No More Learning

And so is 6 times 35. 4d.
208.
208.
20.
And yet he that divided the money was so very a gipsy, that
though he gave to every one these said sums, yet he kept is, of
it for himself.
As for example, -
s. d.
6 8
50
4 o
3 4
make but
19 o
But now you shall know that when the four gipsies saw that
he had got is. by dividing the money, though not one of them
knew any reason to demand more, yet, like lords and courtiers,
every gipsy envied him that was the gainer, and wrangled with
him, and every one said the remaining shilling belonged to
him: and so they fell to so high a contest about it, as none that
knows the faithfulness of one gipsy to another will easily believe:
only we that have lived these last twenty years are certain that
money has been able to do much mischief. However, the gipsies
were too wise to go to law, and did therefore choose their choice
friends Rook and Shark, and our late English Gusman, to be
their arbitrators and umpires; and so they left this honeysuckle
hedge, and went to tell fortunes, and cheat, and get more money
and lodging in the next village.
When these were gone, we heard a high contention amongst
the beggars, whether it was easiest to rip a cloak or to unrip a
cloak. One beggar affirmed it was all one. But that was denied
by asking her if doing and undoing were all one. Then another
said 'twas easiest to unrip a cloak, for that was to let it alone.
But she was answered by asking her how she unripped it if
she let it alone; and she confessed herself mistaken. These
and twenty such-like questions were proposed, and answered with
as much beggarly logic and earnestness as was ever heard to
XXVI–977


## p. 15618 (#572) ##########################################

15618
IZAAK WALTON
(
proceed from the mouth of the most pertinacious schismatic;
and sometimes all the beggars, whose number was neither more
nor less than the poet's nine Muses, talked together about this
ripping and unripping, and so loud that not one heard what
the other said: but at last one beggar craved audience, and told
them that old Father Clause, whom Ben Jonson, in his “Beggar's
Bush,' created king of their corporation, was to lodge at an
alehouse called “Catch-her-by-the-way," not far from Waltham
Cross, and in the high-road towards London: and he therefore
desired them to spend no more time about that and such-like
questions, but refer all to Father Clause at night, for he was an
upright judge; and in the meantime draw cuts, what song should
be next sung and who should sing it. They all agreed to the
motion; and the lot fell to her that was the youngest and veri-
est virgin of the company. And she sang Frank Davison's song,
which he made forty years ago; and all the others of the com-
pany joined to sing the burthen with her.
PISCATOR — Well, scholar, having now taught you to paint your
rod, and we having still a mile to Tottenham High Cross, I will,
as we walk towards it, in the cool shade of this sweet honey-
suckle hedge, mention to you some of the thoughts and joys that
have possessed my soul since we two met together. And these
thoughts shall be told you, that you also may join with me in
thankfulness to the Giver of every good and perfect gift, for our
happiness. And that our present happiness may appear to be
the greater, and we the more thankful for it, I will beg you to
consider with me how many do, even at this very time, lie under
the torment of the stone, the gout, and toothache; and this we
are free from. And every misery that I miss is a new mercy,
and therefore let us be thankful. There have been, since we
met, others that have met disasters of broken limbs; some
have been blasted, others thunderstrucken: and we have been
freed from these, and all those many other miseries that threaten
human nature; let us therefore rejoice and be thankful. Nay,
which is a far greater mercy, we are free from the unsupporta-
ble burthen of an accusing tormenting conscience, a misery that
none can bear; and therefore let us praise Him for his prevent-
ing grace, and say, Every misery that I miss is a new mercy.
Nay, let me tell you there be many that have forty times our
estates, that would give the greatest part of it to be healthful


## p. 15619 (#573) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15619
and cheerful like us: who, with the expense of a little money,
have eat and drank, and laught, and angled, and sung, and slept
securely; and rose next day, and cast away care, and sung, and
laught, and angled again: which are blessings rich men cannot
purchase with all their money. Let me tell you, scholar, I have
a rich neighbor that is always so busy that he has no leisure to
laugh; the whole business of his life is to get money, and more
money, that he may still get more and more money: he is still
drudging on, and says that Solomon says, “The diligent hand
maketh rich ;” and it is true indeed: but he considers not that
it is not in the power of riches to make a man happy; for it was
wisely said by a man of great observation, that “There be as
many miseries beyond riches as on this side them:" and yet God
deliver us from pinching poverty; and grant that having a com-
petency, we may be content and thankful. Let not us repine,
or so much as think the gifts of God unequally dealt, if we see
another abound with riches; when, as God knows, the cares that
are the keys that keep those riches hang often so heavily at the
rich man's girdle, that they clog him with weary days and rest-
less nights, even when others sleep quietly. We see but the
outside of the rich man's happiness: few consider him to be like
the silkworm, that when she seems to play, is at the very same
time spinning her own bowels, and consuming herself; and this
many rich men do, loading themselves with corroding cares to
keep what they have probably unconscionably got. Let us there-
fore be thankful for health and a competence, and above all, for
a quiet conscience.
Let me tell you, scholar, that Diogenes walked on a day,
with his friend, to see a country fair; where he saw ribbons and
looking-glasses, and nut-crackers, and fiddles, and hobby-horses,
and many other gimcracks: and having observed them, and all
the other finnimbruns that make a complete country fair, he said
to his friend, Lord, how many things are there in this world
of which Diogenes hath no need! ” And truly it is so, or might
be so, with very many who vex and toil themselves to get what
they have no need of. Can any man charge God that he hath
not given him enough to make his life happy? No, doubtless;
for nature is content with a little. And yet you shall hardly
meet with a
that complains not of some want: though
he indeed wants nothing but his will, it may be, nothing but
his will of his poor neighbor, for not worshiping or not flattering
(G
man


