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Title: The Wooing of Calvin Parks
Author: Laura E. Richards
Release Date: February 18, 2010 [EBook #31320]
Language: English
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THE WOOING OF CALVIN PARKS
[Illustration: CALVIN PARKS.]
THE WOOING OF
CALVIN PARKS
By LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," "Melody," "Mrs.
Tree," "Geoffrey Strong," etc.
_ILLUSTRATED_
BOSTON * DANA ESTES &
COMPANY * PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1908_
By DANA ESTES & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
THE WOOING OF CALVIN PARKS
_COLONIAL PRESS_
_Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co._
_Boston, U.S.A._
TO
H. H. R.
WITH MUCH LOVE
Transcriber's notes: Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected and
hyphenated words have been standardized.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCING THE PRICIPAL CHARACTERS 11
II. BROTHERLY WAYS 21
III. CALVIN'S STORY 38
IV. THE CANDY ROUTE 48
V. CONCERNING PEPPERMINTS 63
VI. BOARD AND LODGING 76
VII. MATCH-MAKING 88
VIII. "PLAYING S'POSE" 101
IX. CANDY-MAKING 120
X. JOHN ALDEN--WITH A DIFFERENCE 134
XI. CONCERNING TRADE 148
XII. CALVIN'S WATERLOO 160
XIII. MERRY CHRISTMAS 187
XIV. AT LAST! 204
XV. BY WAY OF CONTRAST 219
XVI. TOIL AND TROUBLE 238
XVII. NIGHT 252
XVIII. MORNING 259
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CALVIN PARKS _Frontispiece_
"HE LOOKED FROM ONE TWIN TO THE OTHER, HALF
AMUSED, HALF INDIGNANT" 40
"CALVIN REGARDED THEM BENEVOLENTLY" 49
MR. CHEESEMAN 120
"'HOLD ON, MISS HANDS!' SAID CALVIN, AS SHE MOVED
TOWARD THE DOOR" 137
"'THEN I HOVE HIM BACK INTO THE DRIFT TO COOL
OFF A SPELL'" 188
MARY SANDS 204
"THEN WITH ONE SWIFT MOTION, CALVIN TRANSFERRED
THE PIE FROM HIS PLATE TO THE STOVE" 233
THE WOOING OF CALVIN PARKS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
"If I'm not mistaken," said Calvin Parks, "this is the ro'd where Sam
and Sim used to live!"
He checked his horse and looked about him. "And there--well, I'm blowed
if that ain't the house now. Same old pumpkin-color; same old
well-sweep; same old trees; it certinly is the house. Well!"
He looked earnestly at the house, which seemed to give him a friendly
look in return; a large, comfortable yellow house, with windows of
cheerful inquiry, and a door that came as near smiling as a door can.
Two huge elms mounted guard over it, and touched tips with a group of
splendid willows that clustered round the ample barnyard; the front yard
was green and smooth, with a neat flagstone path; a vast and
friendly-looking dog lay on the broad door-step; everything about the
place looked comfortable and sociable.
"If that ain't a pictur'," said Calvin Parks, "I never see one, that's
all."
He drove into the yard, and clambered rather slowly out of his wagon. He
was a tall, light-limbed, active-looking man, but the wheels seemed to
be in his way.
"I never shall get used to this rig," he muttered; "I'd ought to have a
rope and tayckle to hi'st me out."
He cast a disapproving look at the wagon, and hurried toward the house.
The vast dog rose, shook himself, yawned, and sniffed approvingly at his
trousers.
"That's right, son!" said Calvin. "A friend is a friend, in pants or
tails! Now let's see where the boys be. I must wipe my feet good,
though, or I shall have the old lady after me!"
He opened the front door; and after casting a look of friendly
recognition round the hall, tapped on the door at his left.
"Come in!" said a voice.
"Sam!" said Calvin Parks; and he stepped into the room.
"How are you, Sam?" he began. "How are you--why, where's Sim?" he added
in an altered tone. "Where's your Ma?"
A little man in snuff-brown clothes, with a red flannel waistcoat, came
forward.
"Calvin Parks," he said, "don't tell me this is you!"
"I won't!" said Calvin. "I'll tell you it's old John Tyseed if that'll
do you any good. What I want to know is, where's the rest of you? Don't
tell me there's anything happened to your Ma and Sim, Sam Sill!"
The little man cast a curious look toward a door that stood ajar not
far from where he sat. He was silent a moment, and then said in a half
whisper, "Ma is gone, Calvin!"
"Gone!" repeated the visitor. "What do you mean by gone?"
"Dead!" said the little man. "Departed. No more."
"Sho!" said Calvin Parks. "Is that so? Well, I'm sorry to hear it, Sam!
And I'm--well, astounded is the word. Your Ma gone! Well, now! she was
one, somehow or other of it, never seemed as if she _could_ go."
"I expect," said Mr. Samuel Sill in the same subdued tone, "she is with
the blessed;" he reflected a moment, and added, "and with father!"
"To be sure! naturally!" said Calvin Parks reassuringly. "How long since
you laid her away, Sam?"
"We laid her away," said Sam, "a year ago, Calvin. She'd been poorly for
a long spell, droopin' kind of; nothing to take a holt of. Kep' up
round and done the work, but her victuals didn't relish, nor yet they
didn't set. She knew her time was come. She said to me and--the other
one," (again he cast a curious look toward the open door), "sittin' in
this very room--'Boys,' she says, 'my stummick is leavin' me; and
without a stummick I have no wish to remain, nor yet I don't believe it
would be wished. I expect I am about to depart this life.'"
"I want to know!" murmured Calvin Parks sympathetically. "She come as
close to it as that, did she?"
"About twice't a week," the little man continued, "she'd call us to come
in after she was in bed, and say she'd most likely be gone in the
mornin', and to be good boys, and keep the farm up as it should be.
First for a time we tried to reason her out of it like, for the Lord
didn't seem in no hurry, nor yet we weren't; but one night she seemed
set on it, told us goodbye, and all the rest of it. 'Well, mother!' I
says, 'if you see father, tell him the hay's all in!' I says. Sure
enough, come morning she was gone. Cut down like a--well!" he paused
again and reflected. "I don't know as you'd call Ma exactly a flower,
nor yet was she what you'd call real fruity, though ripe."
"Call it grain!" said Calvin Parks gravely. "First crop oats, or good
winter wheat; either of them, Sam, would represent your Ma good. Well, I
certinly am astounded to find that she is gone. But that don't tell me
the rest of it, Sam. Where's Sim?"
"Sim," replied the little man, turning his eyes toward the open door;
"Sim is--"
At this moment a singular sound came from beyond the door; a sound half
cough, half call, and all cackle.
"That's Sim!" said Mr. Sam. "You'll find him in there!"
Calvin Parks's large brown eyes seemed to grow quite round; he stared at
the little man for a moment; then "Red-top and timothy!" he muttered;
"there's something queer here!" and stepped quickly into the other room.
A stranger would have said, here was a juggler's trick. The little
snuff-colored man sitting hunched in the low chair was apparently the
same man, but he had changed his red waistcoat for a black one, and had
whisked himself in some unaccountable way into another room. But Calvin
Parks knew better.
"How are you, Sim?" he said.
"Calvin," said the second little man, "I am pleased to see you, real
pleased! Be seated! In regards to your question, I am middlin', sir,
only middlin'."
Calvin Parks sat down, his eyes still round and staring. "What's the
matter?" he asked abruptly.
"Some thinks it's lumbago," said the little man; "and more calls it
neurology. There is them," he added cautiously, "as has used the word
tuber-clossis; I don't hold with that myself, but I'm doctorin' for all
three, not to take no chances."
"All that be blowed!" said Calvin Parks. "What's the matter between you
two? Why are you sittin' here and Sam in t'other room, you that have set
side by side ever since you knew how to sit? Siamese Twins you've been
called ever since born you was; dressed alike, fed alike, and reared
alike; and now look at you! What's the matter, I say?"
The little man cast a look toward the door, a duplicate of the look
which Calvin Parks had seen cast from the other side of it. Then he
leaned forward, and fixed his sharp gray eyes on his visitor.
"Calvin Parks," he said, "you never was a twin!"
"No, I warn't!" said Calvin Parks.
The little man waved his hand. "That's all I've got to say!" he said.
"We was. That's the situation. I've nothin' against Samuel, nor he as I
knows on against me; but we have had a sufficiency of each other, and we
are havin' us a rest, Calvin. We eat together, but otherwise we don't.
But I'll tell you one thing," he added, leaning forward and dropping his
voice, while his eyes narrowed to pinpoints. "When I don't like a man, I
don't like him any better for bein' twin to me, I like him wuss!"
He leaned back again, and then repeated aloud, "Not that I've anything
against Samuel, or fur as I know, Samuel against me."
"Well! may I be scuttled," said Calvin Parks, "if ever I see the beat
of this! Why, Sim Sill--"
At this moment another door opened behind him, and a clear, pleasant
voice said,
"Dinner's ready, Cousin Sim! Cousin Sam, dinner's ready!"
Mr. Simeon Sill made a gesture of introduction. "Calvin," he said, "let
me make you acquainted with my cousin Miss Sands!"
Calvin Parks rose and made his best bow. "Miss Hands," he said, "I am
pleased to meet you, I'm sure!"
CHAPTER II
BROTHERLY WAYS
"You'll stay to dinner, Cal?" said Mr. Sim.
"Calvin, you'll eat dinner with us?" cried Mr. Sam.
Calvin Parks looked at Miss Sands, and saw hospitality beaming in her
face.
"Thank ye, Sim;" he said, "I'm obliged to you, Sam; I'll stay with
pleasure, Miss Hands!"
It was a singular meal. Mary Sands sat at the head of the table, with
all the dishes before her, and helped the three men largely to the
excellent boiled dinner. Calvin Parks faced her at the foot, and the
twins sat on either side. They talked cheerfully with their visitor and
Miss Sands, but did not address each other directly.
Calvin remarked upon the excellence of the beef. "Fancy brisket, ain't
it?" he asked.
"Yes!" replied Mr. Sim. "It's the best cut on the critter for cornin'."
Mr. Sam looked at his cousin. "Tell him I don't agree with him!" he
said.
"Cousin Sim, Cousin Sam don't agree with you!" said Mary Sands placidly.
"Tell him the aitch bone is better!" continued Mr. Sam with some heat.
"He says the aitch bone is better!" repeated Mary Sands.
"Tell him it ain't!" said Mr. Sim.
"Cousin Sim says it ain't, Cousin Sam," said Mary, "and that's enough on
the subject."
She spoke with calm and cheerful authority; the twins glowered at the
corned beef in silence.
"Speakin' of critters," said Calvin Parks hastily, "how many head are
you carryin' now, boys?"
There was no reply. Looking at Miss Sands, her eyes directed his glance
to Mr. Sam.
"How many head are you carryin', Sam?" he repeated.
"Twenty!" replied Mr. Sam.
"That's a nice herd," said Calvin. "Hereford, be they?"
"Holstein!" said Sam. "They're the best milkers, and the best beef
critters too."
Mr. Sim looked at Mary Sands with kindling eyes. "Tell him it ain't so!"
he said. "Tell him he knows better!"
"Cousin Sim says it ain't so, and you know better, Cousin Sam," said
Mary Sands.
"Tell him he knows wuss!" grunted Mr. Sam.
"Cousin Sam says you know wuss, Cousin Sim, and that will do!" said
Mary Sands quietly.
It was the same at dessert. Calvin praised the admirable quality of the
pie.
"Now this," he said, "is my idee of a squash pie. It isn't slickin' up
and tryin' to look like custard, nor yet it don't make believe it's
pumpkin; it just says, 'I am a squash pie, and if there's a better
article you may let me know.'"
"I'm real pleased you like it," said Mary Sands modestly; "it's Cousin
Lucindy's recipe. She must have been a master hand at pies."
"She certinly was!" said Mr. Sam. "Squash and pumpkin and cranberry, Ma
was fust-rate in all; but mince was her best holt."
"Tell him it warn't," said Mr. Sim, fixing his cousin with a burning
eye. "Tell him her apple bet it holler."
"Cousin Sim says it warn't, Cousin Sam, and her apple bet it holler,"
repeated Mary Sands cheerfully.
"Tell him he's a turnip-head!" said Mr. Sam.
"I don't repeat no calling names," said Mary Sands. "Mr. Parks, will you
have some more of the pie? Cousin Sam, another piece? Cousin Sim? well,
then, the meal is finished, Cousins!"
Each twin, as he rose from the table, cast a glance of invitation at
Calvin Parks; but he hastily seized a dish. "I'm going to help Miss
Hands clear off," he said; and he followed Mary Sands into the kitchen.
"Oh! Mr. Parks," said Mary, "you no need to do that! I'm well used to
washing dishes!"
"I should suppose you was," responded Calvin Parks gallantly, "but if
you'll let me help, Miss Hands, it would be an accommodation, now it
would. Fact is," he continued, "I expect I shall bust if I don't find
out what this all means, and I want you to tell me. How long have the
boys been actin' this way?"
"How long?" repeated Mary Sands. "Ever since I come. Haven't they always
been so?"
"Always been so?" repeated Calvin Parks. "Why, Miss Hands--why--" he
looked about him helplessly. "Well, I am blowed!" he said plaintively.
"I'll have to ask you to excuse the expression, Miss Hands, but I really
am! Perhaps I'd better tell you how things used to be in this house, and
then you can see how--how blowed I am at findin' them as they be."
"I should be real pleased if you would!" said Mary Sands. "I've been
wonderin' and wonderin', ever since I come, but there's no near
neighbors, you know, and I don't know as I should have cared to ask 'em
if there had been; but you are a friend of both, I see, and it seems
different."
"I'll wash to your wipin'," said Calvin Parks, taking off his coat and
rolling up his shirt sleeves, "and we can talk as we go; I'm an old hand
at dishes too. Well! Friend of both? well, I should remark! I lived on
the next ro'd, not more'n half a mile across lots. You might have seen a
burnt cellar hole?--Well, that was our home. First I remember of Sam and
Sim was them sittin' together in their chair. 'Twas a queer chair, made
o' purpose to hold the two of 'em. There they set, and tell 'tother from
which was more than I could do, or anybody else for that matter, except
their Ma. They might ha' been nine then, and I s'pose I was four or
five. I rec'lect I went up to 'em and says, 'Be you one boy cut in two?'
Cur'us things children are, sure enough. They was dressed alike, then
and always; fed alike, and reared alike, every human way of it. Doctored
alike, too, poor young ones! One time when they was babies the wrong
one got the medicine, and after that Ma Sills always dosed 'em both,
whichever was sick. 'There's goin' to be no partiality!' she says; 'the
Lord made them children off the same last, and they're goin' to stay the
same!' Why, Miss Hands, she wouldn't so much as allow they could _think_
different. If they got to scrappin', same as all boys do, y'know, Ma
would take 'em by the scruff of their necks and haul 'em up to the
looking-glass. 'Look at there!' she'd say. 'Do you see them boys? do you
see the way they look? Now I give you to understand that your souls
inside is just as much alike as your bodies outside. I ain't sure but
it's two halves of the same soul,' she'd say, 'and do you think I'm
goin' to let 'em quarrel? You make up and love each other pretty right
away, or I'll take the back of the hairbrush to you both!'
"So they'd make up; they had to! There! Ma Sills certinly did rule the
roost, and no mistake. She'd been a widder ever since the boys were a
year old, so she had to do for herself and them, and she done it. She
was a master hand; a master hand!"
He shook his head, and washed the platter vigorously.
"Did it keep on that way after they grew up?" asked Mary Sands.
"Did it?" repeated Calvin. "Yes, it did! Neither one of 'em could stand
against their Ma. Folks thought the boys would marry, and that would
break it up like, but Ma wouldn't have that. 'When I find two girls as
much alike as they is boys,' she'd say, 'we'll talk about gettin'
married; till then they're wife enough for each other.'
"That was when Sam was takin' notice of Ivy Bell. She was a girl from
Vermont, come visitin' Ammi Bean's folks; her mother was sister to
Ammi. She was a pretty, slim little creatur', and I expect Sam thought
she was all creation for a spell; but she never could tell him from Sim,
and Sim didn't take to her no way, shape or manner. That suited their Ma
first rate, and she'd take a day when Sam was off to market, and then
she'd send Sim on an errant down to Bean's. I rec'lect I was there one
day when he come,--I guess I was some taken with Ivy myself, for she was
a pretty piece. When she see him she begun to roll her eyes and simper
up the way gals do--I ask your pardon, Miss Hands! I don't mean all
gals, nor I shouldn't want you to think it."
"Thank you, Mr. Parks!" said Mary demurely; "I won't!"
"Well, she did," said Calvin; "no two ways about that. 'Good mornin',
Mr. Sills,' she says, 'was you wishin' to see anyone?'
"'Yes!' says Sim, 'I want to see Mr. Bean.'
"'He's down in the medder,' says Ivy; and then she kind o' hung down her
head and looked up at him sideways. 'I don't suppose there's anyone else
would do instead, Mr. Sills?'
"'No, there ain't!' says Sim; and off he legged it to the medder."
"My!" said Mary Sands, "What did she say to that?"
"Why, I snickered right out in meetin'," said Calvin. "I just couldn't
help it; and she was so mad she whisked into the house and slammed the
door in my face, and that was the last _I_ saw of Ivy.
"But next time poor old Sam come along, slicked up for courtin', with
his heart in his vest pocket all ready to hand out, why, he got the door
in his face, too, and had to start in all over again. Well, sir--I beg
your pardon, ma'am, or I should rather say miss--that was pretty much
the way things was when I quit home, and that was pretty much the way I
expected to find 'em when I come back. It didn't seem as if a trifle of
fifteen years was going to make much difference in Ma Sill, nor yet in
Sam and Sim; they seemed sort of permanent, don't you know, like the old
well-sweep, or the big willows. I s'pose when Ma was laid away the boys
commenced to feel as if they was two minds as well as two bodies. You
don't know what started them actin' this way?"
Miss Sands reflected a moment.
"I shouldn't be surprised," she said, "if it was their vests."
"Their vests?" repeated Calvin.
"Yes! You noticed Cousin Sam had on a red one and Cousin Sim a black
one? Well--but suppose I tell you my end of it, Mr. Parks, just as it
come to me."
"I should be fairly pleased to death if you would!" said Calvin Parks.
"That's what I've been layin' for right along. Yes, I spotted them vests
first thing, I guess it's the first stitch ever they had on that was
anyways different. Well! you was going to say?"
Mary Sands was silent a moment, gazing thoughtfully at the blue platter
she held.
"I'm a lone woman!" she said at last. "I was an only child, and parents
died when I was but young. I've kept house these ten years for my uncle
over to Tupham Corners. He was a widower with one son, and a real good
man; like a father to me, he was. Last year he died, and left the farm
to Reuben,--that was his son,--and the schooner, a coasting schooner he
was owner of, to me. I expect he thought--" she paused, and a bright
color crept into her warm brown cheek; "well," she continued, "anyhow,
Reuben and I didn't hit it off real well, and I left. I was staying with
friends when a letter come from Cousins statin' their Ma had passed
away and would I come to keep house for them. I'd never visited here,
but Cousin Lucindy was own cousin to my mother, and we'd met at
conference and like that, but yet I'd never seen the boys. Well, I
thought about it a spell, and I thought I'd come and try, and if we
suited, well and good, and if not there'd be no bones broke. So I packed
up and come over by the stage. Well!"
She stopped to laugh, a little mellow tinkling laugh. "I guess I sha'n't
forget my first sight of Cousins. I come up the steps kind of quiet. The
door stood open, and I knocked and waited a minute, hearin' voices; then
I stepped inside the hall. The front sittin'-room door was open too, and
Cousins was standin' back to it, them same brown backs, each one the
other over again, and one of them was holdin' a red vest in each hand.
I coughed, but they didn't hear me, and he went right on speakin'.
"'Ma bought this red flannel at the bankrupt sale,' he said. 'She
allowed 'twould keep us in vests and her in petticuts and thro't
bandages for ten years, and I'm not going to begin to waste the minute
she's under ground. She would say, "you go on wearin' them vests!" and
I'm goin' to.'
"'She wouldn't!' said the other. 'She'd say, "you go on wearin' the coat
and pants, but if you are in mournin' for me, show it by puttin' on a
black vest, as is no more than decent."'
"'I can mourn just as well in red flannel as what I can in black!' says
the first one.
"'You can't!' says the other.
"'I'll show you whether I can or not!' says the first.
"And at that they turned face to face to each other and sideways to me,
and each riz up his right arm--honest, Mr. Parks, I couldn't believe
but 'twas the same person and him reflected in a mirror, they was so
like. I thought they was goin' to strike each other, so I stepped
forward and said, 'Good mornin', Cousins; I've come!'"
Again she tinkled a laugh. "You never see men more surprised than what
they was; but they shook hands real pleasant, made me welcome, and then
walked one off one way and one the other, and so it has remained. At
first they wanted to eat in different rooms, but I told 'em I couldn't
have that, nor yet I couldn't have no quarrellin', so now we get on real
pleasant, as you see. But isn't it comical? There! when I see them--"
At this moment a prolonged cough was heard from the direction of the
sitting-room; and at the same time a thin high voice called, "Calvin!
you got lost, or what?"
"Cousins are gettin' uneasy!" said Mary Sands. "You'd best go in, Mr.
Parks, and I'm a thousand times obliged to you for helpin' me with the
dishes. You are an elegant washer, I must say."
"Miss Hands," replied Calvin Parks as he drew on his coat, "the man who
wouldn't wash good to such wipin' as yours wouldn't deserve to eat out
of a dish. The thanks is on my side for enjoyin' the privilege."
CHAPTER III
CALVIN'S STORY
Passing from the kitchen into the back sitting-room, Calvin found Mr.
Sim hunched in his chair, looking injured.
"I didn't know but you had gone without comin' in," he said; "seems to
me you've ben a long time with them dishes."
"They're handsome dishes!" replied Calvin. "You wouldn't have me hurry
and risk droppin' of them, would you? Well, Sim, I s'pose I must be
joggin' along."
"What's your hurry? what's your hurry?" cried Mr. Sim peevishly. "I
didn't have no chance to talk at dinner, there was so much clack goin'
on;" and he cast a baleful glance at the doorway. "I want to know where
you've ben and what you've ben doin' all these years, Calvin. Sit down
and fill your pipe, and let's hear about it."
Calvin looked about him. "Well!" he said slowly, "I don't know as
there's any such drivin' hurry. Hossy'll be pleased to stay a bit
longer, I reckon;" he glanced out of the window at the fat brown horse,
who was munching oats sleepily.
"Want to hear where I've been, do you, Sim? All right! Where shall I
set? Sam'll want to hear too, won't he?"
"Yes!" cried Mr. Sam from the other room. "Certin' I do, Calvin, certin'
I do."
"Well, how about this? Come on into the front room, Sim!"
"No! no!" cried Mr. Sim hastily. "I allus set here, Calvin. You might
set in the doorway," he added, "then the other one could hear too."
"Well, of all the darned foolishness ever I heard of!" said Calvin
Parks. "Say, boys, how old was you last birthday? Was it fifty, or only
five? Mebbe I was mistaken!"
Standing in the doorway, which he seemed to fill with his stalwart
sunburnt presence, he looked from one twin to the other, half amused,
half indignant. The brothers shuffled their feet and wriggled in their
chairs. Their motions were identical, and the furtive glance which Mr.
Sam cast at Calvin was mirrored by Mr. Sim. "I can hear fust rate if you
sit there, Cal!" said both brothers together.
Calvin Parks pulled a chair into the doorway, and tilted it at a
convenient angle. Again he looked from one twin to the other.
"If your Ma was here--" he said slowly; "but there! She ain't, and
that's all there is to it. Well, I'm here anyhow, ain't I? and you want
to know how I come here. Well, I come behind hossy. Whose hossy? My
hossy, and my waggin. Good enough hossy, good enough waggin; but
defend me from that way of gettin' about! Land is good to live on: take
a farm like this now; I admire it, and barrin' tomfoolishness, I call
you two lucky fellows; but come to gettin' about, give me water. This
rumblin' and joltin' about over clay ro'ds, and climbin' in and out over
a great wheel, and like as not hossy startin' up just as you've got your
leg over and throwin' of you into the ro'd--what I say is, darn it all!
And think you might be slippin' along in a schooner, and the water
lip-lappin', and the shore slidin' by smooth and pleasant, and no need
to say 'gerlong up!' nor slap the reins nor feed her oats--I tell you,
boys, I get so homesick for it I think some days I'll chuck the whole
concern."
[Illustration: "HE LOOKED FROM ONE TWIN TO THE OTHER, HALF AMUSED, HALF
INDIGNANT."]
