 A Real New England Girl by Anna I. Parsons 1. The Shower 2. Oxford County 3. The Stranger and the Girl 4. The Youth and the Girl 5. Pansy and Richard Go Trading 6. The Marvelous Storyteller 7. The Dinner 8. The The Minister Comes for Tea 9. Pansy's Father 10. Pansy and Her Mother 11. Poland Springs 12. The Birthday Cake 13. Ned Patterson Comes for a Visit 14. The Blue Berrying Party 15. The Beginning of Wisdom 16. The Tempted and the Penitent 17. The Concert 18. Stanley's Ride 19. The Bench by the Wayside 20. The Banker and the Widow 21. The Bag of Nuts 22. How They Kept Thanksgiving at Little Farm 23. Hardly a Merry Christimas 24. A Call Down and a Caller 25. The Pride of Mrs. Bradford 26. A Happy New Year 27. Amusement and Winter Sport 28. Kim 29. Richard, the Lion Hearted 30. A Tour of the White Mountains 31. Talking Over the Trip with Henry Bright 32. Thoughts That Lie Too Deep for Words 33. Economics 34. His Toast 35. The Busy Haunts of Man 36. Christmas in New York 37. The Last Night of Their Visit 38. The Language Understood by All 39. Sugaring Off 40. Correspondence 41. Commencement 42. Conclusion Afterward     |
Stanley's Ride. "Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back. -- Shakespeare Where the pasture spread out at the foot of the steep hill on which the Winthrop homestead was located, grazed the colts that were the pride of Jerry Pike. There were May and June, named for the months in which they were foaled; there were Dirigo and Dandilion, two tractable geldings; there was Starlight, a glossy black filly with a radiating white mark on her nose; and there was Lucifer, a dark bay with four white feet, a white nose and a wicked white eye that saw all things and every one and adjudged them enemies. With the least provocation his feet would fly over the pasture like a Russian pony with the fiercest of wolves barking at his heels. Not even the salt measure, so enticing to the other colts, could induce him to lay aside his antics and submit to the farmer's gentle hand. "There's something that ain't State o' Maine 'bout ye!" said Jerry one day, as he watched his heels fly over the turf. "I'll ride that high-stepper yet!" said Stanley. "He's as proud as his name-sake, but he has got to learn the humble trait of submission." "Better not try. That critter'd go clean out of his senses if ye teched him where the saddle ought to set." A little stream meandered through the pasture and furnished an abundant supply of pure water for drinking purposes, and the red top and clover on which so many Maine horses had thrived and become famous in the early stages of fast trotting records, furnished the sustenance for these colts that put steel in the sinews and iron in the blood. Only the element of salt was lacking, and Jerry carried this faithfully to his pets, and would stop to stroke their noses and talk to them in endearing terms. It was Jerry's day for salting the colts. Near the entrance to the pasture he had poured out the crystals from a measure in little piles on the grass, and as the colts came forward to eat it in answer to his call, he stood, measure in hand, leaning against the bars. Starlight passed the others and came smelling about Jerry's pockets. "Looking for sugar, Starlight? Ye don't git none till ye kiss me. That's the girl. Now tell me how old ye are. One, two, three, four, right ye are. How old is Lucifer? One, two, three, correct agin! Now count up to six and ye get ye'r sugar plum." As the hoof ceased tapping the required number, Jerry held out the white cube in the palm of his hand, and as it disappeared through Starlight's eager lips, he pressed his rough face against the white spot on her nose in genuine affection. Stanley, who had accompanied the farmer and who had been walking around quietly among the colts, suddenly vaulted to Lucifer's back while his head was down nibbling at a pile of salt. Like lightening, Lucifer was on his haunches, and failing to dislodge the burden from his back, was off over the pasture, rearing, jumping, and snotting like an animal gone frantic. Jerry's eyes fairly bulged from their sockets as he watched the daring youth and spirited colt in their wild gyrations. Across the brook vaulted Lucifer, and he headed straight for the forest where he was soon lost to Jerry's view. As fast as his legs could carry him, Jerry hurried over the pasture with the other colts who, at the first disturbance, had pricked up their ears and trotted away, following after him. At the edge of the forest he was much relieved to see Stanley sitting down among the brake, but bending forward as if in distress. "Are ye hurt!? Are ye hurt?!" cried Jerry excitedly. Stanley's answer was long in coming, and there were pauses between the sentences. "I jumped to save being knocked off -- I struck on a rock here (indicating his ribs) -- It knocked the breath out of me -- Maybe did something else -- But I rode Lucifer!" It was sometime before Stanley could accompany Jerry to the house. A doctor was called and later a nurse. Much against his will, Stanley was forced to remain in bed and be treated as an invalid. The Bradford family were greatly pained to hear of his accident, and Ruth and Pansy came to the house and inquired solicitously for him. When Stanley learned that they were there, he insisted upon seeing them, and his mother went personally to the parlor and conducted them to his room. It was only a short call, but he begged so hard for company, that thereafter Pansy came every afternoon and sometimes Richard with her when he could be spared from work. Julia Winthrop had never shown the slightest disposition to be friendly with Pansy and Richard, and this was a great mystery to them. One afternoon, in the hope of thawing Julia a little, Pansy culled a large bouquet of marigolds and other garden flowers, and finding Julia on the