MOUNTAIN-LAUREL AND MAIDEN-HAIR
"Here's your breakfast, miss. I hope it's right. Your mother showedme how to fix it, and said I'd find a cup up here."
"Take that blue one. I have not much appetite, and can't eat ifthings are not nice and pretty. I like the flowers. I've beenlonging for some ever since I saw them last night."
The first speaker was a red-haired, freckle-faced girl, in a browncalico dress and white apron, with a tray in her hands and an air oftimid hospitality in her manner; the second a pale, pretty creature,in a white wrapper and blue net, sitting in a large chair, lookingabout her with the languid interest of an invalid in a new place.Her eyes brightened as they fell upon a glass of rosy laurel anddelicate maidenhair fern that stood among the toast and eggs,strawberries and cream, on the tray.
"Our laurel is jest in blow, and I'm real glad you come in time tosee it. I'll bring you a lot, as soon's ever I get time to go forit."
As she spoke, the plain girl replaced the ugly crockery cup andsaucer with the pretty china ones pointed out to her, arranged thedishes, and waited to see if anything else was needed.
"What is your name, please?" asked the pretty girl, refreshingherself with a draught of new milk.
"Rebecca. Mother thought I'd better wait on you; the little girlsare so noisy and apt to forget. Wouldn't you like a piller to yourback? you look so kind of feeble seems as if you wanted to bepropped up a mite."
There was so much compassion and good-will in the face and voice,that Emily accepted the offer, and let Rebecca arrange a cushionbehind her; then, while the one ate daintily, and the other stirredabout an inner room, the talk went on,--for two girls are seldomlong silent when together.
"I think the air is going to suit me, for I slept all night andnever woke till Mamma had been up ever so long and got things allnicely settled," said Emily, graciously, when the fresh strawberrieshad been enjoyed, and the bread and butter began to vanish.
"I'm real glad you like it; most folks do, if they don't mind itbeing plain and quiet up here. It's gayer down at the hotel, but theair ain't half so good, and delicate folks generally like our oldplace best," answered Becky, as she tossed over a mattress and shookout the sheet with a brisk, capable air pleasant to see.
"I wanted to go to the hotel, but the doctor said it would be toonoisy for me, so Mamma was glad to find rooms here. I didn't think afarm-house COULD be so pleasant. That view is perfectly splendid!"and Emily sat up to gaze delightedly out of the window, below whichspread the wide intervale, through which the river ran withhay-fields on either side, while along the green slopes of the hillslay farm-houses with garden plots, and big barns waiting for theharvest; and beyond, the rocky, wooded pastures dotted with cattleand musical with cow-bells, brooks, and birds.
A balmy wind kissed a little color into the pale cheeks, thelistless eyes brightened as they looked, and the fretful linesvanished from lips that smiled involuntarily at the sweet welcomeNature gave the city child come to rest and play and grow gay androsy in her green lap.
Becky watched her with interest, and was glad to see how soon thenew-comer felt the charm of the place, for the girl loved hermountain home, and thought the old farm-house the loveliest spot inthe world.
"When you get stronger I can show you lots of nice views round here.There's a woodsy place behind the house that's just lovely. Down bythe laurel bushes is MY favorite spot, and among the rocks is a cavewhere I keep things handy when I get a resting-spell now and then,and want to be quiet. Can't get much at home, when there's boardersand five children round in vacation time."
Becky laughed as she spoke, and there was a sweet motherly look inher plain face, as she glanced at the three little red heads bobbingabout the door-yard below, where hens cackled, a pet lamb fed, andthe old white dog lay blinking in the sun.
"I like children; we have none at home, and Mamma makes such a babyof me I'm almost ashamed sometimes. I want her to have a good restnow, for she has taken care of me all winter and needs it. You shallbe my nurse, if I need one; but I hope to be so well soon that I cansee to myself. It's so tiresome to be ill!" and Emily sighed as sheleaned back among her pillows, with a glance at the little glasswhich showed her a thin face and shorn head.
"It must be! I never was sick, but I have taken care of sick folks,and have a sight of sympathy for 'em. Mother says I make a prettygood nurse, being strong and quiet," answered Becky, plumping uppillows and folding towels with a gentle despatch which was verygrateful to the invalid, who had dreaded a noisy, awkwardserving-maid.
"Never ill! how nice that must be! I'm always having colds andheadaches, and fusses of some kind. What do you do to keep well,Rebecca?" asked Emily, watching her with interest, as she came in toremove the tray.
"Nothing but work; I haven't time to be sick, and when I'm tuckeredout, I go and rest over yonder. Then I'm all right, and buckle toagain, as smart as ever;" and every freckle in Becky's rosy faceseemed to shine with cheerful strength and courage.
"I'm 'tuckered out' doing nothing," said Emily, amused with the newexpression, and eager to try a remedy which showed such fine resultsin this case. "I shall visit your pet places and do a little work assoon as I am able, and see if it won't set me up. Now I can onlydawdle, doze, and read a little. Will you please put those bookshere on the table? I shall want them by-and-by."
Emily pointed to a pile of blue and gold volumes lying on a trunk,and Becky dusted her hands as she took them up with an air ofreverence, for she read on the backs of the volumes names which madeher eyes sparkle.
"Do you care for poetry?" asked Emily, surprised at the girl's lookand manner.
"Guess I do! don't get much except the pieces I cut out of papers,but I love 'em, and stick 'em in an old ledger, and keep it down inmy cubby among the rocks. I do love THAT man's pieces. They seem togo right to the spot somehow;" and Becky smiled at the name ofWhittier as if the sweetest of our poets was a dear old friend ofhers.
"I like Tennyson better. Do you know him?" asked Emily, with asuperior air, for the idea of this farmer's daughter knowinganything about poetry amused her.