"What concern?" inquired Mr. Sam. "You appear to me to ramble in your
talk, Calvin, same as you allus did. Ma allus said you was a rambler in
your talk and a rover in your ways, and you'd never settle down till
you married."
"She did, did she?" said Calvin musing. "I expect she was about right.
Well--you see," he cast an apologetic glance at Mary Sands, who had come
in quietly and sat down with her sewing in the front room, "I've always
laid it to some to the fire. Look at your house here, boys!" he gave a
wistful glance round the two bright, tidy, cheerful rooms. "If I had a
home like this, would I be a rover? I guess not! I guess I shouldn't
need no cobbler's wax on the seat of the chair to hold me down; but if
all you had come home to was an empty cellar hole, not a stick nor a
stitch--nothing was saved, you remember,--why, you might feel different.
I took to the coastin' trade, as you know, and the past ten years I've
been master of the 'Mary Sands, Bath and Floridy with lumber.'"
"I want to know!" said Mr. Sam.
"Do tell me!" cried Mr. Sim. "Why--"
Mary Sands had dropped her work at the sound of her own name, and looked
up quickly; meeting Calvin Parks's look of unconscious admiration, the
wholesome color flushed into her face again, and her brown eyes began to
twinkle. She broke in quickly on Mr. Sim's slow speech.
"Was she a good vessel, Mr. Parks? You know I told you I was owner of a
schooner, and so I take an interest in vessels, especially coasters."
"If I should say that she was as fine-lookin' a vessel as you was lady,"
said Calvin deliberately, "you might cast it up that I was makin'
personal remarks, which far be it from me to do; but I will say that she
is a sweet schooner. There ain't a line of her but what is clean cut and
handsome to look at. And as for her disposition! there! I've knowed
vessels as was good-lookin', and yet so contrary and cantankerous that
you'd rather lay down and take a lickin' than sail in them, any day.
I've knowed poor-spirited vessels, and vessels that was just ornery and
mean; but 't is handsome is as handsome does with the Mary Sands. She's
sweet as her looks; she's capable and she willin'; she's free and yet
she's steady. If your Ma was here, Sim and Samuel, I'd say to her, 'Show
me the Mary Sands in petticoats and if she was agreeable I'd never need
to be called rover again."
"Why," began Mr. Sim again; but again his cousin cut him short with less
than her usual courtesy. "She must be a picture of a vessel, surely, Mr.
Parks. And how come you to leave, if you liked the life so well? I'm
sure Cousins want to hear about that, and I should be pleased too."
Calvin pulled at his pipe in silence for several minutes.
"'Tis hard to explain," he said at last. "I don't know as I can make it
clear to you, Miss Hands; but it's a fact that a seaman, and especially
a coastwise seaman, now and then takes a hankerin' after the land.
Deep-sea voyages, you just don't think about it, and 'twouldn't make no
difference if you did. But slippin' along shore, seein' handsome
prospects, you know, and hills risin' up and ro'ds climbin' over them
and goin' somewhere, you don't know where--and now and then a village,
and mebbe hear the church bells ringin' and you forgettin' 'twas
Sunday--now and then, some ways, it gets a holt of you.
"Well, it's goin' on a year now that one of them spells come over me. I
rec'lect well, 'twas a hot day in August. We was becalmed off the mouth
of the river, and the Mary couldn't make no headway, 'peared as though.
The crew stuck their jackknives into the mainmast, and whistled all they
knew for a wind; and I set there and watched the sails playin' Isick
and Josh, Isick and Josh, till, honest, I could feel the soul creakin'
inside me with tiredness. I expect the sun kind o' scrambled my brains,
same as a dish of eggs; for bumbye a tug come along, goin' to the city,
and I wasted good money by gettin' a tow and pullin' into port two days
ahead of schedule time. Now see what I got for it! I went to the office,
and there was a letter from a lawyer sayin' my owner was dead and had
left the schooner to his niece. I didn't read no further, and to this
day I don't know what the woman's name is. I set down and took up the
paper; at first I was too mad to read. I don't know just what I was mad
at, neither, but so it was. Pretty soon my eye fell on a notice of a
candy route for sale, hoss and waggin', good-will and fixtures, the
whole concern. 'That's me!' I says. 'No woman in mine!'
"I'm showing you what an incapable pumpkin-head I was, Miss Hands, so
you can see I ain't keepin' nothin' back. All about it, I sent my papers
to the lawyer that night, and next day I bought the candy route and the
hoss and waggin! All the candies, lozenges, and peppermint drops;
tutti-frutti and pepsin chewin'-gum; peanut toffy and purity kisses;
wholesale and retail, Calvin Parks agent, that's me!"
He brought his chair down on four legs and towered once more in the
doorway. "There's the first chapter of my orter-biography, Miss Hands
and boys," he said. "I must be off now, or I sha'n't get over my route
to-day."
CHAPTER IV
THE CANDY ROUTE
"Hossy," said Calvin as he drove out of the yard, "what do you think of
that young woman?"
(Mary Sands was nearer forty than thirty, but she will be young at
seventy.) The brown horse shook his head slightly as Calvin flicked the
whip past his ear.
"Well, there you're mistaken!" said Calvin. "There's where you show your
ignorance, hossy. I tell you that young woman is A 1 and clipper built
if ever I see such. Yes, sir! ship-shape and Bristol fashion, live-oak
frame, and copper fastenin's, is what I call Miss Hands, and a singular
name she's got. Most prob'ly she'll be changin' it to Sill one of these
days, and one of them two lobsters will be a darned lucky feller. I
wonder which she'll take. I wonder why in Tunkett she should want either
one of 'em. I wonder--hello!"
[Illustration: "CALVIN REGARDED THEM BENEVOLENTLY."]
He checked the brown horse. A small boy was standing on a gate-post and
shouting vigorously.
"What say, sonny?" said Calvin.
"Be you the candy man?" cried the child.
"That's what! be you the candy boy? lozenges, tutti-frutti and pepsin
chewin' gum, chocolate creams, stick candy--what'll you have, young
feller?"
"I want a stick of checkerberry!" said the boy.
"So do I!" cried a little girl in a pink gingham frock, who had run out
from the house and climbed on the other gate-post. She was a pretty
curly little creature, and the boy was an engaging compound of flaxen
hair, freckles and snub nose. Calvin regarded them benevolently, and
pulled out a drawer under the seat of the wagon.
"Here you are!" he said, taking out a glass jar full of enchanting red
and white sticks.
"Best checkerberry in the State of Maine; cent apiece!" and he held out
two sticks.
The children's eyes grew big and tragic. "We ain't got any money!" said
the boy, sadly.
"Not _any_ money!" echoed the little girl.
"Then what in time did you ask for it for?" asked Calvin rather
irritably.
"I didn't!" said the boy. "I just said I wanted it."
Calvin looked from him to the girl, and then at the candy,
helplessly.
"Well, look here!" he said. "Say! where do hossy and me come in? We've
got to get our livin', you see."
"Could you get much living out of two sticks?" asked the little girl.
Calvin looked again at the round wistful eyes.
"This ain't no kind of way to do business!" he remonstrated. "You've got
to airn it some way, you know. Tell you what! Let me see which can
holler loudest, and I'll give you a stick apiece."
The babes closed their eyes, threw back their heads, and bellowed to the
skies.
"That's first rate!" said Calvin. "Good lung power there, young uns! go
it again!"
The children roared like infant bulls of Bashan. At this moment the door
of the house flew open and a woman appeared wild-eyed.
"What's the matter?" she cried. "Susy, be you hurt? Eben, has something
bit you?"
"Don't you be scairt, Marm!" said Calvin affably. "They was just showin'
off their lung power, and they've got a first rate article of it."
The woman's eyes flashed, and she hurried toward the gate. "You come
along and be spanked!" she cried to the children; "scarin' me into
palpitations, and your Aunt Mandy layin' in a blue ager! And as for
you," she addressed Calvin directly, "the best thing you can do is to
get out of this the quickest you know how. When I want peddlers round
here I'll let you know."
The children were hurried into the house, shrieking now in good earnest,
but clutching their candy sticks. Calvin gazed after them ruefully.
"Well, hossy, that didn't seem to work real good, did it?" he said.
"Fact is, we ain't got the hang of this business, no way, shape or
manner. Try to please the kids and you get 'em a spankin' instead. Well,
they got their candy anyway. 'Pears as if their Ma needed somethin',
howsomever."
He sat pondering with his eyes fixed anxiously on the house; finally he
rummaged among his drawers, and taking out a small package, he climbed
laboriously out over the wheel, and making his way up to the house,
knocked at the door. The woman opened it with a bounce, and snorted when
she saw him.
Calvin bent toward her confidentially, his face full of serious anxiety.
"Say, lady!" he said gravely; "I'd like to make you a present of these
cardamom seeds. They do say they're the best thing goin' for the temper;
kind o' counter-irritant, y' know; bite the tongue, and--"
The door banged in his face. He smiled placidly, and returning to his
wagon clambered in again and chirruped cheerily to the brown horse.
"Gitty up, hossy!" he said. "I feel a sight better now. Gitty up!"
They jogged on for some time, Calvin mostly silent, though now and then
he broke out into song.
"Now Renzo was a sailor;
That's what Renzo was, tiddy hi!
He surely warn't a tailor,
So haul the bowline, haul!
He went adrift in Casco Bay,
Mate to a mud-scow haulin' hay,
And he come home late for his weddin' day,
So haul the bowline, haul!"
Rounding a curve in the road, he saw a man walking in the same direction
in which he was going; a young man, slight and wiry, walking with quick,
jerky strides. Calvin observed him.
"That young feller's in a hurry, hossy," he said. "See him? he's takin'
longer steps than what his legs are, and that's agin' natur'. What say
about givin' him a lift, hey?"
The brown horse, his ear being flicked, shook his head decidedly. "Sho!"
said Calvin, "you don't mean that, hossy. Your bark--well, not exactly
bark--is worse than your--not precisely bite, but you know what I mean.
He's in a hurry, and he's in trouble too, and you and me ain't neither
one nor 'tother. Say!" he called as he came within hailing distance.
"Want a lift?"
The man stopped with a start, and turned a pale face on Calvin. He had
red hair, and his blue eyes burned angrily.
"Yes!" he said. Calvin stopped, and he jumped quickly into the wagon.
Calvin looked at him expectantly a moment; then "Much obliged!" he said.
"Real accommodatin' of you!"
The young man colored like a girl. "I beg your pardon!" he said. "I'm
forgetting my manners and everything else, I guess. Much obliged to you
for takin' me up. I'm in a terrible hurry!" he added, looking doubtfully
at the brown horse, who was jogging peacefully along.
"Four legs is better than two!" said Calvin. "Gitty up, hossy! He makes
better time than what he appears to, hossy does. He's a better ro'der
than you be. We'll git there!"
"How far you goin'?" asked the man.
"Oh, down along a piece!" said Calvin. "Where be you?"
"I'm going to Tinkham," said the red-haired man with angry emphasis; "to
Lawyer Filcher. If there was any lawyer nearer I'd go to him."
"I want to know!" said Calvin sociably. "Insurance?"
"No!" the man broke out. "I'm goin' to get a bill!"
Now in our part of the country a "bill" means a bill of divorce. Calvin
shook his head with sympathetic interest.
"Sho!" he said. "A young feller like you? now ain't that a pity?"
"I can't stand it any longer!" the lad cried, and his hands worked with
passion. "Nor yet I won't, I tell you. No man would. This ends it. We
was mismated from the first, and this is the last."
"Well!" said Calvin. "Ain't that a pity now? If it's so, it's so, and
mebbe a bill is the best thing. Awful homely, is she?"
The lad turned upon him, and his blue eyes flashed.
"Homely?" he said roughly. "What you talkin' about? she was Katie
Hazard."
"Nice name!" said Calvin. "Come from these parts?"
"I guess you don't!" retorted the lad, "or you wouldn't have to be told.
She was called the prettiest girl in the county when I married her, and
she hasn't got over it yet."
"You don't say!" said Calvin placidly. "Well, good looks is pleasant, I
always maintain; I'd full rather have a woman good-lookin' if other
things is 'cordin' to. I suppose likely she's a poor cook? A man has to
have his victuals, you know!"
"She's the best cook in the State!" said the young man doggedly. "I'd
back her riz bread or doughnuts or pies against any woman's from
Portland to 'Roostick."
"Quite a ways," said Calvin. "S'pose likely she's slack, hey? house
cluttered up? calicker wrapper and shoes down at the heel? that kind?"
The blue eyes flared at him. "I don't want none o' this kind o' talk!"
he said sharply. "Slack! I'd sooner eat off Katie's kitchen floor than
any other woman's parlor table that ever I see. You find me a speck o'
dust or a spot o' dirt round our house and I'll find you a blue hen."
"I see!" said Calvin. "Another fellow, is there?"
"No!" shouted the young man, and he turned savagely on Calvin. "I'd like
to know why you're sayin' this kind of thing, when you never see nor
heard of me nor my wife before."
"Well!" said Calvin comfortably. "I've been wonderin' ever since you got
in whether you was an ill-used man or a darned fool, and now I've found
out. Why, you loony, if you've got a wife like all that, why in Tunkett
are you goin' to get a bill?"
His voice rang out like a ship's trumpet. The lad shrunk down in his
seat, and his face grew dogged and set.
"We was mismated, I tell you!" he said. "She's got a temper!"
"Well, how about you?" asked Calvin. "You ain't got that red hair for
nothin', son."
"I know! I have one too," the lad admitted; "and each one stirs the
other up and makes it worse. It's no use, I tell you! We get jawin' and
the house won't hold us both, so I'm going to clear out."
"Sho!" said Calvin.
They were silent for a few moments, the young husband brooding over his
wrongs, Calvin meditating. At last he said slowly, "Young feller, I
ain't no lawyer, nor yet wishful to be; but I expect I can cure your
case."
"What do you mean?" asked the lad.
"I expect I can cure your case," Calvin repeated deliberately, "for less
money by a good sight, and more agreeable all round. Lemme see! two and
two is four, and seven times four is twenty-eight, and two more--yes,
sir! I'll undertake to cure your case for thirty cents, and do it
handsome."
He opened a drawer, and after a careful inspection took out two small
objects which he held up. "See them?" he said. "This is your article.
All Day Suckers, they're called, and well named. The candy fills the
mouth and yet don't crowd it any; the stick is to hold on by, and take
it out when necessary. Pure sugar, no glucose in it; not a mite! Pure
sugar, cream o' tartar killed, and flavored with fruit surrup. Now,
young feller, you take fourteen of them suckers. They're two cents
apiece, that's two for every day in the week. Every time you two find
you're beginnin' to jaw, in goes your sucker, and you keep it there till
you feel pleasant again. Keep that up for a week, and finish up at the
end with a Purity Kiss--fifteen cents a dozen, call it two cents apiece,
and I'll lay my next lo'd--what's that?"
A sharp rattle was heard. Both men turned round, and saw a light wagon
whirling toward them. The horse was galloping; the driver, a young woman
in a cloud of red gold hair, was urging him on with whip and voice.
"Well!" said Calvin Parks.
"Great hemlock!" cried the young man. "Katie, stop!" He leaped out over
the wheel, and set off running toward the advancing wagon. The young
woman pulled up with a jerk.
"Joe!" she cried. "Oh, Joe! come back! I--I'm sorry I bit you!"
She jumped out--over the wheel too--and the two red heads flamed
together.
Calvin gazed for a moment, then turned round with a smile.
"I guess they won't need them suckers after all!" he said. "Gitty up,
hossy!"
CHAPTER V
CONCERNING PEPPERMINTS
Mary Sands stood in the doorway, leaning on her broom and looking out
over the pleasant autumn country. It was a golden morning, and the world
shone and sparkled in quite a wonderful way.
The green dooryard had its special show of emeralds, set off here and
there by a tuft of dandelion that had escaped the watchful eye of Mr.
Sam. The stone wall of the barnyard was almost hidden by the hollyhocks;
they were a pretty sight, Mary thought; she did admire hollyhocks.
The vast dog, who had been lying on the door-step, rose slowly, shook
himself elaborately, pricked his ears, and looked down the road.
"What is it, Rover?" asked Mary Sands. "Do you feel good this mornin',
same as I do? What you lookin' at? Somebody comin' along the road? So
there is! It can't be Cousin Sam back again; he hasn't been gone but an
hour. Why--can it--it surely is Mr. Parks!"
Involuntarily her hand went up to the smooth ripples of her brown hair;
unconsciously she glanced down at her fresh print dress and blue apron.
"I wish't I'd had me a white apron!" she said. "But there! he'll have to
take me as he finds me. Workin' time ain't perkin' time, as Gran'm'ther
used to say. Good mornin', Mr. Parks! isn't this a pretty day?"
"Good mornin' to you, Miss Hands!" said Calvin Parks as he drove up to
the door. "It is a pretty day, and everything to match, far as I can
see. And the prettiest thing I've seen this mornin' is you," he added,
but not aloud.
"I was lookin' at them hollyhocks," said Mary. "See 'em down by the wall
yonder? Ain't they handsome? Them pink and white ones look to me like
girls, slim young ones all ready to bob a curtsey. I don't know but
you'll think it foolish, but I'm always seein' likenesses between
flowers and folks."
"Be you?" said Calvin. "That's a pretty idee now. I believe women folks
have pretty idees right along; it must be real agreeable. Now when I see
a hollyhock there ain't nothin' to it but hollyhock--except the cheese!"
he added meditatively. "I used to think a sight of hollyhock cheese when
I was a youngster."
"So did I!" cried Mary with her tinkling laugh. "But aren't you comin'
in, Mr. Parks? Do light down! Cousin Sam's gone to market, but Cousin
Sim'll be real pleased to see you. He's been feelin' slim for two or
three days."
"That so?" said Calvin. "Well, I didn't know as I should stop, more'n
just to pass the time o' day, but if he's feelin' slim--" he threw the
reins on the horse's neck and clambered out of the wagon.
"Hossy'll be glad to rest a spell, won't you, hossy?"
"He looks real clever!" said Mary. "I should think he'd be pleasant to
ride behind."
"You try it some day and see!" said Calvin. "He's the cleverest horse on
the ro'd, and the cutest. What do you think he did yesterday? Now I
don't know as you'll believe me when I tell you, but it's a fact. I was
in at the store down at the Corners, havin' some truck with Si Turner,
and there come along a boy as wasn't any more honest than he had to be,
and he thought 'twould be smart to reach in over the wheel and help
himself to candy out of the drawers. Well, mebbe 'twas smart; but hossy
was smarter, for he reached round his head and c'ot him by the seat of
his pants--Jerusalem! if you'll excuse the expression, Miss Hands, how
that feller did holler! Me and Si come hikin' out, thought he was killed
and got the hives besides; when we see what was up, we sot down and
laughed till, honest, we had to lean against one another or we'd rolled
over an' over on the ground. Hossy held on like a good 'un till I told
him to let go, and then he dropped the pants and went to work eatin'
grass as if nothin' had been goin' on at all."
"Did you ever?" cried Mary Sands. "I never knew a hoss could have that
much sense, Mr. Parks. Why, 'twas like a person more than a dumb
critter."
"There's critters and critters!" said Calvin Parks. "Hossy's a prize
package, that's a fact. Want a bite, hossy? tain't dinner time yet, but
a bite won't hurt you."
He took a nose-bag from the wagon and hung it over the brown horse's
head. The horse, who had gone to sleep as soon as he stopped, opened one
eye, blinked at his master, and shut it again.
"Oh, all right!" said Calvin. "Any time; suit yourself! Only I can't wag
your jaws for ye, ye know."
Mary had turned to enter the house, saying something about telling
Cousin he was coming.
"Oh! wait just a minute, Miss Hands!" Calvin called. "I took the
liberty--" he rummaged among his drawers, and finally brought out a
small parcel.
"I dono--most prob'ly it ain't just what you'd like. I couldn't tell
what flavor you'd prefer, and I always think myself that pep'mint is the
wholesomest--"
Amazed and embarrassed at finding himself embarrassed, Calvin paused
awkwardly, holding the box of peppermints in his hand; but when he saw
Mary Sands blushing in the delightful red and brown way she had, and
caught the twinkle in her eye, he was suddenly at ease again.
"You try 'em!" he said simply, and gave her the box.
"Why, Mr. Parks!" cried Mary. "You don't mean to say you brought these
for me? Well, you are more than kind, I must say. Why, they're
deleecious! There's nothing like pep'mint to my taste; now this is
surely a treat. I'm a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Parks. These
don't taste like boughten candy; there's a real kind of home-made flavor
to 'em."
"That's right!" said Calvin. "That's just it; they are home-made. Them
pep'mints is made by an old gentleman in East Cyrus. I lighted on 'em by
accident, as you might say, and 'twas a good job I did."
"How was that?" Mary inquired civilly.
"Why, I ain't greatly acquainted in these parts, you know, Miss Hands;
been away so much, you understand, and never was one to go much when I
was to home, only amongst the near neighbors. I dono as ever I was in
East Cyrus before. 'Tis a pleasant-lookin' place. Nice street; not many
stores, but what there was was ship-shape and Bristol fashion; folks
personable and well-appearin'; I was pleased with East Cyrus. I druv
along kind o' slow, lookin' for my kind of a place; sure enough, I come
to a little store with candy in the window. Hossy saw it too, and
stopped of his own accord.
"'That so?' says I. 'Friend of yours, hossy?' He nods his head real
sociable, hossy doos, and I was just goin' to ramble down out of that
squirrel-cage, when the door opens kind o' smart, and someone hollers
out, 'I don't want any! You can go right along!'
"'Can!' says I. 'Now that's real accommodatin' of you. Anywheres
special you'd like me to go? That's what I come to inquire about,' I
says.
"He was a little man, kind o' dried up, but yet smart-lookin', and he
_was_ smart. He looks at hossy. 'You can go to Thunder!' he says.
"'First turn to the right, or second to the left?' says I. Then he looks
at me. 'Hello!' he says; 'it ain't you!'
"'No,' I says; 'it ain't. It's my half-uncle's widder from out west,' I
says.
"He kind o' laughed. 'What are you doin' with his hoss, then?' says he.
"'I bought it off'n him,' says I; 'it's my hoss now, and my team. Like
to know how many teeth we've got between us?'
"'Well, all the same I don't want any!' he says; and he starts to go
back into the store.
"'Excuse _me_!' I says, as polite as I knew how. 'Would you have any
objections to namin' over the things you don't want? I didn't know as
I'd offered you anything, but mebbe I done it in my sleep.'
"'Glucose is one thing,' he says. 'Terry alba, coal-tar,
plaster-of-Paris; them's some of the things I don't want. And you're
another. Is that enough?'
"'Not quite I says. 'Go slow, shipmate! If you wanted them things the
wust way in the world you couldn't get 'em off'n me, 'cause I ain't got
'em."
"He grunted. 'Tell that to the monkey!' he says.
"'I am,' I says, 'or the nearest I can see to one.'
"'He always had 'em he says,'and tried to sell 'em to me every time he
come by.'
"'I know!' says I. 'I found 'em in the stock, and I sot 'em on the fire
and seen 'em burn. Gitty up, hossy!' I says. 'We'll go on and see if
there's any place in this village where they keep manners,' I says,
'and we'll send this old gentleman a half a pound to stock up with!' I
says.
"'Hold on!' he says. 'I spoke too quick. Come in and we'll talk.'
"So I went. Had half a mind not to, but 'twan't the sensible half. I
tell you, I had a real pleasant time, Miss Hands. Come to get him
smoothed down and combed out, and he was as pleasant an old gentleman as
ever I see. But he was an old-fashioned candy-maker, you see, and he
didn't like these new-fangled ways any more than what I do. Never had a
pound of glucose on his premises, nor never will; nothin' but pure
sugar. We had a real good time together; and he gave me them pep'mints,
and I'm goin' to have 'em reg'lar every week. He's got a little kitchen
in back there that's a perfect pictur' to look at. I'd like to have you
see it, Miss Hands, honest I would."
At this moment a loud and peevish crow was heard from the house.
"There!" said Mary Sands. "We must be goin' in, Mr. Parks. Cousin's
gettin' impatient, I expect."
They found Mr. Sim fairly spluttering with impatience.
"What--what--what--" he began as they entered; "I didn't know as you was
ever comin', Cousin. I'd oughter have had my med'cine--that you,
Cal?--half an hour ago; set down, won't you? half a glass, with sugar
and hot water! pretty well, be ye? I'm most choked to death, settin'
here waitin'."
"There, Cousin!" said Mary Sands in her mellow, soothing voice. "I'll
get you the medicine right away; though if the truth was told I expect
you'd be better off without it. I don't hold with all this dosin', do
you, Mr. Parks?"