## p. 15620 (#574) ##########################################

15620
IZAAK WALTON
him: and thus when we might be happy and quiet, we create
trouble to ourselves. I have heard of a man that was angry with
himself because he was no taller; and of a woman that broke
her looking-glass because it would not show her face to be as
young and handsome as her next neighbor's was. And I knew
another to whom God had given health and plenty, but a wife
that nature had made peevish, and her husband's riches had
made purse-proud: and must, because she was rich, and for no
other virtue, sit in the highest pew in the church; which being
denied her, she engaged her husband into a contention for it,
and at last into a lawsuit with a dogged neighbor, who was
as rich as he, and had a wife as peevish and purse-proud as the
other; and this lawsuit begot higher oppositions, and actionable
words, and more vexations and lawsuits: for you must remember
that both were rich, and must therefore have their will. Well,
this willful, purse-proud lawsuit lasted during the life of the
first husband; after which his wife vext and chid, and chid and
vext till she also chid and vext herself into the grave: and so
the wealth of these poor rich people was curst into a punish-
ment, because they wanted meek and thankful hearts; for those
only can make us happy.
I knew a man that had health and
riches, and several houses all beautiful and ready furnished, and
would often trouble himself and family to be removing from
one house to another; and being asked by a friend why he
removed so often from one house to another, replied, "It was to
find content in some one of them. ” But his friend, knowing his
temper, told him, if he would find content in any of his houses,
he must leave himself behind him; for content will never dwell
but in a meek and quiet soul. And this may appear, if we read
and consider what our Savior says in St. Matthew's Gospel; for
he there says: "Blessed be the merciful, for they shall obtain
“
mercy. Blessed be the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Blessed be the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of
heaven. ” And “Blessed be the meek, for they shall possess the
earth. ” Not that the meek shall not also obtain
see God, and be comforted, and at last come to the kingdom of
heaven; but in the mean time he, and he only, possesses the earth
as he goes towards that kingdom of heaven, by being humble and
cheerful, and content with what his good God has allotted him.
He has no turbulent, repining, vexatious thoughts that he deserves
better; nor is vext when he sees others possest of more honor or
»
mercy, and


## p. 15621 (#575) ##########################################

IZAAK WALTON
15621
more riches than his wise God has allotted for his share: but he
possesses what he has with a meek and contented quietness,-
such a quietness as makes his very dreams pleasing, both to God
and himself.
My honest scholar, all this is told to incline you to thankful-
ness; and to incline you the more, let me tell you that though
the prophet David was guilty of murder and adultery, and many
other of the most deadly sins, yet he was said to be a
after God's own heart, because he abounded more with thankful-
ness than any other that is mentioned in holy Scripture, as may
appear in his book of Psalms; where there is such a commixture
of his confessing of his sins and unworthiness, and such thank-
fulness for God's pardon and mercies, as did make him to be
accounted, even by God himself, to be a man after his own
heart. And let us, in that, labor to be as like him as we can:
let not the blessings we receive daily from God make us not to
value or not praise him because they be common; let us not for-
get to praise him for the innocent mirth and pleasure we have
met with since we met together. What would a blind man give
to see the pleasant rivers, and meadows, and flowers, and fount-
ains, that we have met with since we met together? I have
been told that if a man that was born blind could obtain to have
his sight for but only one hour during his whole life, and should
at the first opening of his eyes, fix his sight upon the sun when
it was in its full glory, either at the rising or setting of it, he
would be so transported and amazed, and so admire the glory
of it, that he would not willingly turn his eyes from that first
ravishing object, to behold all the other various beauties this
world could present to him. And this, and many other like bless-
ings, we enjoy daily. And for most of them, because they be so
common, most men forget to pay their praises; but let not us,
because it is a sacrifice so pleasing to Him that made that sun
and us, and still protects us, and gives us flowers and showers,
and stomachs and meat, and content, and leisure to go a-fishing.
Well, scholar, I have almost tired myself, and I fear more
than almost tired you: but I now see Tottenham High Cross,
and our short walk thither shall put a period to my too long dis-
course, in which my meaning was and is, to plant that in your
mind, with which I labor to possess my own soul; that is, a
meek and thankful heart. And to that end, I have showed you
that riches, without them, do not make any man happy. But let


## p. 15622 (#576) ##########################################

15622
IZAAK WALTON
As for money,
me tell you that riches with them remove many fears and cares:
and therefore my advice is that you endeavor to be honestly rich
or contentedly poor; but be sure that your riches be justly got,
or you spoil all. For it is well said by Caussin, “He that loses
his conscience has nothing left that is worth keeping. ” There-
fore be sure you look to that. And in the next place, look to
your health: and if you have it, praise God, and value it next
to a good conscience; for health is the second blessing that we
mortals are capable of,-a blessing that money cannot buy,- and
therefore value it, and be thankful for it.
which
may be said to be the third blessing, neglect it not: but note
that there is no necessity of being rich; for I told you there be
as many miseries beyond riches as on this side them: and if
you have a competence, enjoy it with a meek, cheerful, thankful
heart. I will tell you, scholar, I have heard a grave divine say
that God has two dwellings,-one in heaven, and the other in a
meek and thankful heart. Which Almighty God grant to me
and to my honest scholar. And so you are welcome to Totten-
ham High Cross.
Venator — Well, master, I thank you for all your good direc-
tions; but for none more than this last, of thankfulness, which I
hope I shall never forget. And pray let's now rest ourselves in
this sweet shady arbor, which Nature herself has woven with her
own fine finger; 'tis such a contexture of woodbines, sweetbriar,
jessamine, and myrtle, and so interwoven, as will secure us both
from the sun's violent heat and from the approaching shower.
And being sat down, I will requite a part of your courtesies
with a bottle of sack, milk, oranges, and sugar, which, all put
together, make a drink like nectar; indeed, too good for any but
us anglers. And so, master, here is a full glass to you of that
liquor: and when you have pledged me, I will repeat the verses
which I promised you; it is a copy printed among some of Sir
Henry Wotton's, and doubtless made either by him or by a lover
of angling. Come, master, now drink a glass to me, and then I
will pledge you, and fall to my repetition: it is a description of
such country recreations as I have enjoyed since I had the hap-
piness to fall into your company.


