 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     |
The Stranger and the Girl "This is the place. Stand still my stead, Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been." -- Longfellow On a warm July morning a young girl, carrying a large tin pail, walked along the highway where houses were sparse. Making an abrupt turn, a view of singular loveliness spread before her, but she did not heed it. Facing about, she gazed long and earnestly at the cemetery lying just beyond the junction of the roads, then she resumed her walk. A moment later a smart horse attached to a light wagon having rubber tires and occupied by a gentleman of rather slender build, turned the corner and passed her. The girl gazed after the team. As if it were an afterthought, the gentleman stopped his horse, and called, "Would you like to ride, Miss?" "If you please, sir," came the answer. Putting her pail in the back of the wagon, she climbed in and took the vacant seat and the horse started on. "Mother told me to get a lift if I could, but I thought you weren't going to ask me," she remarked. "Do your parents live on this road?" queried the gentleman. "My mother does, but father lies in the grave yard," replied the girl, pointing back of her. "His name was Richard Bradford." "Then you must be Ruth Alden's daughter." "I am Ruth Alden Bradford's daughter," corrected the girl. The gentleman's grip on the reins tightened and the powerful horse sped over the road. He seemed to have forgotten all about the girl's presence until she asked, looking up at him, for he was much above her, "Is this what you call two forty?" "No, no, this is not so fast, but too fast for a young lady to ride," and he slackened the reins. In a moment the horse slowed down to a walk. "I like it," said the girl. "So you are Ruth Alden Bradford's daughter!" said the gentleman, eyeing her keenly. "Yes, I am her second daughter. My sister Ruth is older, and my brother Richard is younger, but Richard and I are the same size, and people often mistake us for twins. We live at Little Farm -- that is what Richard and I call it, because mother always says she lived on a big farm over on the other road. It is the yellow house after you pass the big gray house where the roads cross. Uncle William Alden lives with us and runs the farm for mother. We have seven cows, a cosset sheep, two pigs, thirty hens, lots of chickens, and a cat and two kittens." "Forty-five animals in all besides the chickens," said the gentleman. "I never thought of it in that way," she said. "I always think of so many of each kind. Just now we are haying, and we have a hired man, but we don't have a hired man all the time. That is why I had to walk, because they are using the horses to get the hay. Mother doesn't like to send me so far, but she could not help it." The gentleman was gazing off toward the west. "Those are the White Mountains," she said, "and that highest peak is Mount Washington. They call it the Presidential Range, because the high peaks are named for the presidents. This low hill here that is nearest to us is called Horse Hill. When my great-great grandfather lived in New Gloucester, he took up some land in Norway, which was then called Rustfield, and he and his hired man used to come up on horseback to clear this and burn up the brush. Once when they came they hitched their horses to trees, and at night when they went for them they were gone, and they could not be found. In the fall they discovered a narrow path up this hillside and on the top of it they found their horses. It is supposed they were frightened by bears and broke their halters and ran away and lived on the hill. In the day time they used to come down to feed, and at night they went up again to get away from the mosquitoes. And it is called Horse Hill to this day." While the girl was relating her story, the horse had covered considerable ground, and now came to a dense beech forest. On either side of the road, huge trees spread their branches, forming a cool archway overhead. "Isn't this a nice wood?" said the girl, and without waiting for a reply continued, "Richard and I often wonder if Epping Forest where Robin Hood, Maid Marion, Friar Tuck, and the others used to live, was half as nice as this. You know, the story goes, that the Sheriff of Nottingham was always trying to capture Robin Hood. He would have hard work to capture anything here, for see how deep the forest is and how thick the hemlocks grow at the edges! Our sheriff was never called on to capture a fugitive from justice in these woods, but once he did go up to Mr. Swift's when they had a dance there to see if the liquor law was being strictly complied with." The gentleman seemed a good listener, and the girl continued. "We have nice maple trees in our woods, and in the spring we make maple syrup and maple sugar. If you can wait when you get to our house, I will give you some maple sugar hearts." "And if I can't wait?" said the gentleman with almost a twinkle in his eye. "Then when you come this way again, stop in and get them." The girl's voice was peculiarly sweet and sympathetic and she spoke with and inflection that was pleasing to hear. When they reached the yellow house she had indicated, the gentleman turned the wheel and stopped the horse that she might alight, and when she thanked him for the ride, he leaned forward a little and said briskly but not unkindly, "You can tell your mother that Stanton Winthrop was very glad to give you a lift." The girl stared at him and was about to speak again, but with a gallant flourish of the arm, he was gone. Swinging the pail once more, the girl crossed the wide yard and went into the house. "Here is the money mother, and she wants you to send more next week. Where is Richard?" "He is raking hay in the lower field, but you must not go out again now. Go in the other room and sit down in the rocking chair and fan yourself, you must be all tired out." "I am not tired at all, mother. A gentleman gave me a ride all the way back from the corner, and he said I could tell you that Stanton Winthrop was very glad to give me a lift." "Stanton Winthrop!" said the woman, astonishment depicted on her face. "Did you ride back with Stanton Winthrop?" "Yes, that is what he said his name was. He was tall and slender, and had a brown beard -- a brown with gold in it. Not like any beard I have seen around here, but cut kind of short, and he had more perfect teeth than the minister. When he talked he pronounced his words quickly and precisely. He must be Stanley Winthrop's father." "Yes, he must be Stanley's father. It is years since he went away." Click Here for Chapter 4 |