"Oh yes, I've got a number of his pieces in my book, and I'm fond of'em. But this man makes things so kind of true and natural I feel athome with HIM. And this one I've longed to read, though I guess Ican't understand much of it. His 'Bumble Bee' was just lovely; withthe grass and columbines and the yellow breeches of the bee. I'mnever tired of that;" and Becky's face woke up into something likebeauty as she glanced hungrily at the Emerson while she dusted thedelicate cover that hid the treasures she coveted.
"I don't care much for him, but Mamma does. I like romantic poems,and ballads, and songs; don't like descriptions of clouds andfields, and bees, and farmers," said Emily, showing plainly thateven Emerson's simplest poems were far above her comprehension asyet, because she loved sentiment more than Nature.
"I do, because I know 'em better than love and the romantic stuffmost poetry tells about. But I don't pretend to judge, I'm glad ofanything I can get. Now if you don't want me I'll pick up my dishesand go to work."
With that Becky went away, leaving Emily to rest and dream with hereyes on the landscape which was giving her better poetry than anyher books held. She told her mother about the odd girl, and was sureshe would be amusing if she did not forget her place and try to befriends.
"She is a good creature, my dear, her mother's main stay, and worksbeyond her strength, I am sure. Be kind to the poor girl, and put alittle pleasure into her life if you can," answered Mrs. Spenser, asshe moved about, settling comforts and luxuries for her invalid.
"I shall HAVE to talk to her, as there is no other person of my agein the house. How are the school marms? shall you get on with them,Mamma? It will be so lonely here for us both, if we don't makefriends with some one."
"Most intelligent and amiable women all three, and we shall havepleasant times together, I am sure. You may safely cultivate Becky;Mrs. Taylor told me she was a remarkably bright girl, though she maynot look
it."
"Well, I'll see. But I do hate freckles and big red hands, and roundshoulders. She can't help it, I suppose, but ugly things fret me."
"Remember that she has no time to be pretty, and be glad she is soneat and willing. Shall we read, dear? I'm ready now."
Emily consented, and listened for an hour or two while the pleasantvoice beside her conjured away all her vapors with some of Mrs.Ewing's charming tales.
"The grass is dry now, and I want to stroll on that green lawnbefore lunch. You rest, Mamma dear, and let me make discoveries allalone," proposed Emily, when the sun shone warmly, and the instinctof all young creatures for air and motion called her out.
So, with her hat and wrap, and book and parasol, she set forth toexplore the new land in which she found herself.
Down the wide, creaking stairs and out upon the door-stone she went,pausing there for a moment to decide where first to go. The sound ofsome one singing in the rear of the house led her in that direction,and turning the corner she made her first pleasant discovery. A hillrose steeply behind the farm-house, and leaning from the bank was anold apple-tree, shading a spring that trickled out from the rocksand dropped into a mossy trough below. Up the tree had grown a wildgrape-vine, making a green canopy over the great log which served asa seat, and some one had planted maidenhair ferns about both seatand spring to flourish beautifully in the damp, shady spot.
"Oh, how pretty! I'll go and sit there. It looks clean, and I cansee what is going on in that big kitchen, and hear the singing. Isuppose it's Becky's little sisters by the racket."
Emily established herself on the lichen-covered log with her feetupon a stone, and sat enjoying the musical tinkle of the water, withher eyes on the delicate ferns stirring in the wind, and the livelyjingle of the multiplication-table chanted by childish voices in herear.
Presently two little girls with a great pan of beans came to dotheir work on the back doorstep, a third was seen washing dishes ata window, and Becky's brown-spotted gown flew about the kitchen asif a very energetic girl wore it. A woman's voice was heard givingdirections, as the speaker was evidently picking chickens somewhereout of sight.
A little of the talk reached Emily and both amused and annoyed her,for it proved that the country people were not as stupid as theylooked.
"Oh, well, we mustn't mind if she IS notional and kind of wearing;she's been sick, and it will take time to get rid of her frettyways. Jest be pleasant, and take no notice, and that nice mother ofhers will make it all right," said the woman's voice.
"How anybody with every mortal thing to be happy with CAN beout-of-sorts passes me. She fussed about every piller, chair, trunk,and mite of food last night, and kept that poor tired lady trottingtill I was provoked. She's right pleasant this morning though, andas pretty as a picture in her ruffled gown and that blue thing onher head," answered Becky from the pantry, as she rattled out thepie-board, little dreaming who sat hidden behind the grape-vinefestoons that veiled the corner by the spring.
"Well, she's got redder hair 'n' we have, so she needn't be so grandand try to hide it with blue nets," added one little voice.
"Yes, and it's ever so much shorter 'n' ours, and curls all over herhead like Daisy's wool. I should think such a big girl would feelreal ashamed without no braids," said the other child, proudlysurveying the tawny mane that hung over her shoulders,--for likemost red-haired people all the children were blessed with luxuriantcrops of every shade from golden auburn to regular carrots.
"I think it's lovely. Suppose it had to be cut off when she had thefever. Wish I could get rid of my mop, it's such a bother;" andBecky was seen tying a clean towel over the great knot that made herhead look very like a copper kettle.
"Now fly round, deary, and get them pies ready. I'll have thesefowls on in a minute, and then go to my butter. You run off and seeif you can't find some wild strawberries for the poor girl, soon'sever you are through with them beans, children. We must kind ofpamper her up for a spell till her appetite comes back," said themother.
Here the chat ended, and soon the little girls were gone, leavingBecky alone rolling out pie-crust before the pantry window. As sheworked her lips moved, and Emily, still peeping through the leaves,wondered what she was saying, for a low murmur rose and fell,emphasized now and then with a thump of the rolling-pin.
"I mean to go and find out. If I stand on that wash-bench I can lookin and see her work. I'll show them all that _I_'m NOT 'fussy,' andcan be 'right pleasant' if I like."
With this wise resolution Emily went down the little path, and afterpausing to examine the churn set out to dry, and the row of pansshining on a neighboring shelf, made her way to the window, mountedthe bench while Becky's back was turned, and pushing away themorning-glory vines and scarlet beans that ran up on either sidepeeped in with such a smiling face that the crossest cook could nothave frowned on her as an intruder.