## p. 15623 (#577) ##########################################

15623
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
(1844-)
LIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD was born in Andover, Massa-
chusetts, August 31st, 1844; the daughter of Professor Aus-
tin Phelps of the Andover Theological Seminary, and his
wife Elizabeth Stuart, the author of (Sunnyside,' — one of the pioneer
stories of New England life after the naturalistic manner.
Miss Phelps's education, a classical and scholarly one, was under
the supervision of her father, supplemented by studies in theology
and miscellaneous reading. The influence of the Civil War tended
to excite and develop the literary faculty.
She began to write at an early age; and
before she was twenty was the author of the
much-discussed (The Gates Ajar,' a specu-
lative treatise in the form of a story, depict-
ing the problematic experiences of the soul
after death. Besides the fact that the sub-
ject was interesting, and the book intimate
and in a peculiar manner an appeal to the
imagination, the time was well chosen for
its production; and an undoubted piquancy
was added that such a revolt from cast-iron
tradition should have emanated from the
stronghold of orthodoxy. But the subject, MRS. E. S. P. WARD
though interesting, was not novel. The suc-
cess of The Gates Ajar' was therefore due to the author's striking
characteristics, and the novelty and originality of her way of express-
ing her ideas.
(The Gates Ajar,' and its successors : Beyond the Gates) and “The
Gates Between,' cleverly described as «the annexation of heaven,"
portray the celestial world as a sublimated earth; human nature
and its peculiarities occupying a prominent foreground, and Divine
personages appearing only in the distance. In this Utopia, innocent
likings of individuals become laws: the sportsman is made happy
by the presence of his horses and dogs, and the good little girls
nurse their dolls. If, however, a profound theme is treated as a
scheme of color, and the composition is not disturbed in the treat-
ment, the gravity of the subject does not exclude it from works of
art. These books are consistent, and take a certain possession of the



## p. 15624 (#578) ##########################################

15624
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
reader, bereaved or speculative. The humor is largely that of section
and environment, with a fidelity to the admixture of sentiment and
common-sense which is characteristic of New England; the style, a
marked one, displays not so much subtlety of expression as the use
of unusual terms laden with esoteric meaning.
The success of “The Gates Ajar' was phenomenal: the sale in
England alone reached one hundred thousand copies, and translations
appeared in five Continental languages; at one step Miss Phelps had
arrived at fame. Other works followed in rapid succession,- two
volumes of poems, several of short stories, one of essays, and ten
novels.
The tone of thought and the way of writing are so peculiarly
Miss Phelps's own that no one who has read one of her books has
the right to feel impatient with another. Her characteristics are
marked in the slightest sketch: a high susceptibility to tragic situa-
tion, an impassioned human sympathy, and a noble familiarity with
the sorrows of the lowly.
In consequence, she is so much the novelist of emotion that she
may be said to write with her soul instead of her pen. In her short
stories (as “The Madonna of the Tubs) and “The Supply at St. Aga-
tha') she touches the high-water mark of religious melodrama. A
single thought seizes and possesses her till she has dramatized it and
proclaimed it. Her mind, as ready to take impressions as the sensi-
tive plate of a camera, has been quickened by a life of ministry.
And as there is more of misery than joy in the world which she best
knows, and as she is too sincere an artist to paint other than what
she knows, she presents a series of shipwrecks, figurative and literal,
for which only her ability compels our patience.
Now and then she has written a novel of purely human passion,
like “The Story of Avis'; but with Miss Phelps, human passion is
generally making desperate efforts to assert its rights in a conflict
with altruism or fidelity, and life is too serious to waste time and
paper on any subject less vital than temperance, the wrongs and
rights of women, the common-law system and its iniquities, or the
evils of modern dress. Her belief in «the cause, whatever it may
be, and in herself as its exponent, carries her audience with the
force of conviction, and makes it patient with her prolonged analyses
of psychological conditions.
When the tension becomes so strained that disaster is threatened,
the author takes a swift leap downward into the every-day world,
and all concerned draw a long breath. The palpitating heroine
generally has a safety-valve in a practical Down-Easter like Mrs.
Butterwell in Doctor Zay'; whose sayings, slightly profane, are not
lacking in humor or common-sense.
»