"I do not!" said Calvin Parks. "Looks to me as if all the doses he'd
been takin' for a week was havin' it out inside him, and no two
agreein'. Say, Sim! s'pose you let Miss Hands throw away all that stuff,
and take a pep'mint instead."
CHAPTER VI
BOARD AND LODGING
"Take a seat, Mr. Parks!" said Mary Sands, hospitably. "Talk of angels!
Cousins and I were just speakin' of you, and sayin' you never told us
the rest of that nice story you began the first time you was here."
"What story?" asked Calvin Parks.
"Why, your own story, to be sure. You told us how you was displeased at
a woman's bein' owner of your schooner,--" her eyes twinkled
mischievously,--"and how you come ashore and set up your candy route;
but Cousins were just sayin' they didn't know where you lived, nor how
you was fixed anyways, except that you had that nice hoss and waggin."
"That so?" said Calvin, musing. "Well, I don't know as there's any
particklar story to the rest on't. I drive my route, you know; quite a
ways it is; takes me about a week to git round it all. 'Tis pleasant
doin's for the most part, only when it comes to gettin' in and out of
this shay; that gits me every time. But I see the country, you
know--pretty country it is; I never see a prettier,--and meet up with
folks and all,--"
"Where do you reside?" inquired Mr. Sam. He had moved his chair near the
door of Mr. Sim's sitting-room, where Calvin was, and now peered round
the doorjamb, his body invisible, his little wizen face appearing as if
hung in air.
"Great snakes, Sam!" exclaimed Calvin Parks. "Don't scare the life out
of us. Where's the rest of you? No use your pretendin' to be one of them
cherub articles, 'cause you don't look it, and don't let anyone deceive
you into thinkin' you do. I live--if you call it livin',--down Tinkham
way, about ten miles from here. I'm boardin' with Widder Marlin and her
daughter. Ever hear of Phrony Marlin? Well, she's a case, Phrony is, and
the old lady's another. Widder of a sea-cap'n that I sailed with in
former days. She has a little home, and she lets me have a room. I don't
know as the old lady is quite right in her mind--I don't know as either
one of 'em is, come to think of it; and she ain't much of a cook; but as
she says, it's only suppers and breakfasts, and it's all dust and ashes
anyway. It ain't worth while to make trouble, and I git on first-rate."
"I'm afraid they don't make you real comfortable, Mr. Parks!" said Mary
Sands. "I should think they might; I don't believe but what you do your
part and more too."
"Well, I dono!" said Calvin simply. "I try to help out, split the wood,
kerry water and like that; two lone women, ye know, no man belongin' to
'em; I wouldn't wish to let 'em feel forsaken any."
"Do they give you enough to eat?" inquired Mr. Sim.
"Oh, I guess so. They don't feed me any too high, but they don't live
any higher themselves. Phrony has the dyspepsy--I dono as it's
surprisin' that she should--and the old lady has an idee that eatin' is
a snare of the evil one, and she gits along on next door after nothin',
as you may say."
"The idea!" cried Mary Sands, indignantly. "Mr. Parks, why do you stay
there? I wouldn't if I was you, not another day."
"Oh! they don't mean no harm," said Calvin; "not a mite. I git on
first-rate so long as they do; it's only when they get to quarrellin'
that I mind. When they fall afoul of each other, it ain't real
agreeable; but there's where it comes in handy bein' a man. Hossy and
me can git out from under foot most times, and leave 'em to train by
themselves."
He paused, and shook his head with a reminiscent chuckle.
"Last week we had us quite a time!" he said. "Phrony got some kind of a
bee in her bunnet--I dono what it was! seemed to have a kind of idee
that she was goin' to git married, if only she had some money. I never
see no man round the house, nor yet heard none speak of her; and, too,
if she'd looked in the glass she'd have seen 'twarn't real reasonable to
expect it. However it was, so it was; she's got her eye on somebody, no
question about that. Well, it's a small farm, and the soil ain't any too
rich; they git along, but no more than, I expect; and yet they don't
spend a cent more'n they have to, you may resk your eye-teeth on that.
Well, anyways, here's what happened. I come in one night, and the old
lady was sittin' studyin' over a letter or like that. When she saw me,
'Cap'n,' she says (always calls me Cap'n, same as she did the old man),
'will you cast your eye over that,' she says, 'and tell me what you
think of it?'
"I looked it over, and you may call me a horn-pout, Miss Hands and boys,
if 'twarn't a bill from Phrony, drawed up in reg'lar style, chargin' her
mother three dollars a week wages for thirty years. Now, Miss Hands, I'd
like to know what you think of that."
"I think 'twas scandalous!" cried Mary Sands, emphatically. "I think she
ought to be ashamed of herself. The idea!"
"Well, it didn't seem to me real suitable," said Calvin; "I couldn't
_make_ it seem so, and so I said. 'What's got into her?' I said. 'You
and her belong together; and what's one's is 'tother's, ain't it, so far
as livin' goes?'
"The old lady looks at me kind o' queer. 'Phrony ain't satisfied,' she
says. 'She thinks the Lord designs her to be a helpmeet, and that He's
manifestin' Himself at present, or liable so to do.'
"Well, I studied over that a bit, but I didn't make nothin' out of it.
The old lady has spells, as I told you, when she ain't just right in her
head. Makes me laugh sometimes, the things she'll say. Take last night,
now! I didn't have no fork, and I asked her to please give me one.
Honest, if she didn't take and bring me a spoon! 'There, Cap'n!' she
says. 'It don't look like a fork,' she says, 'but I dono what's the
matter with it. The Lord'll provide!' she says. 'It's all dust and
ashes!' Other days, she'll be as wide awake as the next one, and talk
straight as a string. Well, about the bill! I told her she'd better let
it go, and Phrony'd come round and see she wa'n't actin' real sensible,
nor yet pretty. But not she! Next mornin' before I left she come out to
the barn and showed me another paper, and--Jerusalem crickets! if it
warn't a bill against Phrony for board and lodgin' for forty-seven
years! Haw! haw! That's where the old lady come out on top. There warn't
no bee in _her_ bunnet that time!"
"He! he!" cackled Mr. Sim.
"Ho! ho!" piped Mr. Sam.
But Mary Sands looked troubled. "Mr. Parks," she said; "you'll excuse
me, as am little more than a stranger to you; but yet I can't help but
say I do wish you was in a different kind of place. There must be lots
of nice places where you would be more than welcome."
"Mebbe so, and mebbe son't!" said Calvin Parks placidly. "Folks is real
friendly, all along the route. Yes, come to think of it, there's several
has said they would be pleased to take me in for a spell, if I should
be thinkin' of a change. But old Widder Marlin, she needs the board
money, and--well, here's where it is, Miss Hands; I don't know as she'd
be real likely to get another boarder. I knew the Cap'n, you see, and he
was always good to me aboard ship. But I'm full as much obliged to you,"
he added, with a very friendly look in his brown eyes, "for givin' it a
thought. Bless your heart, this old carcass don't need much attention;
it gets all it deserves, I presume likely, and more too.
"Well, I must be ramblin' along, I guess. I promised to pick up Miss
Phrony at the Corners. She's been visitin' there to-day, and she'll
think I'm lost for good. I tell you what it is, though, Miss Hands and
boys; it's easier to turn in at this gate than what it is to turn out
again, and I expect I shall be comin' in real often, if no objection is
made."
"So do, Calvin! so do!" cried both twins together. Calvin looked at
Mary Sands, and her eyes were as friendly as his own. "The oftener you
come, Mr. Parks," she said, "the better I shall be pleased, for certin."
* * * * *
"Gitty up, hossy!" said Calvin. "We're late for supper now, and it don't
do for me to get too sharp-set; there ain't likely to be more supper
than what I can get away with. There's the store now, and there's Miss
Phrony, sure enough, lookin' out for me. Now I put it to you, hossy;
what was the object, precisely, of makin' a woman look like that? The
ways is mysterious, sure enough. There's a plenty of material there for
a good-lookin' woman, take and spread it kind o' different."
A tall, scraggy woman, with pale green eyes seeking each other across a
formidable beak, and teeth like a twisted balustrade, greeted him with
a reproachful look as he drove up to the corner store.
"Good afternoon, Miss Phrony," he said comfortably. "I expect I'm just a
mite late, ain't I?"
"I should think you was!" replied the scraggy woman. "I've been waitin'
full two hours, Cap'n Parks."
"Have!" said Calvin affably. "Now ain't that a sight! But it's a good
thing you had such pleasant company to wait in; I'm glad of that. How
do, Si? how do, Eph?" he nodded to two men who were leaning against the
door-posts, chewing straws and observing the universe. "Any trade doin'
with little Calvin to-day?"
"Nothin' only a box of wintergreen lozenges, I guess," said Si, the
storekeeper. "Mebbe you might leave another box of broken," he added,
after a glance in at his showcase. "Trade hasn't been real smart this
week. You ain't goin' to charge me full price for them goods, are you,
Cal?"
"If I took off anything," replied Calvin, "'twould be because you were
so handsome, and that wouldn't be real good for your disposition, so I
expect I shall have to deny myself the pleasure. Three dollars and
ninety cents--thank you, sir! Now, Miss Phrony, if you're ready--these
your bundles? Why, you've been buyin' out the store, I expect! Let me
help you in; up she comes! So long, boys!"
"Think she'll get him?" said Si to Eph, as they watched the wagon
disappearing down the road.
"I--don't--know!" replied Si slowly. "Sometimes I think he's as simple
as he is appearin', and then again I have my doubts. But one thing's
sure; she's goin' to do her darndest towards it!"
CHAPTER VII
MATCH-MAKING
"Cal!" said Mr. Sim.
"Wall!" said Calvin Parks. "That's poetry, Sim, or as nigh to it as you
and me are likely to come."
"Quit foolin', Cal! I want to speak to you serious."
"Fire away!" said Calvin, leaning back in his chair and stretching his
long legs.
"I want to know what you think of Cousin!" Mr. Sim went on.
Calvin sat up, and drew in his legs.
"She's all right!" he said shortly.
"Of course she's all right!" said Mr. Sim peevishly. "She wouldn't be
here if she was all wrong, would she? I want to know what you _think_ of
her."
"I think she's a fine-appearin' woman!" said Calvin slowly. "And smart.
And personable. A 1, clipper-built and copper-fastened, is the way I
should describe your cousin if she was a vessel."
"You're right, Cal; you're right!" said Mr. Sim. "She's all that and
more. She's agreeable, and she's capable, and she's savin', Calvin;
savin'. Ma allers said, 'If the time comes when you _have_ to marry,
marry a saver!' she'd say."
Calvin said nothing. He felt the honest middle-aged blood mounting in
his cheeks, but reflected comfortably that it would not show through the
brown.
"Now, Cal," Mr. Sim went on; "a woman like that ain't goin' through life
single."
"You bet she ain't!" said Calvin briefly; "you darned old weasel!" he
added, but not aloud.
"She ain't no more than forty, and she don't look that. She's well
fixed, too; she ain't no need to work, Cousin ain't; she come here to
accommodate, you understand."
"I understand!" said Calvin; "you blamed old ferret!" Calvin was fond of
finishing his sentences in silence.
"Now what I say is,--" and Mr. Sim leaned forward, and sank his voice to
a whisper,--"What I say is, that woman ought not to go out of the
family, Calvin Parks!"
Calvin grunted. A grunt may mean anything, and Mr. Sim took it for
assent.
"Jes' so! That's what I'm sayin'. I knew you'd see it that way. Now,
Calvin, I want you to help us."
A spark came into Calvin's brown eyes. "Help you!" he repeated. "What's
the matter? Ain't you old enough to speak for yourself?"
"Not for myself, Calvin!" cried Mr. Sim. "No, no, no! for Sam'l! for
Sam'l!"
"Well, I am blowed!" said Calvin Parks.
Mr. Sim leaned forward anxiously. "Don't you see, Cal?" he cried. "I
ain't a marryin' man; that's plain to be seen. Sam'l was allers the one
for the gals, you know he was. You remember Ivy Bell?"
Calvin nodded.
"Well, that's the way of it!" Mr. Sim continued. "His mind allers run
that way; mine didn't. Besides, I ain't a well man; I ain't in no shape
to marry, Calvin, no way in the world, if I wanted to, and I don't. Now,
Calvin, I want you to kind of urge Sam'l on. We ain't speakin', Sam'l
and me, you know that. I told you how 'twas, fust time you come round.
Nothin' agin one another, only we don't like. So I can't urge him
myself; and fust thing we know some outlandishman or other'll step in
and kerry her off, and then where should we be, Sam'l and me? I ask you
that, Calvin Parks. We're gettin' on, you know, Cal; we're five years
good older than what you be, and we couldn't abide hired help, no way in
the world. You urge Sam'l on to speak to Cousin, won't you now? I'd take
it real friendly of you, Cal. I allers thought a sight of you, and so
did Ma. 'Twould please Ma if you got a good woman for Sam'l, Cal. Say
you'll think about it!"
"I'll think about it!" said Calvin Parks.
* * * * *
An hour later, Calvin was out in the barnyard, leaning over the pigsty,
and looking at the finest hogs in the county. Mr. Sam pronounced them
so, and he ought to know, Calvin thought. Calvin had never cared for
hogs himself.
"You see them hawgs," said Mr. Sam with squeaking enthusiasm, "and you
see the best there is. Take 'em for looks, or heft, or eatin', there's
no hawgs can touch 'em in this county. I'll go further and say State.
They're a _lovely_ hawg, sir! that's what they are; lovely!"
"All black, be they?" asked Calvin, for the sake of saying something.
"All black!" said Mr. Sam. "I bought 'em off'n Reuben Hutch. They was
Cousin's choice in the fust place. She likes 'em black; says they look
cleaner, and I guess they do. I don't know as you've remarked it, Cal,
but I think a sight of Cousin."
He cast a sly glance at Calvin, who again returned inward thanks for the
solid brown of his cheeks.
"I should s'pose you might!" he said shortly.
"A sight!" repeated Mr. Sam emphatically. "You show me a smarter woman
than that, Calvin Parks, and I'll show you a toad with three tails."
He paused, as if waiting for Calvin to avail himself of this handsome
offer.
"Well!" said Calvin, rather morosely. "I ain't got no smarter woman to
show. What are you drivin' at, Sam Sill?"
Mr. Sam's little eyes were twinkling, and his sharp features were
twisting themselves into knots which were anything but becoming.
"Calvin," he said, "when I look at that young woman--at least not
exactly young, but a sight younger than some, and all the better for
it--what word do you think I use to myself?"
"I don't know!" said Calvin shortly.
Mr. Sam leaned back, and expanded his red flannel waistcoat.
"Take time, Cal!" he said kindly. "Find a good solid-soundin' word
suitable to the occasion, and spit it out!"
"Look at here!" said Calvin, still more shortly. "I come out here to see
your hogs, and I've seen 'em. I didn't come out to play guessin' games;
if you've got anything to say to me, say it! If not, I'm goin' home."
Mr. Sam leaned forward, and poked Calvin in the ribs with a skinny
forefinger.
"Matrimony's the word, Cal!" he said. "Holy matrimony! Ain't that a good
word? ain't it suitable? ain't it what you might call providential?
ain't it? hey?" He paused for a reply; but none coming, he went on.
"I made use of that word, Calvin, the fust time Cousin stepped across
our thrishhold, four months back; and I've ben makin' use of it every
day since then. Now, Cal, I want you to help me!"
"Help you!" repeated Calvin, mechanically.
"Help me!" repeated Mr. Sam. "If you can help me to bring about
matrimony between Cousin and Simeon,--"
"_What_!" said Calvin Parks.
Mr. Sam stared. "Between Cousin and Simeon!" he repeated. "What did you
think I said? You could be of assistance to me, Calvin. You know Sim and
me ain't havin' any dealin's jest at present, and direckly you come
along I says to myself, 'Calvin,' I says, 'is the one who can be of
assistance to me.'"
"I thought 'twas you was goin' to marry her!" said Calvin grimly.
"Me, Cal? no! no! What put that into your head?" and Mr. Sam screwed his
features afresh, and shook his head emphatically. "I admire Cousin, none
more so; but if I was marryin',--and I don't say but I shall, some
day,--I should look out for something jest a mite more stylish. But
there's plenty of time, plenty of time. Besides, I want to travel,
Calvin. I want to see something of the world. Here I've sot all my days,
and never ben further than Bangor. Ma never held with the notion of
folks goin' out of the State of Maine. 'If folks want to go to
Massachusetts,' she'd say, 'they'd orter be born there.' Now, no
disrespect to Ma, you understand, Cal, but that ain't my idee. I want to
go to Boston, and maybe New York. I dono but I might go out west and
locate there. But there's the farm, you see, Cal, and there's Simeon.
Sim ain't a man that's fit to travel, nor yet he ain't able to see to
things as should be. But if he and Cousin was man and wife, don't you
see, the two of 'em could get on fust-rate, and I could go off. You see
how 'tis, Calvin, don't you?"
Calvin Parks turned upon him with a flash.
"What makes you think she'd be seen dead with either one of you two
squinny old lobsters?" he asked fiercely.
Mr. Sam stared again.
"A woman, Calvin, wants a home!" he said solemnly. "Anybody can see
that. Cousin has money in the bank, and she's owner of a schooner, but
she has no home. I expect she'd have married Reuben if he'd been anyways
agreeable _to_ marry. He expected she would, sure as shootin'; lotted on
it, they say. But take a man with one eye and that rollin', and snug,
_and_ a bad disposition, why, it ain't no great of an outlook for a
woman, even if the farm was better than it is. Anyways, she wouldn't
look at him, and that's how she come here. Now here,"--he waved his hand
in a circle. "Look around you, Calvin Parks! Where is she goin' to find
a home like this? for stock, or for truck, or for sightliness, there
ain't its ekal in the county. There ain't its ekal in the State. Now,
Cal, I'm a fair-minded man. A woman brought this farm up to what it is.
Ma done it, sir! I don't say but Sim and me done our best since we
growed up, but Ma done the heft on't, and it needs a woman now. It needs
a woman, Calvin, and Cousin needs a home; and I'm of the opinion that
she won't get such a bad bargain, even with Simeon thrown in. There's no
harm in Simeon, Cal, not a mite!"
"Not a mite!" Calvin echoed mechanically.
"Now,"--Mr. Sam drew himself up, and tapped Calvin on the shoulder. "I
want you to help me, Calvin Parks!"
Calvin growled, but a growl may mean anything. Mr. Sam took it for
assent.
"That's right!" he said. "That's it, Calvin. You talk to Cousin, and
tell her about the farm, and kinder throw in a word for Sim now and
then. Why, he's a real good fellow, Sim is, when he ain't a darned fool.
They'd get on fust-rate. And you talk to him, too, when she's out of the
way! Tell him he needs a woman of his own, and like that. Mebbe you
might drop a hint about my goin' away, if you see a good openin'; why,
you're jest the one to make a match, with your pleasant ways, kind o'
jokin' and cheerful. Make her feel as if she wanted a man of her own,
too. Think about it, Cal! Say you'll think about it!"
"I'll think about it!" said Calvin Parks.
CHAPTER VIII
"PLAYING S'POSE"
Calvin did think about it. He thought about it as he drove out of the
yard, and it was a grave salute that he waved to Mary Sands, smiling on
the door-step in her blue dress, with the low sun glinting on her
nut-brown hair.
He thought about it on the road; and hossy missed the usual fire of
cheery remarks, grew morose, and jogged on half asleep. He was still
thinking about it, when he came to a narrow lane that branched off from
the main road, some half a mile from the Sill farm. It was a pretty
lane, but it had a deserted look, and there were no wheel-marks on its
grass and clover. Coming abreast of this opening, Calvin checked the
brown horse with a word, and sat for some time looking thoughtfully
down the lane. It ended, a few hundred yards away, in an open gateway;
there was no gate. Beyond stood some huge old maple trees, which might
hide anything--or nothing.
"Want to go in, hossy?" asked Calvin. He flicked hossy on the ear, but
his tone was not the usual one of friendly banter. Hossy shook his head.
"Might as well!" said Calvin. "I've kep' away so fur, but it's there,
you know, hossy, all the same. Gitty up!"
Thus urged, the brown horse jogged slowly up the grassy lane, snatching
now and then at the tall grass as he went. Passing through the empty
gateway, they came to the maple trees, and saw--only one of them knew
before--what they hid. A yawning hole in the ground; at one side of it a
well, its covering dropping to pieces, its sweep fallen on the ground;
behind, a tangle of bushes that might once have been a garden. In front,
almost on the edge of the hole, some long blocks of granite lay piled
one atop of the other; these had been the door-steps, when there was a
door.
Calvin Parks sat silent for a long time looking at these things.
Then,--"Hossy," he said, "look at there!"
Hossy looked; saw little that appealed to him, and fell to cropping the
grass.
"What did I tell you?" said Calvin, addressing some person unseen. "Even
the dumb animal won't look at it. Hossy, what do you think of this
place, take it as a place? Speak up now!"
Hossy, flicked on the ear, shook himself fretfully, whinnied, and
returned to his cropping.
"Nice home to offer a woman?" said Calvin. "Cheerful sort of habitation?
Hey? Well, there! you see how 'tis yourself. A
rolling--stone--gathers--no--moss, little hossy."
As he spoke he was climbing down from his perch; now he threw the reins
over the brown horse's neck, and walking to the edge of the empty
cellar-place, sat down on one of the granite blocks.
"But I want you to understand that I warn't born rollin'!" he continued
with some severity. "If you think that, hossy, you show your ignorance.
I was a stiddy boy, and a good boy, as boys go. Mother never made no
complaint, fur as I know. Poor mother! if I'm glad of anything in this
mortal world, it's that mother went before the house did. That old
lobster was right, darn his hide! a woman has to have a home. Poor
mother! She thought a sight of her home and her gardin. I can't but
scarcely feel she must be round somewheres, now; pickin' gooseberries,
most likely. Sho! gooseberries in October! well, butternuts, then! The
old butternut tree warn't burned. Hossy, I tell you, it seems as though
if I was to turn round this minute I should expect to see mother's white
apurn--"
He turned as he spoke, and stopped short. Something white glinted behind
the withered bushes of the garden plot.
Calvin Parks sat motionless for a moment, gazing with wide eyes. A cold
finger traced his spine, and his heart thumped loud in his ears. The
something white seemed to move--a swaying motion; and now a soft voice
began to croon, half speaking, half singing.
"I'd--I'd like to know what you are scairt of!" said Calvin Parks,
addressing himself. "You might put a name to it. It would be just like
mother, wouldn't it, to come back if it was anyways convenient, and see
to them butternuts? Well, then! You wouldn't be scairt of mother, would
you? I've no patience with you. The dumb critter there has more spunk
than what you have."
The brown horse had raised his head, and his ears were pointed toward
the something white that glinted through the bushes.
Another instant, and Calvin rose, and casting a scared look at the brown
horse, made his way with faltering steps round the cellar-hole and put
aside the bushes.
A small girl in a white pinafore cowered like a rabbit under a
straggling rose-bush, and looked up at him with wide eyes of terror.
Calvin's eyes, which had been no less wide, softened into a friendly
twinkle.
"How de do?" he said. "Pleased to meet you!"
The child drew a long, sobbing breath. "I thought you was ghosts!" she
said.
"So I thought you was!" said Calvin. "But we ain't, neither one on us;
nor yet hossy ain't. See hossy there? you never heard of a ghost hossy,
did you now?"
The child's face brightened as she looked at the brown horse, stolidly
cropping his clover. The tucked-in corners of her mouth looked as if a
smile were trying to come out, but was not allowed.
"And what was you doin' here all by your lonesome?" asked Calvin.
"I was playin' s'pose," said the child soberly.
"I want to know!" said Calvin. "How do you play it?"
The child inspected him critically for a moment; then the smile fairly
broke loose, and twinkled all over her face.
"I'll show you!" she said; and with a pretty gesture she patted the dry
grass beside her. Calvin was down in an instant, his long legs curled up
in some mysterious way so that they showed as little as might be.
"Up anchor!" he said. "Yo heave ho, and off we go, to the land of
Spose-y-oh!"
The child bubbled into a laugh.
"I guess you're funny!" she said.
"I guess I am!" said Calvin Parks. "Comical Cal--well now, how long is
it since I heard that?"
"Comical Cal,
Scairt of a gal!"
"There was a little gal jest about your age used to say that whenever I
passed her house."
"Was you?" inquired the child.
"Was I what? scairt? yes, I was! scairt out of my boots, if I'd had
any."
"Why was you?"
"Why was Silas's gray hoss gray? This ain't playin' s'pose, little un.
S'pose you start in!"