"May I see you work? I can't eat pies, but I like to watch peoplemake them. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit. I'd ask you to come in, but it's dreadful hot here, andnot much room," answered Becky, crimping round the pastry before shepoured in the custard. "I'm going to make a nice little pudding foryou; your mother said you liked 'em; or would you rather havewhipped cream with a mite of jelly in it?" asked Becky, anxious tosuit her new boarder.
"Whichever is easiest to make. I don't care what I eat. Do tell mewhat you were saying. It sounded like poetry," said Emily, leaningboth elbows on the wide ledge with a pale pink morning-glory kissingher cheek, and a savory odor reaching her nose.
"Oh, I was mumbling some verses. I often do when I work, it sort ofhelps me along; but it must sound dreadfully silly," and Beckyblushed as if caught in some serious fault.
"I do it, and it's a great comfort when I lie awake. I should thinkyou WOULD want something to help you along, you work so hard. Do youlike it, Becky?"
The familiar name, the kind tone, made the plain face brighten withpleasure as its owner said, while she carefully filled a pretty bowlwith a golden mixture rich with fresh eggs and country milk--
"No, I don't, but I ought to. Mother isn't as strong as she used tobe, and there's a sight to do, and the children to be brought up,and the mortgage to be paid off; so if _I_ don't fly round, whowill? We are doing real well now, for Mr. Walker manages the farmand gives us our share, so our living is all right; then boarders insummer and my school in winter helps a deal, and every year the boyscan do more, so I'd be a real sinner to complain if I do have tostep lively all day."
Becky smiled as she spoke, and straightened her bent shoulders as ifsettling her burden for another trudge along the path of duty.
"Do you keep school? Why, how old are you, Becky?" asked Emily, muchimpressed by this new discovery.
"I'm eighteen. I took the place of a teacher who got sick last fall,and I kept school all winter. Folks seemed to like me, and I'm goingto have the same place this year. I'm so glad, for I needn't go awayand the pay is pretty good, as the school is large and the childrendo well. You can see the school-house down the valley, that redbrick one where the roads meet;" and Becky pointed a floury finger,with an air of pride that was pleasant to see.
Emily glanced at the little red house where the sun shone hotly insummer, and all the winds of heaven must rage wildly in winter time,for it stood, as country schools usually do, in the barest, mostuninviting spot for miles around.
"Isn't it awful down there in winter?" she asked, with a shiver atthe idea of spending days shut up in that forlorn place, with acrowd of rough country children.
"Pretty cold, but we have plenty of wood, and we are used to snowand gales up here. We often coast down, the whole lot of us, andthat is great fun. We take our dinners and have games noon-spells,and so we get on first rate; some of my boys are big fellows, olderthan I am; they clear the roads and make the fire and look after us,and we are real happy together."
Emily found it so impossible to imagine happiness under suchcircumstances that she changed the subject by asking
in a tone whichhad unconsciously grown more respectful since this last revelationof Becky's abilities,--
"If you do so well here, why don't you try for a larger school in abetter place?"
"Oh, I couldn't leave mother yet; I hope to some day, when the girlsare older, and the boys able to get on alone. But I can't go now,for there's a sight of things to do, and mother is always laid upwith rheumatism in cold weather. So much butter-making down cellaris bad for her; but she won't let me do that in summer, so I takecare of her in winter. I can see to things night and morning, andthrough the day she's quiet, and sits piecing carpet-rags andresting up for next spring. We made and wove all the carpets in thehouse, except the parlor one. Mrs. Taylor gave us that, and thecurtains, and the easy-chair. Mother takes a sight of comfort inthat."
"Mrs. Taylor is the lady who first came to board here, and told usand others about it," said Emily.
"Yes, and she's the kindest lady in the world! I'll tell you allabout her some day, it's real interesting; now I must see to mypies, and get the vegetables on," answered Becky, glancing at thegay clock in the kitchen with an anxious look.
"Then I won't waste any more of your precious time. May I sit inthat pretty place; or is it your private bower?" asked Emily, as shedismounted from the wash-bench.
"Yes, indeed you may. That's mother's resting-place when work isdone. Father made the spring long ago, and I put the ferns there.She can't go rambling round, and she likes pretty things, so wefixed it up for her, and she takes comfort there nights."
Becky bustled off to the oven with her pies, and Emily roamed awayto the big barn to lie on the hay, enjoying the view down thevalley, as she thought over what she had seen and heard, and verynaturally contrasted her own luxurious and tenderly guarded lifewith this other girl's, so hard and dull and narrow. Working allsummer and teaching all winter in that dismal little school-house,with no change but home cares and carpet-weaving! It looked horribleto pleasure-loving Emily, who led the happy, care-free life ofgirls of her class, with pleasures of all sorts, and a future ofstill greater luxury, variety, and happiness, opening brightlybefore her.
It worried her to think of any one being contented with such ameagre share of the good things of life, when she was unsatisfied inspite of the rich store showered upon her. She could not understandit, and fell asleep wishing every one could be comfortable,--it wasso annoying to see them grubbing in kitchens, teaching in bleakschool-houses among snow-drifts, and wearing ugly calico gowns.
A week or two of quiet, country fare and the bracing mountain airworked wonders for the invalid, and every one rejoiced to see thepale cheeks begin to grow round and rosy, the languid eyes tobrighten, and the feeble girl who used to lie on her sofa half theday now go walking about with her alpenstock, eager to explore allthe pretty nooks among the hills. Her mother blessed Mrs. Taylor forsuggesting this wholesome place. The tired "school marms," as Emilycalled the three young women who were their fellow-boarders,congratulated her as well as themselves on the daily improvement instrength and spirits all felt; and Becky exulted in the marvellouseffects of her native air, aided by mother's good cookery and thecheerful society of the children, whom the good girl considered themost remarkable and lovable youngsters in the world.
