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The Joy of Nelly Deane
By Willa Cather
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Nell and I were almost ready to go on for the last act of
Queen Esther, and we had for the moment got rid of
our three patient dressers, Mrs. Dow, Mrs. Freeze, and Mrs.
Spinny. Nell was peering over my shoulder into the little
cracked looking-glass that Mrs. Dow had taken from its nail
on her kitchen wall and brought down to the church under
her shawl that morning. When she realized that we were
alone, Nell whispered to me in the quick, fierce way she had:
Say, Peggy, wont you go up and stay with me to-night?
Scott Spinnys asked to take me home, and I dont want to
walk up with him alone.
I guess so, if youll ask my mother.
Oh, Ill fix her! Nell laughed, with a toss of her head
which meant that she usually got what she wanted, even from
people much less tractable than my mother.
In a moment our tiring-women were back again. The three
old ladiesat least they seemed old to usfluttered about
us, more agitated than we were ourselves. It seemed as
though they would never leave off patting Nell and touching
her up. They kept trying things this way and that, never able
in the end to decide which way was best. They wouldnt hear
to her using rouge, and as they powdered her neck and arms,
Mrs. Freeze murmured that she hoped we wouldnt get into
the habit of using such things. Mrs. Spinny divided her time
between pulling up and tucking down the illusion that filled
in the square neck of Nellys dress. She didnt like things
much low, she said; but after she had pulled it up, she stood
back and looked at Nell thoughtfully through her glasses.
While the excited girl was reaching for this and that, buttoning
a slipper, pinning down a curl, Mrs. Spinnys smile softened
more and more until, just before Esther made her
entrance, the old lady tiptoed up to her and softly tucked the
illusion down as far as it would go.
Shes so pink; it seems a pity not, she whispered apologetically
to Mrs. Dow.
Every one admitted that Nelly was the prettiest girl in
Riverbend, and the gayestoh, the gayest! When she was
not singing, she was laughing. When she was not laid up with
a broken arm, the outcome of a foolhardy coasting feat, or
suspended from school because she ran away at recess to go
buggy-riding with Guy Franklin, she was sure to be up to
mischief of some sort. Twice she broke through the ice and
got soused in the river because she never looked where she
skated or cared what happened so long as she went fast
enough. After the second of these duckings our three dressers
declared that she was trying to be a Baptist despite herself.
Mrs. Spinny and Mrs. Freeze and Mrs. Dow, who were
always hovering about Nelly, often whispered to me their
hope that she would eventually come into our church and not
go with the Methodists; her family were Wesleyans. But to
me these artless plans of theirs never wholly explained their
watchful affection. They had good daughters themselves,except
Mrs. Spinny, who had only the sullen Scott,and
they loved their plain girls and thanked God for them. But
they loved Nelly differently. They were proud of her pretty
figure and yellow-brown eyes, which dilated so easily and
sparkled with a kind of golden effervescence. They were always
making pretty things for her, always coaxing her to
come to the sewing-circle, where she knotted her thread, and
put in the wrong sleeve, and laughed and chattered and said a
great many things that she should not have said, and somehow
always warmed their hearts. I think they loved her for
her unquenchable joy.
All the Baptist ladies liked Nell, even those who criticized
her most severely, but the three who were first in fighting the
battles of our little church, who held it together by their
prayers and the labor of their hands, watched over her as they
did over Mrs. Dows century-plant before it blossomed. They
looked for her on Sunday morning and smiled at her as she
hurried, always a little late, up to the choir. When she rose
and stood behind the organ and sang There Is a Green
Hill, one could see Mrs. Dow and Mrs. Freeze settle back in
their accustomed seats and look up at her as if she had just
come from that hill and had brought them glad tidings.
It was because I sang contralto, or, as we said, alto, in the
Baptist choir that Nell and I became friends. She was so gay
and grown up, so busy with parties and dances and picnics,
that I would scarcely have seen much of her had we not sung
together. She liked me better than she did any of the older
girls, who tried clumsily to be like her, and I felt almost as
solicitous and admiring as did Mrs. Dow and Mrs. Spinny. I
think even then I must have loved to see her bloom and glow,
and I loved to hear her sing, in The Ninety and Nine,
But one was out on the hills away
in her sweet, strong voice. Nell had never had a singing lesson,
but she had sung from the time she could talk, and Mrs.
