He led the little creature up the hill to explain matters and protect her from a scolding. She still held the doll against her heaving breast, saying, between her sobs: I couldnt let my Debby burn up! I couldnt, Uncle Bart; shes got nobody but me! Is my dress scorched so much I cant wear it? Youll tell father how it was, Uncle Bart, wont you?
Debby bore the marks of her adventure longer than her owner, for she had been longer in the fire, but, stained and defaced as she was, she was never replaced, and remained the only doll of Waitstills childhood. At this very moment she lay softly and safely in a bureau drawer ready to be lifted out, sometime, Waitstill fancied, and shown tenderly to Pattys children. Of her own possible children she never thought. There was but one man in the world who could ever be the father of them and she was separated from him by every obstacle that could divide two human beings.
SUMMER
VIII. THE JOINERS SHOP
VILLAGE Aunts and Uncles were elected to that relationship by the common consent of the community; their fitness being established by great age, by decided individuality or eccentricity of character, by uncommon lovableness, or by the possession of an abundant wit and humor. There was no formality about the thing; certain women were always called Aunt Sukie, or Aunt Hitty, or what not, while certain men were distinguished as Uncle Rish, or Uncle Pel, without previous arrangement, or the consent of the high contracting parties.
Such a couple were Cephas Coles father and mother, Aunt Abby and Uncle Bart. Bartholomew Coles trade was that of a joiner; as for Aunt Abbys, it can only be said that she made all trades her own by sovereign right of investigation, and what she did not know about her neighbors occupations was unlikely to be discovered on this side of Jordan. One of the villagers declared that Aunt Abby and her neighbor, Mrs. Abel Day, had argued for an hour before they could make a bargain about the method of disseminating a certain important piece of news, theirs by exclusive right of discovery and prior possession. Mrs. Day offered to give Mrs. Cole the privilege of Saco Hill and Aunt Betty-Jacks, she herself to take Guide-Board and Town-House Hills. Aunt Abby quickly proved the injustice of this decision, saying that there were twice as many families living in Mrs. Days chosen territory as there were in that allotted to her, so the river road to Millikens Mills was grudgingly awarded to Aunt Abby by way of compromise, and the ladies started on what was a tour of mercy in those days, the furnishing of a subject of discussion for long, quiet evenings.
Uncle Barts joiners shop was at the foot of Guide-Board Hill on the Riverboro side of the bridge, and it was the pleasantest spot in the whole village. The shop itself had a cheery look, with its weather-stained shingles, its small square windows, and its hospitable door, half as big as the front side of the building. The step was an old millstone too worn for active service, and the piles of chips and shavings on each side of it had been there for so many years that sweet-williams, clove pinks, and purple phlox were growing in among them in the most irresponsible fashion; while a morning-glory vine had crept up and curled around a long-handled rake that had been standing against the front of the house since early spring. There was an air of cosy and amiable disorder about the place that would have invited friendly confabulation even had not Uncle Barts white head, honest, ruddy face, and smiling welcome coaxed you in before you were aware. A fine Nodhead apple tree shaded the side windows, and underneath it reposed all summer a bright blue sleigh, for Uncle Bart always described himself as being plagued for shed room and kept things as he liked at the shop, having a pison neat wife who did exactly the opposite at his house.
The seat of the sleigh was all white now with scattered fruit blossoms, and one of Waitstills earliest remembrances was of going downhill with Patty toddling at her side; of Uncle Barts lifting them into the sleigh and permitting them to sit there and eat the ripe red apples that had fallen from the tree. Uncle Barts son, Cephas (Pattys secret adorer), was a painter by trade, and kept his pots and cans and brushes in a little outhouse at the back, while Uncle Bart himself stood every day behind his long joiners bench almost knee-deep in shavings. How the children loved to play with the white, satiny rings, making them into necklaces, hanging them to their ears and weaving them into wreaths.
Wonderful houses could always be built in the corner of the shop, out of the little odds and ends and nubbins of white pine, and Uncle Bart was ever ready to cut or saw a special piece needed for some great purpose.
