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PART 1 - HOW IT WAS LOST
Among green New England hills stood an
ancient house, many-gabled, mossy-roofed, and
quaintly built, but picturesque and pleasant to the
eye; for a brook ran babbling through the orchard
that encompassed it about, a garden-plat stretched
upward to the whispering birches on the slope, and
patriarchal elms stood sentinel upon the lawn, as
they had stood almost a century ago, when the
Revoiution rolled that way and found them young.
One summer morning, when the air was full of
country sounds, of mowers in the meadow, black-
birds by the brook, and the low of kine upon the
hill-side, the old house wore its cheeriest aspect,
and a certain humble history began.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Di."
And a head, brown-locked, blue-eyed, soft-
featured, looked in at the open door in answer
to the call.
Just bring me the third volume of 'Wilhelm
Meister,' there's a dear. It's hardly worth while
to rouse such a restless ghost as I, when I'm
once fairly laid."
As she spoke, Di PUlled up her black braids,
thumped the pillow of the couch where she was
lying, and with eager eyes went down the last
page of her book.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Laura," replied the girl, coming back
with the third volume for the literay cormorant,
who took it with a nod, still too content upon
the "Confessions of a Fair Saint" to remember
the failings of a certain plain sinner.
"Don't forget the Italian cream for dinner. I
depend upon it; for it's the only thing fit for me
this hot weather."
And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds
of her white gown more gracefully about her, and
touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she was
drawing.
"Little daughter!"
"Yes, father."
"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my
bag, for I must go at once; and some of you bring
me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."
The old man went away into his imaginary
paradise, and Nan into that domestic purgatory
on a summer day, -- the kitchen. There were
vines about the windows, sunshine on the floor,
and order everywhere; but it was haunted by a
cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied
incense rises to appease the appetite of household
gods, before which such dire incantations are
pronounced to ease the wrath and woe of the priestess
of the fire, and about which often linger saddest
memories of wasted temper, time, and toil.
Nan was tired, having risen with the birds,--
hurried, having many cares those happy little
housewives never know,--and disappointed in a
hope that hourly " dwindled, peaked, and pined."
She was too young to make the anxious lines upon
her forehead seem at home there, too patient to
be burdened with the labor others should have
shared, too light of heart to be pent up when
earth and sky were keeping a blithe holiday. But
she was one of that meek sisterhood who, thinking
humbly of themselves, believe they are honored
by being spent in the service of less conscientious
souls, whose careless thanks seem quite
reward enough.
To and fro she went, silent and diligent, giving
the grace of willingness to every humble or distasteful
task the day had brought her; but some
malignant sprite seemed to have taken possession
of her kingdom, for rebellion broke out everywhere.
The kettles would boil over most obstreperously,--
the mutton refused to cook with the
meek alacrity to be expected from the nature of
a sheep,--the stove, with unnecessary warmth of
temper, would glow like a fiery furnace,--the
irons would scorch,--the linens would dry,--and
spirits would fail, though patience never.
Nan tugged on, growing hotter and wearier,
more hurried and more hopeless, till at last the
crisis came; for in one fell moment she tore her
gown, burnt her hand, and smutched the collar she
was preparing to finish in the most unexceptionable
style. Then, if she had been a nervous
woman, she would have scolded; being a gentle
girl, she only "lifted up her voice and wept."
"Behold, she watereth her linen with salt tears,
and bewaileth herself because of much tribulation.
But, lo! Help cometh from afar: a strong man
bringeth lettuce wherewith to stay her, plucketh
berries to comfort her withal, and clasheth cymbals
that she may dance for joy."
The voice came from the porch, and, with her
hope fulfilled, Nan looked up to greet John Lord,
the house-friend, who stood there with a basket
on his arm; and as she saw his honest eyes, kind
lips, and helpful hands, the girl thought this plain
young man the comeliest, most welcome sight she
had beheld that day.
"How good of you, to come through all this
heat, and not to laugh at my despair!" she said,
looking up like a grateful child, as she led him in.
"I only obeyed orders, Nan; for a certain dear
old lady had a motherly presentiment that you had
got into a deomestic whirlpool, and sent me as a
sort of life-preserver. So I took the basket of
consolation, and came to fold my feet upon the carpet
of contentment in the tent of friendship."
As he spoke, John gave his own gift in his
mother's name, and bestowed himself in the wide
window-seat, where morning-glories nodded at him,
and the old butternut sent pleasant shadows
dancing to and fro.