Dow used fondly to say that it was singing so much that
made her figure so pretty.
After I went into the choir it was found to be easier to get
Nelly to choir practice. If I stopped outside her gate on my
way to church and coaxed her, she usually laughed, ran in for
her hat and jacket, and went along with me. The three old
ladies fostered our friendship, and because I was quiet, they
esteemed me a good influence for Nelly. This view was propounded
in a sewing-circle discussion and, leaking down to
us through our mothers, greatly amused us. Dear old ladies!
It was so manifestly for what Nell was that they loved her,
and yet they were always looking for influences to change
her.
The Queen Esther performance had cost us three months
of hard practice, and it was not easy to keep Nell up to attending
the tedious rehearsals. Some of the boys we knew
were in the chorus of Assyrian youths, but the solo cast was
made up of older people, and Nell found them very poky. We
gave the cantata in the Baptist church on Christmas eve, to a
crowded house, as the Riverbend Messenger truly chronicled.
The country folk for miles about had come in through a
deep snow, and their teams and wagons stood in a long row
at the hitch-bars on each side of the church door. It was certainly
Nellys night, for however much the tenorhe was
her schoolmaster, and naturally thought poorly of hermight
try to eclipse her in his dolorous solos about the rivers
of Babylon, there could be no doubt as to whom the people
had come to hearand to see.
After the performance was over, our fathers and mothers
came back to the dressing-roomsthe little rooms behind
the baptistry where the candidates for baptism were robedto
congratulate us, and Nell persuaded my mother to let
me go home with her. This arrangement may not have been
wholly agreeable to Scott Spinny, who stood glumly waiting
at the baptistry door; though I used to think he dogged Nells
steps not so much for any pleasure he got from being with
her as for the pleasure of keeping other people away. Dear
little Mrs. Spinny was perpetually in a state of humiliation on
account of his bad manners, and she tried by a very special
tenderness to make up to Nelly for the remissness of her ungracious
son.
Scott was a spare, muscular fellow, good-looking, but with
a face so set and dark that I used to think it very like the
castings he sold. He was taciturn and domineering, and Nell
rather liked to provoke him. Her father was so easy with her
that she seemed to enjoy being ordered about now and then.
That night, when every one was praising her and telling her
how well she sang and how pretty she looked, Scott only said,
as we came out of the dressing-room:
Have you got your high shoes on?
No; but Ive got rubbers on over my low ones. Mother
doesnt care.
Well, you just go back and put em on as fast as you can.
Nell made a face at him and ran back, laughing. Her
mother, fat, comfortable Mrs. Deane, was immensely amused
at this.
Thats right, Scott, she chuckled. You can do enough
more with her than I can. She walks right over me an Jud.
Scott grinned. If he was proud of Nelly, the last thing he
wished to do was to show it. When she came back he began
to nag again. What are you going to do with all those flowers?
Theyll freeze stiff as pokers.
Well, there wont none of your flowers freeze, Scott
Spinny, so there! Nell snapped. She had the best of him that
time, and the Assyrian youths rejoiced. They were most of
them high-school boys, and the poorest of them had chipped
in and sent all the way to Denver for Queen Esthers flowers.
There were bouquets from half a dozen townspeople, too, but
none from Scott. Scott was a prosperous hardware merchant
and notoriously penurious, though he saved his face, as the
boys said, by giving liberally to the church.
Theres no use freezing the fool things, anyhow. You get
me some newspapers, and Ill wrap em up. Scott took
from his pocket a folded copy of the Riverbend Messenger
and began laboriously to wrap up one of the bouquets.
When we left the church door he bore three large newspaper
bundles, carrying them as carefully as if they had been so
many newly frosted wedding-cakes, and left Nell and me to
shift for ourselves as we floundered along the snow-burdened
sidewalk.
