Chapter X: Book III: Studley Hall, 1687 (2)

"So he has, so he has. But you know his brother is in New England already, and 'Zechel hath a great family,—twelve lads, no less, and four maidens; and 'Zechel thinks there will be more room for his lads over there."

"And he is right, Master Ned," said the master of the house, entering in time to hear his wife's last words. "Welcome home, sir, and much joy befall you and your bride."

Master Atkins was a tall, spare man, with black curly hair a good deal grizzled, and splendid white teeth. He was very polite and even polished in his way. I learned afterward that he had been an officer in the navy, but had retired and taken to farming.

"And so you think your cousin 'Zechel is making a wise move," said my husband, as we sat down to the table.

"I do, sir; though if it were my case, I should go not to New England, but to New Jersey, where land is quite as good and the climate not so severe. But 'Zechel's brother is settled in New England, and doing well, and doubtless that is a strong reason for their choice."

"I have a friend in New Jersey. Is that very far from where your cousin is going?" said I. "I would like to send her a little parcel."

Master Lee smiled. "There is almost, if not quite, the length of England between the two places," said he. "Folk hereabout do not understand the size of things over there. But I make no doubt my cousin will take your parcel, madam. He may easily find a chance to send it, for there is a great deal of trade going on."

"But what will 'Zechel Atkins do with his farm?" asked my husband. "His lease must have a long time to run yet."

"Sixty years," answered our host. "'Zechel would gladly sell stock and fixtures, and the most of his furniture, if he could get his price."

"And that is—"

"Two hundred and fifty pounds, but I doubt not he would take two hundred, if he had the money in hand. The farm is well stocked, and hath the finest orchard in the country."

The talk then drifted away to other matters. I observed the beauty of the china bowl which held the clotted cream, and of some other pieces; and the dame must needs show me her china closet, which would have made many a fine lady wild with envy. I particularly admired a little black and gold coffee-pot, and nothing would do but she must bestow it on me for a wedding gift, as she said, as well as a lace kerchief which she told me she had made herself when a maid at school. Then we must go out and see the garden, the poultry yard, and the noble orchard: so it was on toward sunset before we got away.

We found supper ready when we arrived at the Hall. My father-in-law was evidently in a worse humor than in the morning, and received Edward's report of his errand with only a "humph." The parson was at the table, as usual, but there was no pretence of grace said. Madam sat at the head of the table, dressed out in all her finery; and, as we took our places, she shot a glance at us wherein I read triumphant malice. She had evidently been using her time well.

Mr. Studley drank plenty of strong ale with his supper, and called for wine afterward. My husband took one or two glasses, and then declined more. His father called him a white-livered milksop, and turned to the parson,—

"You are a man, at any rate, Rowson. You are not afraid of your brains, like my sanctimonious son. We will finish the bottle and another before we part."

"Not to-night, sir," answered Mr. Rowson. "To-morrow is Sacrament Sunday, and I must not drink deep to-night, lest I get the bishop down on me again."

My father-in-law cursed the Sacrament, using terms which made my blood run cold. In all my life I had never heard such blasphemy. Involuntarily I laid my hand on his arm.

"Dear sir, don't speak so," said I. "Think of what you are speaking,—of the Holy Communion."

He shook off my hand, and stared at me with a look of fury.

"What, you, you!" he stammered. "Has he made a sanctified humbug of you already?"

"I told you, you would have enough of my lady's airs," remarked his wife with a sneer. "Fine doings, indeed! A young woman rebuking her father-in-law at his own table."

"And you, sir, you have put this chit up to beard me, have you?" roared Mr. Studley, turning to his son.

"Do not be so angry, Mr. Studley," interposed Dr. Kirton, in his smooth, oily tones. He had a habit of putting his head on one side when he spoke, which would have set me against him if nothing else did. "I am sure Mr. Edward will make his wife beg your pardon."

"I pray you, Dr. Kirton, not to interfere between my father and myself," said my husband, speaking quite calmly, though I saw by his paleness how much he was moved. "I see nothing in my wife's words for which she need to ask pardon."

"Of course not," said Mrs. Studley tauntingly. "She has a right to insult your father at his own table, and to call his wife an actress and I know not what else.—Oh, yes, you may stare, madam, but I can tell you stone walls have ears. A pretty way, to be sure!"

With that Mr. Studley exploded in a new fury. In all my life I never saw any thing like it. There was no opprobrious epithet which he did not heap upon his son, and I think no demon from the lower regions could have beat him in the blasphemous language with which he assailed religion in all its forms. I looked at the parson, expecting him to show some displeasure, but though he looked annoyed, as a man might at an interruption to his pleasure, he never moved. Dr. Kirton put in a word now and then, artfully calculated to increase his patron's anger, while his sister made no attempt to conceal her satisfaction. As for Edward, he never said one word, till his father applied to me an epithet too vile to be recorded here. Then he rose from the table with flashing eyes.

"Come, Dolly, this is no place for you," was all he said.

I rose and put my hand through his arm.

