Chapter 6

His younger brother John, from the outset, sided with the king. He joined the British forces, became captain of a company of loyalists, served under Colonel Tarleton in South Carolina, becoming major, colonel, and after the war a major-general. He received a grant of several thousand acres of land in Nova Scotia. Though maintaining allegiance to the king, he had great respect and admiration for those who espoused the patriotic cause.]

"Do you have garden tea-parties in Rumford?" Miss Flucker asked.

"No, not garden parties, but the ladies get together in a parlor, sip their tea, take pinches of snuff from each other's boxes, talk about the number of cheeses they have made, how much salt they put into the curd, how much yarn they have spun, how many yards of linen they have woven."

"Such a party must be very enjoyable," said Miss Quincy.

"Yes, I think they like to find out what everybody else is doing, and how they do it. Their tongues wag lively when they get to talking about what has happened and what they expect will happen; who was cried the Sunday before, and who probably will be the next Sunday."

The ladies smiled at Robert's vivacious conversation.

"Does the town clerk cry the proposed marriages?" Miss Shrimpton asked.

"Yes. The moment the minister finishes the benediction Sunday afternoon, Squire Fellows breaks in, shouting that marriage is intended between Hezekiah and Mehitable. Of course there are blushes on Mehitable's face, while Hezekiah looks kinder sheepish."

Again the ladies laughed.

"Do all the ladies take snuff?"

Miss Flucker asked the question.

"Nearly all the old ladies carry their snuff-boxes in their pockets or work-bags. There's one lady, however, who does not--Aunt Hipsy Jenkins. Perhaps I ought to say she is well along in years, and that the town clerk never has cried her. She carries her nose as she pleases. She says if the Lord had intended it for a dust-hole, he would have put it on the other end up."

A merry peal of laughter rang through the garden--so joyful that several ladies and gentlemen joined the group, to hear what the young man from the country was saying.

"Her name," said Robert, by way of explanation, "is Hepsibah, but everybody calls her Hipsy."

"Evidently," said Isaac Coffin, "she is a lady who is up to snuff."

Again the company laughed.

"You may be sure she never minces things, but speaks her mind, whether anybody likes it or not," Robert replied.

"Are the gentlemen invited to the tea-parties?" John Coffin asked.

"Not to the afternoon parties, neither are the young ladies; the old ladies like to be by themselves while sipping their tea. Perhaps they think it would not be dignified on the part of the gentlemen to devote the afternoons to gossip," Robert replied.

"Do not the young ladies meet?" Miss Shrimpton asked.

"Not as do our mothers, but they have their own good times,--their quilting parties. In the country every girl as soon as she can sew begins to make patchwork. When they get enough for a quilt, they invite their acquaintances to the quilting, and spend the afternoon in talking about--well, I can't exactly say what they do talk about. Perhaps you ladies can tell better than I."

The ladies smiled at his pleasant way of indicating what was uppermost in the thoughts of young maidens on such delightful occasions.

"Do not the gentlemen participate in some way?" Miss Quincy inquired.

"Oh yes; we join them in the evening, after they are through with the quilting, and try to make things lively. We play blindman's-buff, hide the handkerchief, roast beef behind your back, come Philander, stage-coach, and other games, and have a jolly time. The ladies serve us with bread and butter, doughnuts, cookies, tarts, gingerbread, and tea. We guess riddles and tell ghost stories."

"How delightful!" Miss Newville exclaimed.

"A little later than this we have huskings in the barns, seated around a heap of corn. Husking over, we eat pudding, baked beans, mince, apple, and pumpkin pie, and top off with pop-corn, apples, and cider. After supper the girls clear away the dishes; then we push the table into one corner of the kitchen, Julius Cæsar mounts it with his fiddle, and we dance jigs and quicksteps. The girl who first found a red ear while husking, and was kissed before she could throw it into the basket, is privileged to lead the dance."

"How I should enjoy it," said Miss Shrimpton.

"Finding the red ear?" queried Isaac Coffin.

"Oh no,--you know I didn't mean that; but having such a jolly time with nobody saying it isn't proper," Miss Shrimpton replied with a blush mantling her cheek.

