“Give me neither beggary nor riches: lest perhaps being filled, I should be tempted to deny, and say: Who is the Lord? or being compelled by poverty, I should steal, and forswear the name of my God.”
What a happy hour this evening hour was! Sometimes Mr. Willey would tell the young ones a story; and when he began, what a scramble there was for his knees! Sometimes he would look over the columns of the Prairie Farmer, gleaning therefrom useful hints for his vocation. While he was thus occupied his wife would read aloud to the children. But she did not select anything from a silly dime novel or illustrated paper, but generally something in Washington Irving’s Sketch-Book, or one of Cooper’s tales; and let us say that the tale they all liked best was The Pioneers.
“I am glad you enjoyed your visit to grandpa,” spoke Mrs. Willey one morning, as she rested awhile at the churn.
“Oh! ever so much,” answered Mabel, who, with sleeves rolled up, was busy skimming cream. “But I forgot to tell you, mother, that a few days before I left him there came to the house, at a rather early hour, a young gentleman and lady from one of the hotels in North Conway. They had strolled up Wild-cat Run, which, you know, winds almost round grandpa’s home, and had become engaged to each other on the way. I told them it was quite romantic. The girl was stylish-looking, but didn’t appear to be strong; her face was like wax-work, and her dress was made in such a fashion that I think she must have found it hard work to breathe. But she was exceedingly polite, and I was quite taken with her before we parted. The young gentleman likewise was a very pleasant fellow, and much better-looking, too, than she was. I judged by his hands that he has never done any work in his life, and his moustache was twisted and curled in the most coquettish way imaginable—just like this.” Here Mabel put her fingers to her upper lip, then twirled them round and round to Mrs. Willey’s great amusement.
“But what I want most to speak of,” she continued, “is the big beech-tree.” Mabel now proceeded to tell how Harry had carved his name and Kitty’s upon it, and how she had discovered the names of Harry Fletcher and Mabel Willey upon the same tree in letters barely legible.
“O child!” exclaimed her mother, when she was done speaking, “you cannot imagine how vividly my girlish days come back upon my memory when you speak of that old beech. Yes, I can see Harry Fletcher cutting his name and mine upon it just as plainly as if it were yesterday. A handsome fellow was Harry. He wanted me to be his wife. I did not dislike him—no, indeed. We were good friends; we sat side by side at school; we picked huckleberries together. Many folks thought I should marry him. But there was another young man courting me, one who bore the same name as myself, though no relation; and one day we all three met, and my lovers agreed that I should then and there decide which of them I’d choose. And ’twas your father, Mabel, who won me; nor have I ever for a single moment regretted my choice. Yet Harry Fletcher was a brave, generous fellow, very smart, too, and I have often wondered what became of him. All I know is that soon after I refused him he quitted our part of the country to seek his fortune elsewhere.”
“Right, wife, right! A splendid fellow!” cried Mr. Willey, entering the dairy to get a cup of milk. “Why, I was thinking about him myself only a few minutes ago while I was looking at our corn—and a fine crop it’s going to be, a mighty fine crop. And I wondered whether Harry, if he is still in the land of the living, has a farm like ours and a snug log-house to shelter him. Many things may happen in the length of time since he and I parted; this world has many ups and downs—it’s a regular seesaw.”
After talking awhile about Harry Fletcher Farmer Willey said: “Come, wife, let’s take a row; and I’ll bring my rod along and catch a mess of black bass for supper.” Mrs. Willey, who liked to see her husband play as well as work, gladly assented. They did not fish much, however, for the skiff was long and broad and leaked never a drop; and the six happy children went a-rowing too. It did your eyes good to look at them, and your ears good, too, to hear them—so healthy and strong and rollicksome they were; dipping their hands in the water, sprinkling each other’s faces, singing, laughing; and finally barefooted Dick, who was ten years old, wittingly tumbled overboard and played fish around the boat—the boy could swim like a fish—to the great amusement of his brothers and sisters.
Three months after this pleasant excursion on the river Mabel found herself again in New Hampshire. The truth is her grandfather, whose feelings had been much wrought upon by the visit she had paid him in summer, could not bear to be separated any longer from those whom he loved, and, moreover, he was of an age when farm-labor was getting rather irksome. Accordingly, he had written to Mrs. Willey, telling her that he wished to spend the rest of his days in Illinois, and begged that he might have the company of young Mabel in the long, tiresome journey to the West. “For she is a bright girl,” he said, “and can take charge of me and my trunk, and of herself too.”
So Mabel, who, fond as she was of home, was not averse to seeing a little of the world, went to fetch her grandfather; and now in October we find her passing with him through the city of New York.