His advent, like that of Orpheus in hades,
seemed to soothe all unpropitious powers with a
sudden spell. The Fire began to slacken. the
kettles began to lull, the meat began to
cook, the irons began to cool, the clothes began to
behave, the spirits began to rise, and the collar was
finished off with most triumphant success. John
watched the change, and, though a lord of creation,
abased himself to take compassion on the
weaker vessel, and was seized with a great desire
to lighten the homely tasks that tried her strength
of body and soul. He took a comprehensive
glance about the room; then, extracting a dish
from he closet, proceeded to imbrue his hands in
the strawberries' blood.
"Oh, John, you needn't do that; I shall have
time when I've turned the meat, made the pudding
and done these things. See, I'm getting on
finely now:--you're a judge of such matters;
isn't that nice?"
As she spole, Nan offered the polished absurdity
for inspection with innocent pride.
"Oh that I were a collar, to sit upon that
hand!" sighed John,--adding, argumentatively,
"As to the berry question, I might answer it with
a gem from Dr. Watts, relative to 'Satan' and
idle hands,' but will merely say, that, as a matter
of public safety, you'd better leave me alone; for
such is the destructiveness of my nature, that I shall
certainly eat something hurtful, break something
valuable, or sit upon something crushable, unless
you let me concentrate my energies by knocking
on these young fellows' hats, and preparing them
for their doom."
Looking at the matter in a charitable light,
Nan consented, and went cheerfully on with her
work, wondering how she could have thought
ironing an infliction, and been so ungrateful for
the blessings of her lot.
"Where's Sally?" asked John, looking vainly
for the functionary who usually pervaded
that region like a domestic police-woman, a terror
to cats, dogs, and men.
"She has gone to her cousin's funeral, and
won't be back till Monday. There seems to be
a great fatality among her relations; for one dies,
or comes to grief in some way, about once a month.
But I don't blame poor Sally for wanting to get
away from this place now and then. I think I
could find it in my heart to murder an imaginary
friend or two, if I had to stay here long."
And Nan laughed so blithely, it was a pleasure
to hear her.
"Where's Di?" asked John, seized with a
most unmasculine curiosity all at once.
"She is in Germany with 'Wilhelm Meister';
but, though 'lost to sight, to memory clear'; for
I was just thinking, as I did her things, how
clever she is to like all kinds of books that I don't
understand at all, and to write things that make
me cry with pride and delight. Yes, she's a
talented dear, though she hardly knows a needle
from a crowbar, and will make herself one great
blot some of these days, when the 'divine afflatus'
descends upon her, I'm afraid."
And Nan rubbed away with sisterly zeal at
Di's forlorn hose and inky pocket-handkerchiefs.
"Where is Laura?" proceeded the inquisitor.
"Well, I might say that she was in Italy; for
she is copying some fine thing of Raphael's or
Michael Angelo's, or some great creatures or
other; and she looks so picturesque in her pretty
gown, sitting before her easel, that it's really a
sight to behold, and I've peeped two or three
times to see how she gets on."
And Nan bestirred herself to prepare the dish
Wherewith her picturesque sister desired to
prolong her artistic existence.
"Where is your father?" John asked again,
checking off each answewr with a nod and a little
frown.
"He is down in the garden, deep in some plan
about melons, the beginning of which seems to
consist in stamping the first proposition in Euclid
all over the bed, and then poking a few seeds
into the middle of each. Why, bless the dear
man! I forgot it was time for the cider. Wouldn't
you like to take it to him, John? He'd love to
consult you; and the lane is so cool, it does one's
heart good to look at it."
John glanced from the steamy kitchen to the
shadowy path, and answered with a sudden assumption
of immense industry,--
"I couldn't possibly go, Nan,--I've so much
on my hands. You'll have to do it yourself. 'Mr.
Robert of Lincoln' has something for your private
ear; and the lane is so cool, it will do one's heart
good to see you in it. Give my regards to your
father, and, in the words of 'Little Mabel's'
mother, with slight variation,--
'Tell the dear old body
This day I cannot run,
For the pots are boiling over
And the mutton isn't done.'"
"I will; but please, John, go in to the girls and
be comfortable; for I don't like to leave you here,"
said Nan.
"You insinuate that I should pick at the pudding
or invade the cream, do you? Ungrateful
girl, leave me!" And, with melodramatic sterness,
John extinguished her in his broad-brimmed
hat, and offered the glass like a poisoned goblet.
Nan took it, and went smiling away. But the
lane might have been the Desert of Sahara, for
all she knew of it; and she would have passed
her father as unconcernedly as if he had been an
apple-tree, had he not called out,--
"Stand and deliver, little woman!"
She obeyed the venerable highwayman, and
followed him to and fro, listening to his plans and
directions with a mute attention that quite won
his heart.
