The Sup] 
 
 >^f /pem<*.AVEi )U 
 
iSp t\}t £same ^lutfior. 
 
 A COUNTRY DOCTOR. A Novel. i6mo,$i.2s. 
 
 THE MATE OF THE DAYLIGHT, and Friends Ashore. 
 i8mo, gilt top, $1.25. 
 
 COUNTRY BY-WAYS. i8mo, gilt top, $1.25. 
 
 DEEPHAVEN. " Little Classic " style. i8mo, $1.25. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. "Little Classic" style. 
 iSmo, $1.25. 
 
 PLAY DAYS. Stories for Children. Square i6mo, $1.50. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 Publishers^ 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH ORNE JEWETT 
 
 BOSTON 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 <ari)e J!!ftif ri^tJe ^ix0, Camdntiae 
 1885 
 
P5 2i3a 
 
 \%%s 
 
 C o ^ y ^,. 
 
 Copyright, 1885, 
 By SARAH ORNE JEWETT. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 iftJfary of Supreme Co^jmzll AJU^^M^ 
 Aig 10,1940 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 
 Electrotyped and printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co- 
 
A MAESH ISLAND, 
 
 OxE August afternoon the people who 
 drove along the east road of a pleasant Sus- 
 sex County town were much interested in 
 the appearance of a young man who was 
 hard at work before a slender easel near 
 the wayside. Most of the spectators felt a 
 strong desire to linger ; if any had happened 
 to be afoot they would surely have looked 
 over the artist's shoulder; as it was, they 
 inspected with some contempt the bit of 
 scenery which was honored with so much at- 
 tention. This was in no way remarkable. 
 Ihey saw a familiar row of willows and a 
 ioreground of pasture, broken here and there 
 by gray rocks, while beyond a tide river the 
 marshes seemed to stretch away to the end 
 of the world. 
 
 Almost everybody who drove along would 
 have confidently directed the stranger to a 
 
i 
 
 4 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 better specimen of the natural beauties of 
 the town, yet he seemed unsuspicious of his 
 mistake, and painted busily. Sometimes he 
 strolled away, apparently taking aimless 
 steps, but always keeping his eyes fixed 
 upon the landscape, while once he flung 
 himself impatiently at full length on the 
 soft grass, in the shade of the nearest tree. 
 One would have said that such enthusiastic 
 interest in his pursuit was exceptional rather 
 than common with him ; but he presently 
 took a new view of his subject from this 
 point, and after some reflection rose and 
 went nearer to a slender birch-tree which 
 stood in his left foreground. There was a 
 touch of uncommon color on some of its 
 leaves, which had been changed early, and 
 he held the twig in his hand, rustled it, and 
 looked up at the topmost branches, which 
 seemed all a-shiver at this strange attention. 
 The light breeze passed over; the young tree 
 was stiU again. A boy might have bent it, 
 and cut and trimmed it with his jack-knife, 
 for an afternoon's fishing, and the artist 
 reached out and for a moment held the 
 stem, which had lately put on its first white 
 dress ; then he let it spring away from him. 
 Trees that grow alone have a great deal 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 5 
 
 more individuality than those which stand 
 in companies; the young man gave another 
 look at the charming outline of this one, and 
 went back toward his easel. As he turned 
 he was suddenly attracted by the beauty of 
 the landscape which had been behind him all 
 the afternoon. The moorland-like hills were 
 beginning to grow purple, and a lovely light 
 had gathered into the country which lay be- 
 tween him and the western sky. He con- 
 demned himself for having been so easily 
 suited with his point of view, and felt dis- 
 satisfied and displeased for the moment with 
 his day's work. 
 
 At his feet grew an enticing crop of mush- 
 rooms, and with a sigh at the evasiveness o£ 
 Art he stooped to gather the little harvest, 
 and filled a handkerchief with the delicate 
 pink and white fungi ; tossing away the sun- 
 burnt ones of yesterday's growth, and biting 
 two or three of the smallest buttons with a 
 good relish. " If I only had some salt, now ! " 
 he said to himself. "I wonder what time 
 it is ; " then he looked somewhat eagerly 
 along the road, as if he expected a compan- 
 ion. 
 
 Nobody could be discovered. It was some 
 time since any traveler had passed that way ; 
 
6 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the few wagons that had gone to market 
 early in the morning had long since re- 
 turned, and the greater part of the men and 
 horses were busy on the marshes, — for this 
 was the time of year for cutting the salt hay. 
 When he looked at his sketch again it made 
 him forget his other thoughts, and holding 
 his brush at arm's length, and again step- 
 ping to and fro lightly, he put in some nec- 
 essary touches with most delicate intention 
 and pleasure. " Not so bad ! " he said half 
 aloud, " though my birch-tree does not look 
 as if she could flit away if I frightened her, 
 as the real one does." 
 
 There was a pervading flavor of idleness 
 and of pleasure about the young man's in- 
 dustry. The olive-like willows and the birch- 
 tree and the shining water seemed to lend 
 themselves to his apparent holiday-making. 
 Not a great distance away, the mowers 
 wished it were still nearer sundown, as they 
 went slowly back and forward on the marsh. 
 This was a hot day for out-of-door work ; 
 the scythes could not be kept sharp enough, 
 and the sun was dazzling everybod3^'s eyes 
 as it went down in the west. Even the 
 good-natured jokes of some workmen could 
 not shame away the frequent grumbling of 
 others. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 The artist could sometimes see the shine 
 of a scythe, and hear a far-away peal of 
 laughter or a shout, and this gave him a 
 pleasant sense of companionship. He would 
 have thought it was the charming weather 
 that made him so happy and his work so 
 prosperous if he had thought anything at all 
 about it. He was too well used to good for- 
 tune to make any special note of this day, 
 being endowed with a disposition which is 
 not troubled by bad weather of any sort, and 
 only waits, bird - like and meditative, to fly 
 forth again when the sun is out. In fact, 
 while the serenity of his personal atmosphere 
 possessed a certain impenetrability for its 
 enemies, friends could share it, and were at- 
 tracted by the cheerful magnet at the cen- 
 tre. This young man had usually found his 
 fellow - creatures wonderfully pleasant and 
 ready to further his projects. He was called 
 lucky, and sometimes selfish, by those who 
 envied him, while his friends insisted that 
 he gave them pleasure of the best and most 
 unselfish sort. His virtues came of moral 
 excellence, no doubt; still, the mysterious 
 electric currents are at the root of our likes 
 and dislikes. His nature was attractive, 
 and everywhere admirers, and even friends. 
 
8 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 flocked to the standard of this curly-haired 
 and cheerful knight, while one castle gate 
 after another opened before him as he went 
 his way through life. To be not uncomfort- 
 ably young, to be boyishly hungry and envi- 
 ably enthusiastic, to find the world interest- 
 ing, and, on the whole, faithful to its prom- 
 ises, were happy conditions. A respectable 
 gift for water-color painting and an admira- 
 ble ambition to excel in the use of oil colors 
 made sufficient business responsibilities. If 
 sometimes existence seemed to lead nowhere 
 in particular, and his hopes and projects 
 were directed toward results too close at 
 hand, it was because our hero felt an impa- 
 tience for the great motive power of his life 
 to take possession of him. He had a dim 
 sense of his best self, as if it were a sort of 
 spiritual companionship, and had once said 
 that he believed he was waiting orders ; con- 
 fessing also that he had checked himself in 
 various indiscretions, because he should not 
 like to carry a bad record' to his noble fu- 
 ture. The friend who listened to this, be- 
 ing an older man, smiled under cover of the 
 darkness, and called Dick Dale a girlish 
 fellow, but a good one, before he laughed 
 aloud, and wished him good fortune in a 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 9 
 
 way that implied there was really no such 
 thing. 
 
 Since advancement and glory are the re- 
 ward of one's own definite effort, young Dale 
 was as far as ever from possessing them. 
 He was apparently unambitious, but his life 
 was remarkably free from reproach, while 
 he was often proved useful and always agree- 
 able by his next neighbors. His smallest 
 daily duties and pleasures were considered 
 with increasing zest and respectfulness. So- 
 ciety valued him and instinctively paid him 
 deference, as if it understood how sincerely 
 he respected himself. He had often smiled 
 when his fellows achieved early distinction 
 and renown ; if he had been poor, some 
 croakers said, he would have made his mark, 
 but those persons who knew him best laughed 
 at the idea of its already being too late. 
 
 The day's work, or play, whichever it 
 might have been, was finished, and, his ex- 
 citement having fairly burnt itself out, the 
 painter looked along the road eagerly, and 
 began to put his brushes and colors together 
 for transportation. Then he went to the 
 top of a hillock near by, hoping to get a 
 wider view of the vacant road. Afterward, 
 resigning himself to patience and looking 
 
10 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 hopelessly at his stopped watch, he sat down 
 for a quarter of an hour, and diligently tried 
 to make a whistle from a willow twig ; but 
 the autumn bark proved disobligingly dry, 
 and would not slip nor lend itself to sweet 
 sounds. 
 
 The scythes had all disappeared from the 
 distant meadow. It seemed at last as if our 
 friend were left sole tenant of the country, 
 for the sun was almost down, and the shad- 
 ows were damp and chilly as they gathered 
 fast in the low ground. He tried wistfully 
 once or twice to see if a friendly haymaker 
 could not be summoned. He grew more 
 and more angry with the boy who had left 
 him there late in the morning, with orders 
 to come for him again at four o'clock. It 
 appeared like a forsaken neighborhood, and 
 Mr. Dale desperately climbed the shattered 
 fence, and, having shouldered his artistic be- 
 longings as best he might, set forth with a 
 limping gait toward the only house in sight. 
 The road was perfectly level, and deep in 
 white dust. The house looked a good way 
 off; perhaps it was two thirds of a mile. 
 The whole region seemed to be wild or re- 
 claimed marsh land, except this farm, which 
 covered a hill with its orchards and upland 
 fields and pastures. 
 
m A MARSH ISLAND. H 
 
 Ifc was like a high, fruitful island in that 
 sea of grass, the wayfarer thought ; the salt 
 inlets, indeed, surrounded it, though in some 
 places one could leap the narrow ditches 
 easily. The nearer he approached, the more 
 picturesque and enticing he thought the 
 farm. There was a great red barn weU set- 
 tled in the hillside, and a bluish-green com- 
 pany of willows, with some poplars and an 
 elm or two, were clustered about the hospi- 
 table-looking dwelling. Pleasantest of all, 
 at that moment, a straight plume of smoke 
 was going up from one of the chimneys, 
 most supper-like in its suggestion. 
 
n. 
 
 The warm yellow glow of the sun shone 
 out once more through the haze, and filled 
 the orchard and all the shaded places of the 
 Marsh Island with a flood of golden light. 
 The apple-trees and the willows were trans- 
 figured for a few minutes, and as the young 
 man saw a bright reflection on the window 
 panes of the house he felt a great Jonging to 
 paint the scene before him, and seized every 
 possible detail of it with his dejighted eyes. 
 It did not seem so late, now 'that the sun 
 was out again, and he turned once, a little 
 reluctant, to look down the road ; for he 
 might have been too impatient for the com- 
 ing of the boy. 
 
 The slow horse and rattling wagon were, 
 happily, not approaching, and he assured 
 himself that his only resource was the good- 
 will of the farmhouse. Perhaps he could 
 find shelter there for the night, and make 
 another sketch in the morning. There was 
 not a more picturesque bit of country in 
 America I 
 
p A MARSH ISLAND. 13 
 
 Mrs. Owen, the mistress of this thriving 
 homestead, came to stand in the doorway- 
 just at that moment, being influenced by 
 the beauty of the sunset, yet not consciously 
 recognizing the fact. She discovered her 
 husband, who had left the marshes earlier 
 than the rest of the mowers, standing still, 
 half-way across the dooryard. 
 
 " You 've had a good day's work, for such 
 an old gentleman," she said, with affection- 
 ate raillery. " What are you a-watchin' ? I 
 declare, these trees have so overgrown we 
 might 's well live in the woods." But she no- 
 ticed with considerable curiosity the pleased 
 way in which the gray-haired farmer looked 
 . up through the topmost willow boughs to 
 see the sunlight fade and disappear. 
 
 " 'T was pretty, was n't it ? " he answered. 
 " I think the old place never looks so well 
 as it does in one of these yajler, f allish sun- 
 downs." 
 
 " I thought it seemed clouded over a while 
 ago," remarked the wife, after a moment's 
 reflection, " but the sun must have burnt it 
 off. I think likely you '11 have another good 
 hay-day to-morrow," and she took a shrewd 
 look at the heavens wherever they were visi- 
 ble from the doorstep, and finally came for- 
 
14 A MARSH ISLAND. » 
 
 ward, past the corner of the house, in order 
 to get a fair look at the west. She was a 
 round-faced, pleasant -looking woman, who 
 had by no means lost all her youthful 
 charms, though she stepped heavily, and 
 was nearer sixty than fifty ; one would have 
 thought her much younger than her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " Where 's Doris? " he asked presently. 
 
 " Right up there in her room. She's been 
 sewing on my new dress this afternoon. I 
 thought likely it might come cool any day 
 now, and I should need it. I told her I 'd 
 get supper, if she wanted to finish. Doris 
 is one that does n't like to let the ends o' 
 work lay over, just like me. And she 's 
 promised to be off this evenin'." 
 
 The farmer was beginning to ask a ques- 
 tion, as they walked toward the door to- 
 gether, when his wife turned back at the 
 sound of approaching footsteps. " Sakes 
 alive, there comes a peddler! " she exclaimed. 
 " You just tend to him, Isr'el. I must put 
 the tea on ; the men '11 be here before we 
 know it," and she hurried into the house to 
 establish herself behind the nearest window 
 blind, and make sure what the stranger and 
 foreigner wished to offer before she allowed 
 herself to be interviewed in person. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 15 
 
 Doris also looked out of the window just 
 above, at the sound of a strange voice. The 
 young man carried a picture carefully in his 
 hand, and a bundle of sticks and other para- 
 phernalia beside. He was asking if he could 
 be driven to the next town, or, better still, 
 if he could have a night's lodging at the 
 farm, and laughingly explained his forsaken 
 condition. "I would have walked back, and 
 thought nothing of it," he concluded, " but 
 I was thrown from a horse not long ago, and 
 I am a little lame yet." 
 
 " I '11 speak to mother first," said the host. 
 " She must have her say about keepin' ye ; " 
 but he was most favorably inclined toward 
 the stranger, and called his wife, who waited 
 a few moments before replying, and then 
 took the farthest way, all round the kitchen, 
 from her window to the door close beside it. 
 
 " This young man wants to know if you 
 can keep him over night ? " the farmer in- 
 quired, with a sort of appealing decisiveness, 
 while Mrs. Owen, moved by proper wisdom, 
 regarded the wayfarer with stern scrutiny. 
 He was undeniably a gentleman, which was 
 both an incentive and a shock to her house- 
 keeping instincts. It involved the use of a 
 spare bedroom and some difference in the 
 
16 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 supper ; but after all, she might as well take 
 the chance of good society and earning a dol- 
 lar as anybody else. The poor fellow looked 
 anxious, and with the air of granting a favor 
 Mrs. Owen nodded and gave her permission. 
 
 There was a word or two of hearty thanks, 
 as the stranger put down his burden ; but 
 the decision having been given, he seemed 
 to become one of the household at once, and 
 looked up at his landlady with a frank 
 friendliness which brought a tinge of girlish 
 color into her solid cheek. " Here are some 
 mushrooms I found in the pasture," he said, 
 and handed her the knotted handkerchief 
 which had been slung to one of the rods of 
 the easel. 
 
 Mrs. Owen looked doubtful, but pleased, 
 and proceeded to examine them at once. 
 " Dear me, I don't want none of them," she 
 answered. " I should expect to be p'isoned, 
 certain sure. Perhaps you 're acquainted 
 with them where you come from, but we 
 don't eat such about here." 
 
 " Oh, but they 're too good to be thrown 
 away," protested the hungry young fellow. 
 " I can cook them myself, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 " Bless you, lad, I '11 get you a good sup- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND, 17 
 
 per, and welcome," announced Mrs. Owen, 
 with an air of confidence in her own powers. 
 " Doris, Doris ! " she called, lifting her face 
 toward the upper window. " Won't you 
 come down ? I '11 show you your room 
 quick as I can," she added to the guest, as 
 she disappeared within the door. 
 
 " ' Doris? ' " he repeated questioningly to 
 the farmer, who had been listening with a 
 pleased smile to the conversation. " What 
 a pretty name ! " 
 
 " That 's my daughter, — all the girl 
 we 've got," said Mr. Owen. " ^ Tis a good 
 name ; 't was my mother's, and her mother's 
 before her. . . . What might I call you ? " 
 was added presently, in a half-confidential 
 way, though, to judge from the tone, the mo- 
 tive was interest instead of curiosity. 
 
 " Dale," answered the young man. " And 
 you 're Mr. Owen, I believe. I asked that 
 young scalawag who drove me over this 
 noon. I noticed the farm when we were 
 crossing the marshes." 
 
 " Isr'el Owen is right. I 'm owin' only 
 in name, though ; " and the guest laughed 
 promptly at the time-honored joke, and even 
 gave an admiring glance at the comfortable 
 old house and its surroundings. " We 'd 
 
 2 
 
18 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 better come in now; 't is getting damp. 
 The women '11 show you a place for your 
 picture. Well, that's very pretty, I de- 
 clare," as it was turned into view. " I 'm 
 glad I left that little white birch for ye. I 
 was obliged to clear up the pasture some this 
 last fall, but somehow or 'nother I didn't 
 meddle with that. They're tender-lookin' 
 things, them little birches, though they '11 
 catch on to the rocks where nothing else will. 
 The old wilier s, too, — you 've got 'em com- 
 plete. Follow it for a trade, do ye ? " But 
 the answer seemed to be taken for granted, 
 while Dick was wondering what he had 
 better say. 
 
 The Owens' guest had made friends with 
 many a country household, but this episode 
 promised to be most charming, and an un- 
 reasonable satisfaction filled his mind at 
 every new feature of such homely life. He 
 had been graciously invited to step into the 
 clock-room, and he could see through the 
 gathering twilight an assemblage of old 
 furnishings and a general aspect of rural 
 dignity and self-respect. He was already 
 impatient of his countrymen's habit of fol- 
 lowing a beaten track, having learned to 
 travel more sensibly abroad. This was 
 
A MARSH ISLAND, 19 
 
 evidently the home of an old-fashioned 
 farmer of the best sort, and Dick Dale 
 became blissfully enthusiastic as he planned 
 a short residence in such a delio^htful reo'ion. 
 It seemed a great while since he had first 
 driven along these roads, and made up his 
 mind that some day or other he must come 
 back quietly by himself to make some 
 sketches. This was like a dream's coming 
 true. He had just changed his plans on a 
 sudden impulse, meaning to have only a 
 day or two for himself before he kept a half 
 engagement to join some acquaintances in 
 town. Was not he his own master ? And 
 what difference would a delicious week or 
 two here make to anybody but himself ? He 
 had a simple fondness for a summer's round 
 of visits, and yet had persuaded himself 
 lately that he was wasting his time. " How 
 a fellow does tie himself hand and foot for 
 six weeks together ! " he sagely reflected. 
 "This is like a bit of freedom," and he lis- 
 tened for a moment to the steady ticking 
 of the monarch of the clock-room. It was 
 a mere chance that he was here. The sketch- 
 ing of the day before had been unsuccessful, 
 and he was blaming himself for his nonsense 
 as he came away from the next town that 
 
20 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 very morning. He had after all taken hold 
 of the golden string. The old farmer was a 
 man of whom one should make the most. 
 Once Dick had known another of exactly 
 the same sort, in Devonshire ; they might 
 be brothers. And Doris, too, — there was 
 Doris ; the young man's heart gave an im- 
 patient bound. If she proved to be the flower 
 of this fine old growth, his adventure would 
 be worth having. 
 
 Somebody was stepping quickly about 
 in the room overhead, but Mr. Dale at 
 that moment ceased his vague anticipations, 
 and went out, as if he were quite familiar 
 with his position, to find Mrs. Owen in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " I s'pose you 're getting sharp set enough 
 by this time," said the hostess ; "but you 
 make yourself at home, and I won't keep 
 you waiting a great while. 'T is later than 
 we commonly set down to supper, but when 
 the men folks are getting in the salt hay 
 it keeps everything at odds. Isr'el 's most 
 through milkin', he says. He fetched the 
 cows up early, but he come out, just as we 
 saw you, to look an' see if the sun set all 
 right. He 's too fanciful for such an old 
 creatur', I tell him," and she looked up at 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 21 
 
 the young man's face for the sympathy and 
 intelligence she was sure to find. 
 
 " Oh, I '11 make myself at home," Dale 
 answered. " Something would happen to 
 that boy if he came after me now. I should 
 like very much indeed to stay a day or two 
 here, instead of over night. It woidd be so 
 near my — work." 
 
 "We shall have to think that over, I 
 expect, — all of us," the busy woman an- 
 swered, hurrying to the stove. " But you 're 
 welcome to-night, certain. There, Doris, 
 you take Mr. Dale up and show him his bed- 
 room, and we won't waste time on apologies, 
 for you've got to take us as you find us." 
 
 A door had opened at the foot of a flight 
 of stairs, and a tall young woman half with- 
 drew in her surprise at meeting the stranger 
 unexpectedly. It would not be proper to 
 show him to his room except by the front 
 staircase, and so she came down into the 
 kitchen. " You will almost want a candle," 
 she said, in a clear, fine voice, and led the 
 way through the clock -room with perfect 
 composure, and finally left him in a small 
 chamber, whose single window was open to 
 the faded western sky. 
 
 "Doris, Doris," the young man said to 
 
22 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 himself softly. " She is something new ; it 
 is like finding a garden flower growing in a 
 field." 
 
 The very twilight in the house had helped 
 to make the sight of her surprising. She 
 walked before him, slender and stately ; there 
 was a perfection about her which made him 
 scornfully reflect upon the ill-development, 
 the incompleteness and rudimentariness, of 
 most members of the human race. He could 
 hardly wait to see her again, and an eager- 
 ness to make himself attractive to her took 
 possession of him. The natural reverence 
 which a truly beautiful woman can always 
 inspire was by no means wanting, and so 
 sweet a mystery as Doris must be solved as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 The lower room and the entry through 
 which they had come had been dark, so that 
 the stranger stumbled once or twice, to his 
 great displeasure, and might at last have 
 gone headlong into the little bedroom if 
 Doris had not said, " Mind the step ! " with 
 an air of gentle patience. His guide left 
 him at the door, and as he looked about the 
 room he thought it quiet and orderly enough 
 to have been her own. After the darkness 
 they had just left it seemed well lighted by 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 23 
 
 the sunset, which was now all faint rose-color 
 and gray. There was a plump-looking bed, 
 like a well-risen loaf, and a straight-backed 
 chair or two, and a small three-cornered 
 washstand, toward which his paint-streaked 
 hands led him at once. He lifted the water- 
 jug with admiration. It held very little, 
 but it was of an adorable shape and quality 
 of ancient English crockery, and he reminded 
 himself that he might find a way through old 
 Mrs. Owen's heart to her closets ; for who 
 knew what unappreciated treasures might 
 be hidden away ? Over the narrow mantel- 
 piece there hung a sword, and, as well as the 
 guest could see, an army commission or dis- 
 charge in a simple frame. Perhaps Doris 
 had lost a lover, and a thrill of sympathy 
 filled this new admirer's mind ; but on second 
 thought he concluded that it was much better 
 for him than her having a present lover. She 
 seemed too young to have known much of 
 the war, and this might have been the prop- 
 erty of an elder brother or an uncle, or even 
 the trophy of Farmer Owen himself. There 
 was no reason why the sword should not have 
 been there since the days of the Revolution, 
 for that matter ; the house was certainly old 
 enough, and looked, so far as he had seen, 
 
24 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 as if there had been few changes during the 
 last half century. There was a state of com- 
 plete surrender to fate involved by the ab- 
 sence of any personal property, and after 
 taking a long look from the narrow window, 
 which made him more in love with the coun- 
 tryside than ever, Dick Dale attempted to 
 return to the society of his new friends. A 
 fear of lurking pitfalls of back staircases 
 made him advance slowly, but with entire 
 safety to himself. He thought once with 
 great amusement that he was capable of 
 making the most of a slight twist to his ankle 
 in order to secure a week's stay at the farm. 
 Art might be his excuse, at any rate, for he 
 was quite sincere in wishing to carry away 
 some sketches of the Sussex neighborhood. 
 This was not a very purposeful young man : 
 those who were growing old already among 
 his comrades might laugh or scold at him for 
 his apparent neglect of life's great oppor- 
 tunities, but nobody could accuse him of not 
 making the most of the days as they came. 
 His idleness might have made him wiser than 
 their business had made them, but this was 
 hardly proved to most people's satisfaction. 
 If he did nothing for himself, a few had said 
 sneeringly, everybody was the more ready to 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 25 
 
 serve him. But the rest knew that he was 
 only an idle hero, and loved him and believed 
 in him, and had need of patience. 
 