"Why," said the child; "well--you see--you just s'pose, you know. You
can s'pose about anything; I do it at home, and sometimes--only don't
tell--I s'pose in meetin', if I had a bunnet like--but you never saw
her, I s'pose. But most of all I like to s'pose about this place,
because there isn't anything, so you can have anything you like. See?"
"_I_ see!" said Calvin.
"There used to be a house here!" the child went on. "There truly did."
"You don't say!" said Calvin.
"That was the cellar of it;" she nodded toward the yawning gulf, full of
briars and blackened brick and timbers. "The house was burned up--no, I
mean down--no, I mean _all_ burned, both ways, long ago; ever 'n' ever
'n' ever so long."
"Ever 'n' ever 'n' ever so long!" repeated Calvin.
"This was the gardin. This is a rose-bush I'm settin' under. It has
white roses in summer, white with pinky in the middle."
"You bet it has! and the next one has red damask, big as a piny, and
sweet--there!"
The child stared. "How did you know?" she asked.
"I'm jest learnin' the game," said Calvin. "Clap on sail, little un!"
"But it's funny, because you s'posed right! Well--and so I play s'pose
the house was there, and it was all white marble with a gold roof. And
s'pose a little girl lived there, about as big as me, with golden hair
that came down to her feet; and she had a white dress, and a blue dress,
and a pink dress, and a silk dress, and all kinds of dresses; and shoes
and stockin's to match every single one. Have you s'posed that?"
"I'm gettin' there!" said Calvin. "Gimme time! I can't s'pose all them
stockin's to once, you know."
"I can s'pose things right off!" said the child. "But p'raps it's
different when you are old. Well! And s'pose she had a mother, and _she_
was a beautiful lady, and she had a velvet dress, purple, like a piece
in Aunt Susan's quilt. It's as soft as a baby, or a new kitten. And
s'pose the little girl came out into the gardin, and said, 'Mittie May,
come and play with me!' and s'pose I went, and s'pose she took me into
the house, and into a room that was all pink, with silver chairs and
sofys, and pink curtains, and a pink pianner,--"
"Belay there, young un!" said Calvin. "You're off soundin's. You don't
want the pianner should be pink. Why, 'twould be a sight!"
"_I_ think 'twould be lovely!" cried the child. "All smooth, like the
pond looks when the sun is goin' down."
Calvin shook his head gravely. "I don't go with that!" he said, "not a
mite. _I_ say, s'pose the pianner was white, with pink roses painted on
it. I see one like that once, to Savannah, Georgia, and it was handsome,
I tell ye. Make it white with pink roses, little un!"
"All right!" said the child. "And anyhow, s'pose the lady played on it,
and the little girl--" she turned suddenly shy, and hung her head.
"Will you laugh if I say her name?" she asked wistfully.
"Laugh!" said Calvin. "Do I look like laughin', young un? nor yet I
don't feel like it. What is her name?"
"S'pose it's Clementina Loverina Beauty! I made up the middle one
myself. S'pose she asked me to dance, and we danced, and the floor was
pink marble, and we had gold slippers on, and my hair grew down to my
feet too, and--and--and then s'pose we was hungry, and Clementina
Loverina Beauty waved her hand, and a table come up through the floor
with roast chicken on it, and cramb'ry sauce, and grapes, and icecream
and cake, and--and we eat all we could hold, and then we went to sleep
in a gold bed with silk sheets. There! now it's your turn."
"My turn?" said Calvin vaguely.
"Yes! your turn to s'pose. What do you s'pose, about this place?"
"Oh! this place. Well, now you're talkin'. Only I don't know as I can
play this game as pretty as you do, Mittie May. I don't believe I can
git you up any white marble buildin's, nor gold floors, nor that kind of
thing. 'Tain't my line, you see."
"Why not?" asked the child. "Because you are a brown man can't you?"
Calvin nodded. "I expect that's about the size of it," he said gravely.
"I'm a brown man. Yes, little un, you surely hit it off that time. And
bein' a brown man, it stands to reason that I can't s'pose nothin'
risin' out of that hole but a brown house. S'pose it's there now, what?
a long brown house, facin' south, see? This is the way it lays. Over
this main sullar is the kitchen--big kitchen it is, with lots of
winders, and all of 'em sunny, some ways of it; I dono just how they can
be, but so they seem. Flowers in 'em, too; sweet--I tell ye; and then
the settin'-room openin' out of it."
"What's in the settin'-room?" asked Mittie May. "S'pose we're in it now;
tell me!"
"S'pose we are! There's a rag carpet on the floor; see it? hit-or-miss
pattern. Mother made it herself; leastways, the mother of the boy I'm
comin' to bimeby. I always liked hit-or-miss better than any other
pattern. Then there's smaller rugs, and one of 'em has a dog on it, with
real glass eyes; golly, but they shine! And a table in the middle with a
lamp on it, glass lamp, with a red shade; and a Bible, and Cap'n Cook's
voyages, and Longfellow's poems. Mother was a great hand for
poetry--that is, the boy's mother, you understand."
"S'pose about the boy!" said Mittie May eagerly.
"Well--s'pose he was a brown boy, same as I am man; brown to match the
house. Hair and eyes, jumper and pants, just plain brown; not much of a
boy to look at, you understand. S'pose there was jest him and father and
mother. There had been a little gal;--s'pose she was like you, little
un, slim and light on her feet, singin' round the house--but she was
wanted somewheres else, and she went. S'pose the boy thought a sight of
his mother, specially after the little gal went. Him and her used to
play together for all the world like two kids. S'pose he dug her gardin
for her, and sowed her seeds, and then he'd take and watch the plants
comin' up, and seems though he couldn't wait for 'em to bloom so's he
could git a posy to carry in to mother. Yes, sir! she liked them posies,
mother did; she liked 'em, sure enough!"
He was silent a moment. "Go on!" cried the child. "You ain't half
s'posing, brown man."
"No more I am!" said Calvin Parks. "Well, little un, I dono as I can
play this game real well, after all. S'pose after a spell the boy's
mother went away too. Where? Well, she'd go to the best place there was,
you know; nat'rally she would."
"That's heaven!" said the child decidedly.
"Jes' so! to be sure!" Calvin assented. "S'pose she went to heaven; to
see after the little gal, likely; hey? That'd leave father and the boy
alone, wouldn't it? Well now, s'pose father couldn't stand it real well
without her. What then, little un? S'pose the more he tried it the less
he liked it, till bumby he begun to take things to make him forget, as
warn't the best things in the world for him to take. S'pose he did; do
you blame him?"
"N--no!" said the child. "Unless you mean stole 'em!"
"No! no! not that kind of takin', little un; 'tother kind, like when you
take med'cine. S'pose he kind o' made believe _'twas_ med'cine for a
spell. Then s'pose he got so he warn't jest like himself, and spoke kind
o' sharp, and took a strap to the boy now and then, harder than he would
by natur', you wouldn't blame him, would you? Not a mite! But s'pose
things went on that way till they warn't real agreeable for neither one
of 'em. Then--s'pose one night--when he warn't himself, mind you!--he
shook out his pipe on the settin'-room carpet and set the house afire.
You wouldn't blame him for that either, would you? Poor father!"
He paused.
"What do you s'pose then?" cried the child eagerly. "Did the house burn
up?"
Calvin made a silent gesture toward the ruined cellar. Something in it
struck the child silent too. She crept nearer, and slid her hand into
Calvin's.
"You don't s'pose they was burned, do you?" she said in an awestruck
whisper.
"No, they warn't burned," said Calvin slowly. "But father never helt his
head up again, and 'twarn't a great while before he was gone too, after
mother and the little gal. So then the boy was left alone. See?"
"_Poor_ brown boy!" said the child. "S'pose what he did then!"
"S'pose he lit out!" said Calvin Parks; "And s'pose I light out too,
little gal. It's gettin' towards sundown, and I've got quite a ways to
go before night."
He rose, and stretched his brown length, towering a great height above
the rose-bush.
"But before I go," he added; "s'pose we see what hossy's got in back of
him. I shouldn't wonder a mite if we found a stick of candy. S'pose we
go and look!"
"S'pose we do!" cried Mittie May.
CHAPTER IX
CANDY-MAKING
"If there's a pleasanter place than this in your village, I wish you'd
show it to me!" said Calvin Parks. "I declare, Mr. Cheeseman, it does me
good every time I come in here."
Mr. Cheeseman looked about him with contented eyes.
"It is pleasant," he said. "I'm glad you like it, friend Parks, for you
are one of the folks I like to see in it, and them isn't everybody."
Mr. Ivory Cheeseman certainly did look rather like a monkey, but such a
wise monkey! He was little and spare, with nothing profuse about him
save his white hair, which grew thick and close as a cap; his whole
aspect was dry and frosty, "like the right kind of winter mornin',"
Calvin Parks said when he described the old man to Mary Sands. The
kitchen in which he and Calvin were sitting was just behind the shop; a
low, dark room, with a little stove in the middle, glowing like a red
jewel, and waking dusky gleams in the pots and pans ranged along the
walls. They were not altogether ordinary pots and pans. Uncle Ivory, as
East Cyrus called him, was a collector in a modest way, and his bits of
copper, brass and pewter were dear to his heart. Lonzo, the village
"natural," found the gaiety of his life in polishing them, and receiving
pay in sugar-plums. He was at work now in a dim corner, chuckling to
himself as he scoured a huge old pewter dish.
[Illustration: MR. CHEESEMAN.]
The air was full of the warm, homely fragrance of molasses candy; a pot
of it was boiling on the stove, and from time to time Uncle Ivory
stirred it, lifted a spoonful, and watched the drip. On a table near by
other candies were cooling, peanut taffy, lemon drops, and great masses
of pink and white cream candy.
"Yes," said Calvin, pursuing his own thoughts. "This is another pleasant
home. Considerable many of 'em in these parts, or so it appears to a
lone person. I judge you're a single man, Mr. Cheeseman?"
"Widower!" said Mr. Cheeseman briefly.
"That so!" said Calvin.
They watched the molasses for a time, as it bubbled up in little
gold-brown mounds that flowed away in foam as the spoon touched them.
"She's killin' good to-day!" remarked the old man.
"Cream-o'-tartar?" asked Calvin.
"Yes! I never use any other. Yes, sir; I had a good wife, a real good
one; and might have had another, if I'd judged it convenient."
Calvin looked up expectantly; it was evident that more was coming.
Mr. Cheeseman began to stir the molasses with long, slow sweeps of the
spoon, talking the while.
"It was this way. My wife had a friend that she thought the world of.
Well, she thought the world of me too, and when it come time for her to
go, nothin' to it but I must marry this woman. The night before 'Liza
was taken, she says to me, 'Ivory,' she says, 'I've left it in writin'
that if you marry Elviry you'll get that two thousand dollars that's in
the bank; and if not it goes to the children.' Children was married and
settled, two of 'em, and well fixed. 'I want you to promise me you
will!' she says."
"And did you?" asked Calvin.
"No, I didn't. I warn't goin' to tie myself up again. I'd been married
thirty years, and that was enough."
"What _did_ you say, if I may ask?"
"I said I'd think about it, and let her know in the mornin'. I knew
she'd be gone by then, and she was."
Again they watched the boiling in silence. Calvin looked somewhat
disturbed.
"But yet you liked the married state?" he asked presently.
"Fust-rate!" said Mr. Cheeseman placidly. He glanced at Calvin; stirred
the candy, and glanced again.
"You ain't married, I think, friend Parks?"
"N--no!" said Calvin slowly. "I ain't; but--fact is, I'm wishful to be,
but I don't see my way to it."
"I want to know!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Would you like to free your mind,
or don't you feel to? I'm not curious, not a mite; but yet there's times
when a person can tell better what he thinks if he outs with it to
somebody else. Like molasses! Take it in the cask, and it's cold, and
slow, and not much to look at; but take and bile it, and stir it good,
and--you see!"
The molasses boiled up in a fragrant geyser, threatening to overflow the
pot; but obedient to the spoon, fell away again in foamy ripples.
"Like that!" Mr. Cheeseman repeated. "If it would clear your mind any to
bile over, friend Parks, so do!"
Calvin glanced toward the corner. "Does he take much notice?" he asked.
"Lonzo? no! he's no more than a child. But yet 'tis time for him to go
home. Lonzo! dinner-time!"
The simpleton rose and shambled forward, a huge uncouth figure with a
face like a platter; not an empty platter now, though, for it was
wreathed in smiles. He held out the shining dish. "Done good?" he
asked.
"Elegant, Lonzo, elegant! you are smart, no mistake about that. Help
yourself to the cream candy! that square pan is o' purpose for you."
Lonzo stowed a third of the contents of the pan in his cavernous mouth,
the rest in various pockets, and departed grinning happily.
"He's as good as gold!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Not a mite of harm in
Lonzo; I wish all sensible folks was as pleasant. Now, friend Parks,
bile up!"
Calvin pulled his brown moustache, and looked shy.
"I guess I'm pretty slow molasses, Mr. Cheeseman," he said. "I ain't
used to bilin', except in the way of gettin' mad once in a while, and I
don't do that real often; but yet I'll try my best."
In a few words he described the twins and his relation to them. "No kin,
you know, blood nor married; only just neighbors all our lives till
late years. I should expect to do a neighbor's part by the boys,
week-days and Sundays, and I dono as ever I've done contrary."
Then he told, with more reserve, of "Miss Hands's" coming; of his
finding her there; of her striking him as, take it all round, the
likeliest woman ever he saw; of his saying to himself that if ever
things turned out so that he had a right to ask a woman to hitch her
wagon to a middle-aged hoss that had some go in him yet, here was the
woman.
"But yet I told myself first thing," he added, taking up the poker and
tapping the bright little stove with it; "I told myself she would be
marryin' one of the boys most likely; I kep' that in mind steady, as you
may say. I thought I was so used to the idee that it wouldn't jar me
much of any when it come to the fact. But it did; yes siree, it did,
sure enough. 'Peared as if a cog slipped somehow, and my whole works
was jolted out of kilter."
He looked anxiously at Mr. Cheeseman, who nodded with grave
comprehension.
"And when it comes," he went on, "to each one of them beseechin' me to
get her to marry the other--why--I really am blowed, Mr. Cheeseman, and
do you wonder at it?"
"She's done!" said Mr. Cheeseman, rising. "Lend a hand with that pan,
friend Parks; the big square one yonder."
A moment of anxious silence followed, as the thick golden-brown mass
flowed into the pan, curled into the corners, and finally settled in a
smooth glossy sheet.
"There!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Now we'll let her cool a spell till she's
fit to handle. Take your seat, friend Parks! No, I don't wonder no way
in the world at your bein' blowed, or jolted either. What gets me is,
why don't you speak for yourself, like that other feller in the story?"
Calvin Parks pulled his moustache meditatively.
"I know!" he said. "Longfellow's poems. Mother thought a sight of
Longfellow's poems. John Alden, warn't it? and the old fellow was Miles
Standish? Yes, I rec'lect well. But you see, Mr. Cheeseman, the young
woman herself give him the tip that time. 'Why don't you speak for
yourself, John?' I rec'lect well enough. Now, Miss Hands never give me
any reason to think she'd rather have me than ary one of the boys."
"Has she given you any reason to think she wouldn't?" queried the old
man.
"Well--no! I don't know as she has."
"Well, then, where does the trouble come in? You're twice the man they
are, I take it, from all accounts. Don't know as ever I saw them, but I
knew the old woman, and used to hear of her goin's on bringing these
young uns up. I don't see as you're bound to canvass for them, no way in
the world. Rustle in and get her yourself, is what I say."
Calvin looked at him anxiously.
"You see, Mr. Cheeseman, it's this way," he said. "I think a sight of
her, don't I? I've said so, and I haven't said half. That bein' so,
nat'rally I want her to be well fixed, don't you see? The best that can
be, ain't that so? Now, either one of those two darned old huckleberries
can give her a first-rate home; as nice a place as there is in this
State, house, stock and fixin's all to match. A woman wants a home; one
of them old gooseberries said so, and it's true. Now, what have I got to
offer her? I've got a hole in the ground, and a candy route. You see how
it is, don't you, Mr. Cheeseman?"
Mr. Cheeseman reflected for a few minutes.
"Where's your savin's?" he asked abruptly. "You were master of a
coasting schooner for ten year, you say. Single man, and no bad habits,
I should judge,--you'd ought to have money in the bank, young man. What
have you done with it?"
Calvin hung his head.
"That's right!" he said. "That's so, Mr. Cheeseman. I had money in the
bank. Last year I drawed it out, like a fool; somebody'd been talkin'
investments to me, and I thought I could do better with it; and--well, I
had it on board, and there was a feller,--well, I needn't go into that.
I never thought he would have, if his mind had been quite straight. Wife
died, and he warn't the same man afterwards. You can see how 'twas! He
took it, and then got drownded with it in his pants pocket--or so it
seemed likely--so nobody got much out of that deal. I had some part of
it in another place, though, sufficient to buy me the route, and five
dollars over. I put the five dollars in the bank, but it don't yield
what you'd call an income precisely. So there it is, Mr. Cheeseman, and
I can't see that things looks much like matrimony for little Calvin.
Honest now, do you?"
Mr. Cheeseman rumpled his thick hair till it gave the impression of Papa
Monkey's having married a white cockatoo. He glanced at Calvin sidewise.
"She has money,--" he said slowly.
"And she can keep it!" said Calvin Parks. "I ain't that kind."
"Just so!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Precisely. Where are you livin' now,
friend Parks?"
"I'm boardin' with Widder Marlin;" said Calvin.
The old man looked up sharply. "You are?" he said. "Humph! that don't
seem a very likely place, 'cordin' to folks's ideas round here. Them
two aren't thought specially well of by their neighbors."
"That so?" said Calvin. "I guess they won't hurt me any. I sailed mate
to Cap'n Marlin," he added, "and he was always good to me."
"Humph!" said Mr. Cheeseman again. "I see." He rumpled his hair again,
and rose to his feet. "Friend Parks," he said, slowly, "you've got to
lay by, that's all there is to it; and I'm going to show you how."
CHAPTER X
JOHN ALDEN--WITH A DIFFERENCE
Winter had come. Early December though it was, the snow lay deep and
smooth over meadow and hill, and hung in fluffy masses on the branches
of pine and fir. Calvin Parks had got rid of the wheels that never
ceased to incommode him, and jingled along merrily on runners, both he
and Hossy enjoying the change.
It had become a matter of course that he should turn in at the Sills'
gateway whenever he passed along their road, and he managed to pass once
or twice a week. So on this crystal morning he found himself driving
into the stable yard almost unconsciously. The brown horse whinnied as
he clattered into the stable, and an answering whinny came from the
furthest stall in the corner.
"That's old John sayin' good mornin', hossy!" said Calvin. "How are you,
John? Who else is to home?"
He looked along the row of stalls. "Here's the old hoss of all, and
here's the mare. The young colt is out; presume likely Sam is gone to
market, hossy. What say to gettin' a bite in his stall? He won't be back
till dinner time."
Hossy approving, Calvin unharnessed him, and he stepped into the stall
without further invitation.
"Now you be real friendly with old John and the mare!" said Calvin, "and
I'll come for you sooner than you're ready."
The brown horse flung him a brief snort of assurance, and plunged his
head into the manger; and Calvin fastened the door and made his way
slowly toward the house.
The back view of the Sill farmhouse was hardly less pleasant than the
front, especially when, as now, the morning sun lay full on the warm
yellow of the house, the bright green of the door, and the reddish
granite of the well-scoured steps. A screen of dark evergreens set off
all these cheerful tints; and to make the picture still gayer Mary
Sands, a scarlet "sontag" tied trimly over her blue dress, was sitting
on the cellar door, picking over tomatoes.
Calvin Parks was conscious of missing Hossy. He wanted some one to
appeal to.
"Do you see that?" he murmured, addressing the landscape. "Do you call
that handsome? because if you don't, you are a calf's-head, whatever
else you may be."
Mary Sands looked up, and her bright face grew brighter at sight of him.
"Oh, Mr. Parks!" she cried. "I am glad to see you. I've been wishin' all
the week you'd come by and stop in a bit. Now this is a pleasure,
surely! Come right in!"
"Hold on, Miss Hands!" said Calvin, as she moved toward the door.
"Hold on just a minute. How about the tomaytoes?"
[Illustration: "'HOLD ON, MISS HANDS!' SAID CALVIN, AS SHE MOVED TOWARD
THE DOOR."]
"Oh, they can wait!" said Mary. "I was just turning 'em so they'd get
the sun on all sides."
"Ain't it remarkable late for tomaytoes?" asked Calvin. "I dono as ever
I see ripe ones at this season. I expect you can do what you like with
gardin truck, Miss Hands, same as with most things."
Mary blushed and twinkled.
"Oh, I don't know!" she answered. "I've always had good luck with late
vegetables. I do suppose I've kept these tomaytoes on later than common,
though; I confess I'm rather proud of them, Mr. Parks. Cousins say I
tend 'em like young chickens, and I don't know but I do. I put 'em out
mornings, when 'tis bright and warm like this, and take 'em in before
sundown, fear they'll get chilled. Anything ripens so much better in
the sun."
"I don't believe you've turned 'em all," said Calvin. "I should admire
to set here a spell, if 'tis warm enough for you. I ripen better in the
sun, too;" he twinkled at her. "_Is_ it warm enough for you?" he added
anxiously.
"My, yes!" said Mary Sands. "Why, 'tis like summer in this bright sun,
and this cellar door is warm as a stove. Well, if you're really a mind
to help, Mr. Parks,--I'm sure you're more than kind."
There was plenty of room on the cellar door for them and the tomatoes.
Calvin curled up his long legs under him, and gave his attention for
several minutes to the Crimson Cushions and Ponderosas, turning them
with careful nicety.
"Pretty, ain't they?" he said; "some of 'em, that is."
"Real pretty!" said Mary Sands. "I do enjoy them, Mr. Parks; 'tis a
kind of play with me, tending my tomaytoes. I expect I'm foolish about
growin' things."
"I expect if there was more had your kind of foolishness," replied
Calvin, "the world would be a better place than it is."
"See this one!" Mary went on; "for all the world like a red satin
pincushion my grandmother used to have in her basket. 'Tis well named,
the Crimson Cushion is."
"Look at this feller," said Calvin, "all green and yeller, and squinnied
up like his co't was too tight for him. It looks like the boys; honest
now, don't it, Miss Hands?"
Mary tinkled a reproachful laugh.
"Now Mr. Parks, I wonder at you. Poor Cousins!"
"I ain't takin' up no collection for the boys!" said Calvin coolly.
"Where's Sam? I see the young colt is out."
"He's gone to market; and Cousin Sims' in a dreadful takin', for fear
he'll get run away with, or hove out, or something."
Calvin stared. "Why, the colt is ten year old if he is a day!" he said.
"I told him that; but he said it didn't make no odds, he'd never found
out he was grown up, and acted accordin'. He werries terrible about
Cousin Sam every time he goes out, and Cousin Sam werries about him. I
notice it growin' on the two of 'em. Mr. Parks, I believe that down in
their hearts them two are missin' each other more than tongue can tell,
and neither one of them knows what's the matter with him."
"You don't say!" said Calvin. "Why don't they make up, then? Ridic'lous
old lobsters!"
"They don't know how!" said Mary. "Even if they mistrust what ails 'em,
and I don't believe they do as yet."
She was silent a moment, and then added: "Mr. Parks, I feel I can speak
out to you, that have been their friend right along. I wish't one of
Cousins would marry; there! I do so!"
Calvin Parks's face, which had been radiant with cheerfulness, turned to
brown wood. He looked straight before him, with no more expression than
the green tomato he held in his hand.
"That so!" he said slowly. "Which--which one of 'em would you consider
best suited to matrimony, Miss Hands, if 'tisn't too much to ask?"
"I don't know as I care which it is," cried Mary, earnestly,--Calvin
winced, and dropped the tomato, which rolled slowly down the cellar door
and plumped into the snow,--"so long as it's one of 'em. They ought to
have a woman _belongin'_ to them, Mr. Parks, as would take an interest
in things because they was hers, you understand, and care for whichever
one she'd marry and the other one too. They'd never ought to have been
_let_ act so foolish. You see, they'd always had a woman to do for 'em,
and think for 'em, and _live_ for 'em; and the minute she was gone they
fell to pieces, kind of; 'tis often so with men folks," she said simply.
"They ain't calc'lated to be alone. But even now, if there was a woman
belongin' to 'em, that had the right to say how things should be, I
believe she could bring 'em together in no time."
There was a long silence, Mary turning tomatoes, Calvin staring straight
ahead of him with the same wooden countenance. At length he cleared his
throat and spoke slowly and laboriously.