"That hop-pole is really an ornament now,
Nan; this sage-bed needs weeding,--that's good
work for you girls; and, now I think of it, you'd
better water the lettuce in the cool of the
evening, after I'm gone."
To all of which remarks Nan gave her assent;
the hop-pole took the likeness of a tall
figure she had seen in the porch, the sage-bed,
curiously enough, suggested a strawberry ditto,
the lettuce vividly reminded her of certain vegetable
productions a basket had brought, and the
bobolink only sung in his cheeriest voice, "Go
home, go home! he is there!"
She found John--he having made a free-mason
of himself, by assuming her little apron--meditating
over the partially spread table, lost in amaze
at its desolate appearance; one half its proper paraphernalia
having been forgotten, and the other
half put on awry. Nan laughed till the tears ran
over her cheeks, and John was gratified at the
efficacy of his treatment; for her face had brought
a whole harvest of sunshine from the garden, and
all her cares seemed to have been lost in the windings
of the lane.
"Nan, are you in hysterics?" cried Di, appearing,
book in hand. "John, you absurd man,
what are you doing?"
"I'm helpin' the maid of all work, please
marm." And John dropped a curtsy with his
limited apron.
Di looked ruffled, for the merry words were a
covert reproach; and with her usual energy of
manner and freedom of speech she tossed "Wilhelm"
out of the window, exclaiming, irefully.--
"That's always the way; I'm never where I
ought to be, and never think of anything till it's
too late; but it's all Goethe's fault. What does
he write books full of smart 'Phillinas' and
interesting 'Meisters' for? How can I be expected
to remember that Sally's away, and people must
eat, when I'm hearing the 'Harper' and little
'Mignon?' John, how dare you come here and
do my work, instead of shaking me and telling
me to do it myself? Take that toasted child away,
and fan her like a Chinese mandarin, while I dish
up this dreadful dinner."
John and Nan fled like chaff before the wind,
while Di, full of remorseful zeal, charged at the
kettles, and wrenched off the potatoes' jackets,
as if she were revengefully pulling her own hair.
Laura had a vague intention of going to assist;
but, getting lost among the lights and shadows of
Minerva's helmet, forgot to appear till dinner had
been evoked from chaos and peace was restored.
At three o'clock, Di performed the coronation
ceremony with her father's best hat; Laura retied
his old-fashioned neckcloth, and arranged his white
locks with an eye to saintly effect; Nan appeared
with a beautifully written sermon, and suspicious
ink-stains on the fingers that slipped it into his
pocket; John attached himself to the bag; and the
patriarch was escorted to the door of his tent with
the triumphal procession which usually attended
his out-goings and in-comings. Having kissed the
female portion of his tribe, he ascended the venerable
chariot, which received him with audible
lamentation, as its rheumatic joints swayed to and
fro.
"Good-bye, my dears! I shall be back early
on Monday morning; so take care of yourselves,
and be sure you all go and hear Mr. Emerboy
preach to-morrow. My regards to your mother.
John. Come, Solon!"
But Solon merely cocked one ear, and remained
a fixed fact; for long experience had induced the
philosophic beast to take for his motto the Yankee
maxim, "Be sure you're right, then go ahead!
He knew things were not right; therefore he did
not go ahead.
"Oh, by the way, girls, don't forget to pay
Tommy Mullein for bringing up the cow: he
expects it to-night. And Di, don't sit up till
daylight, nor let Laura stay out in the dew. Now, I
believe I'm off. Come, Solon!"
But Solon only cocked the other ear, gently
agitated his mortified tail, as premonitory
symptoms of departure, and never stirred a hoof,
being well aware that it always took three "comes"
to make a "go."
"Bless me! I've forgotten my spectacles.
They are probablv shut up in that volume of
Herbert on my table. Very awkward to find
myself without them ten miles away. Thank you,
John. Don't neglect to water the lettuce,
Nan, and don't overwork yourself, my little
'Martha.' Come--"
At this juncture Solon suddenly went off, like
"Mrs. Gamp," in a sort of walking swoon, apparently
deaf and blind to all mundane matters,
except the refreshments awaiting him ten miles
away; and the benign old pastor disappeared,
humming "Hebron" to the creaking accompaniment
of the bulgy chaise.
Laura retired to take her siesta; Nan made a
small carbonaro of herself by sharpening her
sister's crayons, and Di, as a sort of penance for
past sins, tried her patience over a piece of knitting,
in which she soon originated a somewhat remarkable
pattern, by dropping every third stitch, and seaming
ad libitum. If John bad been a gentlemanly creature,
with refined tastes, he would have elevated his feet
and made a nuisance of himself by indulging in a "weed;"
but being only an uncultivated youth, with a rustic
regard for pure air and womankind in general, he kept
his head uppermost, and talked like a man, instead of
smoking like a chimney.
