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FORM NO. 609; 7.31.36: SOOM.
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A
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Woodland Wooing
ihcJ^.^j. 9R^.
BY
^Jj i-
* t
ELEANOR PUTNAM
/
n
d
H<^
CENTI0..L. LIB.
•1
BOSTON
ROBERTS BROTHERS
1SS9
Pl5
Copyright, 1889
By Arlo Bates
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JSntbersitn ^rfss
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge
X
TO
PROFESSOR GEORGE LEONARD VOSE.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
WHAT BETTY SAYS. yi J
There were five heads in all, and I was tired
enough of looking down upon them. It was all
Bob's fault, and the longer I stayed there the
angrier I grew. No living boy can be so aggra-
vating, anyway, as Bob Greenleaf when he tries,
and he generally tries. I had been staring
down upon those heads for quite two hours,
and only one who has tried it can have any idea
how stupid people can be when one sees only
the tops of their heads. There was Lucretia's
yellow head, as sleek as a canary bird's; Jo-
sephine's bleached puffs and coils, — ** the nest of
a crazy rat," Bob calls it; there was Theodore's
g A WOODLAND WOOING.
head *' running o'er with curls," — how I do
detest a curly-headed man ! — and Theodore's
friend, with no more hair than a mouse, and
what little he did have gray; and, last of all,
there was Bobby's rough brown tousle. My
own hair is just like Bob's, and I hate my own
hair. I almost hated Bobby too, just then, for
putting me in such a fix.
It all came about in this way. Bob wanted
his gun-case mended. Most boys mend their
own gun-cases, but Bob does n't, and his gun-
case always seems to have a rip in It if I
happen to be planning a specially good time.
I was just starting for the horse-chestnut tree^
with "A Pair of Blue Eyes" and some early
sops-of-wines in my apron, when out bounced
Bob from the wood-shed and wanted me to
"just take a stitch" for him. Of course, I
told him I could n't stop, and, of course, he
said I was mean, and banged the wood-shed
door. I did n't mind, for I thought he 'd get
A WOODLAND WOOING.
over it right away; but he played me a trick
that I won't forgive him for one while. To
sit there eating Aunt Jane's best pound-cake
and grinning while I was up in that miserable
tree, and not daring to move a finger for fear
somebody would look up and see me !
I had only "been up in my perch about half
an hour when Josephine Foster came through
the gate in the hedge, with her brother and
the New York friend who arrived the night be-
fore. Bob was in the hammock, and Lucretia
was sewing on the piazza. I should have
thought they might have found other places
enough to take the callers, but no, they must
needs bring their chairs out under the horse-
chestnut, as if there were no other tree in the
yard. Bob knew I was up in the tree, and was
glad of it. He thought it was a joke : any silly
thing passes for a joke with Bob. Then, as if
things were not bad enough already. Bob had
to propose an out-of-doors tea.
jQ A WOODLAND WOOING.
Now Bob Greenleaf may deny it all he likes,
but of course he did that on purpose to be
disagreeable. He knew that they would be a
full hour over their tea, and he knew that I
should not dare to come down before them all.
I shall always be sure that Bob did it on
purpose.
I knew they would all agree, and they did.
Lucretia and Theodore and Bob set off for the
house after the tea things, and Josephine began
to entertain her visitors by an account of the
oddities and peculiarities of the Greenleaf family.
Josephine was always spiteful in a mild way.
She owned that Lucretia was pretty, but was
afraid that she was rather self-conscious. She
told the visitor — whose name is Mr. Hamlin —
that Aunt Jane was " good-hearted, but queer; "
that Father was a model of an eccentric old
village doctor ; that Bob was dreadfully young
of his age, one of the sort of boys who ought
to be caged till he was twenty, — I rather agreed
A WOODLAND WOOING. 1 1
with her there, for the time ; and that he had
a twin sister, Betty, who was as bad as he, — one
of the real old-fashioned hoydens who '* set one's
teeth on edge, don't you know." \
I did not at all agree with hei* there, and
I call it rather mean of Josepmine to give a
stranger such a bad impression of me. Even
Aunt Jane admits that I have improved since
last summer, and Lucretia says that when my
hair is n't rough, and I have my pink lawn gown
on, I am really quite nice. Josephine never did
like me ; but she was checked in her description
of my charms by the appearance of a proces-
sion from the house. First marched Bobby,
with a little table whose legs shut neatly under
it like a dead beetle's ; Lucretia came next
with a tray ; and Theodore followed with a pair
of willow baskets.
If there is one thing I like more than another,
it is a picnic of any size or kind, and Aunt
Jane is famous through the whole village for
12 A WOODLAND WOOING.
her cakes and dainties. Every instant I grew
hungrier, and every instant I grew angrier with
Bob, who sat down below cheerfully eating far
more jellied chicken than was at all polite of
him, and rejoicing in unlimited almond cake
and damson preserves. I abominate tea as a
general thing; but even tea seemed pleasant
and desirable as the fragrance rose to me
through the horse-chestnut branches.
How I did long to throw my book at Bob's
head, and startle the placid party lingering so
long' and keeping me cramped and aching in
that hateful crotch !
They finished their tea at last, and Harriet
Tuell came and marched away with the dishes,
but still Josephine showed no inclination to go.
The village boys began to pass the gate on the
way to drive home the cows. Tommy Hilborn
patted by on leathery brown feet, and was
stopped at the lane gate by Aunt Jane with a
basket of food for his mother.
A WOODLAND WOOING. j^
Now the cows began to come home, cropping
along the roadside as they came. Then Father,
in his ramshackle old - sulky, creaked up the
lane.
I was fairly giddy with sitting so long in that
abominable tree, and I could have shaken Jo-
sephine until her teeth chattered for sitting
there and talking inanely about a young lady
she met at Newport who told her that she
looked like Nilsson. Nobody was paying the
least attention to her, and I longed to tell her
so. People never do pay much attention when
Josephine is talking.
The katydids were singing in the branches all
about me. I felt like a katydid myself, up there
among the big, damp leaves. I was tempted
to cry out " Bobby-did," in loud and startling
tones.
Old Ben Walton crossed the rough common
and clambered toilsomely up the wide church
steps. In a moment the bell rang out for
J. A WOODLAND WOOING.
evening prayer-meeting, and Josephine at last
really rose to go.
" Mother will want to go to the vestry," she
said, '' so I suppose we ought not to stay any
longer."
Even then they stopped to chatter at the
gate, but I did not mind that. My only thought
was to get down from that hateful tree. Bob
came slowly across the grass to help me down
and to jeer at me. I threw my book and
shawl at him and came scrabbling ungrace-
fully down. I was giddy, chilly, hungry, and
cross.
'* I '11 pay you up for this," said I, savagely.
" Don't think I '11 forget it. I shall just tell
Father, and see what he '11 say to your keeping
me up in that tree two mortal hours, you hateful
thing, you see if I don't."
" I don't know how you thought I knew you
were up there," said a strange voice with an
injured tone.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
15
"I — why, of course I thought you were
Bobby," I stammered, with my face ablaze.
" I am John HamHii," said the voice, an
amused voice this time, ** and I came back for
my walking-stick. Good evening, Miss Betty."
1 6 A WOODLAND WOOING,
II.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
Of course Betty had to plunge right into the
middle of things ; she always does. Everybody
knows that the preface comes first of all; and
I was going to write the preface, but Betty had
to start right in and write her chapter without
saying a word to a fellow about it, so now the
preface has to come in here where it does n't
belong at all.
You see, we had always planned to write a
novel, only we could not agree about a plot. I
wanted an Indian story, and had no end of ex-
citing hunts and fights to put in ; but Betty was
bound to have a Moorish romance called the
" Secret of the Alhambra," with a muff of a girl
named Zara, the Tearful, and heaps of minstrels
and dungeons and guitars and everything else
A WOODLAND WOOING. ly
silly and romantic. So we could n't seem to
agree anyhow, and at last one morning we had
a downright fuss over it. I was mowing the
lawn, and Betty was following me about, trying
to make me give in, and I stopped the lawn-
mower so often to talk to her that it was ten
o'clock before I knew it, and I was late at my
lessons with Dr. Rice.
" There, Betty Greenleaf," said I, " now you Ve
gone and made me late, and the Doctor '11 be
cross as snaps, and Father '11 blame me for not
finishing the lawn, when it is all your fault.
You may write your old novel about nothing
but love from beginning to end, for all I care.
I shall have nothing at all to do with it."
'' All right, then, don't," said Betty ; and I
flung into the house for my books and went off
without another word.
I took the short cut through the Fosters'
orchard because I was late, and I found Mr.
Hamlin lying in a hammock reading and smok-
1 8 A WOODLAND WOOING.
ing. He really is not a bad sort of person at
all; doesn't think he knows all creation, like
Ted Foster, but treats a fellow with some re-
spect. I rather like him. He put his head
over the edge of the hammock as I came alon^r,
and said that he 'd been fishing in a place I told
him of.
"I caught forty-five," said he, "but I wish
you'd go with me to-morrow, and we'll try' it
farther up the brook. I 've a couple of rods, if
you 'd care to try one of the new sort."
Of course, you know, I was crazy to get hold
of one of those rods : they are regular stunners ;
but of course I was n't going to let him see it,
so I only said I would n't mind going if I waked
up in time. Then he asked me if my sister was
at home. I thought, of course, he meant Lu-
cretia, and I told him she had gone over to
Jonesport shopping with Aunt Jane.
" I meant the other," said he, — " Miss Eliza-
beth."
A WOODLAND WOOING. jg
" Oh," said I, rather crossly, *' she 's some-
where about the yard ; and see here, her name
is Betty. Nobody '11 know who you 're talking
about if you say ' Miss Elizabeth.' "
Then I remembered how late I was, and off
I went. Of course, anybody can see that it
was n't my fault, but when I got home Betty
had to pounce on me like a thousand of brick.
She had finished mowing the lawn herself, and
~ went to put the mower away in the barn,
thinking that she was right good-natured to do
t, when down she came from the hay-loft and
::ook my very breath away, pitching into me
about something that I never did at all. Betty
always did have that way with her.
** Now, Bob Greenleaf," said she, '* you 've
been and done it again, and you know you did
it on purpose."
''Did what?" asked I, for I honestlv had n't
the remotest idea what she meant.
" You know what," said she. " Don't pretend
20 A WOODLAND WOOING.
to be SO innocent, Bob Greenleaf. I '11 pay you
up, you see if I don't. First was that horrid
old tree, and now you go and send him to find
me mowing the lawn with Aunt Jane's old green
barege sun-bonnet on ! "
Of course I could n't help laughing, for Betty
does look like such an awful guy in Aunt Jane's
old green bonnet ; but after all, I did n't know
she was mowing the lawn, and I 'm sure I was n't
to blame for the sun-bonnet.
"You know how I hate to be laughed at,"
said Betty, almost crying, '' and he was laughing
at me all the time; I could see it, though he
was so dreadfully polite. ' That is rather hard
work for you, Miss Betty; won't you have an
assistant?' Ugh! I hate him!"
Then all of a sudden she began to laugh, and
I joined in, and we both laughed, and then we
both felt better natured. I told Betty that she
was a trump to finish the lawn for me, and that
I 'd give in about the story.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 21
" No," said she, ** I 've thought of a better
plan than that. We will start out on something
new. You see, Bobby, you '11 go off to college
in the fall, and this is our last summer of being
together quite in the old way; now let us write
a sort of journal, — take turns writing chapters,
and tell everything that happens just as it comes
along. Of course it won't sound romantic, but
it will be good fun." \
So that is how we settled it. Betty's will be
better than mine, because she always had more
of a knack at writing than I had.
This is the way we came to wTite the book,
but it is Betty's fault that the preface comes in
here, instead of where it belongs.
22 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
III.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
It was raining in torrents and by bucketfuls,
in great gray sheets, and with sweeping gusts.
The orchard was drenched, the gutters were
overflowing, and all the spouts gushed like
fountains. The apple-trees writhed and strug-
gled in the wind, and if one closed the eyes
it was far easier to make the time seem like
September than the August it was.
All day long it had been pouring in torrents,
and all day long I had been sewing with Aunt
Jane. By two o'clock I could endure the mo-
notony no longer; I felt that it was simply
impossible to look for five minutes more at
Aunt Jane's trim, placid figure and the seem-
ingly endless yards of cambric she was hem-
ming; to hear for another second the "crick!
A WOODLAND WOOING. 33
crick ! " of her rocking-chair as she swung mo-
notonously to and fro. I was inwardly con-
vinced that I should go quite mad if I stayed
to hear her say once more, as she had said every
ten minutes since breakfast, "Well, I declare,
it does n't seem to hold up much, does it?
If it was September I should think this was
the Line storm." Once she had varied this to
ask Lucretia, "You don't think this could be
<
the Line storm, do you, Lucretia, dear, come
by mistake in August instead of September?"
To which Lucretia replied very placidly and
sweetly, " Oh, no. Aunt Jane."
Lucretia was working a bunch of marvellous
rushes upon a square of gray linen. She was
the very picture of unruffled serenity. Lucretia
is not one of those easy and untidy mortals
who take advantage of a rainy day to indulge
in old gowns, horrible slippers, and general
untidiness. Were the sun shining in his bright-
est splendor, Lucretia's attire could be no
24
A WOODLAND WOOING.
neater, her pretty feet no daintier, her hair no
more satiny in its smoothness.
But I was this afternoon hardly less tired of
Lucretia than of Aunt Jane. I was weary of
her pink-and-white profile relieved against the
rain-splashed window-pane ; of the swinging
vase of coral in her ear; of her slender right
hand with its gold thimble and turquoise-and-
pearl ring. I was tired of the hateful day, and
I had kept quiet as long as my nature could
be made to submit to it. I jumped up sud-
denly, with a start that nearly frightened Aunt
Jane out of her chair, and left the room in my
usual undignified manner.
Half an hour later I presented myself at the
door of the Snuggery, as we always have called
the room which serves Father as an office, and
which has been the general haunt of us all in
childish days. I had a basket of wood and
my apron full of apples, and these I expected
to commend me to the good graces of Bobby,
A WOODLAA'D WOOING.
25
whom I found ensconced in one of the wide
window-seats, with his feet on a chair, studying
his Latin.
" Look, Bob," I said joyfully, " I 've been
out in the orchard to the sops-of-wine trees.
I knew I should find a lot of apples shaken
down in this wind, and the grass was full of
them ; just see what beauties ! "
" Did n't you get wet through? " asked Bob,
helping himself from my offered apron.
" Just drenched ; but don't say anything
about it before Aunt Jane, or she '11 waAt to
dose me. Harriet has scolded me, and I 've
changed my things ; so that is all over now.
I 'm going to make a regular Christmas fire."
"A very jolly idea," answered Bob, " only let
me make it. Your fires always fizzle, or else
they act as if they were possessed, and snap
over all creation."
" Sometimes they behave," I am compelled
by the spirit of self-defence to return, as I scat
26 A WOODLAiJD WOOING.
myself on the rug and hand him the necessary
kindhngs, the sticks of yellow birch, and the
great unctuous pine-cones.
I cannot dispute his statement with much
vehemence ; for it is quite true that though
my fires do generally manage to burn, they
have a frantic, foolish habit of hissing and
exploding, and sending unexpected showers of
sparks all about. But then neither Lucretia
nor Aunt Jane can induce a fire to blaze
decently, no matter what wealth of kindling
they expend upon it. Father and Bob build
great, hot-hearted fires that are superb to watch
and to hear roar up the wide chimney.
*' There," remarked Bobby, with a just ap-
preciation of his own work, " that is something
like a fire, Betty, and don't you think it is n't."
It was indeed a most glorious fire, and blazed
and roared right royally. Without the rain
still poured in gray, blinding sheets, but - the
dear old Snuggery was so pleasant that I no
A WOODLAND WOOING. 27
longer minded the rain. Bob and the fire
filled every dissatisfied longing of my heart.
I sat looking into the glowing core of the
great hearth-fire, and fell into a happy dream,
— mooning, as Bob is accustomed to say.
Bob did not choose, however, to leave me
long to my sweet content. While he had
piled the fire, I had suspended six apples from
nails long ago driven for this purpose on the
under side of the mantelpiece ; and the deli-
cious odor they gave out as they slowly twirled
around, growing plump and breaking out here
and there with little glistening bubbles, was
suggesting to me all sorts of tempting dishes
which were about to be served to me in the
character of Queen Elizabeth visiting Kenil-
worth, when Bob broke in upon the fancy with
a most ill-timed question.
*' I say," he demanded, ''you haven't fin-
ished that book of Virgil, have you ? "
*' No, Bobby."
28 A WOODLAND WOOING.
" But you promised Father — "
" It is vacation now. Don't bother, Bobby."
" But you were to begin in the Fall all
square, and you don't want it hanging over
you while we are camping out. You 're fifty
lines or so — "
** From vox inJicesit in faucibus!^ I finished
glibly.
" Oh, that 's no landmark," returned Bob ;
" his everlasting old voice was forever inJicBsit-
ing in faiicibiis. Anyway, you only lacked
about fifty lines of finishing. Why don't you
get your book and finish while I 'm plugging?
Then afterward we '11 play cribbage."
** All right," I said. " This only means that
you can't bear to see me comfortable while
you have to study; but I don't mind."
So I abandoned the banquets of Kenilworth,
brought my battered Cooper from the book-
case, establishing myself on the rug with the
lexicon between Bobby and me; and for half
A WOODLAND WOOING.
29
an hour the silence was seldom broken save
by the dash of the rain on the windows, the
pleasant snap of the fire, and the persuasive
gurgle of the apples as they twirled and roasted
on their strings.
** Just find the rules for scansion in the gram-
mar, won't you, Betty?" Bob said at length.
*' This line is all scanned out there as an ex-
ample, and I want you to hold the book, and
hear me prove the scansion, so as to see if I
guess right."
The place being found. Bob contracted his
brows for a mighty effort, — a preliminary the
necessity of which was but too apparent to me,
who never could learn how to scan, and could
not even see how anybody else could.
** Now there 's a, long by authority," began
Bob. •' O short before two vowels."
" No, before a diphthong."
"Well, short before a diphthong; e long
by position.
M
20 A WOODLAND WOOING.
*' No, by authority."
*' E long by authority; a short by authority."
** No, Bob, by position*."
*M short by position ; ce ehded for euphony."
** Why, no. Bob ; it is n't ehded here."
" Then I 'd hke to know how in thunder you
scan it. I 'm sure I can't, it hitches so. Oh,
wait; it isn't ehded. I see. O is long before
a final syllable."
" It is short here, Bobby, by authority."
** There now, by thunder ! " Bob burst out
explosively, '* I 'd like to know if there 's any
rhyme or reason in scansion, any way; and
what's the good of it. Now I gave a good
square guess at every vowel in that verse, and
not one man Jack of 'em all was right. I say
it's all blamed foolishness."
" It is no worse than translation," I re-
turned. "Just listen to this stuff. I've got
the rest of it, but I can't make head or tail
out of this."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
3T
''Well, what is it?" demanded Bob, with
the air of one to whom Fate has already done
its worst.
'' ' Him likewise perchance furious alike im-
pelling, and the spoils of the Egean deity what-
soever by means of madness notwithstanding
to be about to be sacrificed.' There, that is the
very best I can make out of it."
** Well," returns Bob, with brotherly candor,
"you ai'e di muff. That's plain enough. Don't
you see, ' he also declared himself about to be
sacrificed, an offering to the insatiate Egean
deity; not caring to live moreover impelled by
furious madness, but ready alike to finish and be
forgotten.' That is as easy as rolling off a log."
'' Oh, of course, when you have been all over
it," was my rather ungrateful answer.
" Shy your Virgil over here," Bobby returns,
unmoved ; " and I '11 put up the books while
you get the cribbage-board."
And for the thousandth time we settled our-
selves on the rug, with the cribbage-board on
32
A WOODLAND WOOING.
the floor and a little foot-stool between us. I
wonder whether I shall ever be able to play
cribbage without feeling myself back in the
Snuggery, even though I should really be at
the ends of the earth ; and whether, too, I shall
ever be able to shake off the feeling that I am
going to be beaten, with the desperate resolve
not to be, which always comes over me when
Bob begins to deal the cards. Three times his
red pegs had covered the course, while my
white ones had not once got in sight even of
victory. He was growing most aggressively
cheerful, and I was becoming correspondingly
sober, with a tendency to be red in the face
and short in my tones, when a step was heard
from the hall.
** There 's Lucretia," I had just time to say
fretfully, when her face appeared around the
corner of the door.
"Theodore has come," she announced; "and
Mr. Hamlin is with him."
" Oh, bother ! " was Bob's inhospitable com-
A WOODLAND WOOING. ^^
ment; ''why couldn't they stay at home such
a day as this?"
''Josephine isn't very smart," I added, re-
heving my vexation at being beaten on the
first thing that presented itself, " if she can't
entertain her own company. He seems to be
forever coming over here."
" Josephine has a bad headache. Won't you
come in, Betty? I wish you would; it looks
so for you always to keep away."
" How does it look ? " I began ; " I am —
Bob Greenleaf, it is not your crib ! You call
it your crib all the time ! "
Lucretia sighed and withdrew, while Bob,
who could always prove that any deal was his,
proceeded to give me the worst hand that one
could imagine. And to complete my vexation,
a knave was turned on the cut.
"Two for his heels," called Bob, cheerfully;
" I shall have to take that queen out of the
crib. I put it there by mistake."
34
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" Bob," I cried hotly, " if you do I will not
play one minute longer."
And at this interesting moment the door
opened, and Lucretia, followed by Theodore
and Mr. Hamlin, came walking into the Snug-
gery quite as if it was the place where company
was habitually received.
" It is so damp in the parlor," she explained,
*' and the open fire here is so cheerful."
''Why, this is no end jolly," chimed in Ted.
"Quite like old times, isn't it, Lucretia?"
Bob and I exchanged inhospitable glances,
and without a word removed our places from
the rug to the window-seat, while Lucretia
busied herself in finding seats for her guests.
The mention of old times seemed to fire Ted,
and he rattled away with Lucretia; so that
Mr. Hamlin, being largely left out of the con-
versation, had no choice but to turn to Bobby
and me for entertainment. He came and
looked over my shoulder, and when I said
A WOODLAND WOOING.
35
rudely enough, "I wish you wouldn't; you
make me nervous ! " he only answered, as
coolly as possible, " You want to discard your
ten-spot." I did n't want to discard my ten-
spot, but somehow or other I meekly did it ;
and the result was that I beat Bob at last.
After that I had to be more civil to him, and
I must say that he was entertaining. He told
a lot of stories, and he told them well ; so that
the first thing I knew, I was actually offering
him a share in our baked apples, which by this
time filled the Snuggery with a most appetizing
fragrance. Ted and Lucretia ate theirs by the
fire, while Bob and Mr. Hamlin and I had a
sort of tea-party in the wide window-seat; and
on the whole it was well that they came over
in the rain, for it was rather jolly, if Bob and
I were interrupted, and if Lucretia did say
afterward that she was ashamed of me when
she came in.
36
A WOODLAND WOOING.
IV.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
It is all very well for Betty to say it was
jolly to have Mr. Hamlin come, for she
would n't have beaten me till this time if he
had n't stood behind her and told her how
to play. She never says a word about the
sequence he put her up to. But I 'm sure I
don't care; I can beat her any time. Just
now I can't stop to write, though, for Fred
and I are going up to the Long Brook, and
he '11 be here in just about one half a
jiffy.
A WOODLAND WOOING. -.j
V.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
. I THRUST my head in at the door, and saw
Lucretia twisting up the soft yellow plaits of her
hair before the cottage mirror on her dressing-
table.
''Theodore is coming up the walk," I said,
"and Mr. Hamlin. Isn't it good luck that
Josephine has a headache and can't eo?"
"Why, Betty Greenleaf ! " Lucretia exclaimed
reproachfully.
" Well," I returned, " I don't want her to be
ill, of course ; but you know yourself, Lucretia,
that five is a horrid number, and I should have
had to tag after, myself."
"Why don't you dress?" Lucretia asked,
lightly shaking out her blue lawn gown.
38
A WOODLAND WOOING.
** I can't tell what to wear," I answered dis-
mally. " I had my pink muslin on yesterday,
you know, when Bobby and I were caught in
the thunder shower. Things always happen
somehow to my gowns. I don't see why they
never do to yours, Lucretia."
" I am careful, I suppose," returned Lucretia,
absently.
She was sorry my gown was ruined, but she
was very busy deciding whether to wear tiny
gold bells or pink coral roses in her ears.
"I suppose," I ventured, ** that you couldn't
leave me at home, Lucretia?"
*' Of course not," replied my sister. " Go out
to luncheon alone with two gentlemen ! Who
ever heard of such a thing?" She gave a final
flutter before the glass and turned. ** It is a
pity your gray linen is so plain," she said; *' but
wear your cherry ribbons, and you won't look
very ugly."
With this consoling remark Lucretia tripped
A WOODLAND WOOING. 39
away, leaving me to rush through my toilet
and hasten downstairs with an unbecomingly
flushed face and the consciousness of being
badly dressed. As I reached the hall, Aunt
Jane beckoned me into the dining-room. On
the table were a basket of cakes and a tray of
tall glasses filled with pink shrub.
'' It was the rule your Aunt Caroline sent
from Germany," began Aunt Jane in her irrele-
vant way. " You know these are the little
almond biscuit. I want you to carry them in,
my face is so red from the oven."
"They will laugh," I said heartlessly; ''I
am sure they will laugh. Aunt Jane. You
know we are going to have luncheon at Mrs.
Sparhawk's."
" I do not think it is very nice of her," re-
joined Aunt Jane, plaintively, '' to try to change
everything in Arrowsic. Why should she dine
at seven o'clock instead of one? — Will you
carry in the tray, Elizabeth, or must I ? "
40 A WOODLAND WOOING.
Upon this, of course, I bore the cakes and
shrub into the parlor. Ted grinned broadly.
Lucretia looked apologetic, and Mr. Hamlin
positively aghast. He ate his almond cake, but
eyed his shrub dubiously.
'* If you detest it," I said softly, with a glance
toward Theodore and Lucretia at the piano, —
" if you detest it as Father does, and you dare
not hurt Aunt Jane's feelings by leaving it, I
will pour it out of the window into the flower-
ing currant bush."
He passed me his glass readily.
" I abhor it," he said ; and as I emptied the
goblet from the window, he bestowed on me a
very friendly smile.
The delicacies being now disposed of, we left
the house ; Lucretia and Theodore walking be-
fore, Mr. Hamlin following perforce with me.
"Who are. the Sparhawks, anyhow?" asked
Mr, Hamlin, rather crossly, striking with his
walkiji^-stick at the red thistles which were
A WOODLAND WOOING.
41
shiftlessly allowed to grow along the way.
" Everywhere I go I hear them quoted, men-
tioned, and talked about. I saw Mrs. Sparhawk
once, but I 've never seen her husband."
** Colonel Sparhawk," I explained, '' is an
army officer retired on half-pay. I think he
has malaria. He wears a single eyeglass, and
snaps his cane and tells long stories about the
Peninsula. He is always in a great hurry,
though he never does anything but begin pic-
tures which he never finishes."
'' And Mrs. Sparhawk?"
" Well, Mrs. Sparhawk is either an American
who pretends to be English, or an English
woman who pretends to be American. I can't
tell you about her. She is not like anybody
else."
" Is it an archery meeting? "
*' Yes, only the whole Club does n't lunch
there. Mrs. Sparhawk was telling Lucretia
about her colored cook's frozen strawberries.
42
A WOODLAND WOOING.
and so she invited us down to taste some, and
asked Ted to bring you."
*' I did n't want to come," said Mr. Hamlin,
ungratefully; **I hate visiting."
" The children are funny," I suggested ; '' you
may like them."
Lucretia turned a reproachful face upon me,
and at the same moment I heard a joyous
puffing at my side.
*' Now, Betty Greenleaf," said Lucretia, ele-
gantly, ** you 've gone and brought that
dog."
** I did n't bring him," I said, doing my best
to look severely at the waggish brown eyes
which were raised to mine. ** He followed us.
He knows he is doing wrong."
