University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
MARGARET SUCCESSFUL IN A NOVEL ADVENTURE.

A few days afterwards, there came to the Widow
Wright's Mr. Palmer from the Ledge, the man who found
Margaret in the woods and delivered her to his wife. He
purchased of the Widow a prescription for his daughter
Rhody, who he said was not in strong health, and then
stated that his family had been troubled for want of water,
and intimated a conjecture of his wife that Margaret was
one in whom resided the faculty of discovering it, and asked
the Widow if she would accompany him to Pluck's, and
aid in procuring the services of the child for the purpose
indicated. They went to the Pond, where Mr. Palmer
gained the consent of the family to his object, and especially
that of Nimrod, who evinced a positive delight in the
project, and even volunteered to be Margaret's gallant on
the occasion. They all proceeded together, accompanied
by the Widow, who suggested that her personal attention
might be of benefit to Rhody. The Ledge was six or
seven miles from the Pond. It was properly speaking a
marble quarry, and belonged to Mr. Palmer, who with his
sons, in addition to a large farm they carried on, sometimes
worked at gravestones and hearths.

Mr. Palmer was in popular phrase a forehanded man,
his house and barns were large, and his grounds indicated
thrift. He had three sons, Roderick, Alexander
and Rufus, stout, vigorous boys; and one daughter
Rhody, about seventeen, a fair-looking, black-haired girl.

This family were obliged to fetch their water from a
considerable distance, not having been able to find a
spring near the house. Agreeably to the doctrines of
rhabdomancy, formerly in vogue, and at the present moment
not entirely discarded, a twig, usually of witchhazle,
borne over the surface of the ground, indicates the presence
of water to which it is instinctively alive, by stirring
in the hand. The number of persons would seem to be
small in whom this power is lodged, or through whom the
phenomenon exhibits itself. It appeared that the neighborhood
had been canvassed for an operator, but none succeeded.
It occurred to Mistress Palmer, at the camp, that
Margaret might be endowed with the rare gift, and she was
accordingly sent for.

The family at the Ledge showed great joy on the arrival
of the party from the Pond. Mistress Palmer took a pinch
of snuff, and helped Margaret from the horse, and even received
Nimrod kindly, although his pranks at the meeting
might have operated to his prejudice. The large pewter
tankard of cider was passed round, but Margaret refused
to taste, saying she should prefer water. “Dear me! we
hav'nt a drop of decent water in the house,” exclaimed
Mistress Palmer. “The gal shall have some milk, the
best we have; Rhody get some of the morning's; pour it
out cream and all.” Of this Margaret drank freely. “Poor
thing!” ejaculated the lady, “she don't know as she has
got a soul, and our Rufus is nigh as bad, for he won't do
nothing to save his.”

“I tell you what it is, Marm,” rejoined Rufus, her
youngest son, about twelve or fourteen years of age; “I
an't going to have that old preacher whining and poking
about me. I believe I can get to heaven without his help;
if I can't, then I am willing to stay away.”

“Well, well, child,” replied the mother, “I shall not care
how, if you get there at all, only I want you to be a good
boy.” She took a large pinch of snuff. These preliminaries
being settled, and Margaret having received her instructions
to hold the stick firmly and tell when it moved,
proceeded on her duty. She made sundry gyrations, she
traversed the grounds about the house, she tried the garden,
but effected nothing. “It is too wet,” said one; “it
is too cold,” said a second; “it is too dry,” said a third;
“it is too warm,” said a fourth. Mistress Palmer took a
pinch of snuff. Another trial was proposed. The child
went farther from the house, and perambulated the orchard.
All looked on with a breathless interest; she moved about
slowly and carefully, the stick held horizontally forward in
her two fists — a little diviner, in green rush hat and Indian
moccasons; the wind shook her brown curls, her blue
checked pinafore streamed off like a pennon. Did they do
wrong to use a little creature so? Yet is not God useful?
Is not Utility the sister of Beauty? At last she cried out
that it moved. Mr. Palmer hastened forward and struck
his spade into the spot; Margaret ran off. Presently
there were signs of water, then it bubbled up, then it
gushed forth a clear limpid stream. Mr. Palmer praised
God. The boys hoora'd. Mistress Palmer took a pinch
of snuff.

“Taste on't, Alek,” said Rufus.

“No,” replied the father. “It belongs to the finder to
be the first taster. The gal, where is she?”

Rufus was despatched for Margaret. He found her at
the quarry trying to get a harebell that grew far above her
head. The boy crouched under her, and she, stepping on
his shoulders, reached the flower. When she would have
descended, Rufus fastened his arms about her and bore her

off on his back, pappoose-like. Approaching the spot where
the water was found, she leaped down and scampered
around the house; Rufus pursued, she laughed, he laughed,
and full of frolic, he brought her to the spring. She said
she was not dry and would not drink, and would have run
away again; when Nimrod prevailed with her to the end
desired. Then they all drank, and pronounced it excellent
water. Mistress Palmer said it was soft and would
wash well; Mistress Wright declared it was nice to boil
mint in; Alexander didn't care if he hadn't to lug any
more from the brook. All were satisfied, and Margaret
became a wonder.

A sumptuous home-made dinner, with suet Indian-pudding
and molasses for dessert, was served on bright pewter
plates with stag-horn knives and forks. After this, Rufus
brought Margaret a marble flower-pot he had made, also a
kitten very well executed, which he had cut from the same
material. Rhody gave her a root of the Guelder rose.
Mr. Palmer paid the Widow handsomely for her visit to
his daughter, whose case she elaborately investigated.
He offered money to Nimrod, who refused it. Mistress
Palmer presented Margaret with a roll of beautiful linen of
her own manufacture.

“Thank Miss Palmer,” said Nimrod to his sister.

“O no!” exclaimed the lady. “Take it and welcome,
and any thing we have got. But do, my young friend,”
she added as he was mounting his horse, “do think on your
ways, strive, strive, who knows but you may find the good
thing at last? And the little gal—she is a good child as
ever was. It was very kind of her to come all the way up
here, and do us a service. She is worth her weight in
gold. I hope she will have a new heart soon. “Here,”
she continued, “let me help you on.” Margaret, scarcely

touching the woman's hand, sprang to the pillion. “Why,
how she jumps! She is as spry as a cricket. How pretty
she does look up there behind you; I must have a kiss at
her,—there—remember thy Creator in the days of thy
youth—and don't you forget, my young friend.—Good
day.”

“I want Rhody to kiss me,” said Margaret.

“Run Rhody,” said her mother.

“Did Rhody kiss you?” asked Nimrod, when they had
gone on a while without saying any thing.

“Yes,” was the reply.