"It will probably be six months before I sit
here again, tangling your threads and maltreating
your needles, Nan. How glad you must feel
to hear it!" he said, looking up from a thoughtful
examination of the hard-working little citizens
of the Industrial Community settled in Nan's
work-basket.
"No, I'm very sorry; for I like to see you
coming and going as you used to, years ago, and I
miss you very much when you are gone, John,"
answered truthful Nan, whittling away in a sadly
wasteful manner, as her thoughts flew back to the
happy times when a little lad rode a little lass in a
big wheelbarrow, and never spilt his load,--when
two brown heads bobbed daily side by side to
school, and the favorite play was "Babes in the
Wood," with Di for a somewhat peckish robin
to cover the small martyrs with any vegetable
substance that lay at hand. Nan sighed, as she
thought of these things, and John regarded the
battered thimble on his finger-tip with increased
benignity of aspect as he heard the sound.
"When are you going to make your fortune,
John, and get out of that disagreeable hardware
concern? " demanded Di, pausing after an
exciting "round," and looking almost as much
exhausted as if it had been a veritable pugilistic
encounter.
"I intend to make it by plunging still deeper
into 'that disagreeable hardware concern;' for,
next year, if the world keeps rolling, and
John Lord is alive, he will become a partner, and then
--and then--"
The color sprang up into the young man's
cheek, his eyes looked out with a sudden shine,
and his hand seemed involuntarily to close, as if
he saw and seized some invisible delight.
"What will happen then, John?" asked Nan,
with a wondering glance.
"I'll tell you in a year, Nan, wait till then."
and John's strong hand unclosed, as if the
desired good were not to be his yet.
Di looked at him, with a knitting-needle stuck
into her hair, saying, like a sarcastic unicorn,--
"I really thought you had a soul above pots
and kettles, but I see you haven't; and I beg
your pardon for the injustice I have done you."
Not a whit disturbed, John smiled, as if at some
mighty pleasant fancy of his own, as he replied,--
"Thank you, Di; and as a further proof of the
utter depravity of my nature, let me tell you that
I have the greatest possible respect for those articles
of ironmongery. Some of the happiest hours of my
life have been spent in their society; some of my
pleasantest associations are connected with them;
some of my best lessons have come to me among
them; and when my fortune is made, I intend to
show my gratitude by taking three flat-irons
rampant for my coat of arms.
Nan laughed merrily, as she looked at the burns
on her hand; but Di elevated the most prominent
feature of her brown countenance, and sighed
despondingly,--
"Dear, dear, what a disappointing world this
is! I no sooner build a nice castle in Spain, and
settle a smart young knight therein, than down it
comes about my ears; and the ungrateful youth,
who might fight dragons, if he chose, insists on
quenching his energies in a saucepan, and making
a Saint Lawrence of himself by wasting his life
on a series of gridirons. Ah, if I were only a man,
I would do something better than that, and prove
that heroes are not all dead yet. But, instead
of that, I'm only a woman, and must sit rasping
my temper with absurdities like this." And Di
wrestled with her knitting as if it were Fate, and
she were paying off the grudge she owed it.
John leaned toward her, saying, with a look
that made his plain face handsome,--
"Di, my father began the world as I begin
it, and left it the richer for the useful years he
spent here,--as I hope I may leave it some half-
century hence. His memory makes that dingy
shop a pleasant place to me; for there he made an
honest name, led an honest life and bequeathed
to me his reverence for honest work. That is a
sort of hardware, Di, that no rust can corrupt, and
which will always prove a better fortune than
any your knights can achieve with sword and
shield. I think I am not quite a clod, or quite
without some aspirations above money-getting; for
I sincerely desire that courage that makes daily
life heroic by self-denial and cheerfulness of heart;
I am eager to conquer my own rebellious nature,
and earn the confidence of innocent and upright
souls; I have a great ambition to become as good a
man and leave as good a memory behind me as
old John Lord."
Di winked violently, and seamed five times in
perfect silence; but quiet Nan had the gift of
knowing when to speak, and by a timely word
saved her sister from a thunder-shower and her
stocking from destruction.
"John, have you seen Philip since you wrote
about your last meeting with him?
The question was for John, but the soothing
tone was for Di, who gratefully accepted it, and
perked up again with speed.
"Yes; and I meant to have told you about it,"
answered John, piunging into the subject at once.