"Ruth, daughter,"--it was Mrs. Newville calling her to meet other guests, and Miss Newville turned regretfully away, for it was a pleasure to talk with Mr. Walden, and she hoped he would drop a word which would enable her to make sure it was he who had befriended her.

Robert, with Berinthia and the ladies whose acquaintance he had made, sauntered along the garden walks. The midsummer flowers were gone, but those of autumn were in bloom,--marigolds, asters, and sunflowers. Picturesque the scene: ladies in paduasoys, taffetas, and brocades, gentlemen in purple, russet, and crimson coats, white satin waistcoats, buff breeches, and silk stockings. Officers of the king's regiments in scarlet with silver-starred epaulets, clergymen in suits of black, lawyers and doctors in white wigs, loitering along the paths, gathered in groups beneath the trees, young ladies serving them with syllabubs. From the vine-clad arbor the music of the orchestra floated upon the air.

Robert saw a gentleman and lady shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Newville.

"That is John Adams, one of the smartest lawyers in town," said Berinthia. "That is his wife Abigail; she is the daughter of Reverend Mr. Smith, the minister of Braintree. She knows Latin and Greek, and is one of the nicest women in town. She writes beautiful letters, and knows--oh, so much! I'll introduce you to them. I know you will be charmed with her."

Mr. Adams courteously greeted Robert, and very gracious was the recognition by Mrs. Adams. She asked him if he had ever been in Boston before; who was the minister in Rumford; if he had many books to read. So pleasant and agreeable was her conversation, she seemed to Robert to be an old friend.

Robert was pleased to meet Doctor Warren, and received a cordial greeting.

"And are you acquainted?" Miss Newville inquired wonderingly.

"I am happy to claim Mr. Walden as my friend. I have long known his father," the doctor replied.

Robert was pleased, also, to meet Mr. Knox, the bookseller, who was polite and affable to all, particularly to Miss Flucker.

When Berinthia and Robert were by themselves she informed him that Mr. Knox was attentive to Miss Flucker; that her parents opposed the match, Mr. Knox being a Whig and her father a Tory. Berinthia was sure that the more her father opposed the bookseller, the better Miss Lucy liked him.

Mr. John Hancock, though living but a short distance from Mr. Newville, came in his coach with driver and footmen in blue livery. He bowed politely to Mr. and Mrs. Newville, took a pinch of snuff from Mr. Newville's gold box, and graciously greeted Miss Dorothy Quincy. Berinthia whispered to Robert that they were engaged to be married.[29]

[Footnote 29: The Dorothy Quincy who married John Hancock is not to be confounded with the Dorothy Q. of Holmes's poem:--

"Grandmother's mother, her age I guess, Thirteen summers, or something less."]

"If Miss Newville and Miss Brandon will excuse us, Mr. Walden and myself will take a turn through the grounds," said Doctor Warren, locking arms with Robert.

"I am glad to meet you once more, Mr. Walden. I want to thank you for the good work you did yesterday afternoon. I have heard of it several times; the people are chuckling over it. But the soldiers of the Twenty-Ninth Regiment are as mad as hornets and threaten retaliation. They are anxious to get hold of that fellow from the country who did it. I thought I would put you on your guard. I wish I knew who the young lady was, but no one can find out. Neither she nor her friends have made complaint to the selectmen, and of course you could not know."

Robert thanked him. He said he did not anticipate any trouble; if attacked he would try and give a good account of himself.

They had strolled to the farthest part of the grounds. Returning, they saw Miss Newville surrounded by ladies and gentlemen; young and old alike were finding pleasure in her society. Major Evelyn, to whom Robert had been introduced, was telling how jolly it was in old England to follow the hounds in a fox hunt, leaping ditches, walls, and hedges, running Reynard to cover. Although courteously listening, her eyes glanced towards Robert and Doctor Warren.

"Pardon me, Major, but I must have a word with my good doctor who gives me pills and powders when I am sick," she said graciously, tripping across the lawn.

"I have not served you with tea, doctor; what kind would you prefer?" she said.