"Ay, go, and never let me see thy craven face again!" roared the old man. "Begone from my house! I have tried in vain to make a man of thee. Begone, and beg or starve, as pleases thee best, and take thy father's curse with thee."

"Curses are like young chickens: they always come home to roost," said Edward solemnly. "Heaven grant that it may not be so with yours, sir!— Come, my wife."

My lady gave an insolent laugh as we left the dining-room. It soon appeared that the old man was in earnest. We had been in our room but a few minutes when Mr. Rowson came to the door.

"You had best be gone, Ned," said he. "The old man grows worse and worse, and vows you shall not stay in the house to-night; and that witch pushes him on. I have ordered your horses to the door, and Andrew will attend you."

"But where to go?" said my husband. "We cannot spend the night on the moor. Cannot you take us in?"

The parson looked perplexed. "I would," said he, "but my house is no place for a lady; and beside—Well, the truth is, Ned, I owe your father money, and I can't afford to displease him."

"We will not trouble you," said my husband. "The man who will not stand up for his Lord and Master will hardly do much for his friend."

"Nay, but do hear reason," said the poor parson, in a strait between his kindness and his cowardice. "Let us think a moment."

"Why should we not go to Master Atkins, where we were this afternoon?" said I. "Surely those good people will take us in over Sunday."

"A good thought," said my husband, "if the ride will not be too much for you."

"Nay, 'tis only six miles," said the parson. "She deserves some trouble for blowing up all this storm. Why could she not hold her tongue? But women must always be meddling."

"I will hear not one word against my wife," returned my husband sternly. "She did but what any Christian should,—what you yourself should have done, and not have left your Master's defence to a girl."

"What use in talking to an angry man?" said the parson, coloring. "But I bear no malice. Here comes Andrew for your mails. Go down the back way, and I will try to keep the old man engaged." So saying, he disappeared.

"And that man," began my husband.

But I begged him to be quiet and let us get away. In truth, I was terribly scared, and wanted nothing so much as to be out of the house. We were not to escape scot free, however. The poor old man followed us to the door, and dismissed us with a volley of execrations, ¹ swearing by all that was holy we should never see a penny of his money.

¹ This is no fiction. Mr. Studley is a real historical personage, and was turned out of his father's house in just the same way, for the same cause.

"I value not your oath, sir, since you swear by what you yourself do not believe in," said Edward, turning as we were about leaving the courtyard. "It grieves me to part from you in anger. I have borne much from you in times past. I entreat you to remember that deny God's word as you may, it is not the less true. And that, so surely as you live, you must one day stand before him, to give account of deeds done in the body. I call you yourself to witness that I have been to you a submissive and dutiful son, and I am willing to be so again, so soon as you shall see fit to recall me.—Come, Dolly."

As we rode out of the courtyard, we heard the old man's wrath exploding in execrations. And I caught sight of the woman laying her hand on his arm, as though scared at the storm she had herself provoked. I never saw her in life again, but once.

"We must ride fast, my love," said my husband. "It is growing late."

This was all he said during our ride, except a word of warning or encouragement now and then. Fortunately, it was a fine evening, and a half-moon gave us plenty of light. How glad I was that we had taken no luggage with us but our pillion mails, and one small mail that Andrew could carry easily behind him!

It was near ten o'clock when we reached the farm, but there was a light in the kitchen, and Master Atkins was standing in the porch, smoking his pipe. He uttered an exclamation of wonder on seeing us again, as well he might, and hastened to take me down from my horse.

"Will you take us in for the night, my friend?" asked my husband. "I have literally no shelter for my head or that of my poor young wife."

"Take you in! Ay, that I will, and more than welcome," answered Master Atkins. "What, the old gentleman is in his tantrums again!" Then, as Edward nodded, "Come in, come in.—Come, madam.—Janey, here is Master Edward and his lady come to stay all night with us."

I cannot think without grateful tears, even now, of the warmth and delicacy with which these excellent people welcomed us. The fire was blown up, and a couple of rosy maids sent in half a dozen different ways; while the dame herself would wait on me, take off my riding gear, and smooth my hair. I was worn out with fatigue and excitement, and the dame's motherly care was too much for my self-control: I burst into a flood of tears, and sobbed so convulsively that my husband was alarmed.

"There, don't 'e mind, don't 'e mind," said the dame soothingly. "She will be all the better, poor lamb.—Bring some wine, Patience.—There, drink this, my pretty. Hush, hush, nothing shall harm thee. There, see, thou art better already."

"I am very silly," said I, making a great effort to control myself, "but I am not used to riding so far, and I am so tired."

"Yes, indeed, poor tender soul! Bed is the best place for thee, and it is all ready. Come now, let me undress thee, and don't grieve too much. All will be well."

With the greatest kindness she helped me to undress, and as soon as I was in bed, brought me a warm drink to keep me from taking cold. All this time, neither she nor her husband had asked a single question. As she bade me good-night, I held her hand for a moment.

"You must not think, dame, that my husband has done any thing wrong."