Emily felt like the queen of this little kingdom, and was regardedas such by every one, for with returning health she lost her fretfulways, and living with simple people, soon forgot her girlish airsand vanities, becoming very sweet and friendly with all about her.The children considered her a sort of good fairy who could grantwishes with magical skill, as various gifts plainly proved. The boyswere her devoted servants, ready to run errands, "hitch up" and takeher to drive at any hour, or listen in mute delight when she sang toher guitar in the summer twilight.
But to Becky she was a special godsend and comfort, for before thefirst month had gone they were good friends, and Emily had made adiscovery which filled her head with brilliant plans for Becky'sfuture, in spite of her mother's warnings, and the sensiblegirl's own reluctance to be dazzled by enthusiastic prophecies anddreams.
It came about in this way. Some three weeks after the two girls met,Emily went one evening to their favorite trysting-place,--Becky'sbower among the laurels. It was a pretty nook in the shadow of agreat gray bowlder near the head of the green valley which ran downto spread into the wide intervale below. A brook went babbling amongthe stones and grass and sweet-ferns, while all the slope was rosywith laurel-flowers in their times, as the sturdy bushes grewthickly on the hill-side, down the valley, and among the woods thatmade a rich background for these pink and white bouquets arrangedwith Nature's own careless grace.
Emily liked this spot, and ever since she had been strong enough toreach it, loved to climb up and sit there with book and work,enjoying the lovely panorama before her. Floating mists often gaveher a constant succession of pretty pictures; now a sunny glimpse ofthe distant lake, then the church spire peeping above the hill, or aflock of sheep feeding in the meadow, a gay procession of youngpilgrims winding up the mountain, or a black cloud heavy with acoming storm, welcome because of the glorious rainbow and its shadowwhich would close the pageant.
Unconsciously the girl grew to feel not only the beauty but thevalue of these quiet hours, to find a new peace, refreshment, andhappiness, bubbling up in her heart as naturally as the brook gushedout among the mossy rocks, and went singing away through hayfieldsand gardens, and by dusty roads, till it met the river and rolled onto the sea. Something dimly stirred in her, and the healing spiritthat haunts such spots did its sweet ministering till the innocentsoul began to see that life was not perfect without labor as well aslove, duty as well as happiness, and that true contentment came fromwithin, not from without.
On the evening we speak of, she went to wait for Becky, who wouldjoin her as soon as the after-supper chores were done. In the littlecave which held a few books, a dipper, and a birch-bark basket forberries, Emily kept a sketching block and a box of pencils, andoften amused herself by trying to catch some of the lovely scenesbefore her. These efforts usually ended in a humbler attempt, and agood study of an oak-tree, a bit of rock, or a clump of ferns wasthe result. This evening the sunset was so beautiful she could notdraw, and remembering that somewhere in Becky's scrap-book there wasa fine description of such an hour by some poet, she pulled out theshabby old volume, and began to turn over the leaves.
She had never cared to look at it but once, having read all the bestof its contents in more attractive volumes, so Becky kept it tuckedaway in the farther corner of her rustic closet, and evidentlythought it a safe place to conceal a certain little secret whichEmily now discovered. As she turned the stiff pages filled with allsorts of verses, good, bad, and indifferent, a sheet of paperappeared on which was scribbled these lines in school-girlhandwriting:--
MOUNTAIN--LAUREL
My bonnie flower, with truest joy Thy welcome face I see, The world grows brighter to my eyes, And summer comes with thee. My solitude now finds a friend, And after each hard day, I in my mountain garden walk, To rest, or sing, or pray.
All down the rocky slope is spread Thy veil of rosy snow, And in the valley by the brook, Thy deeper blossoms grow. The barren wilderness grows fair, Such beauty dost thou give; And human eyes and Nature's heart Rejoice that thou dost live.
Each year I wait thy coming, dear, Each year I love thee more, For life grows hard, and much I need Thy honey for my store. So, like a hungry bee, I sip Sweet lessons from thy cup, And sitting at a flower's feet, My soul learns to look up.
No laurels shall I ever win, No splendid blossoms bear, But gratefully receive and use God's blessed sun and air; And, blooming where my lot is cast, Grow happy and content, Making some barren spot more fair, For a humble life well spent.
"She wrote it herself! I can't believe it!" said Emily, as she putdown the paper, looking rather startled, for she DID believe it, andfelt as if she had suddenly looked into a fellow-creat
ure's heart."I thought her just an ordinary girl, and here she is a poet,writing verses that make me want to cry! I don't suppose they AREvery good, but they seem to come right out of her heart, and touchme with the longing and the patience or the piety in them. Well, IAM surprised!" and Emily read the lines again, seeing the faultsmore plainly than before, but still feeling that the girl putherself into them, vainly trying to express what the wild flower wasto her in the loneliness which comes to those who have a littlespark of the divine fire burning in their souls.
"Shall I tell her I've found it out? I must! and see if I can't gether verses printed. Of course she has more tucked away somewhere.That is what she hums to herself when she's at work, and won't tellme about when I ask. Sly thing! to be so bashful and hide her gift.I'll tease her a bit and see what she says. Oh dear, I wish _I_could do it! Perhaps she'll be famous some day, and then I'll havethe glory of discovering her."
With that consolation Emily turned over the pages of the ledger andfound several more bits of verse, some very good for an untaughtgirl, others very faulty, but all having a certain strength offeeling and simplicity of language unusual in the effusions of youngmaidens at the sentimental age.
Emily had a girlish admiration for talent of any kind, and beingfond of poetry, was especially pleased to find that her humblefriend possessed the power of writing it. Of course she exaggeratedBecky's talent, and as she waited for her, felt sure that she haddiscovered a feminine Burns among the New Hampshire hills, for allthe verses were about natural and homely objects, touched intobeauty by sweet words or tender sentiment. She had time to build asplendid castle in the air and settle Becky in it with a crown ofglory on her head, before the quiet figure in a faded sunbonnet cameslowly up the slope with the glow of sunset on a tired but tranquilface.