## p. 15625 (#579) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15625
)
No better example of her power in possessing her reader is to be
found than in the novel A Singular Life,' - a direct appeal to the
spiritual nature, whose end is the significance of the Christian life
as portrayed in the New Testament. In this story she has recited
her creed with the abandon of a nature that is like nothing so much
as an alabaster vase in which a light is burning. There is no blind
man's holiday, in which the sympathetic reader may steal a few
moments of careless and irresponsible amusement. The encompassed
hero fights his hard fight among the drunkards and murderers of
the New England seaport town, with the booming ocean for a back-
ground; but we do not cease to suffer with him till he is hidden from
our sight "wrapped in his purple pall. ”
If her genius is emotional, it is also essentially feminine. When
she strikes she strikes hard, if not directly, with italics. With femi-
nine adroitness she makes a slave of nature, whose ardent votary she
is; and knowing to a throb when the blooming of the lilies or the
light on the sea will wave or blaze as background for partings or
meetings, she does not disdain to use them. «« The hall was dark,
but the light of the lily was upon her;” “When she lifted her
face, rose curlews hung over her, palpitating with joy. ” She makes
the outer world, with its patient inner meaning, the orchestral accom-
paniment to her favorite airs.
In 1889 Miss Phelps was married to Mr. Herbert D. Ward. To-
gether they have written two novels: Come Forth,' and 'The Master
of the Magicians. '
The quality of Mrs. Ward's genius is as unusual as her theories of
life are out of the common. But to adapt the saying of one master
of contemporary fiction concerning another, “Sentimentality is the
dominant note of her music, but her art has made her sentiment-
ality interesting. ”
(
»
IN THE GRAY GOTH
From "Men, Women, and Ghosts. Copyright 1869, by Fields, Osgood & Co.
I
F THE wick of the big oil lamp had been cut straight, I don't
believe it would ever have happened.
But as I was going to say, when I started to talk about
'41,- to tell the truth, Johnny, I'm always a long while coming
to it, I believe. I'm getting to be an old man,-a little of a
coward, maybe; and sometimes, when I sit alone here nights and
think it over, it's just like the toothache, Johnny. As I was


## p. 15626 (#580) ##########################################

15626
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
-
saying, if she had cut that wick straight, I do believe it wouldn't
have happened,- though it isn't that I mean to lay the blame
on her now.
I'd been out at work all day about the place, slicking things
up for to-morrow; there was a gap in the barnyard fence to
mend, - I left that till the last thing, I remember; I remember
everything, some way or other, that happened that day,- and
there was a new roof to put on the pig-pen, and the grapevine
needed an extra layer of straw, and the latch was loose on the
south barn-door; then I had to go round and take a last look at
the sheep, and toss down an extra forkful for the cows, and go
into the stall to have a talk with Ben, and unbutton the coop-
door to see if the hens looked warm, – just to tuck 'em up, as
you might say. I always felt sort of homesick -- though I
wouldn't have owned up to it, not even to Nancy — saying good-
by to the creeturs the night before I went in. There, now! it
beats all, to think you don't know what I'm talking about, and
you
a lumberman's son! "Going in” is going up into the
woods, you know, to cut and haul for the winter, -up, some-
times, a hundred miles deep,- in in the fall and out in the
spring; whole gangs of us shut up there sometimes for six
months, then down with the freshets on the logs, and all sum-
mer to work the farm,- a merry sort of life when you get used
to it, Johnny: but it was a great while ago, and it seems to me
as if it must have been very cold. — Isn't there a little draft
coming in at the pantry door?
So when I'd said good-by to the creeturs,– I remember just
as plain how Ben put his great neck on my shoulder and whin-
nied like a baby; that horse knew when the season came round
and I was going in, just as well as I did, -I tinkered up the
barnyard fence, and locked the doors, and went in to supper.
I gave my finger a knock with the hammer, which may have
had something to do with it; for a man doesn't feel very good-
natured when he's been green enough to do a thing like that,
and he doesn't like to say it aches either. But if there is any-
thing I can't bear, it is lamp smoke; it always did put me out,
and I expect it always will. Nancy knew what a fuss I made
about it, and she was always very careful not to hector me with
it. I ought to have remembered that, but I didn't. She had
lighted the company lamp on purpose, too, because it was my
last night. I liked it better than the tallow candle.


## p. 15627 (#581) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15627
was
So I came in, stamping off the snow, and they were all in
there about the fire,- the twins, and Mary Ann, and the rest;
baby was sick, and Nancy was walking back and forth with him,
with little Nancy pulling at her gown. You were the baby then,
I believe, Johnny; but there always was a baby, and I don't
rightly remember.
The room so black with smoke that
they all looked as if they were swimming round and round in
it. I guess coming in from the cold, and the pain in my finger
and all, it made me a bit sick. At any rate, I threw open the
window and blew out the light, as mad as a hornet.
“Nancy,” said I, “this room would strangle a dog, and you
might have known it, if you'd had two eyes to see what you were
about. There now! I've tipped the lamp over, and you just get
a cloth and wipe up the oil. ”
Dear me! ” said she, lighting a candle, and she spoke up very
soft too. “Please, Aaron, don't let the cold in on baby. I'm
sorry it was smoking, but I never knew a thing about it: he's
been fretting and taking on so the last hour, I didn't notice any.
(C
way. ”
“That's just what you ought to have done,” says I, madder
than ever. « You know how I hate the stuff, and you ought to
have cared more about me than to choke me up with it this
way the last night before going in. ”
Nancy was a patient, gentle-spoken sort of woman, and would
bear a good deal from a fellow; but she used to fire up some-
times, and that was more than she could stand. « You don't
deserve to be cared about, for speaking like that! ” says she, with
her cheeks as red as peat-coals.
That was right before the children. Mary Ann's eyes were
as big as saucers, and little Nancy was crying at the top of her
lungs, with the baby tuning in, so we knew it was time to stop.
But stopping wasn't ending; and folks can look things that they
don't say.
-
We sat down to supper as glum as pump-handles: there
were some fritters — I never knew anybody beat your mother at
fritters — smoking hot off the stove, and some maple molasses in
one of the best chiny tea-cups; I knew well enough it was just
on purpose for my last night, but I never had a word to say;
and Nancy crumbed up the children's bread with a jerk. Her
cheeks didn't grow any whiter,- it seemed as if they would