"I know, I know," she answered. "Bless you, my dear, every one knows the old squire! Master Edward has been the wonder of the country for his patience and dutifulness to the old man. There, sleep, my tender, and all will be well."

The next morning I was waked early by the singing of the birds, the crowing of the cocks, and other farmyard noises. I could hear sounds of movement below, but all quiet and subdued. I was bewildered at first, and could hardly tell where I was. The room was far more comfortable, I must say, than that we had occupied at Studley Hall. The bed-linen was snowy white, and smelled of lavender. The curtains and counterpane were of India chintz, and a fine Turkish rug lay before the bed,—odd things, I thought, to find in a farmhouse in North Devon. But I remembered that the master of the house had been a seafaring man, which probably accounted for all these luxuries. While I was studying the patterns on the hangings, I fell asleep, and did not wake till my husband called me.

"Are you rested, Dolly? Do you feel like going to church? It is not a long walk."

"I should like to go, of all things," I answered, "but, Edward, how can you endure to see that man in the desk, and breaking the consecrated bread?"

"What, Rowson? Oh, we are not in his parish!" answered Edward. "And if we were, you know, love, the unworthiness of the priest hindereth not the efficacy of the sacraments. But this is quite a different person, as you will see. I think we shall both be better for the worship, and we will try to put aside all our cares till to-morrow. 'This is the day the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.'"

We broke our fast, and then walked with our host and his family to the little church, the tower of which I had seen from my window. It was very small and very old, built of the moor-stone, and almost shrouded in great leaved ivy, but there was a beautiful carved oak chancel screen, almost black with age, and I saw with pleasure how fair and white were the altar-linen and the surplice. The vicar was an old man, of almost rustical plainness of speech and manner, but he gave us an excellent, practical discourse, suitable to the day, and administered the communion with great reverence and decency. I was rather surprised to see how many communicants there were in proportion to the size of the parish, and remarked upon the matter to Master Atkins as we were walking homeward.

"Yes, our parson has done a great deal for the parish," he answered. "'Twas but a godless place when he came here, for the last incumbent was much such another as him over yonder at Studley, only worse. But we got rid of him at last. Mr. Dean is a Devon man born and bred, and knows how to deal with the people. The worst man in the parish will pull off his hat to him, and I have known him to go single-handed and unarmed into a den of deer-stealers and broken men, break up their assembly, and persuade them from some lawless deed, by the sheer force of his presence and speech. I would the old squire had him to deal with. He would find it a different matter, I trow."

"I hope so," I answered. "I was disgusted to see Mr. Rowson sit by and say not a word, while every thing that he ought to have held sacred was blasphemed and profaned."

"Ay, that is Mr. Rowson all over. But he hath been a free liver, and I fancy the old squire hath some hold over him. 'The borrower is servant to the lender,' you know, madam."

"Well, I do wonder how my husband ever lived with his father so long," I said, rather incautiously, perhaps.

"And so do many more, madam, but in spite of his pretending to despise his son, the old gentleman has always greatly depended on Master Ned in business matters. Only for that I believe your husband would have made himself independent long ago. I fear the poor old man hath got into bad hands enough, and that Master Ned will suffer by it."

We went to evening service, and heard the school-children catechized. And I was much pleased by the way in which Mr. Dean explained the Commandments, not descending to any trivialities, but making his matter so plain that the youngest child could carry away something thereof. Master Atkins told us the rector took great interest in the school, which had an excellent woman for a dame, and that even the Dissenters in the parish sent their children to her.

I thought within myself that I would make a little treat for the children, and then remembered, with a pang, that I was not likely to have money for any such purpose. However, I reflected that I had among my things a great roll of silk pieces which I had collected for my patchwork, and I could at least make some work-bags and needle-books for the little maidens. I suppose it was childish in me, but somehow this little plan for giving pleasure to others seemed to lighten up my spirits amazingly.

The next morning, my husband called me into our bedroom from the dairy, where I was diligently learning the true Devon way of making a junket.

"I am sorry to interrupt the process of your education, Dolly, but we must needs consider our ways and means. What are we to do to live?"

"I suppose there is no use in expecting any thing from your father," said I.

"No use at all, while he is in such hands. I have never been a favorite with him, but I did think he would have kept his promise when he agreed to give me a house and an income of mine own. I never would have brought you hither else."

"Then I am glad you were mistaken," I answered, "for I would not be anywhere else for the world."

"Truly?" asked my husband, with a bright look.

"Truly," I answered. "I can frankly say, Ned, that I would rather live in a cob hut with you, than in a palace with any one else."

Here occurred an interruption to the discourse which I need not set down. But how glad I was that I could in all honesty say as much!

"But we must think what we are going to do," continued my husband. "If we had only any capital to start with, I would take 'Zechel Atkins's farm off his hands. I have no fear but I could manage it, and make eventually a good thing of it, though it would mean hard fare for a few years, and harder work than these tender little hands are used to."

"Never mind the tender little hands," said I. "They have more strength than you think for, and what I don't know, I can learn."

