CHAPTER VIII
A PAIR OF CALLS
Among the honors which came to Ruel Saxon with advancing years there wasprobably none which he valued more than his position, well recognized inthe community, as keeper of the best fund of stories of the olden time,and referee-in-chief on all debated points of local history. There wereplenty of old people in Esterly, some even who had reached thepatriarchal age in which he himself so gloried, but there was no otherwith a memory like his, none with so unique a gift for setting out thepast event in warmth and color. The gift was his own, but the memory wasin part at least that of some who had gone before.
It had been the old man's fortune in his youth to be the constantcompanion of a grandfather who, like himself, was a local authority; adeaf man, who relied much on the boy's clear voice and quick attentionfor intercourse with his fellows. Perhaps the service had been irksomesometimes to the boy, but it had its reward for him now; for hisgrandfather's experiences and his own blended in his thought as onecontinuous whole, and covered a space of time no other memory in thetown could match.
The time was not yet when every rural village of New England had itshistorical society, but the recovery of the past was becoming a fad inthe cities, and families who valued themselves on their standing werewaking up to the importance of making sure of their ancestors. A letterfrom some gatherer of ancient facts, making requisition on Ruel Saxon'sknowledge, was not uncommon now, and more than once a caller had stoppedat the farmhouse hoping to gain help from him in tracing some obscurebranch of a family tree.
The person bent on such an errand was so commonly of serious and elderlyaspect that the extremely stylish young man who rode into the yard oneafternoon was not suspected by the girls, who saw him from the parlor,of belonging to this class. Kate, who was nearest the window, was quiteexcited by the appearance of a gentleman on horseback. She had not seenone before since she left home, and the horse itself was as interestingas the rider.
"I'll wager anything that's a blooded Kentucky," she said, craning herneck for a fuller view. "My, but isn't she a beauty? I'll have a goodlook at her if his highness gets down. Wouldn't I like to call out,'Light, and come in, stranger!'" she added under her breath. "Stella,who is he? He must be some admirer of yours."
"Never saw him before," said Stella, who was eying him with as muchcuriosity as Kate. "I'll tell you what, he must be a connoisseur in artand has heard of my Breton Peasant. Ha! With that horse and that ridingcostume I shall charge him a hundred and fifty."
By this time the young man had reached the hitching post and jumped downfrom the saddle. He patted his horse's neck when he had adjusted thehitching rein, flicked the dust from his riding boots with hisgold-handled whip, and proceeded toward the door.
"You go, Kate," whispered Stella, who was drawing Greenaway figures withpen and ink on a set of table doilies, and Kate was not loath.
"Is Deacon Saxon at home?" inquired the young man in a pleasant voice.
"I think so. Will you come in?" responded Kate.
"It isn't the Breton Peasant after all," murmured Stella to Esther. "Iwonder if it can be an ancestor." She arranged the doilies with a quickartistic touch, and rose as the young man entered the room.
He had presented Kate with a small engraved card, and though it was anew discovery for her that gentlemen ever carried such things, she usedit as if to the manner born.
"Mr. Philip Hadley, Miss Saxon and Miss Northmore," she announcedeasily, and Stella added, with a pretty bow, "And, Mr. Hadley, Miss KateNorthmore."
The young man looked bewildered. In search of a country deacon ofadvanced years, at an old-fashioned farmhouse, to be ushered into one ofthe most attractive of parlors, with three charming young ladies inpossession, was enough to bewilder. But he rose to the surprisegracefully in another moment.
"I must apologize for intruding myself in this way," he said, "but Ihave heard that Deacon Saxon is quite an authority on Esterlyantiquities, and I wanted to see him on a little matter of inquiry."
"He will be delighted to talk with you. You may be sure of it," saidStella.
It was only a minute before the old gentleman appeared, walking in hisnimblest manner from his own room, whither Kate had gone in search ofhim. She had put him in possession of his caller's name, and he extendedhis hand with an air of welcome and curiosity combined.
"Hadley? Did you say your name was Hadley? Well, I'm pleased to seeyou."
"I'm very pleased to see you, sir," said the young man, bowing with adeference of manner which was peculiarly pleasing. "I'm taking a libertyin calling on you, I'm well aware of it, but it's the penalty one paysfor having a reputation like yours. People say you know everything thatever happened in Esterly, and as I'm looking up our family history alittle, I thought perhaps you could help me. I confess though," he addedwith a smile, "I expected to see a much older person."
"Older than eighty-eight?" quoth Ruel Saxon. "I was born in the yearseventeen hundred and ninety-one, and if I live till the twenty-firstday of next June I shall be eighty-nine."