 Downstairs in the kitchen Israel Owen 
 and his wife had been discussing this inter- 
 esting young man who had suddenly de- 
 manded their hospitality. Guests were by 
 no means rare in summer weather, but the 
 list of relatives and friends had been short- 
 ened in the last few years, and many of the 
 old aunts and cousins had died who used to 
 depend upon a visit at the farm. Doris was 
 not one who made many acquaintances, her 
 mother had often said, with regret. She had 
 been sent to Westmarket to school, and stood 
 well in her classes, beside having the ad- 
 vantage of good society at the cousin's house 
 where she boarded ; but she had seemed en- 
 tirely contented to be at home ever since. 
 Mrs. Owen possessed a most social nature, 
 and always wished for more excitement and 
 news than it was possible to find. She would 
 have liked a village life best, with plenty of 
 visiting from house to house and great au- * 
 thority in parish matters. She truly loved 
 her husband, but when she married him it 
 was with a firm determination to persuade 
 him to sell the farm before 'many years, and 
 
26 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the marsh island was but a stepping-stone for 
 her ambition. She had stood there disap- 
 pointed ever since, for the fancied stepping- 
 stone had proved to be a pedestal. She had 
 requested earnestly, in early life, that they 
 might go to some centre of civilization, for 
 the children's sake ; but of late years, when 
 Doris was found to be, as was often asserted, 
 just such a slow-coach as her father, Martha 
 Owen had resigned herself to her fate. No- 
 body knew better than she that she was looked 
 upon with envy by all her neighbors. She 
 had money enough and to spare, but for all 
 that she was secretly grieved and dissatisfied 
 because she spent her days as a farmer's 
 wife. Her acquaintances were well used to 
 her complaints. She was a cheerful, friendly 
 soul, even in her fault-finding, and a listener 
 was more apt to laugh at than to pity her 
 smaller troubles. However, the undercur- 
 rent of dislike was sure to be felt by those 
 who lived with her, and her family recog- 
 nized a day now and then when it was best 
 to step gently on their way, and not ven- 
 ture upon the discussion of even a trifling 
 subject. 
 
 " He 's no strolling fellow," she was saying 
 of her guest. " You just look at that hand- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 27 
 
 kerchief with the toadstools in it. No finer 
 linen ever came into this house. And even 
 his initials on it, like a girl's. Most likely 
 't is some fancy led him here painting pic- 
 tures. I don't believe he follows it for a 
 trade, but he may. I wish I 'd told him to 
 throw these things out," she added, looking 
 at the contents of the handkerchief with 
 considerable awe. " I '11 let him take care 
 of 'em, any way. I don't want 'em round 
 the kitchen." 
 
 " What 's one man's meat 's another man's 
 p'ison," sagely observed one of the young 
 haymakers, who had drenched his head well 
 at the pump, and sat fanning himself with 
 his frayed straw hat on the doorstep. "I 
 used to work over to the quarries with an old 
 Frenchman, who pretty near lived on 'em 
 while they lasted. He give me some one 
 day on a piece of bread, and they tasted first 
 rate. I never saw such a chowder as he 
 could set on to the table. Did n't know 
 what it was when he first caught sight of it, 
 either." 
 
 " The French is born cooks, I 've always 
 heard," said Mrs. Owen, not wishing to be 
 instructed by this stripling, while her hus- 
 band chivalrously resented so limited a view 
 
28 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of the great nation, and said meditatively 
 that he did n't doubt that Bonaparte could 
 have cooked if he tried. He did everything 
 else he undertook for a time. 
 
 " The boys used to rough that old fellow 
 on account of eatin' frogs," Jim Tales as- 
 serted, as if he were determined to be the 
 ally of his hostess. He was waiting impa- 
 tiently for his supper at that moment. 
 
 " The young man spoke about bein' kept 
 longer than over night, did n't he ? " asked 
 the master of the house softly, as if he fa- 
 vored the idea. " I declare, Marthy, he makes 
 me think of Isr'el a little. He 's got a pleas- 
 ant way with him. I don't know but what I 
 should say yes ; if you feel to, that is." 
 
 " We need n't urge him quick as he gets 
 downstairs," came the answer from the pan- 
 try. " We 're noways obliged to keep board- 
 ers ; and we 're a-cuttin' the ma'sh hay, that 
 always makes extry work ; and it 's incon- 
 venient havin' Temp'rance off, though Doris 
 and I get along well enough without her so 
 far. I suppose he 'd be willin' to pay high 
 board ; but there, we may never hear nothing 
 more about it. I do' know but what he does 
 favor Isr'el a little about his forehead an' 
 eyes," she added, in a lower tone. " Now, 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 29 
 
 Jim Fales, do call in Mr. Jenks and Allen, 
 and have your supper. You 've been lookin' 
 hungry enough at me to scare anybody, like 
 the old cat yisterday, after she 'd been shut 
 up in the apple suUar since Wednesday. 
 She was follerin' me the whole forenoon." 
 
 " Where 's Doris ? " asked the farmer 
 again. " Why ain't she helpin' of you ? " 
 
 " She 's had some supper, — all she want- 
 ed," replied the mother, bustling more than 
 ever, and retreating to the outer kitchen, 
 where the stove had its summer residence. 
 " They 've got to git there earlier 'n com- 
 mon. This is the night she promised to go 
 over to the minister's with Dan Lester. 
 Some of the young folks " — 
 
 " That 's all right," and Mr. Owen's voice 
 had a more satisfied tone than his wife's. 
 " But I thought 't was Thursday nights they 
 went. I forgot about the parson's being 
 away this week." 
 
 " 'T would have been just as well for me 
 if she 'd kept at home to-night, but I ain't 
 one to complain. Dan Lester takes a good 
 deal for granted lately, seems to me." 
 
 " He 's been working smart all day," said 
 the farmer. " Dan 's a willin' fellow, and 
 there were others knew that I was short of 
 
30 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 help. I 'd fetched him home to supper if I 
 had remembered about to-night." 
 
 " He could n't ride over there with his 
 haying rig on," replied the mistress, scorn- 
 fully taking her place at the head of the 
 table, and pouring a steaming cup of tea for 
 anybody who would come to claim it. All 
 the haymakers filed in at the door at that 
 minute, and began to help themselves before 
 they were fairly seated. 
 
 " I '11 speak to the young man," said Mr. 
 Owen; but just at that moment the door 
 opened, and Mr. Richard Dale made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 The three hungry men who had taken one 
 side of the supper table to themselves paused 
 for an instant to regard the stranger ; then 
 they all looked down again, and went on 
 eating. 
 
 " You see we give you welcome to what 
 we have, and make no stranger of you, my 
 lad," said the master of the house, with fine 
 old-fashioned courtesy ; while Dale nodded 
 and smiled, and began to prove himself as 
 hungry as the rest. 
 
 " I hope I shall not frighten you, Mrs. 
 Owen," he ventured to say presently, for 
 there was a chilling silence upon the little 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 31 
 
 company. " The truth is, I have had noth- 
 ing to eat since breakfast ; " at which the 
 good woman's hospitable heart was touched, 
 and she leaned over to see if his plate lacked 
 anything. She had breakfasted before six 
 o'clock, which was early enough at that time 
 of year, when the mornings were much 
 shorter than in June. Dale had had an ad- 
 vantage of three hours, or more, but the day 
 since then seemed long ; such a good supper 
 as this was worth waiting for, and he stated 
 the fact most sincerely. Soon the shyest 
 member of the party was quite at his ease 
 again, and the stranger was making each 
 man his friend. His small adventure was 
 rendered more amusing than it had really 
 seemed at the time, and an ingenious threat 
 and argument against the delinquent small 
 boy served to entertain the company to such 
 a degree that there was a merry shout of 
 laughter. Jim Fales thought he had done 
 this delightful companion a great wrong at 
 first, and began to admire him intensely. 
 The haymakers presently resumed a discus- 
 sion of the probable length of a snake which 
 had been seen at the edge of the marsh that 
 day; but Mr. Jenks, the senior workman, 
 continued to eat his supper, as if he consid- 
 
32 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 ered that the most important duty of the 
 moment. He resembled a sailor: there were 
 small gold rings in his ears, and he had a 
 foreign look, — acquired, it must have been, 
 for he was unmistakably a New Englander 
 to begin with. Dale soon found himself in- 
 fluenced by the deference which the rest of 
 the party paid to Mr. Jenks, and looked up 
 with pleased expectancy when the old farmer 
 said, " Jenks, give us the particulars of that 
 big raskill. You was one of three that killed 
 him over on the Six-Mile Ma'sh. Don't set 
 there lookin' as innycent as a man that 's 
 drivin' a new hoss ! " Whereupon silent Mr. 
 Jenks was induced to tell his best story, 
 though not without much precision and un- 
 necessary delay. 
 
 It seemed very dark now, out-of-doors, and 
 when some one drove quickly into the yard, 
 toward the close of this unexpectedly festive 
 occasion, the guest of the household felt a 
 sudden dismay. He was enjoying himseK 
 with all his heart, and savagely assured him- 
 self that the boy might turn about and go 
 back again. He would neither be driven 
 into a ditch nor try to find his own way over 
 unfamiliar roads. 
 
 Nobody seemed to be concerned with the 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 33 
 
 arrival, however, and our friend went on 
 eating his hot gingerbread with its crisp 
 crust. He observed that a shadow over- 
 spread Mrs. Owen's countenance for a mo- 
 ment, and presently took heart, and thought 
 he need not have been so angry, after all. 
 There was no sound of approaching foot- 
 steps, though he had distinctly heard some 
 one leap to the ground ; but directly the 
 door at the foot of the stairway, which had 
 received more than one hopeful glance, was 
 opened, and Doris appeared again, ready for 
 a drive. She was plainly dressed, and the 
 second view of her was by no means disap- 
 pointing. " I don't feel right to be leaving 
 you, mother," she said, pausing a moment, 
 " but I finished the dress." The elder woman 
 hardly listened as she looked at her daughter 
 with motherly pride, and then at the young 
 stranger, who had risen and stood ready to 
 escort Doris a little way ; to open a door for 
 her, perhaps, though the one which led to the 
 yard was already open. He was strangely 
 envious of the cavalier outside, and came 
 quietly back to his place at the table. Every- 
 body listened as the two voices — the girl's 
 and was it her lover's ? — exchanged greet- 
 ings, and then the wheels trundled away 
 
34 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 down the road. The horse was not one that 
 would stand well, but an excellent beast on 
 the road, Mr. Owen at length mentioned, 
 with a little reluctance at being obliged to 
 speak first ; and then there was another 
 pause, and the crickets chirped louder than 
 ever, and a rising breeze swayed the great 
 willows and blew their faint fragrance 
 through the wide kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Owen had been embarrassed and a 
 little flustered, as she would have expressed 
 it, by the gallantry the handsome stranger 
 had shown her daughter ; the girl herself 
 had accepted it without surprise. There 
 was a charming dignity and simplicity about 
 Doris, and if there were a chance, though 
 Dick Dale was not experienced in figure- 
 drawing, he would try to make a sketch of 
 her, for her father's sake, before he went 
 away. The old man's pathetic face grew 
 more and more attractive to him, also, and 
 altogether he was glad to be at the farm. 
 He had not seen anything of such life as 
 this since he was a boy. 
 
III. 
 
 The haymakers left their seats at the ta- 
 ble, and strayed away one by one, and were 
 seen no more that night. The day had been 
 long and very hot for the season, and no 
 doubt they were ready to seek their couches 
 in the close, low -storied kitchen chamber. 
 First, however, it was necessary to have a 
 consultation upon the appearance of the 
 stranger, and to make ingenious guesses at 
 his past history, not omitting also his pres- 
 ent circumstances and future plans. 
 
 " He never was this way before. Think 
 likely he thought he 'd come round and take 
 a look at the heathen," said Jim Fales, who 
 was best acquainted in the neighborhood, 
 and who, by virtue of a four months' resi- 
 dence in the family, could speak with great 
 authority. His employer commonly asserted 
 that James was young, but willing, when it 
 became necessary to allude to him, and the 
 haymakers themselves treated him with a 
 cheerful forbearance which might easily 
 
36 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 have degenerated into something less. Jim 
 had taken the place of a middle-aged man 
 who had been Mr. Owen's mainstay for 
 many years ; but Asa had been persuaded, 
 against the wishes and warnings of his East- 
 ern friends, to join a brother who had long 
 ago settled in the West. The haymakers 
 asked Jim for news of him. 
 
 " Thought he 'd grow up with the country, 
 I expect," remarked Mr. Jenks, who was 
 sitting at the end of the grindstone frame. 
 
 " Asa was well off," said Jim. " We 
 think that his folks had an eye to his means, 
 and expected, if they got him rooted up and 
 planted out there, they could do as they were 
 a mind to. I guess they '11 have to set him 
 out in a new spot before he '11 shake down 
 much of a crop of his dollars," the young 
 man added smartly, much elated at his com- 
 parison. 
 
 "Asa was snug," agreed Mr. Jenks, not 
 appearing to notice anything peculiar about 
 the preceding statement. " I wa'n't what 
 you would call well acquainted with him, 
 but I guess he may make out to come back 
 if he don't like. He never could have had 
 no great expense here : he never had noth- 
 ing special to lay his money out on, so 'twas 
 natural it accumulated." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 37 
 
 " Some folks can't spend, and more can't 
 save," said Allen, who was busily puffing at 
 his pipe, which seemed to have some trouble 
 with its draft. " They all seem to be open- 
 handed, nice folks here to Owens'. Lord, 
 what a supper I laid away ! They live well, 
 don't they?" 
 
 " Pretty fair," said Jim mildly, but with 
 evident pleasure, as if he were being person- 
 ally praised. His own clothes had grown 
 very tight since he took up his residence on 
 the Marsh Island. 
 
 It happened that Farmer Owen was also 
 thinking of his own loss and Asa's lack of 
 judgment. He and young Dale sat together 
 in the side doorway, in two of the kitchen 
 chairs, while the mistress of the house clicked 
 and rattled the supper plates, and eclipsed 
 the bright light of the kitchen as she went to 
 and fro. Dick was listening to the crick- 
 ets and the soft sounds that came out of 
 the warm darkness, when Mr. Owen asked 
 whether he had ever been much to the west- 
 ward. 
 
 "Only once, a good while ago," he an- 
 swered, a little surprised. But this seemed 
 somewhat unsatisfactory. 
 
38 A MARSB ISLAND. 
 
 " I Ve been wanting to inquire," said the 
 farmer. " This region never was great for 
 havin' the Western fever, but Asa Bunt, 
 that has lived with us a good many years, 
 — since my father's day 't was, — took a no- 
 tion to seek his fortune. I guess a pack 
 o' hungry, worthless folks o' his was seekin' 
 theirs ; they give him no peace." 
 
 Dale did not find himself deeply interested 
 in this statement, and there was a short pe- 
 riod of silence. 
 
 "My father's brothers and my mother's 
 folks all followed the sea," said Israel Owen 
 presently, "and I think my boy had it in 
 him, for all I dwell so much upon having 
 had him spared to be at home with me." 
 
 The listener turned his head, as if eager 
 to know the rest of the story. 
 
 " Killed in the war, — all the boy I ever 
 had," was the response. " Only twenty-one, 
 he was, the April before he died in July. 
 Shot dead, so he did n't suffer any, so far as 
 we know. He 's laying out here in the or- 
 chard, alongside the rest of the folks. I 
 went out South and fetched him home to 
 the old place. I've been thinking ever 
 since I see you that you favor him in your 
 looks : there 's something about your fore- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. ' 39 
 
 head and eyes and the way your hair grows. 
 I '11 show you a likeness of him in the morn- 
 ing: 'tis a rough thing that was taken in 
 camp, that he sent home to me. There are 
 some other pictures of him that his mother 
 keeps, taken younger, but I seem to set the 
 most by mine." 
 
 " That was his sword in the room I am to 
 sleep in ? " asked Dale, filled with pity, and 
 understanding the pathetic smile of this ap- 
 parently prosperous man. 
 
 " Yes. The folks thought they ought to 
 have it down in the best room, but I did n't 
 seem to want to. That was always his bed- 
 room, and there are some other things there 
 that belonged to him, and I like to keep 'em 
 together. He was first leftenant when he 
 was shot. There were two girls between 
 him an' Doris, but they died very small. 
 Doris is — I could n't get along without her 
 nohow ; but there 'd been an Isr'el Owen 
 on the farm for near two hundred years, and 
 now there '11 never be another. I ain't a 
 sound man myself, so I was n't out in the 
 army ; but I never felt so cheap in my life 
 as I did the forenoon I see Isr'el marchin' 
 by, an' the rest of 'em. I never got no such 
 news as when I heard he was shot. I've 
 
40 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 kep' the farm goin' and stood in my lot an' 
 place the best I could, but I tell you it took 
 the heart right out o' me." 
 
 Dale was silent; there was nothing he 
 could say. The father had looked his sorrow 
 in the face so long that a stranger's thought 
 of it was not worth expression. Yet he could 
 just remember his own father, and somehow 
 a deep sympathy flashed quick from one 
 man's heart to the other. 
 
 " You spoke about stopping in the neigh- 
 borhood for a few days ? " the host said, after 
 a pause, in which they had both listened to 
 the far-away strange cry of a sea-bird down 
 on the marshes. Dale responded with in- 
 stant gratitude and hopefulness : — 
 
 " I should like it very much. I must fin- 
 ish the picture I began to-day, and I wish to 
 make several other sketches. It really would 
 be a great favor if Mrs. Owen coidd make 
 room for me. I must bring my traps over 
 from Dunster, though. Will any of your 
 people be driving that way in the morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 Mrs. Owen herself was standing near, and 
 answered this, as if she were the only one 
 to be consulted in such important arrange- 
 ments. "We never have taken folks to 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 41 
 
 board," she replied, " but I don't know as we 
 ought to refuse you, — on Bible grounds," 
 and she laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 " I am afraid you will be disappointed if 
 you hope for an angel this time," Dale 
 smiled back again. He was standing in the 
 doorway, and the light from the kitchen 
 shone full in his handsome, boyish face. 
 The farmer sighed, and leaned forward a 
 little as he looked at him wistfully. But 
 Martha Owen hastened to say that Doris 
 was going to Dunster in the morning to 
 have the colt shod, and as likely as not 
 would be glad of company. The men folks 
 would all be off about the salt hay. 
 
 Later that evening Dick Dale lay in bed 
 listening again to the crickets, which kept 
 up a ceaseless chirping about the house, and 
 to the sober exclamations of the lonely sea- 
 bird in the low land, not far away. The 
 window was wide open, within reach of his 
 hand, and once or twice he raised himself on 
 his elbow to look up at the stars, which were 
 gleaming and twinkling in a white host, 
 whose armies seemed to cover the sky. The 
 willows reached out their huge branches and 
 made a small cloud of dense darkness, and 
 
42 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the damp sea air was flavored with their 
 fragrance and that of the newly mown 
 marshes. There were no sounds, except 
 those made by the faintly rustling leaves 
 and the small chirping creatures, which 
 seemed to have been stationed by the rural 
 neighborhood as a kind of night watchmen 
 to cry, All 's well, and mark the time. The 
 great loon was the minute-hand, while the 
 crickets told the seconds with incessant dili- 
 gence; as for the hours, they seemed so 
 much longer than usual that whether a wind 
 or a falling star announced their close it 
 would be impossible to determine. 
 
 Since Israel Owen had made known the 
 history of his dead son, the narrow chamber 
 had become much more interesting. The 
 present tenant of it was usually given to 
 keeping late hours, but he had offered no 
 objection when his host suggested that it 
 was time to go to bed, feeling that it would 
 be impossible to disregard the customs of 
 the family that night, at least. Farmer 
 Owen lingered a moment after he gave the 
 young man a candle in a saucer candlestick, 
 and looked at him as if he wished to say 
 something. He was apparently unable to 
 suit himself with words, however, and turned 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 43 
 
 away with a cheerful " Good-night to ye, my 
 lad ; " but the short silence was not unmean- 
 ing. The candle had an unpleasant odor, 
 and burned unevenly, letting a small tor- 
 rent of its substance descend upon the well- 
 brightened brass. Dick wondered, as he 
 stood before it with his hands in his pockets, 
 if Mrs. Owen would consent to part with the 
 old candlestick; he thought it would look 
 well in the studio which he occupied some- 
 what irregularly with a friend. 
 
 There was a square spot of glimmering 
 white on the blue homespun covering of 
 the bed, which proved to be a garment of 
 primitive construction, and Dick inspected 
 it with some amusement, until the thought 
 struck him that it might have been part of 
 the wardrobe of the young soldier. There 
 was a mingled odor of camphor and herbs, 
 as if it were just taken from a chest that 
 was seldom opened. After a moment's re- 
 flection he shook it outside the window, and 
 waved it to and fro gently in the mild night 
 air. Then he proceeded to make a circuit of 
 the room, and held the candle high while he 
 read the lieutenant's commission. Dick had 
 been much too young to go to the war him- 
 self, though he was thwarted in a fierce am- 
 
44 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 bition to march afield as drummer-boy, and 
 he felt a curious interest in the farmer lad 
 to whom this cheap-looking bit of paper cer- 
 tified a place in history. Only one name 
 among thousands, to be sure, but a name 
 forever kept by his country ! A thrill went 
 through the man who read. He was much 
 older than this Israel Owen, but he felt 
 immeasurably younger. There was a dig- 
 nity and pathos about the unused bedroom, 
 though its present occupant looked round it 
 next to see if there were anything else which 
 it would be possible to read for an hour. A 
 person who was by no means used to early 
 hours could not help feeling wide awake at 
 a little past nine. He had given Farmer 
 Owen his last cigar, as they sat together in 
 the doorway, and was thankful it was a good 
 one; as for his cigarettes, they had failed 
 altogether some hours before. Presently the 
 feeble candle was out, and after the smoke 
 of it had been blown away, and the clean, 
 quiet place seemed only a protected corner 
 of the wide, starlit world, he laughed a little 
 at the unexpectedness of the situation, and 
 then thought, with a shadow of envy, of 
 Doris and the young man, and began to 
 listen for the sound of returning wheels. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 45 
 
 To - morrow would be Saturday ; he must 
 make the most of it. This would be pleas- 
 ant enough to look back upon ; but such a 
 thin pillow and thick bed were worse than 
 the bare ground. The confession must be 
 made, however, that when Dan Lester, the 
 enviable gallant, had helped his companion 
 to descend from the new light carriage, 
 which had been bought chiefly with a view 
 to her pleasure, it was only twenty minutes 
 to ten o'clock, and Mr. Kichard Dale was al- 
 ready sound asleep. 
 
 
IV. 
 
 As Doris and her cavalier turned out of 
 the yard and drove down the road, they were 
 both silent for a minute or two. The evening 
 was very dark, and Doris lost all thought of 
 her companion as she instinctively assumed 
 a certain responsibility and kept watch be- 
 fore her. In a little while, however, her 
 strong eyes became independent of the shad- 
 ows, and as the horse's feet struck the smooth 
 track of the highway she leaned back in the 
 carriage, and her attention became diverted 
 to the interests of the occasion. Dan Lester 
 was a dim figure at her side ; he had seen his 
 way all the time and felt no uneasiness, and 
 now turned to look at Doris with entire sat- 
 isfaction. He knew perfectly weU that noth- 
 ing served his purpose better than to be able 
 to claim Doris's companionship on the slight- 
 est pretext. Doris herself was so shy of love- 
 makers that he did not mean to startle her 
 by any premature avowal of his true affection 
 for her. This very evening his heart gave 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 47 
 
 a happy beat, as he told himseK that she 
 could not have gone to the village very well 
 without him ; indeed, she might have to give 
 up more than one pleasure if he were not 
 always ready and glad to serve her ; some 
 day she would surely find out that she could 
 not get along without him any better than 
 he could without her. And the good fellow 
 leaned over and smoothed the lap-robe, and 
 tucked it in more closely. Most of the 
 maidens whom he had known were willing 
 to be agreeable, and to smile upon him and 
 his attentions, and he was not averse to be- 
 ing smiled upon ; but Doris Owen's lack of 
 self -consciousness and quiet dignity attracted 
 him, and kept him eager to follow and to win 
 her. He could not remember a tipe when 
 he did not feel for her a tenderness that 
 nothing should change. To-night he reas- 
 sured himself that at last he was able to 
 marry a wife whenever he chose, and sud- 
 denly found it more difficult than ever to 
 bide his time. Dan was quite aware that 
 the neighbors had long ago ceased to feel 
 any excitement about so natural and proper 
 a match ; they had talked it over and over, 
 and settled his future for him, and even 
 spoken to him on the subject without the 
 
48 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 least hesitation. But, strange to say, in these 
 days, when he continually told himself that 
 all obstacles had been removed, the lover 
 became for the first time disturbed and un- 
 certain. Doris was so friendly and sisterly, 
 and unlike other girls who thought of mar- 
 riage. Yet it was not impossible that she 
 was quiet and sweet, and untroubled even 
 by love ; and Dan Lester grew scarlet all at 
 once in the sheltering darkness, because he 
 was possessed by an eager desire to risk ask- 
 ing the great question that very night. Per- 
 haps Doris was waiting for him to declare 
 himself ; was wishing to hear the words he 
 found it so hard to say. 
 
