University of Virginia Library

13. XIII.

All the boyish habits of Helph were at once thrown aside,
and much Aunt Wetherbe marveled when she saw him a day
or two after his return from the city, bring forth from the cellar
a little sled on which, in all previous winters, he had been
accustomed (out of the view of the highway, it is true), to ride
down hill.

“What on airth now?” she said, placing her hands on either
hip, and eyeing him in sorrowful amazement. A great deal of
pains had been lavished on the making of the sled, the runners
were shod with iron, and it was nicely painted; indeed, Helph
had considered it a specimen of the best art, in its way, and now,
as he dragged it forth to light, dusting it with his handkerchief,
and brushing the spider-webs from among its slender beams, he
found it hard to suppress the old admiration for his beautiful
handiwork. Nevertheless, when he found himself observed, he
gave it a rough throw, which lodged it, broken and ruined,
among some rubbish, and drawing his hat over his eyes to conceal
from them the wreck, he strode away without at all
noticing his aunt, who immediately went in search of her

good man, who, in her estimation at least, knew almost every
thing, to ask an explanation of the boy's unaccountable conduct.

But the strange freaks of the young man were not yet at an
end, and on returning to the house he took from a nail beneath
the looking-glass, where they had long hung, the admiration of
all visitors, a string of speckled birds' eggs and the long silvery
skin of a snake, and threw them carelessly into the fire, thereby
sending a sharp pang through the heart of Aunt Wetherbe, if
not through his own. He next took from the joist a bundle of
arrows and darts, the latter out in fanciful shapes, which he had
made at various times to amuse his leisure, and crushed them
together in a box of kindlings, saying, in answer to the remonstrance
of his relation, that was all they were good for.

From the pockets of coats and trowsers he was observed at
various times to make sundry ejectments, embracing all such
trinkets as one is apt to accumulate during boyish years, together
with bits of twine, brass-headed nails, and other treasures
that are prized by youths disposed to be industrious and provident.
But when he brought from an out-house a squirrel's
cage, where many a captive had been civilized into tricks never
dreamed of in his wild swingings from bough to bough, Aunt
Wetherbe took it from his hands, just as she would have done
when he was a wayward child, exclaiming with real displeasure,
“Lord-a-mercy, child! has the old boy himself got into you?”
But Helph soon proved that he was not possessed of the evil
one, by the manliness with which he talked of the coming election,
discussing shrewdly the merits of candidates and parties,
and of such other subjects as he seemed to think deserving of a
manly consideration. All the implements necessary to shaving
operations were shortly procured, and Helph was observed to
spend much of his time in their examination and careful preparation,
though no special necessity for their use was observable,
and hitherto the old razor of his uncle had only now and
then been brought into requisition by him.

When the first flush of conscious manhood had subsided, a
thoughtful and almost sorrowful feeling pervaded the dreams
of the young man; he was much alone, knit his brows, and

answered vaguely when questioned. At last he abruptly an
nounced his intention of beginning the world for himself. He
would sell his horse, and the various farming implements he
possessed, together with the pair of young oxen which he had
played with and petted, and taught to plow and draw the cart,
and with the means thus acquired he would procure a small
shop in the vicinity of the city, and there resume his black-smithing.

“Tut, tut,” said the aunt, “I'd rather you would steal away
from the splitting of oven-wood and the churning of a morning,
just as you used to do, to set quail traps and shoot at a
mark, than to be talking in this way. Your uncle and me
can't get along without you: no, no, my child, you must n't
think of going.”

Helph brushed his hand across his eyes, appealing to the
authority which had always been absolute; and removing his
spectacles, the good old man rubbed them carefully through
the corner of his handkerchief as he said, sadly but decidedly,
“Yes, my son, you have made a wise resolve: you are almost
a man now (here the youth's face colored), and it's time you
were beginning to work for yourself and be a man amongst
men;” and approaching an old-fashioned walnut desk in which
were kept all manner of yellow and musty receipts and letters,
he unlocked it slowly, and pouring from a stout linen bag a
quantity of silver, counted the dollars to the number of a hundred,
and placing them in the hand of the young man, he said,
“A little present to help you on in the world; make good use
of it, my boy; but above all things, continue in the honest,
straight path in which you have always kept, and my word for
it, prosperity will come to you, even though you have but a
small beginning. I have lived to be an old man,” he continued,
“and I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed
begging bread.”

Boyishly, Helph began drawing figures rapidly on the table
with his finger, for he felt the tears coming, but it would not
do, and looking rather than speaking his thanks, he hurried
from the house, and for an hour chopped vigorously at the
wood-pile.