The sound of the plane was sweet music in the old joiners ears. I dont hardly know how Id a made out if Id had to work in a mill, he said confidentially to Cephas. The noise of a saw goin all day, coupled with your mothers tongue mornins an evenins, would a been too much for my weak head. Im a quiet man, Cephas, a man that needs a peaceful shop where he can get away from the comforts of home now and then, without shirkin his duty nor causin gossip. If you should ever marry, Cephas,which dont look to me likely without you pick out a difrent girl,I d advise you not to keep your stock o paints in the barn or the shed, for its altogether too handy to the house and the women-folks. Take my advice and have a place to yourself, even if its a small one. A shop or a barn has saved many a mans life and reason Cephas, for its agin a womans nature to have you underfoot in the house without hectorin you. Choose a girl sames you would a horse that you want to hitch up into a span; t aint every two thatll stan together without kickin. When you get the right girl, keep out of her way considable an therell be less wear an tear.
It was June and the countryside was so beautiful it seemed as if no one could be unhappy, however great the cause. That was what Waitstill Baxter thought as she sat down on the millstone step for a word with the old joiner, her best and most understanding friend in all the village.
Ive come to do my mending here with you, she said brightly, as she took out her well-filled basket and threaded her needle. Isnt it a wonderful morning? Nobody could look the world in the face and do a wrong thing on such a day, could they, Uncle Bart?
The meadows were a waving mass of golden buttercups; the shallow water at the rivers edge just below the shop was blue with spikes of arrow-weed; a bunch of fragrant water-lilies, gathered from the mill-ponds upper levels, lay beside Waitstills mending-basket, and every foot of roadside and field within sight was swaying with long-stemmed white and gold daisies. The June grass, the friendly, humble, companionable grass, that no one ever praises as they do the flowers, was a rich emerald green, a velvet carpet fit for the feet of the angels themselves. And the elms and maples! Was there ever such a year for richness of foliage? And the sky, was it ever so blue or so clear, so far away, or so completely like heaven, as you looked at its reflection in the glassy surface of the river?
Yes, its a pretty good day, allowed Uncle Bart judicially as he took a squint at his T-square. I don knows I should want to start out an try to beat it! The Lord can make a good many kinds o weather in the course of a year, but when He puts his mind on to it, an kind o gives Himself a free hand, He can turn out a June morning that must make the Devil sick to his stomach with envy! All the same, Waity, my cow aint behavin herself any bettern usual. Shes been rampagin since sun-up. Ive seen mother chasin her out o Mis Days garden-patch twice aready!It seems real good an homey to see you settin there sewin while Im workin at the bench. Cephas is down to the store, so I spose your fathers off somewheres?
The meadows were a waving mass of golden buttercups; the shallow water at the rivers edge just below the shop was blue with spikes of arrow-weed; a bunch of fragrant water-lilies, gathered from the mill-ponds upper levels, lay beside Waitstills mending-basket, and every foot of roadside and field within sight was swaying with long-stemmed white and gold daisies. The June grass, the friendly, humble, companionable grass, that no one ever praises as they do the flowers, was a rich emerald green, a velvet carpet fit for the feet of the angels themselves. And the elms and maples! Was there ever such a year for richness of foliage? And the sky, was it ever so blue or so clear, so far away, or so completely like heaven, as you looked at its reflection in the glassy surface of the river?
Yes, its a pretty good day, allowed Uncle Bart judicially as he took a squint at his T-square. I don knows I should want to start out an try to beat it! The Lord can make a good many kinds o weather in the course of a year, but when He puts his mind on to it, an kind o gives Himself a free hand, He can turn out a June morning that must make the Devil sick to his stomach with envy! All the same, Waity, my cow aint behavin herself any bettern usual. Shes been rampagin since sun-up. Ive seen mother chasin her out o Mis Days garden-patch twice aready!It seems real good an homey to see you settin there sewin while Im workin at the bench. Cephas is down to the store, so I spose your fathers off somewheres?
Perhaps the June grass was a little greener, the buttercups yellower, the foliage more lacey, the sky bluer, because Deacon Baxter had taken his luncheon in a pail under the wagon seat, and departed on an unwilling journey to Moderation, his object being to press the collection of some accounts too long overdue. There was something tragic in the fact, Waitstill thought, that whenever her father left the village for a whole day, life at once grew brighter, easier, more hopeful. One could breathe freely, speak ones heart out, believe in the future, when father was away.
The girls had harbored many delightful plans at early breakfast. As it was Saturday, Patty could catch little Rod Boynton, if he came to the bridge on errands as usual; and if Ivory could spare him for an hour at noon they would take their luncheon and eat it together on the river-bank as Patty had promised him. At the last moment, however, Deacon Baxter had turned around in the wagon and said: Patience, you go down to the store and have a regular house-cleanin in the stock-room. Git Cephas to lift what you cant lift yourself, move everything in the place, sweep and dust it, scrub the floor, wash the winder, and make room for the new stuff that theyll bring up from Mill-town bout noon. If you have any time left over, put new papers on the shelves out front, and clean up and fix the show winder. Dont stand round gabbin with Cephas, and seet he dont waste time thats paid for by me. Tell him he might clean up the terbaccer stains round the stove, black it, and cover it up for the summer if he aint too busy servin custmers.
The whole day spoiled! wailed Patty, flinging herself down in the kitchen rocker. Fathers powers of invention beat anything I ever saw! That stock-room could have been cleaned any time this month and its too heavy work for me anyway; it spoils my hands, grubbing around those nasty, sticky, splintery boxes and barrels. Instead of being out of doors, Ive got to be shut up in that smelly, rummy, tobacco-y, salt-fishy, pepperminty place with Cephas Cole! He wont have a pleasant morning, I can tell you! I shall snap his head off every time he speaks to me.
So I would! Waitstill answered composedly. Everything is so clearly his fault that I certainly would work off my temper on Cephas! Still, I can think of a way to make matters come out right. Ive got a great basket of mending that must be done, and you remember theres a choir rehearsal for the new anthem this afternoon, but anyway I can help a little on the cleaning. Then you can make Rodman do a few of the odd jobs, it will be a novelty to him; and Cephas will work his fingers to the bone for you, as you well know, if you treat him like a human being.
All right! cried Patty joyously, her mood changing in an instant. Theres Rod coming over the bridge now! Toss me my gingham apron and the scrubbing-brush, and the pail, and the tin of soft soap, and the cleaning cloths; lets see, the brooms down there, so Ive got everything. If I wave a towel from the store, pack up luncheon for three. You come down and bring your mending; then, when you see how Im getting on, we can consult. Im going to take the ten cents Ive saved and spend it in raisins. I can get a good many if Cephas gives me wholesale price, with family discount subtracted from that. Cephas would treat me to candy in a minute, but if I let him wed have to ask him to the picnic! Good-bye! And the volatile creature darted down the hill singing, Therell be something in heaven for children to do, at the top of her healthy young lungs.
IX. CEPHAS SPEAKS
THE waving signal, a little later on, showed that Rodman could go to the picnic, the fact being that he was having a holiday from eleven oclock until two, and Ivory was going to drive to the bridge at noon, anyway, so his permission could then be asked.
Pattys mind might have been thought entirely on her ugly task as she swept and dusted and scrubbed that morning, but the reverse was true. Mark Wilson had gone away without saying good-bye to her. This was not surprising, perhaps, as she was about as much sequestered in her hilltop prison as a Turkish beauty in a harem; neither was it astonishing that Mark did not write to her. He never had written to her, and as her father always brought home the very infrequent letters that came to the family, Mark knew that any sentimental correspondence would be fraught with danger. No, everything was probably just as it should be, and yet,well, Patty had expected during the last three weeks that something would happen to break up the monotony of her former existence. She hardly knew what it would be, but the kiss dropped so lightly on her cheek by Mark Wilson still burned in remembrance, and made her sure that it would have a sequel, or an explanation.
Marks sister Ellen and Phil Perry were in the midst of some form of lovers quarrel, and during its progress Phil was paying considerable attention to Patty at Sabbath School and prayer-meeting, occasions, it must be confessed, only provocative of very indirect and long-distance advances. Cephas Cole, to the amazement of every one but his (constitutionally) exasperated mother, was toning down the ell of the family mansion, mitigating the lively yellow, and putting another fresh coat of paint on it, for no conceivable reason save that of pleasing the eye of a certain capricious, ungrateful young hussy, who would probably say, when her verdict was asked, that she didnt see any particular difference in it, one way or another.
Trade was not especially brisk at the Deacons emporium this sunny June Saturday morning. Cephas may have possibly lost a customer or two by leaving the store vacant while he toiled and sweated for Miss Patience Baxter in the stockroom at the back, overhanging the river, but no man alive could see his employers lovely daughter tugging at a keg of shingle nails without trying to save her from a broken back, although Cephas could have watched his mother move the house and barn without feeling the slightest anxiety in her behalf. If he could ever get the heft of the doggoned cleaning out of the way so that Pattys mind could be free to entertain his proposition; could ever secure one precious moment of silence when she was not slatting and banging, pushing and pulling things about, her head and ears out of sight under a shelf, and an irritating air of absorption about her whole demeanor; if that moment of silence could ever, under Providence, be simultaneous with the absence of customers in the front shop, Cephas intended to offer himself to Patience Baxter that very morning.