"But Master 'Zechel wants his money down that he may have something more to start on," continued my husband. "And beside that, I would not at any rate like to begin with a millstone of debt round my neck, nor can I well apply to your uncle. He hath done a good deal for us; and beside that, I know that he has lost enough of late seriously to embarrass him. Have you any money, Dolly?"

"I have ten pounds," said I.

"And I have twenty. So we have at least thirty pounds between us and starvation."

At this moment a thought struck me which made me jump up in a hurry. My husband looked on with surprise as I brought out my trinket-box from my mail, and began turning over its contents. At last I found what I wanted. It was the little golden egg which my poor cousin, Sir Charles, had given me on his death-bed.

"What is it?" said Ned, as I put it into his hands.

I told him its history.

"And you have never opened it," said he, turning it over. "Who shall say that women have no curiosity?"

"Nobody need say so about me, because I have a great deal," said I; "so much that I want you to open my egg directly that I may see what is in it. I don't think it will be any infraction of my promise to open it now, for surely we are in a strait, if people ever were. Only, don't break the locket if you can help. Who knows but it may be like the golden egg, which the fairy gave to the wandering princess in the story, and contain a talisman which shall help us out of all our troubles?"

"There is no need of breaking the locket," said my husband, examining it with attention. "I see how it opens."

He pressed the spring as he spoke. The egg parted in the middle, and out dropped two little parcels, carefully wrapped in silver paper, and a small, folded note.

"What have we here?" said my husband.

We each opened one of the little parcels, and were fairly dazzled by the splendor of the jewels they contained.

"Lady Jem's diamond ear-rings!" I exclaimed. "The very same that are in her portrait by Lely. My mistress always wondered what had become of them. I little thought I had them in my possession all the time."

"But what is this?" said my husband, opening the folded paper. It was a note in Sir Charles's handwriting, saying that he gave the enclosed jewels, which were his own private property, to his dear cousin, Mrs. Dorothy Corbet, to be kept by her till after her marriage, and then either worn or used by her in any way she should think proper. The note was signed by Sir Charles, and attested by the names of Dr. Clarke his physician, and Richards his confidential servant.

"That was very thoughtful of your cousin," said Ned. "Do you know these witnesses?"

"Oh, yes! Dr. Clarke is court physician, and always attended my mistress; and after his master's death, Richards married, and has a shop for gloves and perfumes in Westminster Hall. I carried my aunt thither, and she bought a great deal of him. But how much, think you, the jewels are worth, Ned?"

"More than fifty pounds apiece, if I am any judge of such matters," answered my husband. "My good friend, Master Gifford of Biddeford, will, however, have a juster notion of them, having handled many such matters in his day. We will go thither to-morrow, and stop on our way home that you may see Applecoombe for yourself; that is, if you are minded to sacrifice your splendid ear-rings."

"It will be no great sacrifice," I answered. "I never had any fondness for trinkets; and I am sure these will do me more good put into a home, than dangling from my ears, specially out here in North Devon. Only I will keep the locket, if you please, in memory of my kind cousin."

"But, Dolly, have you thought what all this means for you?" asked my husband. "Do you understand that it means hard work and plain fare and the rank of a farmer's dame? What would your aunt say?"

"I shall not ask her," said I. "What is the use of being a married woman, if I can't have mine own way?"

"You shall have your way and mine too, if you like," said Edward. "Then it is settled that we are to carry these jewels to market, and exchange them for kine and sheep and such vulgar matters."

"Even so," I answered.

"Then we will ride to Biddeford to-morrow, if you are well rested. But take care of the note, Dolly. It may save trouble some day."

Our conference was interrupted by a call to dinner; for these good folk kept to their primitive hours, and dined before eleven of the clock. The good dame treated us to all sorts of country dainties, for she was and is a famous cook. I saw with pleasure the devout way in which Master Atkins said grace, not mumbling it over like a charm against rats, as my poor uncle used to do. The meal was a very pleasant one. Master Atkins, being skilfully led on by my husband, told us some very nice tales of his travels and adventures, and of the strange superstitions of sailors, particularly of the ghostly bark called the "Flying Dutchman," which never appears but in a storm, and is doomed, for the wickedness of its captain and crew, to wander forever, without ever making a port.

"You speak rather as if you believed in this unlucky Dutchman," said my husband.

"I would not say absolutely that I do not," answered Master Atkins seriously. ¹ "We old sailors see many strange things. I could tell you of a great creature with a body like a snow wreath, fully two fathoms in length, and with a dozen snaky arms, each big enough to pull down a big fishing boat, twisting and writhing like serpents, and great staring eyes,—a horrible sight it was, I can tell you. I never wish to see it again, I am sure of that." ²

¹ One of the most intelligent sailors I ever met, a Christian man and
fairly educated, fully believed in the "Flying Dutchman."

² The great white squid, seen once in a generation by the whalers, but
never yet described by naturalists. It is considered as of evil omen.