## p. 15628 (#582) ##########################################

15628
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
-
blaze right up; I couldn't help looking at them, for all I pre-
tended not to, for she looked just like a picture.
That supper was a very dreary sort of supper, with the baby
crying, and Nancy getting up between the mouthfuls to walk up
and down the room with him; he was a heavy little chap for a
ten-month-old, and I think she must have been tuckered out with
him all day. I didn't think about it then: a man doesn't notice
such things when he's angry, - it isn't in him; I can't say but
she would if I'd been in her place. I just eat up the fritters and
the maple molasses, - seems to me I told her she ought not to
use the best chiny cup, but I'm not just sure,- and then I took
my pipe and sat down in the corner.
I watched her putting the children to bed; they made her a
great deal of bother, squirming off of her lap and running round
barefoot. Sometimes I used to hold them and talk to them
and help her a bit, when I felt good-natured; but I just sat and
smoked, and let them alone. I was all worked up about that
lamp-wick; and I thought, you see, if she hadn't had any feelings
for me there was no need of my having any for her: if she
had cut the wick, I'd have taken the babies; she hadn't cut the
wick, and I wouldn't take the babies: she might see it if she
wanted to, and think what she pleased. I had been badly treated,
and I meant to show it.
It is strange, Johnny, it really does seem to me very strange,
how easy it is in this world to be always taking care of our
rights. I've thought a great deal about it since I've been grow-
ing old, and there seems to me a good many things we'd better
look after fust.
But you see I hadn't found that out in '41; and so I sat in
the corner, and felt very much abused. I can't say but what
Nancy had pretty much the same idea; for when the young
ones were all in bed at last, she took her knitting and sat down
the other side of the fire, sort of turning her head round and
looking up at the ceiling, as if she were trying her best to for-
get I was there. That was a way she had when I was courting,
and we went along to huskings together, with the moon shining
round.
Well, I kept on smoking, and she kept on looking at the
ceiling, and nobody said a word for a while; till by-and-by the
fire burnt down, and she got up and put on a fresh log.


## p. 15629 (#583) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15629
)
>
«I
«You're dreadful wasteful with the wood, Nancy,” says 1,-
bound to say something cross, and that was all I could think of.
« Take care of your own fire, then,” says she, throwing the
log down and standing up as straight as she could stand.
think it's a pity if you haven't anything better to do, the last
night before going in, than to pick everything I do to pieces
this way, and I tired enough to drop, carrying that great crying
child in my arms all day. You ought to be ashamed of yourself,
Aaron Hollis! »
Now if she had cried a little, very like I should have given
up, and that would have been the end of it: for I never could
bear to see a woman cry, - it goes against the grain. But your
mother wasn't one of the crying sort, and she didn't feel like it
that night.
She just stood up there by the fireplace as proud as Queen
Victory; - I don't blame her, Johnny, - oh, no, I don't blame her:
she had the right of it there, I ought to have been ashamed of
myself; but a man never likes to hear that from other folks, and
I put my pipe down on the chimney-shelf so hard I heard it
snap like ice, and I stood up too, and said — but no matter what
I said, I guess. A man's quarrels with his wife always make me
think of what the Scripture says about other folks not intermed-
dling. They're things, in my opinion, that don't concern anybody
else as a general thing; and I couldn't tell what I said without
telling what she said, and I'd rather not do that. Your mother
was as good and patient-tempered a woman as ever lived, Johnny,
and she didn't mean it, and it was I that set her on. Besides,
my words were worst of the two.
Well, well, I'll hurry along just here, for it's not a time I like
to think about; but we had it back and forth there for half an
hour, till we had angered each other up so I couldn't stand it;
and I lifted up my hand, - I would have struck her if she hadn't
been a woman.
“Well,” says I, “Nancy Hollis, I'm sorry for the day I mar-
ried you, and that's the truth, if ever I spoke a true word in my
life! »
Well, I've seen your mother look 'most all sorts of ways in
the course of her life; but I never saw her before, and I never
saw her since, look as she looked that minute. All the blaze
went out in her cheeks, as if somebody had thrown cold water on


## p. 15630 (#584) ##########################################

15630
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
-
(C
»
it, and she stood there stock still, so white I thought she would
drop.
« «Aaron -” she began, and stopped to catch her breath, -
«Aaron — " but she couldn't get any further; she just caught
hold of a little shawl she had on with both her hands, as if she
thought she could hold herself up by it, and walked right out of
the room. I knew she had gone to bed, for I heard her go up
and shut the door.
I stood there a few minutes with my hands
in my pockets, whistling Yankee Doodle. Your mother used
to say men were queer folks, Johnny: they always whistled up
the gayest when they felt the wust. Then I went to the closet
and got another pipe, and I didn't go up-stairs till it was smoked
out.
When I was a young man, Johnny, I used to be that sort of
fellow that couldn't bear to give up beat.
I'd acted like a brute,
and I knew it; but I was too spunky to say. so. So I says to
myself, "If she won't make up first, I won't, and that's the end
on't. ” Very likely she said the same thing, for your mother was
a spirited sort of woman when her temper was up; so there we
were, more like enemies sworn against each other than man and
wife who had loved each other true for fifteen years,- a whole
winter, and danger, and death perhaps, coming between us, too.
I tell you, Johnny, young folks they start in life with very
pretty ideas,- very pretty. But take it as a general thing, they
don't know any more what they're talking about than they do
about each other; and they don't know any more about each
other than they do about the man in the moon. They begin
very nice, with their new carpets and teaspoons, and a little
mending to do, and coming home early evenings to talk; but by-
and-by the shine wears off. Then come the babies, and worry
and wear and temper. About that time they begin to be a little
acquainted, and to find out that there are two wills and two sets
of habits to be fitted somehow, It takes them anywhere along
from one year to three to get jostled down together. As for
smoothing off, there's more or less of that to be done always.
Well, I didn't sleep very well that night, dropping into naps
and waking up. The baby was worrying over his teeth every
half-hour, and Nancy getting up to walk him off to sleep in her
arms; —it was the only way you would be hushed up, and you'd
lie and yell till somebody did it.