 At that instant the girl herself spoke, and 
 he wa^ ij^antly possessed by a sense of dis- 
 app^ntthent ; there was evidently a complete 
 unconsciousness of such an exciting possibil- 
 ity. " I was not sure that you would come," 
 she said. " I hope you did n't feel obliged 
 to keep the promise, if you were tired. I 
 wasn't counting on it greatly, and haying 
 is hard work." 
 
 Lester laughed uneasily. " 'T would take 
 more than haying to beat me," he answered, 
 and touched his horse unnecessarily with the 
 whip, after which his thoughts returned to a 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 49 
 
 subject which had provoked his curiosity 
 while he waited in the farmhouse yard. 
 " Have you had company come ? " he asked. 
 " I saw a stranger at supper with the rest of 
 the folks." 
 
 Doris was glad to have a new topic for 
 conversation suggested. She half feared that 
 it was an unwelcome tax upon Dan to drive 
 her to the village that evening. He was 
 unusually silent, and she had begun to be 
 the least bit uncomfortable. 
 
 She hoped that he would not feel bound 
 to her, yet her woman's heart had become 
 aware that one element in their relation to 
 each other was fast growing more conspicuous 
 than any other; and she had lately both 
 dreaded and enjoyed being alo^g|^^im. 
 Dan had been her brother Israe]^^^H|and 
 was a near neighbor. It was peTOCtly nat- 
 ural that he should be at the farm often. 
 
 "Mother told me that the young man's 
 name is Dale," she answered, cordially. " I 
 don't know anything about him, except that 
 he was painting a picture somewhere near 
 here to-day, and they forgot to come for him 
 from Dunster ; so he came up to the house, 
 and asked to stay over night. They think 
 he looks a good deal as Israel did," Doris 
 
50 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 added softly. " Father seemed to want him 
 to stay. I didn't like to come away and 
 leave mother with so much to do, but this 
 morning she was very anxious to get word to 
 Temp'rance ; we were to let her know when 
 we began to get the salt hay in. Mother said 
 a little while ago that perhaps we 'd better 
 let her stay another day or two, or go over 
 to-morrow and get her ; but I was afraid she 
 would be all tired out. You know what 
 mother is when there 's a great deal extra to 
 do." 
 
 Dan Lester eagerly insisted that Doris had 
 done exactly right. He had quickly under- 
 stood Mrs. Owen's change of opinion, and 
 found it enough to rouse a flame of jealousy. 
 "T^|M^^^e has been away most a fort- 
 nigh^^^^Hinarked as quietly as he could. 
 "She n^^T gets any rest over at her sis- 
 ter's, any way." 
 
 He could not be sufficiently thankful that 
 Doris was not at home that evening, being 
 suspicious of the unknown rival, and unpleas- 
 antly sure that Mrs. Owen was filled with 
 ambitions for her daughter's future that over- 
 topped and slighted his own claims. There 
 was something ominous in the stranger's ap- 
 pearance at this critical time, and poor Les- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 51 
 
 ter wished that he were already sure that 
 Doris belonged to him; he must settle it 
 right away. But while he tried to gain cour- 
 age to speak to her, Doris, who was in un- 
 commonly good spirits, talked about one 
 every -day thing after another until they 
 reached the minister's door. 
 
 When the choir - meeting was over, fate 
 would insist that a cousin, who lived half a 
 mile or more beyond his own house, should 
 ask to make a third passenger homeward in 
 the new buggy. Dan was amazingly ungra- 
 cious for the first few minutes, but the girls, 
 who were good friends, gossiped together 
 serenely all the way. ^jk 
 
V. 
 
 The various excitements of the evening 
 apparently exhausted Mrs. Owen's reserve 
 fund of good-humor, for she came downstairs 
 the next morning looking older than usual 
 and very despondent. Her husband, on the 
 contrary, was in a cheerful frame of mind, 
 and even hummed a tune as he waited for 
 his breakfast. Whenever his companion 
 had occasion to go to the kitchen closet, just 
 behind the chair where he sat, she gave a 
 deep an^^tentatious sigh. The farmer was 
 alwsil^^^Barly riser, and had already fed 
 the horMrand cattle ; he asked now, with 
 mild interest, if none of his assistants had 
 yet appeared. 
 
 There was no answer to such an unneces- 
 sary question, and a vague thought flitted 
 through the good man's mind that perhaps 
 this had been one of the idle words for which 
 he must give account. It was hardly a re- 
 buke to himself, but rather a theological 
 view of an unimportant mistake. He still 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 53 
 
 waited patiently, giving his best attention to 
 his interlaced fingers, matching one thumb 
 to the other, and wondering, also, what 
 '' mother " had on her mind now. He had 
 known these signs of storm to precede even 
 so reasonable an event as her going to the 
 village to pay an afternoon visit, and a gen- 
 eral overturning of affairs always preceded 
 the more serious enterprise of deciding upon 
 new clothes. He assured himself that the 
 clouds were likely to blow over, and smiled 
 suddenly at his own philosophy. It was 
 half-past five o'clock ; the morning was chilly 
 and misty, and would have promised to an 
 inland farmer anything but a good hay-day. 
 
 The smile reflected from his observation 
 of the in-door weather seemei^^ deepen 
 Mrs. Owen's sense of displeasure. " I 'm 
 getting the breakfast ready as fast 's I can," 
 she said, in a most offended tone. " You 
 just try to do all your farm work with one 
 pair o' hands, and see how you make out." 
 
 " I did n't know as anybody was ever in 
 the habit of usin' two pair," suggested Israel 
 Owen mildly. " None of us is expected to 
 do any more than we can do. Don't over- 
 tax yourself, Marthy," he added, placidly. 
 " I declare, I don't know when I 've ever 
 
64 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 been so sharp-set for breakfast, though. I 
 think most like it may be on account of the 
 weather's being cooler. What 's goin' on 
 with you to-day ? I hope Temp'rance '11 get 
 home good an' early." 
 
 " 'T will be the first day since she 's been 
 gone that she could wear her new thick dress. 
 I told her 't was all nonsense to toil so over 
 it. Anybody might know 't was like to be 
 too warm weather to have any good of such 
 a thick material. She thought she 'd have 
 it ready for winter if she got it done now, 
 in leisure time, before we begun to get the 
 ma'sh hay in. An' she did n't have a notion 
 that you would begin till Monday. I must 
 say I hate to spoil her visit, sending and 
 getting of Jsier home." 
 
 " We 're going over on the south ma'sh," 
 said the farmer, tilting his chair, " and most 
 likely won't be back before seven or eight 
 o'clock. You might take the old horse and 
 jog up Dunster way, and fetch Temp'rance 
 home yourself, — 't will be a change." 
 
 The cause of Mrs. Owen's despondency 
 was at once apparent, and the discovery of 
 her plan seemed to excite great anger : " I 'd 
 just like to know how I 'm going over there 
 without a decent thing to wear over my 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 56 
 
 shoulders. Nobody would expect that I be- 
 longed to folks who had means. I 've got 
 some pride, if you ain't. There 's Temp'r- 
 ance's folks from the West all there. I 
 do consider they are weak about dress, and 
 lo'd on too much of it without respect to 
 occasion : but I don't feel happy when I 've 
 got nothin' to wear over me except old 
 things that's only fit, and ought by good 
 rights to be took, for rug-rags." 
 
 " They used to tell a story — I do' know 
 but you've heard it — about old Sergeant 
 Copp an' his wife, that was always quarrel- 
 in'," said the farmer, in a tone of great sat- 
 isfaction. " Somebody heard her goin' on 
 one day. Says she, ' I do wish somebody 'd 
 p-ive me a lift as fur as Westmarket. I do 
 feel 's if I ought to buy me a cap. I ain't 
 got a decent cap to my back : if I was to 
 die to-morrow, I ain't got no cap that 's fit 
 to lay me out in ! ' ' Blast ye ! ' says he, 
 ' why did n't ye die when ye had a cap ? ' " 
 
 Martha Owen tried to preserve her severe 
 expression, but began to laugh in spite of 
 herself, and her companion knew that this 
 was an end of present discomfort. " It 's 
 your own fault if you an' Doris don't have 
 what you want to wear," he added. " I 'm 
 
56 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 sure I always make you free to spend what 
 money you need, but you 're always a-suffer- 
 in' for some thin'." 
 
 " Well, there, it 's more the trouble of 
 gettin' clothes than anything else," said the 
 good woman. " I s'pose I can go over an' 
 get Temp'rance. We 'U have an early din- 
 ner soon as Doris gets back from Dunster 
 with the young man. I shall have to send 
 her off soon as we get breakfast cleared 
 away," said the crafty mother. " There 
 won't be a bit of tea in the house after to- 
 morrow morning. We shall use up a sight 
 with the three men, and now I suppose we 
 must keep this new one. I don't know as 
 he will make much trouble. They used to 
 think Doris had a pretty taste for drawing ; 
 perhaps he will give her some lessons." 
 
 " He won't stay here long, at this time of 
 the year," said the father. " We don't know 
 a word about him, neither. I don't expect 
 there 's anything wrong in him ; he could n't 
 look ye so straight in the eye. Doris ought 
 to be coming down ; it ain't usual with her 
 to be so behindhand ; " but at that minute 
 her footfall was heard on the stairs. 
 
 Israel Owen's face brightened as he saw 
 his daughter. " I thought 't was about time 
 for you," he said affectionately. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 57 
 
 Doris looked up at the clock, and then 
 smiled at him without speaking. 
 
 " I don't know but quarter to six is full 
 early enough," he answered. " I think hired 
 men are apt to take it out in nooning, if 
 they don't loiter all through the day, when 
 you try to start 'em out too early. Your 
 mother here has been hard at it since a lit- 
 tle past five, though ; " and this seemed like 
 an attempt at reproach. 
 
 If Mrs. Owen had been allowed to speak 
 her sorrows first, she could have made good 
 use of the occasion ; but as it was, she in- 
 stantly defended her daughter, though in a 
 manner which let both her companions un- 
 derstand that Doris had something else to 
 answer for. 
 
 " You could n't have done anything until 
 now, unless it was to open the fore-room 
 windows before the young man comes down," 
 she said ; but after a minute's reflection and 
 a glance at her father, Doris fell into line 
 with the usual preparations for breakfast, 
 and by six o'clock the family had assembled 
 round the table. The sun had broken 
 through the morning mists, and the kitchen 
 seemed a very comfortable and smiling 
 place. The company was much more prosaic 
 
68 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 and business-like than it had been the even- 
 ing before, at supper-time, for the beginning 
 of a busy day has not the leisure that the 
 close of it offers as part of the worker's 
 reward. Yet there has been a certain 
 spirit of adventure at every breakfast table, 
 whether it were surrounded by knights who 
 were eager for the tournament, or bronze- 
 faced haymakers ready to prove their prow- 
 ess with the armies of straight - stemmed 
 marsh grasses. The evening ought to find 
 men tired, and it may find them disappointed 
 and defeated ; in the morning success seems 
 possible, for who knows the treasures and 
 surprises a new day may hold in its keep- 
 ing? 
 
 As Dick Dale came through the clock-room 
 he found the damp morning air very pleas- 
 ant. There was no chill ; only a sharp fresh- 
 ness, that gave an additional spur to his 
 cheerful readiness to meet the world. The 
 old farmer had opened the windows himself, 
 and a straying branch of the cinnamon rose- 
 bush outside had been turned by the light 
 wind, and was lying across one of the win- 
 dow sills, as if it were eager to come inside. 
 The young man crossed the room quickly as 
 he heard the sound of voices, and paused for 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 59 
 
 a minute on the threshold of the kitchen, 
 held by a pleased artistic sense. He had 
 become somewhat familiar with such rural 
 interiors in England and France, but the 
 homelike quality of this, the picturesque 
 grouping and good coloring, were a great 
 surprise and satisfaction : he noted the 
 bronzed faces of the men, the level rays of 
 the pale sunlight, the dull gleam of the brass 
 mountings of a chest of drawers at the shaded 
 side of the room, and the central figure of 
 the girl, who brought a tall coifee-pot with 
 both hands, as if it were an urn of classic 
 shape. Her delicate features and clear color 
 seemed to intensify themselves as he looked, 
 — Doris would make a picture by herself. 
 He must surely do the best he could at mak- 
 ing a sketch of her. 
 
 Mrs. Owen thought the guest was experi- 
 encing an attack of awkwardness, and was 
 not sure of his place at the table, and at 
 once signified the seat which had been given 
 him the evening before. After a few min- 
 utes the interruption was forgotten, and the 
 regular progress of the breakfast went on, as 
 if it had been a brook into which somebody 
 had lately thrown a stone. Dale was half 
 amused and half gratified with his new posi- 
 
60 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 tion. He had felt very much like other 
 people until the evening before, but so sensi- 
 tive a nature was aware that it had suddenly 
 become the most interesting fact to several 
 minds ; that he represented an only half- 
 understood order of things, and was looked 
 upon with mingled suspicion and envy. It 
 was not beyond his power to make his 
 common humanity more apparent than the 
 difference in experience and local values. 
 Being, indeed, a man who was not ruled by 
 the decorations of character, he had a true 
 sympathy with his fellows, which gave him 
 the advantage of feeling at home in almost 
 any place ; and with another glance at Do- 
 ris, who sat by his side and next her father, 
 without a word of entreaty to his compan- 
 ions, he began to lay the best claim he could 
 to equal rights with the rest of the house- 
 hold. Busy Mrs. Owen could hardly spare 
 time for her morning meal, and presently 
 bustled away into the pantry to finish pack- 
 ins: the dinner baskets. The farmer laid 
 down his knife and fork, next, and carried 
 the cider jug to the cellar, protesting that 
 he had nearly forgotten it, which made the 
 company smile ; and two of the haymakers 
 nodded at each other and grinned a moment 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 61 
 
 later, when they heard their favorite bever- 
 age gurgling from its cask in the depths be- 
 low. Then they went out together. There 
 were a few reproachful cries at a restless 
 horse, and a hurry and clatter and general 
 excitement in the yard. The farmer came 
 back again to the door to say that he should 
 have to leave Mr. Dale to the favor of the 
 women folks ; but if he felt like strolling 
 over to the marshes by and by he could find 
 a welcome, especially if it looked like rain. 
 The stranger himself laughed in response, 
 and in a few minutes the stir was over, and 
 quiet had again settled down upon the house. 
 After a minute's hesitation Dick wandered 
 back into the clock-room, and stood before 
 the sketch he had made the day before. 
 This was disappointing, after all ; the little 
 birch-tree was more like a tree and less like 
 Doris than he had hoped to find it. Yet he 
 was not sure that he felt exactly like going 
 on with that bit of work ; perhaps it would 
 be better to look about the farm, and see 
 what he could discover in the way of sub- 
 jects. He had found his room at the north 
 side of the house a little damp and cheerless 
 that morning, and had doubted whether it 
 were worth while to linger long in this rural 
 
62 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 neighborhood ; but all trace of such want of 
 hardiness had been dispelled by his comfort- 
 able breakfast. It really seemed his duty 
 to forget inconveniences which could not be 
 worth mentioning beside those he had en- 
 countered elsewhere in pursuit of his art. 
 One did not happen upon such rich hunting- 
 grounds every day, and he gave a compla- 
 cent glance at a Washington pitcher of most 
 rewarding quality, which held some durable 
 dahlias and late summer flowers, on the nar- 
 row table under the blurred mirror in its 
 twisted frame. He was a trifle ashamed of 
 his grasping worldliness, as he stood in the 
 old room. The master of the house was most 
 attractive ; he and his daughter were of a 
 different fibre from the other inmates of the 
 household. The girl had a fine repose and 
 dignity of manner. She seemed equal to 
 her duties, but she was grave and brooding ; 
 like some women whom he had known among 
 the French peasants, with her serene expec- 
 tancy and steadfastness and careful expendi- 
 ture of enthusiasm. She was an economist 
 by nature, but rich with power and strength, 
 the young man thought, as he wondered if 
 there were any one who had the gift of 
 sounding the depths of her faithful heart. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 63 
 
 He was ready to read mucli romance and 
 sentiment between the straight, plain lines 
 of this new character. Evidently nothing of 
 any great interest had happened to Doris 
 yet, but it could not be possible that she was 
 made only for fading out and growing old, 
 undeveloped by these dull fashions of coun- 
 try life. 
 
 As he went up the broad green sloping 
 yard toward the orchard, a little later, Mrs. 
 Owen's voice reached him as she sang a high 
 droning psalm tune behind the wilted scarlet 
 runners of the pantry window. She had 
 sung in the church choir in her early years, 
 and had agreed with her neighbors that her 
 gift was quite uncommon ; but it v/as im- 
 possible now for the listener to resist a smile 
 at some of her ambitious excursions among 
 the higher notes. She was rolling out a new 
 supply of the substantial ginger cakes that 
 her dependents so much admired, and dough- 
 nuts also must be provided afresh ; but she 
 noticed with pleasure that her guest was 
 going in the same direction from which Doris 
 would presently be returning, and rejoiced to 
 think they were sure to meet. 
 
 Nothing would give her daughter a better 
 suggestion than such an acquaintance as this. 
 
64: A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 It was Mrs. Owen's darling project that 
 Doris should see something of the world. 
 She dimly recognized that the world had a 
 claim upon the girl's beauty and good sense, 
 and she wished to hear her praised and see 
 her take a rightful place. Her own most 
 womanly perception had not been uncon- 
 scious of young Dale's interest in her child's 
 good looks. Dale himself was pleasant to 
 look at ; young Israel Owen might have 
 truly been something like him, if he had 
 grown older under such evidently prosper- 
 ous worldly conditions ; and the tears started 
 to this mother's eyes, as she watched the 
 stranger out of sight. She must ask him 
 some time to give further particulars of the 
 accident which had lamed him. He seemed 
 to have difficulty in using his left foot, and 
 limped a good deal now as he disappeared 
 among the old trees of the orchard. Pres- 
 ently he came into view again, this time 
 allured to the family burying-ground at the 
 edge of the field. The good woman could 
 see, as he had seen, the faded color of the 
 little flag which since the last Decoration 
 Day had fluttered in every breeze above the 
 soldier's grave. 
 
VI. 
 
 The weather did what it could to prosper 
 the dwellers on the MarslT Island, and Dick 
 Dale more than once assured himself that it 
 was too heavenly beautiful for a man to do 
 anything but enjoy life in idleness. There 
 was a sturdiness and royalty about the stout- 
 stemmed fruit-trees. He looked along de- 
 lightful vistas between their rows, and when 
 he had followed the hillside a short distance 
 he discovered, as he turned to look behind 
 him, a view of the farmhouse roofs and chim- 
 neys against the willows, with a far distance 
 of shore and sea and clouds beyond, which 
 appeared to him of inestimable beauty and 
 value. He forgot, as he looked across the 
 country, that he had ever known any inter- 
 est in existence save that connected with 
 his paints and brushes, and would have hur- 
 ried back for the best of them if he had not 
 remembered, almost with impatience, that 
 Doris would be ready to drive him to Dunster 
 at eight o'clock. It was now a little past 
 
66 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 seven, and there never had. been a better be- 
 ginning of a day, with such wealth of time 
 yet to look forward to. If Dale had been a 
 more energetic person, he might have seized 
 that perfection of morning light, and made 
 sure of his sketch directly; but he looked 
 back lovingly again and again instead, was 
 sorry that the family plans seemed too im- 
 portant and inevitable to be disarranged, and 
 strolled on through the open field. The 
 aftermath here was wet with the heavy dew 
 of the night before, and he kept to the cart 
 track, along which the workmen had evidently 
 passed earlier in the day. One of the ruts 
 was well trodden and much used as a foot- 
 path. He wondered whither it led : it must 
 be to the creek, and there was sure to be a 
 fine view of the marshes after one reached 
 the top of the slope beyond. 
 
 A Salter breeze than any he had met blew 
 the drier grasses of the hiU-top, and for his 
 lame foot's sake he stopped, and then looked 
 about eagerly. A wide, low country stretched 
 away northward and eastward, with some pale 
 blue hills on its horizon. The marshes looked 
 as if the land had been raveled out into the 
 sea, for the tide creeks and inlets were brim- 
 ful of water, and some gulls were flashing 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 67 
 
 their wings in tlie sunliglit, as if they were 
 rejoiced at the sight of the sinking and con- 
 quered shore. The far-away dimes of white 
 sand were bewildering to look at, and their 
 shadows were purple even at that distance. 
 One might be thankful that he had risen 
 early that morning, and had climbed a hill 
 to see the world. Far away the haymaking 
 was going on. In another direction some old 
 haystacks looked soft and brown ; and then 
 Dale discovered a second group of men float- 
 ing down the creeks, and was puzzled to 
 know which were his friends. He felt like 
 a leaf that drifts down a slow stream ; he 
 grew serenely contented in his delight, and 
 dared to look the August sun full in its face, 
 and then threw a stone with all his might at 
 a bird that flew by. He blinked his dazzled 
 eyes angrily because he could not tell whether 
 the shot had been of any avail, and then 
 laughed at himself, and felt like a boy on a 
 stolen holiday. Just then he heard a noise 
 of heavy footsteps, and behind some bushes, 
 farther along the path he had been following, 
 he was surprised to see Doris approaching, 
 walking quickly beside two farm horses, 
 whose harness was hanging about them, un- 
 fastened and clinking as they came. She 
 
68 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 was holding the near horse by his bit, and 
 leaned backward to check the honest crea- 
 tures, who were impatient to finish their 
 breakfasts. The color flickered more brightly 
 in her cheeks as she saw Dale, and watched 
 him eagerly come down the slope to meet her. 
 The clumsy horses were filled with the 
 spirit and excitement of the clear morning, 
 and were ready to take advantage of any ex- 
 cuse for prancing a little. They raised their 
 heads and looked at the stranger, and the off 
 horse capered at the sight; the dangling 
 harness struck them unexpectedly, and their 
 slender teamster was suddenly in danger. 
 At least. Dale thought so, and hastened to 
 the rescue. Doris lost sight of him, but 
 presently had the horses well in hand again, 
 and a moment afterward she was shocked to 
 see the painter try to get up from the turf. 
 He had stumbled and fallen ignominiously, 
 but looked pale, as if he were really hurt. 
 The conquered horses stood still now, at the 
 girl's command. They were docile creatures, 
 of great experience, who would stand in the 
 hot sunshine all day, or follow the long spring 
 furrows without impatience. They would 
 not have struck their young mistress for all 
 the cracked corn in the bin, and waited now, 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 69 
 
 looking after her uneasily as she went toward 
 the stranger. 
 
 " It is only this confounded ankle of 
 mine ! " growled Dale. " I believe I never 
 shall get it strong ; " and though he felt more 
 and more disgusted and ashamed of himself 
 and wished he were a thousand miles away, 
 an unpleasant faintness was creeping over 
 him. No, he would not be such a baby ! 
 But at this point the bright sky turned black, 
 he felt the ground lift itself up and the short 
 grass prick his cheek, and there was a pause 
 altogether. 
 
 Only a minute went by before life resumed 
 its course, and he opened his eyes, quite a 
 languid and white-faced person now, instead 
 of the stalwart admirer of the country who 
 had come up the hill. " You had better lie 
 still a little while," said Doris softly. He 
 need not have felt such a sense of inferiority 
 and silliness, for her face was very sober and 
 distressed. The horses had become totally 
 indifferent to their surroundings, except as 
 they tried to brush away a fly now and then. 
 Dale sat up presently, and leaned his head 
 on one hand while he felt his disabled ankle 
 with the other, and then tied his handkerchief 
 tightly about it. He felt sorry it was not 
 
70 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the clean one which he had filled with mush- 
 rooms the day before ; this looked miserably 
 the worse for wear. Somehow, he never 
 could remember to beg for paint rags before 
 he started out for a day's sketching. 
 