It was soon concluded to hurry the preparations for his departure,
so that he might get fairly settled before the coming
on of cold weather, and a list of goods and chattels to be sold
at public vendue, on a specified day, was made out, and bills
posted on the school-house, at the cross-roads, and in the bar-room
of the tavern, stating the time and place of sale. Ellen
Blake was sent for in haste to come right away and make up
half a dozen shirts, and the provident old lady briskly plied the
knitting-needles, that her nephew might lack for nothing. All
talked gayly of the new project, but the gayety was assumed,
and Ellen herself, with all her powers of making sombre things
take cheerful aspects, felt that in this instance she did not succeed.

Now that he was about to part with them, the gay young
horse that had eaten so often from his hand, and the two gentle
steers that had bowed their necks beneath the heavy yoke at
his bidding, seemed to the young master almost humanly endeared,
and he fed and caressed them morning and evening with
unusual solicitude, tossing them oat sheaves and emptying
measures of corn very liberally.

“Any calves or beef cattle to sell,” called a coarse, loud
voice to Helph, as he lingered near the stall of his oxen, the
evening preceding the day of sale.

“No,” answered the young man, seeing that it was a butcher
who asked the question.

“I saw an advertisement of oxen to be sold here to-morrow,”
said the man, striking his spurred heel against his horse, and
reining him in with a jerk.

“I prefer selling to a farmer,” said Helph, as he leaned
against the broad shoulders of one of the steers, and took in
his hand its horn of greenish white.

“My money is as good as any man's,” said the butcher, and
throwing himself from the saddle he approached the stall, and
after walking once or twice around the unconsciously doomed
animals, and pinching their hides with his fingers, he offered
for them a larger sum than Helph expected; he however
shut his eyes to the proposed advantage, saying he hoped

to sell them to some neighbor who would keep them and be
kind to them.

A half contemptuous laugh answered, in part, as the butcher
turned away, saying he was going further into the country, and
would call on his return—they might not be sold.

Thus far, Helph had not advised with Jenny relative to the
new movement he was about making, but when all arrangements
were made, and it was quite too late to retract, he resolved to
ask her advice; and I suspect in this conduct he was not acting
without a precedent.

From among a bunch of quills that had remained in the
old desk from time immemorial, he selected one, with great
care, and having rubbed his pocket-knife across the end of his
boot for an hour or more, next began a search for ink, of which
his uncle told him there was a good bottle full on the upper
shelf of the cupboard. But the said bottle was not to be found,
and after a good deal of rummaging and some questioning of
Aunt Wetherbe, it was finally ascertained that the ink alluded
to must have been bought ten or twelve years previously, and
that only some dry powder remained of it now in the bottom
of a broken inkstand: yet to this a little vinegar was added,
and having shaken it thoroughly, the young man concluded it
would answer. More than once during all this preparation, he had
been asked what he was going to do, for writing was not done
in the family except on eventful occasions; but the question
elicited no response more direct than “Nothing much,” and so,
at last, with a sheet of foolscap, ink, and a quill, he retired to his
own room—Aunt Wetherbe having first stuck a pin in the candle,
indicating the portion he was privileged to burn.

Whether more or less candle were consumed, I am not advised,
but that a letter was written, I have good authority for
believing. Murder will out, there is no doubt about that, and
the day following the writing, Aunt Wetherbe chanced to have
occasion to untie a bundle of herbs that, in a pillow-case, had
been suspended from the ceiling of Helph's room for a long
time, and what should she find but a letter addressed to Jenny
Mitchel, fantastically folded and sealed with four red wafers; it
had evidently been placed there to await a secret opportunity

of conveyance to the post-office. Long was the whispered conference
between the old lady and Ellen, that followed this discovery;
very indignant was the aunt, at first, for old people
are too apt to think of love and marriage in the young as highly
improper; but Ellen, whose regard for matrimony was certainly
more lenient, exerted her liveliest influence in behalf of the
young people, nor were her efforts unsuccessful, and an unobtrusive
silence on the subject was resolved upon.

During this little excitement in doors, there was much noise
and bustle without; Helph's young horse was gayly caparisoned,
and bearing proudly various riders up and down the
space, where, among plows, harrows, scythes, and other agricultural
implements, a number of farmers were gathered, discussing
politics, smoking, and shrewdly calculating how much they
could afford to bid for this or that article. Yoked together, and
chewing their cuds very contentedly, stood the plump young
oxen, but no one admired them with the design of purchasing.
The vendue was soon over, and all else had been sold, readily
and well. The sleek bay was gone, proudly arching his neck
to the hand of a new master, and the neighbors brought their
teams to carry home whatever they had purchased, and Helph
half sighed as one after another put into his hand the money
for which he had bargained away the familiar treasures which
had been a part of his existence.