"Woof!" said Ned, experimentally, with his
eyes fixed on my face, and the suspicion of a
wag thrilling his tail.
" Go home ! " said Lucretia, in her most
judicial manner.
A WOODLAND WOOING. .^
*' Go home, sir ! " added Theodore, sharply.
Ted loves neither my dog nor me.
I added my commands to the others, but, to
confess a truth, Ned's strong point is not obedi-
ence. He eyed me reproachfully for a moment,
then with a sudden leap pretended to regard
the whole affair as an enormous joke. He
*' charged " an instant, made a sudden dash fbr
a wandering bit of paper, shook it violently, then
turned his eyes on me, as if he would like to
know why I did not laugh. As a matter of
course, I did laugh, whereupon Ned considered
his point gained, and, quite mad with delight,
tumbled over himself repeatedly as he rushed
ahead of us down the street.
The Sparhawks live in a very ornate cottage
set far back on an untidy lawn. The hedge is
ragged, and the stone-paved walk bordered with
a wild snarl of syringa bushes and Tartarean
honeysuckle. There were once elaborate flower
beds, shaped like crescents and diamonds ; but
. . A WOODLAND WOOING.
neglect has conquered the original intention,
and box, striped grass, and a shiftless vine
which Harriet calls *' creeping Jinny," run riot
everywhere.
Doors and windows were all open, and gay
Italian awnings fluttered in the slight breeze.
Upstairs we heard a shrill voice singing, " Pull
for the Shore." Downstairs a piano was being
banged upon by some child. From round the
corner came a high confusion of cackling fowl,
shouting of children, and the regular " clucking "
beat of a spoon in a cooking bowl. On the ter-
race, from which the grass is much worn, as if
by the frequent sliding down of children, a
gorgeous peacock stood with his tail spread.
The front door, though open, was inhospitably
barricaded by chairs turned down upon their
sides. A scarlet and gray parrot sat meditating
upon the balustrade post, and a small black boy
lay asleep on the floor, with his funny round
head in the full glare of the sunshine.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" There is no bell-knob," said Theodore,
looking helplessly about.
'' No," replied Lucretia, '' it was broken last
winter; but there ought to be a dinner-bell
about here somewhere. They kept one standing
on the piazza for visitors to use."
At the sound of our voices a small black girl,
with her wool standing up in a hundred little
horns, peeped from the parlor door and fled
wildly up the front stairs. Meantime, after
some hunting, Ted discovered the bell hidden
in the long grass and gave it a vigorous ring.
It produced no effect, however, for its sound
was drowned entirely, as around the corner of
the house came a procession consisting of Rod-
ney Sparhawk, six years old; Bevis, aged four;
a Newfoundland dog, and a minute gray kitten.
Rodney wore a trailing coat of his father's, and
a dandins sword scabbard. He had hung a
tin steamer about his neck, upon which he
played a deafening tattoo with two iron spoons,
46
A WOODLAND WOOING.
and he walked backward, shouting: ''Left!
Left! I left a good home when I left." His
regiment consisted only of Bevis, in exceedingly
brief white petticoats, long pink hose, a pair of
large brogans, and an old chapeau above his
pretty baby face and yellow curls. Bevis ap-
peared to be trumpeter, beside constituting the
band, and alternately blew upon a small tin
horn and shouted : " Fourther July ! Fourther
July ! " with a volume of voice amazing from
so small a person.
At sight of our party the children paused,
and a moment of blissful silence ensued. Then
Bevis spoke, —
** Tant dit in. Our tars are in the door.
Must n't touch. Doin' to pay wiz 'em bime
by."
With this warning the procession again took
up its line of march, joyfully augmented by
Ned, uninvited but jovial, and with shouts of
"Left! Left!" and "Fourther July!" wound
A WOODLAND WOOING. 47
across the lawn, through a gap in the hedge,
and disappeared down the street.
In the hush which followed their departure,
an unctuous voice came from the direction of
the beating spoon, —
" Si, ' got you rule out'n some cook book,' si,
a '11 be boun',' si. 'Jus' wish ye could oncet
eat a rale chick'n patty. Some o' my puff paste
and chick'n done up in cream,' si ; ' I believe
ye 'd be a better Chris'n ef ye could jus' taste
one o' my chick'n patties,' si. Thar, 'clar for 't,
Mis' Sparrock, I 's jus' that free with her, I
was so .^ "
Laughter followed, — a lady-like ripple and
an oily, rich chuckle, — in the midst of which
Theodore again rang the dinner-bell.
'' I suppose that is the children," a clear voice
said, *' but you might just look. Aunt Judy."
At this a shining black face, under a gay
plaid turban, looked from a door at the end of
the hall.
48 A WOODLAND WOOINC.
"■ 'Clar for 't ! " exclaimed the owner, coming
briskly forward, with a jovial smile of welcome
which displayed her beautiful white teeth, " ef
't aint Miss Greenleaf ! Tought 't was likely
dem no-'count chil'n. Dere alius ringin' de
bal."
She cleared away the chairs, and touched the
sleeping black boy on the rug with her foot.
" You, Sam," she said easily, " come off dat
flo', and go 'long 'bout you business. Don' yer
stay yere no mo' whar yer don' b'long at.
D'yer min'?"
The boy, at her thrust, curled up like a touch-
me-not, and rolled softly away under the stairs,
while the old woman showed us into the parlor
and disappeared.
It was a long room, this parlor ; indeed, there
were two rooms, divided by a curtain of faded
red velvet, and the polished, bare floors were
strewn with rugs of dull, soft tints. This was a
scandal to most of the good Arrowsic matrons,
A WOODLAND WOOING. 49
who believed it better to dispense with a parlor
entirely, unless one was able to carpet it. The
four windows were wide open, and the lace
draperies hung outside as if somebody had in-
tended to prepare the room for sweeping, and
abandoned the idea. On the centre-table was
a shallow bowl full of exquisite violets, a riding
whip, a pair of soiled white gauntlets, an open
copy of '' Sintram " in the original,, a sponge,
and a bonbonniere in the form of a silver slipper.
There were fine etchings on the sage-tinted walls ;
and everywhere, on chairs, tables, ottomans, and
all about the floor, leaning against the walls and
the chair-legs, were the Colonel's paintings in
fifty stages of incompletion. A palette occupied
the piano-stool; the piano was decorated with
writing materials and half-emptied wine-glasses;
and on the hearth a small monkey sat, eating
cake and watching us with his little bright eyes.
Hardly a seat was unoccupied by books, fans,
or embroidery, so we stood about rather stupidly.
50
A WOODLAND WOOING.
Lucretia tried to look politely unconscious, and
frowned terribly at Theodore, who was openly
entertained. Mr. Hamlin stood by a window,
and examined with much interest the name of
the man who sold him his straw hat. After a
season of silence, a voice called from an upstairs
window, —
''Did anybody come. Aunt Judy? Here I
am, if you are looking for me."
Upon this. Aunt Judy issued from the carriage
house, crossed the lawn, came in the front door,
and puffed noisily upstairs.
'' 'Clar for 't ! " she exclaimed, " done been
ebberywhar to fine yer. Ben all tro' de house
an' de barns an' de garding. Rosalby, she 's
done gone to hunt ye in de strawb'ry bed, an'
Sam, he 's done gone out to de hen-house.
Whar ye been hid to?"
"Why, I ran up the other stairs," was the
reply.
After this followed whisperings, some sup-
A WOODLAND WOOING.
51
pressed laughter, and a good deal of running
to and fro. There was calling for *' Almira,"
and '* little; black Sam;" there was a crash of
breaking china, and the excited barking of a
dog. After some time, Mrs. Sparhawk's voice
exclaimed, —
" Good heavens ! Then I must have left it
downstairs. Run, Rosalba, and get it somehow,
before any of them see it. What? Why, so it
is. How stupid ! "
After this came a short silence, then the swish
of skirts on the bare oak stairs, and in came
Mrs. Sparhawk, perfectly dressed, perfectly
cordial, perfectly at her ease, and apparently
sublimely unconscious of the noisy house, the
untidy rooms, or the length of time she had
kept us waiting.
** How simply angelic of you all to come and
see me this morning ! " she exclaimed cordi-
ally. *' I have been absolutely dying of ennui.
I told the Colonel that if this direful stupidity
, C2 A WOODLAND WOOING.
continued we should really have to be divorced
for the sake of variety. Three years I was
at Tehuantepec, Mr. HamUn, and positively
it was not so dull as Arrowsic. There, at
least, the natives were forever killing one
another, and one was always on the qui vive
against centipedes."
Lucretia's formal, polite little greeting was
quite lost in this flow of words ; and Theodore
and Mr. Hamlin and I grinned inanely, and did
not attempt to speak.
" The Colonel and I endured each other
Guite as long as we could," continued Mrs.
Sparhawk, airily, *' and then he went down to
sketch the intervale meadows, and I was driven
to gossip with Aunt Judy. Do sit down, if
you can find enough empty chairs. Aunt
Judy ought really to have sent Rosalba in
to set things to rights. I dare say she may
have done so, but the child will always play
on the piano instead of dusting — not that I
A WOODLAND WOOING. r^
blame her. I 'd do the same myself, I 'm
sure."
Our hostess laughed cheerfully, put up her
eyeglass, which was always falling down, and
swept across the room, knocking over several
pictures and an Indian jug with her train. She
tilted up a low arm-chair and emptied it of a
tiny Spanish poodle who had entered the room
with her.
" Cherubino," she said, " you are a nasty, sel-
fish creature; did you know it, little beast?"
She sank into the velvet depths and continued
talking easily.
" Is it not strange that a dog will be so
intensely selfish? You may trust Cherubino
always to secure this chair for his nap, — quite
the softest and easiest chair in the whole house,
I assure you, — and yet this little pig will calmly
take it without a thought that another might
enjoy it as well as he. Ah, well! One must
take them as they are created. I suppose one
54
A WOODLAND WOOING.
can't expect to find dogs with the finer feeHngs
of human beings, can one, Mr. HamUn?"
By this time we had all succeeded in finding
seats, and Lucretia and I had become shame-
faced under the awful conviction that Mrs. Spar-
hawk had entirely forgotten that she had ever
invited us to come to luncheon. The injured
Cherubino was being forced to beg for choco-
lates from the silver slipper, which he did
sulkily and without enthusiasm. Suddenly Mrs.
Sparhawk turned.
'' You have come to luncheon," she said,
laughing. " Now do not think I entirely forgot
it, for that is not so; but I talk so much that
you might think me volatile. The Colonel was
speaking of your coming at the breakfast table
this morning, — positively, — and Aunt Judy is
making chicken pate. Cherubino, you rascal,
don't stand so one-sided! I declare, though,
I had forgotten that the Archery Club met here
this afternoon ! I do hope they '11 remember to
A WOODLAND WOOING.
55
fetch a target. The children have quite de-
stroyed ours, Httle vandals."
She boxed Cherubino's ears lightly, and lean-
ing back in the chair, put on her glasses and
settled her white gown.
" I abominate archery," she declared. *' It
murders one's wrist in such a manner, and then,
one' never can hit the nasty target, one must
stand so far away; beside, does n't it strike you,
Mr. Hamlin, that they use very small targets in
Arrowsic?"
" Minute," agreed Mr. Hamlin, seriously.
" However, I think Miss Dudley and young
Greenleaf would hit in any case; and if you
will all pardon me, I should say the rest of
the Club would miss a target as large as a
cart-wheel."
** It is a nasty club," assented Mrs. Sparhawk.
" By the bye, Mr. Hamlin, I wonder of whom
you constantly remind me. I should say it was
somebody in China. I spent ten mortal years
56
A WOODLAND WOOING.
in China, and your face somehow reminds me
of Hong-Kong."
Somebody once added up the years that Mrs.
Sparhawk had spent in various spots on the
globe, and found that, according to her own
confession, she must at present be between
eighty-five and ninety years of age.
" I have never been in China," began Mr.
Hamhn, with that feeHng of vague fooHshness
one always has when one's face is remarked
upon, when steps sounded on the piazza, and
Colonel Sparhawk, with his easel, tin color-box,
and white umbrella, came into the room.
He is a man of middle height, inclining
strongly to stoutness, of a florid complexion
and pompous bearing, but with a very affable
manner, a leaning toward gallantry, and a deep
voice, rather husky from good living, — the
last person one would select for an invalid ;
yet his retirement was due to malarial fevers,
and he is popularly said to be dogged by a
A WOODLAND WOOING.
57
gaunt and chilly bogy who only waits a bad
season or the like opportunity to pounce upon
him.
" This is delightful," he declared, as he greeted
us ; "a charming surprise. After all, surprises
are the spice of life."
Mrs. Sparhawk laughed and adjusted her
eyeglass.
" Now, my life," she said, " do not pretend
that we were not speaking of the pleasure at
breakfast, because you know we were!'^
'* True, very true," briskly rejoined the Col-
onel; ''most assuredly, herzliebchen, but I'm
sure the young ladies will pardon the mistake
of an old soldier. I remember that one morning
when we were on the Isthmus, it was intensely
warm, not a breath s1?irring, and some of the
natives had — "
" Not now, my own darling," interrupted Mrs.
Sparhawk, rising; "it just occurs to me that I
have been horribly remiss. These young ladies
58
A WOODLAND WOOING.
have had no chance to lay aside their hats and
gloves. Really, liebchen, I shall throttle that
wretched monkey of yours if he continues to
glare at me in that offensive manner. He is
uncommonly nasty to-day."
" Always as you say, my own," said the
Colonel, as he gallantly held the door open for
us to pass out.
Mrs. Sparhawk deposited us in a big, sunny,
untidy chamber, where she left us with the in-
formation that we should find the rouge in the
upper bureau drawer. Lucretia turned upon
me with a horrified face.
'' She thinks we paint ! " she exclaimed ; " and
she never expected us to luncheon. She had
forgotten all about it."
" She got over it nicely."
" I had the greatest mind to go home," said
Lucretia, tragically; "only I didn't know what
to say, and I was afraid of making a bad matter
worse."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
59
" Pooh ! " I replied unconcernedly, " why
should you care? She does n't. I don't mind
a bit."
"You are always getting into fixes," retorted
my sister, severely. " You are used to them,
and I am not. Where is the towel ? "
There was none to be found, but this was a
trifle ; and where one had ivory-backed brushes,
pink Sevres boxes, gold-topped perfume flasks,
and satin pincushions, how could one grumble
at an empty ewer, no pins, and a total lack of
towels ?
In the parlor we found Rodney and Bevis.
The regiment was disbanded, and they were
playing with the monkey and partaking of
rations of seed-cakes, of which they had a
wonderful supply.
" Bevis, my man," said the Colonel, who
adored his children, *' come here and speak to
these charming young ladies. Let them see
you give the officers' salute."
6o ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
But alas for pretty Bevis ! He proved upon
closer inspection to be both dirty and tousled.
His yellow curls were in wild confusion, there
was a horrible blue bruise above one eye, and
a red gash on his left cheek.
'' Why, Bevis ! " exclaimed the Colonel, with
solicitude, '* you have hurt yourself badly. You
are a brave little man not to cry, but how did it
happen? Tell papa.- My hfe, pardon me, but
will you look at Bevis?"
Mrs. Sparhawk was talking with Theodore
about Morris wall papers. She put up her
glasses and regarded Bevis for an instant with
a bored expression. She gave a little French
shrug.
" I see nothing the matter," she said, ** ex-
cept that his face is unconscionably dirty.
You may be q^te certain, mon ami, that he
would cry if he were hurt. I never knew
him to restrain himself from mere motives of
delicacy,"
A WOODLAND WOOING. 5i
" Pooh ! " sneered Rodney, somewhat envious
of the sensation that Bevis was making. '' He
is n't hurted any 't all. He 's only a ninjun ;
he painted hisself out o' the little silver tubes
upstairs."
" But you look shockingly," declared the
Colonel. ** I am really mortified that these
nice young ladies should see you. Come with
me, both of you. We must go at once and
find Almira ; " and the gallant Colonel led his
dishevelled sons away.
Mrs. Sparhawk watched their departure with
the dispassionate mien of one having no manner
of personal interest in the affair.
" The poor Colonel," she said. " What a
bother children are, to be sure ! Did it ever
occur to you, Mr. Hamlin, that they are like
teeth? They begin to make trouble as soon
as they enter the world, and one is always
tormented by them until one is rid of them."
She opened and closed her fan, and then added
52 A WOODLAND WOOING.
swiftly: "Now do not think I am so inhuman
as to mean until they die; of course I mean
until they are married."
At this moment the little black boy an-
nounced that luncheon was ready, and Colonel
Sparhawk joined us.
The luncheon was quite as incongruous as
everything else in that singular household.
Delicate gold and lilac china and old India ware
were side by side with bits of ironstone. The
linen, though torn, was richly embroidered.
There was an epergne of Sevres where lovely
rosy cupids rioted among lilies and ferns. The
Colonel barbecued thin slices of ham upon a
silver blazer, the chicken pates were served in
tin dishes, the coffee pot had no handles and
very little nose. The cookery, however, was
marvellous. Not Harriet's choicest triumphs,
nor the most secret of Aunt Jane's ancestral
receipts, could equal that delicacy of seasoning,
those fine and mysterious flavors, that exquisite
A WOODLAND WOOING. 63
and melting " turn " to which each dish was
brought.
About midway of the meal the door was
pushed open by Bevis, angelic in white and
azure, his curls like spun gold, and his rosy
little face cleared of its war paint.
" Comin' to eat wid you," he announced
winsomely.
'' Oh, no, you are not," replied his father.
" You will have your bread and milk as usual
in the nursery."
A small cloud crossed the placid heaven of
Bevis's face.
''Bread an milt is nasty," urged he, sweetly;
" Bevis wants storbies, lots o' storbies, an' cakes
an' tarts."
'' Go away, Bevis," said the Colonel, briefly.
*' Don't want to g'way," smiled Bevis ; " want
to come in an' eat wid you."
" Bevis," demanded his father, " do you wish
me to take you to Almira?"
64 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
Apparently Bevis did not, for he at once
began a hasty retreat, and catching his foot in a
rug, fell to the floor, where he lay howling
lustily. Instantly Mrs. Sparhawk looked up
from her strawberries and put down the sugar
sifter. She rose from the table and swept
tempest-like across the room to clasp the wail-
ing Bevis in her arms. The Colonel became
conscience-stricken.
*' My own love," said he, " has he really hurt
himself? What ails him ? "
She turned and faced her husband with the
air of a tragedy queen, her head thrown back
and the child close to her shoulder.
" Oh, nothing, Colonel Sparhawk," she ex-
claimed vehemently ; *' a mere trifle, too light
to be even spoken of. Pray go on with your
luncheon. My child has fallen and killed him-
self. He is dying; that is all. I see plainly
that it is not of the slightest consequence to
you."
A WOODLAND WOOING. 55
The Colonel looked half amused and half
distressed.
" I want to be to de tabul," sobbed the dying
Bevis.
** And so you shall, my liebhng," said his
mother.
She established him at her side, and smoothed
out the peach-colored satin ribbons at her belt.
No May morning was ever blander than her
unruffled face.
"Now, why is it," smiHngly demanded she,
regarding Mr. Hamlin over the blue jar of
Chinese sweetmeats she began serving, — *'why
is it that these cumquots remind me of you, just
as Hong-Kong seems to do?"
" My heart," ventured the Colonel, '' how
irrelevant you sometimes are ! "
'' Limkin ! " exclaimed his wife, reproachfully.
" Limkin," the form into which the black cook
had corrupted liebcken, is one of Mrs. Spar-
hawk's many names for the Colonel.
66 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
'* Well, but are you not? " pursued the Colonel,
playfully.
" I don't suppose, llmkin," said Mrs. Spar-
hawk, much aggrieved, " that you have the
slightest idea how much fault you find with me."
'' My life," exclaimed the conscience-stricken
Colonel, '' to find a fault in you would be
impossible." .
** Then I wish you would not appear to do
so," pouted Mrs. Sparhawk.
" My own love," protested the Colonel, '* on
my honor I never will again."
*
Matters being thus adjusted, Mrs. Sparhawk
went on serving the cumquots with a pair of
curious silver tongs, while Bevis beside her
revelled in berries and cream, as absolutely for-
gotten by his mother as if he had slept for ages
in an Egyptian catacomb.
Very soon another step, Rodney's this time,
was heard in the hall, and Rodney's head was
thrust in at the door.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
67
*' I want to be to the table too," he said.
"You cannot come, you untidy child," said
his mother, eying him with strong disfavor.
** But you let Bevis," urged Rodney, with
vague ideas of justice seething in his childish
brain.
''Bevis is clean and lovely, and you are a
nasty little gypsy," said Mrs. Sparhawk. " Go
away at once, or I will tell Joe to run the lawn-
mower over you."
" If you do," replied the undaunted Rodney,
by no means behind his mother in the invention
of direful threats, — "if you do I will turn into
a bear and chew off your head and all your
fingers. Then how '11 you feel?"
At this moment the black woman came in
with the ices.
" Don' yer min', honey," she said, with unc-
tuous sympathy; " jes' you come long o' you
ole Aunt Judy an' see wat she done made
yer."
68 A WOODLAND WOOING.
The fickle mind of Rodney being thus di-
verted, he clattered briskly across the room and
disappeared.
" Really," laughed Mrs. Sparhawk, " I never
saw the equal of Aunt Judy. She has been
with me ever since Rodney was a baby, and
she is a faithful soul, but the way she spoils
those children is abominable. If she says no,
she does not mean no, and of course the boys
are aware of it. She has n't a shadow of firm-
ness, not a shadow. No, Bevis, not another
berry to-day, not one."
" I had seven, five, free," pleaded Bevis, plain-
tively. " I want a hunnerd."
" You have had already more than five
hundred, you little gourmand."
'' Peese, peese ! " said Bevis, holding out his
plate with both hands.
*' Bevis," demanded his mother, '* when I say
no, do I mean it ? "
"No," replied Bevis, boldly; "you say no.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
69
and den you say ' don't hoover,' and den I go
an' do it."
Mrs. Sparhawk laughed heartily.
'* What will that child say next?" she asked.
" Colonel, do give him some berries ; he cer-
tainly deserves them."
''When I lived in Baltimore," began Mr.
Hamhn, joining in the laugh, "I used to
know a — "
" Baltimore," interrupted Mrs, Sparhawk.
"There! I know all about it now. Hone-
Kong and the cumquots and everything. It
is that Judge Hamlin. Limkin, don't you re-
member tnat Judge Hamlin we met in Hong-
Kong? He was going round the world for
his health, or else he had ruined his health in
going round the world; anyhow, he afterward
wrote a book on ' Eastern Jurisdiction/ and he
lives in Baltimore. Do you know him, Mr.
Hamhn?"
^o
A WOODLAND WOOING.
*' He is my uncle," replied Mr. Hamlin,
quietly. v
Mrs. Sparhawk put on her glasses and re-
garded the young man with a new interest.
" You look like him," she said ; ** it is not
the name only which made me think of him.
We owe you even more than the hospitality
due to the ordinary visitor to Arrowsic. Your
uncle entertained us many times in his beau-
tiful home in Baltimore."
She was rising from the table as she spoke.
The earliest of the archery arrivals was an-
nounced, and she can hardly have caught the
reply of Mr. Hamlin, —
" I shall be quite content to waive any honors
given me on my uncle's account. My own dues
as Mr. Foster's friend will content me," he said
rather stiffly.
_i
A WOODLAA^D WOOING. ■ ^j
VI.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
The other day at Mrs. Sparhawk's — I mean
when our Archery Club met there — we made
a jolly old plan, if we can only put it through.
Our Archery Club is a queer affair anyway;
and I did n't much blame Hamlin for lau«;hin2",
for some of the girls do shoot worse than words •
can tell. Josephine Foster is so afraid of snap-
ping her wrist that she acts like a perfect muff;
and Lucretia is rather afraid of her hands, too,
though she shoots exactly according to rules,
as she does everything else. Betty never hits
the target, though I never can just tell why,
and she always loses her arrows. Emily Dud-
ley is the only girl who is much good at shoot-
ing, and the men are not so much better than
the women. As for me, I can hit the gold
72
A WOODLAND WOOING.
often enough ; but I never get any credit for it,
because I don't hold my bow according to rule.
Mr. Harris says he would rather hold his bow
correctly and never hit the target, than to hit
the gold and hold his bow as I do.
Well, that afternoon, you know, we seemed
to be shooting rather worse than usual; and
somebody — Hamlin, I think it was — happened
to say that it would be a bad look for us if
we had nothing to eat except what we could
shoot. Then some one else said that we
could shoot things enough if we were only off
in the woods ; and then Ted Foster said that
we might try the plan when we went up to
Sippican.
We have a Sippican party every season, and
sometimes we camp out for a whole month.
We have big water-proof tents, and we build a
stone fireplace. We find perch and blueberries
on the mountain as big as grapes — at least, of
course^ I mean the perch are in the pond.
A WOODLAND WOOING. y-^
Sippican is the Indian name for Clear Water;
and there's a pond and a mountain, and it's
the completest place to camp out in that you
ever saw. You have no end of fun up there.
Sometimes it rains, and the tents leak, and the
fire won't burn, and you pretend you are cast
away on a desert island ; and you play all sorts
of pranks, and go trouting up the brook, and
have tableaux and tell stories in the evenings ;
and the days are so short, and Lucretia is
shocked because you eat so much, and every-
thing is just as jolly as it can be.
So this year we 're going to try the new plan.
Of course it all began in fun, but most every-
body has agreed to it, and it will be fun enough.
Aunt Jane is sure we shall starve ; but Fred
Harris and I are sure that we can shoot squir-
rels and quail and partridges enough for the
whole party — there aren't any game laws at
Sippican. There used to be bears up there,
but I don't suppose you could scare one up
74
A WOODLAND WOOING.
now. I 'd just like to meet a bear, though !
Would n't I just send an arrow ping through his
heart, and we 'd have bear-steaks for supper at
Camp Sippican !
I was almost afraid that Father would n't let
me go, because I 'm studying for the fall ex-
aminations ; but Aunt Jane luckily took it into
her head that I looked pale — though I know
it was only because the green blinds were shut
— and Betty put in a good word for me. So
Father has given in, and I'm going; and if we
don't just have a famous time, then my name
is not Bob Greenleaf !
A WOODLAND WOOING.
75
VII.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
"The shay is ready," said Harriet, " and the
young man is waitin'."
She folded her arms severely, and stood
watching me with the disapproving air which
seems to be the special attribute of old house-
keeper-domestics who have known one from
childhood.
" No need to prink yourself out any great,"
she remarked rather caustically; ** you won't
meet nobody but cattle, and as for the young
man, I don't think he 's one of the sort to take
notice."
I made no direct reply, for whether Mr. John
Hamlin '* took notice " or not was of far less
consequence to me than the fact that Bob had
basely turned me over to a stranger, simply
76
A WOODLAND WOOING.
because he wanted to go off on one of his
innumerable fishing excursions with Fred
Harris.
*' And for my part," continued Harriet, ** if
it was necessary for your par to go flighting
off to Portland, it seems 'f you need n't go
rampaging about the country with strange
young men."
"That's Bob's fault," I returned, picking up
my gloves. " Father expected him to go ;
and as for Mr. Hamlin, I 'm sure it 's kind of
him to be willing to drive me about with the
medicines that Father must send."
" Probably you '11 get 'em all mixed higgledy-
piggledy with your talkin'," sniffed Harriet,
following me down the shallow old stairs; but
she was prevented from uttering further fore-
bodings by reaching the open door, just outside
which was Judge Peters's loose-jointed ram-
shackle chaise, drawn by the gaunt old sorrel
mare, *' Jane Savage."
A WOODLAND WOOING. yy
Mr. Hamlin with cheerful alacrity helped me
to a seat.
"Now we '11 see how a civil engineer can run
a medical expedition," he said. '' Are we all
ready?" .^
We were, but apparently Jane Savage was
not. She was deeply engaged in gazing at
Harriet, who had just made a tumultuous ap-
pearance at the door, — a vision of long, waving
arms and nodding feather duster. She looked
like a fury, but she was only expelling the flies
which had feloniously entered. As soon as
the green door was closed, Jane Savage started
of her own free will, and taking her own pace,
presently left the village behind her.