"There's something in what you say, Miss Hands, and I'm bound to confess
that--that I've had thoughts of something of the kind before you spoke.
But--well, we'll put it this way. Which of them two old--of them two
individuals, we'll call 'em for this once--would a woman be likely to
fancy? I--I should be pleased to have your opinion on that p'int."
Mary considered, turning the Crimson Cushions meanwhile with a careful
hand. Calvin, misunderstanding her silence, went on.
"What I mean is--if a woman was thinkin' of matrimony--" he winced
again, seeming to hear Mr. Sam's voice squeaking out the word,--"if a
woman was thinkin' of matrimony, and one of them two should take her
fancy more than the other--why--a person as was friendly to all
concerned might try his hand in the way of helpin' to bring it about."
Mary glanced up quickly at him, but no friendly twinkle responded to her
glance. Calvin's brown eyes were still dark with trouble, and he still
stared moodily away from her.
"'Tis hard to say!" she replied after a pause. "Cousin Sim needs the
most care."
"He does so!" said Calvin Parks. "Sim certinly needs care. And--he's a
home-lovin' man, Simeon is, and sober, and honest. There's things you
could find in Sim that's no worse than what you'd find in some others, I
make no doubt; and--and any one would have a first-rate home, and every
comfort."
"Oh! Mr. Parks, but do you think any woman _could_ make up her mind to
marry Cousin Sim?" said Mary.
Calvin gave her a bewildered look, and went on, still slowly and
laboriously.
"Not bein' a woman myself, ma'am, nor had any special dealin's with the
sex since I growed up, it ain't easy for me to form an opinion. But
since you ask me honest--well--maybe not! This brings us to Sam'l. Now
Sam'l is a man that has his faculties, such as they are. He has his
health, and he's smart and capable. A good farmer Sam has always been,
and a good manager. Careful and savin'; and there'd be the house, same
as in Simeon's case. Anybody would have them a good home, and--"
"Oh! my _goodness_!" cried Mary Sands. Calvin looked up with a start,
and saw her face on fire.
"What is it?" he asked, helplessly.
"Oh! don't you see?" she cried. "I was thinkin' about them, poor old
things, and wishin' they might find some one; but you've shown me the
other side. Mr. Parks, they never, never, _never_ could find any woman
_to_ marry them!"
Calvin Parks's face was a study of bewilderment.
"I--I don't understand!" he faltered. "Do you mean that you
wouldn't--couldn't--fancy either one of the boys, Miss Hands?"
"_Me_!" cried Mary Sands; "me fancy one of them!"
Involuntarily she rose to her feet; Calvin rose too, looking anxiously
down at her. There was a moment of tense silence. "Do--do you _want_ me
to marry one of them, Mr. Parks?" asked Mary, in a small shaking voice.
"Want you to?" cried Calvin Parks. "_Want_ you to?"
At this moment Mr. Sam came round the corner. Mary Sands fled, and as
she ran into the house there floated back from the closing door--was it
a sound of laughter--or of tears?
"What in the name of hemlock is goin' on here?" asked Mr. Sam. "Calvin
Parks, what are you about, treadin' of them tomaytoes under foot? You've
creshed as much as a dozen of 'em under them great hoofs of your'n."
"That you, Sam?" said Calvin Parks. "How are you? I'd shut my mouth if I
was you. You look handsomer that way than what you do with it open."
CHAPTER XI
CONCERNING TRADE
It was Christmas week, and East Cyrus was making ready for the festival.
The butcher's shop was hung with turkeys and chickens, and bright with
green of celery and red of cranberries and apples. The dry-goods store
displayed in its window, beside the folds of gingham and "wool goods"
and the shirt-waist patterns, a shining array of dolls and sofa-pillows,
pincushions and knitted shoes; while the bookstore had all the holiday
magazines, and a splendid assortment of tissue paper in every possible
shade.
But delightful as all this was to the eyes of East Cyrus, there was one
shop that so far outshone the rest that all day long an admiring group
of children stood before it, gazing in at the window, and fairly
goggling with wonder and longing. This was the shop of Mr. Ivory
Cheeseman. Across and across the window were strings of silver tinsel,
wonderful enough in themselves, but still more wonderful for the freight
they bore; canes of every description, from the massive walking-stick
that might have supported Lonzo's giant frame, down to dapper and
delicate affairs no bigger than one's little finger; and all made of
candy, red and white and yellow. That was a sight in itself, I should
hope; but that was not all. The broad shelf beneath was covered with
tinsel-sprinkled green, and here were creatures many, cats and lions and
elephants, dromedaries and horses and turtles, all in clear barley
sugar, red and yellow and white. Chocolate mice there were, too, bigger
than the cats as a rule; and flanking these zoölogical wonders, row upon
row of shining glass jars, containing every stick that ever was
twisted, every drop that ever was dropped.
Inside, a long counter overflowed with the more recondite forms of
goodies, caramels, and burnt almonds, chocolate creams and the like;
behind this counter a pretty girl stood smiling, ready to dispense
delight in any sugary form, at so much a pound.
In the kitchen behind the shop the little stove was glowing like a
friendly demon, and beside the long table stood Mr. Cheeseman and Calvin
Parks, deep in talk.
"Now you want," said the old man, "to get a _good price_ for these
goods, friend Parks. I'm lettin' you have 'em at wholesale price,
because you're a man I like, and because I wish to see you well fixed
and provided with a partner for life. Now here's your chance, and I'm
goin' to speak right out plain. You're a good fellow, but you are not a
man of business!"
"That's right!" murmured Calvin meekly. "That's straight, stem to
stern."
"I hear about you now and again, in the way of trade," Mr. Cheeseman
went on. "Folks come in, and talk a spell; you know how 'tis. I've gone
so fur as to ask folks about you, folks whose opinion was worth havin'.
They all like you fust-rate; say you're a good feller, none better, but
you'll never make good. Ask 'em why, and they tell about your givin'
goods away right along; a half a dozen sticks here, a roll of lozengers
there, quarter-pounds all along the ro'd so to say. Now, young man, that
ain't trade!"
Calvin's slow blood crept up among the roots of his hair. "I don't know
as it's any of their darned business!" he said slowly.
"It ain't, nor yet it ain't mine to tell you; nor yet it ain't the
wind's; yet it keeps on blowin' just the same, and while you're cussin'
it for liftin' your hat off, it's turnin' your windmill for you. See?"
Calvin raised his head with a jerk.
"I see!" he said. "That's straight. I see that, Mr. Cheeseman, and thank
you for sayin' it. But--well now, see how 'tis at my end. I'm joggin'
along the ro'd, see? hossy and me, who so peart, lookin' for trade.
Well, here come a little gal; pretty, like as not,--little gals mostly
are, and when they ain't you're sorry enough to make it even--and when
she sees us she stops, and hossy stops. He knows! wouldn't go on if I
told him to. Say she don't speak a word; say she just looks at me kind
o' wishful; what would you do? She's a child, and she wants a stick of
candy; that's what I'm there for, ain't it, to see that she gets it?
Well! and she hasn't got a cent. What would you do? Would you drive off
and leave her cryin' in the ro'd behind you?"
"I would!" said Mr. Cheeseman firmly. "She'd ought to have got a cent
from her Ma, and she'll do it next time if you don't give in now."
"Mebbe she has no Ma!" said Calvin gloomily. "Mebbe her Ma's a Tartar."
"That ain't your lookout!" retorted Mr. Cheeseman. "Now, friend Parks,
it comes to just this. You put this to yourself straight; are you
runnin' a candy route, or an orphan asylum?"
Calvin was silent, gazing darkly at the pan of cinnamon drops before
him. Mr. Cheeseman, having driven his nail home, put away his hammer.
"Now about your stock!" he said cheerfully. "You rather run to sticks in
your fancy, but if I was you I'd go a mite more into fancy truck
Christmas time. Gives 'em a change, and seems more holiday like. Take
this lobster loaf, now!"
He laid his hand on a huge mass, chocolate-coated, its side displaying
strata of red and white. "This is a good article when you strike a
large family or a corner store. It's cheap, and it's fillin'. You let me
put you up a couple of loaves; what say?"
"All right!" said Calvin, still gloomily. "What next?"
"Well, here's chicken bones!" and Mr. Cheeseman picked up a handful of
short white sticks. "These is good goods; try one!"
Calvin crunched a stick. "Chocolate fillin'?" he said.
"Yes; with just a dite of peanut butter to give it a twist. Children
like 'em; like the name, too; makes 'em think of the turkey that's
comin'. Two or three pounds of them? That's right! All the sticks, I
s'pose? and all the drops? That's it! I expect you to make your fortune
this time, and no mistake. Now we come to gum drops! how about them?"
"Well," said Calvin, "I never found gum drops what you'd call real
amusin' myself; I like something with a mite more snap to it, don't
you?"
"Did, when I had teeth like yours!" Mr. Cheeseman replied. "But you take
old folks, or folks that's had their teeth out, and say, 'gum drops' to
'em, and they'll run like chickens. They like something soft, you see.
How's your route off for teeth?"
"Why--I don't know as I've noticed specially!" said Calvin, his brown
eyes growing round.
"Fust thing a candy man ought to notice! Well, you take a good stock of
gum drops, that's my advice. Now come to the animals--what is it,
Lonzo?"
Lonzo shambled in from the shop; the tears were running down his platter
face, and his huge frame shook with sobs.
"She--she won't give me the el'phant!" he said.
"What elephant? Cheer up, Lonzo! don't you cry, son; Christmas is
comin', you know."
"You said--you said--if I cleaned the dishes all up good for Christmas I
could take my pick, and I picked the el'phant, and she won't give it to
me!"
At this juncture the pretty girl appeared, flushed and defiant.
"Mr. Cheeseman, he wants that big elephant, the handsomest thing in the
window; and it's a shame, and he sha'n't have it. I offered him the one
you made first, that got its leg broke, and he won't look at it. There's
just as much eatin' to it, for I saved the leg."
"I don't want to eat it!" sobbed Lonzo. "I want to love it a spell
fust."
Mr. Cheeseman looked grave. "Well!" he said, "we'll see, son! You stop
cryin', anyhow."
He went into the shop, Calvin following him, and they looked over the
low green curtain into the show-window. In the very centre, towering
above the lions, camels and rabbits, stood a majestic white elephant
fully a foot high. His tusks were of clear barley sugar; he carried a
gilded howdah in which sat an affable personage with chocolate
countenance and peppermint turban; the whole was a triumph of art, and
Mr. Cheeseman gazed on it with pride, and Calvin with admiration.
"It's the handsomest piece of confectionery I ever saw!" said Calvin
with conviction.
"It _is_ handsome, I'm free to confess!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "It cost me
consid'able labor, that did. Take it out careful, Cynthy!"
"Mr. Cheeseman! you ain't goin' to give it to Lonzo!" cried the pretty
girl indignantly.
"Certin I am!" said the old man. "I told him he should take his pick,
and he's taken it. I didn't think of that figger, 'tis true, but what I
say I stand to. Easy there! I guess you'd better let me lift it out,
Cynthy!"
Very tenderly he lifted out the glittering trophy and placed it in
Lonzo's outstretched hands. The simpleton chuckled his rapture, and
retired to his dim corner--to worship, one might have thought; he put
his prize on a low table and grovelled before it on the floor.
Mr. Cheeseman, heedless of Cynthy's lamentations, proceeded to
re-arrange the show-window, trying one effect and another, head on one
side and eyes screwed critically. Satisfied at length, he turned slowly
and rather reluctantly toward Calvin Parks, who had been standing
silently by.
"After all," he said apologetically, "Christmas is for the children, and
Lonzo is the Lord's child, my wife used to say, and I expect she was
right."
Calvin's twinkle burst into a smile.
"That's all right, Mr. Cheeseman!" he said. "That suits me first-rate. I
was only wonderin' whether it was just exactly what you would call
trade!"
CHAPTER XII
CALVIN'S WATERLOO
Christmas Eve. All day a blaze of white and gold, softening now into
cold glories of rose and violet over the great snow-fields. The road,
white upon white, outlined with fringes of trees, and here and there a
stretch of stump fence, was as empty as the fields, the solitary sleigh
with its solitary occupant seeming only to emphasize the loneliness.
Calvin Parks looked down the long stretch of road into which he had just
turned, and gave a long whistle.
"Hossy," he said, "do you know what this ro'd wants? It wants society! I
don't know as it would be reasonable to expect a house, or even a barn,
but it does seem as if they might scare up a cow; what?"
Hossy whinnied sympathetically.
"Just so!" said Calvin. "That's what I say. Christmas Eve and all, it
does really appear as if they might scare up a cow. Not that she'd be
likely to trade to any great extent. What say? She'd buy as much as that
last woman did? That's so, hossy; you're right there. But we ain't
complainin', you and me, I want you to understand. We've done real well
this trip, and before we get our little oats to-night we'll work off
every stick in the whole concern, you see if we don't, and have money to
put in the bank, io, money to put in the bank. Gitty up, you hossy!" He
flourished his whip round the brown horse's head and whistled a merry
tune.
"Hello! What's up now?"
Some one was standing at the turn of the road ahead, waving to him; a
child; a little girl in cloak and hood, her red-mittened hands
gesticulating wildly.
"We're a-comin', we're a-comin'!" said Calvin Parks. "Git there just the
very minute we git there, you see if we don't. Why, Mittie May! you
don't mean to tell me this is you?"
"Oh! yes, please!" cried the child. "Oh! please will you come and see
Miss Fidely? oh! please will you?"
"There! there! little un; why, you're all out of breath. Been runnin',
have ye?"
"Oh, yes!" panted Mittie May. "I ran all the way, for fear I wouldn't
get here before you went by. Will you come and see Miss Fidely, Mr.
Candy Man?"
"Well!" said Calvin, "that depends, little gal. There's three p'ints I'd
like to consider in this connection and as touchin' this matter, as old
parson used to say. First, is Miss Fidely good-lookin' and agreeable
_to_ see? Second, does she anyways want to see me? Third, how far off
does she live? It's gettin' on towards sundown, and hossy and me have a
good ways to go before we get our oats."
"It's not far," said the child. "And she wants to see you terrible bad.
Her goods ain't come that she ordered, and the tree's all up, and the
boys and girls all comin' to-morrow, and no candy. And I told her about
you, and how you mostly came along this road Wednesdays, and she said
run and catch you if I could, and I run!"
"I should say you did!" said Calvin. "Now you hop right in here with me,
little gal! Hopsy upsy--there she comes! Let me tuck you in good--so!
now you tell me which way to go, and hossy and me'll git there. That's a
fair division, ain't it?"
Still panting, the child pointed down a narrow cross-road, on which at
some distance stood a solitary house.
"That the house?" asked Calvin. Mittie May nodded.
"I hope Miss Fidely ain't large for her size," said Calvin; "she might
fit rayther snug if she was."
It was a tiny house, gray and weather-beaten; but the windows were trim
with white curtains and gay with flowers; on the stone wall a row of
milk-pans flashed back the afternoon sun; the whole air of the place was
cheerful and friendly.
"I expect Miss Fidely's all right!" said Calvin with emphasis. "Smart
woman, to judge by the looks of her pans, and there's nothing better to
go by as I know of. Them's as bright as Miss Hands's, and more than that
I can't say. Now you hop out, Mittie May, and ask her will she step out
and see the goods, or shall I bring in any special line?"
The child stared. "She can't come out!" she said. "Miss Fidely can't
walk."
"Can't walk!" repeated Calvin.
"No! and the path ain't shovelled wide enough for her to come out. Come
in and see her, please!"
His eyes very round, Calvin followed the child up the narrow path and in
at the low door. Then he stopped short.
The door opened directly into a long, low room, the whole width of the
house. The whitewashed walls were like snow, the bare floor was painted
bright yellow, with little islands of rag carpet here and there. There
were a few quaint old rush-bottomed chairs, and in one corner what
looked like a child's trundle-bed, gay with a splendid sunflower quilt.
These things Calvin saw afterwards; the first glance showed him only the
Tree and its owner. It was a low, spreading tree, filling one end of the
room completely. Strings of pop-corn festooned the branches, and flakes
of cotton-wool snow were cunningly disposed here and there. Bright
apples peeped from amid the green, and from every tip hung a splendid
star of tinsel or tin foil. No "boughten stuff" these; all through the
year Miss Fidely patiently begged from her neighbors: from the women the
tinsel on their button-cards, from the men the "silver" that wrapped
their tobacco. Carefully pressed under the big Bible, they waited till
Christmas, to become the glory of the Tree. The presents might not have
impressed a city child much, for every one was made by Miss Fidely
herself; the aprons, the mittens, the cotton-flannel rabbits and
bottle-dolls for the tiny ones, the lace-trimmed sachets and bows for
the older girls. Mittie May, all forgetful of marble palaces, stole one
glance of delighted awe, and then remembered her manners.
"Here's the Candy Man, Miss Fidely!" she said.
Miss Fidely turned quickly; she had been tying an apple to one of the
lower branches with scarlet worsted.
"Pleased to meet you!" she said. "Do take a seat, won't you? I can't
rise, myself, so you must excuse me!"
Miss Fidely sat in a thing like a child's go-cart on four wheels. Her
little withered feet clad in soft leather moccasins peeped out from
under her scant brown calico skirt. They could never have supported the
strong square body and powerful head, Calvin thought; she must have
spent her life in that cart; and at the thought a mist came over his
brown eyes. But he took the hard brown hand that was held out to him,
and shook it cordially.
"I am real pleased to make your acquaintance!" he said. "Nice weather
we're havin'; a mite cold, but 'tis more seasonable that way, to my
thinkin'."
"I was so afraid Mittie May wouldn't catch you!" Miss Fidely went on. "I
s'pose she's told you my misfortune, sir. I order my candy from a firm
in Tupham Centre; and I had a letter this mornin' statin' that they had
burned up and lost all their stock, and couldn't fill any orders. 'Twas
too late to order elsewhere, and I couldn't make enough for all
hands--thirty children I expect to-morrow, and some of 'em comin' from
nine or ten miles away--and what to do I didn't know; when all of a
sudden Mittie May thought of you. She lives on the next ro'd, not fur
from here, Mittie doos, and she helps me get the tree ready; don't you,
Mittie May? I don't know what I should do without her, I'm sure."
She smiled at Mittie May, who glowed with pride and pleasure. Calvin
thought he had seen only one smile brighter than Miss Fidely's.
"It did seem real providential," she went on, "if only she could catch
you, and I'm more than pleased she did. Here's my bags all ready," she
pointed to a neat pile that lay on a table beside her; "and if you've
got the goods to fill 'em, I guess we sha'n't need to do much
bargainin'. I've got the money ready too."
"I guess that's all right!" said Calvin, rising. "I'll bring my stock
right in, what's left of it, and you can take your pick. I've sold the
heft of it, but yet there's a plenty still to fill them bags twice't
over."
"Mittie May, it's time for you to go," said Miss Fidely. "Your Ma'll be
lookin' for you to help get supper. Mebbe you can run over to-night to
hang the bags, or first thing in the morning."
"I'll hang the bags!" said Calvin Parks.
"Oh!" said Miss Fidely. "You're real kind, but that's too much to ask,
isn't it?"
"I guess not!" said Calvin. "I guess I'd rather trim a Christmas Tree
than eat my supper any day in the week. You run along, Mittie May; I'll
tend to this."
The rose and violet were deepening over the snow-fields, and stars were
piercing the golden veil of sunset. Calvin filled the brown horse's
nose-bag and hung it over his head, and covered him carefully with the
buffalo robe.
"You rest easy a spell, hossy!" he said. "This is trade, you know.
Christmas Eve, you can't expect to get to bed real early."
Hossy shook himself, whinnied "All right!" and addressed himself to his
supper. Calvin pulled out one drawer after another, studying their
contents with frowning anxiety. "She's goin' to have the best there is!"
he said. "There's a look in that lady's eyes that puts me in mind of
Miss Hands; and take that with her bein' afflicted and all--I guess
we'll give her a good set-off, hossy. I guess--that--is--what we'll do!"
While he spoke, he was piling box upon box, jar upon jar, holding the
pile firm with his chin. Entering the house again, he deposited them
carefully on the table, and proceeded to spread them out.
"There!" he said. "I guess you'll find what you want here. All the
candies, stick, drop and fancy; tutti-frutti and pepsin chewing-gum,
chocolate creams and marshmallow goods. You didn't say what amount you
was calc'latin' to lay out--?"
Miss Fidely looked round her carefully. "I didn't care to say before the
little gal!" she said. "My neighbors is real careful of me, and they
grudge my spendin' so much money. I tell 'em it's my circus and fair and
sociable and spring bunnet all in one. There! I calc'late to spend five
dollars, and I've got it to spend. I'm a stranger to you, sir, and mebbe
you'd like to see it before we go any further."
"I guess not!" said Calvin Parks. "I guess I know a straight stick when
I see one--" his eyes fell on the twisted outlines covered by the brown
calico skirt, and he finished his sentence in silence. "Your one
comfort," he said, "is that it ain't likely the Lord made another fool
like you when he see the way you'd act."
"That's a handsome sum of money," he added aloud. "You'll get a handsome
set-out for it."
"I've got no one belongin' to me," said the lame woman simply; "and I'm
far from church privileges. I never touch my burial money, but I do feel
that I have a right to this. Well! you have got elegant goods, I must
say. Now we'll get down to business, if agreeable to you."
It was most agreeable to Calvin Parks, and he made it so to Miss Fidely.
She must taste every variety of sugar-plum, so that she could know what
she was giving.
"That's trade!" he said, when she remonstrated. "That's straight trade;
no samples, no buyers! You try this lemon taffy! I do regard it as
extry. These goods is all pure sugar, every mite; I know the man as made
'em, and helped some in the makin'. Some of the pineapple sticks? That's
a lovely candy to my mind. I helped make these only yesterday morning.
You try a morsel; here's a broken stick!"
"Why, I never had no such candy as this before!" cried Miss Fidely,
crunching the white and scarlet stick. "Why, 'tis as different from the
goods I've bought before as new-laid eggs is from store. I guess you'll
have a steady customer from now on, as many Christmases as I have to
live."
"That so?" said Calvin. "Well, I aim to give satisfaction, and so does
the man who makes for me. All pure sugar; no glucose, terry alby, nor
none of them things, destroyin' folks's stomachs. Nothin' else than
poison, some of the stuff you'll find in the market is; but good sugar
and good flavorin' is wholesome, I claim, taken moderate, you know, and
the system craves it, or so appears to do. Say we commence to fill the
bags now, what? And so you toll in the neighborin' children and give 'em
a Christmas Tree! Now that's a pleasant thing to do; I don't know as
ever I heard of a pleasanter."
Miss Fidely glowed again, and again she looked like Mary Sands. "I've
been doin' it for ten years now," she said, "and shall, I expect, as
long as the Lord thinks I'm best off here. You see, not havin' the use
of my limbs, I can't go much; and I do love children, and they've got
the habit of runnin' in here for a cooky or a story or like that. This
ain't a wealthy neighborhood; the soil's rather poor; folks has moved
away; I scarcely know how it is, but yet 'tis so. And, too, they haven't
had the habit of makin' of Christmas same as they do in most places.
Some ten year ago I spent a winter in the city. There was a man thought
he could cure me of my lameness, or made me think so; and though I was
old enough to know better, I give in, and went and let him try. Well, I
didn't get any help that way, but I got an amazin' deal other ways.
There was a Tree to the hospital where I was, and they carried me in to
see it; and I said that minute of time, 'There shan't any child round
our way go without a Tree after this, as long as I live!' I says. I
count it a great mercy that I've been able to keep that promise. I begin
Near Year's day to make my presents--doin' it evenin's and odd times,
you know, and 'tis my child's play all the year through till Christmas
comes again. They ask me sometimes if I ain't lonesome; any one can't be
lonesome, I tell 'em, while they're makin' Christmas presents."
"You don't live all sole alone?" asked Calvin Parks.
"Certin I do! I've no kin of my own, and them as wished to marry me
warn't more than what I had time to say no to," she laughed gleefully;
"and I wouldn't be bothered with no stranger messin' round. I'm used to
myself, you see, but I don't know as any person else could get along
with me real well, come to stay right along. I expect I'm as caniptious
as an old hen. The neighbors is real good; any one couldn't ask for
better help than they be when I need help, but 'tis seldom I do. I'm
strong and well, and everything is handy by, as you may say. Only when
it comes Christmas, I can't fetch in the tree nor yet mount up to trim
the upper branches, and then I have to call on some one. My! ain't you
smart? you've got all them bags hung while I've been talkin'. They do
look pretty, don't they?"