"Hush, Willy," said his wife reprovingly. "You should not tell the young lady of such frightful creatures."

"Oh, I am not easily scared!" I said.

But the dame shook her head at her husband so meaningly that he began to talk of pleasanter things, of the beautiful birds of South America, and the great fireflies, infinitely brighter than our glow-worms, and by which one can see to read even.

"When I hear Will Atkins's stories, it revives my old longing for the sea," said my husband. "If worst comes to worst, Dolly, I can leave you with our good friends here, and ship on a Bristol trader."

"And then I will don men's attire, and follow you, like the lady in the ballad," said I. "But with such tastes, and such a home, I wonder you never ran away to sea as a boy."

"I could not leave my mother while she lived," answered Edward. "I was her only comfort, and I promised her I would stay by my father as long as it was possible. Otherwise, I would have sailed with my poor uncle, and perhaps have shared his fate."

"Why, what happened to him?" I asked.

"His vessel was taken by Barbary corsairs, and the whole crew killed, or driven into slavery. One object of my journey to the East was to try to hear some news of my uncle, but I believe, from all I can learn, that he was killed in defence of his vessel. Better so than a lifetime of Turkish slavery."

"Maybe he will turn up sometime, with a shipload of gold, as one reads of in story-books," said I; "or perhaps he is a Turk, with a long beard, smoking a great curly pipe, like the grand Turk in Mr. Chardin's travels, and with as many wives as the stars in the skies. Who knows but you might have done the same if you had gone with him?"

Edward is so sober that I do like to stir him up sometimes, just as I used to poke up my mistress's great Indian cat and make him play in spite of his grave airs. Tom Atkins has promised to bring me a pair of these same cats next time he goes to Bombay. I hope he will get them home safely. I do love a nice cat.

The next day we rode to Biddeford and visited Master Gifford, who made us very welcome, and confirmed Edward's opinion of the worth of the jewels.

"But I would you had them in Bristol," said he. "There is a very worthy man, a correspondent of mine own, who deals in these matters, and who has, I know, a commission at present to purchase a number of fine diamonds. I am going thither to-morrow. Suppose you both go with me. The sea will be like a mill-pond, but, if madam is afraid of the voyage, my wife and daughters will make her most welcome while we are away."

Madam Gifford and her pretty daughters warmly seconded the invitation, but my husband leaving the matter to me, I decided to go with him. I was not at all afraid of the sea, and I always did like to see new places.

We had a very nice voyage, though the sea was not exactly like a mill-pond. I was surprised to see Bristol such a great and busy city. And wondered, like all strangers, at the steep and narrow streets, too narrow for any thing but a dog-cart.

Master Gifford took us to a very nice inn. And, after we had eaten and rested, he led us to his correspondent the jeweller.

We found him in his shop,—a tall, nice looking man, with very black crispy hair, and pale blue eyes, which, despite their want of color, had a singularly penetrating look. I liked him the moment I saw him. When he learned the nature of our business, he led us into his private room, and bade us be seated. My husband stated his errand, and produced the jewels, which Master Davidson examined with great attention.

"How much do you conceive these stones to be worth?" said he at last.

"If they are genuine, they should be worth fifty pounds apiece at least," answered my husband.

Mr. Davidson smiled. There was a look of mild amusement in his eyes which made my heart sink fathoms deep, for I thought at once that he believed the jewels were counterfeit.

"I should say you were no great judge of such matters," said Mr. Davidson, smiling again.

I saw my husband's face change, and knew his thought was the same as my own. I felt downright sick with suspense. Mr. Davidson looked at the jewels once more, and laid them carefully down on a piece of black velvet, where they shone like stars.

"I will give you a hundred pounds apiece for these diamonds," said he deliberately. "I say not that they are not worth more, but you know I must make my profit on them."

"That is no more than right," said my husband; while I felt like crying and laughing both at once. "Then you think there is no doubt of the stones?"

"I can tell a genuine stone from the best imitation ever made," said the merchant somewhat scornfully. "Nay, put me in a dark room, and I can tell the difference by the feeling."

"How?" I asked.

"That I cannot explain to you, madam. 'Tis faculty that comes by use, and also by inheritance. My family have dealt in precious stones for many generations. These stones are not only of good size, but of very uncommonly fine lustre."

It seemed like a dream, too good to be true, when I saw the two hundred pounds counted out, and realized the fact that my poor cousin's gift had made my husband and myself independent.

Mr. Davidson would treat us to coffee and to some wonderful foreign sweetmeats, the like whereof I never saw,—rose-leaves and violets preserved in clear syrup,—and a kind of marmalade made of figs, as he told us, which came from Constantinople. He would present me with a box of the marmalade when we came away, and also with a beautiful little china coffee-cup in a silver stand which I had greatly admired.

"Well," said Master Gifford, when we had returned to the inn, "did I not keep my word, and bring you to an honest merchant?"

"Yes, indeed, and we are greatly obliged to you," said my husband.