"Well, let it be Old Hyson, if you please."

"And yours, Mr. Walden: it was the Old you had before. Will you not try a cup of Young Hyson for variety?"

"If you please, Miss Newville."

A few moments and she was with them again.

"Old Hyson for old friendship, Young, for new acquaintance," said the doctor, as he took the cup from her hand. "You see, Mr. Walden, Miss Newville and I are old friends, and our relations at times are quite intimate. I am privileged to hold her hand, feel her pulse, and look at her tongue."

"Do you not think, Mr. Walden, that the doctor is very rude to take a young lady's hand when she cannot help herself?"

"Of course it is rude, but I apprehend you do not object, under the circumstances," Robert replied.

"Oh no, she likes it so well that she often asks when I will come again," said the doctor.

Merry was the laughter.

"This is delicious tea," he said, sipping the beverage.

"I am glad you like it."

"It is all the more delicious, Miss Ruth, because I have it from your own gracious hand, and because it is probably the last I shall drink for many months."

She gazed at him wonderingly.

"You know I am firm in my convictions as to what is right and just, and I have decided to quit drinking tea as a protest against what the king and Lord North are preparing to do. So this will be a memorial day for me. Pardon me, I did not mean to allude to it."

"One need not beg pardon for having a conviction of what is right and just. If it is to be your last cup I'm glad I have the privilege of serving it," she said.

One by one guests joined them, charmed by her presence, Major Evelyn hovering around her. More than once the eyes of Robert and Miss Newville met. Would she not think him rude? But how could he help looking at her?

While Miss Newville was serving other guests, with Berinthia and Miss Shrimpton Robert walked the garden once more, the great shaggy watch-dog trotting in advance, as if they were guests to be honored by an escort.

The afternoon was waning. Guests were leaving, and it was time for Berinthia and Robert to take their departure.

"Oh, you are not going now. I have not had an opportunity to speak a dozen words with you, Berinthia, and I have shamefully neglected Mr. Walden. I have not had a chance to drink a cup of tea with him. I am sure you will excuse me, Major Evelyn, while I redeem myself. You will find Miss Brandon delightful company," said Miss Newville.

Major Evelyn, being thus politely waved one side, could but acquiesce.

"Shall we sit, Mr. Walden?" she asked, leading the way to seats and bringing tea and cake.

"I enjoyed your description of life in the country, and the young ladies were delighted," she said.

"We have pretty good times with the quiltings, huskings, and sleighing parties, when we pile into a double pung, ride in the moonlight, have supper, and a dance."

"How delightful! Have you brothers and sisters?"

"Only a sister, Rachel, two years younger than I."

"Does she love flowers?"

"Yes, she is very fond of them. I make up beds in the garden for her and she sows bachelor's-buttons, flytraps, pansies, marigolds, hollyhocks, and has morning-glories running over strings around the sitting-room window."

"They must make your home very pleasant in summer."

"Yes, and she has asters and sweet peas. I try to keep the weeds down for her as she has so many things to look after,--the chickens, goslins, young turkeys, besides washing dishes, spinning, and wetting the cloth bleaching on the grass. I help a little by drawing the water."

"It must be very beautiful in the country these September days."

"It is not quite late enough for the woods to put on their brightest colors; that will be in October."

"Which season do you like best?"

"I hardly know. Sometimes, when the country is covered with snow and the air is fresh and keen and healthful, I think there is no part of the year more enjoyable than winter; then when spring comes, and the buds start and the leaves are growing, I feel like a young colt ready to caper and kick up my heels. When the flowers are in bloom and the birds are singing I think there is no season like summer. At this time of the year, when we are gathering the harvests and the woods are more beautiful than our Queen Charlotte in her coronation robes, I think there is no period of the year so delightful as autumn."

"Living in the town." Miss Newville said, "I lose much that I should enjoy in the country. Sometimes I ride with my father to Roxbury, Dorchester, and Cambridge. He sits in his chaise while I pick the flowers by the roadside. A few weeks ago we went sailing down the harbor, and saw the waves rolling on the beach at Nantasket and breaking on the rocks around the lighthouse. Oh, it was beautiful!"