"I saw him a few days before I came home, and
found him more disconsolate than ever,--' just
ready to go to the Devil,' as he forcibly expressed
himself. I consoled the poor lad as well as I could,
telling him his wisest plan was to defer his proposed
expedition, and go on as steadily as he had
begun,--thereby proving the injustice of your
father's prediction concerning his want of perseverance,
and the sincerity of his affection. I told him
the change in Laura's health and spirits was silently
working in his favor, and that a few more months
of persistent endeavor would conquer your father's
prejudice against him, and make him a stronger
man for the trial and the pain. I read him bits
about Laura from your own and Di's letters, and
he went away at last as patient as Jacob ready to
serve another 'seven years' for his beloved
Rachel."
"God bless you for it, John!" cried a fervent
voice; and, looking up, they saw the cold, listless
Laura transformed into a tender girl, all aglow
with love and longing, as she dropped her mask,
and showed a living countenance eloquent with
the first passion and softened by the first grief of
her life.
John rose involuntarily in the presence of an
innocent nature whose sorrow needed no interpreter
to him. The girl read sympathy in his
brotherly regard, and found comfort in the friendly
voice that asked, half playfully, half seriously,--
"Shall I tell him that he is not forgotten, even
for an Apollo? that Laura the artist has not
conquered Laura the woman? and predict that the
good daughter will yet prove the happy wife?"
With a gesture full of energy, Laura tore her
Minerva from top to bottom, while two great tears
rolled down the cheeks grown wan with hope
deferred.
"Tell him I believe all things, hope all things,
and that I never can forget."
Nan went to her and held her fast, leaving the
prints of two loving but grimy hands upon her
shoulders; Di looked on approvingly, for, though
stony-hearted regarding the cause, she fully
appreciated the effect; and John, turning to the
window, received the commendations of a robin
swaying on an elm-bough with sunshine on its
ruddy breast.
The clock struck five, and John declared that he
must go; for, being an old-fashioned soul, he
fancied that his mother had a better right to his
last hour than any younger woman in the land,--
always remembering that "she was a widow, and
he her only son."
Nan ran away to wash her hands, and came
back with the appearance of one who had washed
her face also: and so she had; but there was a
difference in the water.
"Play I'm your father, girls, and remember
that it will be six months before 'that John' will
trouble you again."
With which preface the young man kissed his
former playfellows as heartily as the boy had been
wont to do, when stern parents banished him to
distant schools, and three little maids bemoaned
his fate. But times were changed now; for Di
grew alarmingly rigid during the ceremony; Laura
received the salute like a graceful queen; and Nan
returned it with heart and eyes and tender lips,
making such an improvement on the childish fashion
of the thing that John was moved to support
his paternal character by softly echoing her father's
words,--"Take care of yourself, my little
'Martha.'"
Then they all streamed after him along the
garden-path, with the endless messages and warnings
girls are so prone to give; and the young man,
with a great softness at his heart, went away, as
many another John has gone, feeling better for the
companionship of innocent maidenhood, and
stronger to wrestle with temptation, to wait and
hope and work.
"Let's throw a shoe after him for luck, as dear
old 'Mrs. Gummage' did after 'David' and the
'willin' Barkis!' Quick, Nan! you always have
old shoes on; toss one, and shout, 'Good luck!'"
cried Di, with one of her eccentric inspirations.
Nan tore off her shoe, and threw it far along the
dusty road, with a sudden longing to become that
auspicious article of apparel, that the omen might
not fail.
Looking backward from the hill-top, John answered
the meek shout cheerily, and took in the
group with a lingering glance: Laura in the shadow
of the elms, Di perched on the fence, and Nan
leaning far over the gate with her hand above her
eyes and the sunshine touching her brown hair
with gold. He waved his hat and turned away;
but the music seemed to die out of the blackbird's
song, and in all the summer landscape his eyes saw
nothing but the little figure at the gate.
"Bless and save us! here's a flock of people
coming; my hair is in a toss, and Nan's without
her shoe; run! fly, girls! or the Philistines will be
upon us!" cried Di, tumbling off her perch in
sudden alarm.
Three agitated young ladies, with flying draperies
and countenances of mingled mirth and dismay,
might have been seen precipitating themselves into
a respectable mansion with unbecoming haste; but
the squirrels were the only witnesses of this "vision
of sudden flight," and, being used to ground-and-lofty
tumbling, didn't mind it.
When the pedestrians passed, the door was
decorously closed, and no one visible but a young
man, who snatched something out of the road,
and marched away again, whistling with more
vigor of tone than accuracy of tune, "Only that,
and nothing more."
Read next: PART II - HOW IT WAS FOUND
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