"'Tis nothing," answered Master Gifford hastily. "I would do much more than that for your mother's son. But, Ned, if you take my advice, you will bestow this treasure in a safe place till we leave town. My good friend, Master Birch, will take care of it in his strong-room."

My husband agreed, and we went forth to find the place. Master Birch was a sugar-refiner, with whom my husband had some slight acquaintance; and nothing would do but he must show us his furnaces, and treat us to Bristol milk ¹ (which is not milk for babes, by any means) and other dainties. I wonder, by the way, if this fashion of always giving wine or strong drink to visitors will ever go out. I am sure it will be a good thing if it does. Learning that I was lately married, Master Birch presented me with three loaves of very fine sugar, for luck, as he said, promising to send them to the inn.

¹ A kind of very rich punch, for which the Bristol sugar-refiners used
to be famous.

Having thus prosperously disposed of our business, we went out to see the town, and to make some purchases which I had undertaken for Master Gifford's daughters. We were in a book-shop selecting music for the young ladies, when I heard a well-known voice at my elbow asking for Luther's Commentary on Galatians. It brought back to me at once my old life with my mistress. I turned with a start and saw Mr. Baxter, looking older and more worn than I had seen him, but as faultlessly neat and precise as ever. I don't believe even in prison his black coat ever had a speck on it.

I greeted him warmly, but he did not recognize me for a moment, till I told him who I was, when he answered me with all his old fatherly kindness.

"But you are so grown and improved, Mrs. Dolly, 'tis no wonder I did not know you," said he. "I have often wished to hear how you got on in your new relations. But I need not ask if you are happy, since your face tells its own story."

"Yes, indeed I am," I answered, "far happier than I ever hoped or deserved." And I presented to him my husband.

The stationer, seeing that we had met as old friends, kindly asked us into his private shop, and gave us seats.

"And so you are married, little Dolly," said Mr. Baxter. "It seems but a few days since you came, a shy, scared little girl of fifteen, to my Lady Corbet's service."

"I remember it well," I answered, "and how kindly you spoke to me when you found me crying in the ante-chamber."

"Ay, 'twas a hard place for a child," said Mr. Baxter musingly. "I have sometimes feared your mistress's peculiarities might set you against all religion."

"They did something toward it, I do believe," I answered, "not because she was a Presbyterian, however. I saw enough in Mr. and Mrs. Pendergast, and Mrs. Andrews, not to say yourself, Mr. Baxter, to cure me of any such notion as that, if I had ever taken it up. It was, that, while I heard my mistress make great professions of piety, I saw that her whole heart and affections were set on things of this world; and it does not seem to me possible for any one to do that and be a true Christian, whether the world take the form of money or fashion or pleasure."

"You are right, my child, and glad am I to hear such sentiments from your lips," answered Mr. Baxter, "but you were ever a gracious child.—This little wife of yours, Mr. Studley, sent her very last guinea, I do believe, for the relief of a poor prisoner, when her wealthy mistress gave—How much, Dolly?"

"Seven shillings," said I. "I can never think of Dr. Bates's face without laughing. How is the good gentleman, sir?"

"Why, well and prospering as ever."

"And my mistress: do you know aught of her and her husband? For I hear she is married again." How glad I was to be able to ask this question without a tremor!

"Oh, yes! I heard of her only this day from an old friend of yours and hers,—Mrs. Williams," said Mr. Baxter, with a look of disgust on his thin, refined face which nearly set me off laughing.

"Mrs. Williams!" I exclaimed joyfully. "Is she here, then? Where is she to be found?"

"She is not far off, seeing she lodges above stairs with Master Bridges, the stationer, and his sister," answered Mr. Baxter, smiling, "but you cannot see her now, because she has just gone out. She can tell you of your late mistress better than I can. She is an admirable woman, though she is infected with some of the heresies of the day, and no more accessible to argument than a post."

I smiled, remembering some of the ancient controversies of these two good people, and how I used to wonder what they were about.

"And what is the news in town?" asked my husband.

Mr. Baxter shook his head.

"Nothing good, sir. The Papists rear their heads more and more boldly. Popish books and trinkets are openly sold in the shops, as you see they are here also, and conversions are growing to be the mode in the fashionable world. Mr. Dryden, the poet, hath been received into the Romish Church, as hath also my Lord Sunderland."

"I don't so much wonder at Sunderland," observed my husband. "He would sell his own soul or any one else for court favor. What part does his lady take?"

"I hear that excellent lady is greatly grieved and distressed," answered Mr. Baxter. "She is, by all accounts, an admirable woman."

"She is, indeed," said I. "I have often met her at my aunt's; they are great friends. And you say many converts are being made?"

"Yes, it is the latest mode," answered Mr. Baxter dryly, "but there is no knowing how long it may last, for the king grows more and more unpopular every day, and there are ominous murmurs. I believe strange events are preparing for this nation."

"I have heard that his Majesty is inclined to show great favor to the Dissenters, and hath even promised them toleration," said my husband.