Although it was after midnight, lights were shining from
many of the little wooden houses, and the roofs and shrubbery
were so deep in snow that Riverbend looked as if it had
been tucked down into a warm bed. The companies of
people, all coming from church, tramping this way and that
toward their homes and calling Good night and Merry
Christmas as they parted company, all seemed to us very unusual
and exciting.
When we got home, Mrs. Deane had a cold supper ready,
and Jud Deane had already taken off his shoes and fallen to on
his fried chicken and pie. He was so proud of his pretty
daughter that he must give her her Christmas presents then
and there, and he went into the sleeping-chamber behind the
dining-room and from the depths of his wifes closet brought
out a short sealskin jacket and a round cap and made Nelly
put them on.
Mrs. Deane, who sat busy between a plate of spice cake and
a tray piled with her famous whipped-cream tarts, laughed
inordinately at his behavior.
Aint he worse than any kid you ever see? Hes been running
to that closet like a cat shut away from her kittens. I
wonder Nell aint caught on before this. I did think hed
make out now to keep em till Christmas morning; but hes
never made out to keep anything yet.
That was true enough, and fortunately Juds inability to
keep anything seemed always to present a highly humorous
aspect to his wife. Mrs. Deane put her heart into her cooking,
and said that so long as a man was a good provider she had
no cause to complain. Other people were not so charitable
toward Juds failing. I remember how many strictures were
passed upon that little sealskin and how he was censured for
his extravagance. But what a public-spirited thing, after all, it
was for him to do! How, the winter through, we all enjoyed
seeing Nell skating on the river or running about the town
with the brown collar turned up about her bright cheeks and
her hair blowing out from under the round cap! No seal,
Mrs. Dow said, would have begrudged it to her. Why
should we? This was at the sewing-circle, when the new coat
was under grave discussion.
At last Nelly and I got up-stairs and undressed, and the pad
of Juds slippered feet about the kitchen premiseswhere he
was carrying up from the cellar things that might freezeceased.
He called Good night, daughter, from the foot of
the stairs, and the house grew quiet. But one is not a prima
donna the first time for nothing, and it seemed as if we could
not go to bed. Our light must have burned long after every
other in Riverbend was out. The muslin curtains of Nells bed
were drawn back; Mrs. Deane had turned down the white
counterpane and taken off the shams and smoothed the pillows
for us. But their fair plumpness offered no temptation to
two such hot young heads. We could not let go of life even
for a little while. We sat and talked in Nells cozy room, where
there was a tiny, white fur rugthe only one in Riverbendbefore
the bed; and there were white sash curtains, and the
prettiest little desk and dressing-table I had ever seen. It was a
warm, gay little room, flooded all day long with sunlight
from east and south windows that had climbing-roses all
about them in summer. About the dresser were photographs
of adoring high-school boys; and one of Guy Franklin, much
groomed and barbered, in a dress-coat and a boutonniere. I
never liked to see that photograph there. The home boys
looked properly modest and bashful on the dresser, but he
seemed to be staring impudently all the time.
I knew nothing definite against Guy, but in Riverbend all
traveling-men were considered worldly and wicked. He
traveled for a Chicago dry-goods firm, and our fathers didnt
like him because he put extravagant ideas into our mothers
heads. He had very smooth and nattering ways, and he introduced
into our simple community a great variety of perfumes
and scented soaps, and he always reminded me of the merchants
in Casar, who brought into Gaul those things which
effeminate the mind, as we translated that delightfully easy
passage.
Nell was silting before the dressing-table in her nightgown,
holding the new fur coat and rubbing her cheek against it,
when I saw a sudden gleam of tears in her eyes. You know,
Peggy, she said in her quick, impetuous way, this makes me
feel bad. Ive got a secret from my daddy.
I can see her now, so pink and eager, her brown hair in two
springy braids down her back, and her eyes shining with tears
and with something even softer and more tremulous.
Im engaged, Peggy, she whispered, really and truly.
She leaned forward, unbuttoning her nightgown, and there
on her breast, hung by a little gold chain about her neck, was
a diamond ringGuy Franklins solitaire; every one in Riverbend
knew it well.