At the foot of the hill a shallow, stony brook
crosses the road, and just beyond, nestling in a
little valley, is the group of poor houses known
as " Hungry Hollow."
" You know," announced Mr. Hamlin, " that
I depend upon you to direct me to the houses,
78
A WOODLAND WOOING.
and to do the talking; I am only the parcel
delivery."
"Very well," I replied ; " first of all, then, we
stop at the third house on the right."
It was a dismal, dreary little house, standing
close upon the dusty road, and staring blankly
at us from shutterless windows. A barn much
larger than the house stood just across the road.
Everybody seemed to be away or asleep, ex-
cept a child who was sitting on the sunken
door-step with her elbows on her knees, and
her sharp little chin in her hands. She was a
most aged and unchildish-looking child, with
hair bleached by the sun, and small blue eyes
which looked oddly light-colored when con-
trasted with her tiny weather-beaten face. As
we stopped, she looked up dully, then let her
eyes fall, and resumed her occupation of scrap-
ing the warm sand back and forth with her
bare feet.
** Isabel," I cried, " here is Eliza's sleeping
A WOODLAND WOOING,
79
draught. Father had to go to Portland to-day,
but he will come over to-morrow."
The child neither raised her head nor stopped
moving her feet through the sand.
" Lizy don't want no med'sin," she said; "she
wants some flowers."
** Some flowers?" I queried.
" I said flowers," said Isabel, rather sharply.
"Didn't ye hear?"
"You must not be so cross, Isabel," I said.
" If Eliza wants some flowers, I '11 send her a
bunch to-morrow."
" She don't want a bunch," said Isabel ; " she
wants a cross an' a wreath. She 's goin' to hev
a funril day after to-morrer, Lizy is, an' she
wants a wreath an' a cross like what Emma
Parker had to hern."
Shocked and quieted, we hesitated for some-
thing to say; and, as I looked about, Isabel's
mother appeared from somewhere down the
road. She is curiously like Isabel, though tall
So A WOODLAND WOOING.
and gaunt. Her hard, brown face under her
gingham bonnet worked and twisted a Httle as
she saw me, but she bHnked her eyes and
closed her Hps in a reHant, repressive way.
Her large-jointed, labor-stained hands clasped
and unclasped nervously.
'* Yes," she said, " she 's gone, Lizy is. You
can tell yer par she went easy; dropped oft" to
sleep and never woke up."
She stopped a moment to swallow a lump in
her throat, then she went on dully, —
*' Might ez wal die, I s'pose, an' done with it,
ez go pindlin' along an' suft"erin'. No great use
in livin', fur as I see. Lizy, she 's the seventh
I Ve buried. Live to fifteen or sixteen, then
grow peaked an fade away an' die. Don't
seem to be no real reason why they should
ever been born."
" Mrs. Hathaway," I cried, '' don't talk in this
way ; you must not. Is there nothing I can do
to help you ? "
A WOODLAND WOOING. 8 1
*' No," she replied in her stiff, practical way,
" there aiiit nothin' to do. The neighbors hev
been in to do for us, an' he has writ a postal to
tell her Uncle Silas an Aunt Laviny to come
down to the funril."
Isabel on the door-step had raised her head.
" But we aint got no flowers," she said, with
dull persistence.
'' You shall have all you want, Isabel," I said.
" I will send you a basket early to-morrow
morning."
The child's weird, elf-like face lighted up with
a look of positive pleasure ; but it was her
mother who spoke.
"I'm sure, I'm 'bleeged to ye," she said;
" you mean kind, I know. Lizy she always
talked a terrible sight about what a beautiful
funril Emma Parker hed. It was pooty, too.
I 'm sure you 're very 'bleegin'."
With a stiff nod by way of farewell, she went
around the house. In silence Isabel followed
6
82 A WOODLAND WOOING.
her, and in silence too we rode on up the rise
and out of Hungry Hollow with its poverty and
sorrow and loss.
The landscape changed from sad to beau-
tiful as we went on. Peace and plenty smiled
in the broad patches of corn-land where the
wind rustled the fresh, green ribbons and the
silk already burst from the close, sweet husks.
There were wide hay-fields too, where the sec-
ond growth of grass was exquisite with tints of
amethyst and dull yellow, and dashes of red
sorrel.
** Do we stop at the next house ? " my com-
panion asked at last.
" Not the white one," I answered, " the big
yellow one on the hill. We have to let down
the bars. This is the Tuell farm."
The bars being properly lowered, my com-
panion led Jane Savage up the rocky ascend-
ing pasture which formed the lawn of the Tuell
place.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
83
'* Hand me the pills and potions," said the
young man, cheerfully, '* and I will carry them
in."
''You had better go round to the back door,"
I mildly suggested.
"No, I shall not," he said stoutly; "I shall
give them one chance to open the sacred front
door."
He went up confidently through tansy and
" old-maids " to the green-painted door. There
was a fanlight above it, and a very good old
brass knocker, with which Mr. Hamlin pro-
ceeded to wake the echoes within the house.
There was no response ; and for some seconds
we waited, studying the wreaths of gay flowers
upon the green paper curtains of the parlor
windows, and the pair of conch-shells — a gift
of some seafaring relative — which adorn the
little niches formed by the side-lights. The
bees hummed drowsily among the hollyhocks,
and from afar came the long-drawn " kark.
84
A WOODLAND WOOING.
kark, kar-ar-ark," of some unseen barn-yard
fowl.
" It is no use, you see," I said triumphantly;
" you must try the other door."
The young man was persistent. He knocked
again. No sound but the hen and the bees.
Then he grew impatient and knocked clamor-
ously. Then at length a step was heard within,
and a sharp voice exclaimed, —
" Don't knock the door down. You '11 have to
go round the back way; this door don't open."
Mr. Hamlin refused to be properly humili-
ated. He cast a stony glance at me, and pro-
ceeded to the back door. This opened directly,
and a small, alert woman appeared. She had
a pinched, acid little face, and with her neat
cotton gown and closely pinned hair, had the
air of being clewed up, so to speak, against any
tempest of life.
** Wal ? " she said with some asperity and a
rising accent.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
85
" I brought some medicine from Dr. Green-
leaf," said Mr. Hamlin, apologetically, and
added an account of the circumstances which
prevented Father from coming himself
Mrs. Tuell took the bottle and examined the
label with some suspicion.
" What is your name ? " she demanded, '' and
who 's that settin in the shay ? "
" My name is Hamlin," said the young man,
quite meekly, ''and it is the Doctor's daugh-
ter, Miss Greenleaf, with me."
*' Oh," said Mrs. Tuell, half appeased, " 't is,
is it ? Wal, doctor sent the drops ? "
"Yes," more meekly than ever.
" Betty," she called, raising her voice to
address me, " tell yer par that the baby 's come
out wal with the red goom. Cathrine she's
worried about it, but I tell her all strong chil-
dren hev it. You tell yer par."
With this she abruptly darted into the house,
banging the door energetically behind her, but
35 A WOODLAND WOOING.
as we were turning the carriage about she
reopened the door.
*' Be sure ye put the bars up," she cried, '' or
Durgin's sheep will be trapesin' in."
She once more vanished, and we rolled
slowly down the slope to the road, not for-
getting to put up the bars.
" What a truly horrible woman ! " exclaimed
Mr. Hamlin, devoutly, as we once more jogged
upon our way. ** Is her husband dead ? "
" Oh, no," I answered, *' did n't you see him
peeping out from behind the wood-house? He
is a very good man, and so afraid of his wife
that he dares not call his soul his own."
" I don't wonder," said Mr. Hamlin, fervently.
He seemed really to be quite depressed, as
though he still felt Mrs. Tuell's snapping eyes
upon him. He became so noticeably lax in
his hold on the reins that Jane Savage decided
to try a little browsing, and turned suggestively
toward the ditch. Recalled by a sudden tight-
A WOODLAND WOOING.
87
ening of the rein, she threw a reproachful glance
over her left shoulder and walked on with an
air of meek but injured dignity.
The old chaise swayed from side to side and
creaked drowsily. Little white and yellow but-
terflies hovered over the mullen and white yar-
row. Where the sandy road was hottest the
cicadas were uttering their seething song, and
now and again we passed the hay-fields, where
the mowers stopped work to look at us, and
wiped their scythes on wisps of freshly cut
grass. It was past eleven o'clock when we
stopped at the home of Deacon Asa Jewett,
whose daughter Lucilla was bed-ridden and
helpless from a spinal trouble. The Jewett
house was a red painted cottage with large low
chimneys and an ample, rambling wing. There
was no front yard. An ancient lilac-tree grew
on either side of the door. On the left side
was the kitchen garden ; on the right a shady
old orchard with a row of bee-hives on a
38 A WOODLAND WOOING.
wooden bench. A great butternut-tree shaded
the house on the orchard end, A rusty tea-
kettle hung with apparent irrelevance to one
of its lower branches, but the cord attached to
it explained its connection with the grindstone
standing below. Outside the wall, but still in
the grateful shade of the butternut, an old man
was sitting on a chair which had lost its back.
He was whittling, but he stopped as we drew
up, and without speaking gazed at us with
lack-lustre blue eyes.
" I have brought Lucilla's plasters, Deacon
Jewett," I said, as I stepped unassisted from the
low chaise. " I have some magazines for her ;
shall I go right in?"
" Yas, yas," said the old man, rising and
coming forward. *' I see now it 's the doctor's
gel. Hardly knowed ye jest at first Ye haint
ben round so frequent with doctor as ye used
ter. Who's that with ye in the shay?"-
*' It is Mr, Hamlin, from Baltimore. He is
A WOODLAND WOOING. 89
visiting at the Fosters'," I answered. '' I will
run in myself with these things, shall I ? "
As I made my way to the side door a hoarse
voice said suddenly, *' O Lord ! Lord ! Lord ! "
and then immediately broke into a peal of dis-
cordant laughter. It was Mrs. Jewett's parrot,
a disreputable old bird who could swear many
a broad, mouth-filling oath in Spanish, but was
forced, by ignorance, to be almost respectable
in Endish. Like Mrs. Tuell's conch-shells, the
parrot was a sign that we were not far inland
after all.
" I 'm proper glad to see ye," said Mrs. Jew-
ett, appearing from the kitchen. " You come
right into Lucilla's room. She is so glad to
see a bit of comp'ny."
Lucilla was lying on a feather-bed, under a
" rising-sun " bed-quilt which was a dream of
horrors in itself. The green paper curtains
were pulled up awry, and no window was open,
though Mrs. Jewett was a tender mother and
90
A WOODLAND WOOING.
tried to make the invalid comfortable according
to her lights.
*' She 's ben expectin' of your par all the
mornin'," Mrs. Jewett went on, with an affection-
ate pat to the rising-sun quilt. '' I do declare
she has nigh about wore me out, Lucilla has,
worryin' me to look out o' winder every minute
to see if doctor warn't comin'."
At this I repeated the story of Father's having
been called to Portland, and I only escaped a
severe cross-questioning about Mr. Hamlin by
presenting the magazines and a little parcel of
light work.
** Law, now," exclaimed Mrs. Jewett, admir-
ingly, " do jest look at the silk pieces that she 's
picked up for ye ! See this now, aint it turky-
ish, though ! I warrant now ye '11 want to be
bolstered right up, as soon as ye 've hed your
broth, and begin to set your new quilt this very
day."
As I went out of the house, I saw Deacon
A WOODLAND WOOING. 91
Jewett standing with one foot on the hub of a
wheel of the chaise. He was chewing a straw
and looking alternately at Mr. Hamlin and down
at his foot.
" I wish ye hed time," he was saying, '' to
step over with me an' jest take a look at it. I
cal'lated to hev that lot preambulated this sum-
mer, come what might."
" It would do you no good," returned Mr.
Hamlin, '' for me to go down and look at the
land. I should have to see the deeds."
** VVal, now," said the deacon, slowly, '' I tell
ye jest how 'twas. It was this way: I went
over to see old Squar Bisbee, him as married
Woodman Puslifer's third darter, Lowizy, and
says I to him, ' Squar,' says I, ' this ere lot hez
got to be preambulated,' says I, ' no two ways
about it. Ef it haint,' says I, ' an' ef it can't be
done peaceable, why, all is, Lyman Dunlap and
me '11 hev to go to law about it,' says I. Wal,
the squar he said that he never sot up to know
Q2 A WOODLAND WOOING.
nothin' about surveyin', but he 'd studied on it
a spell when he was to Litchfield Academy, an'
he hed a compass thet belonged to his father,
old Squar Lemuel Bisbee, and so I says — "
" Laws, Asa," interrupted Mrs. Jewett, who
had followed me out to the garden, and set
briskly to gathering beans, '' don't you bother
the gentleman about that old story. Once get
you a talkin' about your land tribulations an'
you never have no idea where to stop."
'' I sh'd git through a considerable spell
sooner, Silviny," said the deacon, drily, "efl's
allowed to say my say."
" Well, go on," said Mr. Hamlin, biting his
mustache.
''Madre! Madre! Madre!'' cackled the parrot,
who had come to join in the conversation, and
was standing on the garden fence,
"Sliet up, ye tarnal critter!" said the old man,
sharply, to which the bird responded, " Lord !
Lord ! Lord ! " and burst into a hoarse laugh.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 93
"Wal," resumed the deacon, *'as I was sayin',
I went over to the squar's and says I to him,
* Squar,' says I, ' that lot hes got to be pre-
ambulated fust or last,' says I, ' or Lyman Dun-
lap an' me, we '11 hev — ' "
" Law, father, you Ve said all that once a'
ready," said Mrs. Jewett, briskly.
*' Ef you can explain this marter better than
what I can, Mis' Jewett," said the deacon, with
dignity, " I sh'd be proud to hev ye do it."
** Oh, I don't pretend to it, father," replied
his wife, ** I don't pretend to it. Only don't
go so fur round Robin Hood's barn, that 's all
I meant."
" Wal," resumed the old man once more, " I
went over to Squar Bisbee an' says I, 'This ere
lot hes got to be preambulated,' says I, ' or
Lyman Dunlap an' me '11 hev to go to law.' So
the squar he fetched his compass an' chain
over one mornin' an' we got out a copy of the
deeds, an' then we went down to the parstcr — "
94 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
" Mother ! come to supper ! " interrupted the
parrot. '' O Madre ! Madre ! — "
'' Shet up your tarnal squawkin'," said the
deacon, making a mock start toward the bird,
who immediately fell into extravagant peals of
hoarse laughter, and stepped off sideways along
the fence toward a black-cherry tree.
** So the squar he fetched over his compass
an' chain one mornin' an' we went down to the
parster. The squar he sighted 'round a spell,
and says he, 'We'll take the gable winder of
Widder Thayer's house and run direct to that,'
says he. So he started and kep along pretty
free till all to once he come butt agin that big
rock-maple ye can jest see the top of So there
the squar he sot off a few feet to the northered,
an' then kep on an' got Lias down to help him
and run a tol'able straight line nigh to the mid-
dle of the eend of old Lyman Dunlap's sheep
parster. Then old Lyme he come out, mad 's a
hopper, an' his son Chapman with him, — the
A WOODLAND WOOING.
95
one that went off to Arizony arterwards, an*
got to be postmaster somewheres out there, an*
died, — an' old Lyme he fetched along another
deed, an' says he, 'You'll get yourselves intc
trouble,* says he, * ef you keep on in this ere
direction, now I warn ye.* So the squar, bein'
a peaceable man, an' not likin' to make no fuss,
and I bein' gone up to the house at the time to
fetch a hatchet, he sot back a matter o' two
yards on tother side. Then Lias he foUered it
out alone a spell, while squar, bein' a very
commodatin' man, went up to help Chapman
Dunlap git a turnip out'n a cow's throat. So I
says then to Lias, ' Now, Lias,' says I — "
Just here a small horn was blown within the
house, and Mrs. Jewett's warm, red face was
turned triumphantly from the bean vines.
** There now, father," she said, " you '11 hev to
stop and let the gentleman alone. That 's Lu-
cilla's horn, and it means that she wants her
par. She blows a horn for him, and rings a bell
96
A WOODLAND WOOING.
for me. Now, father, you know you never keep
Lucilla waitin'.'
** Wal, wal," said the deacon, reluctantly,
" wal, wal, I s'pose so. 1 '11 see ye when ye
come back along, and then mebbe ye '11 step
down an' take a look at the lot."
" Perhaps," replied the young man ; and he
gave a sudden jerk to the reins which caused
Jane Savage to start down the hill at a most
unusual pace,
*' What a tedious old numskull," laughed Mr.^
Hamlin.
" Well," I rejoined severely, " you ought to
have known better than to let him know your
profession."
"• But he asked me."
"Of course he asked you ; but if you are going
to tell these people all they ask you, you will
have to reveal all your deadliest secrets. Dea-
con Jewett is nearly crazy with land quarrels."
*' We will go home by some other way," -said
A WOODLAND WOOING.
97
the young man, decidedly; ** I do not dare to
risk a second meeting with the deacon to-day."
" We shall be longer getting home," I ob-
jected, "and it is nearly dinner time."
" If you are hungry you shall have some
raspberries," he replied ; " but I shall absolutely
not risk Deacon Jewett again to-day."
Our way lay through lower and moister lands
now. We crossed a brook full of brown stones,
dark basins, and sunny shallows. At our left, in
the marshy meadow, the stream widened into a
placid pool. Blue pickerel-weed and yellow
beaver lilies grew here, and above them darted
the burnished dragon-flies, swift yet aimless.
O^er the walls clambered the wild convolvulus,
with large pink-and-white bells. The wild
honeysuckle, white and frail, filled the warm air
with its heavy fragrance. There is so much
sweetness in these low-lying meadows that it
was a real joy to come once more to higher
land; to drive through a delicious bit of beech-
7
98
A WOODLAND WOOING.
wood, where the scarlet fire-Hlies flamed in the
hollows among the sturdy brakes. It was just
beyond the cool and pretty beech-wood that we
came to the old Butterfield house, our next and
last stopping-place.
There was no need here of alighting to let
down the bars, for they were already down, and
some cows and sheep were cropping the sorrel,
thistles, and '* poverty weed " which formed the
chief part of the herbage. The house is of two
stories, square and unpainted. Its building was
evidently begun by somebody whose ambition
outran his wealth; for all the upper windows
were boarded up, and the front door, lacking
the usual flight of steps, had the appearance of
having been left stranded by some high tide,
half-way up the front wall of the house. There
had been an attempt to fence in a small front
yard from the vagrant sheep, but slats were few
in the unpainted pahng, and the gate hung
loosely by one hinge. Within was a wild snarl
A WOODLAND WOOING.
99
of cinnamon roses, tansy, butter-and-eggs, and
old maid's pinks. A shambling wing ran from
the left side of the house. The door was stand-
ing open, allowing us to look across the kitchen,
through an opposite open door, to the sunny
hay-fields beyond. On the window-sill some
petunias and geraniums — which should have
been long since put in beds — pined in tomato-
cans and a couple of broken-nosed teapots. In
odd contrast to the shabby yard and shiftless
house was a smart silvered glass bell-knob at
the kitchen door.
** The front door is beyond argument this
time," remarked Mr. Hamlin; and we made
our way to the side yard.
Stepping carefully over a rusty pan of meal
and water, in which a quarter-grown chicken
was wildly floundering, he pulled the bell-knob,
which immediately came out in his hand, bring-
ing with it about a yard of wire, and sending
the young man violently staggering backward.
100
A WOODLAND WOOING.
After recovering himself, he made another ven-
ture and knocked. In response to this two
hens appeared from some distant part of the
kitchen and peered at us curiously as if demand-
ing our business; then, finding us of no real
interest, they drifted away, apparently to resume
those domestic employments which our knock
had interrupted. Just as we were about to try
another knock, a woman was seen crossing the
blazing field beyond the opposite kitchen door.
She entered the kitchen panting and rubicund,
without at first noticing us.
** There now, shoo ! " she exclaimed, in a rich
voice and with a lenient manner; "just shoo,
will ye, shoo ! Who give you license to okkipy
the house? Mebby now, you 'd like to be arst
into the fore-room and hev a seat, would n't ye?
Shoo!" \
Preceded by a number of scuttling hens, she
came to the door and discovered her visitors.
" Sakes alive ! " she said, with a rich chuck-
A WOODLAND WOOING. jqi
ling laugh, *' I did n't know there was nobody
to the door. Comin' in out o' the blaze so, my
eyes is sort o' dazzled. Wal, now, I 'm real
pleased to see ye. I just ben cross lots to
borry some aigs of Mis' Twitchell. Thought
I 'd stir up an aig pie for supper. Might think
we 'd hev aIgs enough of our own to see the
hens, but fact is the weasels gets in an' sucks
'em. I told him he 'd oughter mend up the
holes, but somehow he haint got round to it.
Now do come in an' set down. Here I be
runnin' on like old Rideout, an' never puttin'
on no manners at all."
" Thank you, we cannot stop," said Mr. Ham-
lin. "We have brought you some medicine
from Dr, Greenleaf."
*' Oh, sure enough," said Mrs. Butterfield,
" and I 'm sure I 'm real 'bleeged to ye. 'T was
for Lowizy's back. The fact is, her cousin
Jeduthan Twitchell, he came along ter noon
in his old shay, and Lowizy she up an' rid along
102 A WOODLAND WOOING.
of him over to the Holler to hear the revivalist
speak. I cal'late she '11 feel the need of her
medicine afore she gits home. Jeduthan's
colt 's got a dreadful pudgicky gait."
" Here," said Mr. Hamlin, contritely, " is your
bell-knob. I 'm afraid that I broke it, though
I did not mean to pull it too hard."
^' Oh, no," she returned reassuringly, " you
did n't break it. The children broke it, ringing
of it, the same day the lightning-rod man put
it in. For my part I was glad, too, when it
was finally broke, for such a din as they kep*
up with it you never did hear. I told him
though that he 'd oughter mend it, but somehow
he haint seemed to git round to it."
Mrs. Simeon Butterfield is an ample woman.
As she often declared herself: " There was n't
no sklmpin' when the Lord made me." She is
tall, long-limbed, broad-chested, and generously
cushioned with flesh, although she is not fat.
Not even her limp and loose-hanging calico
A WOODLAND WOOING. iq-^
wrapper could conceal the really fine and Juno-
esque lines of her figure. Her hair, which is
abundant and of warm, new mahogany color,
has the true classic wave ; and her throat, which
is always collarless, is as white, round, and full
as if cut from marble.
*' I wish ye would come in now," she still
urged. " I can give ye some nice maple-honey
that I 've kep ever sence March. Wal, o' course
I don't want to urge ye, but you jest wait a
minute. You must take a box o' bee-honey
along to your par. Sim ! "
She had removed her sun-bonnet, and in so
doing had brought her hair entirely down. She
was now twisting it up, holding her horn
" tucking comb " in her teeth for convenience*
sake.
''That Sim Butterfield," she said, "is the
beatermost for bein' out'n the way when he 's
wanted. I s'pose he 's down to the mcdder lot
now, sludgin' round doin' nothin'."
104 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
She smiled placidly as she spoke, and did not
appear to cherish any animosity toward her
husband for his idleness. She disappeared for
a few moments, and presently returned and
brought to the carriage a gorgeous bunch of
peacock's feathers.
" I ben up in the shed chamber," she said
pantingly, " after that bee-honey, an* I declare
to goodness ef every drop of et haint ben eat
up. I feel real mortified. You see the lock to
the cupboard was broke a spell ago, an' he
haint got round yit to mendin' of it, so I s'pose
them young ones hev eat it up. Howsomever,
I found these feathers that I .'d put by for ye.
You remember our old peacock, ' Jim,' don't ye?
You used to set such store by him when you
was little an* used to come up with your par.
I alwers meant you should have the feathers
when Jim was done with 'em, an' old Jim he
died last winter. Here ! shoo, ye old critter.
Don't ye — "
A WOODLAND WOOING.
105
Here Mrs. Butterfield started suddenly across
the yard to head a festive young heifer from the
corn-field, toward which she was wooed by a
tempting gap in the wall ; and Jane Savage at
the same moment concluded that the visit was
at an end, and started quietly down the pasture.
" Our round is ended now," I announced.
" Now that dreadful horse may go home again."
" It is a pity," he responded ; *' I was getting
to feel quite like a country doctor. Do you
think I would make a good one?"
" No," I answered, with thoughtless quickness.
" You are too obstinate, and would insist upon
going to the front doors."
" You are always ready to see the worst side
of me," he retorted gruffly.
And then he sulked all the way home.
I06 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
VIII.
»
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
" LUCRETIA ! " I called shrilly, " Lucretia ! "
Nobody answered. The tall clock ticked with
heavy solemnity. The flies buzzed and droned
on the warm, square patch of sunlight that lay
on the hall floor, and a little ruby-throated
humming-bird made whirring darts at the white
bells of Aunt Jane's abutilon, which stood in a
green tub on the piazza.
I turned to my companion, who stood leaning
against the side of the doorway.
" You see there is nobody at home," I said,
"just as I told you. Aunt Jane is gone to
carry wheat wafers and elderberry wine to
Mrs. Lovel, Lucretia is making calls, and
Bobby has gone fishing, so there 's nobody at
home."
A WOODLAND WOOING. iqj
At the sound of my voice, and as if to dispute
the truth of what I said, Ned appeared at the
parlor door, and after standing a minute with
silky ears thrown forward and his lips apart,
showing his small white teeth, decided upon
the whole to be extravagantly glad to see Mr.
Hamlin, and accordingly pranced toward him
with a boisterous welcome which consisted
chiefly in pretending to eat him up.
*' We might go to the orchard," I suggested,
when Ned's raptures had subsided. *' I was
there when you rang the door-bell. It is cool
under the trees."
Mr. Hamlin agreeing to this with the air of
its not making much difference what he did
as long as Lucretia was away, we went to the
orchard, with Ned tumbling along ahead of us,
now and then stopping to throw us a saucy
backward glance, and then starting again with
a sudden flounce which made his long ears fly
out like wings.
I08 A WOODLAND WOOING.
Mr, Hamlin seated himself on the old bench
under the seek-no-further tree, and began to
sharpen a pencil.
*' I 'm going to sketch your fine old well-
sweep, by your leave," said he.
Mr. Hamlin is very good-looking for so old
a man. He has a remarkably straight nose,
and honest eyes that look squarely at you
when he speaks. His hair is really grayer than
Father's, but it is cut so closely that you can
hardly see that he has any hair at all. Bob
and I like him very well. You seem to get
very friendly with a man who is attentive to
your sister. After I had finished looking at
Mr. Hamlin I turned my attention to the bees,
who were rejoicing in the warm afternoon and
the fields of clover.
"Why didn't you go fishing with Bob?"
asked Mr. Hamlin after a time, without looking
up from his sketching.
" Because he was going across the marsh and
A WOODLAND WOOING. 109
would n't take me," I answered, teasing Ned by
pulling away the small green apple he was
guarding.
"Who did go with him — Fred Harris?"
*' Yes," I replied rather crossly, " Fred Harris.
Bob seems perfectly happy if he can only get
Fred Harris, and Fred always scares away the
fish."
Mr. Hamlin touched up his sketch and tipped
his head a little to look at it.
"You're not jealous of Fred, I suppose?"
he laughed.
" Why, of course not," said I ; "it is only that
I like to go with Bob, and I can't help feeling
that this is our last real boy-and-girl summer
together. Bobby goes to college in the fall,
you know, and things will never be the same
again. Lucretia is going away in the fall,
too ; she is invited to spend the winter in
Boston ; and Josephine and Ted wifl be in
New York. I shall be left all alone with dear
old Neddy."
no A WOODLAND WOOING.
" I shall be in Mexico," said Mr. Hamlin.
*' Oh, why do you go so far? " I asked
bluntly.
" Honor calls, I must obey," he said ; " or
rather, a good salary calls, and I am a poor
man, so I fly to fill a position on the Mexico
and El Paso Railway."
" Bob and I are going to Mexico," I an-
nounced, ''after he graduates. We are going to
have a big hacienda. Do you know what a
hacienda is?"
'' I think so."
" Well, we 're going to have one, and I 'm
going to keep house for Bob, and he 's going
to lasso wild horses, and I shall write a book
about the people."