"Yes, and at what price, and for what purpose? That he may secure not only toleration, but domination, for his own sect. For the sake of that, he would indulge not only Presbyterians, but Anabaptists and Quakers and ranters of every sort," said Mr. Baxter. "We will accept of no such gift, if I know my brethren at all. But I must be going. My dearest Dolly, I am most happy to have met you again. You have a treasure in this child, Master Studley; I hope you will cherish her as she deserves. And, my children, I trust you mean to set up your household in the fear of God, and as those who must give account to him."

"I trust so, sir," answered Edward.

"It was my husband who first taught me to love God, Mr. Baxter," I said. "It was he who led the poor, tired little lamb, weary of the thorns and briars of the world, back to the fold of the Good Shepherd."

"Why, that is well, and right glad am I to hear you say so," said Mr. Baxter. He gave us his blessing, and went away just as Mrs. Williams came in.

I never was more glad to see any one in my life. We carried her to our inn, and would have her sup with us.

And my husband going out with Master Gifford, she gave me the whole story of her lady's marriage.

"And you have really left her?" said I.

"Ay, she turned me away," answered Mrs. Williams, with a tremor of the lip. "After all my years of hard and faithful service, she drove me from her because I spoke my mind concerning her intended marriage. But I could not do otherwise, so I must needs take the consequences."

"What possessed her?" said I.

"Who can tell? The spirit which sometimes does possess old women to make fools of themselves," answered Mrs. Williams, with more bitterness than ever I heard from her. "She is besotted with that wicked man, and can refuse him nothing."

"Not even money?" I asked incredulously.

"Not even money," answered Mrs. Williams. "She lavishes gold on him like water; and he takes it, rewards her with a kiss or not, as it happens, and, unless he be greatly belied, spends it in gambling and every sort of wickedness."

"Ay, we heard he was a gambler," said I. "Poor woman. She may die in an almshouse yet, as she was always predicting!"

"Likely enough, for she hath put every thing into his hands, except a few hundred pounds which Mr. Robertson has in his control, and won't give up. You ought to see her, with her dark wig and fashionable dresses, trying to look young. Bah! It makes me sick to think of it. But tell me all about yourself, my dear. This seems a very fine young gentleman you have married."

"He is, indeed," said I. "If I thanked God for nothing else, I would do so for giving him to me, and saving me from that other."

"And so you may, so you may, my dear. But about your fortunes now?"

"Our fortunes are not very flourishing, but yet I trust we may do well enough," I answered. "Take out your knitting, which I am sure you have in your pocket, and I will tell you all about it. There, now you look like yourself," (for the dear woman had pulled out her stocking, I should say the very same I had last seen in her hands). "Now you shall hear the whole, from the beginning."

I told it accordingly, with a running commentary of exclamations from my good old friend. I had hardly done, when she took me up with eagerness.

"O Mrs. Dorothy, my dear, take me to live with you! I will be worth ten hired servants to you, and ask for no wages. I have all the money I shall ever need, but oh, let me but have a home under your roof! You are very young and new to your duties, but I know all about dairy work, from the rearing of calves and lambs to the making of cream cheeses."

"Dear Mrs. Williams, I would love nothing better than to have you with me," said I. "You were my only friend after my mother died; and, had I but been guided by you, I should have been saved the great trouble of my life. But you know we shall be very poor. I do not suppose I shall be able to keep any servant, except perhaps, some little village maid who will come for her meat and clothes. And you are so accomplished: you might take a place in any nobleman's household."

"Never mind my accomplishments," said Mrs. Williams almost crossly. "They will keep, I dare say. I have no desire to go into any more great households. What I want is a quiet home for my old age, where I can be quit of the vanities of the world, and yet be of some use in it."

"You are not likely to see much of the vanities of the world in our household, seeing my husband and I have no more than two hundred and fifty pounds between us," said I. "Dear Mrs. Williams, nothing would make me happier than to have you with me, as I said, but you know I must consult my husband."

"To be sure you must. But Dolly, my dear,—I beg pardon, I should say Mrs. Studley—"

"No, you shouldn't; you should say Dolly, just as you always did," I interrupted. "But what were you going to say? You see I have not forgotten all my naughty tricks. I know how to interrupt, as you used to chide me for doing."

"Ay, I remember. I was going to ask you, my dear, whether your husband knew about Mr. Morley?"

"All about him that I know," I answered. "I told him the whole story."

"And very rightly," said Mrs. Williams, looking relieved. "These untold stories and concealments are ghosts which have risen to disturb many a married pair."

Mr. Studley coming in at the moment, I told him of Mrs. Williams's proposal. He left the matter wholly to me, and I was not long in accepting the offer. Mrs. Williams has made her home under our roof ever since, and I believe will never leave it, save for her home in Paradise.

We returned to Biddeford next day, leaving our treasure in the hands of Mr. Birch, subject to Mr. Studley's order, which we could do with great convenience, as Master 'Zechel Atkins meant to embark from Bristol. On our way home, we stopped at Applecoombe to view the farm.

"What a lovely wood," said I, as we came in sight of the place, "and so near the house."