"They look handsome!" Calvin assented warmly, "they certainly do. But if
you'll excuse me takin' a liberty, I think there's just one extry touch
this tree needs, and with your permission I'm goin' to put it on. Excuse
me a half a minute!"
He ran out, and soon returned beaming with pleasure and good will, his
hands full of small tissue paper parcels.
"I had these all wrapped up separate," he said, "'cause they're
fraygile. How many children did you say there was? Thirty? Well, if that
ain't a nice fit! Here's three dozen left; and not one of them is goin'
any further to-night."
He unwrapped the parcels, and displayed to Miss Fidely's wondering eyes
dogs, lions, camels, rabbits, all sparkling in barley sugar, all
glittering in the sunset light. The lame woman clasped her hands, and
her eyes shone.
"Oh!" she cried. "I see the like of them in the hospital; I never see
them before or since. I can't believe it's true. Oh! I do believe the
Lord sent you, sir!"
"I believe so too!" said Calvin Parks.
Suddenly Miss Fidely's face changed.
"My goodness!" she cried. "I never thought, and I know you never either.
I can't take them, sir! I've spent all my money, and more too, I expect,
for I know well you give me extry measure in some of them candies. But
I'm just as pleased at you takin' the pains to bring 'em in, and the
children haven't seen 'em, so there's no harm."
"Now what a way that is to talk!" said Calvin, "for a lady as sensible
as you be. Didn't I know you had laid out your money, and a good sum,
too? Did you think you was the only person that liked to do a little
something for the children Christmas time? Now ain't that a sight!
Them's my present to Mittie May and her friends, that's all. Now see me
hang 'em on!"
He turned hastily to the tree, for Miss Fidely was crying, and Calvin
did not know what the mischief got into women-folks to make 'em act that
way. Drawing a ball of pink string from his pocket, he proceeded to hang
his menagerie, talking the while.
"I've had quite a time to-day. Any one sees a good deal of human natur'
drivin' a candy route, yes sir, I would say ma'am! Hossy and me has come
a good ways to-day, and seen 'most all kinds. Are you acquainted any
with a woman name of Weazle, down the ro'd about four mile from here?
Ain't? Well, she's a case, I tell you. Long skinny kind of woman, looks
like she'd bleed sour milk--skim--if she scratched her finger. She made
up her mind I was goin' to cheat her, and she warn't goin' to be
cheated, not she. Quite a circus we had.
"'How much is them marshmallers?' she says.
"'Twenty cents a pound,' I says.
"'It's too much!' she says.
"'Is that so?' I says.
"'It's scandalous!' she says.
"'I want to know!' I says.
"'You won't sell none at that price!' she says.
"'Is that a fact?' I says.
"'Well, what'll you take for em?' she says.
"'Twenty cents a pound,' I says.
"'I tell you it's too much!' she says.
"'I know it's too much for you,' I says, 'and so is the marshmallows.
They might give you the dyspepsy!' I says. 'Gitty up, hossy!' and I druv
off and left her standin' there with her mouth open. There! now they're
all up and I must be ramblin' along, or I sha'n't get nowheres by the
end of time."
Miss Fidely had dried her eyes, but the look she fixed on Calvin
disturbed him almost as much as the tears.
"I won't say nothin' more," she said; "I see the kind you are; but I
wish you could come in to-morrow and see the children. I expect their
faces will be a sight, when they see them elegant presents; yes, sir, I
do! I expect you'd never forget this Christmas, as I'm certin I never
shall. Oh!" she cried with a sudden outburst. "You good man, I hope
you'll get your heart's desire, whatever it is."
"I hope I shall!" said Calvin Parks gravely.
"And now," said Miss Fidely, brightening up, "we'll settle. If you'll
just lift the lid of that old teapot standin' on the mantel-shelf,
you'll find three one-dollar bills and a two. I wish 'twas a hundred!"
she cried heartily.
Calvin Parks stepped to the mantelpiece and lifted the lid of the
teapot.
"I guess you made a mistake this time," he said cheerily; "where'll I
look next?"
Miss Fidely turned very pale. "What--what do you mean?" she faltered.
Calvin handed her the teapot; it was empty.
"You forgot and put it somewheres else!" he said. "Anybody's liable to
do that when they have a thing on their mind. I've done it myself time
and again. How about a bureau drawer; what? We'll find it; don't you be
scared!"
"No!" said Miss Fidely faintly. "No, sir! it was there. I counted it
last night the last thing, and there ain't no one--my Lord! that tramp!"
"What tramp?"
"He came here this morning and asked for some breakfast. He seemed so
poor and mis'able, and he told such a pitiful story, I went out to get
him a drink of milk--he must have taken it. I remember, he was standin'
over there when I come in, but I never mistrusted--"
Her voice failed, and she covered her eyes with her hands. Calvin Parks
cast a rapid glance behind him, and ascertaining the position of the
door, began to edge quietly toward it.
"Don't you fret!" he said soothingly. "I shall be round this way again
some time; mebbe you'll find it some place when you least expect. I've
known such things to happen, oftentimes."
"No! no!" cried the cripple, her distress increasing momentarily. "It's
gone, sir! The look in that man's face comes back to me, and I know now
what it meant. Oh! he must have a hard heart, to rob a cripple woman of
her one pleasure, and on Christmas Eve!"
She flung her hands apart with a wild gesture, but the next moment
controlled herself and spoke quietly but rapidly. "I am ashamed to
trouble you, sir, but if you'll take down the bags I'll empt 'em as
careful as I can. I wouldn't trouble you if I could help myself."
"I--I'm afraid I can't stop!" muttered Calvin; and he hung his head as
he spoke, for a dry voice was saying in his ear, "Put this straight to
yourself; are you running a candy route or an orphan asylum?"
"Oh! if Mittie May would only come!" cried the lame woman. "I'll _have_
to trouble you, sir; it won't take you long."
Calvin mumbled something about calling again.
"No!" cried Miss Fidely. "There'd be no use in your calling again;
that's all I can save in a year, and there's no more--"
She stopped short, and the blood rushed into her thin face.
"No!" she said after a pause. "I can't take the burial money, even for
the children. Oh! you kind, good man, take down the bags, and take your
candy back!"
"I've got to see to my hoss!" cried Calvin irritably. "Hear him
hollerin'? Jest wait a half a minute--" he sneaked out of the door,
closed it carefully behind him, and bolted for his sleigh. He snatched
the nose-bag from Hossy's nose, the robe from his back; clambering
hastily in, he cast a guilty glance around him, and saw--Mittie May,
standing a few paces off, staring at him round-eyed.
"Here!" he cried. "You tell her I ain't feelin' real well, and I've got
to get home. Tell her--tell her my name's Santy Claus, and my address is
the North Pole. And--look here! tell her Merry Christmas and Happy New
Year, and the same to you! Gitty up, hossy! gitty up!" and laying his
whip over the astonished flanks of the brown horse, Calvin Parks fled
down the road as if Blücher and the Prussians were after him.
CHAPTER XIII
MERRY CHRISTMAS
"But that ain't the end of the story, Miss Hands!" said Calvin Parks,
after telling as much as he thought proper of the foregoing events.
"That ain't the end. This mornin' I stopped down along a piece to wish
Merry Christmas to Aaron Tarbox's folks, and I left hossy standin' while
I ran into the house. I stayed longer than I intended--you know how 'tis
when there's children hangin' round--and when I come out, you may call
me mate to a mud-scow if there warn't a feller with his head and
shoulders clear inside the back of my cart. I can't tell you how, but
some way of it, it come over me in a flash who the feller was. I don't
know as ever I moved quicker in my life. I had him by the scruff of his
neck and the slack of his pants, and out of that and standin' on his
head in a snow-drift before he could have winked more than once, certin.
"'Have you got three ones and a two,' I says, 'belongin' to a lady as
sits in a cart, 'bout four mile from here? 'cause if you have, and was
keepin' them for the owner, I'll save you the trouble,' I says. He
couldn't answer real well, his head bein' in the drift, so I went
through his pockets, and sure enough there they was, three ones and a
two, just as she said."
"My goodness!" cried Mary Sands. "What did you do?"
"Well, I give him his Christmas present, a good solid one, that'll last
him a sight longer than the money would have, and then I hove him back
into the drift to cool off a spell,--he was some warm, and so was
I,--and come along. So now I've got the money, and that lady can rest
easy in her mind; only I've got to let her know. Now, Miss Hands, I'm
no kind of a hand at writin' letters; I've been studyin' all the way
along the ro'd how to tell that lady that she ain't owin' me a cent; and
I don't know as I've hit it off real good."
[Illustration: "'THEN I HOVE HIM BACK INTO THE DRIFT TO COOL OFF A
SPELL.'"]
He felt in his pockets, and produced a scrap of paper; with an anxious
eye on Mary Sands, he read aloud as follows.
"Dear Ma'am;--I got that money and give the feller one instead, so
no more and received payment from yours respy C. Parks."
"How's that, Miss Hands? Will it do, think?"
Mary's eyes twinkled. "It's short and sweet, Mr. Parks," she said; "it
tells the story, certin, though I don't doubt but she'd be pleased to
hear more from you."
"That's all I've got to say!" said Calvin simply; "I'm glad to get it
off my mind. How's the boys this morning?"
"That's why I made an errand out here before you went into the house!"
said Mary Sands.
They were sitting in the harness-room, she in the chair, he on the
bucket. There was a fire in the stove, and the place was full of the
pleasant smell of warm leather. Their speech was punctuated by the
stamping and neighing of the brown horse, the young colt, the old horse
of all, the mare, and Old John, in the stable adjoining.
Mary Sands' hazel eyes were full of a half-humorous anxiety.
"I wanted to talk to you a little about Cousins!" she said. "They've
been actin' real strange the past week, ever since you was here last.
Honest, I don't believe they've thought of one single thing besides each
other. Werryin' and frettin' and watchin'--I'm 'most worn out with 'em.
There! if it warn't so comical I should cry, and if it warn't so pitiful
I should laugh. That's just the way I feel about it, Mr. Parks."
"Sho!" said Calvin sympathetically. "I don't wonder at it, Miss Hands,
not a mite. They haven't got round to speakin' to each other yet, I
s'pose?"
Mary shook her head. "No!" she said. "They want to, I'm sure of that,
but yet neither one of 'em will speak first. Such foolishness I never
did see. Now take yesterday! Cousin Sam went to town, and Cousin Sim
werried every single minute he was gone. The mare was skittish, and the
harness might break, and he might meet the cars, and I don't know what
all. If he called me off my work once he did a dozen times, till I
thought I should fly. By the time Cousin Sam got back he was all worn
out, and soon as he heard him safe in the house he dropped off asleep in
his chair. Well! then 'twas all to do over again with Cousin Sam. How
had Simeon been, and what had he been doin' while he was gone, and
didn't I think he had a bad color at breakfast? Then Cousin Sim begun to
snore, and Cousin Sam would have it that 'twarn't natural snorin', and
he must be in a catamouse condition."
"What did he mean by that?" asked Calvin.
"That's what he said!" Mary replied. "It's a medical term, but I don't
know as he got it just right. It means sleepin' kind of heavy and
unhealthy, I understand. 'Well,' I says, 'Cousin Sam, just you step here
and look at Cousin Sim!' So he did, and see him sound asleep with his
mouth open, lookin' peaceful as a fish. He stood and looked at him a
spell, and I see his mouth begin to work. 'There's nothin' catamouse
about that sleep, Cousin!' I says. 'There couldn't a baby sleep easier
than what he is.' He shakes his head mournful. 'Simeon's aged terrible
since Ma went,' he says. He stood there lookin' at him a spell longer,
and then he give a kind of groan and went back to his own chair.
"Now, Mr. Parks, it's time this foolishness was put a stop to."
"That's right!" said Calvin Parks. "That's so, Miss Hands. I believe
you've got a plan to stop it, too."
"I have!" said Mary Sands. "I've been studyin' it out while I was
settin' here waitin' for you. This is Christmas Day, Mr. Parks; and if
you'll help me, I believe we can bring it about to-day. Will you?"
"Will I?" said Calvin Parks. "Will a dog bark?"
* * * * *
"Merry Christmas, Sam!" said Calvin Parks.
"Same to you, Calvin, same to you!" said Mr. Sam. "Come in! come in!
Shet the door after you, will ye?"
Calvin shut the door into the entry. Mr. Sam glanced about him uneasily.
"You might shet the other too, if you don't mind!" he said. "Thank ye!
Have you seen Simeon this mornin', Calvin?"
"Not yet," said Calvin. "I come straight in the front door and in here.
What's the matter? Ain't he all right?"
"Simeon is failin'!" replied Mr. Sam. "He's failin' right along, Calvin.
I expect this is the last Christmas he'll see on earth. I--I was down
street yesterday," he added, after a solemn pause, "and it occurred to
me he hadn't had a new pair of slippers for a dog's age. I thought I'd
get a pair, and mebbe you'd give 'em to him."
"Mebbe I'd stand on my head!" retorted Calvin. "Give 'em to him
yourself, you old catnip!"
"No! no, Calvin! no! no! I'd ruther you would!" said Mr. Sam anxiously.
"I'd take it real friendly if you would, sir!"
"Well, we'll see!" said Calvin. "Hello! dressed up for Christmas, be
ye?"
Mr. Sam looked down in some embarrassment. His red flannel waistcoat was
replaced by a black one.
"We never made so much of Christmas as some," he said; "but yet Ma
allers had us dress up for Christmas dinner, and I thought this seemed a
mite more dress, you understand, Calvin. What say?"
"Looks first-rate!" said Calvin cheerfully. "You don't look a mite worse
than you did before, as I see. Now I guess I'll step in and pass the
time of day with Sim."
"Hold on jest a minute!" said Mr. Sam anxiously. "Hold on jest a half a
minute, Cal! That ain't all I was wishful to say to you. Have you--I
would say--have you approached that subject we was speakin' of a while
back, to Cousin?"
"What subject?" said Calvin Parks doggedly.
"Don't be cantankerous, Calvin! now don't!" said Mr. Sam. "It's
Christmas Day. The subject of matrimony, you know."
"I have!" said Calvin. "She won't look at him! She wouldn't look at him
if the only other man in the world was Job Toothaker's scarecrow, that
scared the seeds under ground so they never came up. There's your
answer!"
"Dear me sirs!" cried Mr. Sam, wringing his hands. "Dear me sirs! I
don't know what's goin' to become of us, Calvin, I reelly don't!"
"Well!" said Calvin; "I guess likely you'll werry through the day, Sam.
I know what's goin' to become of me; I'm goin' in to see Sim."
"Take the slippers, won't ye, Calvin?" cried Mr. Sam. "Tell him to wear
'em and save his boots. He's allers ben terrible hard on shoe-leather,
Simeon has."
Calvin took the slippers with a grunt, and went into the next room,
closing the door after him.
"Merry Christmas!" he cried. "How are you, Sim?"
"I'm obliged to you, Calvin; I am slim!" replied Mr. Sim. "I am unusual
slim, sir. Take a seat, won't you?"
"I said Merry Christmas!" Calvin remarked gruffly. "Can't you speak up
in the way of the season? Come, buck up, old timothy-grass! Merry
Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas!" echoed Mr. Sim meekly; "though if your laigs was as
bad as mine, Calvin, you might think different. If I get through this
winter--what you got there?"
"Slippers!" said Calvin. "Christmas present from Sam. Wants you to wear
'em and save shoe-leather."
"The failin's of Sam'l's mind," said Mr. Sim gravely, "are growin' on
him ekal to those of his body. Shoe-leather! when I ain't stepped foot
outside the door since Ma died. But they are handsome, certin; you may
thank him for me, Calvin."
"May!" said Calvin. "That's a sweet privilege, no two ways about that.
Hello! what in Tunkett--" he stopped, abruptly, staring. "Splice my
halyards if you haven't got a red one!" Mr. Sim glanced down with shy
pride at his waistcoat.
"Christmas Day, you know, Calvin!" he said. "We allers made some little
change in our dress, sir, for Christmas dinner. I thought 'twould please
Ma, and Cousin, and--and the other one, too!" he added, with a furtive
glance toward the door.
"Well, I am blowed!" said Calvin Parks plaintively. "I certinly am this
time. You boys is too much for me."
Mr. Sim coughed modestly, and cast another coy glance at the red
waistcoat. "How is poor Sam'l this mornin', Calvin?" he asked
mournfully. "Do you find him changed much of any?"
"I do not!" said Calvin. "He's just about as handsome, and just about as
takin' as he was last time, fur as I see."
"Ah!" sighed Mr. Sim. "You don't see below the surface, Cal."
"Nor don't wish to!" retorted Calvin. "That's quite sufficient for me."
"I've got the feelin' in my bones," Mr. Sim went on, "that somethin' is
goin' to happen to Sam'l, Calvin. He's that reckless, sir, I look 'most
any day to see him brought home a mangled remain. Call it a warnin', or
what you will, I believe it's comin'. I hear him cuttin' round them
corners, and reshin' in and out the yard with them wild hosses,--"
"Wild hosses!" repeated Calvin Parks. "Sim Sill, you feel in your pants
pocket, won't you, and see if you can't scare up some wits, just a mite.
Old John is thirty if he's a day, and the old hoss of all--well, nobody
knows how old he is, beyond that he'll never see forty again. The mare
has been here ever since I can remember, or pretty nigh, and your Ma
bought the young colt before ever I went to sea. Now talk about wild
hosses!"
"It ain't their age, Cal, it's their natur'!" responded Mr. Sim with
dignity. "That mare, sir, has never ben stiddy, nor yet will she ever so
be, in my opinion."
"Well!" said Calvin Parks. "I'll tell him next time he goes to market,
tie her to the well-sweep and walk; you don't cal'late his legs would up
and run away with him, do ye? Now I'm goin' to help Miss Hands dish up
dinner."
"Hold on, Calvin! hold on jest a minute!" cried Mr. Sim anxiously. "I've
got a little present I'd like for you to give Sam'l from me, sir.
It's--" he got up, shuffled across the room, and opened a cupboard door.
"It's something he's allers coveted."
Fumbling in a box, he took out an ancient seal of red carnelian, and
rubbed it lovingly on his coat-sleeve.
"Belonged to Uncle Sim Penny," he said. "Ma give it to me, on accounts
of me bein' his name-son; I don't know as ever I've used it, or likely
to, and Sam'l has always coveted it. You give that to Sam'l, Calvin,
will you?"
"Oh molasses!" said Calvin impatiently. "Give it to him yourself, you
ridic'lous old object!"
"No! no, Calvin! no, no, sir!" cried Mr. Sim piteously. "We don't
speak, you know; we--we've lost the habit of it, and we're too old to
ketch holt of it again. You give it to him, Cal, like a good feller!
And--and there's another thing, Calvin. Did you have any dealin's with
Cousin about what we was speakin' of some time along back, in regards to
Sam'l?"
"I did!" said Calvin Parks.
"Well--well, Cal, what did she say?" Mr. Sim leaned forward anxiously.
"Was she anyways favorable, sir?"
"She was not!" replied Calvin. "She give me to understand--not in so
many words, but that was the sense of it,--that she'd full as soon marry
a cucumber-wood pump as him, or you either. So there you have it!"
"Dear me!" cried Mr. Sim; and he wrung his hands with the identical
gesture that Mr. Sam had made. "Dear me sirs! what is to become of us,
Calvin?"
"Dinner is ready, Cousin Sim!" said Mary Sands, putting her head in at
the door. "Cousin Sam, dinner's ready! Merry Christmas to you, Mr.
Parks, and pleased to see you!"
CHAPTER XIV
AT LAST!
Mr. Sim shuffled in from one door, Mr. Sam from the other. As each
raised his eyes to look at the table, he saw the figure opposite; both
stopped short, and the two pairs of little gray eyes glared, one at a
black waistcoat, the other at a red.
"Take your seats, Cousins, please!" said Mary Sands, quickly. "Mr.
Parks, if you'll set opposite me--that's it! The Lord make us thankful,
Cousins and Mr. Parks, this Christmas Day, and mindful of the wants of
others, amen! You said you didn't mind carvin', Mr. Parks, so I've give
you the turkey."
The four gray eyes, releasing the waistcoat buttons opposite, glanced
furtively over the table, and opened wide. Never had the Sill farm
seen a Christmas dinner like this. "Ma" had liked a good set-out, but
she aimed to be saving, holidays and all days. They always had a turkey,
but it was apt to be the smallest hen in the flock, and the rest was to
match. But here,--here was the Big Young Gobbler, the pride and glory of
the poultry yard, no longer ruffling it in black and red, but shining in
rich golden brown, with strings of nut-brown sausages about his portly
breast. Here was cranberry sauce, not in a bowl, but moulded in the
wheat-sheaf mould, and glowing like the Great Carbuncle. Here was an Alp
of potato, a golden mountain of squash, onions glimmering translucent
like moonstones, the jewels of the winter feast, celery tossing
pale-green plumes--good gracious! celery enough for a hotel, Mr. Sam
thought; here beside each plate was a roll--was this bread, Mr. Sim
wondered, twisted into a knot and shining "like artificial?" and on
each roll a spray of scarlet geranium with its round green leaf. And
what--_what_ was that in the middle of the table? The twins forgot the
waistcoats; forgot the waste too, forgot even each other, and stared
with all their eyes. A castle! a real castle, towers and battlements,
moat and drawbridge, all complete, all sparkling in crystal sugar. From
the topmost turret a tiny pennon floating; in the gateway a knight on
horseback, nearly as large as the pennon, with fairy lance couched. It
was the triumph of Mr. Ivory Cheeseman's life.
[Illustration: MARY SANDS.]
"You take that to your lady friend," he said, "and say the man as made
it wishes her well, and you too, friend Parks, you too!"
Mary Sands was gazing at it with delighted eyes.
"Did you ever, Cousins?" she said. "Now _did_ you ever see anything so
handsome as that? It's a Christmas present from Mr. Parks, and it beats
any present ever I had in my life. I declare, this _is_ a Christmas,
isn't it, Cousins? and look at you both dressed up to the nines, and
lookin' real--" she caught Calvin's eye over the turkey, and
faltered,--"real nice, I'm sure! And each one of you changin' his vest
for Christmas! I'm sure it's real smart of you. Cousin Sim's got on his
new slippers, Cousin Sam! Cousin Sim, you see Cousin Sam's got the seal
on, and don't it look elegant? Why, I'm just as proud of you both! Now
you want to make a good dinner, Mr. Parks and Cousins, or I shall think
it _isn't_ good, and I own I've done my best."
"Good!" said Calvin Parks, as he handed a solid ivory slab to Mr. Sim;
"if there's a better dinner than this in the State of Maine, the folks
wouldn't get over it, I expect. I've seen dinners served from the
Roostick down to New Orleans, and I never see the ekal of this for
style nor quality."
"I'm sure you are more than kind to say so!" said Mary Sands. "Dear me!
times like this, any one thinks of days past and gone, don't they? You
must have had real good times Christmas, when you was boys together, Mr.
Parks, Cousins and you together."
"Well, I guess!" said Calvin Parks. "Sam, do you rec'lect one time I
come over to spend Christmas Day with you when we was little shavers
about ten year old, and we left the pig-pen gate open, and the pigs got
all over the place? Gorry! do you rec'lect the back door stood open, and
nothin' to it but old Marm Sow must projick right into the kitchen where
your Ma was gettin' dinner? Haw! haw! do you rec'lect that?"
"He! he!" piped Mr. Sam; "I guess I do! and Ma up and basted her hide
with hot gravy! My Juniper, how she hollered!"
Mr. Sim fixed Mary Sands with a glittering eye. "You tell him 'twarn't
gravy, 'twas puddin' sauce!" he said.
"Cousin Sam, Cousin Sim says 'twas puddin' sauce!" said Mary Sands
cheerfully.
"Think likely 'twas!" said Mr. Sam. "Tell him he's right for once, and
put that down on his little slate."
"Then another time," Calvin went on; "another morsel, Miss Hands? just a
scrap? can't? now ain't that a sight! I can, just as easy--watch me now!
I rec'lect well, that Methody parson was here with his boy. What was his
name? Lihu, was it, or 'Liphalet?"
"'Liphalet!" said Mr. Sim, a faint twinkle coming into his dim eyes.
"'Liphalet Pinky!"
"'Liphalet Pinky! that's it!" Calvin laid down his knife and fork to
slap his thigh. "Jerusalem crickets! how we did play it on that
unfort'nate youngster! Miss Hands, you see Sim settin' there, sober as a
judge; you'd think he'd been like that all his life now, wouldn't you?
You'd never think he'd get an unfort'nate boy into the bucket and h'ist
him up and down the well till he was e'enamost scairt to death, would
you now?"
"I certin should not!" cried Mary Sands gleefully. "Why, Cousin Sim!"