## p. 15631 (#585) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15631
Now, it wasn't many times since we'd been married that I had
let her do that thing all night long. I used to have a way of
.
getting up to take my turn, and sending her off to sleep. It isn't
a man's business, some folks say. I don't know anything about
. I
that; — maybe if I'd been broiling my brain in book-learning all
day till come night, and I was hard put to it to get my sleep
anyhow, like the parson there, it wouldn't: but all I know is,
what if I had been breaking my back in the potato patch since
morning ? so she'd broken hers over the oven; and what if I did
need nine hours' sound sleep? I could chop and saw without it
next day just as well as she could do the ironing, to say nothing
of my being a great stout fellow,—there wasn't a chap for ten
miles round with my muscle, - and she with those blue veins on
her forehead. Howsomever that may be, I wasn't use to letting
her do it by herself: and so I lay with my eyes shut, and pre-
tended that I was asleep; for I didn't feel like giving in and
speaking up gentle, not about that nor anything else.
I could see her though, between my eyelashes; and I lay
there, every time I woke up, and watched her walking back and
forth, back and forth, up and down, with the heavy little fellow
in her arms, all night long.
I was off very early in the morning; I don't think it could
have been much after three o'clock when I woke up. Nancy
had my breakfast all laid out over night, except the coffee; and
we had fixed it that I was to make up the fire, and get off with-
out waking her, if the baby was very bad. At least, that was
the way I wanted it; but she stuck to it she should be up,—that
was before there'd been any words between us.
The room
was very gray and very still, -I remember just
how it looked, with Nancy's clothes on a chair, and the baby's
shoes lying round. She had got him off to sleep in his cradle,
and had dropped into a nap, poor thing! with her face as white
as the sheet, from watching.
I stopped when I was dressed, half-way out of the room, and
looked round at it — it was so white, Johnny! It would be a
long time before I should see it again,— five months were a long
time; then there was the risk coming down in the freshets- and
the words I'd said last night. I thought, you see, if I should
kiss it once, - I needn't wake her up - maybe I should go off
,-
feeling better. So I stood there looking: she was lying so still,
I couldn't see any more stir to her than if she had her breath


## p. 15632 (#586) ##########################################

15632
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
held in. I wish I had done it, Johnny,- I can't get over wish-
ing I'd done it, yet. But I was just too proud; and I turned
round and went out, and shut the door.
We were going to meet down at the post-office, the whole
gang of us, and I had quite a spell to walk. I was going in
,
on Bob Stokes's team. I remember how fast I walked, with my
hands in my pockets, looking along up at the stars, - the sun
was putting them out pretty fast, - and trying not to think of
Nancy. But I didn't think of anything else.
It was so early that there wasn't many folks about to see us
off; but Bob Stokes's wife,- she lived nigh the office, just across
the road, -she was there to say good-by, kissing of him, and
crying on his shoulder. I don't know what difference that should
make with Bob Stokes, but I snapped him up well when he
came along and said good-morning.
There were twenty-one of us just, on that gang, in on con-
tract for Dove and Beadle. Dove and Beadle did about the
heaviest thing on woodland of anybody, about that time. Good,
steady men we were, most of us. Yes, though I say it that
shouldn't say it, we were as fine a looking gang as any in the
county, starting off that morning in our red uniform ; – Nancy
took a sight of pains with my shirt, sewing it up stout, for fear
it should bother me ripping, and I with nobody to take a stitch
for me all winter. The boys went off in good spirits, singing till
they were out of sight of town, and waving their caps at their
wives and babies standing in the window along on the way.
I didn't sing. I thought the wind blew too hard — seems to me
that was the reason: I'm sure there must have been a reason,
for I had a voice of my own in those days, and had led the choir
perpetual for five years.
We weren't going in very deep: Dove and Beadle's lots lay
about thirty miles from the nearest house; and a straggling,
lonely sort of place that was too, five miles out of the village,
with nobody but a dog and a deaf old woman in it. Sometimes,
as I was telling you, we had been in a hundred miles from any
human creature but ourselves.
It took us two days to get there, though, with the oxen; and
the teams were loaded down well, with so many axes and the
pork-barrels; - I don't know anything like pork for hefting down
more than you expect it to, reasonable. It was one of your uglý
gray days, growing dark at four o'clock, with snow in the air,


