hinted at; but as she seemed to be well disposed, kind,
and affable toward all, this feeling gradually wore away,
and now she was universally liked, while Mabel, her
daughter, was a general favorite. For two years past,
Mabel had worked in the Fiskdale factory a portion of
the time, going to school the remainder of the year. She
was fitting herself for a teacher, and as the school in our
district was small, the trustees had this summer kindly
offered it to her. This arrangement delighted me; for,
next to Nellie Gilbert, I loved Mabel Hudson best of
anybody; and I fancied, too, that they looked alike, but
of course it was all fancy.
Mrs. Hudson was a tailoress, and the day following my
visit to Mr. Gilbert's I was sent by mother to take her
some work. I found her in the little porch, her white
cap-border falling over her placid face, and her wide
checked apron coming nearly to the bottom of her dress.
Mabel was there, too, and as she arose to receive me,
something about her reminded me of Adaline Gilbert. I
could not tell what it was, for Mabel was very beautiful,
and beside her Adaline would be plain; still, there was a
resemblance, either in voice or manner, and this it was,
perhaps, which made me so soon mention the Gilberts,
and my visit to them the day previous.
Instantly Mrs. Hudson and Mabel exchanged glances,
and I thought the face of the former grew a shade paler;
still, I may have been mistaken, for, in her usual tone of
voice, she began to ask me numberless questions concerning
for curiosity. But it suited me. I loved to
talk then not less than I do now, and in a few minutes I
had told all I knew, and more, too, most likely.
At last, Mrs. Hudson asked about Mr. Gilbert, and how
I liked him.
“Not a bit,” said I. “He's the hatefulest, crossest,
big-feelingest man I ever saw, and Adaline is just like
him!”
Had I been a little older I might, perhaps, have wondered
at the crimson flush which my hasty words brought
to Mrs. Hudson's cheek, but I did not notice it then, and
thinking she was, of course, highly entertained, I continued
to talk about Mr. Gilbert and Adaline, in the last of
whom Mabel seemed the most interested. Of Nellie I
spoke with the utmost affection, and when Mrs. Hudson
expressed a wish to see her, I promised, if possible, to
bring her there; then, as I had already outstaid the time
for which permission had been given, I tied on my sun-bonnet
and started for home, revolving the ways and
means by which I should keep my promise.
This proved to be a very easy matter; for, within a
few days, Nellie came to return my visit, and as mother
had other company, she the more readily gave us permission
to go where we pleased. Nellie had a perfect passion
for ghost and witch stories, saying, though, that “she
never liked to have them explained—she'd rather they'd
be left in solemn mystery;” so when I told her of the
“old mine” and the “haunted house,” she immediately
expressed a desire to see them. Hiding our bonnets under
our aprons, the better to conceal our intentions from
sister Lizzie, who, we fancied, had serious thoughts of
tagging, we sent her up stairs in quest of something
which we knew was not there, and then away we scampered
once into some alders as Lizzie's yellow hair became
visible on the fence at the foot of the lane. Our consciences
smote us a little, but we kept still until she returned
to the house; then, continuing our way, we soon
came in sight of the mine, which Nellie determined to
explore.
It was in vain that I tried to dissuade her from the attempt.
She was resolved, and stationing myself at a safe
distance, I waited while she scrambled over stones, sticks,
logs, and bushes, until she finally disappeared in the cave.
Ere long, however, she returned with soiled pantalets, torn
apron, and scratched face, saying that “the mine was nothing
in the world but a hole in the ground, and a mighty
little one at that.” After this, I didn't know but I would
sometime venture in, but for fear of what might happen,
I concluded to choose a time when I had 'nt run away
from Liz!
When I presented Nellie to Mrs. Hudson, she took
both her hands in hers, and, greatly to my surprise, kissed
her on both cheeks. Then she walked hastily into the
next room, but not until I saw something fall from her
eyes, which I am sure were tears.
“Funny, isn't it?” said Nellie, looking wonderingly at
me. “I don't know whether to laugh, or what.”
Mabel now came in, and though she manifested no particular
emotion, she was exceedingly kind to Nellie, asking
her many questions, and sometimes smoothing her
brown curls. When Mrs. Hudson again appeared, she
was very calm, but I noticed that her eyes constantly
rested upon Nellie, who, with Mabel's gray kitten in her
lap, was seated upon the door-step, the very image of
childish innocence and beauty. Mrs. Hudson urged us to
stay to tea, but I declined, knowing that there was company
for supper. So bidding her good-by, and promising to
come again, we started homeward, where we found the
ladies discussing their green tea and making large inroads
upon the three kinds of cake.