He was too much pleased with the young man's errand, and himself as theperson appealed to, to pause for a compliment at this point, and addedbriskly, "I shall be glad to tell you anything I know. 'Tisn't manyyoung men that go to the old men to inquire about things that are past.They did in Bible times. In fact, they were commanded to: 'Ask thyfather and he will show thee, thy elders and they will tell thee.'That's what it says; but they don't do it much nowadays."
"They have more books to go to now, you know, grandfather," said Stella,glancing from the figure she was drawing, a charming little maid in asunbonnet, and incidentally holding it up as she spoke.
"Yes, too many of 'em," said her grandfather, rather grimly. "They'd goto the old folks more if they couldn't get the printed stuff so easy."
"But, grandfather," exclaimed Esther, "the young people can't all go tothe old people who know the stories. Kate and I didn't have you, forinstance, till a few weeks ago."
Her grandfather's face relaxed, and Mr. Philip Hadley looked amused.
"But Deacon Saxon is right," he said, turning to the young ladies. "It'sa much more delightful thing to hear a story from one who has been apart of it, or remembers those who were, than to get it from the printedpage. I fancy the spirit of a thing is much better preserved by oraltradition than by cold print. You remember Sir Walter attributed a gooddeal of his enthusiasm for Scottish history to the tales of hisgrandmother. I see you have a charming sketch of Abbotsford," he added,glancing at a picture on the wall opposite, and from there with aquestioning look to Stella.
She gave a pleased nod. "We were sketching in Scotland, a party of us,last summer," she said.
"Were you?" exclaimed the young man. "I was tramping on the Bordermyself."
Perhaps he would have liked to defer his consultation with the oldgentleman long enough for a chat with the young lady, but the former wasimpatient for it now. He had been scrutinizing his caller's face for thelast few moments with sharp attention.
"You say your name is Hadley. Are you any relation to the Hadleys thatused to live in our town? There was quite a family of 'em here fiftyyears ago."
"I think I am," said the young man, smiling. "My father was born inEsterly, but moved away before his remembrance. Perhaps you knew mygrandfather, Moses Hadley."
"I knew _of_ him," said the old gentleman, nodding; "but our familynever had much to do with the Hadleys, for they lived on the other sideof town. They were good respectable folks," he added in a ruminatingtone; "didn't care any great about schooling, I guess, but they weremaster hands for making money. I've heard one of 'em made a greatfortune somewhere out West. He sent a handsome subscription to oursoldiers' monument."
The young man, who had flushed distinctly during part of this speech,looked relieved at its conclusion. "That must have been my UncleNathan," he said. "My father went into business in Boston." Perhaps itwas by way of foot-note to the remark about his ancestors' lack of zealfor learning that he
added carelessly: "I remember my cousin came toEsterly once to see your monument. We were in Harvard together at thetime."
The remark was lost on the old gentleman. He was pursuing his own trainof recollection now. "I knew your grandmother's folks better 'n I didyour grandfather's," he said. "Moses Hadley married Mercy Bridgewood,and the Bridgewoods and our folks neighbored a good deal."
"Did they?" exclaimed the young man, with a quick eagerness in hisvoice. "It was the Bridgewood line that I came to see you about. Did youever hear of Jabez Bridgewood?"
"Jabez Bridgewood!" exclaimed Ruel Saxon. "What, old Jabe that used tolive on Cony Hill? Why, sartin, sartin! He 'n' my grandfather were greatcronies. I've heard my mother say more 'n once, when she saw him comingacross the fields: 'Girls, we may as well plan for an extra one tosupper. There's Jabe Bridgewood, and he 'n' your grandfather'll set an'talk till all's blue. There'll be no getting rid of him.'"
The young man colored again, and this time the girls did too. But theymight have spared their blushes. The old gentleman was serenelyunconscious of having said anything to call them out, and was pursuinghis subject now under a full head of delighted reminiscence.
"He was an uncommon bright man, old Jabez Bridgewood; sort o' crotchetyand queer, but chuck full of ideas, and ready to stand up for 'em aginanybody. He was pretty quick-tempered, too, when anybody riled him up.My grandfather's told me more 'n once about a row he got into with PelegWright; and the beginning of it was right here in this room. You see,Peleg was a regular Tory, though he didn't let out fair 'n' square wherehe stood; and Jabez he was hot on the other side, right from the start."