Im going to live in Chicago, and take singing lessons,
and go to operas, and do all those nice thingsoh, everything!
I know you dont like him, Peggy, but you know you
are a kid. Youll see how it is yourself when you grow up.
Hes so different from our boys, and hes just terribly in love
with me. And then, Peggy,flushing all down over her soft
shoulders,Im awfully fond of him, too. Awfully.
Are you, Nell, truly? I whispered. She seemed so changed
to me by the warm light in her eyes and that delicate suffusion
of color. I felt as I did when I got up early on picnic
mornings in summer, and saw the dawn come up in the
breathless sky above the river meadows and make all the cornfields
golden.
Sure I do, Peggy; dont look so solemn. Its nothing to
look that way about, kid. Its nice. She threw her arms about
me suddenly and hugged me.
I hate to think about your going so far away from us all,
Nell.
Oh, youll love to come and visit me. Just you wait.
She began breathlessly to go over things Guy Franklin had
told her about Chicago, until I seemed to see it all looming
up out there under the stars that kept watch over our little
sleeping town. We had neither of us ever been to a city, but
we knew what it would be like. We heard it throbbing like
great engines, and calling to us, that far-away world. Even
after we had opened the windows and scurried into bed, we
seemed to feel a pulsation across all the miles of snow. The
winter silence trembled with it, and the air was full of something
new that seemed to break over us in soft waves. In that
snug, warm little bed I had a sense of imminent change and
danger. I was somehow afraid for Nelly when I heard her
breathing so quickly beside me, and I put my arm about her
protectingly as we drifted toward sleep.
In the following spring we were both graduated from the
Riverbend high school, and I went away to college. My family
moved to Denver, and during the next four years I heard
very little of Nelly Deane. My life was crowded with new
people and new experiences, and I am afraid I held her little
in mind. I heard indirectly that Jud Deane had lost what little
property he owned in a luckless venture in Cripple Creek, and
that he had been able to keep his house in Riverbend only
through the clemency of his creditors. Guy Franklin had his
route changed and did not go to Riverbend any more. He
married the daughter of a rich cattle-man out near Long Pine,
and ran a dry-goods store of his own. Mrs. Dow wrote me a
long letter about once a year, and in one of these she told me
that Nelly was teaching in the sixth grade in the Riverbend
school.
Dear Nelly does not like teaching very well. The children
try her, and she is so pretty it seems a pity for her to be tied
down to uncongenial employment. Scott is still very attentive,
and I have noticed him look up at the window of Nellys
room in a very determined way as he goes home to dinner.
Scott continues prosperous; he has made money during these
hard times and now owns both our hardware stores. He is
close, but a very honorable fellow. Nelly seems to hold off,
but I think Mrs. Spinny has hopes. Nothing would please her
more. If Scott were more careful about his appearance, it
would help. He of course gets black about his business, and
Nelly, you know, is very dainty. People do say his mother
does his courting for him, she is so eager. If only Scott does
not turn out hard and penurious like his father! We must all
have our schooling in this life, but I dont want Nellys to be
too severe. She is a dear girl, and keeps her color.
Mrs. Dows own schooling had been none too easy. Her
husband had long been crippled with rheumatism, and was
bitter and faultfinding. Her daughters had married poorly,
and one of her sons had fallen into evil ways. But her letters
were always cheerful, and in one of them she gently remonstrated
with me because I seemed inclined to take a sad view
of life.
In the winter vacation of my senior year I stopped on my
way home to visit Mrs. Dow. The first thing she told me
when I got into her old buckboard at the station was that
Scott had at last prevailed, and that Nelly was to marry him
in the spring. As a preliminary step, Nelly was about to join
the Baptist church. Just think, you will be here for her baptizing!
How that will please Nelly! She is to be immersed to-morrow night.
I met Scott Spinny in the post-office that morning, and he
gave me a hard grip with one black hand. There was something
grim and saturnine about his powerful body and
bearded face and his strong, cold hands. I wondered what
perverse fate had driven him for eight years to dog the footsteps
of a girl whose charm was due to qualities naturally distasteful
to him. It still seems strange to me that in easy-going
Riverbend, where there were so many boys who could have
lived contentedly enough with my little grasshopper, it was
the pushing ant who must have her and all her careless ways.