"That is the orchard," said my husband. "Applecoombe has always been famous for its orchard. You see the house is a very old-fashioned one."

It was, indeed, being built of brick and timber, like many of the old houses in Biddeford. There was a deep porch overgrown with jessamine and passion-flower, and on either side the door grew great myrtle trees, taller than my head. There was a very pretty flower-garden,—rather a rare sight on a farm,—and every thing looked in excellent trim.

"This seems promising, does it not?" said I.

"Oh, I know the place well!" replied my husband. "I have often been over the farm with the oldest lad, who was a great playmate of mine."

"And where is he now?" I asked.

"His bones lie out yonder in the Atlantic, like those of many another friend and playmate of my youth," answered my husband. "But here comes the dame to welcome us."

And a very warm welcome she gave us, leading us into the house, and sending for her husband and sons, who were busy abroad. Of course we had to eat and drink; and then the good woman took us over the house, while Edward talked with her husband. The house, though old, as I said, was convenient and pleasant,—facing the west and south, well sheltered from the wind, and with quite a grove of walnut and sweet chestnut trees at the back. The upper rooms were a good deal pulled up, for which the dame apologized, saying she and her daughters had already begun to pack. I liked the look of the place from the first, and was glad when my husband told me he had concluded his bargain on very favorable terms.

We came over again the next day, to decide about the furniture, most of which we kept, as we had none of our own. And here I found the use of having Mrs. Williams at my elbow with her advice, for naturally I knew very little about the matter. I do think she heartily enjoyed the business of poking the feather-beds and pillows, tapping the earthenware with her knuckles, to test its soundness, and so on. I followed after her, looking as wise as I could, and holding my tongue, so as not to show my ignorance.

A bargain is soon settled when both parties are anxious for it. In less than a fortnight, Master Atkins and his family had embarked for America, with all their goods and chattels, and we entered on our new home. Very forlorn it looked, I must say, on that chilly May morning. No house looks very cheerful just after a removal. And it seemed to me that the furniture left behind, and standing about in disorder, and the litter of odds and ends of no earthly use, and too good to burn up, made the rooms more dismal than they would otherwise have been.

I did feel terribly down-hearted and discouraged at first, I must say, but I would not have shown any such feeling for the world. How glad I was to have Mrs. Williams at my elbow! Mrs. Atkins had lent me a strong, handy maiden to help me for a day or two. We all went to work with a will, and a few hours made a great difference in the appearance of things.

"Oh, it is not bad, by any means!" said Mrs. Williams cheerfully, as we sat down to rest a moment. "The house is so clean that it will be easy to get it in order. The kitchen does not look like ours, when we moved to the court end of the town. Do you remember?"

"Yes, indeed," I answered. "I wonder what Peggy would say to working in such a place,—all underground, and with the water coming in to flood the floor at high-tides, and the black beetles running all about the walls."

"Mussy!" exclaimed Peggy. "And do people live like that in London, mistress? I thought London town had been all gold and gilding."

"The gold is all on the upper side, my maid," answered Mrs. Williams; "and most of that is but gilding and base metal."

"My sister liveth in Biddeford with a merchant's lady, and I thought her kitchen was narrow enough," said Peggy, "but to live under ground, and with black beetles—mussy to gracious!"

A knock at the door averted from Peggy's head a lecture on profane swearing, which I saw hovering on Mrs. Williams's lips. She is quite a Quaker in her notions on those matters.

The visitor proved to be Master Atkins, with a great basket containing roast fowl, cream cheese, tarts, and I know not what else, for our dinners. Dame Atkins had insisted on our taking a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine with us that we need not bring scarceness on our new home by entering it empty-handed.

I sent him out to find Mr. Studley, who was busy about the barn, and we had quite a feast ready when the men came in. My husband intended to keep but one man at the house, and had been looking for someone, but had not heretofore heard of anybody to suit him. He now entered, followed by Andrew.

"You see I have found a man," said he. "Andrew is turned adrift as well as ourselves, and for our sake."

"I don't mind," said the old man, though his lip trembled. "I meant to have left at the term, anyhow. I can't abide to live under the same roof with those two. I'm not so young as I was, but I'm strong enough, and not afraid to do my day's ploughing or harvesting with any lad of them all."

(Edward told me afterward that he would have preferred a younger man, but, as Andrew had lost his place on our account, he felt bound to take him on. It seems my father-in-law was greatly enraged when he learned next day that Andrew had attended us to the farm, and turned him away without ceremony, though he had lived in the family all his life).

"But, indeed, he groweth worse and worse," said Andrew, concluding his tale. "He is like one possessed with the Evil One, drinking, swearing, and blaspheming from morning till night, and almost from night till morning, and Kirton egging him on to drink more and more all the time. 'Tis my belief that the poor old gentleman will not stand it long, and that they are trying to get him out of the way."

"But I should think that he would see for himself that so much drink is hurtful to him," said I, while Edward went into the outer kitchen to wash his hands.

Master Atkins shook his head.