A wit’s a feather, and a chief a rod,
An honest man’s the noblest work of God. —Pove.
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. —Gray.
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
A man’s a man for a’ that. —Burns.
The room into which Mr. Herman ushered his guests apparently occupied about half of the lower floor, and was employed indiscriminately for a kitchen, sitting-room and parlor. A huge fire-place, with a high-backed settle inside, occupied a considerable portion of one side of the apartment, the rest of the space being filled up with a cupboard to the right and a staircase to the left. There was no carpet on the floor, but the boards were scrubbed to a snowy whiteness; and a pine dough-trough which stood under one of the windows, was also as white as rubbing could make it. The whole aspect of the place indicated, in fact, the most scrupulous neatness. The good wife herself was a pattern of tidiness. Although it was not yet noon, and her day’s work, therefore, was but half over, she advanced to receive her visitors in a clean apron and cap, which, in the single minute left her for preparation, she had managed to snatch from their repose in one of her lavender-scented drawers. A cheerful, motherly face was that of Mrs. Herman, such a one as made a visitor feel at home immediately.
Her husband was of medium height and strongly built, but looked smaller than he really was, in consequence of a slight stoop which he had contracted. In sitting, however, this partial deformity added to the habitual thoughtfulness of his aspect. The head, covered with thin, patriarchal gray hair, in which a few threads of a darker color still remained, was large and squarely shaped, with a jaw indicative of a great decision of character, and expanding above into a square, solid brow, in which the reflective faculties were largely developed. It was not without meaning, so Major Gordon thought, that Kate had called him a natural-born philosopher. His face in repose looked severe to sternness, especially as age had begun to wrinkle it; but when he spoke, his blue eye brightened, and a pleasant cheerfulness, which yet rarely amounted to a smile, diffused itself over his countenance. His manner, in acknowledging his introduction to the Major, partook something of shyness. But before the interview was over, his guest decided that, though a man of reserved habits, he was nevertheless quick to observe and reflect, and that a warm heart beat within his bosom, full of genial benevolence to his race, and glowing with sweet domestic affections.
“I declare,” said his good dame, dusting a split-bottomed chair, which Major Gordon thought already clean to a miracle, and looking apologetically towards Kate, while she tendered it to the handsome officer, “if I had known anybody had been coming, I’d a had things more in sorts.”
“There, mother,” said the husband, quizzically, “Miss Katie knows you well enough not to need an apology. It’s true,” he continued, with dry humor, glancing about the scrupulously neat apartment, “if we had a shovel here, we might pitch some of the dirt out; but since that can’t be done, our friends will make the best of things, I hope, and not be too severe on us.”
“Father will talk,” said the dame, apologetically, a little disconcerted; “he’s no better, Miss Katie, than when yon left, you see.”
“No, I really come into my own house sometimes,” rejoined Mr. Herman, his eye twinkling with laughter, though still good-humoredly, “without taking off my shoes. I’d like to see the boys do it, however,” he added, with a pleasant laugh.
“Mrs. Herman makes me always ashamed of our housekeeping at Sweetwater,” said Kate, with tact.