By a kind of unformulated etiquette one did not call upon
candidates for baptism on the day of the ceremony, so I had
my first glimpse of Nelly that evening. The baptistry was a
cemented pit directly under the pulpit rostrum, over which
we had our stage when we sang Queen Esther. I sat
through the sermon somewhat nervously. After the minister,
in his long, black gown, had gone down into the water and
the choir had finished singing, the door from the dressing-room
opened, and, led by one of the deacons, Nelly came
down the steps into the pool. Oh, she looked so little and
meek and chastened! Her white cashmere robe clung about
her, and her brown hair was brushed straight back and hung
in two soft braids from a little head bent humbly. As she
stepped down into the water I shivered with the cold of it,
and I remembered sharply how much I had loved her. She
went down until the water was well above her waist, and
stood white and small, with her hands crossed on her breast,
while the minister said the words about being buried with
Christ in baptism. Then, lying in his arm, she disappeared
under the dark water. It will be like that when she dies, I
thought, and a quick pain caught my heart. The choir began
to sing Washed in the Blood of the Lamb as she rose again,
the door behind the baptistry opened, revealing those three
dear guardians, Mrs. Dow, Mrs. Freeze, and Mrs. Spinny,
and she went up into their arms.
I went to see Nell next day, up in the little room of many
memories. Such a sad, sad visit! She seemed changeda little
embarrassed and quietly despairing. We talked of many of the
old Riverbend girls and boys, but she did not mention Guy
Franklin or Scott Spinny, except to say that her father had got
work in Scotts hardware store. She begged me, putting her
hands on my shoulders with something of her old impulsiveness,
to come and stay a few days with her. But I was afraidafraid
of what she might tell me and of what I might say.
When I sat in that room with all her trinkets, the foolish harvest
of her girlhood, lying about, and the white curtains
and the little white rug, I thought of Scott Spinny with positive
terror and could feel his hard grip on my hand again. I
made the best excuse I could about having to hurry on to
Denver; but she gave me one quick look, and her eyes ceased
to plead. I saw that she understood me perfectly. We had
known each other so well. Just once, when I got up to go and
had trouble with my veil, she laughed her old merry laugh
and told me there were some things I would never learn, for
all my schooling.
The next day, when Mrs. Dow drove me down to the
station to catch the morning train for Denver, I saw Nelly
hurrying to school with several books under her arm. She
had been working up her lessons at home, I thought. She was
never quick at her books, dear Nell.
It was ten years before I again visited Riverbend. I had
been in Rome for a long time, and had fallen into bitter
homesickness. One morning, sitting among the dahlias and
asters that bloom so bravely upon those gigantic heaps of
earth-red ruins that were once the palaces of the Casars, I
broke the seal of one of Mrs. Dows long yearly letters. It
brought so much sad news that I resolved then and there to
go home to Riverbend, the only place that had ever really
been home to me. Mrs. Dow wrote me that her husband,
after years of illness, had died in the cold spell last March. So
good and patient toward the last, she wrote, and so afraid
of giving extra trouble. There was another thing she saved
until the last. She wrote on and on, dear woman, about new
babies and village improvements, as if she could not bear to
tell me; and then it came:
You will be sad to hear that two months ago our dear
Nelly left us. It was a terrible blow to us all. I cannot write
about it yet, I fear. I wake up every morning feeling that I
ought to go to her. She went three days after her little boy
was born. The baby is a fine child and will live, I think, in
spite of everything. He and her little girl, now eight years old,
whom she named Margaret, after you, have gone to Mrs.
Spinnys. She loves them more than if they were her own. It
seems as if already they had made her quite young again. I
wish you could see Nellys children.