*' Perhaps you might take me to board,"
suggested Mr. Hamlin.
" Perhaps we will — if you are not married."
"Rooms to let to single gentlemen only?"
laughed he. '' Well, all right. I shall not be
married."
A WOODLAND WOOING. jjj
He said it quite positively; and it occurred to
me that this was a good chance to free my mind
of something that I wished to say regarding
Lucretia. I could see plainly that Mr. Hamlin
was already rather fond of Lucretia, though of
course he 's old enough to be her father. I
might have been willing if he 'd been settled in
New York, but I just wanted him to understand
that Lucretia was far too dainty and pretty to
marry a man who would take her to Mexico.
*' I am glad you are not going to marry," I
said abruptly.
''Why? " asked he, looking amused.
"Because," I answered, '* it is so dreadfully
selfish for a man to ask a nice, pretty, accom-
plished girl to leave her pleasant, civilized home,
and go off into the wilderness with him, where
she can't have anybody to speak to, and
Apaches scalp her, and howl about nights, and
everything is as horrid as it can be."
** It really is n't a very charming picture," he
112 A WOODLAND WOOING.
said. *'It is just as well, then, that I do not
think of marrying, is n't it? "
He must have spoiled his sketch, for he
twitched out the leaf he was drawing on, and
crumpled it up and gave it to Ned.
'' Oh," I cried, " I wanted to see it."
" It was no good," he said.
Ned's disposition is such that he cannot
usually enjoy anything if he thinks he has a
right to do so.. Mr. Hamlin pretended to try
to recover the paper; and the spaniel worried
and twitched at it and finally raced with it
around the corner of the house, whence he came
instantly tumbling back with Bevis Sparhawk.
Behind Bevis came his mother, under a huge
parasol of black lace and satin.
*' I 've been ringing at your nasty bell for
ages," she called out cheerfully. " Where is
your remarkable maid ? "
She sat down in Father's steamer chair, closed
her sunshade, put up her eyeglasses, and began
A WOODLAND WOOING.
113
to wave a beautiful fan of black ostrich plumes.
She was dressed entirely in black, — thin, deli-
cate black, unrelieved by any touch of color.
She looked very elegant, and made me all at
once conscious of being very young and having
a frowzly head and a tumbled gown.
" For my part," declared Mr. Hamlin, " I
don't believe they really have any maid. I
might be ringing there still if Miss Betty had
not heard me from some far-off hammock and
come to my rescue."
" Oh, yes," said Mrs. Sparhawk, seriously,
" they really have a maid, I assure you, and a
charmingly unique one, too ; so delightfully
grim, a perfect martinet, and the way in which
she bullies the family is perfectly delicious."
*' She came sixteen years ago when mother
died," I ventured. " Bobby and I were only
babies then, and she has done everything for
us, so she is almost like one of the family."
" Which means, you know," added Mrs. Spar-
8
114 A WOODLAND WOOING.
hawk, *' that she dares to give her opinion upon
all occasions, and say quite as nasty things as
one's relatives would. She is not a servant at
all, you know, but a person of importance with
money in the Canal Bank and stock in the
Grand Trunk Railway. She always attires her-
self in all her Sunday awfulness of array, and
takes a free ride to Portland on stockholders'
day ! " • .
It is one of the curious things about Mrs.
Sparhawk that she always unconsciously takes
things into her own hands. I had thought that
I was doing very well at entertaining Mr. Ham-
Hn, but now I suddenly found Mrs. Sparhawk
acting the part of the gracious hostess, while I
sat meekly by and allowed her to describe
Harriet, who had lived with us for years, and
whom she probably never saw more than half
a dozen times. I felt like a guest in our own
orchard, and a very unimportant guest at that.
" I 'm doin' wis you, too," announced Bevis,
A WOODLAND WOOING.
115
who had been for some time trying to get a
chance to speak.
*' Now, Bevis Sparhawk," said his mother,
** did n't I tell you that you were not to talk?
That is why I abominate making visits with
children," she added, turning to Mr. Hamlin;
** they always want to talk, and one wants to do
the talking one's self, don t you know, and so of
course — "
" I 'm a doin' wis you, too/' repeated Bevis,
shrilly, trying to drown his mother's voice ; '' me
and Wodney, and little black Sam, and mammy
an' — an'
" No, you will not, you tiresome child," said
Mrs. Sparhawk, "unless you behave yourself
and stop interrupting."
" You did it you'sef," said the warlike Bevis ;
**you 'poke an' 'poke when I was a-'peakin'."
" The truth is," said she, turning to us, and
ignoring her son's remark, *'that is the very
reason that I called to-day. I wanted to ask
jl5 .^ WOODLAND WOOING.
your father and your sister what they would
say to our taking the children."
"Where? To Sippican ! " I asked.
" Yes," she replied cheerfully, " to Sippican.
Now, pray do not credit me with making such
a diabolical plan ; it was all the Colonel, I assure
you. He positively adores those children, don't
you know. He absolutely cannot be happy
without them. Now, I am different. Of course,
I worship the children, simply idolize them, you
know; but then I'm philosophical, and I can
endure life for a week or two without them ; but
the Colonel is set upon their going."
*' I think it would be very jolly indeed," said
Mr. Hamlin. ** I dare say the change would be
for their health."
** Heavens ! " exclaimed Mrs. Sparhawk, de-
voutly, " I hope not, I 'm sure. They are fright-
fully healthy already, and they eat like a swarm
of grasshoppers. Seriously, I 've had thoughts
of dosing them with sulphur, or making them
A WOODLAND WOOING.
117
learn hymns, or something nasty, just to tone
down their spirits. — Bevis Sparhawk, you cruel
child, stop pulling that poor dog's ears, or I '11
feed you on gunpowder."
** Then," returned the unmoved Bevis, strug-
gling with Ned for a bit of bone, " I shall be a
gun, and dead you. I want sumpin' to eat."
" How is your uncle's health now, Mr. Ham-
lin?" asked Mrs. Sparhawk, suddenly abandon-
ing Bevis. " He was such a delightful old
gentleman. They make one feel so young and
blooming, don't you know? Your uncle was
quite one of the old school."
It seemed to me somehow that Mr. Hamlin
was not particularly interested in his uncle, and
it also seemed that Mrs. Sparhawk was so much
interested in him that I rather doubted her
having called about the children. Perhaps I
was suspicious, but I could not help fancying
that she had seen Mr. Hamlin over the hedge
and had come in on purpose to talk to him.
Ilg A WOODLAND WOOING.
" I want sumpin' to eat," said Bevis once
more.
** No, you do not, you ill-bred child," said his
mother. ** Does your uncle still keep bach-
elor's hall in that exquisite house of his in
Baltimore?"
" I will have sumpin' to eat," insisted Bevis.
" Bevis Sparhawk, you will not have one
crumb to eat. — No, Miss Betty, thank you, not
a crumb. — If you say one more word about it
I shall take you home and shut you up in the
rabbit hutch. — I was at the Carrollton," con-
tinued Mrs. Sparhawk, blandly, ** and mamma
was with vnt. She was alarmingly ill, and —
Oh, Miss Betty, if you would give that de-
testable child a cake, I should adore you
forever."
Upon this Bevis and I departed for the house.
We found that Aunt Jane had returned from her
visit, and she was so delighted at a chance to
bestow dainties that she overwhelmed the joyous
A WOODLAND WOOING. uq
Bevis with seed-cakes and her choicest sugared
cherries.
Lucretia came in, too, drawing off her pretty
pearl-gray gloves.
" I made nine calls," she said complacently.
" You must have had very good luck in find-
ing them out," said I, enviously.
'' I really think," fluttered Aunt Jane, " that
we ought to offer some refreshments. Lucretia,
go out to your company. Betty can stay and
help me."
After Mrs. Sparhawk and Mr. Hamlin had
partaken of pound cakes and Russian tea and
departed, Ned came rushing by me, trying to
make me take away from him a crumpled bit
of paper. It was all that was left of Mr. Ham-
lin's sketch. If it was the well-sweep, it had a
hat on. If he was making a picture of Lucretia,
why could n't he have been honest about it, and
said so? I'm sure I should have liked to see
it myself.
120 A WOODLAND WOOING.
IX.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
I WAS over in the little north lot yesterday,
trying to find some squirrels or something else
to shoot. I was all alone.
It was about noon and blazing hot, and along
the walls, somewhere behind the blackberry
bushes, a quail was whistling " more wet."
Every time the quail whistled Ned would make
a crazy dash, barking loud enough to scare
away every bird in America. Betty has just
ruined Ned for a bird dog, anyway. Women
always spoil a dog. I had n't shot a thing the
whole morning, and was lying down under a
jolly big birch-tree to cool off and rest a bit
before starting for home, when all of a sudden
Ned jumped up, ran a few steps, stopped, threw
his ears forward, and said " Woof ! " The next
A WOODLAND WOOING. 121
second I heard an awful howl, and running to
the open field found Rodney Sparhawk dancing
about like a young lunatic, and shrieking that
Bevis was drowned and '' all deaded."
** Where is he?" asked I, rushing for him.
" In the river all deaded up," said Rodney.
It is n't a river, it is only a shallow brook ;
but sure enough, Bevis Sparhawk w^as vh it,
sitting on the stony bottom and howling away
like a young Pawnee. He was so sure he w^as
going to drown that he had n't tried to help
himself at all. I picked him out, and he said
he was sitting on a stone catching " minnies "
in the skirt of his dress, and Rodney had pushed
him in. Rodney said he did n't do it; that he
was only trying to get on the stone with Bevis.
Anyhow, the two little beggars were wet as
polliwogs, and had evidently run away; so I
raced them back home with me, and they were
nearly dry by the time we reached the village.
When we came to the house we found doors
122 A WOODLAND WOOING.
and windows wide open as usual, and Mrs.
Sparhawk was in the parlor, fainting away on
a sofa, or pretending to, and saying that her
darlings were dead, and she should never see
them again. The Colonel and the old darky
woman were fanning her and trying to brace
her up.
*' £ know my darlings have been stolen," said
she ; '^ I shall never see them any more. Oh, my
darlings, my babies ! "
** Bevis was drownded, but he 's a great deal
better now," said Rodney, bursting in.
" I taught a fiss for you, but his tail was so
slippy he swimmed away," said Bevis, shrilly.
Upon this they all made a rush for the chil-
dren, and Mrs. Sparhawk sat up on her sofa.
Of course I was backing out myself, but I
heard what she said.
" You miserable little green baboons ! " cried
she, " how dared you run away and give me
such a fright ? I shall be ill from the shock.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
123
I Ve no doubt. You deserve a thorough whip-
ping, both of you, you nasty, untidy Httle
pirates. I 'm sure, Colonel, I hope you are
proud of your children nozo I "
Just then unluckily she caught sight of me,
and so she said no end of silly things.
" You must stay and tell me all about it,
and have some coffee," said she ; and it was
no use for a fellow to say there was nothing
to tell, because she seemed to have made
her mind up to make me stay. She sent the
black woman off for coffee, and the children
off to bed ; but I think they only had dry
clothes on ; at any rate, they were eating
cookies on the front steps when I went out a
little later.
Mrs. Sparhawk sat down and began to fan
herself.
^' It is exactly like those nasty little apes to
go and drown themselves on a day when I am
expecting company," said she. *' Limkin, I
124 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
think you may give me a soiipgojz of cognac in
my coffee, my nerves are so shattered."
One good thing about Mrs. Sparhawk is that
she treats a fellow with some respect. She
does n't call me '* Bobby " and act as if I 'd no
right to be about anyhow.
After the coffee came, the Colonel excused
himself and took his cup up in his studio; and
Mrs. Sparhawk poured my cup twice as strong
as Aunt Jane ever gives it to me. There were
little crackers, too, and a crimson cheese that
Mrs. Sparhawk dug pieces out of with a little
silver spade. She did put a spoonful of brandy
in her coffee, though she made fun of herself
for doing it, and said one learned bad tricks
in the army.
She was talking about fishing, and she asked
me if she did not see me one morning coming
back with Mr. Hamlin. So I told her '* yes,"
and how many we caught; and she seemed to
take a good deal of interest in Hamlin, and
A WOODLAND WOOING. 12 1
asked me no end of questions about him ; but
of course I don't know much about him; so
then she began to tell me about her company, —
a city girl that she has sent for. She said she
wanted us all to be very polite to her, but I
think myself it is too great a pity she 's coming,
because we were just a nice party before. But
of course I did n't tell Mrs. Sparhawk so, and
after a while she let me go.
I. can't write any more now because Fred is
standing outside throwing his baseball up at the
window, and he '11 plug it through a pane of
glass in a minute if I don't go and stop him.
126 A WOODLAND WOOING.
X.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
My pretty Lucretia came tripping down
the stairs, and stopped a minute at the parlor
door.
"Why, Betty Greenleaf!" said she, *' are n't
you ready for Sabbath-school ? "
" She cannot go," said Aunt Jane, with plain-
tive severity; "she must needs go to meddling
with Robert's tools — and on a Sunday too —
and she has cut her hand with the screw-
driver."
" She was fixing a nail in her shoe," spoke
Bob, in friendly defence ; " but then she was a
gump to let the screw-driver slip, — just like a
girl."
" At any rate I cannot go to Sunday-school,
Lucretia," said I, being at length allowed to
A WOODLAND WOOING.
127
speak a word for myself. " You can see that
I cannot get a glove on."
Lucretia's smooth white forehead drew itself
into a frown.
** I do hate' to go alone, Betty," she said for-
lornly ; '' I never like to go alone to Sunday-
school."
She looked very pretty in her crisp summer
bravery. She was dainty and exquisite from
bonnet to boot, and I could n't help hoping
that Mr. Hamlin might somehow chance to
see her.
'* You will be late, Lucretia, if you do not go
at once," said Aunt Jane; '* Sister Buzzell went
by some time ago, and you know she is usually
tardy."
** Yes, I suppose I must go," said Lucretia,
dubiously.
She gathered up her pretty lilac muslin, un-
furled her sun-umbrella, and reluctantly stepped
forth into the blazing afternoon. It was two
128 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
o'clock. The house was so quiet that one could
hear the solemn tick of the entry timepiece and
the rustle of the pages of Bob's book. Father
was asleep on the old lounge in the front entry,
with a red bandanna laid over his face. Harriet
Tuell had gone to a baptism at Stony Brook.
Bob was reading *' Scottish Chiefs " for the
fortieth time. He was lying face downward
upon the wide old couch; his chin rested in
his hands, and his right foot dangled uncom-
fortably to the floor. Aunt Jane sat by a south
window. She wore her best black gown be-
cause it was Sunday, and she had a bunch of
her favorite mignonette in a glass on the sill
beside her. She was reading a little book
called *'Why Am I a Universalist; " and she
looked, as she always does, very much like a
little white mouse that Bobby and I once had.
Everybody seemed to be content and occupied
except myself I was not sleepy, and I had
nothing to read.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
129
" I say, Betty," said Bob, " let up rapping
on the window, will you ? "
I stopped obediently. A humming-bird came
to call upon the white abutilon, and uttered
fine, fairy-like cries of rapture as it darted at
the golden-hearted bells. Ned appeared round
the corner quietly, and having deposited upon the
front steps a particularly disreputable shoe,
gazed at it a moment admiringly and departed
with a satisfied air of duty done. The sight of
the dog and the cheering sound of a little breeze
inspired me.
" Let 's go to the old grave-yard, Bob," I
whispered, glancing toward Aunt Jane, who
had placidly gone to sleep without discovering
why she was a Universalist
** Not now," replied Bob, rather crossly, *' I'm
reading. Get something to do, Betty, can't
you, and let a fellow alone."
Being snubbed by my chief ally, I tiptoed
after my hat, called Ned, and started forth on
130 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
the only correct and orthodox Sunday walk for
Arrowsic folk, — that to the old grave-yard.
Down the village street we went together,
Ned walking sedately for the space of a mo-
ment, then rushing ahead with wildly flying
ears, and stopping short to w^ait for me with
a look of irresistible waggishness. We went
through a gate, unpainted and rusty-hinged,
into a lane bordered by stone walls and rough
with grass-grown ruts ; then through an ancient
stile and into the sunny, peaceful precincts of
the old cemetery. Usually this is quite a
lively place of a Sunday afternoon, with rustic
lovers and pairs of chattering girls; but yester-
day the superior attractions of the immersion
at Stony Brook had left the old grave-yard
empty, and Ned and I had it quite to ourselves
for a time. Ned settled down to a season of
solid enjoyment in chasing white and yellow
butterflies. I sat upon the dry, warm grass,
smoothed out my gown, folded my hands, and
A WOODLAND WOOING.
131
enjoyed the sights and sounds of the lovely
summer afternoon.
After a time Ned grew tired and went to
sleep, with his muzzle resting on his silky
brown paws. I was almost asleep myself, I
think, the bees sounded so far away, when
somebody spoke behind me and made me
jump.
" Can you inform me how long an Arrowsic
Sunday usually is?" said a voice, and Mr.
Hamlin in a very nice gray suit came down
and faced me.
He held his cane in both hands horizontally
behind him, and looked good-natured but rather
tired.
"They are years long," I answered, "unless
Bob happens to be good-natured ; then they
are shorter."
**And if you happened not to have any
Bob?" he asked.
" Then I should die" I replied seriously.
132
A WOODLAND WOOING.
*' People do not, unfortunately, find it so easy
to die," said he. '' May I sit down? "
*' Of course you can if you want to," I said,
not very politely, but he did not seem to mind.
He put down his cane and took off his round
straw hat. I always look at his hair with sur-
prise, it is so gray. I did not realize that I was
staring very rudely until he looked up and asked
if his hair was in disorder.
" It could n't be," I said, laughing, " it is too
short. I was wondering how it could be so gray
when — "
" When I am so young and fair? " he finished
seriously. *' My mother was white-haired at
seventeen."
" Mrs. Sparhawk," I volunteered, *' had her
hair bleached in Paris. When she first came
here to Hve it was quite blond, like Lucretia's."
** It must have been atrociously unbecoming."
*' On the contrary, she looked well with it,
and she explained to every lady quite openly
A WOODLAND WOOING.
-^iz
how it was done. I like Mrs. Sparhawk, she is
so very amusing. We Arrowsic people are not
at all amusing. We are well-behaved and dull."
" Cannot one be well-behaved, then, and
amusing, too?" asked Mr. Hamlin, taking out
his sketching book, which seemed to be his
constant companion.
*' I don't know," I said doubtfully; ** there is
Aunt Jane, and Harriet, — though to be sure
Harriet is amusing, but she does n't mean
to be. Mrs. Sparhawk means to be, and she
told Lucretia that she was interested in you
on account of your uncle."
Mr. Hamlin put on his glasses, which at once
transformed him from a pleasant and cheerful
young man to a supercilious and cynical person
ten years beyond his usual age.
" She makes a sad mistake," he said rather
gently, " if she adopts me on his account. She
would please him much better by sending me to
Coventry at once without delay."
134
A WOODLAND WOOING.
For some minutes he sat silent, drawing an
outline of the long range of the White Hills,
which loomed large and hazy against the sum-
mer sky. Presently his face changed, and he
looked up with a cheerful smile.
*' I don't know why I should care," he said,
'' but somehow I do whenever I remember it.
Come, Miss Betty, shall I tell you the strange
history of the * Boy who would not study
Greek'?"
** If you will," I answered ; " I am fond of
stories."
"This is rather a stupid one; however, I
believe I will bore you with it. As Hans Ander-
sen says, * Now listen.' There was once a good
little boy — "
'* Good? " I queried.
" Ve7y good. Do not be sceptical, Miss
Betty, and do not interrupt. It is rude in the
extreme. There was once, then, a very good
little boy, who lived in a house in the city of
A WOODLAND WOOING.
135
Baltimore, all alone with his widowed mother
and his uncle. The mother was a placid, gentle
little soul, who was fond of old lace, lived upon
macaroons, and painted butterflies on rice paper
for occupation. The uncle was a queer old
stick, — rich, but irascible. Do you know what
* irascible ' means? "
** Of course," I replied indignantly.
" Very well. The uncle, then, was rich, but
/irascible, and was in the habit of blustering
about like the regulation old stage tyrant, and
boasting that he would be master in his own
house ; that his * will was law,' or words to that
efifect.^Well, the boy went to school, of course,
and was fitting for the classical course in the
college where his father had gone, and his uncle,
and all his grandfathers for generations back.
He had got as far in Latin as ' Anna vinmiqiie
cano! and was grubbing away sullenly at Greek
roots, when all of a sudden, one day, it popped
into his head that there was really no sort of
136
A WOODLAND WOOING.
reason in his wasting his time over anything
that he detested so cordially," 4
" He was a conceited little boy," I said de-
cidedly, ''to think that he could judge of what
he ought to study. I 'm glad you 're not telling
this mutinous story to Bob."
'' I will tell it to Bob if you interrupt me. Miss
Betty. "Well, so the boy simply did not learn
any Greek lesson that day, and when he was
called up to recite, announced that he had
stopped studying Grcek. The master, with
some interest, inquired when he had stopped,
and the boy rephed, ' About half an hour ago.' "
" What a horrid, impertinent boy ! "
" Now I shall tell Bob. However, the master
agreed with you, and, finding that his own re-
marks did not make much impression, proceeded
to go and break the news to the uncle. Then
the uncle ranted about in gorgeous style, as
you may imagine ; for you see the trouble was
that, although the uncle was the boy's legal
A WOODLAND WOOING.
137
guardian, there was a certain clause in the will
which directed that after he was fifteen years
old he should be allowed to choose his own
profession. * You '11 never make a lawyer unless
you study Greek, sir ! ' said the uncle. The boy
replied that he did n't intend to be a lawyer, but
a civil engineer. At this time there was a worse
row than ever. Even the little mother joined
the charge, and cried, and asked the boy if
he 'wanted to disgrace the family and break
his mother's heart, and grow up and be hung.
There had been a lawyer in every generation,
and now he was going to break the line and
ruin his father's good name.' But the boy was
a stubborn cub, and the upshot of the whole
thing was that the uncle flew into a white rage.
He was obhged to send the boy to an Institute
of Technology, but he never spoke to him again,
not even when the mother died; and for six
years the two men have never met."
"How dreadful!" I said, as Mr. Hamlin,
138
A WOODLAND WOOING.
having finished his tale, began to sharpen his
lead pencil.
" Not so very dreadful," he replied coolly.
'' He is, to be sure, my only living relative, but
he is happy in his way, and I in mine. He has,
or thinks he has, the best collection of old
lacquer in the world ; and I have my profes-
sion and some good friends; so what does it
matter?"
" But he is your father's brother," I urged.
" I should go to see him sometime."
" And be accused, as I was once by letter, of
having an eye to his money. No, I thank you."
" I say," said a voice behind us, " Father is
called to the Hollow, and we 're having an early
tea; and you 'd better come home, Betty Green-
leaf, if you know when you 're well off."
"■ Don't scold," laughed Mr. Hamlin, putting
away his sketch-book ; " we refuse to feel guilty.
Why, the sun is an hour above Mount Kearsage
yet."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
139
XI.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
Here we are, safe at Camp SIppican at last,
though I really began to think that we never
should get here. First, Bevis Sparhawk had the
mumps ; then Josephine's mother had to go to
Sweden to see her married daughter; and then,
just as we were all ready to start, it began to
rain cats and dogs, and never let up a minute
for a whole week. But at last it managed to
clear off, and yesterday morning we really got
started.
There was Joel Jackson and the express
wagon, with the tents and Fred and me; we
started first of all, for the rest kept forgetting
things and going back, and waiting for each
other, and behaving like a set of crazy coots gen-
erally. The Fosters' beach wagon took Hamlin
140
A WOODLAND WOOING.
and Lucretia and Ted, and Amos to drive the
horses back. Then the Dudleys came in their
chaise, and Emily squeezed in the middle of the
seat; and the Winthrop carryall had Mr. and
Mrs. Winthrop and Arthur and the young lady
that is visiting the Sparhawks, because the Spar-
hawk carriage was running over with Rodney
and Bevis. Betty came up with Father in his
old chaise. I thought they sort of left her out
in the cold ; but I suppose there was n't any
room for her in the Fosters' wagon, and Betty
seemed to be as cheerful as ever, so I don't
know that it made any difference.
We got there first of all. Fred says that he 's
always taken notice that horses go slower when
there are girls in the carriage, and I guess it is
true. At any rate, we got to Sippican a good
hour before any other carriage showed up
at all.
When you get to Sippican you see a hum-
mocky pasture at your left, and just beyond the
A WOODLAND WOOING.
141
pasture the mountain begins. Then on the
right of the road is the camping ground, — a
jolly big field with two or three apple-trees in
one end, — wild fruit, you know, no good to eat,
— and from the road this field runs down to
Sippican Pond. Sippican is an old Indian name,
you know, and means *' Clear Water," and so
the mountain was named after the pond. You
could n't find a completer camping ground in
the whole country. For there is the pond, you
see, where you can catch jolly pickerel, and then
the other side of the mountain is a trout brook,
and there is an ice-cold spring in the woods
near by, and plenty of wood to burn, so you
could n't find a better place, anyhow.
Fred and I helped Joel put up the tents, and
of course the rest of the fellows worked when
they got along. We have good board floors
all ready to fit right together, and the tents
are none of your cheap affairs, but regular out-
and-out good ones. There are three big ones,
1^2 A WOODLAND WOOING.
and a smaller one that we call the galley, only
we don't cook in it unless it is a pouring
rain, because fish smell nicer cooked out of
doors.
A good deal depends on how you start, in
camping out; and we know just how to fix our
tents. We make the floors good and even, and
we put up the tents as strong as they can be
fixed. Of course, though, we always go about
at night and see to them and pound down the
pins. They bring rugs for the floors, and ticks
all ready to be filled up at the Burnham farm-
house with nice clean straw. We keep the
horses up there, too ; the ones that are n't sent
home, I mean. Of course we did n't get every-
thing done last night, but we got all the tents
built. We have a kerosene stove, but I think
the regular camp-fire is jollier, and we always
have that lighted in the evening, anyway, for
company. Of course last night we had our
supper off the things we brought from home.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
143
Mrs. Winthrop is head cook, and Mr. Winthrop
and Fred and I helped.
Mrs. Dudley and Emily and Betty set the
table. We had cold ham and bread and pickles
and doughnuts and cheese and apple-puffs and
hot baked potatoes and coffee, and a heap more
things ; and you can believe that first supper just
tasted good, though, with the fire blazing away,
and the loon crying over the water, and the cool
wind coming along the field, and Aunt Jane not
there to say that a fellow stuck his elbows out
when he cut his ham.
144
A WOODLAND WOOING.
XII.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
With two pillows, a bag, a blanket, a pair of
rubbers, and a lantern, I crept uncomfortably
under the closed fly of a tent, inside of which
things certainly presented an appearance which
Harriet would have scornfully denounced as
*' mixed an' mingled." I had been sent for
various necessary and unnecessary articles to
the still unpacked trunks, which stood in the
dining-tent, and had now before me the task
of making my bed for the first night's rest at
Sippican. Lucretia, in a most becoming blue
dressing-gown, her flossy yellow hair all about
her shoulders, was sitting on the edge of her
straw bed putting up crimps in company with
Josephine Foster. Emily Dudley, who is the
most matter-of-fact and common-place of mor-
A WOODLAND WOOING.
145
tals, was already soundly asleep. Mrs. Dudley,
whose hobby is to be always taking doses her-
self and offering them to others, had put on a
plaid flannel dressing-gown, and above this a
jacket of quilted cashmere.
" Thank you very much for finding my rub-
bers," she said, as I came in. " I do not dare
to go to sleep without them. They will draw
the soles of my feet, perhaps, but I dare not
risk the damp air striking my feet. The
boards of the floor are by no means properly
seasoned."
** Now I '11 tell you a story," announced a
cheerful voice from a distant corner : ** Once
they was free child'n, all black, and would n't
eat their suppers ; so the great big bear came
a roarin' and a growlin', and wow ! he eated
them all up but they bones, and he eated them
up too ! "
'' Rodney Sparhawk, you tiresome child,"
exclaimed Mrs. Sparhawk, '' don't let me hear
10
146
A WOODLAND WOOING.
another word from you to-night. Do you
understand?"