"Sit here and have a good rest, while I talk to you," said Emily,eager to act the somewhat dramatic scene she had planned. Becky sunkupon the red cushion prepared for her, and sat looking down at theanimated speaker, as Emily, perched on a mossy stone before her,began the performance.
"Becky, did you ever hear of the Goodale children? They lived in thecountry and wrote poetry and grew to be famous."
"Oh yes, I've read their poems and like 'em very much. Do you know'em?" and Becky looked interested at once.
"No, but I once met a girl who was something like them, only shedidn't have such an easy time as they did, with a father to help,and a nice Sky-farm, and good luck generally. I've tried to writeverses myself, but I always get into a muddle, and give it up. Thismakes me interested in other girls who CAN do it, and I want to helpmy friend. I'm SURE she has talent, and I'd so like to give her alift in some way. Let me read you a piece of hers and see what youthink of it."
"Do!" and Beck threw off the sunbonnet, folded her hands round herknees, and composed herself to listen with such perfectunconsciousness of what was coming that Emily both laughed at thejoke and blushed at the liberty she felt she was taking with thepoor girl's carefully hidden secret.
Becky was sure now that Emily was going to read something of her ownafter this artful introduction, and began to smile as the paper wasproduced and the first four lines read in a tone that was halftimid, half triumphant. Then with a cry she seized and crumpled upthe paper, exclaiming almost fiercely,--
"It's mine! Where did you get it? How dar'st you touch it?"
Emily fell upon her knees with a face and voice so full ofpenitence, pleasure, sympathy, and satisfaction, that Becky's wrathwas appeased before her friend's explanation ended with thesesoothing and delightful words,--
"That's all, dear, and I beg your pardon. But I'm sure you will befamous if you keep on, and I shall yet see a volume of poems byRebecca Moore of Rocky Nook, New Hampshire."
Becky hid her face as if shame, surprise, wonder, and joy filled herheart too full and made a few happy tears drop on the hands so wornwith hard work, when they ached to be holding a pen and trying torecord the fancies that sung in her brain as ceaselessly as the softsough of the pines or the ripple of the brook murmured in her earwhen she sat here alone. She could not express the vague longingsthat stirred in her soul; she could only feel and dimly strive tounderstand and utter them, with no thought of fame or fortune,--forshe was a humble creature, and never knew that the hardships of herlife were pressing out the virtues of her nature as the tread ofcareless feet crush the sweet perfume from wild herbs.
Presently she looked up, deeply touched by Emily's words andcaresses, and her blue eyes shone like stars as her face beamed withsomething finer than mere beauty, for the secrets of her innocentheart were known to this friend now, and it was very sweet to acceptthe first draught of confidence and praise.
"I don't mind much, but I was scared for a minute. No one knows butMother, and she laughs at me, though she don't care if it makes mehappy. I'm glad you like my scribbling, but really I never think orhope of being anybody. I couldn't, you know! but it's real nice tohave you say I MIGHT and to make believe for a while."
"But why not, Becky? The Goodale girls did, and half the poets inthe world were poor, ignorant people at first, you know. It onlyneeds time and help, and the gift will grow, and people see it; andthen the glory and the money will come," cried Emily, quite carriedaway by her own enthusiasm and good-will.
"Could I get any money by these things?" asked Becky, looking at thecrumpled paper lying under a laurel-bush.
"Of course you could, dear! Let me have some of them, and I'll showyou that I know good poetry when I see it. You will believe if somebank-bills come with the paper the verses appear in, I hope?"
Blind to any harm she might do by exciting vain hopes in hereagerness to cheer and help, Emily made this rash proposal in allgood faith, meaning to pay for the verses herself if no editor wasfound to accept them.
Becky looked half bewildered by this brilliant prospect, and took along breath, as if some hand had lifted a heavy burden a little wayfrom her weary back, for stronger than ambition for herself was lovefor her family, and the thought of help for them was sweeter thanany dream of fame.
"Yes, I would! oh, if I only COULD, I'd be the happiest girl in theworld! But I can't believe it, Emily. I heard Mrs. Taylor say thatonly the VERY BEST poetry paid, and mine is poor stuff, I know wellenough."
"Of course it needs polishing and practice and all that; but I'msure it is oceans better than half the sentimental twaddle we see inthe papers, and I KNOW that some of those pieces ARE paid for,because I have a friend who is in a newspaper office, and he told meso. Yours are quaint and simple and some very original. I'm surethat ballad of the old house is lovely, and I want to send it toWhittier. Mamma knows him; it's the sort he likes, and he is so kindto every one, he will criticise it, and be interested when she tellshim about you. Do let me!"
"I never could in the world! It would be so bold, Mother would thinkI was crazy. I love Mr. Whittier, but I wouldn't dar'st to show himmy nonsense, though reading his beautiful poetry helps me ever somuch."
Becky looked and spoke as if her breath had been taken away by thisaudacious proposal; and yet a sudden delicious hope sprung up in herheart that there might, perhaps, be a spark of real virtue in thelittle fire which burned within her, warming and brightening herdull life.
"Let us ask Mamma; she will tell us what is best to do first, forshe knows all sorts of literary people, and won't say any more thanyou want her to. I'm bent on having my way, Becky, and the moremodest you are, the surer I am that you are a genius. Real geniusesalways ARE shy; so you just make up your mind to give me the best ofyour pieces, and let me prove that I'm right."
It was impossible to resist such persuasive words, and Becky soonyielded to the little siren who was luring her out of her safe,small pool into the deeper water that looks so blue and smooth tillthe venturesome paper boats get into the swift eddies, or runaground upon the rocks and sandbars.
The greatest secrecy was to be preserved, and no one but Mrs.Spenser was to know what a momentous enterprise was afoot. The girlssat absorb
ed in their brilliant plans till it was nearly dark, thengroped their way home hand in hand, leaving another secret for thelaurels to keep and dream over through their long sleep, for blossomtime was past, and the rosy faces turning pale in the July sun.
