 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 Youth and the Girl "A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded." --Byron Nearly every day Stanley Winthrop came to Little Farm. Sometimes in the morning when the mowing machine was cutting swaths in the ripened grass in the field; sometimes in the afternoon when great draughts of hay were being taken to the barn and stored away for winter use. When the girl Pansy was not busy with housework or running errands, she would join him in his role of mere spectator, and help to pass the time in pleasant conversation. Though but a slip of a girl, her reading had been extensive, and she possessed a fund of knowledge that seemed beyond her years. She afforded him much amusement with her sharp wit and sprightly manners, and he often came in the morning and helped her with her task of getting the green vegetables from the garden, insisting on carrying the basket which was half as big as herself. One morning, guided by her clear voice, he made his way across the pump platform, through the woodshed to the back of the house, where he found her engaged in shelling a huge pan of peas, a hymn book resting against the back of a chair in front of her. When she saw him, her greeting was characteristic: "Come and help me do it (duet, she pronounced it), I've sung everything to page seven." Taking up the hymn book, he swung the chair around beside her, and seated himself. "Are you the saddest or gladdest when you sing?" he asked mischievously. "Just transitive and of the active voice," she replied. "You certainly are keen on repartee." "I'm keen on hymnology just now, so if you have chosen your pew and paid the rent, we will continue by singing selection number eight." Their sweet voices raised in lofty songs of praise floated above the click of the mowing machine and the drony sounds of nature. Mrs. Bradford and Ruth heard it in the house; Richard, Mr. Alden, and the hired man heard it in the field; Mr. Winthrop heard it in his seat on the piazza; Jerry Pike and the farm hands heard it at their labor, and there was not one who heard it but felt that inward rejoicing which music alone can give. "It's the symphony of Little Farm!" said Mr. Winthrop, as he leaned back in his chair, his newspaper lying neglected on his lap. "I like the boy and he keeps Pansy out of doors and away from her books, and I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Bradford to Ruth, "but he is so indulgent to her, I am afraid of its effect." "Her nature is too positive, mother, you have nothing to fear. She will never let anybody spoil her." When the peas were finished, the youth brought them into the kitchen for her, and then took leave. "When will you come again, Stanley?" asked the girl. "I think tomorrow afternoon." "I'll try to be patient until then. Au revoir!" A short distance from the house and just inside the stone wall that followed the highway in a northeasterly direction, stood a large willow tree where Pansy Bradford had her swing, and where she spent much time during the warm summer days, lying on the grassy slope, or perched in the swing or on the wall where a rock protruded sufficiently to form a comfortable seat. It commanded a good view of the front yard and of the barn on the opposite side of the highway, and suited her well, as it enabled her to keep in touch with all that transpired during the busy haying season. When the youth came the next afternoon, he found her under the willow tree reading, but she closed the book on his approach, and by a few questions induced him to talk of the great world of which he had seen so much and she so little. Whenever a load of hay came through the yard, they would jump up and watch the process of unloading it, and then the girl would bring a pitcher and glasses, and all hands would quench their thirst with switchel, a beverage that was new to the youth. "You make it this way," said the girl when they had gone into the kitchen, and she had bade him wipe the glasses, while she got ready for the next load, "a tablespoon of vinegar, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, some ginger, and when you are ready to drink it, you fill up the pitcher with ice cold pump water." She placed a plate over the top of the pitcher. "Now, I'll finish the glasses," she said, taking the towel, "then we can go out and talk some more." When the sun got low, she arose and announced that she was going for the cows. "That's Richard's chore," she said, "but when he's busy in the hay field, I do it for him." They walked over the highway, in the direction of the youth's home, past the barn and down a lane, at the bottom of which was a large gate. The girl turned the button on the top of the post, and was about to open it, when the youth stepped forward. "Let me do that for you," he said. "You wouldn't know how to open this gate, because it's a patent one," the girl answered. "I'll find out how to open it then." "Stanley Winthrop," said the girl stepping back and speaking with more fire than he had ever heard her, her eyes downcast and her face flushed, "you must let me do the things I'm used to doing, and you must not interfere. Mother says you're spoiling me and pretty soon I'll think I'm too good to go to the garden for the vegetables." Her voice grew softer as she continued, "Come in future as you always have, but forget to carry the basket." There was a good deal of determination expressed as the youthful pair stood facing each other. The cows had come up close to the gate, and one of them in rubbing her head against it, gave a sudden toss, throwing the gate upwards, so that it swung open of its own volition. The astonished pair faced about as the cows came filing through. "That's Lillian Russell," said the girl. "Then Julia Marlow, Maude Adams, Cecilia Loftus, May Irwin, Maxine Elliott and Janet Beecher. I love Janet the best of all, she's so gentle and nice." Behind the herd came the cosset sheep, an animal of no mean size or gentle disposition. When he saw the youth, his demure walk changed into a run and a bound, and but for the agility with which the youth side-stepped, he would have had a greater fall than that received on his first visit to Little Farm. The girl flew after the ram and caught him by a strap about his neck from which was suspended a small bell. "Here, King Cole, you are behaving very badly! Janet would never do anything like that, but after all you are only a mutton head," and she led him up the lane. "It seems to be an all star cast," said the youth, as they walked after the cows with the histrionic names. The girl looked puzzled for a moment, but her ready wit came to her assistance. "It's a benefit performance," she answered, "for when Uncle Will and Richard come, they are each going to give us a nice pail full of milk." They closed the barnyard gate and secured the button of the post. "Now I can go to the half-way tree with you before I have to go in for supper," said the girl. Click Here for Chapter 5 |