 Doris looked on compassionately. She 
 was standing close beside him, and he was 
 sure she had stooped to take off his hat, which 
 had been uncomfortably misplaced over his 
 eyes as he lay down ; but she had not lifted 
 his head on her arm, or behaved at all as 
 maidens do when their lovers, or even their 
 friends, faint in the story-books. He was 
 obliged to confess that she was very sensible 
 and very kind, however, and that she looked 
 sorry for him. 
 
 " I shall be all right directly," he said, 
 with his best smile. " I must insist that I 
 haven't fainted before since I was a boy. 
 Could you ask " — and Dale hesitated : there 
 was nobody at the farmhouse save Mrs. Owen. 
 " Can you get me a stick, do you think, so 
 that I can hobble back to the house?" 
 
 " I will come back and help you, if you 
 will wait right here for me," said the girl, 
 flushing slightly, while, leading the horses 
 the side of the path, she sprang upon the 
 back of the nearer one, and went jolting 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 71 
 
 toward the barns with entire composure. 
 She was apparently familiar with this un- 
 comfortable mode of travel ; she did not turn 
 her head, though Dale turned his, and saw 
 her strike first the leader and then his mate 
 with the end of the heavy leather reins. He 
 wondered if she would not be hurt against 
 the low boughs of the old apple-trees; he 
 had been obliged to stoop more than once as 
 he had walked under them. It was very odd 
 that he should have been talking nonsense 
 to himself the night before about being in- 
 valided upon the Marsh Island. Somehow, 
 the reality was not so pleasant, and he felt 
 like a shipwrecked sailor, and unwontedly 
 destitute at that. He could not go to Dunster 
 now ; perhaps he must ask Doris to bring a 
 doctor. This was a dismal end to his trium- 
 phant morning; but his ankle was in a 
 wretched way, and with an angry cry of mis- 
 ery, which nothing would have forced from 
 him had he not been alone, he seized it with 
 both hands, and soliloquized at intervals 
 until Doris reappeared. Even in his suffering 
 condition he felt a great joy, because she ran 
 so lightly and so fast, as not one woman in 
 ten thousand can run, with fleet-footed di- 
 rectness and grace. She was slow, she her- 
 
72 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 self thought, — she had been afraid that he 
 might faint again ; and when she reached 
 his side, and Dale leaned upon her firm arm 
 and stopped to break a stick from a wild- 
 cherry thicket, she thought him uncomplain- 
 ing and even heroic. She was much dis- 
 turbed, but the painter thought her very 
 placid and quite motherly in her attentions 
 and feeling toward him. She was a soulless 
 creature, after all ; beautiful to look at as 
 a fawn and unconscious as a flower, but as 
 a human being utterly commonplace. The 
 confession must be made that when they 
 reached the hot kitchen, and Dale deposited 
 himself wearily in a padded rocking-chair, 
 which he wished to be out of directly, Mrs. 
 Owen was much more equal to the occasion 
 in her expressions of sympathy than her 
 daughter had been. "For mercy's sake, 
 Doris," she demanded, " why did n't you 
 slip one of the bosses into the old wagon, and 
 not make Mr. Dale walk all the way ? He 
 may have het up the bone so 't will be stiff 
 as a stake." But Doris looked so convicted 
 and distressed that Dick announced gallantly 
 his complete repugnance to being cruelly 
 jolted over the uneven surface of a hillside 
 field. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 73 
 
 Dan Lester was happily unconscious of 
 the devotion which was spent upon his rival 
 that day at the farmhouse. The family doc- 
 tor was seen coming along the road, and was 
 called in with great eagerness. He looked 
 at his patient with much surprise, and rec- 
 ognized him as having sometimes been a 
 guest at one of the fine houses on the shore, 
 at the other extremity of his range of prac- 
 tice. The doctor had served as surgeon in 
 the army during the war, and was a man of 
 excellent acquirements and quick percep- 
 tions. 
 
 " I have seen you before, I think, at Mrs. 
 Winchester's, Mr. Dale ? " he said carelessly, 
 when the bandage had fallen short, and Mrs. 
 Owen had hurried away with thumping foot- 
 steps for more old cotton. " It was when a 
 little grandson of hers had a bad fall in the 
 stable," he explained, holding the strip of 
 cloth with firm fingers. 
 
 " Yes," replied Dick Dale uneasily. " I 
 thought I had seen you. If you run across 
 any of my people, don't speak of my being 
 here. I stopped to make a sketch or two, 
 and meant to be away to-day. I have prom- 
 ised to visit my aunt later in the season," he 
 added more boldly. He was unaccustomed 
 
74 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 to apologizing for his plans, and wondered, 
 as he spoke, why he felt now a little at odds 
 with propriety. 
 
 The doctor nodded, and seemed indisposed 
 to criticise the deeds of any young man, es- 
 pecially an artist. "You could not find a 
 more picturesque bit of country," he said, 
 with considerable enthusiasm. " There were 
 two or three artists staying at the east vil- 
 lage in June. I dare say they might have 
 been friends of yours." 
 
 ^ Mrs. Owen had returned with a stout roll 
 of linen and a damaged sheet, which she of- 
 fered submissively for inspection. "There's 
 plenty more where this come from," she an- 
 nounced, a little out of breath ; and the doc- 
 tor smilingly responded that she had better 
 not let any of the hospitals hear of her; 
 they were always beggared for want of such 
 things. 
 
 " Will he be laid up a good while, do you 
 suppose ? " she asked the hurried surgeon, 
 with a shade of anxiety, as she followed him 
 to the door, and hardly knew whether she 
 was most relieved or disappointed when the 
 doctor answered that this sprain was only 
 slight ; it was a miserable weak ankle ; the 
 fellow had used it too soon after the first in- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 75 
 
 The morning went by slowly, and Dale 
 grew more and more dissatisfied and impa- 
 tient with himself. He had heard the doc- 
 tor's verdict upon his case, and did not anti- 
 cipate any long delay; but his foot ached 
 badly, and the bandage felt tight and bun- 
 gling, though it looked so smooth and irre- 
 proachable. He had been established in a 
 high -backed wooden rocking-chair in the 
 clock-room, with his lame foot on another 
 chair, cushioned by a small and fluffy pillow, 
 with a cover so long that it drooped to thd*' 
 floor and looked like a baby's skimpy-frock. 
 He was left to himseK for a time. Doris 
 was going to Dunster without him, and 
 would bring back Temperance Kipp, the 
 maid servant, and his own portmanteau. 
 Dale could see her in the yard harnessing 
 a horse into a light wagon. Presently her 
 mother joined her, looking heated from her 
 work in the kitchen. She was a fine, straight 
 woman for her years, a most kind creature, 
 the young man thought gratefully, and 
 smiled as he heard her tell Doris what the 
 doctor had said, and add that the disabled 
 foot was as soft and white as a child's. Do- 
 ris seemed impatient to be ofip. The young 
 horse she drove was impatient, also, and 
 
76 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 whirled the wagon round a corner of the 
 yard and down the road. Dale leaned for- 
 ward to see better. Doris looked quickly 
 up at the window, and their eyes exactly 
 met ; the next moment she was hidden by 
 the willow boughs, but it was so still about 
 the farm that the sound of wheels could be 
 heard for some minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Owen looked in, every little while, 
 and always said that they were going to 
 have a regular dog -day. The tall clock 
 ticked excitedly, as if it were not pleased 
 with this intrusion upon its own apartment. 
 The county paper lay upon the table under 
 the looking-glass, with the Massachusetts 
 Ploughman and the semi -weekly Tribune, 
 which Dale selected with satisfaction. Af- 
 ter looking over its pages with sad quick- 
 ness, he made use of it to beat away the flies 
 which were flocking in from the kitchen. 
 Mrs. Owen had unguardedly left the door 
 half open, and they seemed eager to prove 
 the truth of her repeated statement about 
 the weather. From his seat by the window 
 he could see the hillside and the orchard, 
 with the small, pathetic crowd of gray and 
 white headstones in the family burying-place. 
 One might fancy that these stones were a 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 77 
 
 sort of prosaic disguise, under which the 
 former dwellers in the old farmhouse stood 
 apart together to watch and comment gloom- 
 ily upon their descendants. The faded lit- 
 tle flag alone signified any active interest. 
 There was a kind of hopeful beckoning and 
 inspiration about its slight movements and 
 flutterings. 
 
 In the dullest of the morning hours Dick 
 was assured that he must communicate with 
 his aunt, and make use of her hospitality. 
 Later, he reflected that, however reasonable 
 such an arrangement might appear, it would 
 be also a great bore. The house was always 
 well filled at this time of the summer. There 
 was sure to be a flock of his aunt's grand- 
 children, and they were noisy and clamorous 
 enough if a man were well, and he was not 
 disposed to put himself at their mercy now, 
 confounded little beggars ! They were all 
 extremely fond of him, and hitherto he had 
 returned their affection with a more or less 
 spasmodic warmth. Dick jerked his shoul- 
 ders suddenly, as if a first-cousin, once re- 
 moved, had unsympathetically tried to climb 
 upon them. He would wait a day or two, 
 and see how the ankle got on; indeed, he 
 
78 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 had often spent a week or two in a duller 
 place than this. But he wondered idly, 
 more than once, if it were not time for Do- 
 ris to be at home again. 
 
VII. 
 
 Meanwhile work was going forward on 
 the marshes. There had been some delay 
 in transporting the crew of men ; the great 
 hay-boat, which had not been used before for 
 some months, was stranded high and dry on 
 the shore at the side of the creek. It had 
 been well beached, and put as far out of 
 reach of the spring tides as possible, lest it 
 should float off across the shallow sea which 
 covered the meadows, and be either wrecked 
 or take up its residence inconveniently far 
 inland. The same spring tide, however, had 
 revenged itself for the loss of its prey by 
 giving the heavy boat a lift and a push which 
 made it swing about and tug at its moorings 
 from the opposite direction. Finally, when 
 the waters receded from their unnatural van- 
 tage ground, the craft settled down heavily, 
 with its bow toward the deep channel ; and 
 when the huckleberry and bayberry bushes 
 waked up a little later, they struggled and 
 bent their twigs under a weight and obscu- 
 
80 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 rity equal to a land-slide, and concluded that 
 it was not spring yet, after all. 
 
 The farmer had met such hindrances be- 
 fore, and had laid some persuasive rollers in 
 the way to the water, and the launch was 
 achieved in the early August morning with 
 little difficulty, though with the aid of much 
 shouting at the horses from Jim Tales, be- 
 side vigorous pushing from all the haymak- 
 ers. The tide was in, and the stupid-looking 
 square hay-boat floated lightly, with a some- 
 what coquettish air of being in its element, 
 while the displaced water splashed among 
 the coarse grass of the shore. A weather- 
 beaten dory was brought up and fastened at 
 the hay-boat's stern ; the farmer was care- 
 fully putting his scythes and pitchforks on 
 board. One of the men fastened the horses 
 to a small maple-tree, which they browsed 
 industriously. Doris was to come presently 
 to drive them back to the barn. 
 
 Jim Tales had worked furiously to aid the 
 launching of the hay-boat, and now stood 
 contemplating it with some scorn. "Ain't 
 she got a sassy bow?" he remarked deri- 
 sively. " I don't know 's I ever see one that 
 was built more awk'ard. 'T was one o' old 
 Lester's make, wa'n't it ? His was all the 
 same pattern." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 81 
 
 " You take right holt now, my son, and 
 help git these tools aboard," said Israel Owen 
 serenely. " We 're belated more 'n I wish 
 we was a'ready. An' Lester's bo'ts are 
 pretty much all afloat in the ma'shes now, 
 while those that have been made since are 
 mostly split or rotten. He put good stufE 
 into 'em, and they carry well, a good load 
 and well set, if they be square-nosed." 
 
 " We '11 all be drownded, sure 's fate. I 
 guess I 'd better step along on the bank," 
 laughed the young man ; " she 's leakin' 
 like a sieve." 
 
 ' " Give her a couple of hours in the water 
 and she '11 be as dry as a cup," said the far- 
 mer. " I know her. But run along ashore 
 if you feel skeary, James," as the youngster 
 leaped lightly over the side. The other men 
 smiled indulgently. Jim Fales was a good 
 fellow, whose faults were those of youth and 
 self-confidence. He was thin and light, quick 
 as a flash, and apt to work beyond his 
 strength in boyish bravado. He was em- 
 ployed at men's wages for the first time this 
 summer, and had proved himself worthy to 
 enter the lists at any sort of farm -work, 
 though some of his comrades could not help 
 wondering how he would hold out. He was 
 
82 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 frequently designated as the Grasshopper, 
 and was worth at least half his pay for his 
 good spirits and the amusement he afforded 
 his associates. 
 
 One would have thought that the boat's 
 builder had measured the width of the creek 
 before he laid her timbers, and then left very 
 little room on either side. The complication 
 which would be involved by one hay-boat's 
 meeting another in the deep and narrow 
 channels of the marsh can hardly be pictured, 
 unless, indeed, the crews were amicably 
 transferred. At some distance, however, a 
 broader inlet was shining in the morning 
 sunlight, and another boat and its company 
 presently emerged from behind a point of 
 the Marsh Island, and floated placidly away 
 to the eastward. 
 
 "There goes Bennet's folks," said Mr. 
 Jenks. "They're late this morning, too," 
 and Jim Fales and Allen, who were poling, 
 doubled their diligence, and made haste to 
 signify their presence by loud and echoing 
 outcries. 
 
 Farmer Owen had seated himself on the 
 broad gunwale of his valued boat, leaning 
 forward, with his elbows on his knees and 
 his brown hands clasped together before him. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 88 
 
 Sometimes the tall sedges brushed the faded 
 cambric back of his waistcoat, and once Mr. 
 Jenks reached out and cut two or three cat- 
 tails with his great jack-knife, and selecting 
 the largest proceeded to trim it, and then 
 stuck it in a small auger hole in the stern, 
 where it looked like the mockery of a mast. 
 For some distance the faded square of yel- 
 low was visible where the boat had lain on 
 the sloping bank ; it made a surprisingly at- 
 tractive point in the landscape, and Farmer 
 Owen said once, as he looked at it, that the 
 growth underneath would be likely to think 
 there was an early fall. There had been no 
 such high tides for ten years as the spring 
 before, when Lester's masterpiece had been 
 drifted so far ashore. 
 
 As they neared a point half-way to the 
 south marsh, a young man was seen stand- 
 ing there, waiting, a solitary figure on the 
 low shore. This was Dan Lester, who, as 
 the hay-boat approached, took a flying leap 
 and landed in what might be called the hold, 
 making a great splash in the six or seven 
 inches of water, which seemed to disconcert 
 neither him nor anybody else. 
 
 " I 'd better have fetched a mallet and 
 
84 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 spike along, and caulked up this convey- 
 ance," lie said soberly, with an inward sense 
 of the scrutiny of Jim Fales's curious eyes. 
 His mind was not afc ease, and he tried to 
 behave exactly as usual, without entire suc- 
 cess. 
 
 " I guess 't will be the end o' the leakage 
 now," Israel Owen announced, after a won- 
 dering though brief look at this new mem- 
 ber of the crew. " The sides are tight, and 
 'twas only the bottom planks that had shrunk 
 a grain, same 's they do every year. She '11 
 be dry enough if she lays out in this sun till 
 evenin'." 
 
 The fresh morning wind ruffled the sur- 
 face of the tide river and tossed about the 
 foliage on the shore, lifting the leaves and 
 varying their shades of green skillfully. As 
 the boat slowly rounded a point covered with 
 underbrush, Lester saw a late wild rose al- 
 most within reach of his hand, and with the 
 sudden thought of Doris that was alwaj^s 
 linked in his mind with anything beautiful 
 he tried to catch and break the twig. But 
 he had been carried just too far beyond, and 
 almost fell over into the water. The other 
 men laughed, and he joined them a little rue- 
 fully, and watched the flower, as if the loss 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 86 
 
 of it foretold his fate. He had known the 
 misery and anxiety of an unassured lover the 
 night before. He had never until now been 
 really uncertain or in such des^Derate earnest 
 about winning Doris, and was shaken and 
 hurt by his sleeplessness and fears. Dan 
 was a model of health and vigor. Like men 
 of his nature, he could ill bear suffering of 
 any sort, but he was supported this morning 
 by a noble instinct of heroism. He would 
 die hard before he let himself betray the lack 
 of courage that he sometimes felt. If Doris 
 knew how troubled he was for her sake, she 
 could not help thinking that he deserved her 
 love. Poor fellow ! sometimes he needed her 
 tender pity almost as much. 
 
 But saucy Jim Fales, with his quick, 
 shrewd eyes, had dared to tell him that he 
 looked afflicted, and was begging him to 
 give the reason. It was a preposterous fa- 
 vor to ask, under the circumstances, and 
 Jim seemed quite abominable. Lester was 
 quick-tempered, and found himself growing 
 very angry, although it would never do to 
 wage open war against the youngster. Mr. 
 Owen was already looking benignly at the 
 faces of his companions, as if he were be- 
 coming conscious of the presence of some 
 interest he did not understand. 
 
86 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 They were so far away now from tlie 
 farm that it showed its whole outline and 
 extent from that eastern point of view. The 
 hill which Dick Dale thought a good look- 
 out had lowered itself, and was only a bare, 
 unsheltered pasture upland. Israel Owen 
 could read at a glance all the slopes and 
 hollows of the woodland and fields of the 
 neighboring country, and surveyed with 
 pleasure his own sound fences and the tops 
 of his fruit-trees, which showed themselves 
 over the crest of the island as if they were 
 trying to see what was on the seaward side. 
 
 The tide was full ; the lines of the creeks 
 made a broad tracery whichever way one 
 looked. Northward and southward from 
 the Marsh Island the great reaches of the 
 Sussex marshes spread themselves level and 
 green, while the nearer hills of the inland 
 country were bronzed and autumn-like, and 
 the distant ones were blue in the morning 
 haze. The sea-birds overhead were crying 
 and calling, as if they besought the salt-hay 
 makers to fly away with them, like reluctant 
 nestlings of their own. 
 
 The outlying portion of Israel Owen's 
 property, toward which he was voyaging, 
 was a low bit of the sea country. Even 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 87 
 
 this not unusual tide was submerging its 
 borders, and most of the grass must be taken 
 away to be spread and dried elsewhere. 
 The old farmer with Dan Lester went apart 
 from the other workmen, and all began to 
 mow as fast as possible, so that a good por- 
 tion of the crop might be put into the 
 boat, ready to carry away when the tide 
 should be high again in the evening. The 
 men stepped forward diligently; the tall 
 grasses fell before their enemies, rank after 
 rank. The tide held itself bravely for a 
 time : it had grasped the land nobly ; all 
 that great weight and power were come in 
 and had prevailed. It shone up at the sky ; 
 and laughed in the sun's face ; then changed 
 its mind, and began to creep away again. 
 It would rise no more that morning, but 
 at night the world should wonder ! So the 
 great sea, forsaking its purpose, slid back 
 out of the narrow creeks and ditches, leav- 
 ing them black and deep, with the green 
 sedge drooping over their edges ; and at mid- 
 day the sun was fierce and hot, and the hay- 
 makers brought the small sail of the dory, 
 and made a tent-like shelter of it with their 
 pitchforks, and were ready for their nooning. 
 " I declare I don't know 's it was ever hot- 
 
88 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 ter than this any of the hot days I 've seen 
 in my time," said the farmer. " Doris had 
 a notion yisterday that 't would be better for 
 her to bring over the dinner at noontime ; 
 she thought she could slip down the west 
 crick in her small bo't, if 't was low water ; 
 but I 'm glad she didn't." The younger men 
 gave each other a sly look ; they would have 
 enjoyed such a visit in the midst of their 
 dull work. Some evil spirit suggested to 
 Jim Tales that it would be good fun to tease 
 Dan Lester. 
 
 " Doris ! " he exclaimed contemptuously. 
 " She '11 be all taken up with the city swell, 
 I expect ; she won't have no time to spare 
 for country folks. Perhaps she '11 fetch him 
 along over here in her dory, long towards 
 night when it gits cooler, to make a picture 
 of us." 
 
 " He looks like my boy Isr'el," said Farm- 
 er Owen, unexpectedly. " She 's going to 
 take him in to Dunster to git his trunk, — 
 Doris is. Mis' Owen, she's calc'latin' to 
 accommodate him for a spell." And one of 
 the haymakers, who had been hungry enough 
 the moment before, put down what would 
 have been his next mouthful as if the bread 
 were a stone. Jim Fales whistled at the 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 89 
 
 sight, and the lover shot a fierce glance at 
 him. What a fool he was making of him- 
 self, he thought piteously, the next minute, 
 and tried to go on with his lunch. Mrs. 
 Owen was a capital cook and provider, but 
 Lester wondered how he could dispose of 
 his share, while young Fales ventured to 
 say satirically that he thought he had seen 
 a snake ; and being wonderingly answered 
 by the proprietor that they were never com- 
 mon on the south marsh, held his peace. 
 
 Some of the men stretched themselves 
 out for a nap, and Dan Lester feigned to 
 copy their example ; but when he left his 
 hard couch, a little later, to join his em- 
 ployer, it was with sullen, tired eyes, and a 
 determination to ask Doris's father a solemn 
 question. 
 
 Farmer Owen had apparently taken no 
 notice of Jim Fales's ostentatious discovery 
 of the reptile, nor of the personal character 
 of the talk, but Dan Lester looked dark, 
 and muttered as if he were- a strayed thun- 
 der-cloud. A light breeze had risen, and the 
 stillness of the unusual heat was over with, 
 but the young man grew flushed and warm, 
 and stood holding his scythe as if it were an 
 
90 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 aggressive weapon, while lie fanned himself 
 with his frayed straw hat. He was a hand- 
 some fellow, dark and thin and straight, 
 with a suggestion of French* blood in his 
 remote ancestry. A pair of honest blue 
 eyes looked imrelated to his brown cheeks, 
 and an inch or less above them there was 
 a sharp dividing line between his singu- 
 larly white forehead and the dusky tints 
 below. The old farmer glanced toward 
 him once or twice compassionately, and at 
 last came and laid a heavy hand kindly 
 upon Dan's shoulder. 
 
 "Don't cry before ye 're hurt, lad," he 
 said. "Don't take no account of that 
 youngster's nonsense, neither ; 't ain't wuth 
 your while, as I view it." 
 
 Lester flushed again, and looked more 
 angry than before ; his first impulse was to 
 accuse his annoyers and defend himself, but 
 luckily he became aware of the opportunity 
 to plead his cause with Doris's father. He 
 choked down his silly wrath, and a gentle, 
 almost pleading expression came into his 
 face ; no words could be found for a min- 
 ute, and the elder man stood waiting pa- 
 tiently. " Come," he said at last, " we 
 must get to work." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 91 
 
 " I Ve been wanting to speak with you," 
 Lester whispered, as if they might be over- 
 heard even at that distance from their com- 
 panions. "I do set everything by Doris. 
 I feel as if I wanted to make certain I had 
 a right to her." 
 
 " I can't say but I 'm willin','' answered 
 the farmer. " I should like to see it come 
 about, far 's I 'm concerned. Have ye spoke 
 with her last night, may be ? " and he looked 
 hopefully at his would-be son-in-law's trans- 
 parent countenance. " Your father and me, 
 we was always the best of friends. I 'd 
 rather have you master of the old place 
 than anybody about, so long 's poor Isr'el 
 never '11 want it." 
 
 " I tried to screw me up to say something 
 or 'nother, so she 'd know, as we was ridin' 
 along last evenin'," said Dan, grateful for 
 the listener's confidence. " I don't know 's 
 I 'm chicken-hearted, but I could n't speak 
 my mind. Seems if she must know, too. I 
 wish the women was the ones that spoke first, 
 they 'd get over it a sight the easiest ; " and 
 Dan tried to laugh, but his mirth was not 
 sincere. " She 's too good for me by a long 
 shot, but I never '11 let her want for nothin', 
 specially lovin' kindness," he burst out, with 
 
92 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 such excitement that the next moment a re- 
 action followed his unwonted sentiment, and 
 he felt afraid that his old friend would laugh 
 at him. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " the elder man exclaimed 
 somewhat impatiently. " I don't feel uneasy, 
 Dan, an' 't will all come right in time. She 
 ain't sure of her own mind p'rhaps, but 't is 
 set that way. Women 's a kind of game : 
 you 've got to hunt 'em their own track, an' 
 when you 've caught 'em they 've got to be 
 tamed some. Strange, ain't it ? — they most 
 all on 'em calc'late to git married ; and yet 
 it goes sort of against their natur', too, and 
 seems hard to come to, for the most part : " 
 and Mr. Owen shook his head solemnly over 
 this difficult question, and walked away 
 slowly to his work. Lester's mind felt not 
 wholly unburdened, but this was at least a 
 good beginning. " The old gentleman don't 
 make so clean a cut this year as I 've seen 
 him," he thought. " I '11 borrow some excuse 
 to get him to quit work early ; " and then Dan 
 gave his own scythe a vigorous whetting, and 
 mowed with surprising effect all the after- 
 noon. Perhaps the stranger at the farmhouse 
 was gone already. No, the farmer had said 
 that his wife was going to take him to board 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 93 
 
 for some days ; and Dan felt an unusual 
 sense of bitterness toward tlie good woman 
 who seemed to be so unfriendly to his cause. 
 Perhaps the painter was a married man. It 
 was no use to be distressed, and Doris had 
 been very good-humored the evening before, 
 as they drove to the choir-meeting. Yet as 
 the hours went by he grew more and more 
 anxious to see her again. 
 