"And he hollerin' all the time, 'Lemme out! I'll tell Pa on you, and
he'll call down the wrath to come! You lemme out!' and then we'd slack
on the old sweep and down he'd go again--haw! haw!"
"He! he!" cackled Mr. Sim, rubbing his little withered hands. "I can see
the tossel on his cap now, bobbin' up and down, and his little pickéd
nose under it--he! he!"
"Ho! ho!" chimed in Mr. Sam suddenly. "And I can see you--I mean, tell
him I can see _him_ bobbin' up and down on Ma's knee when she spanked
him for it."
"That's too long to say," said Mary Sands placidly; "think likely he
heard it, didn't you, Cousin Sim?"
"Tell him he got jest as good!" retorted Mr. Sim.
"Cousin Sam, Cousin Sim says you got it just as good!" said Mary. "Now,
Mr. Parks, if you're a mind to carry the turkey out while I bring in the
pies--if nobody'll have any more, that is to say!"
"Well!" said Calvin Parks, rising and lifting the huge platter; "if all
had eat what I have, there'd be nothin' _to_ carry out, that's all I
have to say. After you, Miss Hands!"
He closed the pantry door cautiously after him.
"How do you think it's goin'?" he asked eagerly.
"Splendid!" cried Mary Sands under her breath. "It's goin' splendid!
They've looked at each other much as four or five times, and twice they
only just stopped in time or they'd have spoke to each other. I saw
Cousin Sam catch his breath and fairly choke the words back. Keep right
on as you are, Mr. Parks, and we'll have 'em talkin' in another hour,
see if we don't!"
The pies--such pies!--had come and gone. With furtive blinks, Mr. Sam
had unbuttoned the lower buttons of a black, Mr. Sim of a red waistcoat;
they leaned back in their chairs, their sharp little features relaxed,
and they stirred their coffee with the air of men at peace with the
world.
Calvin Parks bent over his cup with an attentive look.
"Boys," he said pensively, "warn't this your Ma's cup?"
The twins started, and looked at the dark blue cup with gold on the
handle.
"It was so!" said Mr. Sam.
"Certin!" said Mr. Sim.
"I thought so!" said Calvin. "Miss Hands, you ought to have this cup by
rights; and yet I'm pleased to have it, for I thought a sight of the
boys' Ma, and she knowed it. She was always good to me, if she did call
me a rover; always good to me she was, from the time I was knee high to
a grasshopper. The boys was bigger than me in those days, Miss Hands; I
dono as you'd think it now, but so it was. They stopped growin' at the
same time; didn't you, boys? Along about fourteen year old, warn't it?
You've been just the same height since then, haven't ye?"
"I'm a mite the tallest!" said Mr. Sam, raising his head.
"Tell him it ain't so!" piped Mr. Sim. "Tell him I am!"
"Sho!" said Calvin Parks. "I don't believe either one of you has the
least idee, reelly. If there _was_ any difference, I should say Sim was
just a shade the tallest; how does it look it to you, Miss Hands?"
"I think Cousin Sam is!" replied Mary Sands promptly.
"You don't say!" said Calvin. "Now that's queer! Looks to me--well! I
say, let's find out! 'Tis easy done. Come on into the front room, boys,
and stand back to back, and I'll measure ye!"
The front room was open in honor of Christmas Day; "Ma's" best parlor,
with its cross-stitch embroideries, its mourning pictures, its rigid
black horse-hair chairs and sofas. Above the mantelpiece, with its tall
vases of waving pampas grass, "Ma" herself gazed down from a portentous
gold frame with a quelling glance; "Pa" hung beside her, a meek young
man with a feeble smile of apology; one could understand that he had
backed out of existence as soon as might be. In one corner stood a tall
dim mirror, and before it a little double chair of quaint shape,
evidently made for two children.
"Sho!" said Calvin Parks. "How did that chair come here? Why, I haven't
seen that for forty year. Jerusalem! that takes me back--why, Sim and
Sam, it seems only yesterday, the first time ever I set foot in this
room, and there sat you two in that little chair gogglin' at me, and
your Ma standin' beside you. Say, boys, that kind of takes holt of me!
your Ma was a good woman, if she did know her own mind. Well, we're all
poor creatur's. Here! you stand back to back in front of the glass, and
then I can see--hold your chins up--shoulders back; shoulders _back_,
Sim! don't scrooch down that way; you ain't really a crab, you
know--head up, Sam! there! now shut your eyes; any one can stand
straighter with their eyes shut; now,--"
A voice spoke from the doorway; a woman's voice, full and clear, with a
sharp ring of decision.
"Now you love each other pretty, right away, or I'll take the back of
the hairbrush to you both!"
"_Ma_!" cried the twins; and they fell on their knees beside the little
chair.
* * * * *
"I told 'em shut their eyes, and then slipped out!" said Calvin Parks.
"They never missed me. Jerusalem! Miss Hands, if you'll excuse the
expression, how did you manage it? you got her tone to the life, I tell
you."
"I always had the trick of followin' a voice," said Mary Sands modestly.
"And I remembered Cousin Lucindy's to Conference, for she used to speak
an amazin' deal. Oh! Mr. Parks, listen! do listen to them two poor old
creatur's!"
They listened. From the front room came a babble of talk, two voices
flowing together in a stream, pauseless, inseparable; so fast the stream
flowed, there seemed no time for breathing. But now, as the conspirators
listened, dish-cloth in hand and joy in their hearts, the voices ceased
for a moment, and then, with one consent, broke out into quavering,
squeaking, piping song.
"Old John Twyseed;
Old John Twyseed;
Biled his corn,
As sure's you're born,
And come to borrow my seed.
"Old John Twyseed,
Bought a pound o' rye seed;
Paid a cent,
And warn't content,
But thought 'twas awful high seed.
"Old John Twyseed,
Sold his neighbor dry seed;
Didn't sprout;
Says he 'Git out!
I thought 'twas extry spry seed!'"
CHAPTER XV
BY WAY OF CONTRAST
"I wish't you could stay to supper!" said Mary Sands.
"I wish't I could!" said Calvin. "I want you to understand that right
enough; and I guess you do!" he added, with a look that brought the
color into Mary's wholesome brown cheek. "But they plead with me kind o'
pitiful, and--honest, I'm sorry for them two women, Miss Hands. They
don't seem to be real pop'lar with the neighbors--I don't know just how
'tis, but so 'tis,--and they kind o' look to me, you see. You understand
how 'tis, don't you, Mary--I would say Miss Hands?"
"I expect I do, Mr. Parks!" said Mary gently, yet with some
significance.
Calvin looked down at her, and his heart swelled. An immense wave of
tenderness seemed to flow from him, enfolding the little woman as she
stood there, so neat and trim in her blue cashmere dress, her pretty
head bent, the light playing in the waves of her pretty hair.
"For two cents and a half," Calvin Parks said silently, "I'd pick you up
and carry you off this minute of time. You're my woman, and don't you
forget it!" Then he spoke aloud, and his voice sounded strange in his
ears.
"You and the boys," he said, "are always askin' me for stories. If--if I
should come and tell you a story some day--the very first day I had a
right to--that the boys warn't goin' to hear, nor anybody else but just
you--would you listen to it, Miss Hands?"
Mary's head bent still lower, and she examined the hem of her apron
critically. "I expect I would, Mr. Parks!" she said softly.
But when Calvin had driven off, chirrupping joyfully to the brown horse,
Mary's little brown hands came together with a clasp, and she looked
anxiously after him.
"If they don't get you away from me!" she said. "Oh! my good,
kind,--there! _stupid_ dear, if they don't get you away from me!"
* * * * *
"Hossy," said Calvin; "do you feel good? Do you? Speak up!"
The brown horse shook his head as the whip cracked past his ear, and
whinnied reproachfully.
"Sho!" said Calvin. "You don't mean that. I know it's a mite late, but
we'll get there, and you're sure of a good supper, whatever I be. But
we've had us a great day, little hossy! we've had us a great day. Them
two poor old mis'able lobster-claws is j'ined together, and betwixt the
two they'll make a pretty fair lobster, take and humor 'em, and kind of
ease 'em along till they get used to each other again. And they ain't
the only ones that's feelin' good, little hossy; no siree and the
bob-cat's tail! You take them four good-lookin' legs of your'n round the
Lord's earth, and if you find a happier man than little Calvin is
to-night, I'll give you a straw bunnet for Easter. Put that in
your--well, not exactly pipe and smoke it--say nose-bag and smell it!
Gitty up, you little hossy!" He flourished the whip round the head of
the brown horse, who, catching the holiday spirit, flung up his heels
incontinent, and broke into a canter even as his master broke into song.
"Now Renzo had a feedle,
That's what Renzo had, tiddy hi!
'Twas humped up in the meedle,
So haul the bowline, haul!
He played a tune, and the old cow died,
And the skipper and crew jumped over the side,
And swum away on the slack of the tide,
So haul the bowline, haul!"
The moon came up over the great snow-fields, and the world from ghostly
white flashed into silver and ebony. The "orbéd maiden" seemed to smile
on Calvin Parks as he jogged along the white road; perhaps in all her
sweep of vision she may have seen few things pleasanter than this
middle-aged lover.
"Looks real friendly, don't she?" said Calvin. "And no wonder! Christmas
night, and a prospect like this; it's what _I_ call sightly! I wish't I
had my little woman along to see it with me; don't you, hossy? What say?
You speak up now, when I talk to you about a lady! Where's your
manners?"
The whip cracked like a pistol shot, and the brown horse flung up his
heels again from sheer good will, and whinnied his excuses.
"Now you're talkin'!" said Calvin Parks. "And you'd better, little
hossy. I want you to understand right now that if you warn't the hossy
you are--and if two-three other things were as they ain't--summer
instead of winter, for one of 'em--it ain't ridin' I'd be takin' that
little woman, no sir! I'd get her aboard the Mary Sands, and we'd go
slippin' down along shore, coastwise, seein' the country slidin' past,
and hear the water lip-lappin', and the wind singin' in the
riggin,'--what? I tell you! there'd be a pair of vessels if ever the
Lord made one and man the other.
"Sho! seein' in that paper that Cap'n Bates was leavin' the Mary and
goin' aboard a tug has got me worked up, kind of. If it warn't that I
had sworn off rovin' and rollin' for ever more--I tell you! Jerusalem!
but I'd like to hear the Mary talkin' once more--never was a vessel had
a pleasanter way of speakin'--there again they're alike, them two. Take
her with all sails drawin', half a gale o' wind blowin', and if she
don't sing, that schooner, then I never heard singin,' that's all. And
even in a calm, just lying rollin' on a long swell, and she'll say 'Easy
does it! easy does it! breeze up soon, and Mary knows it!' and the water
lip-lappin', and the sails playin' 'Isick and Josh, Isick and
Josh,'--great snakes! Gitty up, hossy, or I shall take the wrong turn
and drive to Bath instead of Tinkham."
Spite of moonlight and good spirits, the way was long, and it was near
nine o'clock when Calvin drove in at the Widow Marlin's gateway. He
whistled, a cheerful and propitiatory note, as he drove past the house
to the barn.
"Presume likely they'll be put out some at me bein' late," he said; "but
you shall have your supper first, hossy, don't you be afeared! They
can't no more than kill me, anyway, and I don't know as they'd find it
specially easy to-night."
The house was ominously silent as Calvin entered. The kitchen was empty,
and he opened the door of the sitting-room, but paused on the threshold.
Miss Phrony Marlin was sitting in the corner, weeping ostentatiously,
with loud and prolonged sniffs. Her mother, a little withered woman like
crumpled parchment, cowered witch-like over the air-tight stove, and
looked at Calvin and then at her daughter, but said nothing.
"Excuse _me_!" said Calvin, stepping back. "I'll go into the kitchen. I
didn't know; no bad news, I hope, Mis' Marlin?"
"She's all broke up!" said the old woman.
"So I see. Anything special happened?"
"Oh! you cruel man!" moaned Miss Phrony from the corner.
"Who?" said Calvin. "Me? Now what a way to talk! What's the matter, Miss
Phrony? What have I done? Why, I haven't been here since breakfast
time."
"That's it!" said the widow. "She's ben lookin' for you all afternoon,
and she had extry victuals cooked for you, and you never come."
"Now ain't that a sight!" said Calvin cheerily. "Why, I told you I'd
most likely be late, don't you rec'lect I did? We've been a long ways
to-day, hossy and me have. How about them victuals, now? I could eat a
barn door, seem's though."
"How long was you at them Sillses?" demanded Miss Phrony, wiping her
eyes elaborately. "You didn't keep _them_ waitin', I'll be bound."
"Why, I took dinner with 'em," said Calvin, indulgently. "I told you I
was goin' to, you know. Gorry! you wouldn't have wanted me here to
dinner if you'd seen the way I ate. How was your chicken, old lady? He
looked like a good one. I picked out the best nourished one I could
find."
"I wish't those folks was dead, and you too, and me, and everybody!"
broke out Miss Phrony suddenly.
"Sho!" said Calvin Parks. "The whole set out, eh? Now I am surprised at
you. Just think what all them funerals would come to; why, we should
have to call on the town, certin we should. Come now, Miss Phrony, cheer
up! I'll go and get my own supper, if you'll tell me what _to_ get."
"The Lord will provide!" piped up the old woman shrilly.
"I don't doubt it," said Calvin Parks. "I'll kind o' look round, though;
I don't want to give no trouble."
"If you'll set down, Cap'n Parks," said Miss Phrony majestically, "I'll
get your supper."
Once more wiping her eyes, she sailed out of the room. Calvin looked
after her meditatively. "I didn't think of her scarin' up a tantrum," he
said, "or mebbe I'd have hastened more. I dono, though. Christmas Day,
appears as though a man had a right to his time, don't it? Not that I
ain't sorry to have discumbobberated her, for I am. I'd like to see
everybody well content to-night, same as I be."
"She says you're breakin' her heart!" said the old woman, her black eyes
fixed on him.
"Sho! now what a way that is to talk! Why, s'pose I hadn't come home at
all; s'pose I'd stopped to supper, as they asked me to; you'd have saved
victuals then, don't you see? I wish't I had now!" he added
reflectively. "I never thought of her cookin' anything special."
* * * * *
"Supper's ready!" sighed Miss Phrony from the doorway.
In the kitchen a cloth, not too clean, was laid, and on it, with much
parade of knife and fork, appeared a very dry knuckle of ham, a plate
of yellow soda biscuit, and a pallid and flabby pie. Spite of himself,
Calvin's cheery face fell as he looked on this banquet; but he sat down,
and attacked the ham-bone manfully.
"How are ye, old feller?" he said. "I certinly thought I'd seen the last
of you, but you come of a long-lived stock, that's plain. Could I have a
drop of tea, Miss Phrony? Seems' though something hot would help this
spread on its downward way. Fire out? Well, never mind! I'll get along."
"I had the spasms come on so bad," said Miss Phrony, "along about eight
o'clock, when I give you up, my stren'th went from me, and I couldn't
heave the wood to keep the fire up. I had coffee for you, but it's cold.
Would you like some?"
"I guess not!" said Calvin, recalling the coffee at breakfast. "I'll do
first-rate. Well! did you try on your tippet, what? real becomin', was
it?"
Miss Phrony's face softened, and she gave him a languishing glance--with
one eye, the other trying to see what it was like, with little success.
"'Tis elegant!" she said. "'Tis the handsomest ever I saw. I've put it
away--for the future!"
"Sho!" said Calvin. "You don't want to do that. You want to wear it to
meetin' next Sunday, Miss Phrony. Any one oughtn't to wait too long to
look handsome, you know, fear they mightn't get round to it."
"Oh! not _next_ Sunday, Cap'n Parks!" cried Miss Phrony, with another
languishing glance. "That is _too_ suddin! The Sunday after, p'raps, if
you will have it so."
"Just as you say!" said Calvin, struggling with a specially dry chip of
ham. "The sooner the better, Miss Phrony, if things is as you said."
"Have some pie!" cried the lady with sudden tenderness. "Do! I made it
o' purpose for you, Cap'n!"
"Did!" said Calvin, and he eyed the pie gravely. "Well, just a leetle
portion, Miss Phrony! I made a hearty dinner, and--mince, is it, or--or
what?" he added, after the first mouthful. "I don't seem to recognize
the flavor."
"It's Pie-fillene!" said Miss Phrony complacently. "I got a sample
package when I was over to the Corners, and I saved it for you."
"Now that was real thoughtful of you!" said Calvin.
"Do you like it?" asked the maiden coyly.
"It's consid'able different from mince!" said Calvin. "Yes, it is a
remarkable pie," he added, after a second bite; "no two ways about
that. I never tasted one like it. Do you s'pose I could have just a mite
of butter on this biscuit, Miss Phrony?"
[Illustration: "WITH ONE SWIFT MOTION, CALVIN TRANSFERRED THE PIE FROM
HIS PLATE TO THE STOVE."]
Miss Phrony assented, and went into the pantry. Then, with one swift,
stealthy motion, Calvin Parks transferred the portion of pie from his
plate to the stove, replaced the stove-cover noiselessly, and was in his
seat and gazing placidly at his empty plate before Miss Phrony appeared
with the butter.
"Why, you've eat your pie real speedy!" she cried joyfully.
"It's all gone!" said Calvin soberly. "Not a mite left. No--no thank
you, not another morsel! but it certinly is a remarkable pie. Now if
you'll excuse me, I'll go in and have a pipe with the old lady."
"So do!" said Miss Phrony graciously. "I'll be in as soon as I've done
the dishes, Cap'n."
"Don't hasten!" said Calvin Parks earnestly.
Old Mrs. Marlin was still cowering over the stove, her fingers spread
like a bird's claws.
"Did you like your supper, Cap'n?" she asked, as Calvin entered.
"That's what!" replied Calvin enigmatically.
"It's all dust and ashes!" said the old lady unexpectedly.
"Well!" said Calvin. "I dono as I'd go so fur as that, quite, but it was
undeniable dry."
"Jesus'll kerry me through!" the widow went on, rocking herself back and
forth. "Dust and ashes, and Jordan rollin' past, rollin' past!" Her eyes
glittered, and her voice rose in a sing-song whine.
"Hold on there, old lady," said Calvin Parks. "Come out o' that now, and
let's be sociable Christmas night. I dono as you'd think it right and
proper to allow of me smokin', what?"
The glitter died out of the old lady's eyes; she stopped rocking, and
cackled gleefully; this time-worn joke never failed to delight her. With
eager, trembling fingers she brought out a cob pipe from a corner behind
the stove, and handed it to Calvin, who filled it from his own pouch and
returned it to her. Then he lighted his own pipe, and soon they were
puffing in concert. In the pantry close by Miss Phrony was rattling
dishes; they sounded like dry bones.
"There!" said Calvin comfortably. "Now you feel better, don't you, old
lady?"
The old lady nodded like a Salem mandarin.
"Jordan ain't rollin' so fast now, is it?"
"Nothin' like!" said the old lady.
"Then, since we're all comfortable and peaceful," said Calvin, "I've
half a mind to tell you something, old lady."
He paused and seemed to listen; his next words were spoken silently.
"What say? Oh, you go along! I tell you I've got to tell some one, or I
shall bust. I can't fetch hossy into the settin'-room, can I? 'Tis
betwixt sawdust and kindlin's with these two, but yet I like the old one
best."
Then he spoke aloud. "Yes, ma'am! I reelly have--a half a mind to tell
you something. Some time or other--not right away, you needn't go
thinkin' that, but when I get round to it, you understand--I am thinkin'
of--of changin' my condition."
The widow uttered an exclamation, and fixed her beady eyes on him
eagerly. The rattling of dishes in the pantry stopped suddenly.
"Yes!" Calvin went on, musing over his pipe. "I've been a rover and a
rambler all my life. Old Ma Sill used to say it, and it's true. When I
was at sea I'd hanker for the shore, and sim'lar the other way round.
Take last night, now--but no need to go into that. Fact is, it ain't
only a woman needs a home of her own," he went on, half to himself. "A
man needs it too; his own place and his own folks; yes, sir! And come to
find them folks at long last, and find 'em better than what he thought
the world contained, why, what I say is, it's a pity if he can't scare
up a place. What say, old lady? Ain't that about the way it looked to
you and Cap'n along back? You poor old dried up stockfish," he added to
himself, "I s'pose you was young once, though no one would suspicion it
to look at you."
"Dust and ashes!" said the old woman. "Dust and ashes! Jesus'll kerry me
through."
"I shouldn't wonder!" said Calvin Parks. And just then Miss Phrony
Marlin came in from the pantry with shining eyes.
CHAPTER XVI
TOIL AND TROUBLE
"Happy New Year!" said Calvin Parks. "Happy New Year, Mr. Cheeseman!
Happy New Year, Lonzo! happy New Year, the whole concern!"
"Humph!" said Mr. Ivory Cheeseman.
"If this ain't a pretty day to start the new year with, then I never see
one, that's all," Calvin went on. "Crisp and clear, everything cracklin'
with frost. Hossy's got a white mustash on him like a general. How's
trade, Mr. Cheeseman?"
"Humph!" said Mr. Cheeseman again.
Calvin looked at him. The old gentleman's alert cheerfulness was gone;
his aspect was grim, and the glance that met Calvin's was stern enough.
"What's wrong, sir?" Calvin inquired solicitously. "Ain't you feelin'
well? You don't seem like yourself."
"I ain't!" said Mr. Cheeseman briefly.
"I want to know!" said Calvin, with an inflection of sympathetic
inquiry. "Is it anything you feel disposed to mention, Mr. Cheeseman, or
do I intrude?"
"It's something I've got to mention!" said Mr. Cheeseman.
He looked at Calvin again, and meeting his glance of open wonder, his
own softened as if in spite of himself.
"Step inside, Mr. Parks!" he said, gravely. "I guess we've got to have a
little talk. Lonzo, you might run on home if you're a mind to; that's a
good son!"
In the warm, cosy kitchen, where the little stove still glowed like a
friendly demon, the old man took his customary seat, and Calvin Parks,
his brown eyes very round and large, sat down beside him. There was a
moment's silence; then--
"Friend Parks," said Mr. Cheeseman, "I've taken a great interest in you
ever since you first come to my store. You've been a man I liked, and a
man I trusted; and I've tried to help you when and how I could."
"I should say you had!" said Calvin warmly. "You've been the best friend
ever I had, Mr. Cheeseman, except one, and I want you to understand that
I appreciate it, sir."
"I've tried," Mr. Cheeseman repeated, "partly on the accounts just
mentioned, and partly because I understood you was wishful to marry a
lady that is well spoken of by all, and that you appeared to set store
by. That's so, ain't it?"
"That's so!" said Calvin briefly.
"Well, now!" the old man continued. "Havin' so helped, and so
understood, it ain't real pleasant to me to hear all round that you are
goin' to marry another woman."
"_What_!" Calvin Parks sprang from his seat, and seemed to fill the
little room. "Say that again! Me marry another woman? What do you mean,
sir?"
"Easy there!" said the old man fretfully. "Don't set down in the
butter-scotch; it's just behind ye. It's all over town that you are
goin' to marry Phrony Marlin a week from Sunday."
He looked up, and after one glance at Calvin, rose hurriedly in his
turn.
"There, friend Parks! there! don't say a word! I see by your face it
ain't true, and I ask your pardon. Set down, son!"
But Calvin Parks still towered up among the rafters, and his brown eyes
blazed down on the old candy-maker.
"It's a lie!" he said simply. "Don't tell me you believed it, Mr.
Cheeseman; don't!"
The old man groaned. "I'm a woodenhead, friend Parks; a plumb, dum old
woodenhead!" he said; "but I won't add another lie to that one. I did
believe it, and I've been half sick about it all day. I won't say
another word till you set down, except to ask your pardon again. I'm an
old man, Calvin," he added, with a piteous quaver in his voice, "and I
regard you as a son, sir!"
Calvin sat down instantly, and laid his hand on the old man's arm for a
moment.
"That's all right, Mr. Cheeseman!" he said briefly but kindly. "We'll
forget that part. Now let's get on to the rest on't."
Mr. Cheeseman drew a long breath that was almost a sob, and his frosty
blue eyes were dim for a moment. He wiped them quietly with a blue
cotton handkerchief.
"I thank you, sir!" he said. "Well, I found the whole street buzzin'
with it yesterday. They said you gave her a fur tippet. How was that,
friend Calvin?"
"I did!" Calvin's brown face flushed.
