goin' to say? She didn't suppose Mr.Green cared for southernwood. There was a great root of it round bythe back-door here; 'twas dretful sweet, and she had to set it over,Miss Bute said. He could have a piece off the root, just as well asnot; only she didn't s'pose he cared for such common doin's assouthernwood.
It appeared that southernwood had been Mr. Green's favorite plant fromhis cradle, as one might say. If there was one thing he did hankerafter, it was southernwood; but he couldn't see her grubbin' up thingsthat way. If he knew where the bush was, he could get it himself, justas easy--
Betsy would not hear of that! Besides, _she_ was dretful pernicketyabout folks comin' into the yard. There! Betsy didn't know what she'dsay this minute, if she was to see her talkin' to him; but for her,Betsy's, part, she had allers been brought up to be neighborly. Bijechimed in eagerly. 'Twas dretful lonesome, specially come evenin's. Tosee her ("her" in this case meant Miss Duty) settin' there, knittin'for dear life, and never a word to say to any one--'twas enough tomake any one feel homesick. Not but what she was good, in her way,only 'twas a tormentin', up-stiff kind o' way. Drivin' the cow, too!It did seem as though he should fly, sometimes, drivin' that critterall alone from pasture. His sister allers went with him, to home; hes'posed that's why it seemed so lonesome now. Where did _she_ (oh, NewEngland! oh, poor little hard-worked pronouns! this "she" was MissResigned Elizabeth),--where did she keep her cow? Seem's though--
Seems, Bijah? Nay, it is!
What are cows and country roads made for, I should like to know, savefor the pleasure of youths and maidens? Miss Duty's cow was kept inthe humplety field, as the children called it, a mile and more fromCuttyhunk, the pasture where Miss Resigned Elizabeth's good Brindlespent her peaceful days; yet it was strange to see the intimacy thatsprung up between these two creatures in the next few weeks.
At a certain turn of the road, Brindle would stop and fall to croppingthe grass by the road-side, swinging her body about and switching theflies off comfortably; while her driver, loitering a few steps behind,pulled the early golden-rod or plaited sweet rushes together,apparently absorbed in her task, and only from time to time castingshy glances down the other road, which led off, over hill and dale, toCuttyhunk. But, by-and-by, down this other road would come anothercow,--not a happy, leisurely cow like Brindle, but a breathless andmuch-tormented beast who had been hurried out of all nature ever sinceshe left the pasture, absolutely goaded along the way by urgent wordand gesture, by shakings of her tail, and apostrophes mostunreasonable.
"Go lang, you old snail! what you gormin' all over the road for? Wantto sleep here, do ye? Of all slow critters ever I see, you're the beat'em; cold molasses kin gallop, 'longside o' you."
Poor Molly did not understand this kind of thing from one with whomshe had been so friendly-intimate as Bije. She made such haste as shecould, poor beast, and it was a great relief when she saw Brindle'shorns round the corner; for now, she had already learned fromexperience, the hurry was over. Now she and her bovine friend couldtake their way along the grassy road, as slowly as any cow could wish.Bijah, who had come panting along the road, breathless with haste andrepeated adjurations, became suddenly compassionate. The poor beastswere tired, likely. 'Twouldn't do to hurry them; anyhow, 'twas bad forthe cream. Oh, Bijah! Bijah! what would your pious grandmother say, ifshe were witness of your barefaced duplicity on these occasions?