Ah, that was what I wanted, to see Nellys children! The
wish came aching from my heart along with the bitter homesick
tears; along with a quick, torturing recollection that
flashed upon me, as I looked about and tried to collect myself,
of how we two had sat in our sunny seat in the corner of the
old bare school-room one September afternoon and learned
the names of the seven hills together. In that place, at that
moment, after so many years, how it all came back to methe
warm sun on my back, the chattering girl beside me, the
curly hair, the laughing yellow eyes, the stubby little finger on
the page! I felt as if even then, when we sat in the sun with
our heads together, it was all arranged, written out like a
story, that at this moment I should be sitting among the
crumbling bricks and drying grass, and she should be lying in
the place I knew so well, on that green hill far away.
Mrs. Dow sat with her Christmas sewing in the familiar
sitting-room, where the carpet and the wall-paper and the
table-cover had all faded into soft, dull colors, and even the
chromo of Hagar and Ishmael had been toned to the sobriety
of age. In the bay-window the tall wire flower-stand still bore
its little terraces of potted plants, and the big fuchsia and the
Martha Washington geranium had blossomed for Christmas-tide.
Mrs. Dow herself did not look greatly changed to me.
Her hair, thin ever since I could remember it, was now quite
white, but her spare, wiry little person had all its old activity,
and her eyes gleamed with the old friendliness behind her
silver-bowed glasses. Her gray house-dress seemed just like
those she used to wear when I ran in after school to take her
angel-food cake down to the church supper.
The house sat on a hill, and from behind the geraniums I
could see pretty much all of Riverbend, tucked down in the
soft snow, and the air above was full of big, loose flakes, falling
from a gray sky which betokened settled weather. Indoors
the hard-coal burner made a tropical temperature, and glowed
a warm orange from its isinglass sides. We sat and visited, the
two of us, with a great sense of comfort and completeness. I
had reached Riverbend only that morning, and Mrs. Dow,
who had been haunted by thoughts of shipwreck and suffering
upon wintry seas, kept urging me to draw nearer to the
fire and suggesting incidental refreshment. We had chattered
all through the winter morning and most of the afternoon,
taking up one after another of the Riverbend girls and boys,
and agreeing that we had reason to be well satisfied with most
of them. Finally, after a long pause in which I had listened to
the contented ticking of the clock and the crackle of the coal,
I put the question I had until then held back:
And now, Mrs. Dow, tell me about the one we loved best
of all. Since I got your letter Ive thought of her every day.
Tell me all about Scott and Nelly.
The tears flashed behind her glasses, and she smoothed the
little pink bag on her knee.
Well, dear, Im afraid Scott proved to be a hard man, like
his father. But we must remember that Nelly always had Mrs.
Spinny. I never saw anything like the love there was between
those two. After Nelly lost her own father and mother, she
looked to Mrs. Spinny for everything. When Scott was too
unreasonable, his mother could most always prevail upon
him. She never lifted a hand to fight her own battles with
Scotts father, but she was never afraid to speak up for Nelly.
And then Nelly took great comfort of her little girl. Such a
lovely child!
Had she been very ill before the little baby came?
No, Margaret; Im afraid t was all because they had the
wrong doctor. I feel confident that either Doctor Tom or
Doctor Jones could have brought her through. But, you see,
Scott had offended them both, and theyd stopped trading at
his store, so he would have young Doctor Fox, a boy just out
of college and a stranger. He got scared and didnt know
what to do. Mrs. Spinny felt he wasnt doing right, so she
sent for Mrs. Freeze and me. It seemed like Nelly had got
discouraged. Scott would move into their big new house before
the plastering was dry, and though t was summer, she
had taken a terrible cold that seemed to have drained her, and
she took no interest in fixing the place up. Mrs. Spinny had
been down with her back again and wasnt able to help, and
things was just anyway. We wont talk about that, Margaret; I
think t would hurt Mrs. Spinny to have you know. She
nearly died of mortification when she sent for us, and blamed
her poor back. We did get Nelly fixed up nicely before she
died. I prevailed upon Doctor Tom to come in at the last, and
it most broke his heart. Why, Mis Dow, he said, if youd
only have come and told me how t was, Id have come and
carried her right off in my arms.
Oh, Mrs. Dow, I cried, then it neednt have been?