"I just plain fool did. She as good as asked me for it, Mr. Cheeseman,
and what could I do? If ever I gredged money in my life 'twas that, and
me turnin' every cent twice to make it go further. But when she went on
about her brown keeters, and the doctor sayin' she must wrop her throat
up, and if only she could have a fur tippet it might save her life--and
goin' so fur as to name the special one she wanted in Hoskins's
window--and Christmas time and all, and nobody seemin' to have any
feelin' for them two forlorn creatur's--Mr. Cheeseman, if you're a
woodenhead, I'm a sheep's-head, that's all there is to it. So that
started the talk, did it? What in caniption makes folks want to talk I
don't know!" he broke out. "Darn their hides!"
"That started it!" said Mr. Cheeseman; "and she has seen to it that the
talk went on. She was in town all day yesterday, flyin' round like a hen
with her head cut off--"
"She'd look a sight better with hers that way!" said Calvin _sotto
voce_.
"Buyin' this and that, and givin' folks to understand 'twas her weddin'
things. I don't know as she used them precise words, but I do know she
said to Hoskins--she was in there gettin' some dress goods, and he told
me himself--'I'll take the blue,' she says, "for Cap'n Parks admires
blue, and I have to dress to please him now!' she says."
Calvin Parks groaned. A vision rose before him of Mary Sands in her blue
dress, with the sun shining on her hair.
"Then she went to Jinny Bascom's," the old man went on, "and bought her
a bunnet. Where she got the money I don't know, nor Jinny didn't. I
guess she nor the old woman ever spent more than fifty cents at a time
in their lives before; but she got a ten dollar bunnet, no two ways
about that; and she was a caution gettin' it, by all accounts. Jinny
has always knowed Phrony; every one round about Cyrus knows them two and
their goin's on. Lived mostly on grocery samples and borrowed garden
truck till you come to board with 'em; and I don't believe they've fed
you high enough to hurt you any, have they?"
"Well! I don't know as I've been in any real danger of apoplexy from
over-eatin'," said Calvin slowly; "but I ain't made no complaint."
"I know you ain't!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "That's one thing has made folks
anxious. You mustn't take it amiss, friend Calvin. You are well liked
all round the neighborhood; and folks _will_ talk about what interests
them, sir, it's the natur' of human bein's so to do. Well, about this
bunnet. Jinny showed her a quiet, decent article, suitable to her years
and appearance; but she tossed her head up, and says she, 'I guess
not!' she says. 'Show me a bridal bunnet, please, Miss Bascom!' Well,
Jinny Bascom runs mostly to eyes and ears, any way of it, and you may
suppose that was nuts to her. So she fetched out a white bunnet, and
says, 'You goin' to be married, Phrony?' Phrony she tosses her head
again, and simpers up. 'I ain't sayin' anything yet,' she says, 'nor yet
I don't want it _should_ be said till after a week from next Sunday; but
if you should see me then in this bunnet, you can draw your own
conclusions!' she says. Then she begun to turn her ridic'lous old head
this way and that before the glass. 'Cap'n Parks likes a handsome
bunnet!' she says. 'He wouldn't wish for me to wear any other;' and goes
on like that till Jinny had all she could do to keep her face straight.
Now you know, friend Calvin, that was pretty straight talk, and Jinny
Bascom wasn't one to keep it to herself; so you can't wonder it got
about, can you?"
"Not a mite!" said Calvin moodily.
"But you could wonder at my bein' taken in by it," Mr. Cheeseman went
on, "and I wonder myself. But I was startled, you see, and took aback,
and--well, that's all over. Now, what are you goin' to do about this,
friend Parks?"
Calvin rose again, running his fingers through his thick brown hair as
he did so, and seeming to draw himself up to a portentous height.
"I--don't--know, Mr. Cheeseman!" he said slowly. "I've got to study over
it a bit. I can't say right away just what I shall do."
"You won't--" Mr. Cheeseman began; but broke off suddenly, and looked
anxiously at Calvin.
"Won't what? Marry Phrony Marlin? I will not! You may lay out your stock
on that. I think I'll be goin' now, Mr. Cheeseman. That my
butter-scotch? I'll take it right along, if you say so."
Mr. Cheeseman rose, and began packing the butter-scotch, glancing
anxiously now and then at Calvin, who stood lost in thought, his hand
still in his brown locks.
"I'll stop the talk in the street, Calvin," he said solicitously. "That
I can do, and will before an hour's over. But isn't there something else
I can do? I'd take it as a kindness if you'd let me help you, any way,
shape or manner that you can think of."
"I guess not, sir!" said Calvin; "full as much obliged to you, though. I
guess I've got to work this out for myself. I've got a long route
to-day, all round by Tupham and the Corners, and I'll study it out as I
go along. I've got to think of--of the woman I hope to marry, God bless
her, and yet I've got to think of them two poor misfortunate creatur's
that haven't a friend in the world as I know of except me. And as for
the talk," he added, "well,--yes! if you'll stop that I'll be greatly
obliged to you. But do it as easy as you can, Mr. Cheeseman! Just say it
ain't so, you know, or she was jokin', or like that; let her off as easy
as you can, poor creatur'. I don't think she's just right in her mind.
Why, she can't be! There! now I'll be ramblin' along."
He started to leave the kitchen, but the old candy-maker caught his
sleeve eagerly.
"Friend Calvin," he said, "how did the Christmas trade come out? You
haven't told me a word."
"That so?" said Calvin. "This confounded rinktum put it out of both our
heads, I expect. Why, I done first-rate, Mr. Cheeseman; first-rate! I've
got five hundred dollars laid by now, sir; and as I reckon it out that's
enough to start out on, with a good route, doin' well. What say?"
"Full enough!" said Mr. Cheeseman heartily. "I wish you joy, friend
Calvin! Have you got it in the bank?"
Calvin's face fell slightly.
"Not yet," he said. "I only got my full sum made up last night; 'twarn't
convenient for some to pay cash, you know, and to-day's bank holiday.
But to-morrow mornin', Mr. Cheeseman, at nine o'clock, you look out and
you'll see little Calvin on them bank steps over yonder, with his wallet
in his hand; and then, Mr. Cheeseman,--then's my time!"
Mr. Cheeseman looked after him as he drove slowly away, his head bent in
thought, a very different Calvin Parks from the one who had burst in so
joyously an hour before with his New Year greeting.
"He's a good feller!" said the old gentleman. "I never see a better
feller than that. I hope he'll come through all right; but there's just
one thing troubles me, and yet I couldn't feel to say it to him. _Where
did Phrony Marlin get that money_?"
CHAPTER XVII
NIGHT
The brown horse had a dull day of it. No cheery remarks, no snatches of
song, no cracking of the whip about his responsive ears. He whinnied
remonstrance and inquiry now and then, but received no reply. Calvin
Parks drove moodily along, his shoulders up to his ears, his head sunk
between them, his eyes staring straight ahead. He could hardly even
bring his mind to trade, and Mrs. Weazel got five cents off the price of
her marshmallows, and was straightway consumed with anguish because she
had not tried for ten.
"What's wrong with you, Cal?" asked Si Slocum at the Corners. "Didn't
the Pie-fillene set good?"
"That's all right!" said Calvin briefly.
"I was clearin' out a lot of old samples," Si went on, "and Phrony come
meechin' and beseechin', the way she does, and I give her the whole
bunch. I mistrusted she'd try 'em on you. Come in, won't ye?"
"I'm in a hurry!" replied Calvin. "Here's the goods you ordered; all
right, be they?"
"Look so!" said Si; "and taste so!" he added, attacking a cinnamon
stick. "Ah! what's your hurry, Cal? Come in and set a bit! It's New
Year's Day, you know, and a holiday by rights."
"I know; and I wish you a happy New Year!" said Calvin soberly; "but I
must be moseyin' along. Gitty up, hossy!"
"He looks bad!" said the storekeeper, shaking his head as he watched
Calvin's retreating figure. "Well, I should think he would, if all they
say is true about him and Phrony Marlin. I was bound I'd get in a hint
about her and her ways; he's too good a sort to be grabbed by them
cattle; but he shut me right up."
It was night when Calvin reached the Marlin gate. Silently he came, for
some hundred yards back he had got out and taken the sleigh-bells from
Hossy's neck, to the great astonishment of the worthy animal. The snow
was soft and deep, and there was no sound as Calvin drove past the
house. At the barn door he paused, and seemed to reflect; started to
drive in, then checked the horse and got out of the sleigh. Hastily
bringing an armful of straw, he cast it down on the barn floor,
spreading it thick and soft where the iron-shod hoofs must tread. Then,
without a sound, he led the good beast in, rubbed him down, washed his
feet, and gave him his supper.
All the while, though he spoke no word aloud, one phrase was saying
itself over and over in his mind; the same phrase that old Ivory
Cheeseman had spoken as he looked after him in the morning.
"_Where did she get the money_?"
The stairs which led to his attic room went up from the shed. Coming in
silently, his foot was on the lowest step when he heard voices in the
kitchen, one of them speaking his own name. Involuntarily he paused.
"S'pose the Cap'n should find it out!" said the old woman's creaking
voice.
"He won't find it out!" barked her daughter. "It's all wopsed up in a
bunch, I tell you, and stuffed into the wallet anyhow. He don't know how
much he's got. Hark! was that the sleigh-bells?"
"Dust and ashes!" creaked the old woman. "I never thought a child of
mine would be a thief, but I don't know as it matters. Hell-fire lights
easy!"
"I ain't a thief!" said Phrony fiercely. "I'm only takin' what's my
own, or will be when we're man and wife."
"Jesus'll kerry me through!" Mrs. Marlin piped. "Who knows you ever will
be, darlin'? He's no fool, the Cap'n ain't, for all his easy ways. You
may go too fur. Jordan's rollin' past, rollin' past!"
"Let it roll!" cried the other woman savagely. "If you'll only hold your
tongue, mother, I can fix it all right. Do you want the mortgage
foreclosed, and us both on the town? You leave this to me! Mebbe he
ain't a fool, but he's as good as one for soft-heartedness. If I can't
get round that man--hark! was that the bells?"
Calvin Parks stole noiselessly up the stairs. Slipping off his shoes, he
crept across the garret room to the cupboard; groped with trembling
hands for the wallet, found it, and brought it out; lighted the lamp and
hastily counted the money it contained. One hundred dollars--two
hundred--three hundred! He counted again and again; there was no
mistake. He thrust the money into his bosom and stood up; his face
showed white under the tan.
"She has taken two hundred dollars!" He said. "Poor miserable creatur'!"
He stood perfectly still for some minutes, thinking rapidly. Then,
creeping swiftly about the room, light and noiseless as a cat for all
his great height, he gathered together his few belongings; the
daguerreotype of his mother (saved from the burning house at the risk of
his boyish life), the Testament she gave him, Longfellow's poems, and
his few clothes; and packed them all hastily but neatly in his old
valise. When all was done he paused again; then finding a scrap of
paper, he sat down and wrote hurriedly;
"I shall not do anything about the money unless you try to follow
me; mebbe you need it more than I do; but you had best take back
the bunnet, _for you will never need that_. Wishin' you well and
more wisdom, from
"C. Parks.
"P. S. You be good to the old woman, or I will tell."
Put out the light now, Calvin! creep softly, softly, down the rickety
stairs, testing each board as you go, lest it creak. Out to the barn,
where the good brown horse is dozing peacefully. He has had a good
supper and a good rest; he is fit for the ten miles that lie between you
and safety. Stow the bells under the seat, muffling them carefully in
the horse-blanket lest any faintest jingle betray you. Now softly,
softly, out over the snow, out past the silent house where the two women
are watching for you behind closed shutters; out to the open road, and
away!
CHAPTER XVIII
MORNING
The sun was not yet up, but the sky was brightening in lovely pale
tints, pearl and opal and rose, when Mary Sands opened the shed door and
tripped lightly down the path to the barn. She unbarred the great doors,
and entering the dim, fragrant place, was greeted by a five-fold whinny
from the stalls, and a trampling of twenty friendly hoofs.
"Good morning, hossies!" she said cheerily. "I expect you're surprised
to see me. I've got to get breakfast for all hands this mornin', and I'm
goin' to begin with you. Mornin', colty! mornin', marey! mornin', John!
mornin', old hoss! Oh! you naughty old hoss, who ever would have
thought of your actin' that way at your time of life! I _was_
surprised--my goodness! who's this in the box-stall? Calvin Parks's
Hossy? What upon earth! Why, you darlin', where's your master?"
Hossy's explanations, though fervid, and accompanied by agreeable
rubbings of a soft brown nose on her shoulder, were not lucid, and Mary
gazed about her in bewilderment.
"You never run away, hossy?" she asked; "you wouldn't do that!
Then--where is he?"
Just then a golden finger of sunshine slanted through the dusty window
and fell on the harness-room door, which stood slightly ajar. Mary Sands
ran to the door and peeped in. There, in the one chair tilted back, his
feet on the stove, his head against the farther wall, sat Calvin Parks,
sound asleep.
"Oh! you blessed creatur'!" cried Mary under her breath. She stood
looking at him, taking swift note of his appearance.
"He's sick!" she said; "or he's been through the wars somehow. He looks
completely tuckered out. There! he is not fit to be round alone, and
that's the livin' truth. Oh dear! 'tis cold as a stone here; he'll get
his death. Calvin! Mr. Parks! Wake up, won't you? Wake up!"
Now Calvin Parks had been dreaming, a thing that seldom occurred in the
simple organism of his brain. He dreamed that he was on a lonely road,
with high, rocky banks on either side; and that he was pursued by two
black hooded snakes with glittering eyes, that reared and hissed on
either side of him, and darted at him as he sped along. He tried to cry
out, but found no voice. As he panted on in terror and anguish, thinking
every moment to feel the venomed fangs in his flesh, suddenly a bird
came flying down, a blue bird with a white breast, and took the evil
creatures one after the other and flung them far from his path. And as
he looked, still panting and breathless, the bird turned into Mary Sands
in her blue dress and white apron, and she cried--"Wake up, Calvin
Parks! wake up!"
He opened his eyes, dim and bewildered with sleep. The vision was still
before him, the trim blue and white figure, the pretty brown hair, the
hazel eyes full of anxious tenderness. Still bewildered, still only half
awake, he opened his arms and gathered the little figure into them. "My
woman!" he said. "My woman, before God and while I live."
"Oh! yes, Calvin!" said Mary Sands; and she hid her head on his broad
breast and sobbed, a little happy sob.
So they stood for a moment, heaven as near to their middle-aged hearts
as to any boy and girl lovers under the sun; then suddenly Calvin put
her from him with a quick movement, and stepped back.
"I forgot!" he cried. "Mary, I forgot. I--I spoke too soon."
"Too soon!" echoed Mary Sands.
"I've no right to you yet!" he cried. "I thought I had; I forgot last
night. Mary, I won't ask for you till I have a right to. Yesterday I had
the right, or thought I had; to-day I haven't. You--you'd better forget
what I said--no! don't forget one word of it, but--but put it away
till--some day--" his voice broke, and he turned away with something
like a sob.
Mary Sands eyed him keenly; then she spoke in her usual quiet cheerful
tone.
"Mr. Parks, would you just as lives light a fire in the stove? It's
perishin' cold here."
Calvin started, and flung himself furiously at the pile of kindlings in
the corner.
"That shows!" he muttered, as he stuffed them into the stove with a
reckless hand. "That shows the kind I am, lettin' you freeze while I
talk foolishness. Here!" He took off his coat, and would have wrapped it
round her, but she put it back quietly and decidedly.
"You put that coat on again, Mr. Parks. I'll wrap this robe round me;
there! now I'm warm as toast, and I should be pleased if you would sit
down on that bucket and tell me what's happened; why you come here in
the dead of night, and--and all about it."
Calvin sat down on the bucket and looked at her helplessly.
"Mary," he said, "you know I've marked you for mine this long while
back."
"Yes!" said Mary simply. "I know that, Calvin."
"I said I wouldn't ask you to take no such rollin' stone as I've been,
until I had something laid by. I put a figger to it. I thought if I had
five hundred dollars in the bank and the route doin' well, as it has
been right along lately, I could ask you to believe that--that I'd
stopped rollin' and rovin', and you might regard me as a stiddy
character, and one that was--not worthy of you, not by a long chalk--but
aimin' so to be, and with a beginnin' made that way. Mary, yesterday
mornin' I had that five hundred dollars, and I was the happiest man in
the State of Maine. I was comin' to you to-day, after puttin' it in the
bank, and--well, no need to tell you what I was goin' to say."
"I thought you had said it!" said Mary meekly; and there was a twinkle
in her voice, though she kept her eyes resolutely cast down.
Calvin groaned. "Don't!" he said. "Don't rub it in, Mary! Last night--I
lost pretty near the half of it. Don't ask me how; it's gone, and I've
got to airn it over again. Now--" he spoke rapidly, stumbling over his
words, his eyes fixed imploringly on her. "I've got to get away, Mary. I
can't stay round here just yet awhile. I made up my mind last night,
drivin' over here from that--that place. I'm goin' a-rollin' and
a-rovin' once more, till I get that money back."
"Is that so?" asked Mary quietly. "Where was you thinkin' of goin',
Calvin?"
"I'm goin' back to the Mary Sands!" he said. "She's in port, loadin' up
with lumber for Floridy, and the skipper wants to make a change. I--I'll
be glad to see the Mary again, and I expect they'll take me on; what
say?"
"I expect they will!" said Mary dryly.
Then, all in a moment, she was laughing and crying on his shoulder.
"Calvin!" she cried. "Calvin, you foolish creatur'! you don't need to go
to Bath to find the Mary Sands. _I'm_ Mary Sands!"
"You!" said Calvin Parks.
She glanced up at him, and broke down again in laughter and tears.
"You needn't look like a stone image!" she cried. "'Tis so! I've been
Mary Sands right along. It sounded so comical your callin' me Hands, I
wouldn't let Cousins tell you. If I've stopped them once I have twenty
times. Besides, you was so mad at a woman's bein' owner of your
schooner, I couldn't help but laugh every time I thought of it. I s'pose
I've been foolish about it, but it's been a kind of play to me all this
time. Calvin, you make me act real forth-puttin', but--if you _won't_
speak for yourself--there! will you be master of the Mary Sands, afloat
and shore?"
She held out her hands with a pretty gesture. Calvin grasped them so
hard that she cried out, and his face, white again under its brown, set
in dogged lines of gentle obstinacy, the most hopeless kind.
"I can't!" he said. "Mary, all the more I can't because you are a rich
woman. You see that, don't you? I'm sure you must see that, Mary. Soon
as ever I've aimed that money again--"
"Oh! plague take the money," cried Mary, her patience giving way. "Give
it to the cat; she's fitter to take care of it than you are, Calvin
Parks. There! you do try me. You ain't fit to live alone, no more
than--and my goodness gracious me!" she cried, her voice changing
suddenly; "if I hadn't clean forgotten Cousins! Calvin, you've _got_ to
stay by us, you've just plain and simple got to! Hush! hold your
obstinate tongue and listen to me. Cousin Sam had an accident yesterday.
He was out with the old hoss of all, and they met the snow-plough, and
if that old creatur' didn't leap over the stone wall and smash the
sleigh to kindlin' wood! Cousin Sam's all stove up inside, he thinks,
but I'm in hopes not. There's no bones broke, and I guess all he got was
a good shakin' up; but anyway, he's in bed, and can't move hand or foot.
And I can't take care of him and Cousin Sim, and keep house, and see to
the stock and poultry too, Calvin Parks; now I can't! I've _got_ to have
help!"
At this moment a jingling of bells was heard outside; Mary stepped to
the window. "Who on earth comes here?" she exclaimed. "Of all the
queer-lookin' turnouts--do look here, Calvin!"
Calvin looked. In an old-fashioned high-backed sleigh, drawn by an
ancient white horse, sat a little old man so wrapped in furs that only
the tip of a frosty nose could be seen. He was waving whip and reins
wildly, and shouting "Somebody come! somebody come!"
"Gosh!" said Calvin Parks. He ran out, and Mary Sands followed him
wondering.
"Mr. Cheeseman, I want to know if this is you!"
"I got it!" gasped the old man.
"You got it!" repeated Calvin. "You've got your everlastin', I expect,
out this time o' day at your age. You come in to the fire, sir!"
Without more ado, he lifted the old man in his arms, carried him bodily
into the little room, and set him down in the chair. Mr. Cheeseman was
still breathless with frost and excitement, and gasped painfully, his
eyes starting from his head.
"I got it!" he repeated. "I got it, Calvin!"
"Fetch your breath, old gentleman," said Calvin soothingly. "You ain't
got that, anyway. What is it you have got? the rheumatiz?"
"The money!" cried the old candy-maker. "Your money, friend Calvin,
every cent of it, except what was spent, and that warn't much."
Calvin stood as if turned to stone.
"What do you mean?" he faltered.
"I mistrusted all along!" cried Mr. Cheeseman. "I kep' askin' myself all
day yesterday, where did she get that money? I never slep' last night
for askin' it. Suddin, along about four o'clock this mornin', by the
livin' Jingo, I see the whole contraption. I got up that minute of time,
hitched up old Major, and drove straight out there to tell you what I
suspicioned. You warn't there. They was awake, the two of 'em, and
scared at your bein' out all night as they thought, and when I called
and knocked they come down, and a sight they was. Talk of witches!
'Where's Calvin Parks?' I says; and they made answer you hadn't come in,
and they'd sat up 'most all night for you, and was scairt to death, and
all the rest of it. 'Show me his room!' I says. They made objections to
that, and I just cleared 'em to one side and stomped up, and they after
me. When they see your things were gone, Phrony give a screech fit to
wake the dead, and the old woman set up a gibberin' about Jordan rollin'
past, and dust and ashes, and I don't know what all. My eye and Phrony's
lit on this paper"--he held out a crumpled scrap--"the same moment, and
we run for it together, but I got my claws in it first, and read it out
loud. Then, 'Miss Marlin,' I says, quiet like, 'I'll take that money!'
'What money?' she says, and added language that ain't fit for this lady
to hear.
"'You know what money!' I says. 'I'm a special constable, and my team is
outside. You'll hand me that money or see the inside of the lock-up
within half an hour!' I says. She used awful language then; gorry! if
you'll excuse the expression, ma'am, I never heard such language, and
I'm no chicken. But the old woman throws up her hands, and screeches
out, 'A jidgment, Phrony! a jidgment! Jesus walkin' on the waves, and
Jordan rollin' past! Git it out of the bureau drawer!'
"I'm old, ma'am, but I'm tol'able spry. I got to the door and into the
front room before Phrony did; and when she see me at the bureau she gave
one awful yell and fell down in some kind of fit. I took the money. The
old woman was kind of clawin' the air over her, and sayin' 'Dust and
ashes! dust and ashes! hell fire's lightin' up!' 'Twarn't no agreeable
sight, and I come away. And--and here's the money, friend Calvin, and I
wish you joy with it."
Calvin Parks took the money with a dazed look.
"Mr. Cheeseman," he said, "I don't know what to say to you. There don't
seem to be anything _to_ say that'll express what I feel--"
"You might introduce me to this lady!" said the old man with a frosty
twinkle.
"Darn my hide!" cried Calvin Parks. "Somebody put me under the pump,
will they? Mr. Ivory Cheeseman, let me make you acquainted with Mis'
Calvin Parks as is to be! her present name is Ha--Sands!"
"Miss Hassands," said Mr. Cheeseman with a magnificent bow, "I am
pleased to meet you, I'm sure!"
Mary became rather hysterical at this, and it was necessary for Calvin
to soothe and quiet her; Mr. Cheeseman meanwhile inspected the harnesses
critically, and expressed his opinion that they was a first-rate set
out, and no mistake.
While they were thus occupied, the barn door was suddenly flung open,
and a thin, peevish voice cried, "Cousin! Cousin Mary! where in time
have you got to?"
The trio started and turned. In the doorway stood Mr. Simeon Sill, in
carpet slippers and overcoat, the latter displaying a valance of
flowered dressing-gown. A woollen shawl was tied over his head, and from
it his eyes peered disconsolately.
"Where have you got to?" he repeated querulously. "Breakfast time, and
the kittle bilin' over, and no table set, and Sam'l waitin'--"
At this moment he caught sight of the three conspirators, and stopped
open-mouthed, his eyes goggling in his head.
"Oh! Cousin Sim, you'll get cold!" cried Mary Sands, hastily smoothing
her hair. "Do go back to the house! I'm comin' right in."
"Mornin', Sim!" said Calvin Parks genially. "Come out to see the stock,
have ye? I call that smart, now!"
"Mr. Simeon Sill, I believe!" said Mr. Cheeseman with dignity. "Pleased
to make your acquaintance, sir!"
Mr. Sim looked from one to another, still gaping; and finally his gaze
fixed itself sternly on Mary Sands.
"I don't know what's goin' on in my barn," he said, "nor I don't know
what dum foolishness you folks is up to; but I give you to understand
that my brother Sam'l is waitin' for his med'cine!"
THE END.
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