A gleam of amused recollection came into his eyes as he added: "Theyused to tell about a contrivance he had on the hill to pepper theBritish with, if they should happen to come marching along his road. Itwas a young sapling that he bent down and loaded with stones and hitcheda rope to, so he could jerk it up and let fly at a moment's notice. Theycalled it 'Bridgewood's Battery,' but I guess he never used it. He wasfiring that old flint-lock gun of his instead. He was one of theminute-men, you know.
"But about that fuss with Peleg Wright. I don' know just what 'twasPeleg said. He was sitting here talking with Jabe 'n' my grandfather,getting hold of everything he could, I guess; and he said somethingabout our duty to the king that stirred Jabe up so that he just bentdown and scooped up a handful o' sand--you know they had the floorssanded in those days, instead of having carpets on 'em--and flung itright square into Peleg's face."
"Shocking!" exclaimed Mr. Hadley, laughing. "Is that the sort of mannersmy great-great-grandfather had? I'm ashamed of him."
"Well, there was a good many that thought he hadn't or' to have doneit," admitted the old gentleman, "but I don't know. Peleg was a terriblemean-spirited, deceiving sort of cretur. It came out afterwards that'twas he that put the British on the track of some gunpowder our folkshad stored up; and sometimes I've kind o' thought it served him right.The Bible says, 'Bread of deceit is sweet to a man, but afterwards hismouth shall be filled with gravel,' and I don' know but your grandfatherwas just fulfilling scripture when he gave it to him."
"Do you suppose he thought of that verse when he did it?" said Mr.Hadley, laughing more heartily than before.
"Mebbe he didn't," said the deacon; "but there's been plenty ofscripture fulfilled without folks knowing it. Well, naturally it madePeleg pretty mad, 'specially when folks twitted him 'bout it; and a dayor two afterward he pitched on Jabez down town, and I guess it's more 'nlikely one of 'em would have got hurt if folks hadn't separated 'em.Jabez wrote some verses about it afterward, and I remember mygrandfather telling me one of 'em was:--
"'Old Tory Wright with me did fight, Designing me to kill; But over me did not obtain To gain his cursed will.'"
"So he was a poet, too!" exclaimed Mr. Hadley.
"Bless you, yes," said Ruel Saxon. "When he warn't contriving somethingor other, he was always making up verses. I've seen 'em scribbled withchalk all over his house. It was a little house without any paint on it,and when it got so full it wouldn't hold any more he'd rub 'em out andput on some fresh ones. Paper warn't as plenty in those days as it isnow, specially not with Jabez."
"Do you remember any more of his verses?" asked Mr. Hadley, who wasevidently a good deal impressed with this ancestor of his, in spite ofhis lack of that economic turn of mind which had so distinguished theother side of his house.
"I don' know as I do," said the old gentleman, "though I guess I couldthink up some of 'em if I tried. Oh, Jabez Bridgewood was a good deal ofa character. He could do anything he set his hand to, and I never didsee anybody that knew as much about things outdoors as he did. He waslike Solomon, and spoke of the trees, 'from the cedar that is in Lebanonto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall'; and when it came to thebeasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, and the creeping things,it seemed as if he knew 'em all, though some folks did think he spenttoo much time watching 'em, for the good of his family."
"Why, he must have been a real genius, a Thoreau sort of man," exclaimedEsther, who had been listening with rapt attention, as she always didwhen her grandfather told a story. "Grandpa, won't you show me some daywhere his little house stood, and the tree he loaded with stones to fireat the British?"
"And please let me go, too," said Mr. Hadley, glancing at the girl, andcatching her quick responsive smile at her grandfather; "I should likeit immensely."
"Why, to be sure, I should like it myself," said Deacon Saxon, promptly;"though there ain't anything there now but dirt and rocks. And I'll takeyou round by the old burying-ground and show you his grave, and thegrave of my great-grandfather, John Saxon, that was killed by theIndians, if you want me to."
They had it settled in another minute, with Stella in the plan too. Mr.Hadley was to call again in a few days, and they were all to take thetrip together. And then the young man stayed a little longer, nottalking of his ancestors now, but of things more modern; of Scotlandwith Stella; of her impressions of New England with Esther; and with theold gentleman of the summer home in a neighboring town, which theHadleys had lately purchased. It seemed he had ridden over from thereto-day. There was no chance to talk with Kate of anything. She haddisappeared long ago.
"I'm afraid you'll think I've inherited the staying qualities of mygreat-great-grandfather," he said, rising at last. "Really, I don'twonder he found it hard to get away from here." And then he bowedhimself out with renewed expressions of gratitude for the information hehad received, and of delight in that trip that was coming.
"A most estimable young man," said Ruel Saxon, when he had ridden away.