Neither of the girls forgot the talk they had that night in Emily'sroom, for she led her captive straight to her mother, and told herall their plans and aspirations without a moment's delay.
Mrs. Spenser much regretted her daughter's well-meant enthusiasm,but fearing harm might be done, very wisely tried to calm theinnocent excitement of both by the quiet matter-of-fact way in whichshe listened to the explanation Emily gave her, read the versestimidly offered by Becky, and then said, kindly but firmly:--
"This is not poetry, my dear girls, though the lines run smoothlyenough, and the sentiment is sweet. It would bring neither fame normoney, and Rebecca puts more real truth, beauty, and poetry into herdutiful daily life than in any lines she has written."
"We had such a lovely plan for Becky to come to town with me, andsee the world, and write, and be famous. How can you spoil it all?"
"My foolish little daughter, I must prevent you from spoiling thisgood girl's life by your rash projects. Becky will see that I amwise, though you do not, and SHE will understand this verse from myfavorite poet, and lay it to heart:--
"So near is grandeur to our Dust, So nigh is God to man, When Duty whispers low, 'Thou must!' The youth replies, 'I can!'"
"I do! I will! please go on," and Becky's troubled eyes grew clearand steadfast as she took the words home to herself, resolving tolive up to them.
"Oh, mother!" cried Emily, thinking her very cruel to nip theirbudding hopes in this way.
"I know you won't believe it now, nor be able to see all that I meanperhaps, but time will teach you both to own that I am right, and tovalue the substance more than the shadow," continued Mrs. Spenser."Many girls write verses and think they are poets; but it is only apassing mood, and fortunately for the world, and for them also, itsoon dies out in some more genuine work or passion. Very few havethe real gift, and those to whom it IS given wait and work andslowly reach the height of their powers. Many delude themselves, andtry to persuade the world that they can sing; but it is waste oftime, and ends in disappointment, as the mass of sentimental rubbishwe all see plainly proves. Write your little verses, my dear, whenthe spirit moves,--it is a harmless pleasure, a real comfort, and agood lesson for you; but do not neglect higher duties or deceiveyourself with false hopes and vain dreams. 'First live, then write,'is a good motto for ambitious young people. A still better for usall is, 'Do the duty that lies nearest;' and the faithfulperformance of that, no matter how humble it is, will be the besthelp for whatever talent may lie hidden in us, ready to bloom whenthe time comes. Remember this, and do not let my enthusiastic girl'swell-meant but unwise prophecies and plans unsettle you, and unfityou for the noble work you are doing."
"Thank you, ma'am! I WILL remember; I know you are right, and Iwon't be upset by foolish notions. I never imagined before that ICOULD be a poet; but it sounded so sort of splendid, I thought maybeit MIGHT happen to me, by-and-by, as it does to other folks. Iwon't lot on it, but settle right down and do my work cheerful."
As she listened, Becky's face had grown pale and serious, even alittle sad; but as she answered, her eyes shone, her lips were firm,and her plain face almost beautiful with the courage and confidencethat sprung up within her. She saw the wisdom of her friend'sadvice, felt the kindness of showing her the mistake frankly, andwas grateful for it,--conscious in her own strong, loving heart thatit was better to live and work for others than to dream and strivefor herself alone.
Mrs. Spenser was both surprised and touched by the girl's look,words, and manner, and her respect much increased by the courage andgood temper with which she saw her lovely castle in the air vanishlike smoke, leaving the hard reality looking harder than ever, afterthis little flight into the fairy regions of romance.
She talked long with the girls, and gave them the counsel all eageryoung people need, yet are very slow to accept till experienceteaches them its worth. As the friend of many successful literarypeople, Mrs. Spenser was constantly receiving the confidences ofunfledged scribblers, each of whom was sure that he or she hadsomething valuable to add to the world's literature. Her advice wasalways the same, "Work and wait;" and only now and then was a youngpoet or author found enough in earnest to do both, and thereby proveto themselves and others that either they DID possess power, or didnot, and so settle the question forever. "First live, then write,"proved a quietus for many, and "Do the duty that lies nearest"satisfied the more sincere that they could be happy without fame.So, thanks to this wise and kindly woman, a large number of worthyyouths and maidens ceased dreaming and fell to work, and the worldwas spared reams of feeble verse and third-rate romances.
After that night Becky spent fewer spare hours in her nest, and morein reading with Emily, who lent her books and helped her tounderstand them,--both much assisted by Mrs. Spenser, who markedpassages, suggested authors, and explained whatever puzzled them.Very happy bits of time were these, and very precious to both, asEmily learned to see and appreciate the humbler, harder side oflife, and Becky got delightful glimpses into the beautiful world ofart, poetry, and truth, which gave her better food for heart andbrain than sentimental musings or blind efforts to satisfy thehunger of her nature with verse-writing.
Their favorite places were in the big barn, on the front porch, orby the spring. This last was Emily's schoolroom, and she both taughtand learned many useful lessons there.
One day as Becky came to rest a few minutes and shell peas, Emilyput down her book to help; and as the pods flew, she said, noddingtoward the delicate ferns that grew thickly all about the trough,the rock, and the grassy bank,--
"We have these in our greenhouse, but I never saw them growing wildbefore, and I don't find them anywhere up here. How did you get suchbeauties, and make them do so well?"
"Oh, they grow in nooks on the mountain hidden under the tallerferns, and in sly corners. But they don't grow like these, and diesoon unless transplanted and taken good care of. They always make methink of you,--so graceful and delicate, and just fit to live withtea-roses in a hot-house, and go to balls in beautiful ladies'bokays," answered Becky, smiling at her new friend, always sodainty, and still so delicate in spite of the summer's rustication.
"Thank you! I suppose I shall never be very strong or able to domuch; so I AM rather like a fern, and do live in a conservatory allwinter, as I can't go out a great deal. An idle thing, Becky!" andEmily sighed, for she was born frail, and even her tenderly guardedlife could not give her the vigor of other girls. But the sighchanged to a smile as she added,--
"If I am like the fern, you are like your own laurel,--strong, rosy,and able to grow anywhere. I want to carry a few roots home, and seeif they won't grow in my garden. Then you will have me, and I you. Ionly hope YOUR plant will do as well as mine does here."