Mrs. Dow dropped her needle and clasped her hands
quickly. We mustnt look at it that way, dear, she said tremulously
and a little sternly; we mustnt let ourselves. We
must just feel that our Lord wanted her then, and took her to
Himself. When it was all over, she did look so like a child of
God, young and trusting, like she did on her baptizing night,
you remember?
I felt that Mrs. Dow did not want to talk any more about
Nelly then, and, indeed, I had little heart to listen; so I told
her I would go for a walk, and suggested that I might stop at
Mrs. Spinnys to see the children.
Mrs. Dow looked up thoughtfully at the clock. I doubt if
youll find little Margaret there now. Its half-past four, and
shell have been out of school an hour and more. Shell be
most likely coasting on Luptons Hill. She usually makes for it
with her sled the minute she is out of the school-house door.
You know, its the old hill where you all used to slide. If you
stop in at the church about six oclock, youll likely find Mrs.
Spinny there with the baby. I promised to go down and help
Mrs. Freeze finish up the tree, and Mrs. Spinny said shed run
in with the baby, if t wasnt too bitter. She wont leave him
alone with the Swede girl. Shes like a young woman with
her first.
Luptons Hill was at the other end of town, and when I got
there the dusk was thickening, drawing blue shadows over the
snowy fields. There were perhaps twenty children creeping up
the hill or whizzing down the packed sled-track. When I had
been watching them for some minutes, I heard a lusty shout,
and a little red sled shot past me into the deep snow-drift
beyond. The child was quite buried for a moment, then she
struggled out and stood dusting the snow from her short coat
and red woolen comforter. She wore a brown fur cap, which
was too big for her and of an old-fashioned shape, such as
girls wore long ago, but I would have known her without the
cap. Mrs. Dow had said a beautiful child, and there would
not be two like this in Riverbend. She was off before I had
time to speak to her, going up the hill at a trot, her sturdy
little legs plowing through the trampled snow. When she
reached the top she never paused to take breath, but threw
herself upon her sled and came down with a whoop that was
quenched only by the deep drift at the end.
Are you Margaret Spinny? I asked as she struggled out in
a cloud of snow.
Yes, m. She approached me with frank curiosity, pulling
her little sled behind her. Are you the strange lady staying at
Mrs. Dows? I nodded, and she began to look my clothes
over with respectful interest.
Your grandmother is to be at the church at six oclock,
isnt she?
Yes, m.
Well, suppose we walk up there now. Its nearly six, and
all the other children are going home. She hesitated, and
looked up at the faintly gleaming track on the hill-slope. Do
you want another slide? Is that it? I asked.
Do you mind? she asked shyly.
No. Ill wait for you. Take your time; dont run.
Two little boys were still hanging about the slide, and they
cheered her as she came down, her comforter streaming in the
wind.
Now, she announced, getting up out of the drift, Ill
show you where the church is.
Shall I tie your comforter again?
No, m, thanks. Im plenty warm. She put her mittened
hand confidingly in mine and trudged along beside me.
Mrs. Dow must have heard us tramping up the snowy steps
of the church, for she met us at the door. Every one had gone
except the old ladies. A kerosene lamp flickered over the
Sunday-school chart, with the lesson-picture of the Wise
Men, and the little barrel-stove threw out a deep glow over
the three white heads that bent above the baby. There the
three friends sat, patting him, and smoothing his dress, and
playing with his hands, which made theirs look so brown.
You aint seen nothing finer in all your travels, said Mrs.
Spinny, and they all laughed.
They showed me his full chest and how strong his back
was; had me feel the golden fuzz on his head, and made him
look at me with his round, bright eyes. He laughed and
reared himself in my arms as I took him up and held him
close to me. He was so warm and tingling with life, and he
had the flush of new beginnings, of the new morning and the
new rose. He seemed to have come so lately from his mothers
heart! It was as if I held her youth and all her young joy.
As I put my cheek down against his, he spied a pink flower in
my hat, and making a gleeful sound, he lunged at it with both
fists.
Dont let him spoil it, murmured Mrs. Spinny. He loves
color solike Nelly.
Century, October 1911
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