 As for Jim Fales and Mr. Jenks and Al- 
 len, they were filled with vain imaginings, 
 and made themselves particularly merry over 
 the lover's exasperation. " Land, how we '11 
 thorn Dan up to-morrow telling how him and 
 her was keeping company in the best room, 
 and walking up in the orchard after dark ! " 
 said Jim Fales. " There, now ; see the old 
 sir a' clappin' him on the shoulder ! He 's 
 going to say, Bless you, my child'n, sure 's 
 you 're alive." 
 
 " He seemed mightily taken with the city 
 chap, it struck me," said Mr. Jenks, who had 
 worked in one of the Sussex shipyards all 
 summer, and had lately been thrown out of 
 employment by the dull season. " And look 
 here, young man, you 'd best keep out o' the 
 range of Dan Lester's fist, if you 've set your 
 mind on baiting him." Mr. Jenks was a 
 
94 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 man of few words, and his junior looked 
 disappointed and grave at this unexpected 
 warning. 
 
 " I don' know 's we 've got to settle every- 
 thing for 'em this afternoon ; but Dan's well 
 stirred up and jealous as sin, ain't he ? " in- 
 quired Jim, a few minutes afterward, in a 
 serious tone. " I should n't wonder myself 
 if it set him on to get matters fixed to his 
 mind. He's been goin' with Doris Owen 
 ever since I can remember. He was a big 
 boy to school when I was a little one in the 
 primer." 
 
 " He come from about here, did n't he ? " 
 asked Allen, who was a stranger in the 
 neighborhood, though known to Mr. Jenks 
 by means of the shipyards and other com- 
 mercial interests. 
 
 " Right over beyond the cross-roads," an- 
 swered Fales, "where the crick makes in. 
 His father and grandfather was the best 
 bo't-builders anywhere about; but Dan's 
 father, he died young, and his mother mar- 
 ried again to old Lawton, and a mighty poor 
 business 't was," said the young philosopher 
 sagely. " She 'd done a sight better to stop 
 where she was. Dan was always warrin' 
 with the old man, and nobody blamed him. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 95 
 
 Dan had a good property from his father's 
 folks, and his mother did n't know enough 
 to hold on to it, and about all of it leaked 
 away. You never see anybody step cheer- 
 fuller than Dan did to the burying-ground, 
 when the old fellow was gathered. He was 
 squiring his mother at the head o' the pro- 
 cession, sleevin' of her handsome, as if he 
 liked it. Dan 's well off : he 's been an awful 
 lucky fellow, and some of his money that 
 grandsir Lawton did n't borrow turned out 
 first-rate. I shouldn't be surprised if he 
 was worth pretty near five thousand dollars 
 to-day." 
 
 " That won't go 's fur as it used to, in 
 maintainin' a wife," said Jenks. His gener- 
 ous lunch seemed to have put him in a talk- 
 ative temper. " Five thousand dollars used 
 to be called a smart property, but nowadays 
 folks has to have so many notions ; every- 
 body must stick a couple o' bay winders out 
 front of their houses, else they ain't consid- 
 ered Christian. Bill Simms had to do it, 
 for all his place was stuck as full o' lights as 
 a lantern a'ready. I guess he finds he 's got 
 took in with his new companion. There was 
 plenty warned him, but he would n't hear to 
 reason ; he 'd been told she 'd got means." 
 
96 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 " She 's a homely creatur' enough," spoke 
 Allen eagerly. " I see her out loppin' over 
 the fence middle o' the morning, day before 
 yisterday. Where 'd she come from, any- 
 way ? Where 'd Simms pick her up ? " 
 
 "I b'lieve 't was over Seabrook way," 
 drawled Mr. Jenks, stooping to take wider 
 reaches at the grass. " I d' know whether 
 she was drove ashore or whether he took her 
 on a trawl, I 'm sure, sir; " and this unusual 
 turn of Mr. Jenks's conversation forced his 
 comrades to laugh heartily. Indeed, the 
 sound of their merriment beguiled Israel 
 Owen from his thoughts of the past and Dan 
 Lester from his hopes of the future, and they 
 laughed back again with instinctive sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 S 
 
VIIL 
 
 That afternoon Mr. Dale made himself 
 delightfully agreeable. Mrs. Owen felt more 
 than equal to the situation, and had already 
 welcomed back the burly strength and re- 
 assuring cheerfulness of Temperance Kipp. 
 This excellent person had grown up, or been 
 raised, as she would have expressed it, on the 
 farm, and remained loyal now to her early 
 friends, in spite of the enticements of well- 
 to-do members of her own family. 
 
 Dick rejoiced in his recovered personal be- 
 longings, which Temperance herself brought 
 in from the wagon and placed beside him, 
 urged to this service by an insatiable curi- 
 osity to see the guest of whom Doris had 
 spoken. Her opinion was extremely favor- 
 able, and after a short time the good woman 
 came downstairs quite shorn of her holiday 
 garb, and resumed her duties in the house- 
 hold. Dick remembered a frequent expres- 
 sion of Mrs. Owen's as he caught an occa- 
 sional glimpse of Temperance ; he could 
 
98 'A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 well believe that she was always to be de- 
 pended upon, yet he had an instant sense 
 that she was not likely to take his part. 
 Indeed one may think himself lucky whose 
 enemies do not rank themselves in overpow- 
 ering numbers, for woe be to the man whose 
 nature is instinctively at war with others. 
 Dick was so well used to finding himself in 
 harmonious relations with his associates that 
 he was for the moment shocked when Tem- 
 perance's shrewd eyes regarded him with sus- 
 picion, and he at once determined to make 
 friends with her. 
 
 By and by, after the early dinner was dis- 
 posed of, Doris came with her sewing, to sit 
 on the shaded step of the side door, outside 
 the clock-room. The two elder women also 
 kept the sufferer company. He told some 
 capital stories, and spoke with exceeding 
 wisdom and sympathy of certain aspects of 
 farm life ; he also praised his surroundings 
 with rare discretion. Mrs. Owen was im- 
 mensely pleased with Dick. She had an air 
 of being even proud of him, and assured 
 him in a most motherly way that he could 
 give no trouble, and must take his own time 
 about the pictures, and make himself at 
 home. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 99 
 
 But the day seemed a week long to both 
 Doris and the painter. As for Dick Dale, 
 he wondered, in the course of his afternoon's 
 entertainment, if he might not be growing 
 gray. He was used to a social aspect of life 
 and to good-fellowship, but they were en- 
 joying each other that day in the clock-room 
 until it was fairly suffocating. Yet when 
 Doris appeared in her cool afternoon dress, 
 slender and shy and silent, his first pleasure 
 returned. The salt breeze that came in from 
 the sea as the sun grew low sent a delicious 
 freshness through the house, and Dale looked 
 out of the window, and wondered why he 
 had not liked the view so much before. He 
 spoke to Doris with gentle deference, quite 
 unlike his frank comradeship with the other 
 women ; and she blushed a little as she an- 
 swered his questions, and then blushed again 
 to think she had blushed at all. Dale could 
 see her from his chair, which was kept from 
 rocking with extreme difficulty. He pres- 
 ently took from his pocket a book which he 
 had chosen when he first opened his port- 
 manteau. The not very orderly but familiar 
 contents of that receptacle had given him a 
 curious feeling of exile with an assurance of 
 comfort, and as he made an evident signal 
 
100 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of discontinuance to tlie conversation, Tem- 
 perance and her mistress rose and went their 
 ways. Dick would have liked to try read- 
 ing aloud, but he was not prepared to take 
 the risk of a great disappointment. Doris 
 certainly looked as if she would know the 
 meaning of such true poetry, and he glanced 
 at his young hostess from time to time, and 
 wished that it were possible to stroll through 
 the upper orchard again, with her for com- 
 pany. 
 
 When the sun was low Doris came to look 
 at the industrious old time-keeper, and then 
 hurried away up the yard to the barns. 
 Dick wistfully heard the horses stamp and 
 her emphatic commands, and he listened with 
 eager interest, a few minutes later, to a sound 
 of wheels receding, and muffled by the soft 
 grass. Doris must be going down to the 
 creek again to meet the haymakers. Was 
 it her father whom she wished to serve, or 
 the lover, who was also at work on the 
 marshes ? 
 
 Doris herself was filled with a strange ex- 
 citement that day. She was finding her 
 own thoughts and actions painfully unfamil- 
 iar, and felt as if she were looking at them 
 through another person's eyes. When she 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 101 
 
 reached the landing-place she could not have 
 e^fplained why the bleached grass and twigs, 
 which the hay-boat had kept from light and 
 growth all summer, struck a respondent 
 chord in her own mind. It might be that a 
 weight of inapprehension and necessity of 
 routine was lifted from her consciousness ; 
 but whether the coming of the young stran- 
 ger had hastened this, or only marked it, no 
 one could know. Doris became more and 
 more disturbed ; her thoughts busied them- 
 selves provokingly with Dan Lester and 
 that fear of danger and impending crisis 
 which had troubled her the evening before. 
 She was not ready to listen to what she was 
 certain Dan wished to say ; her anticipation 
 of the future reached no farther yet than 
 her lover's proposal, and by no means made 
 clear her own answer. Presently Doris was 
 reminded of the morning's accident. The 
 stranger's helplessness and pain had roused 
 all her womanly pity and eagerness to be of 
 use, yet something had taken away her power 
 of action, and forbade such traits to show 
 themselves. Her mother had never made 
 her so impatient before. The homely ex- 
 pressions of concern and excitement seemed 
 quite needless; but Mrs. Owen was ready 
 
102 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 with prompt service and simple remedies, 
 while Doris herself only grew more self-con- 
 scious and distressed. 
 
 She hated her own silliness, and thought 
 of many things now as she stood waiting at 
 the landing ; but the twilight fell before the 
 tired and hungry haymakers made their ap- 
 pearance. Once or twice she climbed the 
 hill a little way, to watch for the dory. The 
 silence of the place was very soothing, and 
 she liked to hear the notes of birds, piping 
 clear and untroubled from a thicket not far 
 away. There were two thrushes answering 
 each other with sweetest voices from tree to 
 tree, and Doris leaned against the horse's 
 warm shoulder and listened contentedly. 
 She was glad that it would not do to leave 
 the horse alone : it is a curious dislike that 
 such domesticated creatures have to being 
 left to themselves in lonely places. At last 
 the sound of voices and of dipping oars came 
 drifting through the still air, and the girl 
 waited eagerly for her father's greeting. 
 
 It came presently, cheerful and pleased, 
 and Doris answered. Then she saw that 
 there was an unexpected person in the boat, 
 five men in all, and hardly knew why she 
 wished for some reprieve or defense, and 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 103 
 
 even grew rigidly silent with displeasure. 
 A minute later Dan Lester leaped ashore. 
 " You and me '11 walk up to the house, 
 Doris," he said, decidedly. " It 's a pretty 
 evening." The other workmen were hur- 
 riedly landing their tools ; they had not ob- 
 served Dan's words, as Doris had angrily 
 supposed. " I shall have to ride with fa- 
 ther," she answered, coldly. "I must go 
 right home now to help about supper." 
 
 This was very unlike her usual quiet 
 friendliness. The young man stood still for 
 a moment, looking at her ; then, as she 
 turned, he said, " Good-night, all ! " and also 
 turned away, crashing through the bushes 
 as if he meant to take the straightest way 
 toward his own home. Israel Owen looked 
 after him wonderingly. 
 
 " I wish you would stop to supper, Dan ! " 
 he shouted, a moment afterward, but pres- 
 ently mounted the long wagon. Jim Tales 
 sat in the end of it, swinging his feet, but 
 the other men tramped alongside. The flash 
 of unreasonable anger faded from the girl's 
 mind. She was sorry that she had hurt 
 Dan's feelings, — he was always so friendly ; 
 but she had not liked his speaking so before 
 the rest. . . . The sky was clear and the air 
 
104 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 was very soft ; there were only a few frag- 
 ments of bluish cloud against the narrow 
 band of rose color in the west. Doris could 
 not help thinking that a walk over the hill 
 and down through the orchard might have 
 been pleasant, after all. 
 
 Dan Lester heard the farmer's anxious 
 inquiry about some accident that had hap- 
 pened, and presently somebody spoke of the 
 doctor. He was not far away, poor Dan ; 
 the thick hedgerow of black cherry-trees and 
 underbrush prevented anybody's seeing him 
 at the other side of a stone wall. " Dear ! 
 dear ! " said Mr. Owen anxiously, once or 
 twice ; and the lover was sorry he had been 
 so impatient, and would have given anything 
 to know what had happened at the farm- 
 house. Perhaps he would walk up after dark ; 
 they might not have been able to bring Tem- 
 perance back from Dunster, — and Dan hur- 
 ried homeward along a faint trail of a foot- 
 path which crossed the dewy fields and a 
 wide pasture. He blamed himself more and 
 more for not going to the Owens' at once, 
 but there was certainly something strange 
 in Doris's behavior. He did not often make 
 such a fool of himself as he had that night. 
 If Doris's mother were ill, she would have 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 105 
 
 told her father at once, or have sought him 
 earlier. Perhaps the painter had met with 
 an accident, and Dan concluded to have a 
 look at him before an hour later. This 
 kindly fellow was suddenly transformed into 
 a vindictive, suspicious enemy of any person 
 who could thwart his long - cherished love. 
 Twenty-four hours were indeed a short time 
 for a stranger to have gained much vantage- 
 ground, but after all Doris Owen was a 
 woman. 
 
 Dick Dale thought the men amusingly 
 curious and excited about his slight accident. 
 By this time it was quite an old story to 
 everybody else. Each haymaker professed 
 to have met with exactly the same disaster, 
 and to be acquainted with the only infallible 
 remedy. As for Doris, her expression had 
 changed surprisingly; she looked hurt and 
 impatient, and when she brought a tray with 
 Dick's supper, she cast an appealing look 
 into his very eyes. He became sure that 
 something troubled her, and gave her more 
 than one compassionate glance in return. 
 
IX. 
 
 Westward from the farm, beyond an ex- 
 panse of almost level country, a low range of 
 hills made a near horizon. They were gray 
 in the drought, and bare like a piece of moor- 
 land, save where the fences barred them, or 
 a stunted tree stood up against the sky, lean- 
 ing away from the winter storms toward a 
 more sheltered and fertile inland region. 
 The windward side of the Marsh Island it- 
 self was swept clean by the sea winds ; it was 
 only on the southern and western slopes that 
 the farmer's crops, his fruit-trees, and his 
 well-stocked garden found encouragement to 
 grow. Eastward, on the bleak downs, a 
 great flock of sheep nibbled and strayed 
 about all day, and blinked their eyes at the 
 sun. The island was a thrifty estate ; going 
 backward a little in these latest years, the 
 neighbors whispered, but more like an old- 
 country habitation than many homes of this 
 newer world. 
 
 The salt-hay making was over at last. The 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 107 
 
 marshes were dotted as far as eye could see 
 by the round haystacks with their deftly 
 pointed tops. These gave a great brilliance 
 of color to the landscape, being unfaded yet 
 I by the rain and snow that would dull their 
 yellow tints later in the year. September 
 weather came early, even before its ap- 
 pointed season, and there was a constant 
 suggestion of autumn before the summer 
 was fairly spent. The delicate fragrance of 
 the everlasting-flowers was plainly noticeable 
 in the dry days that followed each other 
 steadily. The summer was ripe early this 
 year, and the fruits reddened, and the flow- 
 ers all went to seed, and the days grew 
 shorter in kindly fashion, being so pleasant 
 that one could not resent the hurrying twi- 
 light, or now and then the acknowledged 
 loss of a few minutes of daylight. From the 
 top of the island hill a great fading country- 
 side spread itself wide and fair, and seaward 
 the sails looked strangely white against the 
 deepened blue of the ocean. There were 
 more coasting-vessels than could usually be 
 seen, even in midsummer, as if great flocks 
 of them had grown that year, like the birds. 
 In these days, nobody stopped to think 
 much about Dick Dale's lingering at the 
 
108 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 farmhouse. His temporary invalidism was 
 the cause of most friendly relations with all 
 the family ; his presence appeared complete- 
 ly natural and inevitable. When he had 
 given Israel Owen an excellent drawing 
 made from the small picture of the soldier, 
 there was no longer any question of the ar- 
 tist's being welcome to anything upon the 
 island. Dick had taken great pains with 
 this experiment in portrait - making. He 
 told himself that he was not ashamed of it, 
 either, though he was most grateful for hav- 
 ing had some aid to contentment during the 
 few days he had kept his lamed foot still 
 in the clock-room. He was not without his 
 fancies about the portrait's subject ; for as 
 he worked he had a vague consciousness of 
 an unseen presence, and some most telling 
 touches were made almost in spite of him- 
 self. He thought often of the possible un- 
 seen dwellers in such old houses, and as he 
 resumed his out-of-door rambles it was with 
 a continued sense of companionship, or as 
 if another were sharing the use of his own 
 eyes. 
 
 Though the mistress of the house had of- 
 ten spoken scornfully of those who sold 
 their peace of mind and parted with all 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 109 
 
 sovereignty and comfort in their homes to 
 rapacious summer boarders, the presence of 
 this quiet and courteous young gentleman 
 in her own household appeared quite an- 
 other thing. He did not make the daily 
 work seem any more burdensome ; on the 
 contrary, he gave a pleasant flavor of holi- 
 day-making to her life. Everybody liked 
 to please Dick, and, to do him justice, he 
 tried not infrequently to give pleasure as 
 well as take it ; he knew how to confer a 
 favor by the way he received one. To him 
 the situation grew more and more satisfac- 
 tory and almost ideal. There was a patri- 
 archal character to the family. The gentle 
 old farmer, with his flocks and herds and 
 his love for his lands, was a charming ex- 
 ample of the repose and peade to be gained 
 from country life ; it all contrasted strange- 
 ly with the mode of existence Dale had 
 known best. Sometimes he shut his eyes 
 and tried to fancy the familiar racket out- 
 side his city windows. The English spar- 
 rows in their one smoke-blackened tree had 
 alone reminded him that there was such life 
 as this in the world. He assured himself 
 again and again that he must send for Bra- 
 dish, his studio partner and best crony, to 
 
110 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 come and share these treasures ; but day 
 after day went by, and still Dick delayed 
 to write. He thought with scorn of those ac- 
 quaintances who believed themselves bound 
 to walk and drive and dine and sleep only 
 at fashionable hours. They might read the 
 same books, if they chose, and praise the 
 same things as completely as the usual di- 
 versifications of human nature would allow. 
 There was nothing so satisfactory as to step 
 ashore out of the great current, — " Things 
 are of the snake," quoted our hero, and was 
 thankful for once that he was busy just at 
 the time when so large a part of the world 
 is idle. Since his student days in France 
 he had done the lightest possible work at 
 his profession, but now he was fired by an 
 ambition to carry back to town some suf- 
 ficient evidence of his skill and perception. 
 Bradish and other comrades of his own 
 were hard-working fellows, who found the 
 American public absurdly economical in re- 
 spect to art. They despised entirely that 
 bad taste which allows a householder to pay 
 five hundred dollars for a carpet, without 
 annoyance, and to shrink from the extrava- 
 gance of giving the tenth of that amount for 
 a good sketch. Bradish, for whom our hero 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. Ill 
 
 had a sincere friendship, was a generous 
 young man, whose purse was usually empty ; 
 and it must be confessed that Dale quietly 
 paid a large proportion of the studio bills, 
 more for his comrade's sake than his own. 
 But he must give the little group of painters 
 some reason for their fond belief that he 
 could do better things than any of them, if 
 he tried ; and it might be as well to reestab- 
 lish his claim to belong to a circle of work- 
 ers instead of drifting on as a well-known 
 figure in general society. 
 
 Besides, there was a pleasing sense of 
 having hidden away from the curious world, 
 and it was wise to enjoy this while it lasted. 
 Dale was much amused at watching the 
 effect upon himself of being transplanted by 
 a whimsical fate into that rural neighbor- 
 hood. He was well endowed with practical 
 gifts, though one must acknowledge that 
 these were combined in an apparently un- 
 practical character, and a few alterations 
 and rearrangements in the rooms of the 
 farmhouse made it much more interesting 
 than it had ever been before. He liked it 
 too well as it was to suggest many actual 
 changes, but he rescued more than one piece 
 of old Delft or mahogany from ignoble uses. 
 
112 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 and deeply enjoyed and profited by Mrs. 
 Owen's generous exhibition of her house- 
 hold furnishings. She professed a vast in- 
 difference to his most cherished discoveries ; 
 it was the farmer whose sentiment and dis- 
 cernment were delicate enough to follow 
 Dick far in his aesthetic enthusiasms. Do- 
 ris, who watched and wondered, and moved 
 about the old house with gentle quickness, 
 enjoyed this new dispensation more than 
 anybody else. She was made like her fa- 
 ther. Some of their ancestors had been of 
 gentle blood and high consideration in the 
 old days of the colonies ; her home - loving 
 womanly pride bloomed now in new free- 
 dom and delight. What Mrs. Owen had 
 in former years contemptuously spoken of 
 as Doris's notions were referred to and pa- 
 raded with motherly satisfaction. Some- 
 times the girl's heart was filled with con- 
 fusion, because her mother, in some cordial, 
 garrulous moment, unveiled one of the lesser 
 shrines of her own nature. There was a 
 sacred reserve in Doris : her inmost heart 
 could not put itself into speech; she was 
 only frightened and grieved when another 
 dared to be noisy in her sweet silences. As 
 for her own talk, it was apt to be so child- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 113 
 
 ishly simple, that those who wished to know 
 her feelings must watch her eyes. With all 
 her shyness, she had a way of forcing one to 
 meet her eyes fully, and the tale they told 
 was remembered afterward, while the words 
 of her lips were forgotten. 
 
 There was a studio now on the Marsh 
 Island, — a place wholly picturesque and 
 delightful to its occupant. Dick had early 
 discovered an upper room, with an outer 
 stairway, over the narrow chaise-house, and 
 was told that the women of the family had 
 once gone there in summer weather to do 
 their spinning. In such coolness and airi- 
 ness, at the edge of the orchard, there must 
 have been almost a festival, as the wool- 
 wheels and flax-wheels whirred and merry 
 voices chattered together. There had for- 
 merly been a loom, also, but it had been 
 taken to pieces; and when Dale first ex- 
 plored the spinning-room it was quite empty 
 except for some damaged ears of seed-corn 
 which the rats had rolled about the floor. 
 The artist inspected these quarters eagerly. 
 He looked out of a square north window at 
 the apple-trees and a glimpse of blue water. 
 Opposite he saw the back of the old farm- 
 house, with its quaint joiner-work haK hid- 
 
114 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 den by a woodbine flecked with red ; beyond 
 that, past the great willows, was the barren 
 range of hills, already purple in the after- 
 noon light. It was impossible not to return 
 to the family at once with the suggestion of 
 such possible ease and comfort in artistic 
 pursuit. By that time next day, with the 
 aid of some sober-tinted rugs which Temper- 
 ance deemed the worst of her manufacture, 
 and some ancient chairs that had hardly 
 been thought fit even for a place in the 
 kitchen ; with a claw-footed table and a tall 
 cider mug to hold a handful of flowers, the 
 spinning-room delighted even Mrs. Owen. 
 She laughed good-naturedly at the promotion 
 of her disdained possessions, but the fanciful 
 wayfarer stood proudly in the doorway to 
 take a last look, while the good people went 
 away. It was supper-time, and he was not 
 disposed to be late, but he assured himself 
 that such a studio would really make Bra- 
 dish howl. 
 