As he lingered at the style, he saw approaching a large flock
of sheep, closely huddled together, and with red chalk marks
on their sides indicating their destiny; while behind came a
mingled group of oxen, cows and calves, all driven by the sanguinary
butcher with whom he had refused to treat for his
favorites.

“Well, neighbor,” he said, thrusting his hand in his pocket
and drawing thence a greasy leathern pouch, “I see you have
kept the cattle for me after all.”

At first Helph positively declined selling them, but he did
not want them; it was very uncertain when there would be an
opportunity of disposing of them as he wished, and when the
butcher added something to his first liberal offer, he replied,
“I suppose, sir, you will have to take them.” Riding into the

yard, he drove them roughly forth with whip and voice, from
the manger of hay and the deep bed of straw. They were free
from the yoke, and yet they came side by side, and with their
heads bowed close together, just as they had been accustomed
to work. Passing their young master, they turned towards him
their great mournful eyes, reproachfully, he thought, and crushing
the price of them in his hand, he walked hastily in the direction
of the house.

“The bad, old wretch,” exclaimed Ellen, looking after the
butcher, as she stood on the porch, wiping her eyes with the
sleeve of the shirt she was making; and just within the door sat
Aunt Wetherbe, her face half concealed within a towel, and
crying like a child.

A week more, and Helph was gone, Ellen still remaining
with the old people, till they should get a little accustomed to
their desolate home. The tears shed over his departure were
not yet dry, for he had left in the morning and it was now
dusky evening, when, as the little family assembled round the
tea-table, he entered, with a hurried and anxious manner that
seemed to preface some dismal tidings.

Poor youth! his heart was almost breaking. He had no concealments
now, and very frankly told the story of his love, and
what had been his purposes for the future. Mr. and Mrs. Randall
had suddenly given up their house, gone abroad, and taken
Jenny with them, under pretext of giving her a thorough education
in England. But the young lover felt instinctively that she
was separated from him for a widely different purpose. And
poor faithful Aunt Kitty, she had been dismissed without a shilling
above her scanty earnings, to work, old and disabled as she
was, or die like a beggar. After much inquiry, he had learned
that she had obtained an engagement at an asylum, as an attendant
on the sick.

“Dear old soul!” said Aunt Wetherbe, “you must go right
away in the morning and bring her here; she shan't be left to
suffer, and I know of it.”

“Never mind—all will come out bright,” said Ellen, as Helph
sat that night on the porch, alone and sorrowful.

But he would not be comforted: Jenny had not left a single

line to give him assurance and hope, and even if she tnought of
him now, she would forget him in the new life that was before
her. All this was plausible, but Ellen's efforts were not entirely
without effect; and when she offered to go with him to the city
and see Aunt Kitty, who perhaps might throw some light on
the sudden movement, he began to feel hopeful and cheerful
almost: for of all eyes, those of a lover are the quickest to see
light or darkness.

Some chance prevented the fulfilment of Ellen's promise, and
I was commissioned by her to perform the task she had proposed
for herself. “It will help to keep him up, like,” she said, “if
you go along.” A day or two intervened before I could conveniently
leave home, but at last we set out, on a clear frosty
morning of the late autumn. Behind the one seat of the little
wagon in which we rode, was placed an easy chair for Aunt
Kitty. A brisk drive of an hour brought us to the hospital;
and pleasing ourselves with thoughts of the happy surprise we
were bringing to the poor forlorn creature, we entered the
parlor, and on inquiry were told we had come too late—she
had died half an hour before our arrival, in consequence of
a fall received the previous evening in returning from the dead-house,
whither she had assisted in conveying a body. “I have
ordered her to be decently dressed,” said the superintendent,
“from my own things; she was so good, I thought that little
enough to do for her;” and she led the way to the sick ward,
where Aunt Kitty awaited to be claimed and buried by her
friends. It was a room fifty or sixty feet long, and twenty
perhaps in width, lined on either side with a long row of narrow
dirty beds, some of them empty, but most of which were
filled with pale and miserable wretches—some near dying,
some groaning, some propped on pillows and seeming stolidly
to regard the fate of others and of themselves. The sun
streamed hot through the uncurtained windows, and the atmosphere
was pervaded with offensive smells.

