The Sagamore of Saco was no ordinary man, and the men of the times felt it. Tradition is yet rife with legends of his great beauty, his tall, manly physique, like that of the handsome King of Israel, head and shoulders overtopping the rest of the people, while his lonely but unfrequent smile wore the power of fascination.
CHAPTER XIII.
A LIKING FOR MISERY.
Mistress Bonyton at length found repose where the weary are at rest, and Nancy gave her hand, in due time, to the godly youth, Ephraim Higgins, who, stimulated by his wife, made many ambitious attempts at public prayer and exhortation, but, being deficient in that fervor or ostentation of character essential to “freedom of utterance,” our Ephraim was fain to give over these public aspirations, and content himself with the “amen,” which marked his indorsement of the sayings of others. If the truth must be told, Nancy not unfrequently nudged him to hold his peace even in this, because of the said amen having fallen in the wrong quarter, to the no little mortification of his wife.
Perseverance was a rose so guarded with thorns, that no man had the courage to pluck it, and she may have sometimes caused Nancy some discomfort by alluding to persons and events which might as well have been buried in oblivion. For instance, she was fond of marking an event thus:
“This happened when your Ephraim, the great goose, was spoonying about Hope Vines. Never shall I forget, Nancy, how he used to stand with his finger in his mouth—no, his thumb in his mouth—looking after that girl.”
“What do you think became of Hope?” asked Nancy Higgins, ignoring the spiteful remark of her sister.
“I believe Satan carried her off bodily. I no more believe that she was stolen by the Indians, than I believe that brother Ephe will set the world afire.”
“Never you mind my Ephe; it’s easy to cry sour grapes. When you get your man we shall see—we shall see!”