** Then I '11 whisker, so you can't hear me,"
said the unquenched Rodney.
*' Don't want to be eated all up with a bear,"
piped Bevis, dismally.
" There are no bears at all," said his mother,
" and Rodney is nasty to tell stories to frighten
you. Go to sleep, and hurry about it, or all
the sweet little dreams will fly away from your
bed."
** Do you see any now ? " queried Bevis, with
anxiety.
** Yes, a great many lovely ones."
"■ But I can't see them."
** That is because you do not wear glasses.
Now go to sleep this minute."
" All wight," replied Bevis, drowsily.
By this time Mrs. Dudley had put up her
curl papers and solemnly tied on a quilted
hood. Next she bound bits of scarlet flannel
A WOODLAND WOOING.
147
about her wrists to guard against rheumatism,
took two pills and a dose of some nauseous-
looking yellow mixture from a bottle, put out
her little safety-lamp, and finally retired. Silence
settled over the tent, and over the encampment.
Everybody was either asleep or trying to get
to sleep; but as for me, I was never more hope-
lessly wide-awake. I tossed about on my straw
bed and changed my pillow from side to side.
The night air stole in under the tent, cool and
damp and sweet. Josephine Foster sneezed
unwarily. Instantly a match was scratched, the
safety-lamp glimmered in the darkness like a
little star, and Mrs. Dudley came across the tent.
*' Open your mouth," she said, in a voice
which sounded deep and hollow in the silence.
No reply from Josephine, though I think
she was not asleep. Mrs. Dudley grasped her
shoulder firmly.
*'Wake up," she said; **open your mouth and
take this."
148
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" Take what ? " asked Josephine, sleepily.
" A quinine pill. You sneezed, and I think
there 's probably malaria around. Or are you
having a chill ? "
"I am not," said Josephine, ungratefully. " I
am not the least bit chilly. I am too warm
under this great blanket."
'' Then you must be feverish," said Mrs.
Dudley, triumphantly, " and that is a much
worse symptom."
" I have n't any symptoms at all, Mrs. Dud-
ley," said Josephine, with sleepy rudeness, " and
I shall not take any medicine at all."
Upon this Mrs. Dudley retired to her couch
in injured silence, and sleep once more settled
upon all eyelids but my own. Some perverse
imp seemed to have taken upon himself the
special charge of keeping my eyes open and
my ears unnaturally alert. Once the floor
creaked strangely. Then there was little to
hear except the many chirping voices of the
A WOODLAND WOOING. 149
insects of a summer night, merged into a sort
of out-door orchestra. I lay separating the
sounds. That was the tree-toad; that the
cricket; that the katydid; those the whistles of
the frogs in the marshes; that "glug! chunck!"
was some portly dweller among the sword reeds
and blue flag on the pond's border. In any
pause came the soft, hissing lap of the water,
running up over the tiny beach and then sliding
musically back again. Perhaps it was this
sound which first made me imagine I was
thirsty. It was only imagination, to begin with,
but once indulging, I found myself becoming
more miserable every minute. I thought of the
terrible pictures by Dore in Father's " Ancient
Mariner." I saw distinctly the ghastly faces,
the open mouths, the hideous protruding
tongues and eyeballs. I was growing quite
wild with nervousness and thirst, when some-
thing happened which made me forget myself
and my discomfort completely. Just outside
150
A WOODLAND WOOING.
the tent I heard a soft and stealthy footstep.
It was very deliberate, but it came nearer and
nearer every minute. It was most uncomfort-
able to lie there listening to the sound, and to
feel that I was the only waking, hearing being
in the whole dark camp. In a moment some-
thijig touched the tent canvas and moved along
cautiously as if feeling for the door. Just then
a hand from Emily Dudley's bed grasped me.
** Do you hear that ? " whispered Emily,
hoarsely.
** Yes," I answered. " What do you think it
is? There used to be bears on Sippican. You
don't think—"
" Of course not, silly," said the practical
Emily. '' It is a tramp or something, and he
will rob the provision tent. I must manage to
go and call Father."
Just here came a stumble. Our tent quaked
wildly, and some heavy body fell to the ground
with violence.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
151
" Oh, come now ! " exclaimed a masculine
voice, which ran unexpectedly into a squeak at
the end.
The feeling of utter rehef was delightful. I
slipped on my rubber sandals, and wrapped in
my big gray blanket, hastened silently from the
tent
^*0h, Bobby," I said, "is it you?"
*' Of course," replied Bob, crossly, "who did
you think ? "
" What are you doing ? "
" Trying to be still, and not wake anybody
up."
" Did you tumble over a guy rope ? " I gig-
gled delightedly.
" Of course I did," returned Bob, with some
sharpness, " but it does n't strike mc as so
awfully funny as it seems to you. I am on my
way to the dining tent after a dipper."
" Oh, if you are going for water," I said joy-
ously, all my thirst returning, " I will go too.
ir2 A WOODLAND WOOING.
I can find a glass or a dipper, or something,
because I put them away."
We made our way to the dining tent. As
I crept in under the door I caught a curious
glow or flash on the floor, which at once dis-
appeared. I stood still, with my heart pound-
ing against my side. There was a tramp about
then, as Emily had thought, and he was here
in the tent, alone in the darkness with me. I
fortified myself by thinking of Bob, who was
waiting close outside.
" Who is here?" I demanded, in a feeble and
shaky voice.
After an instant of silence there was a little
click. The faint glow appeared again, and I
saw Miss Alexander, Mrs. Sparhawk's guest,
sitting upon the floor, with a tiny dark lantern
beside her. She looked unnaturally white, and
her large, pale-blue eyes shone like a cat's.
She had a dark cloak about her, and her wavy
red hair was tumbling over her shoulders..
A WOODLAND WOOING.
153
"Are you ill?" I asked. "I thought you
were in our tent asleep."
" I could not sleep," she said softly and
hurriedly. " I crept out and came here. I
must write a letter for Jackson to carry back
to-morrow. But no one must know. I am
sure I can trust you, Miss Betty; you will not
betray me? "
" I will not tell," I said stiffly, for I thought
she was silly, and that she was trying to make
a mystery out of a very simple matter. Of
course Mrs. Sparhawk would not have minded
her writing a letter.
"Oh, thank you," she said very earnestly;
" I thought I could trust you. I was sure I
could."
I made no answer, and by the time I had
found a mug she was busily writing by the pale
glow of her little lantern.
" What were you talking to yourself about,
Betty?" asked Bob, as I joined him.
154 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
'* I could n't find the glasses," I answered,
evasively, ** and I was hunting about for them.
Ugh ! how cold the grass is ! "
It was cold and quite drenched with dew, and
I shivered a little as we stood on the tiny white
beach. The water of the pond looked black as
ink, and now and then we caught a faint splash
out on its sullen surface, from some leaping fish
or elfish water-sprite. Bob dipped a cupful of
the cool liquid, and impolitely drank first, be-
fore dipping any for me.
*' It tastes mighty froggy," he said critically.
I crept quietly back into the tent. I won-
dered if Miss Alexander had come in before
me ; but I did not speculate much, for soon the
crickets ceased their chirping, my thoughts be-
came deliciously confused, and I slipped away
into a dreamless sleep.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
155
XIII.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
I SAY that it comes hard on a fellow to be
everlastingly sitting down to write, when there
are so many better things to do. If you were a
girl it would n't matter, and Betty need not take
on airs just because her chapters are longer
than mine. She is n't a man, and it does n't
depend on her whether we have any meat for
dinner.
The ham and beef are all gone, you see, and
the tongue, too. So now we have got to shoot
our own dinners. It is against the law to buy
any meat. Fred and I went away up the brook
to-day and caught a jolly lot of trout. They
are sizzling away now, over the fire, and Betty
is peeling the potatoes. Mr. Dudley always
makes the coffee, and I can tell you it smells
156
A WOODLAND WOOING.
good enough. We shall have blueberries, too,
for supper, that we picked on the mountain to-
day. After supper those that dare to, go row-
ing in the punt; she leaks, but Fred and I are
going to patch her up. We can fix her, I think,
so that, at least, the water won't come in faster
than you can bail it out. There are water-lilies
over across the pond ; only the beaver lilies,
the yellow kind, grow on this side.
Supper is ready at last, so I can't write any
more.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
157
XIV.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
«
In the high heat of a summer afternoon we
were toiling dismally up the rough side of Sippi-
can Mountain. The path wound among rocky-
ledges and clumps of hemlock and blueberry.
There was no shade until one reached the ever-
green belt, half-way to the summit. It was a
day of sickening heat, without a puff of wind,
and our party was rather silent as we languidl}j
trailed along in single file, '' going to fish for
blueberries," as Bob wittily remarked.
*' I am not going one single step farther,"
announced Lucretia, suddenly.
She sat down hopelessly on a cushion of crisp
gray moss, and took off her hat. Her face was
as pink as a wild rose ; and her hair, usually
knotted so closely, was loosened just enough
158
A WOODLAND WOOING.
to free a few pretty, soft locks about her neck
and face. Lucretia was only flushed enough
to look adorably pretty. I was conscious my-
self of being most vulgarly crimson-faced and
blowzy.
"If you give up, Lucretia, then so shall I,"
said Josephine, fretfully. " I wish I had stayed
at camp. I 'm sure I never should have
dreamed of coming, if I had known how warm.
it was."
She also sat down and removed her hat. Ted
and Colonel Sparhawk urged them to try to
feach the pines, and a sympathetic group gath-
ered about them. Just before me Emily Dudley
plodded with an air of stolid endurance, and
ahead of her Mr. Hamlin was wandering on by
himself, looking very ill-natured.
** The only truly sensible members of the
camp are those who refused to come on this
direful scramble," said a voice behind, and
Arthur Winthrop joined me.
A WOODLAND WOOING. jcg
His round face was crimson with heat, and his
spectacles reflected the sunshine dazzHngly.
" I am looking for geodes," he announced
cheerfully, — " garnet geodes. I have heard
they are found on Sippican, though I am bound
to say I never found one myself."
Arthur Winthrop is just out of college. He
is a painfully good and studious young man.
He always does what is expected of him, and
it is his mother's placid boast that " Arty " has
never caused her an hour's anxiety since he
was born.
'' I have not devoted my whole time to
geology," he said, '* for I have been cutting
alpenstocks for the young ladies. Here is
one for you. It will help you up the hill."
** Did you cut your initials on them all?"
I asked, as I accepted the gift.
" No," he replied, with kind patronage ; " that
was a special favor to you."
We had reached the pine belt by this time,
l60 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
and were sitting down to rest in the shade.
Below us the rest of the party had abandoned
the intention of sitting forever on the blazing
hillside. They were toiling toward us silently
in single file, except that Theodore was helping
Lucretia.
'' Come," said the relentless voice of Emily
Dudley above me, " if you stop at all, you '11
begin to realize how warm and tired you are.
Just keep right on, and you won't mind it half
so much."
Arthur Winthrop remonstrated, but I rose
obediently.
"We shall have no hot cakes for supper if
we do not get the berries," I said sordidly.
" I do not think of cakes at a time like this,"
reproved my companion.
Nevertheless, I left him sitting on a bank of
moss, and keeping away the mosquitoes with a
brake, while I followed Emily and presently
emerged from the pines into the sunlight once
A WOODLAND WOOING. j^j
more. Here were the berries, however, — cover-
ing the bushes, growing in fat clusters, each
berry as large as a small grape, and covered
with lovely blue bloom. Mr. Hamlin had taken
his field-glass and disappeared. Emily and I
were apparently all alone on the top of Sippican
Mountain. Emily Dudley picked berries with
the steady, persistent method with which she
does everything. She entirely cleared one bush
of fruit before leaving it, and never wandered
about for '' thick places," as Bob and I do.
After a while I found myself out of sight of
Emily. It grew hotter and stiller on the moun-
tain. I could no longer hear the voices of Ted
and Arthur singing '*Lauriger" below in the
woods. Only the harsh cawing of a pair of
crows, sweeping about over their great nest in
a blasted pine-tree, broke the stillness. They,
too, became quiet, and I heard my own heavy
breathing and the rattle of the berries falling
into my tin pail.
II
1 62 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
Presently I remembered that Bob and Fred
were fishing at a pond somewhere beyond this
side of the mountain, and I became quite eager
to see the water. I wandered here and there
for different views. I did not find the pond,
which was not wholly strange, as I was con-
stantly going lower instead of higher. I sat
down to rest presently, di^ouraged by the
distance I had come. One comes so much
more swiftly down a mountain than one can
climb up. I began to eat up my blueberries,
which were warm but luscious. High above
me, at my left, a grateful little cloud shadowed
the sun for a moment. From the same direc-
tion came a shrill Swiss yodel, repeated several
times, and in a moment Mr. Hamlin appeared
and came down, stumbling and sliding over
stones and the smooth, dry grass.
'* I have brought you an alpenstock," he
cried.
" I have one already," I said ungraciously,
A WOODLAND WOOING. 163
as he came beside me. *' I mean, of course, I
am much obliged, but you see Arthur Winthrop
gave me one."
Mr. Hamhn sat down on the crisp gray moss
beside me, and taking up my alpenstock, re-
garded it a little scornfully.
*' It is crooked," he said.
It was as straight as a dart, but I did not
defend it.
** Did you ask him to cut his initials on it?"
he asked.
** No," I rephed meekly.
'* Then what business had he to do it?'*
*' They are very good letters," I said critically.
" He might as well have made them all slant
the same way, while he was about it," observed
Mr. Hamlin.
''They do," I said half-heartedly, for I was
becoming dissatisfied with my stick.
" He might at least have smoothed the top
off a little better," went on my companion ;
164
A WOODLAND WOOING.
*' however, if you have one, you don't want
another;" and he was about to fling his staff
away.
*'0h, don't!" I cried, '^please do not. I
think I would rather have it. It — I think
yours is straighten"
" Well, give me the other, then. You cannot
keep both. One must go."
Reluctantly, and fully aware of my own base-
ness, I gave up poor Arthur's stick, with all its
careful carving, and saw it sent, with a sudden,
vigorous, masculine fling, far down the side of
the mountain.
*' Oh," I cried, " I 'm so sorry it *s gone ! "
Mr. Hamlin, who was busy cutting something
on the remaining stick, gave me a look of quiet
contempt.
" At least you are consistent," he said.
''Well," I ventured, after I had watched his
carving for a moment, *' you are inconsistent
yourself. You thought it was impertinent for
A WOODLAND WOOING.
165
Arthur Winthrop to make his initials without
asking me, and now you are doing the same
thing."
" That is entirely different," said Mr. Hamlin,
wdth dignity.
"What is different?"
" The initials are different."
After this idiotic dialogue we gazed at each
other a moment in silent disgust. Then we
both laughed ; after which we went down the
mountain to a big pine, where I sat down to
pin up the rents in my gown, and Mr. Hamlin
carved whatever he chose upon my staff.
" I felt a little breeze," remarked Mr. Hamlin,
intent upon his work.
I threw aside my hat, and a puff of cooler air
lifted the hair on my forehead.
" How still it is ! " I said.
The sun had gone behind a cloud, and the
odors of hemlock and sweet fern had grown
suddenly heavy.
1 56 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
" It 's a relief to have — " began Mr. Hamlin ;
then suddenly springing to his feet he ex-
claimed, " Look at that cloud ! "
Over the shoulder of the mountain was rising
rapidly a cloud as dark as lead. The air be-
^^ came more breathless and oppressive than be-
fore, and a curious listening hush fell upon
everything. In short, a heavy thunder-storm
was close upon us.
"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried in great
dismay. *' How stupid of us to come so far !
We shall be drenched before we get back to
the top and down the other side."
*'We must go down this side," Mr. Hamlin
decided promptly. " Give me your hand, Miss
Betty; we must run for it."
Hand in hand, panting and breathless, we tore
wildly down the mountain pasture, over sticks
and stones, moss and rocky ledges, like a pair
who were fleeing from fate. Mr. Hamlin's field-
glass bumped against his hip as he ran, and my
A WOODLAND WOOING.
167
pail of berries swayed and swung. At every
step the berries bobbed over the brim, and Hke
Gretel, I left a trail behind me of scattered fruit.
The first warm, slow drops of rain were begin-
ning to fall when we reached the foot of the
mountain; yet even here Mr. Hamlin would
not let me stop, but, gasping that he saw a
chimney, he hurried me across the pasture and
down the dusty road. The rain was just upon
us when we reached the Butterfield farm-house,
and dashed recklessly in at the door, which
stood hospitably open. Mr. Hamlin drew out
a chair for me, but I sank into a heap on the
floor. We were in a large, raftered kitchen,
and the air was filled with the pleasant spicy
odor of the wood fire, newly kindled in the
stove. As we tumbled in at one door Mrs.
Simeon Butterfield came in at another with an
armful of sticks, which she threw down upon
the floor.
" Wal," she said, in a rich, comfortable voice,
1 58 A WOODLAND WOOING.
*' hed a narrer squeak for 't, didn't ye? Little
more 'n ye 'd been soppin'."
*' We must beg your pardon," said Mr. Ham-
lin, ** for coming in without knocking."
" Law sakes," said the woman, regarding us
with a broad and friendly smile, " don't say a
word ; don't say a word. 'T want no time to
stop for manners, I 'm sure."
She proceeded to fill her stove with wood,
and opening the oven door, urged me to sit up
and dry my boots.
** Ye Ve about lost all your plums, I guess,"
she said sympathetically. " Adaline, she went
over a spell ternoon and picked a mess for
supper. I 'm a stewin' of 'em now in mo-
lasses. Adaline, she thinks there aint nothin'
quite so good as her mar's stewed plums.
Says she don't get nothin' like 'em over to the
Corner."
While our hostess talked I had noticed a
towzled, sandy head, which kept appearing at
A WOODLAND WOOING.
169
the door leading into the wood-house, and which
dodged away as often as I looked.
** That 's Elnathan," said the woman, apolo-
getically. *' I tell him folks might almost think
he was n't well-witted, but he 's only bashful.
He 's different from Adaline an' alwees was,
though to be sure she 's got a good many more
manners than what she had before she went to
the Corner. She 's been down to the Corner
two seasons, Adaline has, to work in the corn
factory. I think them corn-factory folks are
sort o' stuck up, and girls get high notions
there."
She looked rather serious for a moment over
Adaline's " high notions," then her face relapsed
into its good-humored, easy expression.
" I guess ye must be from the Arrowsic camp,
haint ye, over beyond the mounting? Elnathan,
he 's been over once to see ye. He 's drctful
curious about the camp an' tents, but after all
he darsn't speak to them when he gets there,
170
A WOODLAND WOOING.
he 's so dretful bashful. Good lands ! Do look
at it rain ! "
The rain was indeed falling in sheets, but the
thunder and lightning were far off. It looked
almost as if it were settling down to storm all
night. Mr. Hamlin and I exchanged glances
of humorous despair. At this minute a door
opened, and the much-talked-of Adaline herself
appeared, surrounded by an admiring group of
children of assorted sizes.
She was a young girl, with a rather pretty,
silly face, and she had a self-conscious air which
her mother entirely lacked. She giggled and
shook her earrings about, as she looked at Mr.
Hamlin, and slid her wide black rubber brace-
lets up and down her wrists.
" This is my daughter Adaline," gaid our
hostess. " Adaline, this is Dr. Greenleafs
daughter; don't you remember her? Rally,
though, I 've forgot what your name be," she
added, regarding Mr. Hamlin with a benevolent
A WOODLAND WOOING.
171
look, *' only seein' ye onct, ye know, when ye
come with the medicine that day."
The name being given, and the ceremony of
introduction concluded, our hostess ran on with
her stream of talk.
** I always sot a sight by your father," she
said, " an' I know him real well. He took our
Eva May through the measles last winter ; done
it well, too. Now you must jest stop to supper;
ye see it don't hold up a mite yet. Ef it haint
done raining after supper, Elnath shall carry ye
round home in the wagon. Now you go right
into the fore-room, and Adaline will entertain
ye. You play to 'em, Adaline, and show 'em
the album, and I '11 stir up somethin' for an
early supper."
Reluctantly we agreed that it was quite im-
possible for us to start for home in such a storm,
and though politely protesting against the sup-
per, we yielded at length, and meekly followed
Adaline into the " fore-room." The " fore-
172
A WOODLAND WOOING.
room " was small and stuffy. It smelled of oil-
cloth and varnish and bombazine, but it was, of
its class, quite an opulent " fore-room." There
were a haircloth sofa and four slippery hair-
cloth chairs. A mahogany centre-table was
covered with a white cloth with a knotted fringe.
In the middle stood a lamp on a green worsted
mat. Round about this were ranged the family
Bible, the album, a red pin-cushion made over
a broken goblet, and a box once covered with
shells pressed into putty, but now showing
chiefly the putty, with holes where the shells
had been. On the wall hung a hideous
*' Death-bed of Abraham Lincoln," framed in
leather-work ; a " Sailor's Return," in cones ; a
Biblical scene, in pebbles ; and a certificate of
membership of the M. E. American Mis-
sionary Society, enriched with a border of
beans.
Eva May, the smallest of the flock of chil-
dren, not being at all afflicted with her brother
A WOODLAND WOOING.
173
Elnathan's shyness, volunteered a good deal of
information.
'' That 's Gran'f'ther Butterfield's coffin-plate,"
she said, pointing to a silver plate which adorned
the wall above the mantel ; " and that wreath in
the frame, them was the flowers Aunt Silviny
had onto her coffin. I went to her funiril," she
added with awful relish. '' That 's the only
funiril ever I ben to."
'' Don't talk so much, Eva May Butterfield,"
said Adaline, setting forth two of the slippery
chairs. " Do take seats."
We seated ourselves in silence. The atmos-
phere of the room was depressing, not to say
funereal ; and I longed for the old kitchen, with
its cheerful mistress, its fragrant fire, and open
door.
"■ Could n't we have the windows open? "
suggested Mr. Hamlin.
'' If you can get 'em open," said Adaline,
dubiously. *' They was stuck down when
lyA A WOODLAND WOOING.
the house was painted, and they Ve always
stuck."
It proved that they stuck still; and after a
brief but manful struggle, Mr. Hamlin gave it
up, and we relapsed into gasping silence.
" I '11 show you the album, if you want to see
it," said Adaline.
She openly addressed Mr. Hamlin, and estab-
lished herself beside him. I had nothing to do
but listen humbly from afar, and watch the
rain.
*'This," began Adahne, with the air of a
show-man, " is Aunt Cdiihrine. She used to
live over to Litchfield Corner, in a house with
a bay window ; she 's dead now. That 's Uncle
Jeduthan, her husband; he's dead, too. That's
my Aunt Adaline, that I was named for; she
keeps three canaries. And that 's her first hus-
band, Uncle John; he's dead. Her second
husband never was took; we aint got no picture
of him."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
175
"Why not?" asked Mr. Hamlin, briskly,
rousing himself to take an interest in his enter-
tainer's efforts, and frowning upon me as he
detected me in a smile.
" Oh, he don't darse to," replied Adaline ;
" he 's too bashful. He 's dretful bashful, Uncle
James is. That's my cousin Julia; she's dead
now. That 's her twin brother, Jude ; he 's
joined the church this summer. That 's Aunt
Samanthy; she's dead. That's mother's Uncle
Peleg; his wife, she hung herself out in the
barn, and Uncle Peleg, he never knew it;
thought she 'd gone to some of the neighbors,
till he went out to do the chores, and found her
hanging in the tie-up."
" She was dead," cheerfully added Eva May,
who stood by an interested listener.
**That," continued Adaline, "is Maria Carey;
she 's gone to Idaho. That 's my brother four
years ago."
" Is he dead?" asked Mr. Hamlin.
1/6
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" Why, no," replied Adallne, much shocked,
" that 's Elnathan ; did n't you see him out in
the kitchen?"
I laughed gleefully though silently, and Mr.
Hamlin shook his head at me over the elaborate
plaits of Adaline's hair.
*' Who is this queer-looking child with such
big ears?" he asked.
** Oh, that 's me when I was a baby," answered
Adaline, slightly offended.
At this I laughed aloud, and after a minute
Adaline decided to join me. We were still
laughing when the door opened, and a young
man was ushered in by Mrs. Butterfield.
" One more to keep ye company," she an-
nounced cheerfully. " Elnath had this young
feller out in the barn. He came on one o' them
crazy wheels that city boarders trapse about on
now-days. You jest make yourselves to home,
all of ye, and we '11 hev supper in no time
now."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
177
The new-comer was a dark and rather hand-
some young man in brown velvet knickerbockers
and a Norfolk jacket. He had evidently reached
the shelter of the barn before the shower began,
for he was as neat and jaunty as a fashion plate.
He bowed slightly as Mrs. Butterfield presented
him, and seating himself by the window became
absorbed in studying the dripping lilac bush
outside.
** I wisht you 'd play me a tune," said Adaline,
suddenly addressing me for the first time. " I
wisht you would. I 'm terrible fond of music."
** I cannot play," I replied, '' but we should
like to hear you."
" I Sdon't play," answered Adaline, " I sing.
But I haint practised for ever so long."
" Do sing," urged Mr. Hamlin. *' Let me
open the melodeon for you."
" Oh, I never should darst to," declared Ada-
line, nevertheless rising and following him. " I
aint us't to singin' before strangers."
12
178
A WOODLAND WOOING.
She sat down, however, with much giggling
and shaking of elbows. The chair proved to
be too low, and required a " Choral Wreath "
and a '* Golden Lyre " to bring it up suffi-
ciently. Then, when she was fairly seated,
she was obliged to bend down half a dozen
times to be sure that the pedals were really
there.
*' There, now ! " she exclaimed ; " I can't, and
I said I could n't."
" Oh, but you have n't tried yet," said Mr.
Hamlin, reassuringly. *' Do try."
Thus coaxed and encouraged Adaline finally
yielded, and struck in boldly with that charming
ditty, " Pull for the Shore." Her voice was loud
and shrill. The pedals rattled and clattered, the
wind choked and gulped in the bellows ; but
Adaline, having started, sang on and on, paus-
ing neither for breath nor interlude, until she
had sung every verse, when she stopped panting,
saying meekly, —
A WOODLAND WOOING.
179
" I haint sung any for a long time ; I 'm all
hearsed up."
Mrs. Butterfield had appeared at the door
with floury hands, but a countenance beaming
with placid approval.
" Sing 'em ' Surely the Captain May Depend
on Me,' " she urged. '' I call that about the
handsomest tune of all."
Upon this Adaline obligingly began again.
She not only sang her mother's favorite, but
many others. She urged Mr. Hamlin to join in
the chorus. I sat behind her and laughed at
Mr. Hamlin, near-sightedly peering over Ada-
line's shoulder and singing Moody and Sankey
favorites. The dark-faced young man looked
melancholy, and gazed into the lilac bush. The
rain had nearly stopped falling, and the blue
sky was breaking through the clouds. I was
about to suggest that we might safely start for
home, when Eva May appeared at the door and
announced supper.
l3o A WOODLAND WOOING.
The table was spread in the kitchen, and
about the door leading into the wood-house
several children were clustered, gazing long-
ingly at the viands.
** Father 'n' Elnathan aint a comin'," an-
nounced one of them, shrilly. " Elnath says
he druther eat in the tie-up than along of
comp'ny."
" There, Victory, I guess that '11 do," said
Mrs. Butterfield, with dignity. *' You can come
to table and set in Elnath's chair. See how
much like a little lady you can act."
The sun had come out warm and bright, and
shone in at the open kitchen door. In the pool
of rain-water left in the hollow door-stone two
gaunt, yellow-legged chickens disported them-
selves as we ate our supper.
*' Ef I 'd only a 'known ye were comin'," said
Mrs. Butterfield, hospitably, *' I 'd a hed some-
thin' cooked up for ye ; but, as 't is, I haint
nothin' raly fit to set before comp'ny. I don't
A WOODLAND WOOING. igj
know when I Ve hed sech awful poor luck with
my biscuits. Ef ye hed n't just come from
campin' out, I should be ashamed to offer 'em
to ye."
*' Are you camping out?" asked the dark
young man, suddenly raising his eyes from his
plate.