As my eye glanced down the long tiers of beds where there
was so much suffering, it was arrested by the corpse of the
poor old woman—gone at last to that land where there are no
more masters, no more servants. I shuddered and stood still

as the two shrivelled and haglike women wrapped and pinned
the sheet about the stiffening limbs, with as much glee, imbecile
almost, but frightful, as they apparently were capable of feeling
or expressing. “What in Heaven's name are you laughing
at?” said Helph, approaching them. “Just to think of
sarving a dead nigger!” said one, with a revolting simper; but
looking in his face, she grew respectful with a sudden recollection,
and drew from her pocket a sealed letter, saying, “May
be you can tell who this is for—we found it in her bosom when
we went to dress her.” It was a letter from Jenny to himself:
poor Aunt Kitty had been faithful to the last.

Not till I was turning from that terriblest shelter of woe I
ever saw, did I notice a young and pale-cheeked girl, sitting
near the door, on a low and rude rocking-chair, and holding
close to her bosom an infant but a few days old: not with a
mother's pride, I fancied, for her eyes drooped before the glance
of mine, and a blush burned in her cheek, as though shame and
not honor covered her young maternity. I paused a moment,
praised the baby, and spoke some kindly words to her; but she
bowed her head lower and lower on her bosom, speaking not a
word; and seeing that I only gave her pain, I passed on, with a
spirit more saddened for the living than for the dead, who had
died in such wretchedness.

Jenny's letter proved a wonderful comfort to Helph, and
cheerfulness and elasticity gradually came back to him; but
when, at the expiration of a year, his parents returned without
her, and bringing a report of her marriage, all courage, all
ambition, deserted him, and many a summer and winter went
by, during which he lived in melancholy isolation.

I shall not attempt to write the history of Jenny Mitchel,
except thus much, which had some relation to our life at Clovernook;
and therefore pass abruptly into the future of my
good friend Randall. Nearly fifteen years were gone since his
sweetheart crossed the sea, and country belles had bloomed
and faded before his eyes, without winning from him special
regard: when, as he sat before a blazing hickory fire one evening,
waiting for Aunt Wetherbe, who still enjoyed a green old

age, to bring to the table the tea and short-cake, there was a
quick, lively tap on the door, and the next moment, in the full
maturity of womanhood, but blushing and laughing like the
girl of years ago, Jenny stood in the midst of the startled
group—Jenny Mitchel still! Helph had become a prosperous
man in the world, and had been envied for the good fortune
which his patient bravery so much deserved. The waves of
the sea of human life had reached out gradually from the city
until they surrounded his blacksmith's shop, and covered all
his lots as if with silver; and he had been building, all the previous
year, a house so beautiful, and with such fair accessories,
as to astonish all the neighborhood acquainted in any degree
with his habits or reputed temper. “What does the anchorite
mean to do with such a place? he never speaks to a woman
more than he would to a ghost,” they said; “so he won't get
married; and nobody is so particular about a house to sell,
and it can't be he's going to stay in it all alone.” But Helph
knew very well what he was about, and was content to keep
his own counsel. If he had mailed certain letters out at Clovernook,
our postmaster would have guessed at once his secret;
but though Mr. Helphenstein Randall was very well known in
town, there were so many objects there to interest the common
attention that it was never observed when, every once in a
while, he bought a small draft on England, nor that he more
frequently sent letters east for the Atlantic steamers, nor that
he received as frequently as there was foreign news in the
papers, missives, every month more neatly folded and with
finer superscriptions. He had been thought something of a
philosopher, by Ellen Blake and I, and others were convinced,
perhaps by justifying reasons, that he was as little impressible
by woman's charms as the cattle in his stalls. But there are
not so many philosophers in the world as some pretend, and
his heart was all aglow with pictures of one on whom he
looked in dreams and in the distant perfumed gardens of
his hope. Jenny, deserted, and struggling with all the adversities
that throng the way of a poor girl alone in so great a city,
had written at length from London all the story of her treatment
by her lover's parents, and having time for reflection
before he could answer her letter—provoking all his nature
to joy and scorn—he had decided that she should not come
back until she could do so with such graces and accomplishments
as should make her the wonder and him the envy of all
who had contrived or wished their separation. He had trusted
her, educated her, and at last had all the happiness of which
his generous heart was capable.

Ellen Blake of course presided at the wedding, and the
quilts quilted that night at Aunt Wetherbe's had been kept
unused for a present to Helph's wife on her bridal night.
When I am down in the city I always visit the Randalls, and
there is not in the Valley of the West another home so pleassant,
so harmonious, so much like what I trust to share in
heaven.