One of them, a Mrs. Thompson, was gifted with the art
of fortune-telling, by means of tea-grounds, and when
Nellie and I took our seats at the table, she kindly offered
to see what was in store for us. She had frequently told
my fortune, each time managing to fish up a freckle-faced
boy, so nearly resembling her grandson, my particular
aversion, that I did n't care to hear it again. But
with Nellie 't was all new, and after a great whirling of
tea grounds and staining of mother's best table-cloth, she
passed her cup to Mrs. Thompson, confidently whispering
to me that she guessed she'd tell her something about
Willie Raymond, who lived in the city, and who gave her
the little cornelian ring which she wore. With the utmost
gravity Mrs. Thompson read off the past and present,
and then peering far into the future, she suddenly
exclaimed, “Oh my! there's a gulf, or something, before
you, and you are going to tumble into it headlong; don't
ask me anything more.”
I never did and never shall believe in fortune-telling,
much less in Granny Thompson's “turned up cups,” but
years after, I thought of her prediction with regard to
Nellie. Poor, poor Nellie!
4. CHAPTER IV.
JEALOUSY.
On the first Monday in June our school commenced,
and long before breakfast Lizzie and I were dressed, and
had turned inside out the little cupboard over the fire-place,
where our books were kept during vacation.
Breakfast being over, we deposited in our dinner-basket
the whole of a custard pie, and were about starting off,
when mother said “we should n't go a step until half past
eight,” adding further, that “we must put that pie back,
for 'twas one she'd saved for their own dinner.”
Lizzie pouted, while I cried, and taking my bonnet, I
repaired to the “great rock,” where the sassafras, blackberries,
and black snakes grew. Here I sat for a long
time, thinking if I ever did grow up and get married, (I
was sure of the latter,) I'd have all the custard pie I could
cat, for once! In the midst of my reverie a footstep
sounded near, and looking up I saw before me Nellie Gilbert,
with her satchel of books on her arm, and her sun-bonnet
hanging down her back, after the fashion in which
I usually wore mine. In reply to my look of inquiry, she
said her father had concluded to let her go to the district
school, though he didn't expect her to learn anything but
“slang terms and ill manners.”
By this time it was half past eight, and, together with
Lizzie, we repaired to the school-house, where we found
assembled a dozen girls and as many boys, among whom
was Tom Jenkins. Tom was a great admirer of beauty,
and hence I could never account for the preference he
had hitherto shown for me, whom my brothers called
“bung-eyed” and Sally “raw-boned.” He, however,
and many a night had he carried home my books for me,
and many a morning had he brought me nuts and raisins,
to say nothing of the time when I found in my desk a little
note, which said —, but everybody who's been to
school, knows what it said!
Taking it all round, we were as good as engaged; so you
can judge what my feelings were when, before the night
of Nellie's first day at school, I saw Tom Jenkins giving
her an orange, which I had every reason to think was originally
intended for me! I knew very well that Nellie's
brown curls and eyes had done the mischief; and though
I did not love her the less, I blamed him the more for his
fickleness, for only a week before he had praised my eyes,
calling them a “beautiful indigo blue,” and all that. I
was highly incensed, and when on our way from school
he tried to speak good-humoredly, I said, “I'd thank you
to let me alone! I don't like you, and never did!”
He looked sorry for a minute, but soon forgot it all in
talking to Nellie, who, after he had left us, said “he was
a cleverish kind of boy, though he couldn't begin with
William Raymond.” After that I was very cool toward
Tom, who attached himself more and more to Nellie, saying
“she had the handsomest eyes he ever saw;” and,
indeed, I think it chiefly owing to those soft, brown,
dreamy eyes, that I am not now “Mrs. Tom Jenkins, of
Jenkinsville,” a place way out west, whither Tom and his
mother have migrated!
One day Nellie was later to school than usual, giving
as a reason that their folks had company — a Mr. Sherwood
and his mother, from Hartford; and adding, that
“if I'd never tell anybody as long as I lived and breathed,
she'd tell me something.”
Of course I promised, and then Nellie told me how she
liked Adaline. “Any way, Adaline likes him,” said she;
“and oh, she 's so nice and good when he 's around. I
ain't `Nell, you hateful thing' then, but I'm `Sister Nellie.'
They are going to ride this morning, and perhaps
they'll go by here.—There they are, now!” and looking
toward the road, I saw Mr. Sherwood and Adaline Gilbert
on horseback, riding leisurely past the school-house. She
was nodding to Nellie, but he was looking intently at Mabel,
who was sitting near the window. I know he asked
Adaline something about her, for I distinctly heard a part
of her reply — “a poor factory-girl,” and Adaline's head
tossed scornfully, as if that were a sufficient reason why
Mabel should be despised.