Upon hearing that we were, he became un-
expectedly interested in us. He was anxious to
know how we liked the life. He asked how we
employed our evenings, and what we did in
stormy weather. I thought he decidedly gave
Mr. Hamlin an opportunity to invite him to
visit the camp, but this, very naturally, Mr.
Hamlin did not do. The young man said that
he was spending some weeks at the " Gorge,"
a mountain village thirty miles above, where
summer visitors thronged.
*' I am terribly afflicted with insomnia," fixing
his melancholy dark eyes upon my face. *' My
physician has ordered me to spend much time
1 32 A WOODLAND WOOING.
in the open air, and my bicycle and I have
pretty thoroughly explored the country about
here."
*' You certainly cannot think of getting back
to the Gorge to-night," said Mr. Hamlin, bluntly.
*' Mrs. Butterfield has kindly promised me a
bed for to-night," replied he, with a smile. " I
believe I will take a little spin for exercise, if
the roads will allow it."
We had left the table and were standing
grouped about the open door.
" We must be getting home at once," said
Mr. Hamlin, decidedly; "your sister will be
anxious about you. Miss Betty."
The dark young man had disappeared, and
now returned rolling beside him a bicycle,
whose great wheel looked as though a big
spider had spun it. Mr. Hamlin went forward
to examine the beautiful machine, and I tried
to thank our hostess for her kindness.
" Don t say a word, now, don't say a word,"
A WOODLAND WOOING.
183
she said ; " 't was pot-luck, and poor enough at
that. You 're real welcome, I 'm sure. Lands !
Do see him ; he 's histin' himself up."
The dark young man had mounted his bicycle,
and was running up and down before the house
for the benefit of the children, who stood staring
in open-mouthed wonder. From the door of
the barn the bashful Elnathan and his frowzy-
haired father looked on with much interest.
** Gosh ! " exclaimed Elnathan, admiringly,
" I sh'd like to try that myself. Looks dretful
easy."
" Ye great loon," replied his father, " ye
could n't no more ride it than ye could ride
our young bull."
As we started for the camp along the wet
road, the bicycler joined us.
" If you w^ould n't mind," he said, gracefully
touching his Tam-o'-Shanter cap, " I should
very much like to ride a little distance with
you."
1 84
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" Certainly," said Mr. Hamlin, not very cor-
dially; and the three of us soon left behind the
hospitable house of the Butterfields, and the star-
ing group about the door. The sun was not yet
set, and the air was full of fresh wild odors of
brake and pine and moss. When we passed
through the little beech wood-road the drops
of rain were still pattering softly among the
dripping leaves, and now and then falling,
slow and heavy, to the already sodden earth.
The frogs were croaking in a noisy chorus,
glad of the rain ; and deep among the trees, a
wood bird was calling in a voice of delicious
sweetness.
Just beyond the wood our escort said good-
night and left us. I turned and watched him
as he rode away. He looked a very handsome
young figure in his velvet clothes and dark-red
cap.
" What a very good-looking young man ! "
I exclaimed.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
185
u
Yes," assented Mr. Hamlin, whipping the
drenched roadside bushes with my alpenstock,
" he 's good enough looking, but his get-up is
confoundedly theatrical."
" He looks melancholy," I said sentimentally,
" as if he had some trouble weighing on him."
" Dyspepsia," returned Mr. Hamhn, briefly,
still whipping the bushes.
*' You cotddnt have seen him eat ham and
hot soda biscuit," I laughed, " if you think
that."
It was three miles round the mountain road,
and it was quite dark when at last we reached
Sippican Meadow and saw the fire burning below
the tents. We found the camp in a damp and
discouraged condition. They were gathered in
the dining tent attempting to tell stories. They
had supped upon cheese and limp crackers,
and, altogether, it seemed that our lot had been
happier than theirs.
" Josephine is angry," whispered Lucretia to
1 86 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
me as we were going to bed. " You know she
thinks Mr. Hamhn is her property. And it
really was improper, too," she added ; " I don't
know, I 'm sure, what Aunt Jane would say."
Miss Alexander came across to me presently,
with her wavy red hair hanging below her waist
and her eyes shining like stars. She looked
almost pretty. She brought a box of choco-
lates, and offered them to me as I sat on the
edge of my bed.
" Don't you like them? They are Maillard's,"
she said. *' I would n't stir from home without
a supply of Maillard's confectionery. Are n't
you dreadfully tired?"
** Oh, no," I replied cheerfully. " I am so
strong. I 'm a country girl, you know. It was ^
really quite a funny adventure."
" I wish I had been there," she said suddenly.
Then she fell to studying her pretty, delicate
hands. *' How demoralizing camp life is," she
mused. " I use my toilette des angles every day,
A WOODLAND WOOING. jg/
yet my fingers are growing hideous. I should
be ashamed to have anybody kiss my hand
now."
" I should at any time," I said bluntly. '* I
should feel like an idiot."
Miss Alexander gave me an enthusiastic,
sudden squeeze.
'* What a dear little innocent daisy you are ! "
she exclaimed. " I should like to confide in
you."
** You *d better not," I returned ; " I always
tell things."
" Was your sister scolding you for coming
home alone with Mr. Hamlin? " she asked.
*' To be sure, though, you were n't alone, for
■g the young bicycler escorted you."
" Only a little way," I said. '* He went back
to Mrs. Butterfield's to spend the night. I think
he is going back to the Gorge to-morrow. He
wore a beautiful brown velvet suit. I wish all
the young men were dressed that way." -
1 88 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
" Brown velvet is very becoming to those light
men," observed Miss Alexander.
" He was not light/' I corrected. " He was
very dark, and he looked very grave and mel-
ancholy. I quite pitied him."
** You are a darling ! " exclaimed Miss Alex-
ander, with another hug. " You may keep the
chocolates. Good-night, cherie^
A WOODLAND WOOING.
189
XV.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
You see this bow-and-arrow business would
be all well enough if you ever hit anything ; but
the plain truth is that you don't. Here we Ve
been over two weeks in camp, and not one sin-
gle confounded thing has anybody shot. Of
course the boiled ham and beef that we brought
along with us lasted a few days, but since we
finished that, we 've just lived on fish till I won-
der we don't have fins grow. This is n't half
as jolly a camping-out as last year. We had
plenty to eat then. Betty is different too. She 's
all gone to pieces ; no fun in her. She has n't
been fishing with Fred and me half the time.
Yesterday Fred and I went for pickerel over
to Mason's Pond, on the road to the Gorge, and
when we 'd most got there we met a fellow on a
190
A WOODLAND WOOING.
bicycle. It was a boss one. I never saw such
a good one in my life. He rode boss, too. He
could stand still on it, almost. Fred and I
stopped to watch him, and he got off to fix
something, so we got to talking with him, and
that's how he came to give me the letter. It
was to Miss Alexander. Betty does n't like her,
but I think she 's a first-rate sort of a girl.
She has had a hard time of it at home, too, I
guess, but she is n't afraid of spiders ; so the
fellow said if I 'd give her the note, and not let
anybody see, he 'd be awfully obliged. - You
see, we 'd told him about ourselves and the
camp, and then he offered me a ride. I did try
it, too, it looked so easy, Fred just climbed up
and keeled over, and I did n't stay on quite as
long as Fred. So, of course, I did give her the
note, and as —
There 's Fred, and we 're going across the
pond for sweet flag.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
191
XVI.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
"Mr. Hamlin," called Mrs. Sparhawk, pleas-
antly, " Miss Alexander and I are going to the
Glen. Will you not come with us to protect
us from wild beasts?"
We all looked up in some surprise. It was a
perfect morning, with a cool breeze darkening
the surface of the pond; but Mrs. Sparhawk
was by no means fond of walking over country
roads, and usually preferred remaining behind
in her hammock, to joining any of our expe-
ditions. Mr. Hamlin rose from the grass and
brushed the cigar ashes from his blue flannel
garments.
**By all means," he said, not very cordially.
''Why don't we all go?"
Nobody else appeared to wish to start, how-
192
A WOODLAND WOOING.
ever. Mrs. Winthrop had cooking to do ; Mrs.
Dudley considered the Glen a damp and rheu-
matic spot; Emily wished to see if she could
not finish her chair-cover that morning, and
Lucretia, Josephine, Ted, and Arthur Winthrop
had ensconced themselves under the shade of
thef apple-tree, too comfortably to be disturbed.
ji should have liked to go myself, and was
about to say so, when Mrs. Sparhawk asked
me to take care of the children.
*' You are so good-natured. Miss Betty,'' she
said, " that I fear I 'm imposing on you, but the
Colonel will soon be through with his letters,
and then you can turn the young imps over to
him. Are you ready, Annie?"
Annie Alexander rose from her camp-chair
rather languidly. She had told me one even-
ing that she had a hidden grief, but I thought
myself that she must get a good deal of
consolation from her gowns. She is one of
those people with a positive genius for dress.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
193
Josephine looks like a commonplace dowdy be-
side her. Nothing could be simpler than her gray-
batiste gown and her little black hat; and yet
there was nobody in camp to compare with her,
as she unfurled her large batiste sun-umbrella
and stepped off beside Mr. Hamlin.
** There goes a thoroughly artificial girl,"
commented Mrs. Winthrop, unwisely, *' and
yet every man in the camp is fascinated by
her."
'' What did you say was the matter with
her ? " asked Rodney Sparhawk, shrewdly.
" She gives me choclits, and Bevis stole my
sugared almond."
** Did n't eiver, stoled it yousef," promptly
responded the warlike Bevis, digging so vio-
lently with an iron spoon that the sand flew in
our eyes.
'* I think he has forgotten what you said," I
said softly to Mrs. Winthrop. ** He could not
understand your words."
13
194
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" I 'm goin' in bavin','' announced Bevis.
" Tired o' diggin' dirt."
" Wait until Papa comes, Bevis," I urged.
** I do not think he would like you to go in
so soon after breakfast."
" He wants me to be clean," put in Rodney,
" so I guess we better go right off. We always
did at home."
" Why, Rodney," I said, trying by discussion
to divert them from really going in, " you have
no pond at home."
*' We bathed in the cistern," replied Rodney,
with dignity. " Now I think we better take off
our stockings to save time, and take off our
shoes too."
" What is going on here, pray, you nasty little
apes ? " asked a fond maternal voice, and Mrs.
Sparhawk appeared beside us.
She took a seat, adjusted her glasses, and
began to fan herself.
** I could not endure it, after all," she said
A WOODLAND WOOING.
195
plaintively. " I did want to see the cascade,
and I thought the Glen would be so deli-
ciously cool ; but that dreadful country road
was too bad. Really, my ankles are quite
twisted out of joint. I had to give it up and
come back."
*' And the others went on ? " asked Mrs.
Winthrop.
" Yes," replied Mrs. Sparhawk, smiling. " Mr.
Hamlin urged poor Annie so that she really
could n't refuse."
She fanned herself slowly for a moment, and
then added, —
" Quite a case of infatuation. Annie is one
of the most infatuating creatures ! She always
takes men by storm."
^* Do you want the children to go In bathing,
Mrs. Sparhawk ? " I asked abruptly. " They
said they were going, but I thought it was too
near their breakfast time."
*' And you were right, you real little doctor's
196
A WOODLAND WOOING.
daughter," she said gayly. " Children, you are
absolutely not to go into the water, not one
step, do you understand?"
" We Ve got our shoes and stockings all off,"
said Rodney.
**Very well, put them on again," said Mrs.
Sparhawk, with fine decision.
She picked up her French novel from the
grass and began to read, while the children
calmly and happily proceeded to go in wading.
As nobody else appeared to pay the slightest
attention to the little things, I went down to the
beach beside them, where my own gown speedily
became quite drabbled and spattered from the
children's splashing.
" Here comes a horse-car," announced Rodney,
unexpectedly.
Horse-cars not running regularly over the
SIppican Mountain route, Rodney's remark met
with more than usual attention. I looked up,
and Emily Dudley put down her embroidery.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
197
" It is Mrs, Jarley," said Arthur Winthrop,
from his seat under the tree.
*' It is Dr. Marigold," declared Colonel Spar-
hawk, who had just come out of the dining
tent.
" A circus ! a circus ! " cried Bevis, spattering
wildly out of the water. " Come quick, Papa,
and wipe my two feets. The grass is pricky."
*' I '11 tell you," exclaimed Ted, springing from
the ground; *' it is a travelling photographer."
" What fun ! " joined in Josephine ; '' now
we '11 all have our pictures taken."
The van was gayly painted with red, and had
a white funnel running out of one end. A little
glass roof rose in the middle. The car was
drawn by two bony horses, and the reins ex-
tended directly into the open door. The driver
.was invisible.
With one accord we abandoned books and
work and hastened up the meadow. Even Mrs.
Sparhawk strolled after us, adjusting her eye-
198
A WOODLAND WOOING.
glass, and declaring that this was *' really very
droll, you know."
*' Hi ! " shouted Ted. " Stop ! Don't go by."
He need not have been afraid of this, as it
proved, for by the time we reached the road the
car had stopped. A young man in a ging-
ham coat came out, followed by a red-haired
boy, and began to unharness the travel-tired
horses.
''How de do?" asked the gingham-coated
one, politely. *' Dry spell we 've ben havin'
lately."
He went on briskly with his work while we
all stood and stared at him, much as a band of
natives might have stared at Stanley in the
trackless wilds of Africa.
** Turn 'em out, Harmon, and let 'em feed
down along the road," said the master of the
caravan to the boy.
He let down a small flight of steps from the
end of the car.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
199
" Now, ladies and gents," he said politely,
" walk right in and make yourselves to home.
I heard about the camp over to Snow's Falls,
and I drove down this mornin' a purpose to
'commodate you."
" That was very kind of you," observed Ted,
slyly.
*' I 'm always glad to 'commodate," the man
replied. '' I thought like enough you 'd like a
chance to set. Walk in and look at the pictures,
anyway, even if you should n't wish to be took.
Walk right in. Don't be bashful."
Thus invited, we all clambered into the car,
Rodney and Bevis making themselves, as Theo-
dore remarked, " rather too frequent," and nearly
knocking over the rest of us in their haste to be
first in the field.
" I mus' have my picksher took," cried Bevis,
shrilly. *' Rodney had his las' winter, and he
cried an' then he had candy."
"That was a tooth, you silly little boy," said
200 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
Rodney, with a superior air ; *' and I guess you *d
have cried 'bout that."
Within the car the atmosphere was stuffy and
smelled of chemicals. The glass roof had a
curtain of faded blue cambric. There was a
sort of screen at the further end, a couple of
steamer-like berths, a cupboard, a little rusty
stove, a few chairs, and a table on which were
the untidy remnants of a meal. In cases hanging
against the wall were the pictures: tintypes of
every size, from minettes at twenty-five cents a
dozen, to the imposing " Emperial Bodoor," —
'* a French name," the photographer explained
casually and condescendingly, — which were half
a dollar apiece. He added, to take the sting
from this exorbitant price, that they were as
much sought after as real oil painting, and
** would wear better, besides."
We found the pictures more entertaining than
the proprietor, and spent some time in exam-
ining them. There were farmers and farmers'
A WOODLAND WOOING.
201
wiv^cs, rustic beaux and belles, and family groups
of children. Some were simpering, and some
wore an expression of wide-eyed horror, as if
they were in momentary expectation of the
camera's exploding like a dynamite bomb.
Nearly every girl grasped a bouquet firmly.
It was always the same bouquet, and we easily
recognized the original in the bunch of faded
pink muslin roses lying upon a chair. As for
the men, they mostly sat in ox-eyed blankness.
The large right hand clutched an unaccustomed
book; the left hand was carelessly disposed
upon the knee. There was, too, in nearly every
picture a bit of rustic stump in some position in
foreground or background.
" Now," announced cheerful Mr. Winthrop at
last, taking pity upon the wistful artist, — '* now
we must all have pictures. Who sits first?"
** Me ! " shouted Rodney and Bevis in shrill
chorus.
And in fact they were taken at once, " the
202 -^ WOODLAND WOOING.
better," as their mother remarked, "to have
the nasty, troublesome Httle creatures out ^of
the way."
Mrs. Dudley from the steps without urged
her daughter to leave the car.
"Emily," she said plaintively, "if you will
persist in staying, at least come here and let me
wet your handkerchief in camphor. Those
chemicals must be bad to breathe."
"I see," said Colonel Sparhawk, "that you
have a rustic stump. Do you charge more for
introducing that?"
"Not a cent more," repHed the artist, " though
I dare say some would. I don't mind saying
that it's a second-handed stump, though you
wouldn't think it. It is every bit as genteel
as what it ever was. I got it at a bargain of
V Perkins Brothers over to Reedville, though, as
'twas, I paid a good high price for it too.
Perkins Brothers, they 'd had it a considerable
spell, and their patrons had all ben took with
A WOODLAND WOOING.
203
it, so they planned for somethin' new and
taking. Amos, the oldest, he was for having
a trellis; but Andrew, he was sot on a post
with an urn atop of it. I never knew which
they got at last, but I bought the stump,
and it 's brought me in more setters than you 'd
believe."
** What exciting things have taken place in
our absence ! " cried a gay voice at the door.
" I firmly believe, Mrs. Sparhawk," chimed in
the voice of Mr. Hamlin, '* that you knew of this
by second-sight, and tried to cheat us out of
having our pictures taken."
" Indeed, I did not," protested Mrs. Sparhawk,
laughing. *' In proof of my fairness, see, you
shall have the next sitting. Let us have a
group, — Miss Alexander seated on the stump,
and you standing gracefully beside her."
" I detest having my picture taken ; let us
off, please," begged Miss Alexander, prettily.
" No," laughed Mrs. Sparhawk ; " really, I am
204
A WOODLAND WOOIXG.
inflexible. To please me, Annie. You know I
have a fancy for my own way."
" Ipsa dixit',' murmured the Colonel, with a
grimace. " If I had chanced to say that ! "
Somehow all the fun seemed to have gone
out of the thing since Mr. Hamlin came. I felt
cross and out of patience with Bevis and Rodney,
and the whole affair of the picture-taking grew
as stupid as possible. Miss Alexander con-
sented, after much urging, to sit on the stump ;
and after she and Mr. Hamlin were taken, Mrs.
Winthrop and Bevis had a picture. Then
Mr. Winthrop, holding that absurd bouquet;
then Mrs. Sparhawk, with the stiimp in the
foreground ; Bob and Fred in fishing cos-
tume, with the stump between them ; Emily,
Josephine, and Lucretia, with the stump dimly
seem in the background ; Theodore, Emily,
and Lucretia; Arthur Winthrop with his geo-
logical hammer; and in nearly every picture
Rodney and Bevis, with many heads and hands,
A WOODLAND WOOING.
205
because keeping still was with them an utter
impossibility.
" You have n't had your picture taken, Betty,"
said Bob, most inopportunely.
" I *m not going to," I answered, preparing to
leave the car.
Almost everybody had gone back to the
camp. Only the children and the two boys
were left.
*' Do have it taken, just for fun," urged Bob.
"All the rest of us have."
" Do," added Bevis ; " and me too, I '11 be
tooken."
" Bevis, dear," said Miss Alexander from the
door, " Papa is going out in the boat with
Rodney, and wants you to come too."
"What is this about your picture?" asked
Mr. Hamlin, coming in. " Have you had the
big one taken yet?"
"What big one? " I asked.
"Why, the 'Emperial Bodoor' for your father."
2o6 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
" Father detests tintypes," I said.
''For your Aunt Jane, then, or for Harriet;
no matter for whom. You are to sit on the
stump and hold your sailor hat in your lap —
s^il votes p laity
"But it does not," I cried, vexed; " I do not
wish to be taken at all."
*' Don't be a gump, Bet," advised Bob.
" What do you want to be so silly for? Go
ahead."
" Emperial Bodoor, sir?" asked the artist,
bustling about and disregarding me entirely.
" I shall look as disagreeable as I possibly
can," I announced crossly, as I seated myself.
" You 'd better not trouble yourself," said
Bob, frankly, " for you 're a regular guy anyway,
with your hair like a rat's nest and your collar
crooked."
" Never mind," I said, when at last the sitting
was through; ** I shall give it to Harriet, and
she won't mind."
A WOODLAND WOOING. 207
After supper we sat on the rugs before the
tents, while Arthur Winthrop and Theodore
tried to give us a burlesque of the ghost scene
in Hamlet. It was not very funny, and we had
to try very hard to laugh at all. Perhaps we
might have found it more amusing if the actors
had found it less so.
Mr. Hamlin came down the field after a
time with our pictures. They were protected
with little curtains of magenta paper. After we
had gazed upon the tintypes we were thankful
for the curtains.
" They are hideous," said Mrs. Sparhawk.
" Limkin, dear, crunch mine up."
*' My life," said the Colonel, " let me keep
one, at least."
"Not one; they are libellous," declared his
wife.
" Oh, my shoul," piped Bevis, who was mak-
ing himself quite detestable with his unhampered
criticisms. "Do look! Miss Betty's got a
2o8 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
nawful big one, — bigger 'n any uvver body's
here."
" Why, Betty," said Lucretia, *' how very
funny for you to have such a big one ! "
" I hate a lot of httle ones always round in
my button-box," I said.
'* You must have had it taken on purpose for
some one person, I should think," said Josephine,
laughing slyly.
" She did," said Bobby, coming to the rescue;
" she had it taken for Harriet Tuell."
** It was my fault," said Mr. Hamlin ; " I
advised it."
*' Mr. Hamlin," said Mrs. Sparhawk, '* the
dew is falling; will you please take this wrap
across to Miss Alexander, and give her a
gentle scolding for trying to write in this half-
light?"
The car had already been hitched to its horses
and started on its homeward way. Rodney and
Bevis were borne away to bed by their father.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 209
Miss Alexander and Mr. Hamlin strolled to and
fro on the little beach. Ted and Arthur were
singing college songs. Presently, when it was
darker and damper, the camp-fire was lighted.
Mr. Hamlin and Miss Alexander came and
joined us. She looked almost like a beauty with
Mrs. Sparhawk's silvery chuddah arranged in
the Egyptian fashion about her head. I won-
dered how I ever could have thought her plain.
I thought it was no wonder Mr. Hamlin liked
her.
" Oh, look ! " I cried suddenly. " A wlll-o-
the-wisp."
A round ball of yellow light moved swiftly
along the crest of the meadow and vanished.
" Where? " asked several voices. ** What
was it?"
A hand clasped mine convulsively.
" For Heaven's sake do not say any more ! "
murmured the voice of Miss Alexander In my
ear. *' Do not. You may ruin inc."
14
210 A WOODLAND WOOING.
" It was a meteor," I said inanely.
But I withdrew my hand from Miss Alex-
ander's clasp, and in a moment, to get away
from her, I pleaded a headache and went to
bed.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 2 1 I
XVII.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
What 's a fellow to do when a girl asks him,
even if he does n't want to do it ? When she
came and cried, and said how she felt; said
I was the only real friend she had in camp ;
said she could trust me, and all the time, you
know, kept on crying like anything, — of course,
I took the note and carried it to him.
He turned out to be the bicycle fellow. I
thought so when I saw the light sail by. I tell
you what, though, it is a boss bicycle ; a Colum-
bia. It is even more stunning than I thought
that day. He said if we 'd come over to-morrow
we might try it all the morning. Asked me if
I 'd tell her just '* waiting; " that one word. So
I did.
212 A WOODLAND WOOING.
In the night it rained, and the waterproof tent
leaked, and the flour barrel is full of paste this
morning. We had crackers and boiled eggs for
breakfast. No meat for two weeks. To-day
we must begin shooting in dead earnest; no
more fooling.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
213
XVIII.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
Every morning Emily Dudley, who always
tries to do her duty, takes her bow and goes
up the road to the beech-wood shooting. She
never has shot anything ; in fact, there 's noth-
ing to shoot but squirrels and woodchucks,
but she still perseveres in the most admirable
manner.
Perhaps living upon bread and milk and fruit
is depressing. At any rate we are growing
stupid at Camp Sippican. Yesterday morning
Mrs. Sparhawk actually threatened to go home
unless we made an effort to be entertaining.
** I do not care for myself, you know," she
said amiably, " but Annie Alexander is my
guest, and it is my duty to make her visit pleas-
ant. Mr. Hamlin, do please go and ask her to
214
A WOODLAND WOOING.
play backgammon. She is moping over a book
in the dining tent.'*
Mr. Hamlin, who was playing cat's cradle with
Rodney, rose obediently and departed. He is
always very happy to wait on Mrs. Sparhawk.
In a few minutes he returned with Miss Alex-
ander and the backgammon boardo Miss Alex-
ander looked pale and jaded, in spite of her
bewitching toque and jacket of blue cloth and
silver braids. She sat down upon the grass
hopelessly.
** I am in a most abominable temper," she
declared. " You much better have left me
alone, Mr. Hamlin."
" Everybody is in a nasty temper this morn-
ing," said Mrs. Sparhawk. " I wonder why."
*' It is the change in the weather," replied
Mrs. Dudley, solemnly. " I woke shivering at
three o'clock this morning. I am quite positive
we shall all be ill, and no doctor."
" Betty can doctor you," spoke up Bob, who
A WOODLAND WOOING. 215
sat near getting his fish-lines in order. " Betty
doctored me once when Father and Aunt Jane
were away, and I had a diphtheretic throat. She
set Ned's leg once, too. Just as good as ever
now, isn't it, Neddy?"
Ned, lying near in his favorite flattened posi-
tion, opened his eyes and thumped in a per-
functory manner on the ground with his tail.
Mr. Hamlin gave me an odd, quick look; and
Josephine said, —
*' How funny for a girl to set a dog's leg !
I never could have done it, I am so tender-
hearted."
" It is a pity all women are not tender-
hearted," said Mr. Hamlin, grimly.
" I am going up to the farm," announced
pleasant Mrs. Winthrop, coming out with her
hands full of parcels. "I am going to make
blueberry pies and gingerbread. Who will come
up and help me carry my things? "
" I will," I cried, jumping up, glad of some-
thincr to do.
2i5 A WOODLAND WOOING.
** I will come and help with the pies in ten
minutes," called Mrs. Dudley from her mending.
"" I '11 take the flour-bucket," said Fred, good-
naturedly, leaving his game of solitaire to follow
us across the field.
The farm which supplies us with milk and
vegetables is only a short distance beyond the
turn of the road, and here we have hired the
occasional use of a " back kitchen " and a stove
for such cooking as cannot be done well at
camp. Having seen Mrs. Winthrop, as Harriet
would say, " in the middle of the pies," Fred
rode triumphantly off on the farmer's mowing-
machine, while I loitered under a wide-spreading
butternut-tree beyond the farm-house. It was
a perfect morning, clear and cool, and a fresh
little breeze sent the wheat rippling and bend-
ing in the sunny field across the road. I sat
down on a stone and took off my hat. I saw
no special reason for hurrying back to camp.
I made myself very comfortable, and was wish-
ing for something to read, when round the bend
A WOODLAND WOOING.
217
of the road came Mr. Hamlin. Miss Alexander
was not with him, and he was walking quickly.
" I concluded you were not coming back,"
he called out.
** I 've been gone about fifteen minutes," I
said, trying to look dignified. ** I suppose I
have a right to stay as long as I choose."
** Oh, no, you have not," said Mr. Hamlin,
cheerfully.
He sat down uninvited, and began to twirl his
gray Tam-o'-Shanter on the end of his walking-
stick.
** I wish you would n't do that," I said crossly;
" you make me dizzy."
Mr. Hamlin stopped promptly.
"Are you out of temper?" he asked cheer-
fully, "or only hungry?"
" I certainly am not cross," I replied frigidly.
**What is the matter then?" he asked, re-
garding me frankly.
I could hardly tell him, what I was forced to
2i8 A WOODLAND WOOING.
own to myself, that I was cross because he had
been playing backgammon with Miss Alexander.
I preserved a solemn silence.
" I '11 tell you what let 's do," said Mr. Hamlin,
boyishly; '* let's run away ! "
"What do you mean?" I asked severely.
*' Oh, nothing," he said, and shied a stone at
a tiny chipmunk which darted like a brown flash
along the stone wall opposite.