piazza, presented it to her in the presence of her father. She took it indifferently, raised it to her delicate nose, and then handed it back: "I don't like the odor," she said. Much crestfallen at the manner in which her gift was rejected, Pansy stood holding the flowers in front of her, disappointment written on every feature. "You can put them on the library table for me, Pansy," said Mr. Winthrop quietly, looking up from his reading. With sprightly step, Pansy hastened to find a vase and some water, and having arranged the flowers with great care in the library, went up stairs to Stanley's room. Mrs. Winthrop sat in the bay window with her embroidery; the nurse was seated across the room cutting the pages of a new magazine; and Stanley lay on his luxurious bed, the picture of discontent. "Pink silk pajamas!" said Pansy, standing at the foot of the bed and looking at the invalid. "I was wondering what color you'd have on today. They're more becoming than any of the others. But you'd look better with something to bolster you up." She picked up the downy pillows that the impatient youth had thrown to the floor, and adjusted one of them under his head. Then she removed her hat and placed it on the bust of a Roman matron that stood on a pedestal in the hall, and backed into the room again to note its effect. "It's too small, she commented, "but with that crinkley hair she can stand most anything." "Are you sure Roman ladies wore hats?" inquired Stanley, his face lighted up with amusement. "Come to think of it, I don't believe they did -- only the galerum." She quickly removed the hat and placed it on a table. "I'm not the first to mistake the Romans for hat wearers. You know in 'Julius Caesar' Shakespeare has the conspirators wearing hats and it's an anachronism." "What a lot you know about books, Pansy," said Mrs. Winthrop. "You look a child, but you are a veritable thesaurus when it comes to knowledge." "It is because Ruth reads so much out loud and explains things to us, and Richard and I read a great deal ourselves. Ruth says there are three kinds of students: the crammer, the reader, and the mixer, and that it is better to be a reader than a crammer or a mixer, because then you have a good general knowledge on every subject, whereas a crammer knows only the subjects about which he studies, and a mixer knows only human nature and is an expert in smart talk and affability." "Isn't something due to a good memory?" inquired Stanley. "Anybody can have a good memory by the simple mental gymnastic of memorizing something every day. Ruth selects passages for Richard and I to learn. We read them as soon as we get up in the morning, and after breakfast we recite all we can remember of them to her. This morning Richard's was from Cicero's oration against Catalina and mine was from 'The Merchant of Venice.' She stood up and with emphasizing gesture recited in her girlish way the benevolent lines of the greatest of poets: "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest; It blesses him that gives and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute of awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above his sceptered sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is the attribute of God himself; And earthly power doth them show likest God's When mercy seasons justice." "Come here, Pansy!" said Mrs. Winthrop, wholly indifferent to her embroidery. "I have heard those lines often, but to hear a child like you recite them so touchingly is beautiful indeed." In spite of his injured ribs, Stanley half rose up in bed to see his proud mother with costly jewels in her ears and on her fingers, and silken folds about her matronly figure, pressing the little gingham robed country girl to her heart. Pansy accepted the embrace complaisantly and as though it had always been her custom to associate with ladies of wealth and fashion. She had yet to learn that, save in her own small world, social equality is unknown. After selecting a book from the bookcase, she again seated herself beside the bed. "Shall we continue our reading?" she asked. "No, Pansy, just talk to us -- tell us stories about the 'neighbors.' Mother doesn't known them very well as yet," he added, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. She closed the book and laid it thoughtfully on her lap. "Guess I'll tell you about the Bright family, they are so quaint and yet so up-to-date. There are three children, Henry, Louise and Horatio. Henry is over seventy and Louise and Horatio are in the sixties. They live on the farm north of ours, but they don't do much work, because their father left them well-to-do. The house is unpainted and all spread out like, but they have the most beautiful yard, all mown with a lawn mower and nice flower beds. When you go there, they always fill your hands with blossoms to take home." "Henry is a veteran and tells such interesting stories about the war. His mother didn't want him to go to war, and without saying anything to hear about it, he enlisted. When he told her what he had done, she said 'What did you do that for Henry? If you'd a been drafted we'd have hired a substitute.' He patted her on the back and answered, 'I don't want a substitute, Martha.' He called his own mother by her given name!" "Well, the best meal he had while he was in the army was when he was stationed down in Virginia. One day he and a comrade were sent to unload some molasses, and they filled their canteens with it, and when they got through with their work, they went out and had a square meal of hardtack and molasses." "A fly's diet," observed Stanley. "It was potatoes, meat, and pie to them that day," continued Pansy. "You known Henry has very protruding teeth. John Swift said his mouth looked like a cellar hung full of candles." Mr. Winthrop, who had come into the