 There was plenty of material for sketches 
 to be had without straying far, and for some 
 time Dick thought little of anything but his 
 pictures. It was a busy month at the farm, 
 with the successive harvestings; but he 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 115 
 
 learned to greatly enjoy and to depend not 
 a little upon the interest and comments of 
 his housemates. As he leaned back in his 
 chair, late one afternoon, to take a somewhat 
 disheartening view of his work, he scarcely 
 noticed at first that some one stood in the 
 doorway. The sun was low, and filled the 
 little room with golden light. The unfin- 
 ished picture should have looked its best 
 with such a halo, but Dale pushed back the 
 easel with dangerous roughness, and gath- 
 ered his brushes with an impatient hand. 
 " Ah, Doris, is that you ? " he said, more 
 coldly than usual, and Doris smiled in un- 
 necessary assent. 
 
 She did not often appear so interested 
 and so comfortably forgetful of herself as 
 that day. She stepped inside the room, and 
 her face glowed with pleasure at the artist's 
 unfinished work. " I like that better than 
 anything you have painted, Mr. Dale," she 
 said simply ; and then, as if nobody need 
 say anything else, she waited quietly, look- 
 ing at the canvas with evident delight. It 
 seemed as if she had a sudden revelation of 
 the pleasantness of the little room and its 
 contents, or rather as if she had been pleased 
 already by something that had happened be- 
 fore she came to the spinning-room. 
 
116 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 " I am very glad," Dale answered, begin- 
 ning to take heart again. " I tore up one of 
 the best water-colors I ever made, because I 
 was too tired to like it when it was done." 
 
 "Oh, what a pity!" Doris whispered 
 softly. 
 
 They had grown to be very good friends, 
 though the girl was often elusive, and placed 
 some indefinable barrier about herself. He 
 was not the only person who felt its presence. 
 Dale thought sometimes that Nature had 
 made a mistake in putting this soul into so 
 tall and commanding a body ; perhaps Doris 
 would have been more at ease in the world 
 if she had been smaller ; the sort of woman 
 whom everybody takes care of and pets, if 
 they have a right. But Nature could work 
 out her own wise plans, and this fine, strong 
 character would be ready to answer great 
 demands as weU as little ones. Martha 
 Owen announced in these days that it had 
 done Doris good to have Mr. Dale stay at 
 the farm, — it had waked her up a little ; 
 but she would always be just like her father ! 
 
 Doris was looking her very best, this Sep- 
 tember afternoon, in a simple white dress 
 which had once been worn only on the finest 
 and hottest summer Sundays. She had 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 117 
 
 taken it for every-day use this year. To-day 
 she had picked up a small broken twig of 
 cider apples which had fallen from one of 
 the old trees, and put it in her belt. The 
 green leaves and the paler tints of the clus- 
 tered dwarfed fruit, heightened here and 
 there with a dash of red, were most charm- 
 ing, and Dale looked at Doris with great 
 pleasure while she looked at the picture. 
 
 Presently she roused herself from her 
 short reverie with a little sigh : " Oh, I came 
 to ask you if you could find it convenient to 
 go to Sussex with me to-morrow morning. 
 Mother wants to send, and we remembered 
 that you spoke about going, a while ago," 
 and Doris looked in his face with childish 
 eagerness. '« Mother and Temp'rance and I 
 have been as busy as bees all this week. I 
 don't like to be drudging in-doors, this splen- 
 did weather," she added, with a rare little 
 laugh. Dale was always delighted when she 
 laughed ; she was more apt to smile slowly 
 and gravely, like her father. 
 
 Doris's plea of drudgery was almost un- 
 founded; she was apparently less fettered 
 by duty than the rest of the family, and this 
 would not be the first drive they had taken. 
 Mrs. Owen was only too willing for the 
 
118 A MARSH ISLAND, 
 
 young people to be together, and the farmer 
 never objected. Yet Dick had become less 
 familiar with them all rather than more, 
 since he had involved himself in his work, 
 and his first delight at his surroundings had 
 ripened into more practical acquaintance. 
 Latterly they had followed their own pur- 
 suits, and taken little heed of each other's. 
 As for Dan Lester, he seemed to have dis- 
 appeared altogether. The evening of Dick's 
 accident was the last time he had come to 
 the house. Dick himself suspected that 
 there had been some quarrel ; but to-night, 
 at any rate, Doris was sufiiciently light- 
 hearted. Within a few days she had in- 
 dividualized herself in a strange way ; he 
 thought of her a great deal more than usual, 
 and felt a new interest in her works and 
 ways. So marked a growth of sympathy 
 there was that he told himself she had been 
 only a part of the general attractiveness of 
 the Marsh Island at first. He had always 
 liked to watch her, and had enjoyed her 
 charming outlines and her coloring, in the 
 same way that he made the most of the looks 
 and behavior of one of the old willows. 
 Doris was a woman, and the willow was a 
 tree ; but that had not made any difference 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 119 
 
 in his feeling except one of degree. He be- 
 gan to wonder what her future would be, and 
 gave a quick shrug at its probable inade- 
 quacy to her capabilities. He was curious 
 to see Lester again, though quite thankful 
 to him for taking himself off. Dick had 
 been conscious of an instinctive liking for 
 his rival when he had first entered the clock- 
 room, divining the truth that the poor fellow 
 was showing his worst side, either from some 
 awkwardness or fancied injury and opposi- 
 tion. 
 
 The farmer had spoken a few grateful 
 words in recognition of Lester's generous 
 service when he was short of help. Dan was 
 the best ship's blacksmith in that region, the 
 stranger was told; and Doris had looked 
 up, when her father said this, more pleased 
 than Dan himself, who scowled and shook 
 his head disclaimingly. Doris was evidently 
 most penitent because she had offended this 
 friend, and made shy endeavors to restore 
 herself to favor ; but she kept her seat by 
 the window when he said good-night, and it 
 was the kindly old farmer who held the flick- 
 ering lamp high in the dark side doorway, 
 while Dan lingered a minute wistfully, look- 
 ing back once or twice, and then tramped 
 
120 , A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 away angrily down the yard. Doris thouglit 
 she should see him in the morning, when he 
 came to join the others ; but though she was 
 early at the landing, having insisted on her 
 father's driving down, Dan had again crossed 
 the meadows by the foot-path, and was 
 gloomy and troubled all day as he cut and 
 raked the grass. But Doris had done noth- 
 ing wrong, she proudly told herself ; Dan 
 had no right yet to be master ; while Dan 
 considered himself more and more aggrieved, 
 and so went presently to Sussex, and ham- 
 mered away his wrath on the innocent bolts 
 and bars of a fishing smack, but would not 
 be merry or like himself, while many days 
 went by. 
 
 Nobody could have prophesied such a 
 complication of hindrances, but in all this 
 length of time Doris could find no reasonable 
 excuse for going to Sussex. She often drove 
 in other directions with her father or with 
 Mr. Dale, who had more than once asked to 
 be transported whither his sketching instinct 
 led him, but Sussex seemed to be forbidden 
 ground. Once she would have gone simply 
 because she wished ; now there must be an 
 indisputable necessity, evident to all behold- 
 ers, and such, at last, was her mother's de- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. V21 
 
 sire to inquire for the well-being of a cousin 
 of whose illness they had chanced to hear. 
 Dan was so old and dear a friend, she would 
 certainly manage to see him, and to learn 
 why he was behaving in this fashion. The 
 color flamed in Doris's cheeks at the con- 
 sciousness that he cared for her now in a 
 new way ; but it was strange enough that 
 love, if this were love, should make him so 
 impatient with her. All their lives long, 
 they had differed more or less, and it never 
 had separated them in the least. She had 
 put him in her elder brother's vacant place, 
 in her childhood. He had said once that he 
 always meant to take as good care of her as 
 Israel would have done. 
 
 But when Doris reminded herself of this, 
 and wished that his feeling might never have 
 changed, a sense of untruthfulness made the 
 wish a not very compelling one. Mr. Dale 
 had often spoken of going to Sussex, and 
 Doris mentioned this to Mrs. Owen, to that 
 good woman's intense satisfaction, and then 
 serenely went her way to the studio. 
 
 " Sussex?" asked Dick, in a fretful tone. 
 "Yes, that would be just the thing. I should 
 like to see something new; I am tired of 
 this awkward sham ; and while you do your 
 
122 A MAR8H ISLAND. 
 
 errand, I will try a sketcli in one of those 
 little ship-yards. I mustn't scold at this, 
 though, since you are kind enough to be 
 pleased with it. Doris ! " — He came a step 
 nearer, and stood before her, looking at the 
 white dress and at the apple-twig ; then he 
 gave a quick glance at her face. "Doris, 
 you really must not forget that I am going 
 to make a sketch of you. Your father would 
 like to have one to keep with your broth- 
 er's, perhaps," he added. " I mean if I can 
 make it good enough." 
 
 " Yes," answered Doris, ready to promise 
 anything that day. " There would be noth- 
 ing to prevent, almost any afternoon." 
 
 Dick took his brushes in his other hand. 
 He was unusually smeared with his paints, 
 and felt hot and cross again. Doris might 
 have spoken so, if she had been a sort of 
 picturesque gate-post or a sunflower; she 
 must surely have understood something of 
 what he meant to say ; but at that moment 
 she smiled, and was better to look at than 
 ever. " I think you are tired," she said, in 
 an altogether sisterly but quite charming 
 manner. " You must take a whole day's 
 vacation to-morrow, if we go to the ship- 
 yards." But the thought of her secret made 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 123 
 
 the least bit of a guilty blush flicker for one 
 moment in her cheeks. Dan would be so 
 angry, she thought, to see her coming with 
 Mr. Dale, but shet felt more than confident 
 of her power of pacification. 
 
X. 
 
 Next morning Mrs. Owen was in an un- 
 usually brisk and bustling frame of mind 
 and body. She gave ber daughter many 
 important charges and messages, and treated 
 the little expedition as if it were a most 
 serious enterprise and a special embassy 
 from herself. Dale half repented at the 
 last, when he went to the studio to see his 
 work and leave it in safety, lest a wander- 
 ing breeze should overturn the easel, and 
 break the corners of his treasured sketches. 
 He liked the new picture now, and felt dis- 
 posed to stay at home and go on with it, 
 after all ; but Doris was already waiting. 
 
 Mrs. Owen watched them drive away to- 
 gether with feelings of great pride. They 
 meant to be home by dinner-time, for it was 
 early yet, but who knew what might happen 
 in the mean time ! 
 
 As Doris had grown more and more anx- 
 ious about her lover's non-appearance, she 
 had become less self-conscious and more 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 125 
 
 friendly with Mr. Dale, and this was readily- 
 mistaken by her mother for increasing in- 
 terest. Lately the good woman had allowed 
 herself to believe that propinquity, the cause 
 of so many matches, was coming to the aid 
 of this, and visions of Doris's city life and 
 her own share in such real prosperity often 
 delighted her. Sometimes she told herself 
 that she was too old now and too far behind 
 the times to take her part in the affairs of 
 polite society, but the fact that her daughter 
 would not be cut off from them and need 
 not rust out on a farm almost made up for 
 her own disappointment. A woman of more 
 quick sympathies and perceptions would 
 never have duped herself so completely. 
 Outwardly, the frank good-fellowship of the 
 two young people had been deceptive, and 
 the sight of Doris driving her fleet young 
 horse along the country roads, with Dale sit- 
 ting by her side, had become familiar and 
 most suggestive to more lookers-on than Mrs. 
 Owen. The other farm horses were almost 
 always used at that season, and Doris's had 
 been unruly in its youth, and finally broken 
 and always driven by herself. She was in 
 the habit of going to the village to do er- 
 rands, and it seemed the most natural thing 
 
126 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 in the world that she should often take the 
 artist as passenger. 
 
 Dale carried a sketching-block and a brush 
 or two in his hand, while his coat -pocket 
 sagged heavily with the weight of his largest 
 paint-box. There were some colors in it that 
 he might need ; beside, if he chose, he could 
 stay all day at Sussex, and be driven home 
 at night. It was more than an hour's jour- 
 ney, even at the quick rate the horse went, 
 but there was nothing unpleasant in that 
 thought. Doris was more than ever attrac- 
 tive, and her companion stole many glances 
 at her. She was intent upon controlling the 
 frolicsome horse ; she looked eagerly at the 
 windows of a neighbor's house ; she thought 
 of anything and everything, apparently, but 
 the opportunity of taking a drive with Dick, 
 whose efforts at conversation and successful 
 jokes were only a part of the general excite- 
 ment and delight of the morning. Doris 
 was utterly unconscious of her own beauty, 
 if an observer's opinion were to be trusted ; 
 her family also seemed to consider it of so 
 little consequence that Dale sometimes won- 
 dered if he were deceiving himseK, even 
 while he had the delightful evidence before 
 his eyes. It appeared to him that she made 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 127 
 
 little use of her gift. Some women would 
 lay waste and destroy, and others would be 
 an inspiration to poets and painters ; but 
 Doris went her simple ways, dutiful, unself- 
 ish, and quiet, fulfilling her destiny with no 
 regret at being defrauded of social gains or 
 victories. She would have liked to escape a 
 stormy wooing ; if she should ever love any 
 one, she wished the lover would understand, 
 and say little about it to her or to any one 
 else. The changes and events of life had 
 always come to her naturally, as leaves push 
 out of the bare trees in spring and flowers 
 come into bloom. She did not like to speak 
 her gravest and sweetest thoughts, or of her 
 troubles, either ; she was self-contained, and 
 did not desire to be won through such harsh 
 fashions. Dan ought to know that she had 
 never thought of unkindness toward him. 
 But now, if he were foolish and put out with 
 her, she would surely go to see him and 
 make it right. She had no coquetry, but 
 she could avail herself of its weapons. She 
 would tease Dan a little with the sight of 
 Mr. Dale, and then undeceive him if he 
 were deceived. Dear Doris ! she turned to- 
 ward Dick at that moment to see if he also 
 had a mind to enjoy the morning's pleasure. 
 
128 A MARSH ISLAND, 
 
 u- Love is forever a mystery ; it is rooted 
 deep in still greater mysteries, and the attrac- 
 tions and repulsions even of friendship are as 
 inflexible as law can make them. Love and 
 death are unknowable this side of heaven, 
 but mankind is ever busy watching the signs 
 of both with curious, unsatisfied eyes, — 
 these strange powers that take possession of 
 us against our will, and make us strangers 
 even to ourselves.^Dick Dale sometimes 
 wondered afterward if this morning were not 
 the time when a new motive and affection 
 first took guidance of him. At any rate, he 
 never before had been filled with a desire to 
 kiss Doris Owen, often as he had looked at 
 her lovely face. He was surprised at him- 
 self a minute later, but the wish was not to 
 be forbidden so easily. The first leaf of 
 that growth curled itself back into the soil 
 again, having found the weather a little 
 frosty for much flourishing, but the root was 
 already strong, having taken several weeks 
 now to fortify and spread itself unseen. 
 
 It was some distance across the sea of grass 
 which surrounded the Marsh Island, and the 
 free wind blew to and fro, as if it came from 
 no particular quarter of the clear blue sky. 
 The autumn haze had disappeared, and the 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 129 
 
 outlines of the low country were clear-cut, 
 and the bright, blurred colors of the veg- 
 etation strangely distinct. The bare hills, 
 which reminded Dale very often of Northern 
 Scotland, looked more astray than ever in} 
 the landscape. At all times of the year they 
 seemed inharmonious and unrelated to the 
 sea-meadows or fruitful upland slopes, as if 
 some mistake had been made in putting to- 
 gether a great dissected map. Doris slowly 
 turned her head as she glanced along the 
 gray, sad hills. The least wild creature 
 could hardly find shelter in all the distance ; 
 there was no reserve and no secret ; the hills 
 were like the telling of some sad, unwelcome 
 news, in their harsh insistence and presence. 
 " I used to be afraid to go over them when 
 I was a little girl," she said. " I remember, 
 after Israel died, father would stay there all 
 day, sometimes. He used to say that he 
 must mend the fences, but one day mother 
 made me go and find him, and he just had 
 his head in his hands, and sat there doing 
 nothing. Poor father ! " and Doris was si- 
 lent again. 
 
 The marshes had faded since the day Dick 
 Dale saw them first that year ; their surface 
 was soft and brown now, and even a cold 
 
130 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 grsij where the grasses had not grown since 
 the salt hay was gathered, — except that the 
 shores of all the creeks were bordered with 
 vivid green, so that the sombre coat of that 
 part of the wide country was laced with 
 green ribbons, and on such a day as this, 
 when the tide was high, was also decorated 
 with broad and narrow bands of blue, with 
 crimson orders and noble decorations, em- 
 broidered here and there with samphire. 
 The world was charmingly gay with all these 
 colors and delights, but it was like a merry- 
 making in a tottering and defeated kingdom. 
 A sadness hovered in the air ; this was more 
 like a commemoration of past glories than 
 an inspiration and heralding of any that were 
 to come. Dale was reminded, almost with 
 pain, that he must leave his pleasant quarters 
 before long ; it would hardly be possible to 
 stay at the farm in the winter ; but he need 
 .not appoint the day for his departure now, 
 thank fortune ! 
 
 They stopped sometimes, while Doris spoke 
 to an acquaintance, and often Dick could 
 hardly help smiling at the quaint speech or 
 the character of the conversation. He could 
 not overcome the idea that Doris only played 
 a part in such intercourse, that her natural 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 131 
 
 instincts and experiences were of the sort 
 he knew best, and that she looked at this 
 rural life in his own fashion. He had dis- 
 covered long before that the Owens were 
 above the common level of society, and their 
 character as a family bore much likeness to 
 the uplifted Marsh Island itself. Doris 
 really knew few people beside her own towns- 
 folk. She had no idea of the vast number 
 of persons with whom those who go much 
 about the world may gain a half acquaint- 
 ance. She often seemed, like her father, to 
 have an insight into human nature which 
 could have been secured only through some 
 crafty and unnatural means. Yet their sim- 
 plicity was the most marked thing about 
 them, — their simplicity first, and then their 
 generosity. 
 
 Dale had no idea of the real importance 
 of the morning's enterprise. He concerned 
 himself with his own pleasure, and enjoyed 
 Doris's uncommon enthusiasm and excite- 
 ment as if he were the inspirer of it ; think- 
 ing once how she would grace a broader life 
 than this, and that she deserved something 
 better than Sussex and Dunster. He did not 
 like her best clothes, simple as they were, 
 so well as her plain house-frocks ; he wished 
 
132 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 she would always wear the little dress of 
 yesterday ; but she never seemed quite like 
 the tasteless and often tawdry young people 
 he had been forced to associate with his re- 
 membrance of country neighborhoods. 
 
 Sussex came into view at last, — a white, 
 irregular village, crowded close to the river, 
 as if it had either made up its mind to em- 
 bark, or had just come ashore. Doris's eyes 
 brightened at the sight of her journey's end, 
 and Dale's grew a trifle cloudy and dis- 
 appointed. He would have liked to go 
 driving on and on all that day, asking idle 
 questions about the people and the houses 
 along the road, and hearing a pleasant, clear 
 voice answer him. There was something 
 delightful in the very way her hands held 
 the tightened reins, and one foot kept itself 
 planted and braced. In fact, there was an 
 admirable decision and purposef ulness in the 
 girl's manner which made her more interest- 
 ing than ever. 
 
 It was after her usual manner of doing 
 things that she faithfully performed her ac- 
 knowledged errand first, and Dick was left 
 .for half an hour to his own devices, while 
 she sat with the cousin inside an old gray 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 133 
 
 house on the edge of the village. He would 
 have been delighted to follow her, being cu- 
 rious to see if the interior were half as re- 
 warding as he fancied, but he was not in- 
 vited. He had decided only to look about 
 the town that day, and to put in marks, as he 
 expressed it ; then he would come back again 
 later. Dick had more work begun now than 
 he was likely to finish ; but as he sat before 
 the old house which held Doris, and looked 
 lovingly at its rain - colored, lichen -grown 
 walls and the adorable traces of successive 
 coats of green and yellow paint on its wide 
 front door, he became again enthusiastic. 
 Why would not every builder give his house 
 one coat of red paint, and then leave all 
 mural decoration to the weather ? The very 
 shutters on the inside of the windows were 
 blotched and sunburnt into a semblance of 
 mahogany, and the small, greenish panes 
 of glass made delicious reflections in a sort 
 of beckoning way at him. Yet the time went 
 by slowly until Doris reappeared, and crossed 
 the smooth, short grass toward the wagon. 
 He had not observed the French pinks that 
 grew near the worn doorstep until her dress 
 brushed them as she went by ; but then he 
 saw, instead of looking straight in her face. 
 
134 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 as he would have done once, that a fresh tuft 
 of flowers had blossomed on one of the fad- 
 ing stalks, and he could not help wishing to 
 gather it for her. It might have bloomed at 
 the sight of her, he thought, and then smiled 
 in spite of himself, as he wondered what she 
 would think if he told her such a sentimen- 
 tal thing. Once he had never hesitated at 
 mentioning his pretty fancies, but it makes 
 a great difference from whence a fancy- 
 springs. 
 
 " Are you tired of waiting ? " she asked. 
 " I am not ready yet. I must take my bas- 
 kets in ; " and by the time Dick had alighted 
 to help her she had nearly reached the house 
 with her burden, and laughed bravely at him 
 a few minutes afterward, when she returned. 
 He began to wonder what made her so 
 merry. She was not laughing with him, 
 neither did she seem to be exactly laughing 
 at him, but the secret of her cheerfulness re- 
 mained her own. 
 
 He had not remembered how picturesque 
 and delightful the quaint town was. The 
 high houses of sea-captains, the pride and 
 circumstance of meeting-houses, the business 
 of ship-building, and the almost Venetian 
 privilege of water-ways won his heart com- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 135 
 
 pletely. There was a long bridge, which 
 seemed like a hawser that held the two parts 
 of the town together, and stray seamen who 
 lounged there in the morning sunshine spoke 
 in voices that had caught some notes from 
 the creak of rigging and sounds of wind 
 and wave. Here and there a half-finished 
 schooner pushed its bowsprit far ashore, and 
 the incessant knocking of shipwrights' ham- 
 mers was heard in a sort of rhythm, as they 
 drove the treenails and fitted the stout 
 planks, or more gently wedged in the wisps 
 of oakum to keep the thievish water out. 
 There was a strong flavor of tar and hard 
 wood, a clean, dry odor, which contrasted 
 with the dampness that rose from the black 
 sides of the wharves and the sticky mud in 
 the creeks. The tide was going out ; the 
 foundation of the village seemed to be inse- 
 cure piles and slender sea-bitten timbers, be- 
 tween which one could look, as if they were 
 great cages for long -since -escaped marine 
 monsters. Olive - colored and brown sea- 
 weeds clung to this old wood, while here and 
 there was hanging a brilliant strand of green 
 moss like floss-silk, shining and heavy with 
 water. In the distance, a high whi|^ ^^ 
 was slowly passing down the t^^ad toward 
 
136 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 that led to tlie sea. From the rigging of an 
 old schooner, under process of repair, the 
 sharp, childish voice of a naughty boy was 
 calling triumphantly to a troubled little sis- 
 ter below. A bright red flannel shirt — Dale 
 never thought of the man who wore it — was 
 wending its way slowly up the hill beyond 
 the bridge. He did not notice in the least 
 that they were so near a blacksmith's shop, 
 or that they could hear the decided clink and 
 ring of a heavy hammer upon an anvil, while 
 Doris had looked for nothing and listened 
 for nothing else. 
 
 Dick wondered why Doris stopped the 
 horse in just that place. There were two 
 large and rusty anchors and other small ones, 
 and lengths of battered chain seemed to have 
 been scattered about unnecessarily. Could 
 she mean to have the horse shod by a ship's 
 blacksmith ? And then occurred to him the 
 unwelcome thought that this must be Les- 
 ter's place of business, which suspicion was 
 confirmed directly by Lester's appearance in 
 the doorway. He was scowling at Dale un- 
 mistakably, though he tried to be uncco- 
 cerned ; he did not look at Doris, who had 
 of shr|. ■ ^et down from the wagon. She 
 privilege of>ot from the step, however, and 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 137 
 
 waited silently as he came toward them, 
 stepping over the chains. His cheek was 
 blackened by a careless touch of his smutted 
 hand, and he had evidently been hard at 
 work; where his shirt collar had lost its 
 button and was falling open, the fairness of 
 his throat made one imagine he had stained 
 and darkened his face for some disguise. 
 He swung his great hammer lightly, stood 
 beside his visitors like a slender, vindictive 
 Vulcan, and said carelessly, " Good-day, Mr. 
 Dale. Any news, Doris?" as if he were 
 only anxious to lose as little time as possible. 
 