Mr. Sherwood evidently did not think so, for the next
day he walked by alone,—and the next day he did the
same, this time bringing with him a book, and seating
himself in the shadow of a chestnut tree not far from the
school-house. The moment school was out, he arose and
came forward, inquiring for Nellie, who, of course, introduced
him to Mabel. The three then walked on together,
while Tom Jenkins staid in the rear with me, wondering
what I wanted to act so for; “couldn't a feller like more
than one girl if he wanted to?”
“Yes, I s'posed a feller could, though I didn't know,
nor care!”
Tom made no reply, but whittled away upon a bit of
shingle, which finally assumed the shape of a heart, and
which I afterward found in his desk with the letter “N”
written upon it, and then scratched out. When at last
we reached our house, Mr. Sherwood asked Nellie “where
that old mine and saw-mill were, of which she had told
him so much.”
“Right on Miss Hudson's way home,” said Nellie.
Sherwood, Mabel, and Nellie were in the long, green
lane which led down to the saw-mill.
Oh, how Adaline stormed when she heard of it, and
how sneeringly she spoke to Mr. Sherwood of the “factory
girl,” insinuating that the bloom on her cheek was
paint, and the lily on her brow powder! But he probably
did not believe it, for almost every day he passed
the school-house, generally managing to speak with Mabel;
and once he went all the way home with her, staying
ever so long, too, for I watched until 'twas pitch dark,
and he hadn't got back yet!
In a day or two he went home, and I thought no more
about him, until Tom, who had been to the post-office,
brought Mabel a letter, which made her turn red and
white alternately, until at last she cried. She was very
absent-minded the remainder of that day, letting us do as
we pleased, and never in my life did I have a better time
“carrying on” than I did that afternoon when Mabel received
her first letter from Mr. Sherwood.
5. CHAPTER V.
NEW RELATIONS.
About six weeks after the close of Mabel's school, we
were one day startled with the intelligence that she was
going to be married, and to Mr. Sherwood, too. He had
become tired of the fashionable ladies of his acquaintance,
and when he saw how pure and artless Mabel was, he immediately
all feelings of pride, he had offered her his hand, and
had been accepted. At first we could hardly credit the
story; but when Mrs. Hudson herself confirmed it, we
gave it up, and again I wondered if I should be invited.
All the nicest and best chestnuts which I could find, to
say nothing of the apples and butternuts, I carried to her,
not without my reward either, for when invitations came
to us, I was included with the rest. Our family were the
only invited guests, and I felt no fears, this time, of being
hidden by the crowd.
Just before the ceremony commenced, there was the
sound of a heavy footstep upon the outer porch, a loud
knock at the door, and then into the room came Mr. Gilbert!
He seemed slightly agitated, but not one-half so
much as Mrs. Hudson, who exclaimed, “William, my son,
why are you here?”
“I came to witness my sister's bridal,” was the
answer; and turning toward the clergyman, he said,
somewhat authoritatively, “Do not delay for me, sir.
Go on.”
There was a movement in the next room, and then the
bridal party entered, both starting with surprise as they
saw Mr. Gilbert. Very beautiful did Mabel look, as she
stood up to take upon herself the marriage vow, not a
syllable of which did one of us hear. We were thinking
of Mr. Gilbert, and the strange words, “my son” and “my
sister.”
When it was over, and Mabel was Mrs. Sherwood, Mr.
Gilbert approached Mrs. Hudson, saying, “Come, mother,
let me lead you to the bride.”
With an impatient gesture she waved him off, and going
alone to her daughter, threw her arms around her
neck, sobbing convulsively. There was an awkward silence,
for an explanation, arose, and addressing himself mostly
to Mr. Sherwood, said, “I suppose what has transpired
here to night seems rather strange, and will undoubtedly
furnish the neighborhood with gossip for more than a
week, but they are welcome to canvass whatever I do. I
can't help it if I was born with an unusual degree of pride;
neither can I help feeling mortified, as I many times did,
at my family, particularly after she,” glancing at his
mother, “married the man whose name she bears.”
Here Mrs. Hudson lifted up her head, and coming to
Mr. Gilbert's side, stood proudly erect, while he continued:
“She would tell you he was a good man, but I hated him,
and swore never to enter the house while he lived. I
went away, took care of myself, grew rich, married into
one of the first families in Hartford, and,— and —”
Here he paused, and his mother, continuing the sentence,
added, “and grew ashamed of your own mother,
who many a time went without the comforts of life that
you might be educated. You were always a proud, way-ward
boy, William, but never did I think you would do
as you have done. You have treated me with utter neglect,
never allowing your wife to see me, and when I once
proposed visiting you in Hartford, you asked your brother,
now dead, to dissuade me from it, if possible, for you
could not introduce me to your acquaintances as your
mother. Never do you speak of me to your children, who,
if they know they have a grandmother, little dream that
she lives within a mile of their father's dwelling. One of
them I have seen, and my heart yearned toward her as it
did toward you when first I took you in my arms, my
first-born baby; and yet, William, I thank heaven there
is in her sweet face no trace of her father's features. This
may sound harsh, unmotherly, but greatly have I been
upon me, why have you come here! Say, William,
why?”