Presently he stepped to an apple-tree near
by, and cutting a branch, began to trim It for
whittling.
** Sh'U tell Father," said a shrill and unex-
pected voice behind us ; and turning, we dis-
covered Tommy Durgin, the small son of the
farmer, standing watching our movements with
the utmost suspicion.
" Sh'U tell Father," he repeated threateningly.
"Tell him what?" asked Mr. Hamlin.
"Sh'U tell him ye went 'n cut a bough off 'n
the hightop tree."
A WOODLAND WOOING. 219
''Well, I would," said Mr. Hamlin, continuing
his whittling with much calmness. " And since
you are going, I would go at once. Don't let
us detain you."
*' Huh?" said the boy, bewildered.
He stared vacantly at us for a moment. He
did not understand Mr. Hamlin's words, but he
did realize that he was being '' made fun of,"
and his smouldering wrath arose.
" Set the dog on yer ! " he cried.
" Oh, I think not," said Mr. Hamlin, unmoved.
** You see, Tommy, the dog has gone to the
hay-field with your father."
Angry and baffled, the boy stood looking at
us with evil eyes, and shoving the loose sand
back and forth with his leathery left foot. I
knew his dull wit was striving to produce some
new and withering speech, and I wondered what
it would be. It came soon enough.
'* Is that your girl? " he asked, grinning
fiendishly. " Homelier 'n a stump fence ! "
220 -^ WOODLAND WOOING.
At this unexpected turning of the batteries
on me, Mr. HamHn darted suddenly forward,
the boy flying like a dry leaf before him, while
I hastened along the road in the other direction.
In a moment Mr. HamHn joined me, rather out
of breath. I did not speak, and for some mo-
ments we walked on in silence.
" I gave that imp of darkness as thorough a
shaking-up as ever he had in his life, I flatter
myself," said Mr. Hamlin at last.
** He is a horrible child," I said vehemently;
^' how I hate him ! "
Again we trudged along the dusty road in
silence.
**When we get to the circus — " began Mr.
Hamlin, casually.
** What circus? " I demanded, stopping short
in the road.
*' The circus at Snow's Falls," he replied.
«
** I supposed that was where you were going,
so I thought I 'd go too."
A WOODLAND WOOING. 221
" Of course you knew I was not," I replied.
" I was not going anywhere, only away from
that dreadful boy. Let us turn back."
'* No," he persisted, " we are going to the
circus."
" I never went to a circus in my life," I said,
smiling with pure pleasure and dallying with
temptation.
"You shall not say that to-night," he said easily.
"Oh, I can't go," I decided virtuously; " Lu-
cretia would not like it. Aunt Jane disapproves
of the circus. I always fancied it must be nice
for that reason. But I must not go."
" That is nonsense," exclaimed Mr. Hamlin,
decidedly. ;'
He likes his own way. I do not think he
cared a whit about my going, in the first place,
but because I resisted he was at once deter-
mined that I should go.
** There is no reason at all that you should
not go. It will be a regular lark. I '11 tell
222 A WOODLAND WOOING.
Lucretia it was all my fault. Here, I '11 give
you three minutes to decide; but remember
now, Miss Betty, I shall not respect you at all
unless you go."
His manner angered me, and I turned and
walked resolutely away. When I had been
walking for what seemed to me ten minutes, I
glanced over my shoulder. Then I was lost.
My good resolution faded. I retraced my steps
shamefacedly.
'' You ought not to make it so hard for me,"
I said pathetically.
'* One minute," he replied.
" You are unkind," I declared. '' I think you
ought to urge me to go back instead — "
** Half a minute," he said.
" Oh," I cried desperately, " I will go, but I
know I shall be sorry."
" Good child," he said, closing his watch with
a snap.
I knew that I was not good ; but having once
A WOODLAND WOOING. 223
decided to follow my evil inclinations, I deter-
mined not to make myself unhappy by thinking
of consequences, and we started off quite merrily
upon our three-mile walk. To tell the truth, I
was decidedly flattered that Mr. Jack Hamhn
should care to ask me to go anywhere with him.
He always asks Lucretia, unless he is managed
by Mrs. Sparhawk, and then he escorts Miss
Alexander. As for me, I am generally left to
the company of Bobby and Fred. I suppose,
however, that Mr. Hamlin's invitation need not
have flattered me, for, as Lucretia said this
morning, '' of course he would never have dared
invite Miss Alexander to so vulgar an entertain-
ment as a circus."
After we passed the spot where the road
branched to run around the mountain, we began
to come upon the country people bound, like
ourselves, for the circus. Some were walking,
but many had come from the hill farms and
rode in shabby wagons, whole families together,
224 • ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
bent stolidly upon enjoying themselves. They
did not look merry at all, but regarded us with
dull and vacant eyes. They carried their din-
ners packed in wooden boxes painted green or
blue, and were prepared to thoroughly " see the
circus " from beginning to end.
As we walked on, the sun rode higher and the
breeze fell away. The dust from the passing
wagons was stifling. Very often we had offers
from the kindly drivers: "Pick ye up?" or
"Give ye a lift?" but these were refused. Mr.
Hamlin was in high spirits, and pretending to
be a showman, set forth in absurdly extravagant
terms the attractions of the circus.
" Only think," he added, " I should not have
known there was any circus except for Miss
Alexander. She knew. Miss Alexander is a
most mysterious person. How do you fancy
she found out?"
" I 've given up fancying things about Miss
Alexander," I replied, rather ill-temperedly.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
22S
I could not decently explain to Mr. Hamlin
that I believed Miss Alexander to be a humbug,
who tried to be strange and odd, just to attract
attention.
"Hark!" said Mr. Hamlin; "we must be
very near the falls. How loud they sound ! "
In fact, we were much nearer than we thought.
We were then in a deliciously cool and shady
bit of maple wood, and as the trees became less
crowded, we caught through the trunks the
gleaming rush of the falls, and felt a cool mist
from the chasm which yawned below. Beyond
the road in a broad meadow shone the white
tents of the circus, and on the other side of the
river the village of Snow's Falls, perched on the
ragged side of the gorge. We scrambled eagerly
down the chasm until we reached a spot where
broad stones were shaded by the trees, which
further up hung desperately to the side of the
cliff, with half their roots exposed. We rested
and became peaceful, while I cooled my face
IS
226 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
and hands in the clear brown water, and Mr.
HamUn made a hasty sketch of the old Indian
Rock, under which, behind the veil of falling
water, a party of white settlers had once shel-
tered themselves and avoided massacre. There
was nothing down here but coolness and peace
and the sound of the water ; and we were nearly
forgetting the object of our visit, when, from
above, a harsh and strident voice like a steam-
whistle began to shriek out a tune in the sem-
blance of the '' Guards' Waltz."
"What is that?" I said, startled.
'' That," replied Mr. Hamlin, rising promptly
and offering me a helpmg hand, " is the voice
of the far-famed calliope, — the * only perfect
imitation of the human voice known to science.'
It reminds me that we are forgetting the circus.
If we do not hurry, we shall not have time for
half the side-shows."
"We are not going to the side-shows?" I
said incredulously.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
227
" Every one," replied Mr. Hamlin, as we
scrambled up the bank. '' I shall spare you
nothing, Miss Betty."
I could not tell always whether Mr. Hamlin
were in earnest or in fun, but I soon found that
he was in earnest in this. One or two real
horrors he did indeed spare me, but for the rest
we dutifully visited every booth and tent, and
reached the circus proper in the most absurd
state of childish laughter and idiocy.
To tell the truth, it was not much of a circus.
At any rate, Mr. Hamhn made fun of it, but I
confess that I took a sneaking delight in every-
thing. Mr. Hamlin declared that the lions were
stuffed and the dromedaries moth-eaten. He
jeered at the poor old tiger, and advised the
elephant to buy a rubber blanket and make
himself a new cover.
** Look ! " he exclaimed, with sudden glee ;
** there are Adaline and the bicycle fellow, over
by the dromedaries."
228 A WOODLAND WOOING.
I was just looking to behold this wonder, when
I was suddenly greeted by a rich, good-humored
voice behind us.
"Why, how de do? Who'd 'a' thought now
o' your comin' to circus ! Haint this a good
joke, our meetin' of you?"
It was Mrs. Butterfield, fat and jovial, with all
her numerous family straggling after her, from
the greatest to the least. She was warm and
ruddy and panting. She wore a gown of green
and black plaids, and an ample visite of thin,
shiny black silk. A wide collar, fastened by a
pin containing hair, had slipped around until
the brooch was under her left ear. Her hair
was coming unfastened, a-nd one alburn lock
had fallen down her back from under her bonnet.
With her vigorous right elbow she was valiantly
forcing her way through the crowd, while her
left hand, enclosed in a black silk mitt, grasped
the wrist of Hiram Butterfield. The rest of the
children followed like bobs to a kite-tail.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
229
" Wal," she said, *' who would 'a' thought of
seein' you to circus ! Mr. Dexter 's here, too.
He 's just took Adahne to see the beasts. Ye
know he 's ben stoppin' to our house a spell.
He says on 'count o* the view, though I never
did think w^e lived in a very stylish place, sot on
by the mountains as we be. He rides all day
and evenin's, too; we don't see much of him.
He don't make no trouble at all."
" What sort of a crank do you take him for? "
muttered Mr. Hamlin in my ear.
" We *re goin' to make a day of it," continued
Mrs. Butterfield. *' Started out at five o'clock
this mornin' so 's to git here in season to see
circus come in. Goin' to stop to the evenin'
show and spend the night at his brother Elna-
than's, at the Falls. Land o' Goshen ! " she
added, with her easy chuckle ; " did ye ever
see the beat of this crowd? It doos seetn as if
we should n't never git sight o' them monkeys.
Almiry, you jest hang holt of Eva J^lay, now."
230
A WOODLAND WOOING. ^
She Stopped, and failing of the monkeys, drew
up her hne before the den of the unhappy polar
bear.
** Wal," she remarked, " you don't look not
to say sociable. How do ye like bein' kep' on
ice?"
The great bear regarded her viciously from
his sulky red eyes, but did not cease for a mo-
ment the restless swinging from side to side of
his small head. He did not appear to be
strongly reminded of his polar home by the
presence in his cage of a piece of ice about
large enough for a water-cooler.
" Don't he look terrible ugly though?" asked
Mrs. Butterfield. " Lands ! I 'm glad I aint
his keeper. Did I tell ye what a time we had
gittin' here? Wagon broke down just after we
got apast the Turner Road. 'Twas broke last
cattle-fair time, but he 'd sort o' mended of it
up somehow with a piece o' rope, and said he
guessed 'twould hold; but this load was a leetle
A WOODLAND WOOING. 23 1
too much for it, and down we went, I tell ye.
He 'd to untackle and hide the team behind the
alder bushes in Harskill's medder. We 'd to
foot it into the village, him a leadin' of old
Lucy."
She laughed at the recollection, and fanned
herself with a ** Short History of the Life of the
Living Skeleton, including some of his Songs
and gests."
'• What a beastly crowd ! " Mr. Hamlin said,
successfully defending me from a pointed para-
sol which was prodding wildly and vindic-
tively about in the throng to clear a passage
for its owner into the now closely packed circus
tent.
** My good woman, be careful, if you please.
You almost hit this young lady in the face."
'' Don't call me your ' good woman,' " said an
acid female voice. " I *ve earned and paid for
my own ticket to this show. I aint nowise
beholden to nobody, and I 'm agoin' to git in,
232
A WOODLAND WOOING.
and hev as good a seat as the next one, too, or
my name aint Lizy Doble."
As she gave a final vigorous punch with her
sunshade and was engulfed in the crowd, Mrs.
Butterfield gave a tolerant laugh.
"Poor Lizy Ann," she said; "she don't hev
no one to look out for her. The poor critter *s
alwers had a hard time of it, fendin' for herself,
and she jest goes through life with all her sharp
corners stickin' out to purtect herself. What 's
the matter with Eva May?" she added, looking
back along the straggling line of Butterfields
to where the wailing Eva May brought up the
rear.
" She wants to see the Hairy Girl," piped
Andrew Jackson across the crowd.
" Tut, tut ! " exclaimed Mrs. Butterfield, in
mellow tones of reproach. " Why, now, Eva
May, I *m real mortified at ye. Anybody 'd
think a little gell that had seen a double-headed
calf an* an Injy- rubber man an* a nice living
A WOODLAND WOOING.
233
skeleton all in one day had ought to be satis-
fied. An' there 's Father gone off to buy some-
thin' nice to eat ; an' here 's Lysander goin'
to wait by the tent door a purpose to catch him
an bring him where we 're a settin'."
Eva May being by this time brought to the
front, tear-stained and dishevelled, her mother
stopped, regardless of the elbowing throng
about her, to wipe the child's wet face and
twitch down her pink calico frock.
" There," she said, ** now be a good gell an'
stop your crying. Don't ye give one more
sithe. Think o' the splendid show you 're
agoin' to see. Look, here 's our Hiram goin'
to give ye one o' his lozcngers ; spearmint, too ;
ye know ye love spearmint lozengers."
At this moment we were borne away from
the Butterfield family by the swaying crowd,
and we saw them no more.
After we were safely seated, Mr. Jack Hamlin
suddenly became silent. He made no more
234 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
jests, and if I turned to speak to him, I found
him regarding me with a curious glance that I
could not understand.
"What is it?" I asked, involuntarily putting
up my hands to straighten my hat. '' Am I
very untidy? You know I was not dressed at
all to go anywhere."
** It is not that," he said, still looking at me ;
*' it is only that I am a selfish brute. I had
no business to persuade you to come to the
circus. They'll all be down on you when we
get back."
" Oh, I shall not mind," I said cheerfully; " I
don't care a bit for Lucretia's scoldings."
'' It is not only Lucretia who will disapprove,"
he returned. " They will all be down on you,
and it is entirely my fault."
" I '11 go home now if you wish," I said
reluctantly.
"We may as well stay, now we are here," he
replied ; then he laughed suddenly.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 235
** I believe you actually care about this beg-
garly circus ! " he exclaimed.
I did care, though Mr. Jack Hamlin despised
it. I liked it all. Everything was new to me,
and I laughed at even the clown's stale jests,
and was completely deceived by the time-worn
trick of the unbroken donkey. I was really
sorry when the '' show " was over, and we were
once more on the dusty road which led toward
home. Before we started on our long walk,
Mr. Hamlin insisted on getting me some re-
freshment. He left me in the cool beech wood
while he crossed the bridge to the " village
store." He had been gone some time when a
crashing of the bushes on the bank startled me.
I was afraid some rough fellow from the circus
grounds had seen me, and my breath came
easier when I saw the dark young man who
rode the bicycle.
'* I beg your pardon," he said, raising his hat,
" but you see I remembered that we were com-
236
A WOODLAND WOOING,
panlons in misfortune the day of the thunder-
storm. I wonder if I dare ask a great favor of
you."
He had taken off his hat; and as he stood
leaning against a beech-tree and looking down
upon me, I thought I had never imagined so
handsome a man.
*' You do not look very stony-hearted," he
said.
" I would do it," I said, blushing stupidly, " if
I were sure — "
*' There is no harm in it," he said quickly;
"see, it is only to give this note, quite privately,
to Miss Alexander, at the camp."
" To Miss Alexander ! " I exclaimed in sur-
prise by no means well-bred.
" If you will be so very kind," he said, hand-
ing me the letter, which was written on a sheet
torn from a note-book.
** May I also ask you to add to my obligation
by letting this be a secret, a secret a trois ? '\
A WOODLAND WOOING.
237
'' I will not tell," I said stupidly.
I could not think of anything graceful to say.
I was surprised and startled, and felt more than
ever before like an awkward, clumsy country
girl. Suddenly, before I knew it, the young
man bent and kissed my hand.
"You are so good," he said devoutly. "Keep
the faith," and crashed away through the bushes.
Mr. Hamlin appeared at the same moment with
his hands full of packages.
" All the luxuries of the season," he began
gayly.
Then he stopped abruptly, looking from me
to the disappearing figure of the stranger.
" What did he want? Did he speak to you? "
he demanded.
" Yes, he spoke," I said, blushing under my
questioner's uncomfortably keen eyes. " He —
did not say much."
" I wish to know what he said to you," said
Mr. Jack Hamlin, imperiously.
238
A WOODLAND WOOING.
"I shall not tell," I said sternly. ''I — I
promised not."
*' You promised that fellow," said Mr. Ham-
lin, incredulously.
** Yes," I said ; " it was no harm, and it con-
cerns — I will not tell you anything about it," I
broke off angrily. " You stand there as if you
were my judge. I shall not say another word
about it."
** Very well, do exactly as you please," said
Mr. Hamlin, coldly.
He sat down, but he was quite white and
grim, and his eyebrows were drawn together in
an ugly frown. He opened his various parcels,
but there was no longer any fun about the little
picnic. I was too disturbed to eat, and we soon
gave it up and started silently for home. I was
unhappy enough, but I could not break my
promise ; and after all, Mr. Jack Hamlin had no
right to question me as if he were my father.
We plodded along the sunny, warm high-road
A WOODLAND WOOING.
239
for about a mile in most uncomfortable com-
panionship ; then a wagon overtook us. It
contained only a farmer and his sallow, tired
wife.
" Won't you have a lift ? " asked the woman.
" We 're goin' along quite a piece, — way past
the Farrar deestrick."
"Thank you," said Mr. Hamlin; '* I think
this young lady will be very glad to ride. I
am sure you must be tired of walking," he
added with a peculiar emphasis, turning to me.
** I should be very glad to ride," I said
viciously.
If Mr. Jack Hamlin wished to be rid of me,
at least he should not find it a difficult task.
In a moment I was in the wagon, and Mr.
Hamlin, lifting his hat rather too deferentially,
had started off at a pace which promised to
bring him into camp long before me.
240 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
XIX.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
" Where do they keep the sun when ft
rains?" asked Bevis Sparhawk, plaintively ; and
some older persons than Bevis wondered how
Nature could get up so complete a transforma-
tion in so short a time. The hapless day of the
circus was clear and warm and gracious ; the
next day dawned gray and cold, with a lowering
sky, and a raw wind that chilled one to the
marrow. The camp-fire was the only cheerful
feature of the landscape, and around this we
all huddled, pretending to be neither cold nor
hungry. Mrs. Sparhawk wrote a letter upon
thin foreign paper. Mrs. Winthrop tried to
mend her husband's stockings, her fingers stiff
with cold. Some read, and some played whist.
Miss Alexander played chess with Mr. Hamlin.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 24 1
She did not look blue and pinched like the rest
of us. She looked unusually fascinating. She
wore a warm gown of dark blue and red in wide
stripes, and had a boyish jacket and a little fez
of knitted silk. Mr. Hamlin was almost hidden
in his ulster, and looked cross and dismal.
As for me, I not only was frowned upon by
the weather, but by everybody in the camp.
Everybody disapproved of me, and I felt that I
had done a deed only once removed from mur-
der, in going to the circus. Lucretia had been
*' shocked," and Mrs. Winthrop '* surprised,"
and Mrs. Dudley knew I would be ill. Mrs.
Sparhawk majestically disapproved of me, and
Josephine was spiteful. Miss Alexander told
me I was a " darling love," when I delivered my
private despatch ; and Mr. Hamlin, after freeing
me from the responsibility of our escapade, had
entirely ignored me, as if by speaking to the
bicycle man I had forever lowered myself in
his royal favor. The children only remained
16
242
A WOODLAND WOOING.
my friends, and I was reduced to the not very
lively amusement of tracing pictures on Rodney's
transparent slate for his edification.
** A salad," said Colonel Sparhawk, from the
other side of the fire, "should never be cut.
Upon my soul, sir, when I see a vandal touch
a knife to a plate of lettuce or cress, I — I want
to annihilate him, sir ; I do, upon my word."
"I wonder," said mild Mrs. Winthrop, from
her mending, *' why it is that we all have such a
tendency to talk about food. It seems to be
almost the only subject that really interests us."
*' It is because we are starving," said Emily
Dudley, boldly but hoarsely. *' We have n't
had anything real to eat -for three weeks. We
all of us loathe eggs and abhor fish, only we
don't dare to say so ; and we are starving for a
bit of meat, only we 'd die before we owned it."
She sneezed violently several times, and was
pounced upon by her mother and borne away
to be dosed.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
243
" She has told the truth," said Mr. Winthrop,
with tragic solemnity; "we are starving."
"Is that true?" asked Mr. Hamlin; "are we
starving? Are you starving, Miss Betty? "
He had not spoken to me before that day,
and he turned to me so suddenly that he took
away my breath.
" Yes," I admitted coldly, " I am like the
rest."
He turned back to his chess looking as cross
as ever. Rodney Sparhawk, having been sent
to his mother's desk for a postage-stamp, now
appeared gracefully bearing one upon the tip of
his outstretched tongue.
" All licked. Mamma ! " he announced with
cheerful vulgarity.
" I say, Betty," called Bob, " how much did
our turkey weigh last Thanksgiving? He was
a buster, I tell you. Don't I just wish we had
him now, though ! "
The day grew every minute more chill and
244
A WOODLAND WOOING.
dismal. Mr. Hamlin, having finished his game,
disappeared. Lucretia and Josephine sought
for comfort in the tent. Bobby and Fred re-
plenished the fire, and then challenged me to a
game of " stick knife." It was after quite half
an hour's silence that Mrs. Sparhawk looked
up abstractedly.
" Does anybody smell smoke? -' she asked, —
** not the fire, but as if cloth of some sort were
burning? Colonel, go and see if either of your
children is afire. Pray do not sit there in that
unconcerned manner, as if you did not care."
The Colonel looked up and dropped his
cards.
" Why, my dear life ! " he exclaimed, ** you are
burning yourself I assure you the tail of your
gown is all afire."
A thin blue line of smoke was indeed rising
over Mrs. Sparhawk's left shoulder, and her
gown was really smouldering. It was extin-
guished in a moment, and Mrs. Sparhawk's face
A WOODLAND WOOING.
245
was as completely unruffled as if the occurrence
were too commonplace to rouse even surprise.
"Wodney did it! Wodney did it! " shouted
Bevis, with all the holy joy of bringing a crimi-
nal to justice. " Wodney had a catty-nintle, and
he sticked it in the fire and so he blazed your
dress, he did."
The Colonel, more angry than he was often
seen, bore Rodney away to meet some unknown
awful fate, while Bevis looked on with placid
approval.
"I wouldn't burn you, would I, Mamma?'*
he asked, with the conscious virtue of one child
who beholds another in disgrace.
** Yes, I dare say you would," answered his
mother ; ** in fact, I dare say you did do it,
just now, and not Rodney at all. Where is
Rodney?"
" In the dining tent," repHed Bevis, with un-
mistakable rehsh. " I guess Papa '11 give him
a norful wippin'."
246
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" You nasty little vindictive thing ! " Mrs.
Sparhawk exclaimed. *' Go at once and tell
Papa that I will not have Rodney punished. It
will ruin his disposition. Hurry, or I will tell
him to give you a good beating."
Thus spurred on, Bevis flew away, losing off
his little red fez and dropping a cherished lapful
of stones. His place was taken at once by Mr.
Jack Hamlin.
" To Starvation Camp — with the compliments
of the archer," he said, and tossed down upon
the wet grass half a dozen well-grown fowls.
They were plainly domestic, were still in their
feathers, and each one was pierced through the
neck with mathematical precision by a Highfield
arrow of the very best sort.
** Where did they come from? " cried a chorus
of voices.
" They came from the farm," replied Mr.
Hamlin, boldly. " There is no game anywhere
else. It is all right. I did n't steal them."-
A WOODLAND WOOING.
247
** Oh, of course not," said Mr. Winthrop ;
" but," he added feebly, " the rule of our camp,
you know, did — you shoot them? "
" Of course he did," Mr. Dudley put in
sharply; "can't you see the arrows?"
Involuntarily every person about the fire ex-
changed sneaking glances with every other.
Guilt was written plainly upon every counte-
nance. A painful silence fell upon us. It was
broken by Rodney Sparhawk, who appeared
cheerful and unharmed from his encounter with
his father. ■^..
" I would like all the drumsticks, if you
please ; and Bevis can have the necks," he re-
marked generously.
"Is he not a nasty little pig?" cried Mrs.
Sparhawk ; " but do we not all feel exactly like
him?"
" I would propose," said Mrs. Winthrop, " a
luncheon of coffee and bread and cheese, and
then a nice hot dinner at four or five o'clock."
248
A WOODLAND WOOING.
This being unanimously agreed upon, some
plates of wilted hardbread and a box of mouldy
cheese were produced. These Mr. Winthrop
persisted in calling " the relics," and indeed the
sight of them has become tolerably familiar.
However, by the aid of hot coffee, we did our
duty, and declared that we had enjoyed our
luncheon. Who would not be amiable with
those blissful chickens in view?
" I would n't be ungallant for the world,"
remarked Theodore, mildly ; " but perhaps you
may have heard what class of people don't know
enough to go in when it rains."
*' Why, so it is raining, really ! " cried every-
body.
The mist had thickened to a steady drizzle.
" Let us go to the dining tent and play
games," proposed Arthur Winthrop. '* I know
a very amusing thing, very laughable. We used
to do it at church sociables."
" It must be highly amusing, then," grumbled
A WOODLAND WOOING. 249
Ted ; but we all rose and bore wraps and books
into the tent.
" Now," began Arthur, cheerfully beaming
upon us through his blinking glasses, *' this is a
game of sneezing, you know. We will begin at
the end of the row. You, Fred, must say ' hish,'
Lucretia must say 'hash,' and Betty must say
* hosh.' Miss Alexander must say ' hish,' and
so on all around. I '11 drop my handkerchief,
and then you must all speak together."
" Hosh ! " said Mr. Dudley, loudly and
prematurely.
** I had not dropped the handkerchief," said
Arthur, looking mildly reproachful. " Now, be
ready, everybody."
The handkerchief dropped, and a chorus of
hishes and hoshes filled the air. Silence fol-
lowed, during which we all gazed vaguely at
each other.
"What do we do next?" asked Mr. Hamlin,
briskly.
250
A WOODLAND WOOING.
" You don't do anything next," replied Arthur,
*' that 's it; that 's the game."
'' Oh," said Mr. HamHn, blandly.
" Don't you see? " poor Arthur urged, becom-
ing rather pink in the face; ** it represents a
gigantic sneeze."
** Very amusing, I 'm sure," ventured Miss
Alexander, smiling.
" I think I '11 go and take a siesta," said Mrs.
Sparhawk, cruelly. " Rodney, you and Bevis
may come, too."
Mrs. Sparhawk's example was followed by
the older ladies and Emily Dudley. The rest
of us remained to play a stupid game called
** Doctrines," which was also under the leader-
ship of Arthur VVinthrop ; indeed, Arthur chiefly
excelled in games. Finally even our patience
was exhausted. We withdrew, leaving the gen-
tlemen to their own devices. It was now raining
steadily, and in our big tent we found Mrs. Spar-
hawk reading a German novel. Pretty Bevis
A WOODLAND WOOING.
251
was asleep in a hammock, while Rodney on the
floor was peacefully cutting dogs and horses
out of his mother's prayer-book. Emily Dudley
sat huddled up on her little bed with her water-
proof about her. She was trying to read, but
looked out of temper and thoroughly disgusted
with life. As we came in she shut her book
with a clap.
" I am tired of it," she said vehemently. *' I
am tired of sleeping on damp straw, with a
grasshopper down my neck and a spider in
my ear. I 'm tired of pretending that my feet
are not wet and my face is not burnt to a blister.
I am sick of eating bugs and drinking caterpil-
lars. I hate the very sight of fish, and I never
want to see another egg as long as I live. I
won't pretend any longer. I want to go home,
and I want to go now. There ! "
We could not have been more taken off our
feet if old Sippican had spoken. It was so un-
expected an outburst to come from sensible,
252
A WOODLAND WOOING.
matter-of-fact Emily Dudley, that we simply
stood in a group and stared at her.
** Where is your mother? " weakly asked
Josephine at length.
*' Gone to help Mrs. Winthrop with the chick-
ens," replied Emily, stonily; *'but you need not
call her. I am not sick. I am only tired of
starving in this nasty camp."