"It won't! ever so many folks have taken roots away, but they neverthrive in gardens as they do on the hills where they belong. So Itell 'em to leave the dear bushes alone, and come up here and enjoy'em in their own place. You might keep a plant of it in yourhot-house, and it would blow I dare say; but it would never be halfso lovely as my acres of them, and I guess it would only make yousad, seeing it so far from home, and pale and pining," answeredBecky, with her eyes on the green slopes where the mountain-laurelbraved the wintry snow, and came out fresh and early in the spring.
"Then I'll let it alone till I come next summer. But don't you takeany of the fern into the house in the cold weather? I should thinkit would grow in your sunny windows," said Emily, pleased by thefancy that it resembled herself.
"I tried it, but it needs a damp place, and our cold nights kill it.No, it won't grow in our old house; but I cover it with leaves, andthe little green sprouts come up as hearty as can be out here. Theshade, the spring, the shelter of the rock, keep it alive, you see,so it'
s no use trying to move it."
Both sat silent for a few minutes, as their hands moved briskly andthey thought of their different lots. An inquisitive ray of sunshinepeeped in at them, touching Becky's hair till it shone like redgold. The same ray dazzled Emily's eyes; she put up her hand to pullher hat-brim lower, and touched the little curls on her forehead.This recalled her pet grievance, and made her say impatiently, asshe pushed the thick short locks under her net,--
"My hair is SUCH a plague! I don't know what I am to do when I gointo society by-and-by. This crop is so unbecoming, and I can'tmatch my hair anywhere, it is such a peculiar shade of golden-auburn."
"It's a pretty color, and I think the curls much nicer than aboughten switch," said Becky, quite unconscious that her ownluxuriant locks were of the true Titian red, and would be muchadmired by artistic eyes.
"I don't! I shall send to Paris to match it, and then wear a braidround my head as you do sometimes. I suppose it will cost a fortune,but I WON'T have a strong-minded crop. A friend of mine got a lovelygolden switch for fifty dollars."
"My patience! do folks pay like that for false hair?" asked Becky,amazed.
"Yes, indeed. White hair costs a hundred, I believe, if it is long.Why, you could get ever so much for yours if you ever wanted to sellit. I'll take part of it, for in a little while mine will be asdark, and I'd like to wear your hair, Becky."
"Don't believe Mother would let me. She is very proud of our redheads. If I ever do cut it, you shall have some. I may be hard upand glad to sell it perhaps. My sakes! I smell the cake burning!"and off flew Becky to forget the chat in her work.
Emily did not forget it, and hoped Becky would be tempted, for shereally coveted one of the fine braids, but felt shy about asking thepoor girl for even a part of her one beauty.
So July and August passed pleasantly and profitably to both girls,and in September they were to part. No more was said about poetry;and Emily soon became so interested in the busy, practical lifeabout her that her own high-flown dreams were quite forgotten, andshe learned to enjoy the sweet prose of daily labor.
One breezy afternoon as she and her mother sat resting from a strollon the way-side bank among the golden-rod and asters, they saw Beckycoming up the long hill with a basket on her arm. She walked slowly,as if lost in thought, yet never missed pushing aside with a decidedgesture of her foot every stone that lay in her way. There were manyin that rocky path, but Becky left it smoother as she climbed, andpaused now and then to send some especially sharp or large onespinning into the grassy ditch beside the road.
"Isn't she a curious girl, Mamma? so tired after her long walk totown, yet so anxious not to leave a stone in the way," said Emily,as they watched her slow approach.
"A very interesting one to me, dear, because under that humbleexterior lies a fine, strong character. It is like Becky to clearher way, even up a dusty hill where the first rain will wash outmany more stones. Let us ask her why she does it. I've observed thehabit before, and always meant to ask," replied Mrs. Spenser.
"Here we are! Come and rest a minute, Becky, and tell us if you mendroads as well as ever so many other things;" called Emily, beckoningwith a smile, as the girl looked up and saw them.
"Oh, it's a trick of mine; I caught it of Father when I was a littlething, and do it without knowing it half the time," said Becky,sinking down upon a mossy rock, as if rest were welcome.
"Why did he do it?" asked Emily, who knew that her friend loved totalk of her father.
"Well, it's a family failing I guess, for his father did the same,only HE began with his farm and let the roads alone. The land usedto be pretty much all rocks up here, you know, and farmers had toclear the ground if they wanted crops. It was a hard fight, and tooka sight of time and patience to grub out roots and blast rocks andpick up stones that seemed to grow faster than anything else. Butthey kept on, and now see!"
As she spoke, Becky pointed proudly to the wide, smooth fields lyingbefore them, newly shorn of grass or grain, waving with corn, orrich in garden crops ripening for winter stores. Here and there wererocky strips unreclaimed, as if to show what had been done; andmassive stone walls surrounded pasture, field, and garden.
"A good lesson in patience and perseverance, my dear, and does greathonor to the men who made the wilderness blossom like the rose,"said Mrs. Spenser.
"Then you can't wonder that they loved it and we want to keep it. Iguess it would break Mother's heart to sell this place, and we areall working as hard as ever we can to pay off the mortgage. Thenwe'll be just the happiest family in New Hampshire," said Becky,fondly surveying the old farm-house, the rocky hill, and theprecious fields won from the forest.
"You never need fear to lose it; we will see to that if you will letus," began Mrs. Spenser, who was both a rich and a generous woman.