 " No," said Doris, " there is n't any 
 news ; " and yet he would not look at her. 
 
 "Shall you be home this Sunday?" she 
 asked softly, and was answered, with a quick 
 glance from the blue eyes, that it was not 
 likely. They were very busy with the 
 schooner; some parties in Westmarket 
 seemed to be in great distress for her. And 
 at this pleasantry Doris took heart. " We 
 were wondering what had become of you." 
 But Dan Lester answered, in a tone that ad- 
 mitted no further conversation, that he was 
 all right, and she must give his respects to 
 the folks ; at which Doris gathered up the 
 reins quickly, turned the horse's head toward 
 home, and departed. 
 
138 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 There was a look in her face which Dale 
 was not familiar with, and he did not see it 
 then, though he felt it perfectly. He was 
 sorry for the girl : he understood the morn- 
 ing's excursion well enough now, and would 
 have liked to pound the surly blacksmith 
 with his own hammer. Doris, for her part, 
 felt as hard as a stone. She was rarely made 
 so angry as this, and they drove homeward 
 silently. A little later she told herself that 
 Mr. Dale should not know that sRe had been 
 defeated in the plan which she had made and 
 cherished through so many happy hours. 
 This was a quick and sorry ending, and she 
 was as much grieved as angered. She 
 thought nobody could tell that anything un- 
 usual had happened when she said, in a 
 straightforward way, that Dan seemed to be 
 busy that morning, and reached over to take 
 a small basket from the floor of the wagon. 
 " WiU you eat a golden pippin ? " she asked, 
 with much composure, and chose one for 
 herself, while Dick knew perfectly well that 
 they had all been meant for Dan Lester. 
 
 They were outside the village now, and 
 beyond the sound of either the clinking 
 hammers or the knocking ones. A few min- 
 utes afterward they passed a school-house, 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 139 
 
 and Doris scattered the rest of the apples 
 by the roadside as she went slowly by, and 
 laughed to see the children tumble together 
 in a heap over them, while a little stray dog 
 jumped and barked fiercely, as if he claimed 
 a share. The teacher nodded to Doris from 
 the doorway, and at that moment our heroine 
 remembered that this person boarded at the 
 same house as Dan Lester. " I suppose she 
 will go straight home and tell him," thought 
 Doris, more troubled than ever. There was 
 a willfulness in the way things were going 
 wrong. The teacher wondered why Doris 
 blushed. It must have had something to 
 do with Mr. Dale ; but she need not feel so 
 grand if she did get him to go to ride with 
 her, just when everybody else was hard at 
 work. 
 
XI. 
 
 Doris's mother stood in the yard at least 
 two minutes, in the bright sunlight, shading 
 her eyes with her hand, and watching the 
 young people drive away together. She 
 was evidently much gratified with the sight, 
 and nodded her head soberly as if in acqui- 
 escence, as she returned to the house. Tem- 
 perance Kipp glanced at her superior ofiicer 
 once or twice with. some curiosity, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 The two women resumed their work, and 
 the kitchen soon gave evidence of unusual 
 industry. Israel Owen and Jim Tales, 
 with the man called Allen, who had again 
 been hired for a week, were to be away all 
 day, finishing a piece of ditching which the 
 farmer had planned in anticipation of the 
 spring freshets. This was likely to be an 
 undisturbed morning, and the good women 
 had begun various enterprises, chiefly be- 
 cause they were sure of having the house to 
 themselves. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 141 
 
 If an outsider could have observed Tem- 
 perance's honest countenance, he would have 
 quickly understood that she was waiting for 
 a good chance to say something to her com- 
 panion. The relation between Mrs. Owen 
 and herself was not recognized as that of 
 mistress and servant except upon rare and 
 inharmonious occasions. Ordinarily they 
 looked upon each other as colleagues, and, 
 to do her justice, the dependent was as 
 heartily interested in the welfare of the 
 Marsh Island and its inhabitants as any 
 member of the family. Temj)erance was 
 busy just now scrubbing some tin ware, a 
 pile of which she had brought from the 
 pantry, and worked away busily with soap 
 and sand, sometimes holding off a big pan 
 at arm's length to detect its imperfections. 
 She watched Martha Owen cautiously, lis- 
 tening eagerly every time she spoke, but for 
 some time answering her questions or re- 
 marks with a shade of disappointment or 
 lack of interest. It was evident that she 
 hoped to discern a frame of mind hospitable 
 to some information she was ready to im- 
 part, or wished Mrs. Owen herself to intro- 
 duce the subject of which her own mind 
 was full. 
 
142 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 But Mrs. Owen seemed preoccupied, and 
 not so ready to discuss men and tilings as 
 usual ; she was busy now with her rolling- 
 pin and flour-board at the farther end of 
 the pantry, next the narrow window, from 
 whence one could look across the flag-stoned 
 court and up the hillside. This window 
 opened only a little way; the two upper 
 panes of glass were but half as tall as 
 the rest, and the framework was absurdly 
 heavy. The mistress had often threatened 
 to have such a piece of antiquity replaced, 
 though Dale had lately taken the trouble 
 to make a sketch of it, with the curious 
 outside coping or cornice. There were no 
 two of the windows alike in that row at 
 the back of the house, and some quaint, 
 short curtains of old East Indian cottons 
 were put there, where they would not often 
 be seen and mocked. Dick had extorted a 
 confession that there had once been a volu- 
 minous drapery of that really beautiful ma- 
 terial for the best four -posted bedstead, 
 and his hostess remembered now that she 
 had promised to look among her possessions 
 to see if there were not still a good piece of 
 it. She smiled again at his admiration of 
 the ugly old stuff that was so aggravatingly 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 143 
 
 durable, and gave a* more indulgent look 
 than usual to the small curtain near by. 
 " 'T is pretty colored," she meditated, " but 
 such a dreadful homely pattern. I do be- 
 lieve, if he had his way, he 'd set the old 
 house back to just where 't was when I 
 come here ; old - fashioned as a dry - land 
 ark." 
 
 Temperance saw the smile that followed 
 this thought, and grew hopeful. " I expect 
 they '11 find it pleasant getting to Sussex 
 this forenoon," she ventured. " 'T ain't so 
 sightly along the ma'shes unless the tide is 
 full." The whole family liked to have their 
 country appear its best, and had constantly 
 apologized to Dick for any defect in the 
 weather. 
 
 "Yes," answered Mrs. Owen, thumping 
 away at her pie crust, " they '11 have it 
 pleasant, certain. Temperance," with re- 
 newed importance of tone, — " Temperance, 
 why would n't it be a good plan to have up 
 the stone jars, — the lard pots that 's emp- 
 t'ed, and all them ? We may not have such 
 another good day, and 't is well to sun 'em 
 out while we git a chance. Land, what a 
 little while 't will be before we kill again ! 
 I never hear a squeal out o' the sty except 
 
144 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 I think what a piece o' work I 've got afore 
 me. 
 
 "Well," said Temperance, gathering up 
 her shining pans to carry them out to the 
 yard, " I did think of sweepin', but there 's 
 no haste, and these tins were n't so bad as I 
 thought for. I '11 take the stone ware next. 
 I don' know, 'f I was you, as I would cross 
 that bridge afore I come to it, about the 
 hogs. 'T is a good three months yet." But 
 Mrs. Owen responded with a somewhat os- 
 tentatious sigh, and abandoned herself to 
 further reflection. 
 
 It was not until Miss Kipp had paraded 
 her pots and pans in a beaming row along 
 the garden fence that her opportunity ar- 
 rived. "I declare, I never set out them 
 lard and butter pots without thinking of 
 pore Isr'el, that time he caught all the cats 
 and kittens about the place, and shut one 
 into each, and set the tops on, and I went 
 and found 'em when I was going to take 
 'em in on account of a shower. I was dread- 
 ful put out, and I had to laugh, too. There 
 he was a -watching of me from the wood- 
 house, and never dared to come in to his 
 supper till going on eight o'clock. He wa'n't 
 over six year old." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 145 
 
 " I declare, I 'd forgotten about that," 
 said the mother. " I know one spell he used 
 to play us plenty o' tricks," and she laughed 
 a little, "him and Dan Lester. Do you 
 know how they got some old clothes and 
 things once, that was up garrit, and dressed 
 themselves up, and come knocking to the 
 door?" 
 
 " They 'd made themselves to look like 
 the minister and his wife," responded Tem- 
 perance, with alacrity, " and I declare, you 'd 
 known they meant them anywhere. I 'd no 
 idea, though, when I see them first standin' 
 on the doorstep, and I let 'em right in, for 
 the joke of it, to where Parson Nash and his 
 wife was setting, going to stop an' take tea. 
 Land, how he laughed ; but she was put 
 out. Isr'el looked too much like her, and 
 had just her walk and the way she held her 
 head stepping up the aisle Sunday morn- 
 ings. He said he did n't see who she was 
 through them great spectacles. She went 
 and got her a new bunnit afore the week 
 was out. She was dreadful close. I don't 
 think there ever was an amiabler man than 
 the minister, though." 
 
 " I believe she 's alive yet," said Mrs. 
 Owen. " She had some money left her, you 
 
 10 
 
146 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 recollect, and I expect she '11 live as long 
 as she can, for fear o' somebody else getting 
 it." 
 
 " There, now ! " said Temperance Kipp, 
 seizing this first chance and quite inadequate 
 excuse for telling her secret, " I know I 'm 
 a-breakin' trust so to do, but when I was out 
 last night I stopped in to Mrs. Lawton's, 
 and she let on that they 'd got expectations 
 o' means above what she ever counted on. 
 There was some land out West that old 
 Lawton bought with some o' Dan's money. 
 You know folks was always bejugglin' him 
 into things. They 've always paid taxes on 
 it, no great tiU last year, and then it was 
 ris', and Dan was awful pleased, but she ex- 
 pected him to be put out, and did n't dare 
 show him the bill for quite a spell. He had 
 sense to see 't was ris' in value, and now 
 they 've got word of the growth o' the place, 
 and he 's had an offer o' six thousand dol- 
 lars down for it. She read the letter to me ; 
 it come day before yisterday, and she 's been 
 wantin' a chance to send it over. If Doris 
 had been going by, I should have told her 
 to call an' see if there was anything. But 
 now don't you say a word, even to the 
 'Square. She made me give my pledge I 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 147 
 
 would n't hint a word of it to nobody, but I 
 thought I should bu'st if I had to keep it 
 all to myself." 
 
 "I won't tell no secrets," said Martha 
 Owen, doggedly, her black eyes shining, but 
 not with pleasure. " I expect Dan '11 be the 
 big man o' the town yet. I hope he ain't 
 one o' them that 's sp'iled if they get nine 
 shillin's ahead. I used to like Dan when he 
 was growing up, and him and Isr'el was so 
 much together, too ; but last time he come 
 here I hoped 't would be some time before 
 he favored us again." 
 
 "You had your wish, then," suggested 
 Temperance good-naturedly. She had al- 
 ways liked Dan, and meant to do him a 
 kindness in telling his good fortune. " I 
 have a kind of notion that him and Doris 
 have had a quarrel, and that she 's going to 
 make it up with him this morning over to 
 Sussex ; " and the adventurous handmaiden 
 gave a sly glance across the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Owen never had openly declared her 
 opposition. There were many reasons be- 
 fore Mr. Dale's arrival upon the scene why 
 she had not cared to do so, and she re- 
 strained herseK with a great effort now, 
 though her face flushed, and the very ex- 
 
148 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 pression of her broad back was vindictive as 
 she bent over the table. " I don't know 's 
 Doris need be in any hurry : she 's well pro- 
 vided for as she is. And I want her to 
 marry well when she does marry ; but I ex- 
 pect she '11 have her own way, and other 
 folks must make the best of it." 
 
 " She 11 never want to leave the farm, I 
 don't believe," ventured Temperance. "I 
 never see anybody have such a passion for 
 anything as she has for the old place. Her 
 father don't hold a candle to her, when all 's 
 said and done. Dan 's wonted here, too, 
 and would seem sort o' natural. I guess 
 they '11 make it up, fast enough," and she 
 disappeared with another jar, while the mis- 
 tress of the house wheeled about just too 
 late, looking more angry than can be de- 
 scribed ; but when the placid countenance 
 of Miss Kipp reappeared, Martha Owen had 
 turned to the table again, and made no com- 
 ment. 
 
 " I guess there 's enough would snap at 
 him if Doris lets him go for good and all." 
 But this was putting patience to too great a 
 strain. 
 
 " There, don't run on no longer, Tem- 
 p'rance," said the mistress, contemptuously ; 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 149 
 
 " you wear me out. There 's plenty besides 
 to concern ourselves with. I 'm glad Dan's 
 property is prospering," she added, gener- 
 ously ; " but like 's not some starvin' lawyer 
 out there wants a bid to do some work, and 
 then 't will turn out to be a mistake." 
 
 Temperance held her peace. She would 
 have liked to say more, but there was a de- 
 cided barrier for the time being. She be- 
 lieved, herself, that Dan Lester was master- 
 ful enough to secure Doris, and it seemed an 
 inevitable and proper thing that he should 
 be the next owner of the farm. She was 
 aware of the present mistress's fancies and 
 ambitions, but she did not respect them 
 much ; they appeared to her unworthy of 
 the judgment and experience of so sensible 
 a woman. We have more patience with our 
 friends' wickedness than with their foolish- 
 ness, in this world ; and for her part, Tem- 
 perance thought the marriage of Doris and 
 Dan Lester had been already too long de- 
 layed. She felt sure that a little encourage- 
 ment and out-and-out talk about it were all 
 that was necessary to precipitate so desirable 
 a conclusion. But the mother, mindful of 
 her daughter's beauty, though she had always 
 striven, on fancied moral grounds, to betray 
 
150 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 no consciousness of it, and mindful more 
 than most country women of the great world 
 outside her own narrow horizons, was eager 
 through Doris to come into connection with 
 other society. She had always looked for- 
 ward to a relation with better things, but she 
 had made a common mistake in thinking 
 these were wholly outward, and dependent 
 upon anything but her own growth and de- 
 velopment. The Martha Owen of the Marsh 
 Island would be the same in whatever scenes 
 or circumstances she found herself, and not 
 transformed to match her new vicinity. A 
 good soul, but stationary, it was a great pity 
 she had not been wise enough to love the 
 place where she had been kindly planted. 
 
 The morning went by. The pies were 
 baked, and the pots and pans still a-sunning, 
 and once or twice their guardian walked 
 along the row, and tilted one more directly 
 toward the sun, and gathered a few dis- 
 tracted grasshoppers from their prisons. She 
 glanced down the road, and went to the out- 
 side of a window once to look in at the 
 clock. The simple dinner was arranged for, 
 and after this Martha Owen came out of the 
 kitchen door for the first time since she had 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 151 
 
 seen the wagon driven away, and went saun- 
 tering up the yard, much to the needless ex- 
 citement of some idle hens, and finally, after 
 a moment's hesitation and reflection, she 
 climbed the short stairway to the spinning- 
 room. 
 
 The little place looked very inviting ; it 
 was cool and quiet, and held an atmosphere 
 of repose and reticence. The hot kitchen 
 which she had just left kept too many asso- 
 ciations with drudgery and monotony ; and 
 Temperance was in that mildly aggressive 
 frame of mind which could not be too deeply 
 resented. She was a faithful creature, was 
 Tempy, but full of the notion that it de- 
 pended upon herself to set the world right. 
 
 The apple-trees seemed to grow closer 
 than ever about the windows. Their boughs 
 were bending low with a great weight of 
 fruit, and made the good woman sigh to 
 think of the apple paring and drying which 
 were near at hand. Doris knew only the 
 favorable side of farm life, after all; she 
 had chosen her work almost always, and 
 every day there was some task that was 
 lighter, pleasanter, than the rest. The 
 mother's heart grew heavy as she pictured 
 her only child growing faded and changed 
 
152 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 year after year, tired and worried more and 
 more with the hard round and petty respon- 
 sibility. Doris had it in her to grow beyond 
 it all, as she herself had once ; to do some- 
 thing else and something better ; to be 
 somebody, as she told herself with pathetic 
 disappointment. Men folks were slow at 
 understanding how a woman felt about such 
 dull doings and lack of entertainment, the 
 long winters and the endless, busy days of 
 summer. She wished that Doris might be 
 spared all this, even if Doris could grow 
 fastest and be happiest in the very condi- 
 tions which had fettered her own self. 
 
 The thought was suggested to her, as she 
 surveyed the little room, that different uses 
 might be made of the same materials. She 
 could not help recognizing the charm of the 
 place, although its furnishing was selected 
 from her own disdained belongings. She 
 left the three-cornered chair where she sat, 
 and stepped about softly, glancing at the 
 sketches which were displayed about the 
 room. It was a strange thing to be look- 
 ing at such familiar surroundings through 
 another person's eyes, and she smiled at the 
 likeness of one corner of the farm after 
 another ; the roofs and chimneys, the win- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 153 
 
 dows, the kitchen, the seldom - used front 
 door, with the clustered rose-bushes almost 
 blockading the way, and the row of bull's- 
 eye panes of glass overhead. There was 
 even the side of the small room where Mr. 
 Dale still slept, with the sword over the nar-^ 
 row mantel-piece, and the table and chair 
 near the window, and even the faint color- 
 ing of the landscape outside. She thought 
 he must be some famous artist in disguise, 
 as she saw the cleverness of the little pic- 
 tures, all so amazing and impossible to a 
 looker-on like herself. But most interesting 
 of all was a diminutive looking-glass that 
 hung on the yellow-washed wall, with a with- 
 ered twig of cider-apples put into its frame. 
 She had given him the mirror herself ; the 
 glass was spotted and dull, and she had been 
 amused with his satisfaction and gratitude. 
 Doris had worn the little apples in her belt 
 the very night before, and he must have 
 picked them up from the grass beside the 
 door as he went up to the spinning-room that 
 morning. She recognized them with a thrill 
 of hope and pleasure. Somehow, she never 
 had taken so good a look at the studio ; she 
 was not embarrassed now by anybody's pres- 
 ence. The young man's possessions were 
 
154 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 scattered about in luxurious disorder. Here 
 was a well-browned pipe on the window-sill 
 beside her, and a handful of letters which 
 he had received the night before were lying 
 on the seat of the nearest chair. She took 
 up a book and opened it at a fly leaf, to see 
 JR. Dale written there in odd, twisted letters, 
 and Venice underneath, with the date of a 
 year or two before. He had lately been 
 reading this foreign language, for one of his 
 letters was between the pages, and Dick's 
 new acquaintance looked at the strange 
 words with distrust and suspicion. After 
 all, how little they reaUy knew about this 
 stranger ! He appeared to be a good feUow, 
 but he might be poor and unsuccessful, — 
 that is, poor for his station in life ; and Mrs. 
 Owen left the farm and the sketches far be- 
 hind in her next adventurous reverie. Won- 
 derful to relate, she thought with ever-grow- 
 ing interest of the news about Dan Lester's 
 Western property. Temperance would have 
 felt entirely rewarded if she had known how 
 important her betrayed secret had become. 
 
XII. 
 
 Dan Lester had gone back to his anvil, 
 had drawn an ahnost melting piece of iron 
 from the forge, and beaten it until the sparks 
 had flown across the shop to where one of 
 the younger workmen stood, patiently filing 
 and fitting a bit of steel. He called back 
 angrily, and Dan did not notice him, but 
 beat the harder and looked the grosser; 
 finally he laughed aloud at nothing at all, 
 and then whistled in a shrill and aggravat- 
 ing manner. 
 
 "Wasn't that old Isr'el Owen's girl?" 
 asked the apprentice needlessly. " Who was 
 that f urriner she was drivin' out ? Some o' 
 their folks?" 
 
 " No," snapped Dan ; " 't was a painter 
 fellow they 've taken to board." 
 
 "Kind of smilin'-lookin', 's if he was 
 enjoyin' hisself this morning, wa'n't he ? 
 Pretty snug harbor there for one o' them 
 swell gentlemen that lives by their wits," re- 
 
156 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 marked the apprentice further, at the same 
 time trying to shape a sharp jarring point of 
 the steel with too coarse a file. 
 
 Lester dropped his own tools among the 
 cinders, and strode across the shop to give 
 the presumptuous youth a severe lesson in 
 his trade ; then he threw off his leather 
 apron, and, taking some bolts as if he were 
 going to the schooner, went out-of-doors. 
 He felt as if the two or three men he passed 
 on the bridge were laughing at his discom- 
 fiture, and grew more and more angry 
 with Doris for having paraded her admirer 
 through the town, and flaunted Dale in his 
 very face. " I Ve made myself too cheap, 
 that 's a fact," growled Dan to himself. 
 " I 've waited on her year in and year out, 
 and followed her about like a dog," and the 
 tears filled the poor fellow's eyes. . . . He 
 climbed to the schooner's deck presently, 
 and was glad to find it deserted ; he could 
 not bear to be watched, and it was well that 
 the workmen were down below, or out of 
 sight caulking, or planing plank in the ship- 
 yard. 
 
 Dan leaned over the rail, and looked down 
 at the white chips that covered the bank of 
 the tide river. The shop had been hot and 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 157 
 
 close, but here there was a fine fresh breeze 
 from across the marshes, and presently his 
 quick temper had burnt itself out like a 
 straw fire. He found himself more sorry 
 than angry after a few minutes of silence, 
 and began to accuse himself of haste and 
 unkindness. After all, what right had he 
 to blame Doris Owen ? She never had given 
 a single sign that she loved or meant to 
 marry him ; she had never heard from his 
 own lips that he loved her, though it was 
 impossible to believe that she was anything 
 but sure of that. How could she doubt it,, 
 when he had told her his love in every way 
 that he knew beside speech ! There might 
 never be a chance to speak now, he told 
 himself bitterly ; he had been a fool all the 
 time ; but when you felt like a girl's brother 
 and lover too, and had known her always, it 
 was a great deal harder to begin your love- 
 making. And then it might not have been 
 Doris's fault that the artist came with her. 
 Of course the fellow liked her, and was cap- 
 tured by her looks, and probably she had 
 taken the first chance she could to come to 
 Sussex, just as he hoped, though, after his 
 fancied slight on that last evening, he had 
 made up his mind to trouble her no further. 
 
158 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 The wrath that had been kindled then had 
 been smouldering ever since, though only 
 that morning he had made up his mind to 
 go home to spend Sunday. Now the ashes 
 had shown their hidden spark, and the fire 
 of his jealousy and pain had blazed ungen- 
 erously, and burnt away Doris's dear efforts 
 at reconciliation. 
 
 She was gentle and serene, and undis- 
 turbed by small disasters ; but her lover had 
 learned through long association that her 
 anger and prejudice were as slow to disap- 
 pear as they were difficult to arouse. He 
 was farther away from his happiness than 
 ever, and all through his own folly. He 
 fancied that Mr. Dale had looked at him with 
 wondering disdain, and struck his clenched 
 fist fiercely on the ship's rail at the thought. 
 Poor Dan ! he was very unreasonable. He 
 looked haggard and old as he turned, in 
 answer to a call from the bewildered and 
 curious apprentice, who had been waiting for 
 work until he was out of patience, in the 
 middle of what had promised to be a busy 
 morning. 
 
 Dan went on with his own work with less 
 spirit than usual, though he joked and teased 
 the undeceived stripling, for fear he should 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 159 
 
 suspect there was any trouble. Once he 
 leaned on his big hammer, and in the hu- 
 mility of his honest love reflected that Doris 
 deserved a better man than himself. The 
 stranger might be able to make her happier 
 than any one else ever could. There was 
 something very taking about Dale, though 
 Dan himself never wanted anything to do 
 with such a Miss Nancy. Old Mr. Owen 
 thought he favored Israel, but Israel was 
 worth two of that sort. It was not likely 
 he would marry Doris, — that was the worst 
 of it ; he only liked to play with her ; and 
 by and by everybody would say Dan Lester 
 was glad to get another man's leavings. No, 
 he would go off out West, and make his way 
 alone. There was that piece of land that 
 was rising in value every day. He always 
 meant to farm it some day or other, and to 
 give up this makeshift of a trade. He would 
 rather handle a good smooth live field and 
 make it do its best than a lump of dirty 
 dead iron. And at this the great hammer 
 was swung aside angrily, and the crooked 
 bar went to the forge again. 
 