## p. 15633 (#587) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15633
-
»
when we hauled up in the lonely place. The trees were blazed
pretty thick, I remember, especially the pines; Dove and Beadle
always had that done up prompt in October. It's pretty work
going in blazing while the sun is warm, and the woods like a
great bonfire with the maples. I used to like it; but your
mother wouldn't hear of it when she could help herself, — it kept
me away so long.
There were three shanties, – they don't often have more than
two or three in one place: they were empty, and the snow had
drifted in; Bob Stokes's oxen were fagged out with their heads
hanging down, and the horses were whinnying for their supper.
Holt had one of his great brush-fires going,- there was nobody
like Holt for making fires,- and the boys were hurrying round
in their red shirts, shouting at the oxen, and singing a little,
some of them low, under their breath, to keep their spirits up.
There was snow as far as you could see, — down the cart-path,
and all around, and away into the woods; and there was snow
in the sky now, setting in for a regular nor'easter. The trees
stood up straight all around without any leaves, and under the
bushes it was as black as pitch.
“Five months,” said I to myself; five months! ”
«What in time's the matter with you, Hollis ? ” says
Bob
Stokes, with a great slap on my arm: "you're giving that 'ere ox
molasses on his hay! ”
Sure enough I was; and he said I acted like a dazed creatur,
and very likely I did. But I couldn't have told Bob the reason.
You see, I knew Nancy was just drawing up her little rocking-
chair - the one with the red cushion-close by the fire, sitting
there with the children to wait for the tea to boil. And I knew
- I couldn't help knowing, if I'd tried hard for it- how she was
crying away softly in the dark, so that none of them could see
her, to think of the words we'd said, and I gone in without ever
making of them up. I was sorry for them then. O Johnny,
O
I was sorry, and she was thirty miles away. I'd got to be sorry
five months, thirty miles away, and couldn't let her know.
The boys said I was poor company that first week, and I
shouldn't wonder if I was. I couldn't seem to get over it any
way, to think I couldn't let her know.
If I could have sent her a scrap of a letter, or a message,
or something, I should have felt better. But there wasn't any
chance of that this long time, unless we got out of pork or
XXVI–978


## p. 15634 (#588) ##########################################

156 34
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
fodder, and had to send down, - which we didn't expect to, for
we'd laid in more than usual.
We had two pretty rough weeks' work to begin with; for the
worst storms of the season set in, and kept in, and I never saw
their like before or since. It seemed as if there'd never be an
end to them. Storm after storm, blow after blow, freeze after
freeze; half a day's sunshine, and then at it again! We were
well tired of it before they stopped; it made the boys homesick.
However, we kept at work pretty brisk,- lumbermen aren't
the fellows to be put out for a snow-storm, - cutting and haul-
ing and sawing, out in the sleet and wind. Bob Stokes froze his
left foot that second week, and I was frost-bitten pretty badly
myself.
Cullen he was the boss — he was well out of sorts, I
tell you, before the sun came out, and cross enough to bite a
tenpenny nail in two.
But when the sun is out, it isn't so bad a kind of life after
all. At work all day, with a good hot dinner in the middle; then
back to the shanties at dark, to as rousing a fire and tiptop
swagan as anybody could ask for. Holt was cook that season,
and Holt couldn't be beaten on his swagan.
Now you don't mean to say you don't know what swagan is ?
Well, well! To think of it! All I have to say is, you don't know
what's good then. Beans and pork and bread and molasses,-
that's swagan,
- all stirred up in a great kettle, and boiled to-
gether; and I don't know anything — not even your mother's frit-
ters — I'd give more for a taste of now. We just about lived
on that: there's nothing you can cut and haul all day on like
swagan. Besides that, we used to have doughnuts, - you don't
know what doughnuts are, here in Massachusetts; as big as
dinner-plate those doughnuts were, and — well, a little hard, per-
haps. They used to have it about in Bangor that we used them
for clock pendulums, but I don't know about that.
I used to think a great deal about Nancy nights, when we
were sitting by the fire; — we had our fire right in the middle of
the hut, you know, with a hole in the roof to let the smoke out.
When supper was eaten, the boys all sat up around it, and told
stories, and sang, and cracked their jokes; then they had their
backgammon and cards; we got sleepy early, along about nine or
ten o'clock, and turned in under the roof with our blankets. The
roof sloped down, you know, to the ground; so we lay with our
heads in under the little eaves, and our feet to the fire, – ten or
a


## p. 15635 (#589) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15635
»
twelve of us to a shanty, all round in a row. They built the
"huts up like a baby's cob-house, with the logs fitted in together.
I used to think a great deal about your mother, as I was saying;
sometimes I would lie awake when the rest were off as sound as
a top, and think about her.
So it went along till come the last of January, when one day
I saw the boys all standing round in a heap, and talking.
« What's the matter ? ” says I.
“Pork's given out,” says Bob with a whistle.
« Beadle got
that last lot from Jenkins there, his son-in-law, and it's sp'ilt. I
could have told him that beforehand. Never knew Jenkins to do
the fair thing by anybody yet. ”
“Who's going down ? ” said I, stopping short. I felt the blood
"
run all over my face, like a woman's.
“Cullen hasn't made up his mind yet,” says Bob, walking off.
Now you see there wasn't a man on the ground who wouldn't
jump at the chance to go; it broke up the winter for them, and
sometimes they could run in home for half an hour, driving by:
so there wasn't much of a hope for me. But I went straight to
Mr. Cullen.
“ Too late. Just promised Jim Jacobs,” said he, speaking up
quick: it was just business to him, you know.
(
(
Next morning somebody woke me up with a push, and there
was the boss.
"Why, Mr. Cullen! ” says I, with a jump.
a
"Hurry up, mari, and eat your breakfast,” said he: "Jacobs
is down sick with his cold. ”
"Oh! ” said I.
« You and the pork must be back here day after to-morrow,
so be spry,” said he.
It was just eight o'clock when I started; it took some time to
get breakfast, and feed the nags, and get orders. I stood there,
slapping the snow with my whip, crazy to be off, hearing the
last of what Mr. Cullen had to say.
They gave me the two horses, we hadn't but two: oxen are
tougher for going in, as a general thing,- and the lightest team
on the ground: it was considerably lighter than Bob Stokes's. If
it hadn't been for the snow, I might have put the thing through
in two days; but the snow was up to the creaturs' knees in the
>