room, laughed heartily. "Swift can nearly hit the truth when it is to ridicule some one else!" he said. "And he can ridicule some one else when he doesn't hit the truth," said Pansy smiling. Then continued her narrative. "The Brights keep bees, and when their father died, Horatio, the youngest son, who is very superstitious, draped the hives with crape for fear the bees would fly away." "I believe there was an old superstition, brought from England," said Mr. Winthrop, "unless the bees were told of a death in a family and their hives dressed in mourning, the swarms would leave the hives and make a home elsewhere. I thought it had passed into oblivion." "Superstition usually dies hard with an imaginative people," said Stanley, "and if New England people were not that, the whole galaxy of high-brows would have left their names written only in family registers and directories instead of in the immortal list of American authors. Go on, Pansy." "If we didn't have much rain in the summer time, their wells would all run dry, and they would have to go to the neighbors for water, so, although there were four wells on their place, they decided to dig another one. To locate a place where there would be sure to be water, Horatio made a test with what is called a divining rod. He cut a willow that divided into two branches, and taking a branch in each hand and holding the willow straight out in front of him, went walking over the farm until it bent so that the whittled end pointed downward right in the center of one of their good mowing fields. He was so sure they would find water there, that they dug a well, and it has furnished them with water enough ever since. Some say you can locate minerals with this divining rod as well as water." "I'll try that with Jerry as soon as I get out of this hospital bed. We might discover something as good as Poland Spring water or Mt. Mica tourmalines," said Stanley enthusiastically. "Where can we find some willows, Pansy?" "By the brookside in your horse pasture." "If I go there, I might meet Lucifer and be tempted again," groaned Stanley. "Why did you say the Bright family were 'so quaint and so up-to-date,' Pansy?" inquired Mrs. Winthrop. "Because they cut their clothes after the patterns their mother used when young and have very old fashioned furniture and nothing but tallow candles for light at night, and yet, they take seventeen newspapers and some magazines, and know all the news from Maine to California. When Cousin Lizzie comes to visit us from Boston, I always go with her to call on them, and they can tell her things about Boston that she never heard of." "Have none of them ever married?" asked Mrs. Winthrop. "No, but Henry and Louise have each had a love affair." Pansy's voice assumed a confidential tone. "Henry used to pay attention to one of the Woodford girls. Their father was the very rich old sea captain who died and left nothing that the family could find. Henry bought a farm for himself, and everybody thought it was gems and coffee for two, but his mother broke up the match. One night when Henry went to call on Nancy Woodford and stayed later than usual, about nine o'clock his mother sent Horatio after him. Horatio walked right into the room where they were sparking and said, 'Hen, marm wants you to come home!' Henry said, 'I'll go home when I get ready!' Without being asked, Horatio sat down and said, 'By gorr-i, I shan't go till you do.' It was very humiliating to Henry that his mother wouldn't trust him out after nine o'clock, so he never went sparking again. He is very noble. Ruth says if he had gone to college he'd be more gallant than Judge Wheeler." "Did Louise stay out late at night, too?" inquired Stanley. "No-o-o-o," said Pansy, much shocked at the suggestion. "Bill Williams used to shine up to her, and they were going to get married. One day he was up there calling, and he told Horatio a lie, and Horatio drove him right off the farm and told him never to come there again. Louise still has the silver teaspoons, the knit table covers, the sheets, pillow slips and towels all packed away in southern wood and rosemary." "Horatio's specialty seems to have been friction matches," observed Stanley. "They didn't go off with a pop, so I guess they were the sulphurous variety." Pansy rose and put on her hat. "Come earlier tomorrow, Pansy," begged Stanley. "I had about given you up today when you arrived." "Tomorrow will be Sunday and I can't come at all. Mother never lets us go to the neighbors on Sunday, and she never goes herself unless an infant has cholera infantum, or convulsions, or gets a bean up its nose." "Tell your mother there's an infant down here troubled with close confinement, and if she doesn't remit the Sunday rule and let her daughter come as usual, he's likely to need a padded cell." Pansy laughed a little, but broke off suddenly: "I'm so sorry!" she said, shaking Stanley's outstretched hand. "You'll soon be better now. You moved about more today than you have before, and it didn't seem to hurt you so much. You'll be lots better still by Monday." "I wish the Lord would put me to sleep, as he did Adam when he pilfered one of his ribs, until, at least, Monday afternoon." "What a punishment that would be to miss all the good things cooked for Sunday dinner. I'm going to run home in the rain now. Watch me from the window, and I'll wave from the half-way tree." Mr. Winthrop met her in the lower hall: "Jerry's going to drive you home," he said. He'll be ready in a minute." "I'm neither sugar nor salt and I won't melt," she said, with a merry look on her face. "Besides, mother saw showers and made me bring an umbrella." "We don't flatter her foresight by letting you use it today. Come!" Very soon thereafter, Jerry Pike and Pansy could be seen driving up the avenue of maples in the rain. Click Here for Chapter 19 |