" Your sentiments do you credit," laughed
Mrs. Sparhawk. ** You feel exactly as we all
do, only nobody else has the courage to speak.
I admire you."
" Cheer up, Emmy," said Lucretia, *' I have
just had a piece of news. We are all invited to
a dance in a new barn, at the Bascoms', beyond
the mountain. Won't that be fine for Thursday
night?"
" I thought it was Wednesday," said Miss
Alexander.
** Why, how could you know anything about
it?" asked Lucretia, with astonished blue eyes.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
253
" Bobby this minute brought down the invita-
tion from the farm-house."
" I meant that I wished it were Wednesday
night," corrected Miss Alexander, flushing
oddly.
254
A WOODLAND WOOING.
XX.
WHAT BOB SAYS.
Betty need n't brag so. She puts on great
airs that she has written more than I have, and
all that ; but she did n't have to spend all her
time fishing and getting berries, as Fred and I
have. Beside, Betty need n't feel so everlasting
big for her writing, for she has n't told every-
thing just as it happened. Hamlin gave me a
first-class jointed fishing-rod, and Fred said he
only did it because he was spooney about Betty.
I never thought anybody could get spooney over
her, and I don't more than half believe it now;
but, all the same, she is n't honest Injun when
she writes, for she leaves out about Mr. Hamlin,
— the lilies he brought her, and the rows in the
punt, and candy from New York her birthday.
She does n't tell everything.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
255
We 've had one square meal ; brown fricassee
of chicken, and baked potatoes, green corn,
shelled beans and hot biscuit, apple-pie and
cheese and coffee, — the first meat we 've seen
for weeks, and perhaps we were n't hungry,
though ! Betty says not to tell what we have
to eat; says it's vulgar; but I took notice she
was glad enough to eat her share of the chicken.
I took a note round the mountain to the
bicycle fellow from Miss Alexander. She cried
and said I was her only friend. It was out be-
hind the dining tent. I felt like a fool, but I
took the note. Something is queer about it all.
We are going to a barn dance. She makes a
fellow do just as she wants him to.
256
A WOODLAND WOOING.
XXI.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
" I NEVER can get in," sighed Josephine ;
" never in the world."
'' Oh," encouraged Lucretia, " yes, you can.
It is not high at all, and the straw is lovely."
We were all piHng, with much fun and
laughter, into the Farrars' big hay-rack. Mrs.
Farrar, a meek and depressed-looking woman,
was already seated, while her husband stood
ready to drive the stout, bony gray horses.
"Come," urged Fred, bluntly, "hurry up, Jo.
We have n't too much time, and barn dances
don't wait for anybody. Here, I '11 boost you."
" Go away, Fred," said Josephine, sharply ;
but she took Arthur Winthrop's hand, and, with
some lady-like small shrieks, at length was in
and seated.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
257
Rodney and Bevis sat on either side of me.
" Don't you think I 'm very still? " the former
asked, before we were fairly started.
** Why, yes, Rodney," I assented.
" I Ve got to be still for a whole hour," he
answered sadly. " Then Mr. Hamlin will give
me a silver dollar. He said he would."
" I '11 be still for five hundred dollars," put in
Bevis, promptly, rising heavily over Rodney's
price.
" Annie Alexander," exclaimed Mrs. Spar-
hawk, " I asked you to wear your white wool
gown, and there you are, as prim as a nun, in
that dark-gray."
** I thought this was more suitable," answered
Miss Alexander, pleasantly, as she drew on her
long, gray Swedish gloves.
She rose presently and came over to me, dis-
placing Bevis, who openly objected. It was
already quite dusky, so that we could scarcely
see from end to end of the cart.
17
258 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
'' Miss Betty," said Miss Alexander, softly,
" we are going to break camp to-morrow, you
know, and I shall be going away. You have n't
liked me very well, but I took a fancy to you
the first time I ever saw you. I have few
friends, and my life is not very happy. You
have been kind to me, and I think you did not
like the secrecy of that note; but, indeed, it
was necessary. I am so persecuted and so un-
happy. I do not want you to quite forget me,
child. You must wear this. I brought it home
from Rome. Please do not say no ; I am so
miserable, so frightened."
She rose, and hastily returned to her seat by
the side of Mr. Hamlin. A moment later I
heard her teaching him a Spanish song, and
laughing quite merrily over his bad pronuncia-
tion. She had put a ring on the third finger of
my hand. I could just see it in the dusk, and
it felt rough with engraving. I did not wish to
make a scene in the hay-cart, but I promised
A WOODLAND WOOING.
259
myself that I would give it back as soon as we
reached the barn. I did not want any of her
rings or her mysteries.
It was a delicious evening, dry and warm.
The air was full of wild scents of elder and rank
brakes and sweet-fern. Later the moon would
come, but then it was dusk, which deepened to
midnight whenever we passed through a wood.
Along the sides of the road the fireflies were
holding a glittering dance on their own account.
" Cuddle me up," said Bevis, tumbling sud-
denly into my lap ; '' I 'm 'fraid o' the bears."
" I 'm goin' to holler awful loud when I get
me silver dollar," presently confided Rodney,
who really had been surprisingly well-behaved
for him.
*' Oh, Rodney," I said entreatingly.
"And squeal," said Rodney, with the joy of
coming triumph in his voice, " and stamp and
run all wound and wound, and do a norful lot of
kinds of things ; you wait and see."
2(3o ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
" Me, too," said Bevis ; " I '11 do some norful
things, too."
I did not doubt the children's ability, but I
was prevented from delivering them a lecture
by our arrival at the farm. The great new barn
towered white in the dusk, and the farmer came
out to meet us.
*' How de do? How de do? " he said cordially.
*' Glad to see yer. We haint goin' to make no
strangers of ye. Come right in, all on ye, and
make yourselves to home."
Within the barn a fiddle was twanging, played
by a weazened old man sitting on a barrel.
There were neither cattle nor hay. The barn
was quite new, and smelled of sweet pine-wood.
There were candles everywhere in bottles, and
upon boards pierced with rows of holes. The
two great doors stood open to the wide, cool
nicrht. From the back door we saw the orchard,
and behind the dark, rusthng trees we saw the
great red moon just rising.
A WOODLAND WOOING. 26 1
As we went in, a dozen pairs of young people
were dancing a ** French Four." Some farmers'
wives sat on rude benches against the wall, and
a group of men stood talking by the door. Fred
came at once to ask me to dance, and we were
soon merrily flying " down the centre."
Adaline Butterfield, smiling and awkward,
was next me in the long line. She told
me regretfully that " the boarder " had gone
back to the Gorge, but had *' given mother
an elegant shawl," and herself " a pair of ear-
rings."
The " French Four " was followed by a " Bos-
ton Fancy," and that by a ** Virginia Reel." We
became hilarious, and sometimes went not only
" down the centre " of the barn, but rushed pell-
mell into the dewy field outside.
Lucretia and Josephine considered such dan-
cing rude, but I am hoyden enough to enjoy a
dance that has some life in it. I danced chiefly
with Bobby and Fred, Mr. Jack Hamlin stood
262 ^ WOODLAND WOOING,
leaning against the wall looking cross. Miss
Alexander danced, and in spite of her dull gray
gown was the most brilliant woman in the room.
Her cheeks were as pink as a sea-shell, and her
eyes had a lovely starry look.
Presently I found myself standing by the
door, after a wild polka with Bob. Mr. Hamlin
came across and joined me.
" What are you thinking? " I asked.
" Of what happens to the best-laid plans," he
answered.
" Have your plans gone agley?"
*' Did n't you know they had? "
" Why, no," I said stupidly ; " how did they? "
** I will tell you going home," he said, "if you
do not have the entire Sparhawk family in your
lap. I may be able to sit next you."
"You can talk if you do not sit next me," I
said cheerfully. " I 'm sure I talked to Bobby
all the way over, and he sat quite at the other
end of the cart."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
263
" I heard you," he said dryly. " I don't care
to shout."
Just at this moment up came Rodney Spar-
hawk begging me to dance with him.
**Why, Rodney," said his mother, *'you do
not know how to dance. What are you think-
ing of?"
** Yes, I do know how," insisted Rodney,
stoutly. '' I know ' swing pardners ' and ' down
the centre.' "
" Rodney, this is all nonsense," declared Mrs.
Sparhawk, decidedly. " Once for all, I forbid
your trying to dance. Do you understand?"
'* If you don't let me," said Rodney, calmly,
** I 'm afraid I shall holler and roar and run be-
tween the dancing people, and knock 'em all
down."
Mrs. Sparhawk adjusted her eyeglasses and
gazed a moment at her son.
'* Very well, you disagreeable child," she said,
" go along then and make a nasty little guy of
264
A WOODLAND WOOING.
yourself, and set everybody laughing at you, if
you want to. I only hope you may not kill
Miss Betty."
Indeed, Rodney did make a guy, not only of
himself but of me ; for he knew none of the
changes, and had to be pushed and pulled about
in a shameful manner. He enjoyed himself
immensely, however, and went down the centre
riotously, usually tumbling down at the end and
being ignominiously picked up and set on end
again by the nearest person. I was still alive
when the dance ended, but not much more.
" I have been observing the various elegant
ways of inviting a lady to dance," said Mr. Ham-
lin, strolling up to me as I sat quite exhausted
on the bench by the door.
" And how do they do it? " inquired Mrs.
Sparhawk, joining us. " Miss Betty, please
have my fan. I am sure- you are in a fainting
condition."
" One gentleman," said Mr. Hamlin, '' crooks
A WOODLAND WOOING. 265
his elbow and offers his arm without a word;
another — that white-haired one with the green
cravat — says, 'Dance longer me?' and a third
says, 'Darse to dance this dance with me? ' I
have watched the last gentleman through a Vir-
ginia reel, and I admit that it does require a
certain amount of courage to be his partner."
** How unique ! " said Mrs. Sparhawk, only
faintly amused. " Have you seen Miss Alex-
ander lately? I am forgetting that I am her
chaperone."
" She is by the other door with Ted," he
replied indifferently.
*' What is the matter with my crimps, Betty,
can you see?" asked Josephine, who had been
trying to polka with Arthur Winthrop.
" You seem to have a pair of eyeglasses
tangled in your hair," said Mrs. Sparhawk, non-
chalantly, as if the thing were of common
occurrence.
" How detestable ! " said Josephine, without
266 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
smiling. "They are Arthur Winthrop's. He is
blind as a bat without them, and he is too ab-
surdly polite to ask me for them. How silly
he is ! "
After much dancing there was a supper in
the big farm kitchen, and not long after, our
hay-rack was announced as ready for the home-
ward trip.
"Pile in," shouted Bobby, jovially; "I've
shaken up the cushions, and the chariot is ready.
They 've given us heaps of apples."
"Look out for worms, though," suggested
Fred, unpleasantly; "eating early apples in the
dark is n't what it 's cracked up to be."
There was some attempt at singing as we
started away, but presently we grew sleepy and
silent. Bevis came to me and went to sleep in
my arms. Rodney insisted on driving.
" Rodney Sparhawk," cried his mother, " if
you run over my feet once more I '11 assassinate
you. Come away from the reins at once, and
A WOODLAND WOOING. 267
stop troubling Mr. Farrar. Do you hear me?
Rodney Sparhawk, why don't you answer me? "
" I 'm not Hstening to you at all, Mamma,"
replied Rodney, serenely; '* I am looking at the
moon."
Mrs. Sparhawk sighed and composed herself
for a nap.
We came after a time to the Butterfield farm,
where we had taken refuge from the storm.
Late as it was, the house door stood open, and
the light from within streaming out into the
yard showed a group standing about a chaise,
from which the horse had been taken.
" Somebody must be sick," said Mrs. Dudley.
*' Let us stop."
" They must be in some trouble," Mrs. Win-
throp agreed. " Some of you young and active
ones had better see if we can be of any help."
We found the entire Butterfield family in the
yard, except Adaline, who was to pass the night
at the farm where the dance was given. Even
268 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
the shy Elnathan had come forth, owl-Hke, under
cover of the night. In the shadow of the chaise-
top we could see by the moonhght a small old
woman in a decent black bonnet and shawl.
She was sitting stiffly upright, with folded hands
and a forbidding expression of countenance.
** It is his mother," explained Mrs. Butterfield,
in a low tone. *' She stops about to her differ-
ent children's, a spell here an' a spell there.
She liaint raly well-witted by times ; not that
she *s crazy, but she 's notionate, an', — wal,
she 's sort o' cur'us, mother is. She gits an
idea in her head, an' then she sorter can't seem
to git red of it."
*' What is the matter with her now? " inquired
Bobby.
*' Wal, ye see she 's come over to stop a spell
along of us. Elnathan went over to his Aunt
Emma Jane's ternoon to fetch her. They got
here jest at tea-time, an' Mother, she 's took a
notion not to stir from that shay. Elnathan,
A WOODLAND WOOING. 269
he 's ontackled, an* we 've all ben a coaxin of
her in ever sence six o'clock, an' there that
contr'y old lady has sot an' sot, as ef she 'd
took root."
'' Maria," said the old woman, suddenly in-
terrupting, " go into the house. You make me
fidgety."
" But, Mother," urged Mrs. Butterfield, " the
dew is rale heavy, an' it's a cool night. You '11
have rheumatics to-morrow, sure as preachin'."
'' If I do, Maria," returned the old woman,
with dignity, " it will be my own lookout,
Maria."
" But, Granny, you are keepin' us out-doors
all night," urged Elnathan.
**I am not aweer," said the grandmother, with
rigid politeness, " that I have asked any of you
to stop out o' door. If I hev, will somebody
please to tell me?"
*' Come, Mother, 'Come," said poor Mrs. But--
terfield, *'it's nigh onto midnight, an' a nice
270 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
bed all made an' waitin' for ye in the parlor
bedroom."
" I 'm puffeckly comfortable where I be, Ma-
ria, an' I don't know why I should n't stay here."
'' Mother made sweet cake an' blueberry pie
a purpose for ye," put in one of the children,
" an' she 's cut into a new sage-cheese, an' kep'
the tea on all this time."
" If I have lived," said the old lady, frigidly,
" to have the few things that my own folks do
for me throwed up in my face, I may ez wal go
to the Poor Farm an' done with it. I never
thought to see myself looked on as a burden
to my own son's house; that I will raise my
Ebenezer to say."
*' Nobuddy ever thought of castin' things up
at you. Now, Mother, you know better than
that," said her daughter-in-law. *' Dear sakes,
if he had only got home, he could manage her;
but he won't come till to-morrow. I declare, I
don't know which way to turn."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
271
" You never did, Maria," the old lady com-
mented from her chaise. '* You was always un-
facuHzed and hen-headed, an' so I told Simeon
when he first began to keep company with ye.
He was headstrong, an hev his own way he
would, but he '11 come to repent on it, ef he
has n't already."
" Oh, Granny," cried one of the children, run-
ning from the house, " there 's our Mirandy,
she 's gone and opened your band-box, and
she 's tried on your best cap, and is pulling out
all your things, and I can't make her stop
nohow."
" Land sakes," said the old lady, excitedly,
" ef that child aint exactly like you, Maria,
always interferin' an' meddlin'. My best cap !
All that purple taste ! Elnathan, help me outen
this shay, an' I '11 soon put a bee in her bunnit."
With this the grandmother actually descended,
and hurried into the house with her grandson.
" Good-night," said Mrs. Butterfield, hurriedly;
272
A WOODLAND WOOING,
" you '11 excuse me goin' right in, but she 's so
pudgicky there 's no tellin' what new notion she
may take. If I can only get the door locked,
we may coax her to bed. I 'm 'bleeged to ye
for stoppin*, I 'm sure. Good-night."
" When a woman will," laughed Colonel Spar-
hawk as we once more jolted along.
" Feinina semper mutahiley' added Arthur
Winthrop.
" Don't be so superior," begged Mrs. Spar-
hawk. ** Woman's power to change her mind
is one of her most charming qualities. I sup-
pose if a man had announced his intention of
spending the night in a cart, he 'd have done it,
if he 'd been the death of his entire family."
We reached the camp just after midnight, a
sleepy and demoralized crew. After we reached
our tent somebody asked for Miss Alexander.
" She was not in the cart," said Lucretia, with
awful calmness ; " we have gone and left her
behind."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
273
Mrs. Sparhawk, who was tucking Bevis into
bed, made a sudden snatch at something on
her pillow.
It was a letter.
" She has gone ! " she cried wildly, " gone !
Where is the Colonel? That nasty, ungrateful,
theatrical little cat has eloped 1 "
18
274
A WOODLAND WOOING.
XXII.
WHAT BETTY SAYS.
*' She is a nasty, ungrateful, romantic little
idiot ! " declared Mrs. Sparhawk for the fortieth
time since Miss Alexander's surprising escapade
had been discovered the night before. " I
thought she acted odd and dumpy and unlike
herself, and all the time it seems that she was
mooning over that lackadaisical loon of a George
Dexter. Well, I wash my hands of her."
" My dearest," said the Colonel, who made
one of the small group by the camp-fire who
listened to this tirade, — " my dearest, pardon
me; but, having taken a young lady from her
parents' protection and assumed the care of her
ourselves, we cannot, I think, throw off the
responsibility so lightly. I feel it my duty
to get a horse and go to the Gorge at once,
■^ 4<r^ynC cryu^ n^n^nt- Ch-n^ '''^'^ I
4wul:ru^ X<MOv^, d-^^.
Sjuoi^ /oAe^ %i/Mj o^frvu -K/vp^^t^fe^ j'
cuA^ -m^ CLA^ :iA-C cUoAy Crt<rvuJL^
'^Ac yA^CoM:^ JuM/^ Ai^ouL J^My
"' v5"-Ax MrvtO <M^J^ /g/^/rrL^ a-?
n/viij cU<^^; c>- Vu C^W ^r M^i^
A WOODLAND WOOING.
277
\
"Don't bring her back," cried his wife; *' I
will positively not see her. Think," she added,
with an air of severe virtue, " of what an example
to set the children ! "
*' Lucretia," I asked, " did she confide in you,
and tell you that she was very miserable, and
that her heart would break if she did not speak
to somebody? "
** Why, yes," admitted Lucretia, with a some-
what injured air ; " how did you know, Betty? "
*' Because she said the same to me, and I
carried a note from him, the circus day."
** She confided in me, too," said Emily Dud-
ley, grimly.
. *' That is why she persisted in wearing a trav-
elling dress last night," broke forth Mrs. Spar-
hawk, once more ; ** and to think of the way I
put myself out for the girl. I 'm sure that I
wrote and invited her here the very day that
I found out that Mr. Hamlin was old Judge
Hamlin's nephew. I Ve been positively indecent
2/8
A WOODLAND WOOING.
in the bold-faced way I 've made opportunities
for her. The Colonel has scolded me for it un-
mercifully. Oh, you need not open your lovely
gray eyes so wide, Miss Betty ; I can see through
a millstone ; I know where he has always been,
when I did n't positively send him to Annie.
Well, you may have him now, child. I shall not
play the part of meddlesome Matty any longer."
As she spoke she tossed aside some bits of
an envelope she had been destroying, and rising,
moved slowly away, sweeping off with her long
gown Emily's embroidered crewels which lay in
a tiny basket on the grass. For a moment
nobody spoke, but I felt all eyes upon my face.
My cheeks glowed like hot coals, and my heart
seemed to stop beating.
'* Meddlesome Matty, I should say!" spoke
out Josephine, spitefully ; " what on earth does
the woman mean? Her glasses must have magic
in them, for she certainly sees more than the
rest of us."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
279
" I don't know that she does," said Emmy-
Dudley, coolly; ^' there are none so blind as
those — You know the rest."
"You needn't trouble to explain," said Jo-
sephine, frigidly, rising and stalking off with her
head in the air.
" I don't see what 's the trouble with Jo-
sephine," said Emmy, threading her needle;
" I 'm sure it is none of her funeral."
Mrs. Winthrop kindly reached over and gave
my hand a squeeze under her shawl, but I could
not thank her. I could not speak at all. My
only desire was to get away from them all ; to
be by myself. I could only bless the fate which
had ordained that only that little circle of
women had been about the fire when Mrs.
Sparhawk dropped her bomb-shell.
I rose and fled — anywhere to be away from
them all. I could not go to the tent, for Mrs.
Sparhawk was there. I crossed the road to the
meadow. I would have liked to climb the
28o ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
mountain and keep on and on, and never come
back any more. I kept saying over and over
to myself: " They thought I Hked him. They
all thought I liked him."
It actually seemed to me as if I should die of
the horrible shame of it all. Suddenly I heard
a puffing and panting close behind me.
'' Oh," said Rodney's voice, " I saw you
agoing to walk, so I knew you 'd want me to
come too."
*' No, Rodney," I said, '* I am going too far.
You must not come. You '11 be too tired."
" Then you can carry me a pick-a-back,"
persisted Rodney, cheerfully. '' Besides, I 'd
rather go, and I just as lief as not."
I gave the child my hand, not very pleasantly,
and made my hasty steps agree better with his.
After all, there was no harm in Rodney. His
eyes did not pry.
" I '11 tell you sumpin'," he casually confided ;
" Mr. Hamlin is up here somewhere, he and Bob."
A WOODLAND WOOING. 28 1
"What do you mean?" I demanded fiercely,
my cheeks flushing more hotly than ever.
He would think, they would think, I had
followed him.
" Come back at once, Rodney," I said. " We
will not go a step farther."
I turned and was hastening back, dragging
the reluctant Rodney after me, when suddenly
I saw Mr. Hamlin, with his fishing-rod, breaking
his way out of the alder bushes by the brook.
I drew the child down behind a friendly bowlder,
and hid myself.
** Don't you speak or move, Rodney Spar-
hawk, till he has gone by," I whispered.
"Why not?" asked Rodney, hoarsely; "I
want to see his fishes. Mamma told Papa he
was a catch. What is a catch?"
" She could not have said that, Rodney."
"She did," persisted the child; "she said,
' When his uncle dies he will be a great catch.'
What did she mean?"
282 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
A sudden light broke over me. How stupid
I had been ! Mrs. Sparhawk's graciousness to
Mr. HamHn had all been after she had learned
his relationship to the rich uncle in Baltimore.
If she had only heard that story that I heard in
the old graveyard, she would not have wanted
Miss Alexander to marry him. She would have
let him alone, and not said horrible things to
me, and perhaps —
" Ow ! " said Rodney ; "I'm a-goin' to sneeze."
" Rodney Sparhawk," I whispered fiercely,
** don't you dm'e to sneeze. If you do I '11
never play with you again, nor tell you another
story in all my life."
Mr. Hamlin came nearer, whistling " How
Can I Leave Thee," very much off key. He
was just opposite our bowlder now, and, as
bad luck would have it, he stopped whistling.
Rodney's small face was a tangle of twists
and wrinkles, as he vainly tried to overcome
his desire to sneeze.
A WOODLAND WOOING.
283
" A choo ! " said Rodney, loudly. " There,
Miss Betty, I could n't help it. I could n't,
truly now."
Mr. Hamlin stepped around the corner of the
rock.
" I 'm sorry you 've taken cold. Miss Betty,"
he said, " but very glad to see you. I wanted
to speak to you away from the camp."
" It was Rodney who sneezed," I said stiffly ;
*' nobody but Rodney sneezes so loudly as that.
Come, Rodney, your mother will want you."
" Oh, no, she won't," replied Rodney. '' She
told me to stay ever so far off while she was
packing."
" You may take my fishing-rod and catch a
little trout. Miss Betty and I will wait for you
here," said Mr. Hamlin, generously.
" Indeed he cannot, Mr. Hamlin," I cried.
" Rodney is too little to go to the brook alone.
Are you crazy? "
" Not now, but I may be if you won't listen
284 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
to me. See here, Rodney, I have a secret to
tell Miss Betty, and — "
'^ I do not want to hear it," I cried, rising.
" I detest secrets."
** But you must hear it," he said suddenly,
very white in the face. " Rodney, wait for us
over by that tree."
" I 'd just as lief stay," said Rodney, obligingly.
" I like to hear secrets, too."
*' Rodney," exclaimed Mr. Hamlin, desper-
ately, *' if you '11 go and sit under the apple-tree
five minutes, I '11 give you a dollar."
*' Honest? " asked the child.
" Of course. I give you my word."
" All right," said Rodney, and reluctantly
departed.
I felt as if my last support had left me as he
stumbled away through the sweet fern.
"I must go," I protested; "some other time
will do — "
" No other time will do," he said. " I am
A WOODLAND WOOING.
285
going home to-morrow. Betty, Mrs. Sparhawk
said that you were going to marry Arthur Win-
throp. Is it true?"
" I am not going to marry anybody," I re-
turned hotly. " I hate all this talk about marry-
ing, as if everybody were crazy, and there were
nothing else worth thinking of."
"Oh, Betty," he said eagerly, — " oh, Betty,
Betty, don't you know how I love you? Don't
you know how I 've loved you all summer,
always, ever since I was born? Betty, it cannot
be that you won't come to love me a little — "
" I came back," broke in the cheerful voice of
Rodney, " because there 's a toad down there,
and I want something to poke him with. Any
picked stick would do, or your fish-pole, Mr.
Hamlin."
" Betty," said Mr. Hamlin, desperately, " I
love you utterly, but I hereby resign all hope
of telling you so out of hearing of the Sparhawk
children. It is fate. Plainly, and before this
witness, will you marry me, Betty?"
286 A WOODLAND WOOING.
He had quite stopped smiling, and he held
both my hands in spite of Rodney. Under his
breath he said, —
** For Heaven's sake, Betty, give me an answer
before we go back to that staring camp."
" If you marry him," piped the ever-ready
Rodney, '' then I s'pose he '11 marry you, and
you '11 have rice thrown into your ears and
down your neck, as my Aunt Helen did. Is
she goin' to marry you, Mr. Hamlin?"
" I don't know, Rodney," said Mr. Hamlin ;
" ask her."
"Are you goin' to, Miss Betty?" asked the
tormenter.
" I don't know, Rodney," I began stiffly.
My lover's anxious eyes were on me, and I
weakly ended, " But I think — I am."
Then it was that Mr. Hamlin — oh, dear ! I
have promised to call him Jack, and what will
Bob say; what will he say! — proved equal to
the emergency. I may as well tell it all, for I
never could show Bobby this chapter, anyway ;
A WOODLAND WOOING.
287
but without a word of warning he caught Rod-
ney's Tam-o'-Shanter by the edge and pulled it
completely over the poor fellow's face, and then
he took me in his arms like a flash, and I could
not help it if he did kiss me like a young
tornado.
" Oh, stop ! " gurgled Rodney, as, half crying,
he extricated himself from his cap; "that is n't
any fair."
** I beg your pardon, Rodney," Mr. Hamlin
said with the greatest gravity, " but you see I
got hold of the edge of your cap instead of my
own all by mistake."
*' I don't care," protested Rodney, looking
abused ; "■ I don't like mistakes."
** Nor I, Rodney," said I, with an attempt at
propriety.
"Very well," rejoined my shameless lover,
without looking in the least penitent; "I'll
never do it again, Betty — by mistake."
I laughed a little. It was all so wonderful,
288 ^ WOODLAND WOOING.
and I was so very happy. Rodney joined
boisterously in my laughter, without knowing
why he laughed.
We stood there in the damp meadow among
the brambles, with Rodney eager and watchful
by our side. Was ever a love-making more
prosaic? Had it not been for Mr. Hamlin's
eyes one could not have guessed that it was a
love-making at all. We stood there in the foggy
morning and regarded each other half whimsi-
cally. The whole thing was so funny, so lacking
in poetry and sentiment.
** I cannot think what Bob will say," I said at
length. " I always loved Bob more than all the
world ; and you know we were to keep house
in Mexico."
" You can do that still," he smiled ; " only
now Bob will be the boarder, and I shall be
the householder."
*' Come," urged Rodney, " if you 've settled
your talkin', do come and let 's poke the toad."
A WOODLAND WOOING.
289
** Our talking is only begun," replied Mr.
Hamlin, swinging the child to his shoulders ;
" but we have our lifetime in which to finish it.
I can afford to be patient for a little now; and
after all, I might not have had a chance to
speak to you, my Betty, if Rodney had not
sneezed."
And we all went to poke the toad.
19
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