"I think he's the most agreeable young man I ever saw," said Esther,warmly, and Stella added, "Quite _au fait_; but I mean to find out thenext time he comes whether he really knows anything about art."
From Mr. Philip Hadley to Miss Katharine Saxon was a far cry, but thelatter had a genius for supplying contrasts, and she furnished one atthat moment by appearing suddenly at the door. Aunt Elsie, who had beenpicking raspberries in the garden, was with her.
"Well, Katharine," exclaimed her brother, hastening to meet her, "'pearsto me you're getting pretty smart to come walking all the way from yourhouse this hot day."
"I always had the name of being smart, Ruel," said the old lady, seatingherself, and proceeding with much vigor to use a feather fan made of apartridge tail, which hung at her belt; "but I shouldn't have taken thetrouble to show it by walking up here to-day if I hadn't had an errand.Mary 'Liza wants to go home for a couple o' days--her sister's going toget married--and I s'pose I or' to have somebody in the house with me.Not that I'm 'fraid of anything," she added, "but I s'pose there'd be aterrible to-do in the town if I should mind my own business and die inmy bed some night without putting anybody to any trouble about it. So Ithought, long 's you've got so many folks up here just now, I'd see ifone of the girls was a mind to come down and stay with me."
She had been facing her brother as she talked, but she
turned towardEsther with the last words.
The girl's face lighted with an instant pleasure. "Let _me_ come, AuntKatharine," she said. "I should like to, dearly."
There was a gleam of satisfaction in Aunt Katharine's eyes. "I'd be muchobleeged to you to do it," she said promptly.
"But Aunt Katharine," exclaimed Aunt Elsie, "don't you think you'dbetter come here and stay with us? We should like to have you, and it'sa long time since you slept in your old room."
"I don't care anything particular about old rooms," said Miss Saxon."I'm beholden to you, Elsie; but I'd rather be in my own house, long 'sI can have somebody with me."
"I s'pose you've got Solomon Ridgeway there yet," observed her brother,maliciously. "You don't seem to count much on him, but mebbe you'reafraid of robbers, with all his jewellery in the house."
She took no notice of the sarcasm. "Solomon's been gone 'most a week,"she said. "Took a notion he wanted to be back at the farm again."
"So he's gone back to the poor'us, has he?" said the old gentleman."Well, it's the place for him, poor afflicted cretur!"
She threw up her head with the quick impatient motion. "Dreadful'flicted, Ruel," she said. "He's a leetle the happiest man I know."
"Hm," grunted her brother; "happy because he hain't got sense enough toknow his own situation. He thinks he's rich, when all he's got wouldn'tbuy him a week's victuals and a suit o' clothes."
Miss Saxon's eyes narrowed to the hawk-like expression which was commonin her controversies with her brother. "Oh, he's crazy, of course," shesaid, with an inexpressible dryness in her voice; "thinks he's rich whenhe's poor! But you didn't call Squire Ethan crazy when he had so muchmoney he didn't know what to do with it, and was so 'fraid he'd come towant that he dassn't give a cent of it away, or let his own folks haveenough to live on."
"I ain't excusing Squire Ethan," said the deacon, bridling. "He made agod of his money, and he'll be held responsible for it. But SolomonRidgeway ain't half witted. He's been crack-brained for the last fortyyears, and you know it."
The coolness of her manner increased with his rising heat. "Oh,Solomon's daft, Ruel," she said in her politest manner. "We won't argyabout _that_. A man _must_ be daft that takes his wife's death so hardit eeny most kills him, and he stays single all the rest of his life. Aman that had full sense would be courting some other woman inside ayear."
The deacon's eyes kindled. "You talk like one of the foolish women,Katharine," he said sharply. "A man ain't compelled to stay single allthe rest of his days because the Lord's seen fit to take away his wife.The Bible says it ain't good for man to be alone, and 'whoso findeth awife findeth a good thing.'"
She laughed her thin mocking laugh. "And the more he has of 'em thebetter, I s'pose! You don't happen to remember, do you, any place whereit says she that finds a husband finds a good thing?"
Apparently the exact verse was not at hand, but Ruel Saxon was preparedwithout it. "There are some things that folks with common sense ares'posed to know without being told," he said tartly.
The words had come so fast from both sides that even Aunt Elsie had notbeen able to interpose till this moment. She seized the pause now withhurrying eagerness. "Aunt Katharine," she said, "here you are sittingall this time with your bonnet on. You must take it off and stay tosupper with us."
The old woman rose and untied the strings. "Thank ye kindly, Elsie," shesaid; "I b'lieve I will."