"I do not doubt it. As you love the country so much, I am sure you would be charmed with the view from our home, Miss Newville, especially at this season of the year."

"Please tell me about it. I am sure from your description I shall be able to picture the scene."

"You would see a broad valley, fields, pastures, meadows, uplands, the river flowing between banks fringed with elms and willows, hills farther away, and in the distance blue mountains; the forest all scarlet, russet, yellow, and crimson. That would be the view. You would hear the crickets chirping, crows cawing, and squirrels barking in the woods."

"How delightful! I know I should revel in such beauty."

"You asked me, Miss Newville, which season I liked best. I think, all things considered, I enjoy autumn more than any other portion of the year."

"May I ask why you like it best?"

"Because it is the harvest-time, when we gather the gifts of Providence; and it sets me to thinking I ought to be doing something for somebody in return for what Providence is doing for me."

Her eyes were watching his lips.

"Oh, go on, please, Mr. Walden, and tell me what the seasons say to you."

"I hardly know what they say, but the change from the brightness of summer to the russet of autumn, the falling leaves, ripening fruits, fading flowers, shortening days, the going of the birds are like a sermon to me."

"And why are they like a sermon?" she asked.

"Because the birds will come, the flowers bloom again, but the summer that has gone never will return; the opportunities of to-day will not be here to-morrow. I must make the most of the present, not only for myself but for others. Providence bestows rich gifts; I must give to others."

"Thank you, Mr. Walden."

She was silent. None of the officers, not Major Evelyn or any of the captains of his majesty's troops, ever had uttered such words in her presence. Oh, could she but know if he were the one who rescued her from the hands of the miscreants! She must know.

"Mr. Walden, may I ask if we have not met before?"

"I think we have, Miss Newville."

"I thought so, but was not sure. May I say I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the service you rendered me yesterday. I never shall forget it. I have not mentioned it, not even to my parents, for I would not have them concerned in the future for my welfare."

"I can understand how anxious they might be, and I appreciate your prudence. The incident, I understand, is making some stir in town, especially among the soldiers. Doctor Warren has just informed me of it, and was kind enough to say it would be well for me to be on my guard, as the soldiers threaten retaliation. I learn, also, that no one as yet has been able to discover who the young lady was. People are wondering that no complaint has been made to the proper authorities by her or her friends."

"Oh, I am so glad that no one knows it except ourselves. May I not ask that it shall be our secret, and ours only?"

"Most certainly, Miss Newville."

"I cannot express my obligation to you, Mr. Walden. It is very honorable in you, and you will not let the soldiers injure you?" she said inquiringly.

"I do not think they will molest me. I shall not put myself in their way, neither shall I avoid them. I am a free citizen; this is my country. I know my rights, and I trust I shall ever be enough of a man to resent an insult to myself, and most certainly to a lady."

"Do you remain long in town?" she asked.

"No; only a day or two--over Sunday. I shall start from the Green Dragon for home next Monday morning."

"Do you have melocotoons in Rumford?" she asked, looking up to the luscious fruit, ripening above them.

"Not yet; we have some young trees, but they are not in bearing."

"I should like to send a basket of fruit to your sister, if agreeable to you. Pompey will take it to the tavern Monday morning."

"You are very kind. I will take it with pleasure, and you may be sure Rachel will appreciate your goodness."

He comprehended her proposition,--that it was her delicate way of giving emphasis to her thanks for what he had done.

"Mr. Walden, I shall always be pleased to see you. I would like to hear more about what you see in nature, and the sermons that are preached to you."

Berinthia and Major Evelyn joined them. The band had ceased playing, and the last of the guests were departing.

"I hope you have had an enjoyable afternoon," said Mr. Newville.

"I have enjoyed myself very much, and cannot express my thanks for your hospitality," Robert replied.

"It was very kind in you to honor us with your company," said Mrs. Newville with a charming grace and dignity.