But what occasions they were! It was a pretty sight, if one had beenthere to see. The road was pretty, to begin with,--the Indiana road,with its overhanging birches and elms, and the fringe of daisies andgolden-rod along the sides. The evening light was soft and sweet, asif the sun had put on his tenderest gleam to smile on Betsy; and asthe twilight deepened, in rosy gray softening into amethyst, did notthe moon come up, all clear and silver, just to look at Betsy? Thewhite light shimmered on the girl's soft hair, and deepened thedimples in her round cheek, and cast strange gleams into her lovelyeyes. Was the other Juliet fairer, I wonder? Possibly; but, on theother hand, she could not drive cows, nor milk them, either. Surelythe other Romeo was not more passionate than this dark-eyed boy in hisbrown jean overalls, walking so sedately by Juliet's--I should say, byBetsy's--side. Bije felt as if the whole world were light and fire;the fire within him, the light without. He thought that Betsy gavelight to the moon, not the moon to Betsy. He did not wish he were aglove upon that hand, for the little brown hand had never worn aglove, except once, at the wedding of a friend. The gloves were athome now, wrapped in silver paper; she meant to wear them at her ownwedding. He did not swear by yonder blessed moon, because he was notin the habit of swearing. "By gosh!" was the only expletive Bije everused, and he would not have thought of using that in a lady'spresence. The fire within burned him; but what sweet pain it was! Ifhe had only had the gift of language, this poor, dear Bije, whatfloods of glowing words he would have poured out! How he would havepraised her, the beloved one, and praised the night, and blessed themoon, and the stars, and the old cows, and everything that came nearhim and his happiness! But if he had spoken, Bije could only have saidthat it was a sightly night, and Betsy would have responded that itwas so.
One of these sightly nights Bijah found voice, if not language. Theywere pacing slowly along, letting Brindle and Molly have it all theirown way. It was the full of the moon, the harvest-moon, and all theworld lay bathed in silver light. They had been silent for a while,through sheer peace and content in each other; but suddenly Bije brokeout with, "I wish't I had a snow-apple!"
"Why, how you startled me!" Betsy responded. "Why do you want asnow-apple now, of all times in the world? They won't be ripe for nighonto two months, Bije."
"Do you know what I thought of, first time ever I see you?" the boywent on, with apparent irrelevance. "Well, I thought of a snow-applethen, and thought you looked the most like one of anything in theworld."
"Well, of all!" said Betsy.
"I did! There's nothing else as I know of that's so red and white, andso round, and so--so sweet, Betsy."
"Bijah Green, how you do talk!" Betsy cried. "It's time we was gettin'home with these cows." But she did not quicken her pace, and Bijenoticed that she did not.
"Do you know what I'd do if you were a snow, Betsy?" Bije came alittle nearer, and his voice grew husky.
"Eat me, presume likely!" said Betsy, with a little laugh thattrembled as if it were full of tears.
"No!" cried the boy. "I'd pick you off the tree, though, and have youfor my own, Betsy. I'd carry you off, and run away with you, sure'sthe world. Should--should you mind much, Betsy?"
But for once Betsy had nothing to say. She could only hang her head,and look more and more like the snow-apple, as Bije's arm stole roundher, and his hand clasped hers. Little Betsy! She was only eighteen;four years older, it is true, than that creature of fire and perfumeover in the other Verona, but still almost a child, according to NewEngland ideas. The moon looked down, and probably thought she had seenthe same sort of thing ever since she was an asteroid, and thesechildren were like all the rest. But what a mistaken old moon shewas,--for there had never been any one like Betsy, and certainly noone like Bijah, since the world began; and it was all perfectly newand strange, and--and--they had a very pleasant walk home.
* * * * *
"A bird of the air shall carry the matter!" What bird of all that flycould have had so bad a heart as to tell Miss Resigned Elizabeth ofwhat was going on? Did a raven come on heavy-flapping wings, andcroak it in her ear? Or was it a magpie, or a chattering jay? Surelyno respectable robin or oriole would think of such a thing! But,however the news reached her, it was there, and the golden time wasrudely broken in upon.
Coming in one evening all flushed and radiant with her new joy, thechild was met by her mistress (only we do not say "mistress" in NewEngland; we say "she" or "her," as the case may be),--she was met, Isay, by Miss Resigned Elizabeth, wearing so stern a face that theblush froze on Betsy's cheek, and the smile fled from the corners ofher mouth, where it always loved
to linger.
"Betsy Garlick, where have you been with that cow?"
Betsy faltered. "Been with her, Miss Bute? I've been bringing her backfrom pasture, same as I allers do."
"Same as you allers do? And how's that? Betsy Garlick, ain't youashamed to look me in the face, and you goin' with that low-livedfeller over t' the other house?"
But at this Betsy caught fire. "He ain't no low-lived feller!" shecried, the blushes coming back again in an angry flood over cheek andbrow and neck. "You can scold me all you're a