## p. 15636 (#590) ##########################################

15636
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
»
-
shady places all along; off from the road, in among the gullies,
you could stick a four-foot measure down anywhere. So they
didn't look for me back before Wednesday night.
"I must have that pork Wednesday night sure,” says Cullen.
"Well, sir,” says I, "you shall have it Wednesday noon, Prov- .
idence permitting; and you shall have it Wednesday night any-
way. ”
“You will have a storm to do it in, I'm afraid,” said he, look-
ing at the clouds, just as I was whipping up. « You're all right
on the road, I suppose ? ”
"All right,” said I; - and I'm sure I ought to have been, for
the times I'd been over it.
Bess and Beauty — they were the horses; and of all the ugly
nags that ever I saw, Beauty was the ugliest - started off on a
round trot, slewing along down the hill; they knew they were
going home just as well as I did. I looked back, as we turned
the corner, to see the boys standing round in their red shirts,
with the snow behind them, and the fire and the shanties. I
felt a mite lonely when I couldn't see them any more: the snow
was so dead still, and there were thirty miles of it to cross be-
fore I could see human face again,
The clouds had an ugly look, - a few flakes had fallen already,
- and the snow was purple, deep in as far as you could see
under the trees.
There is no place like the woods for bringing a storm down
on you quick: the trees are so thick you don't mind the first few
flakes, till first you know there's a whirl of 'em, and the wind
is up.
I was minding less about it than usual, for I was thinking
of Nannie, - that's what I used to call her, Johnny, when she
was a girl; but it seems a long time ago, that does.
I was
thinking how surprised she'd be, and pleased. I knew she would
be pleased. I didn't think so poorly of her as to suppose she
wasn't just as sorry now as I was for what had happened. I
knew well enough how she would jump and throw down her
sewing with a little scream, and run and put her arms about my
neck and cry, and couldn't help herself.
So I didn't mind about the snow, for planning it all out, till
all at once I looked up, and something slashed into my eyes and
stung me: it was sleet.


## p. 15637 (#591) ##########################################

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
15637
“Oho! ” said I to myself, with a whistle; - it was a very
long whistle, Johnny: I knew well enough then it was no play-
work I had before me till the sun went down, nor till morning
either.
That was about noon: it couldn't have been half an hour
since I'd eaten my dinner; I eat it driving, for I couldn't bear to
waste time.
The road wasn't broken there an inch, and the trees were
thin: there'd been a clearing there years ago, and wide, white,
level places wound off among the trees; one looked as much like
a road as another, for the matter of that. I pulled my visor
down over my eyes to keep the sleet out;- after they're stung
too much they're good for nothing to see with, and I must see,
if I meant to keep that road.
It began to be cold. The wind blew from the ocean, straight
as an arrow. The sleet blew every way,– into your eyes, down
your neck, in like a knife into your cheeks. I could feel the
snow crunching in under the runners, crisp, turned to ice in a
minute. I reached out to give Bess a cut on the neck, and the
sleeve of my coat was stiff as pasteboard before I bent my elbow
up again.
If you looked up at the sky, your eyes were shut with a snap
as if somebody'd shot them. If you looked in under the trees,
you could see the icicles a minute, and the purple shadows. If
you looked straight ahead, you couldn't see a thing.
By-and-by I thought I had dropped the reins. I looked at
my hands, and there I was holding them tight. I knew then
that it was time to get out and walk.
I didn't try much after that to look ahead: it was of no use,
for the sleet was fine, like needles, twenty of 'em in your eye at
a wink; then it was growing dark. Bess and Beauty knew the
road as well as I did, so I had to trust to them. I thought I
must be coming near the clearing where I'd counted on putting
up overnight, in case I couldn't reach the deaf old woman's.
Pretty soon Bess stopped short. Beauty was pulling on,-
Beauty always did pull on,- but she stopped too. I couldn't
stop so easily; so I walked along like a machine, up on a line
with the creaturs' ears. I did stop then, or you never would
have heard this story, Johnny.
Two paces — and then two hundred feet shot down like a
plummet. A great cloud of snow-flakes puffed up over the edge.


## p. 15638 (#592) ##########################################

15638
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD
There were rocks at my right hand, and rocks at my left. There
was the sky overhead. I was in the Gray Goth!
There was no going any farther that night, that was clear:
so I put about into the hut, and got my fire going; and Bess and
Beauty and I, we slept together.
It was an outlandish name to give it, seems to me, anyway.
I don't know what a Goth is, Johnny; maybe you do. There
was a great figure up on the rock, about eight feet high: some
folks thought it looked like a man. I never thought so before,
but that night it did kind of stare in through the door as natural
as life.
When I woke up in the morning I thought I was on fire. I
stirred and turned over, and I was ice. My tongue was swollen
up so I couldn't swallow without strangling. I crawled up to my
feet, and every bone in me was stiff as a shingle.
Bess was looking hard at me, whinnying for her breakfast.
“Bess,” says I, very slow, we must get home-to-night - any
—
— how. ”
I pushed open the door. It creaked out into a great drift, and
slammed back. I squeezed through and limped out. The shanty
stood up a little, in the highest part of the Goth. I went down
a little,– I went as far as I could go. There was a pole lying
there, blown down in the night; it came about up to my head.
I sunk it into the snow, and drew it up.
Just six feet.
I went back to Bess and Beauty, and I shut the door.