Miss Newville went with them to the gate, Major Evelyn improving the opportunity to walk by her side. Robert thought there was a shade of vexation on her face.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, while I talk with Miss Brandon a moment," she said, dropping behind. Robert walked on a few steps and waited for Berinthia. Major Evelyn lingered a moment as if to have a last word with Miss Newville, but politeness would not admit his further tarrying; he lifted his hat and walked away.

"Oh, Mr. Walden, what do you think your good cousin has been saying?" said Miss Newville, calling him once more to the gate.

"Possibly that she has had an agreeable chat with one of his majesty's brilliant officers," Robert replied.

"Instead of being brilliant, he was positively stupid. I don't like epaulets," said Berinthia.

"Not those sent to protect us?" Miss Newville asked.

"No."

"Neither do I."

The words were spoken firmly, with an emphasis which Robert alone could understand.

Miss Newville locked her arm in Berinthia's as if loath to have her go. They lingered by the gate, how long Robert could not say. Just what was said he could not recall. He only knew it was delightful to stand there, to hear her voice, to see the smiles rippling upon her face, and the loving eyes that turned towards him at times. When at last the good-night was spoken, when himself and Berinthia were quite a distance, looking backward he saw her white handkerchief waving them farewell.

VI.

CHRIST CHURCH CHIMES.

Calm and peaceful was the Sabbath morning in Rumford, where the stillness was broken only by lowing cattle and singing birds, but in Boston Robert heard the rattling of drums,--a prolonged roll, as if the drummers found special pleasure in disturbing the slumbers of the people. It was the reveille arousing the troops. Mr. Brandon said the officers of the king's regiments seemed to take delight in having extra drills on Sunday for the purpose of annoying the people. A few of the officers, he said, were gentlemen, but others were vile, and not to be admitted into decent society.

The drums ceased and there was a period of quiet; then suddenly the air was melodious with the music of bells. Berinthia saw the wonder on Robert's face.

"It is Christ Church chimes," she said.

He heard "Old Hundred," sweet and enchanting.

"If you would like, we will go to Christ Church this morning."

Robert replied he would gladly go with her.

"The sexton is a Son of Liberty, Robert Newman; you saw him the other night at the Green Dragon; his brother plays the organ," said Tom.

The sexton welcomed them and gave them seats. Robert gazed in wonder at the fluted columns, the high arched ceiling, the pillars supporting the galleries, the great windows, the recess behind the pulpit, the painting of the Last Supper. He read the words, "This is none other than the House of God; this is the Gate of Heaven."

The bells ceased their pealing, but suddenly delightful music filled the church.

"That is John Newman at the organ," Berinthia whispered.

It began soft and faint, as if far away--a flute, then a clarinet, a trumpet, growing louder, nearer, deeper, heavier, the loud notes rolling like far-off thunder, then dying into melody as sweet as the song of a bird. Never had Robert heard any music so delightful. Looking towards the loft, he saw the gilded pipes of the instrument. Upon the railing around it were figures of angels with trumpets.

"They were captured from a French ship in 1746 by Captain Grushea of the Queen of Hungary privateer," Tom whispered. "They were designed for a Romish church in Canada, but the captain brought them to Boston and presented them to the wardens of this church."

Berinthia said the Bible and prayer-book were given by King George II. at the request of Governor Belcher. She found the places in the prayer-book for him. He thought the prayers very beautiful, but could not quite see the need of getting up and sitting down so often. He never had taken part in meeting before, but when all the others read felt he too must let his voice be heard, otherwise the people would think he did not know how to read. He was startled at the sound of his own voice, but soon got over it, and rather liked the idea of the people taking some part in the service instead of having it all done by the minister. It was very delightful when the choir came in with the organ, in contrast to the singing in Rumford meetinghouse where the deacon lined the Psalms, two lines at a time, and set the tune with his pitch-pipe.

When the service was over and the people were going out, the organ began to play. The sexton took them upstairs to see his brother John handle it. Robert was surprised to see him using his feet as well as his hands, fingering two sets of keys, pushing in and pulling out what Tom said were "stops." When through with the piece, the organist explained the mechanism of the instrument, playing softly and then making the windows rattle.

An hour at noon, and then the meetinghouse bells were tolling for the afternoon service.