By the time Mrs. Hudson had finished, nearly all in the
room were weeping. Mr. Gilbert, however, seemed perfectly
indifferent, and with the most provoking coolness
replied, “I came to see my fair sister married—to congratulate
her upon an alliance which will bring us upon a
more equal footing.”
“You greatly mistake me, sir, “said Mr. Sherwood,
turning haughtily toward Mr. Gilbert, at the same time
drawing Mabel nearer to him; “you greatly mistake me,
if, after what I have heard, you think I would wish for
your acquaintance. If my wife, when poor and obscure,
was not worthy of your attention, you certainly are not
now worthy of hers, and it is my request that our intercourse
should end here.”
Mr. Gilbert muttered something about “extenuating
circumstances,” and “the whole not being told,” but no
one paid him any attention; and at last, snatching up his
hat, he precipitately left the house, I sending after him a
hearty good riddance, and mentally hoping he would
measure his length in the ditch which he must pass on his
way across hemlock swamp.
The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Sherwood departed on
their bridal tour, intending, on their return, to take their
mother with them to the city. Several times during their
absence I saw Mr. Gilbert, either going to or returning
from the “haunted house,” and I readily guessed he was
trying to talk his mother over, for nothing could be more
mortifying than to be cut by the Sherwoods, who were
among the first in Hartford. Afterward, greatly to my
satisfaction, I heard that though, mother-like, Mrs. Hudson
had forgiven her son, Mr. Sherwood ever treated him
distance.
Once, indeed, at Mabel's earnest request, Mrs. Gilbert
and Nellie were invited to visit her, and as the former
was too feeble to accomplish the journey, Nellie went
alone, staying a long time, and torturing her sister on her
return with a glowing account of the elegantly furnished
house, of which Adaline had once hoped to be the proud
mistress.
For several years after Mabel's departure from Rice
Corner, nothing especial occurred in the Gilbert family,
except the marriage of Adaline with a rich bachelor, who
must have been many years older than her father, for he
colored his whiskers, wore false teeth and a wig, besides
having, as Nellie declared, a wooden leg! For the truth
of this last I will not vouch, as Nellie's assertion was only
founded upon the fact of her having once looked through
the keywhole of his door, and espied standing by his bed
something which looked like a cork leg, but which might
have been a boot! What Adaline saw in him to like, I
could never guess. I suppose, however, that she only
looked at his rich gilding, which covered a multitude of
defects.
Immediately after the wedding, the happy pair started
for a two years' tour in Europe, where the youthful bride
so enraged her bald-headed lord by flirting with a mustached
Frenchman, that in a fit of anger the old man
picked up his goods, chattels, and wife, and returned to
New York within three months of his leaving it!
6. CHAPTER VI.
POOR, POOR NELLIE.
And now, in the closing chapter of this brief sketch of
the Gilberts, I come to the saddest part, the fate of poor
Nellie, the dearest playmate my childhood ever knew;
she whom the lapse of years ripened into a graceful, beautiful
girl, loved by everybody, even by Tom Jenkins,
whose boyish affection had grown with his growth and
strengthened with his strength.
And now Nellie was the affianced bride of William
Raymond, who had replaced the little cornelian with
the engagement ring. At last the rumor reached Tom
Jenkins, awaking him from the sweetest dream he had
ever known. He could not ask Nellie if it were true,
so he came to me; and when I saw how he grew pale and
trembled, I felt that Nellie was not altogether blameless.
But he breathed no word of censure against her; and
when, a year or two afterward, I saw her given to William
Raymond, I knew that the love of two hearts was
hers; the one to cherish and watch over her, the other to
love and worship, silently, secretly, as a miser worships
his hidden treasure.
The bridal was over. The farewells were over, and
Nellie had gone,— gone from the home whose sunlight
she had made, and which she had left forever. Sadly the
pale, sick mother wept, and mourned her absence, listening
in vain for the light foot-fall and soft, ringing voice she
would never hear again.
Three weeks had passed away, and then, far and near,
the papers teemed with accounts of the horrible Norwalk
catastrophe, which desolated many a home, and wrung
from many a heart its choicest treasure. Side by side they
found them—Nellie and her husband—the light of her
brown eyes quenched forever, and the pulses of his heart
still in death!
I was present when they told the poor invalid of her
loss, and even now I seem to hear the bitter, wailing cry
which broke from her white lips, as she begged them “to
unsay what they had said; and tell her Nellie was not
dead—that she would come back again.”
It could not be. Nellie would never return; and in six
week's time the broken-hearted mother was at rest with
her child.
| The homestead on the hillside, and other tales | |