"Oh, thank you! but we won't need help I guess; and if we should,Mrs. Taylor made us promise to come to her," cried Becky. "She foundus just in our hardest time, and wanted to fix things then; but weare proud in our way, and Mother said she'd rather work it off ifshe could. Then what did that dear lady do but talk to the folksround here, and show 'em how a branch railroad down to Peeksvillewould increase the value of the land, and how good this valley wouldbe for strawberries and asparagus and garden truck if we could onlyget it to market. Some of the rich men took up the plan, and we hopeit will be done this fall. It will be the making of us, for our landis first-rate for small crops, and the children can help at that,and with a deepot close by it would be such easy work. That's what Icall helping folks to help themselves. Won't it be grand?"
Becky looked so enthusiastic that Emily could not remainuninterested, though market-gardening did not sound very romantic.
"I hope it will come, and next year we shall see you all hard at it.What a good woman Mrs. Taylor is!"
"Ain't she? and the sad part of it is, she can't do and enjoy allshe wants to, because her health is so poor. She was a country girl,you know, and went to work in the city as waiter in a boarding-house.A rich man fell in love with her and married her, and she took careof him for years, and he left her all his money. She was quite brokendown, but she wanted to make his name loved and honored after hisdeath, as he hadn't done any good while he lived; so she gives awayheaps, and is never tired of helping poor folks and doing all sortsof grand things to make the world better. I call that splendid!"
"So do I, yet it is only what you are doing in a small way, Becky,"said Mrs. Spenser, as the girl paused out of breath. "Mrs. Taylorclears the stones out of people's paths, making their road easier toclimb than hers has been, and leaving behind her fruitful fields forothers to reap. This is a better work than making verses, for it isthe real poetry of life, and brings to those who give themselves toit, no matter in what humble ways, something sweeter than fame andmore enduring than fortune."
"So it does! I see that now, and know why we love Father as we do,and want to keep what he worked so hard to give us. He used to sayevery stone cleared away was just so much help to the boys; and heused to tell me his plans as I trotted after him round the farm,helping all I could, being the oldest, and like him, he said."
Becky paused with full eyes, for not even to these good friendscould she ever tell the shifts and struggles in which she hadbravely borne her part during the long hard years that had wrestedthe little homestead from the stony-hearted hills.
The musical chime of a distant clock reminded her that supper timewas near, and she sprang up as if much refreshed by this pleasantrest by the way-side. As she pulled out her handkerchief, a littleroll of pale blue ribbon fell from her pocket, and Emily caught itup, exclaiming mischievously, "Are you going to make yourself finenext Sunday, when Moses Pennel calls, Becky?"
The girl laughed and blushed as she said, carefully folding up theribbon,--
"I'm going to do something with it that I like a sight better thanthat. Poor Moses won't come any more, I guess. I'm not going toleave Mother till the girls can take my place, and only then toteach, if I c
an get a good school somewhere near."
"We shall see!" and Emily nodded wisely.
"We shall!" and Becky nodded decidedly, as she trudged on up thesteep hill beside Mrs. Spenser, while Emily walked slowly behind,poking every stone she saw into the grass, unmindful of thedetriment to her delicate shoes, being absorbed in a new andcharming idea of trying to follow Mrs. Taylor's example in a smallway.
A week later the last night came, and just as they were parting forbed, in rushed one of the boys with the exciting news that therailroad surveyors were in town, the folks talking about the grandenterprise, and the fortune of the place made forever.
Great was the rejoicing in the old farm-house; the boys cheered, thelittle girls danced, the two mothers dropped a happy tear as theyshook each other's hands, and Emily embraced Becky, tenderlyexclaiming,--"There, you dear thing, is a great stone shoved out ofYOUR way, and a clear road to fortune at last; for I shall tell allmy friends to buy your butter and eggs, and fruit and pigs, andeverything you send to market on that blessed railroad."
"A keg of our best winter butter is going by stage express to-morrowanyway; and when our apples come, we shan't need a railroad to get'em to you, my darling dear," answered Becky, holding the delicategirl in her arms with a look and gesture half sisterly, halfmotherly, wholly fond and grateful.
When Emily got to her room, she found that butter and apples werenot all the humble souvenirs offered in return for many comfortablegifts to the whole family.
On the table, in a pretty birch-bark cover, lay several of Becky'sbest poems neatly copied, as Emily had expressed a wish to keepthem; and round the rustic volume, like a ring of red gold, lay agreat braid of Becky's hair, tied with the pale blue ribbon she hadwalked four miles to buy, that her present might look its best.
Of course there were more embraces and kisses, and thanks and lovingwords, before Emily at last lulled herself to sleep planning aChristmas box, which should supply every wish and want of the entirefamily if she could find them out.
Next morning they parted; but these were not mere summer friends,and they did not lose sight of one another, though their ways layfar apart. Emily had found a new luxury to bring more pleasure intolife, a new medicine to strengthen soul and body; and in helpingothers, she helped herself wonderfully.
Becky went steadily on her dutiful way, till the homestead was free,the lads able to work the farm alone, the girls old enough to fillher place, and the good mother willing to rest at last among herchildren. Then Becky gave herself to teaching,--a noble task, forwhich she was well fitted, and in which she found both profit andpleasure, as she led her flock along the paths from which sheremoved the stumbling-blocks for their feet, as well as for herown. She put her poetry into her life, and made of it "a grand sweetsong" in which beauty and duty rhymed so well that the country girlbecame a more useful, beloved, and honored woman than if she hadtried to sing for fame which never satisfies.
So each symbolical plant stood in its own place, and lived itsappointed life. The delicate fern grew in the conservatory amongtea-roses and camelias, adding grace to every bouquet of which itformed a part, whether it faded in a ball-room, or was carefullycherished by some poor invalid's bed-side,--a frail thing, yet withtenacious roots and strong stem, nourished by memories of the rockynook where it had learned its lesson so well. The mountain-laurelclung to the bleak hillside, careless of wintry wind and snow, asits sturdy branches spread year by year, with its evergreen leavesfor Christmas cheer, its rosy flowers for spring-time, its freshbeauty free to all as it clothed the wild valley with a charm thatmade a little poem of the lovely spot where the pines whispered,woodbirds sang, and the hidden brook told the sweet message itbrought from the mountain-top where it was born.
The End.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends