CHAPTER VII
THE MILL FARM
Sylvia's sleep that night in Portland was profound. A sense of peaceand safety had grown upon her from the time she took the train out ofBoston with her new companion; and the next morning she awokerefreshed, in a chamber filled with sunlight.
She dressed and went down to the dining-room of the boarding-housewhere they were staying, and found her cousin standing by the windowlooking out on the fresh green of tall elms that shaded the quietstreet.
"Well, well," he said, turning to meet her bright eyes. "Springoutside, and spring inside. You've had a good sleep, little one."
He held out both his hands, and Sylvia put hers into them.
"Dear me, I'm afraid it's noon," for now she noticed that breakfast hadbeen served.
"No, we have time still to make the train I told Cap'n Lem to meet, andeat a little something into the bargain."
The speaker moved to the table and rang a bell.
"Oh, you've waited too long for your breakfast," said Sylvia.
"No, indeed! Been watching the orioles that are bringing up a familyout in that tree. Busy times, I tell you. Makes me think of the dayCalvin and I wanted to rob an oriole's nest,--hang-birds, we calledthem,--and a little girl with short curls and a sunbonnet wouldn't letus do it; a girl who'd stand only a little higher than your elbow."
"Mother?" asked Sylvia softly.
Jacob Johnson nodded, and they sat down to breakfast.
An hour later they were speeding along in the train nearing the townwhich was their destination.
"I never have been on a farm, Cousin Jacob," said Sylvia.
"'Tisn't much of a farm we have here," he replied. "Just enough toraise a living for ourselves and the stock in the winter. The chiefbusiness is fruit and vegetables for the summer folks. Cal--the ownerof the place likes this part of the world for what time he can get offin summer, so he bought this little farm and hired me to run it. Thatwas ten years ago. I wasn't enjoying the business I was at in thosedays, but I was just learning to think right about things then, and Iknew I'd be shown something else if it was best, and so I was."
"What made you know it?" asked Sylvia.
Her companion smiled without looking at her. "How do you know the sunis shining this morning and the apple-trees are in blossom?"
"Why, I can see that."
"I saw, too, Sylvia. It's a great thing when you begin to see."
The girl observed her companion's half-averted face curiously. "Wholives with you at the farm?" she asked.
"My two helpers. Good Cap'n Lem Foster and his daughter-in-law, youngLem's widow. She's an excellent cook. Can you cook, little one?"
"I?" the girl laughed. "I can make Welsh rarebit."
Her companion patted her hand. "Sam Lacey brought you up, didn't he?"he remarked.
"You see we always boarded," went on Sylvia, "because father--well, itwas better; he was contented if he could play cards and go to a showsometimes; and when he had had too much he always kept away from me--hewas so good about that."
"Too much?" echoed her companion questioningly.
"Yes, of course he'd go out with the boys some nights, but they alwayskept him away from me until he was all right again."
The matter-of-fact tone gave the listener a pang. His big hand closedover the one he had been caressing. "You're in a prohibition statenow," he remarked.
"Yes, I remember. I've heard father speak of it. I was just thinking ofa verse he used to say:--
"'Johnny and Jane, Maiden and swain, Never had tasted a drop of champagne; Reason is plain, They lived in Maine, Where all the folks are obliged to drink rain.'"
"H'm. I wish they were," commented the other, regarding theblack-clothed figure beside him. A thin veil was pinned to her hat insuch a way as to cover the shortness of the soft curls. Her figure waserect, her coloring exquisite, her eyes innocent. She seemed to himlike a jewel which had been set in base metal, carelessly guarded, andwas now in danger of sinking into the mud of the highway. Laura'slittle girl!
He patted her hand again.
"Here we are," he said, as the train slackened and stood still. He tookhis own limp bag and Sylvia's plump, rubbed old one, and they moveddown the aisle and out upon the platform.
"There's Lem." Jacob Johnson moved across the platform, and Sylviafollowed him to where stood a two-seated wagon with a pair of stronghorses. The driver leaned one arm on his leg as he looked passively atSylvia. He wore a sweater and a felt hat, and had on blue overalls thecolor of his eyes. He was older than his employer, and a fringe ofwhite whiskers surrounded his red, weather-beaten face.
"Howdy, Thinkright," he said, nodding as the couple approached.
"How are you, Cap'n Lem? This is my little cousin, Miss Lacey."
"Glad to see ye, Miss Lacey. Ye've got hahnsome weather," observed theold man. "Mawdrate, too, to what it has ben. Apple-trees hev all bustout."
"Yes, you must have had a fresh trip in this morning," respondedThinkright, as he saw to having Sylvia's trunk and the bags put on thewagon. At last he climbed in beside his guest. A slap of the reins setthe heavy horses trotting deliberately.
Cap'n Lem sat halfway around in his seat in order to converse on farmmatters, and Sylvia enjoyed the spring beauty about her as they droveout of the little town and took the country road.
"How's the jedge?" asked the captain at last.
"He's well. Told me to tell you he'd be after you for lobsters beforelong."
The old man gave a toothless smile. "Miss Lacey smaht?" he inquired.
"I suppose so. I didn't see her this time."
Sylvia's eyes began to look startled and questioning. Old Lem met hergaze. "Ye've got the same name," he remarked curiously, as the factoccurred to him, "same as Miss Marthy. Miss Marthy ain't no kin to you,is she, Thinkright?"
"No, except through this child. This little girl is a link."
"The missin' link, eh?" returned Cap'n Lem. "Well, all I kin say is shedon't look it," and his shoulders twitched with delight. "The missin'link," he repeated from time to time, the utterance being alwaysfollowed by a fresh convulsion of mirth as his sea-blue eyes roved tothe visitor's grave face.
"Do they come here, Cousin Jacob?" asked Sylvia uneasily, under coverof the rattle of the wagon, "Uncle Calvin and Aunt Martha?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"Will they be likely to, soon?" asked the girl, her face hardening.
Her cousin shook his head, and she saw compassion in his shining gaze.
"Don't fret about that," he said quietly. "Hot weather in the towns isa long way off yet."
"What'd the jedge say in the matter o' the new shed?" asked Lem, whenhe had somewhat recovered from the enjoyment of his joke.
"He said he thought we'd better have the old one shingled."
"Turrible short-sighted, that's what I say," grumbled the old man; "buthe ain't ever fer branchin' out, the jedge ain't. Why didn't ye talkhim over to it, Thinkright?"
"I didn't feel strongly about it. He'd do it if I urged him; but it'sjust as you say, he doesn't want to branch out. The place serves hispurpose as it is, and while he owns it he'll keep it just as compact asit is now."
"What judge are you talking about?" asked Sylvia.
"Jedge Trent, of course," replied Cap'n Lem. "There hain't never ben atime when he wa'n't as sot as the everlastin' hills."
"Judge Trent is this child's uncle," said Jacob Johnson.
"No offense, no offense," remarked Cap'n Lem equably. "Seems if she'srelated to a lot o' folks," he added, and at this moment a team ofcolts came prancing around a curve in the road, trying their best withevery nervous spring to escape their driver's control. Cap'n Lem'sheavy horses shrank and shied, then as the others clattered by theyresumed their steady gait. The old man turned and saw the white, fixedlook in Sylvia's face.
"They wouldn't do nawthin'," he declared consolingly. "They're bothpowerful mawdrate hosses. Besides,"--the speaker stole a half-mischie
vous,half-shy look at her companion,--"Thinkright'll tell ye it's one o' theseven deadly sins to be skeered of anythin' that's in heaven above, orthe earth beneath, or the sea that in them is."
The curving road was leading up a hill. The gray horses soon began todraw their burden at a walk, and when they reached the summit theystopped, for it was a time-honored observance for them to catch theirbreath at this point, as it was for the passengers, if strangers, tohold theirs.
The grandeur hitherto concealed by earth and forest suddenly broke intoview. A limitless expanse of sea lay revealed, pierced by points offir-crowned land that drove rock ledges into the liquid blue. Sylviagazed fascinated at the snowy froth tossing itself against every graypoint. Islands of varied shapes rose here and there, some tree-covered,some bare mounds of green, studding the rolling sapphire distances, andthe girl's breast rose involuntarily to meet the untold miles ofsparkling motion and the free, fresh, sunlit air. Her hands claspedtogether, and Jacob Johnson watched her white face with its wide eyesand mute lips.
The exceptional beauty of the May day caused even Cap'n Lem to expendsilent approval on the familiar scene. He waited for a longer periodthan usual before he clucked to the horses, and they began a cautiousdescent of the winding road, their heavy hind-quarters braced almostagainst the wagon in their experience of sundry rolling stones.
"Hahnsome weather, surely," he remarked.
"I've never, never dreamed of anything like it," ejaculated Sylvia, andrelapsed into dumbness.
Her host smiled, well pleased.
As the road descended to a level it approached the water of a small baywhose sheltered reaches watered a luxuriant evergreen growth amongwhich appeared an occasional birch. These adorned the sloping bank,interspersed with rock, and turned the blue depths to green as theyleaned toward the water as if in the effort to catch their own lovelyreflections.
"We'll get out here and walk up to the house, Cap'n," said Thinkright."Tell Mrs. Lem we'll be there by supper time. We had our luncheon onthe road."
Sylvia took the hand her host offered in silence, and jumped out of thewagon. Cap'n Lem clucked to the horses again, and they rattled away.
"Why does he call you Thinkright?" the girl asked abruptly, as hercompanion paused on a clearing in the grassy bank to let her view thepicture before them.
Jacob Johnson smiled. "They rather like nicknames in this part of theworld," he answered. "I didn't realize how much I used the expressionuntil all the neighbors began to label me. I knew I was always tryingto be on the mental watch, and what is much in the mind will out, Isuppose. How do you like this basin? We think it very pretty."
Apparently it was an inland lake that lay at their feet, sparkling andrippling in the triumphant fullness of the tide. At the point where thecurving shore ran out to sea stood a large deserted tide mill on posts,midway in the water. Its shuttered windows looked like eyes closedagainst the surrounding beauty, and seemed protesting against thewitnesses of its failure. Twice every day, like a tumultuous rushingriver the tide poured water into the spacious basin, until its ripplesclambered ten feet toward the eagerly bending trees, and later thecapricious flood rushed back to the bosom of the sea. There had beenenormous power at work under the old mill. What was lacking that it hadfallen into disuse and closed its eyes upon an unappreciative world?
"It's a picturesque place, eh, Sylvia?" Thinkright repeated hisquestion as she gazed and kept silence.
"Yes," she replied, "but the view above was--there aren't words."
"True;" her companion nodded. "You see a farm wouldn't do well at sucha height, so we have to come down to shorter views and shorterdistances; but it's a great thing to know that all the grandeur isthere. We've seen it, and we know we've seen it, and we can't forgetit; it's an inspiration to us. It takes a lot of wisdom to sail out onthat ocean you saw up there, to avoid the ledges and to manage wiselyin the winds; but to sail or row about on this basin is within thepower of most landlubbers. Nature's always reading us life lessons,Sylvia, always."
"I'm not one of the afraid kind," returned the girl, with a toss of herhead. "I only wish I had a chance to go out on that ocean."
"Yes, I know. On the stage, for instance," returned her companion. "Theledges and the squalls have no terrors for you."
"I hope I have some brains and some common sense," she answered.
Thinkright laid a kind hand on her shoulder. "It's perfectly true thatneither ledge nor wind could harm you if you knew why. Daniel was safein the lions' den, but it was because he knew why."
At the touch of his hand the girl shrunk away, and he instantly droppedit. Her blue eyes met his now, dark and cold. "I have found that youdon't always think right," she said. "Why did you deceive me?"
Her companion looked at his watch.
"We'd better be walking along," he remarked, and they entered awell-worn path just wide enough for two that led through the woods, butkept close to the small salt lake, whose shining blue shimmered betweenthe branches.
"I haven't deceived you, little one," he answered.
"You knew that nothing would have induced me to be a guest at JudgeTrent's farm," declared the girl hotly.
"What's the difference?" asked her companion mildly. "You were eatinghis bread in Boston."
Sylvia's cheeks flushed. "I--I"--she hesitated, "I wasn't going to doit long."
"You shan't do it here a day longer than you wish to," returnedThinkright. "Now, child, suppose a case. Suppose your Uncle Calvin andyour Aunt Martha had shown you perfect love instead of indifference,how would you have felt toward them?"
"Loved them, of course, and been thankful." Sylvia's angry eyes grewmoist.
"That would have been a happier state of mind than what you have now,wouldn't it?"
"Of course." All the girl's sore spots were aching. "Why do you asksuch a question?"
"Just to remind you of the fact. Now why should you let them make youlose the joy of being loving and thankful?"
"Why--how unreasonable! I can't help it, of course."
"Yes, you can. It's wonderful, Sylvia, but yes, you can. Think of beingable to get out of the heat and turmoil of resentment and anger intothe kingdom of heaven! You know where Jesus said it was?"
"No, I don't."
"Within you. The kingdom of heaven is within you."
"I guess not," returned Sylvia, with heaving breast. "Father alwayssaid there was plenty of old Adam in me, and I know it isn't humannature to be loving toward people that have treated me as they did."
"No, indeed it isn't. Your only chance is in finding out that you havea higher nature inherited from our Father in heaven, who the Bibledeclares is Love. When you allow that nature to have sway you will, assomebody has beautifully put it, 'think God's thoughts after him.' Youwill think mercifully and lovingly of your uncle and aunt, and forgivethem as you would be forgiven. That way lies happiness."
The girl raised her blue eyes to his curiously. "So you consider itthinking right to live in a sort of a fools' paradise?"
Her companion smiled at her and his eyes shone. "I leave it to you ifit isn't better than yours," he returned. "You believe in God, don'tyou, Sylvia?"
She cast down her glance. "I've thought lately sometimes that I'd liketo; but he's so far away, on the outest edge of the universe."
"Why, what's the name of the place he lives in?"
"Heaven, I suppose."
"Well, where did I just remind you is the kingdom of heaven?"
Sylvia shrugged her shoulders. Thinkright's voice had again that tonethat tapped at her heart as at a closed door, and instinctively sheresisted it.
"Within you, little child," went on her companion, after a waitingpause. "God far away? 'Nearer than hands and feet,' Sylvia, 'nearerthan hands and feet.'"
"I don't understand anything of what you're saying," returned the girlabruptly.
"Well, isn't this a pretty path?" asked Thinkright, looking about them."It seems only yesterday that all these evergreens were loaded withsnow."
As he spoke, a song-sparrow near by poured out a flood ofmelody.
"Ah!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes glistening.
"Oh, if you like birds you are going to enjoy the Mill Farm. We have avery respectable choir in these woods. Now we could keep on in thispath past the mill, 'way out to the end of the peninsula, but we don'tthis time; instead we turn right here and then"--the speaker waved hishand up a gentle incline, at the head of which stood an oblong whitehouse with green blinds; "that's the Mill Farm."
"Judge Trent's farm." Sylvia's eyes met those of her host. "Why did youdeceive me?" she repeated, gazing at him while they stood still in thesoft grass.
Thinkright brought the knuckles of one of his hands into the hard palmof the other. "I asked you to come to the farm, didn't I? You were notthinking kindly of Judge Trent then; you were wasting your timethinking wrong about his wrong doings. If I'd said come and be youruncle's guest at the Mill Farm instead of at the Young Woman'sChristian Association, you'd have questioned and doubted some timeprobably, and we might not have caught that evening train to Portland,and it was best for me to get home."
Sylvia bit her lip.
"Now there isn't one thing to do but think right," went on her hostkindly, "and you'll be happy as a girl should be. You believe there'ssatisfaction in slapping back, and it galls you because you can't. It'sthe greatest mistake you can imagine. The satisfaction of slapping backonly leads on to greater complications and final disaster in a logicalsequence. Now, I'm not penniless, my little cousin. Just at presentyou're my guest."
"Oh, am I really, Cousin Thinkright?" cried the girl eagerly.
"Surely you are."
"Then I can begin to have a good time right off," she exclaimed, herwhite cheeks flushing as she took his arm in her relief.
He smiled as they walked slowly up the incline. "Always have a goodtime," he said. "The daughter of a great King should hide her head inshame if she admits any other thought."