 Visions of his broken plans came flocking 
 up to tease him ; his whole life had brought 
 him steadily toward a certain goal, only to 
 
160 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 show him something like the brink of a prec- 
 ipice instead. In spite of the attempted 
 kindness of his thoughts toward Mr. Dale, 
 he could have stamped him into the dust 
 after the schoolmistress had told him blandly, 
 with a sidewise glance, at dinner-time, that 
 Doris Owen and the boarder had stopped 
 and treated the children to apples at recess- 
 time that day, and they seemed to be having 
 a sight of fun together. " They were splen- 
 did pippins," she added, indiscreetly, a few 
 minutes afterward, to increase the effect of 
 her first announcement. But Dan cast a 
 contemptuous glance at her in return, and 
 then felt shaky and accused himself afresh. 
 Doris was bringing them to him. She al- 
 ways laughed because he liked them so much 
 and hunted for them in the apple bins. 
 Doris liked him now, if she had ever liked 
 him, and he grew more eager to see her 
 again, if only to know the width of the 
 breach his ugly actions had put between 
 them. 
 
XIII. 
 
 Late Saturday evening, Mrs. Lawton, 
 Dan's mother, heard with great joy the sound 
 of wheels in her narrow yard, and quickly 
 taking a light, though the moon was at its 
 full, she went to the side door. Dan greeted 
 her with unusual cheerfulness as she asked, 
 in a worn and feeble voice that contrasted 
 poorly with his own, if he had received the 
 summons she had sent him in the morning. 
 
 " I suppose you 've got a split shingle on 
 the shed-roof, or some such heavy piece of 
 work," he answered. " Mrs. Dennell said 
 you were all right yourself, so far as she 
 could see." 
 
 The wagon shafts fell to the ground, and 
 Dan was already clattering at the stable 
 door; then the horse stumbled up the single 
 step, and his master spoke to him now and 
 then in loud tones, as he moved about, im- 
 patient with the delay of his supper. Mrs. 
 Lawton still stood at the door holding the 
 lamp, though the wind had blown it out some 
 11 
 
162 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 minutes before, when her son came toward 
 her, along the moonlighted path. He laughed 
 at the useless lamp, and the eager woman 
 was filled with confusion; then they went 
 into the small house together. 
 
 Dan threw his hat on a side table, pushed 
 up a window, and seated himself beside it ; 
 the old cat came crying to his side, and not 
 receiving at once the desired recognition, 
 jumped into his lap and nestled down, purr- 
 ing loudly. Mrs. Lawton was busy trying 
 to light the lamp again, but she let one match 
 go out, and dropped another on the floor, and 
 finally upset the match-box itself with a loud 
 clatter. The moon shone into the room, and 
 Dan looked round compassionately, and be- 
 gan, to laugh at her disasters. She had not 
 seen him in such good spirits for several 
 weeks, and it was a great reward for her 
 anxiety to have him at home again in such 
 good trim. In her solitary, uneventful days, 
 she had plenty of time to worry about Dan. 
 Her past experience of life had certainly 
 given good cause for some fear of the future. 
 
 " Never mind the light," he said ; " it 's 
 bright as day here. Come and sit down, 
 and don't flitter about so, mother ; you make 
 me think of a singed moth-miller. I 've had 
 
A MARSH ISLAND, 163 
 
 my supper, you know. I didn't get away 
 much before seven o'clock." 
 
 There was finally a successful attempt at 
 illumination, and the little woman came 
 toward her son and put her hand on his 
 shoulder. " Now I 've got something to tell 
 you, Danny," she said, and her voice was 
 shaking with excitement. 
 
 The man's mind was filled with one 
 thought, and something made him fear to 
 hear news of Doris Owen and another lover 
 than himself. 
 
 " Is Doris " — He spoke fiercely, but 
 could not finish his sentence, and the moth- 
 er's quick intuition possessed itself of his 
 secret in that single moment. 
 
 "'Doris?'" she repeated, wonderingly; 
 for why should he have thought of her then, 
 even though he always thought of her most? 
 " No. I had a letter from out West yester- 
 day ; that is, it came for you, and I did n't 
 send it over. I was afraid something might 
 happen ; a letter is so easy to lose. That 's 
 why I sent word, to be sure you 'd come 
 home. It 's about that property Simeon in- 
 vested some of your father's means in ; it 's 
 all of it yours, you know. They say it's 
 getting to have a great value. Poor Simeon, 
 
164 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 I always thought he meant to do for the 
 best." 
 
 Dan stood up suddenly, and the cat fell 
 to the floor, much to her surprise and dis- 
 pleasure. " Where is the letter ? " he asked. 
 
 " I '11 find it in a minute. I put it some- 
 where so I could lay my hand right on it 
 the minute you got here," and she made a 
 fruitless excursion to her bedroom, which 
 was next the room where they were. " I 've 
 found it ! " she exclaimed at last, delightedly. 
 " Here 's the lamp." She stood beside him, 
 watching his face while he read. 
 
 The letter was not long, and the young 
 man smiled as he gave it back to her. " I 
 should like more of the same sort," he said. 
 " I 'm not going to sell it, either, until I 
 know more than this. They 'd try to get the 
 land as low as they could, and most like take 
 advantage, if the owner was as far off as I 
 am. I may have to go out there," he added, 
 with a tone of pride and determination. 
 
 " I should take advice of Israel Owen," 
 said the mother gravely. " You have n't 
 had much experience in such things." 
 
 " Don't be fearful," said Dan, wishing all 
 the while it were not too late to go to the 
 farm that very evening. "I'm equal to 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 165 
 
 managing my own affairs," he added, with 
 feigned disregard of any such desire. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Lawton, " you 're all I 
 could ask, my son. I shall be pleased to see 
 you a well-off man. I have n't anything to 
 hope for myseK. You 've kept me better 
 than you need this good while. But there, 
 'it 's natural you should be thinking about 
 somebody else besides me." She sighed 
 somewhat wistfully, and wished for a mo- 
 ment that she could always know that her 
 son was her very own, and see no other 
 woman caring for him and taking the first 
 place. It was not very often they felt so 
 near each other as they did that night, and 
 she pushed back her chair to give him space, 
 as he went walking to and fro, only a few 
 steps each way, in the low room. He was a 
 fine -looking fellow; any mother might be 
 proud of him. Now he could live on his own 
 place, and give up his trade, no matter if it 
 were so enviable a place as master smith of 
 the best ship-yard. Now he would be likely 
 to marry. He was proud, Dan was, and had 
 not meant, she was already sure, to speak 
 to Doris Owen until he was independent. 
 
 "I wonder if Doris will feel pleased?" 
 she said, almost unconsciously ; and Dan 
 
166 A MARSH ISLAND, 
 
 stood still, with a smouldering light in his 
 eyes, which looked black and stormy. 
 
 " I should have said so a month ago, 
 mother," he answered defiantly; "but I 
 don't know now. There 's no telling about 
 you women. I never have cared for nobody 
 but her, though I 've made no talk about it. 
 I shouldn't to-night if you didn't speak 
 first. If I can't marry her, I shall live sin- 
 gle, — that 's all ; and the harder I have to 
 work, the better. I shall want something to 
 make me forget I 've lost what I 've always 
 wanted. I '11 let the money go hang." 
 
 The troubled and startled woman rose, 
 and went quickly to her son's side. Dan sat 
 by the square table, and had dropped his 
 head on his arms. She patted his shoulder 
 with a light hand that trembled a little; 
 somehow, her pleasures were apt to have a 
 bitter ending and go wrong. She wondered 
 if he were crying, — Dan never cried ; but 
 presently she heard a sob, and the broad 
 shoulder shook under her touch. "Don't, 
 dear, don't!" she whispered, anxiously; 
 " 't will aU come right. You 're just like 
 your father, and I couldn't have said him 
 nay. Girls will be girls, Dan, and she 's 
 waiting, most like, for you to speak. There 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 167 
 
 ain't a thing that 's unworthy about Doris. 
 She favors the Owens, and I know 'em root 
 an' branch." 
 
 Dan looked up presently. His eyes were 
 blue again, now, and when his mother's hand 
 had stroked his hair, and he felt the worn, 
 thin fingers touch his neck, it had sent a 
 thrill of comfort to his very heart. Poor 
 little mother ! He stooped down and kissed 
 her as tenderly as if she were Doris, before 
 he went to bed. "Faint heart never won 
 fair lady," he said, and tried to laugh ; but 
 her shock of delight and surprise at his un- 
 wonted caress reflected itself back to him, 
 and as he stood looking down at her, his own 
 eyes were suddenly and provokingly blurred. 
 She was so little and frail in her scant old 
 dress, and had such a patient, hard-worked 
 look; he remembered that people said she 
 had been a pretty girl. He wondered if he 
 had not been too rough for her sometimes ; 
 she was the kind of woman that cannot stand 
 alone, and wants to be taken care of. Con- 
 found old Lawton, who made a drudge of 
 her ! But Dan all at once understood why 
 the lonely woman had been persuaded to 
 yoke herself to him. After all, this piece of 
 land might serve a good turn. And Doris, 
 
168 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 — was she really waiting for him to speak, 
 after aU ? What a fool he had been ! Her 
 eyes had sought his face pleadingly when he 
 went snarling to the wagon to speak to her. 
 It was long to wait until the morrow ; and 
 the white, bright moonlight kept him awake, 
 as if some fate insisted on prolonging the 
 delay. The wind was blowing a little, and 
 a lilac bush outside brushed against the clap- 
 boards just as it did when he was a boy. 
 Sometimes, even then, he used to lie awake 
 and think of Doris Owen, and he remem- 
 bered a dream which had seemed very real : 
 for the boy Israel, his dear playmate, had 
 come to him, — not in his soldier clothes, 
 but wearing his old school-boy jacket and 
 boyish face, — and stood by the bedside, and 
 begged him to go and live at the farm. Dan 
 Lester had gone to the war, too; he had 
 seen his playmate fall, and had dragged him 
 back within the lines at the peril of his own 
 life. His thoughts were rarely so busy as 
 in this still night, as he grew by turns hope- 
 ful and fearful of his fate. 
 
XIV. 
 
 Early the next morning, Dale disap- 
 peared from the farmhouse, meaning to 
 spend most of the day out-of-doors. Doris's 
 boat did not usually leave its anchorage on 
 Sunday, so he borrowed it without hesita- 
 tion, and drifted seaward with the ebbing 
 tide along the winding highways of the 
 marshes, changing his point of view just 
 fast enough, and idly watching the clouds 
 and the landscape in his slow progress. He 
 was not uncomfortable, leaning back against 
 an oar which he had put behind him across 
 the boat, and he wielded the other oar skill- 
 fully to push the light craft off the shore, 
 against which it not seldom came to a full 
 stop. The country was brilliant with au- 
 tumn tints, and often the glimpses of it were 
 charming to his eyes ; for the water was low 
 in the creeks, and the black mud at the 
 sides, topped by the still luxuriant bending 
 grasses, made a pleasant framing. The day 
 promised to be hot, but it was cool weather 
 
170 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 in the deep channels, and he had a sense of 
 being sheltered and hidden securely. The 
 great dragon-flies followed him, as if they 
 had left everything in their surprise and 
 excitement, and sometimes three or four 
 alighted together, glistening against his dull- 
 colored clothes like fairy marauders in full 
 armor. As he leaned over the side of the 
 boat, the small fishes and occasional crabs 
 did not seem disturbed by the gliding 
 shadow ; they might have thought it a nat- 
 ural part of their calm existence, until the 
 plash of an oar sent them off in alarm. 
 After half the morning was spent, this lei- 
 surely navigator found himself fairly strand- 
 ed at an absurdly short distance from the 
 Marsh Island ; but the tide being almost 
 out, there was nothing to do but to go ashore 
 and wait for it to rise again. The bank 
 sloped conveniently, and he scrambled up 
 and providently pulled the light dory after 
 him, and fastened the painter to a bush. He 
 had often looked across from the farm up- 
 lands to this smaller island in the salt grass ; 
 but it was larger than he had fancied it, and 
 the beech and oak-trees had reached a good 
 size, and were dropping their ungathered 
 nuts into the thickets and coarse grass be- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 171 
 
 neath. Two or three squirrels scolded at 
 him from a safe distance. He seated him- 
 self in the shade, and looked across the level 
 reaches of the sea-meadows, which had begun 
 to shimmer in the summer-like heat. The 
 small beech-trees that grew near made the 
 light purple and soft that fell on the frayed 
 whitish carpeting of their last year's leaves, 
 and presently he grew drowsy, and turned 
 over to put his arm under his head ; and 
 there he lay, sound asleep, at his lazy length, 
 — a fair, untroubled knight, one would say, 
 though his mind had lately perplexed itself 
 harshly enough. 
 
 The country wagons had just rattled 
 churchward along the East Road, their two 
 seats crowded full for the most part, with 
 small children wedged between the grown 
 people, much hotter than was comfortable 
 already. For a wonder, Doris had pleaded 
 fatigue, and announced her intention of stay- 
 ing at home. It was a long drive to the vil- 
 lage, and Israel Owen and his wife decided 
 to spend the noon at a cousin's, as was not 
 infrequently their custom. Temperance 
 Kipp always passed the day of rest with her 
 sister, and Jim Fales had gone to his moth- 
 er's, a mile or two away. Doris would keep 
 
172 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 house, she said. There was always a cold 
 lunch at noon on Sundays at the farm. No- 
 body knew when Mr. Dale would be likely 
 to return, and the unused horses had been 
 led out early to join their four-footed com- 
 panions in the pasture. There would really 
 be nothing to do. Martha Owen looked 
 over her shoulder once or twice at Doris, as 
 she drove away. The girl seemed unlike 
 herself, and had been pale and intent ever 
 since slie came home from Sussex, though 
 she answered her mother's questions about 
 the expedition, and even her interview with 
 Dan Lester, with her usual frankness. The 
 more the elder woman revolved in her mind 
 Temperance's bit of news, the more respect 
 she was inclined to pay it. Dan Lester was 
 almost like one of themselves already, though 
 she had not been pleased with him of late ; 
 he would be very well off now. The castles 
 in the air, of which she had fancied young 
 Dale the ruler, began to betray their unsub- 
 stantial foundation, and Dan's cause ven- 
 tured to assert a likeness to the bird in the 
 hand which is valued by all persons of dis- 
 cretion. And when, at a cross-road, they 
 met Dan in his shining new buggy, driving 
 his mother to meeting, Mrs. Owen gave him 
 a most friendly salutation. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 173 
 
 Alas that Dan, disappointed at seeing the 
 vacant place on the front seat beside the 
 kind old farmer, should have fancied the 
 greeting to be one of exultation and defi- 
 ance, or approval of the fact that Doris 
 had stayed at home, to enjoy the artist's 
 company. 
 
 Doris had seen Dick Dale turn to the 
 eastward as he went up through the orchard, 
 and instinctively set her own face to the 
 westward when she also wandered out-of- 
 doors. The house had seemed hot, for a 
 wonder, and the crickets and their relations 
 of the harsh voices chirped and hissed with 
 Ausrust-like fervor outside the windows. 
 She tried to read, but presently the paper 
 slid to the floor, and as she passed out of the 
 door the old clock ticked louder than usual, 
 as if it were calling her back : " Don't — 
 Do — ris — don't — Do — ris," but she will- 
 fully went away, for all that. She did not 
 like the stillness of the old place, — an 
 empty house of that age grows full of the 
 presences that are felt, but not seen, — and 
 she kept on her way steadily up the hill, and 
 left the doors open behind her, so that who- 
 ever chose might go in and keep holiday. 
 
174 
 
 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 This was true, that she felt the vague pain 
 and sense of discomfort which are apt to 
 foretell the great changes of our lives. She 
 wished that her existence might have swept 
 on in the familiar fashion of which she had 
 never complained. Was love a happiness, 
 or life a satisfaction, or friendship a cer- 
 tainty, if Dan Lester, whose affection had 
 been so constant and so evident, could doubt 
 her and shame her before a stranger ? The 
 gentleness and courtesy of Mr. Dale himself 
 might be safer qualities to rely upon. She 
 had neither promised Dan anything nor 
 given him cause for jealousy. There was no 
 need that he should call to her in the way 
 he did before the haymakers, that night at 
 the landing, but she had been sorry enough 
 if she had shown unkind resentment. In- 
 deed, she could think of a dozen times when 
 she had spoken with more impatience, and 
 even slighted him and teased him far more. 
 Why could not people be more generous to 
 you when they loved you than when they 
 were simply friends ? She could not forgive 
 Dan's surliness. If she had cared less for 
 him, she would not have gone to him there 
 in Sussex; and the blood crimsoned her 
 cheeks at the thought of such undeserved 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 175 
 
 humiliation. The natural instinct that had 
 waited and reached out unconsciously for a 
 lover was wounded and thrust back, to be 
 recosfnized with shame and sorrow. Doris 
 Owen was a woman who would be compara- 
 tively useless in a solitary life. Hers was 
 a nature incomplete without its mate, and 
 incapable of reaching its possible successes 
 alone. She had been more ready to make 
 the great choice than she thought, and 
 nearer the solution of the problem which 
 now seemed entirely new and strange. Per- 
 haps it was necessary that she should appar- 
 ently take a step backward and approach the 
 crisis again before consenting irrevocably to 
 her fate. 
 
 Doris felt rather than thought these things 
 as she climbed the easy ascent ; she would 
 have been too much shocked if her true ideas 
 had been put into words. Where the hill 
 grew steeper, she changed her direction, and 
 left the shade of the great apple-trees to go 
 through the peach orchard. Here the sun- 
 shine was steeping everything through and 
 through ; the fruits stored it away, and in 
 return gave out into the air something of 
 their fine fragrance and mellowness. The 
 slender trees were filled with a rare vigor 
 
176 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 and elasticity, and held up their too heavy- 
 burden of half -faded leaves and delicate 
 laden branches as if they were getting a 
 new lease of life. The thick grass was spot- 
 ted with brilliant windfalls, and bees went 
 buzzing by, rich with their plunder from 
 this late harvest. Doris walked lightly 
 among the company of trees, and presently 
 her drooped head was also lifted up, as if 
 the kind sun had drawn and strengthened 
 it, and her face began to free itself from 
 clouds, like a clearing sky. A fair young 
 girl of out-door growth and flower-like fash- 
 ioning, a sweet-faced wife for any man to 
 win and cherish, she passed fleet-footed over 
 the autumn grass. Her light dress flitted 
 between the peach-trees and hid itself be- 
 hind the hedge-row of hazel-nut bushes and 
 young wild-cherries. At last Doris stood on 
 a high slope, a white figure against the blue 
 sky, where the sea-breeze found her; and 
 since the inland country looked warm and 
 inhospitable, this zephyr turned, and went 
 no further. 
 
 There was no reason why she should go 
 back to the house for a long time yet. Her 
 half-outgrown childish love of wandering far 
 and wide took possession of her, and remem- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 177 
 
 bering all in a moment that the beech-nuts 
 on the small island nearest her must be 
 nearly ripe, and that the tide was out, she 
 went slowly down the pasture and across the 
 marsh. She had told Mr. Dale once that 
 she thought the most beautiful time of the 
 year was the late spring, when the marshes 
 were growing green, but her own country- 
 side never had seemed more delightful than 
 it did that Sunday morning. She questioned, 
 with pain and foreboding, if she must ever 
 leave it. She put aside so needless a fear, 
 and was grateful to the stranger within the 
 gates for teaching her by his own delight to 
 see the beauty that she had never half under- 
 stood. Doris wondered where he had gone, 
 — he was sure to be keeping one of the ten 
 commandments and doing no work. . . . 
 They could not be too thankful to so kind a 
 friend, who valued their friendship and ser- 
 vice beyond what it was worth, and returned 
 it in every way thrice over. He was like 
 the young men in the best stories that Doris 
 knew, — she had often told herself that, — 
 and her heart gave a little flutter of uncer- 
 tainty. Poor Dan ! he was really just as kind 
 at heart and full of pleasant thoughts ; but 
 he was a country fellow, and lacked the ways 
 12 
 
178 
 
 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of the world and the gift of ready speech. 
 She could not think what had made him be- 
 have so strangely, and the recent hurt began 
 to ache again. 
 
 The noonday sun was very hot, after all, 
 and she was glad at last to reach the shelter 
 of the spreading trees of the little island. 
 The young beeches at the edge of the thicket 
 were turning yellow, but inside they were 
 untouched by frost or rij^ening. The oaks 
 were dull red here and there on the outer 
 branches, and Doris laughed at a squirrel 
 which felt it necessary to perch on a fallen 
 tree and menace her with whisking tail and 
 indignant chatter. The squirrels had al- 
 ways acted as if this island were their own ; 
 it was a favorite trapping-ground of Israel's. 
 She gathered some late blackberries, as she 
 went pushing her way through the tangle ; 
 she well remembered a grassy place under 
 the largest beech on the seaward side, where 
 the air might be cooler. Just as she could 
 look out through the drooping boughs at the 
 bright, hot levels beyond, she was startled 
 at the sight of the bow of her own small 
 white boat with the blue stripe, drawn up 
 on the bank of the narrow creek, and here, 
 almost at her feet, lay Mr. Richard Dale, 
 sound asleep. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 179 
 
 She turned instantly, but the rustle and 
 cracking of the bushes had waked him. He 
 sprang to his feet, looking quite stupid and 
 amazed, and slowly caught a spider that was 
 spinning down from his hair. Then he re- 
 gained his wits entirely, and looked at his 
 disturber with a laugh. " Where did you 
 come from, Doris ? " he asked. " You must 
 have taken the hay -boat; the other was 
 gone, so I had to steal yours. The tide 
 must be quite out by this time." 
 
 " The tide is coming in," said the girl. 
 " I must hurry back, or I cannot cross some 
 of the low places. I walked over the marsh ; 
 it is n't very far, and easy enough if you 
 only know the way. When the tide is half 
 high, you must take a longer way round." 
 
 " I should lose myself, at any rate," an- 
 swered Dick ; " at least, I should never es- 
 cape by land. There is something mysteri- 
 ous about the marshes to me. Sit down," 
 he said, more gently. "How hot it has 
 grown ! Why not wait until the creek fills 
 again, and we can go back in the boat to- 
 gether ? I am by no means sure I know the 
 way ; " at which they both laughed, and felt 
 more at ease. Dick shook himself like a 
 wet dog ; he was adorned with dead leaves 
 
180 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 and bits of twig, and sleepy yet, if the truth 
 were told. Then he sat down on the grass, 
 and Doris followed his example, and as she 
 leaned back against the beech-tree's broad 
 trunk, she was not displeased with the un- 
 expected turn of affairs. Dick picked up 
 a sound beech-nut that some squirrel had 
 dropped by mistake, and, cutting off one of 
 the trig three-cornered sides, offered it to his 
 guest. 
 
 " I wish I had brought some peaches," she 
 said. " I just came through the orchard." 
 
 " It was very odd that we both should 
 have come to this same spot of ground," the 
 young man observed meditatively. " Some- 
 times I think there are all sorts of powers 
 and forces doing what they please with us, 
 for good or bad reasons of their own." 
 
 " We are taught to believe that one power 
 is, are n't we ? " asked Doris timidly. " But 
 always for our own good." 
 
 " Yes," slowly assented Dick, as if the 
 fact were not always so clear to him as he 
 wished ; and then, with renewed interest, " I 
 always liked the notion of our having guar- 
 dian angels. I should like to know if it is 
 true ? " 
 
 Doris flushed : she was not used to talk- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 181 
 
 ing in a familiar way of sucli grave subjects, 
 but she could not help answering, " I al- 
 ways have thought so ever since I was a little 
 girl," she began hesitatingly. "It always 
 seems as if there were one angel who follows 
 me all the time, and tries to keep me back 
 when I am going to do wrong, and is set to 
 take care of me. Don't you know " — and 
 she became very earnest — " that when you 
 forget things, or can't remember where you 
 leave things, something outside yourself re- 
 minds you? Not your memory or your con- 
 science ; something outside you," Doris re- 
 peated. " I wonder if we don't have friends 
 in the unseen world." 
 
 " Perhaps," the young man said gravely. 
 " I really don't know why not." He was 
 touched by the strange beauty of Doris's face 
 now when she was deeply moved. She was 
 paler than usual, even after her walk; she 
 was like another creature from the busy 
 week-day girl who went and came with the 
 elder women at the farmhouse. She almost 
 always had a grave sweetness. There was 
 surely a nfost uncommon quality in both her 
 nature and her father's. 
 
 " Doris," said Dick, in a brotherly way, 
 " I think you did not like me when I first 
 came to the farm." 
 
182 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 Doris was silent. Then he glanced up, to 
 find her looking at him with surprise and 
 bewilderment; it might have been because 
 she was called back unkindly from some 
 reverie. 
 
 " I did not know you," she answered. " I 
 hardly thought about you until you hurt your 
 foot. But we are all so glad you came, now ; 
 it has been a great deal of company for 
 father, and mother gets very tired of doing 
 the same things over and over. I think she 
 would like to live where there is more going 
 on." 
 
 " Would you like that, too ? " asked Dick 
 softly, and then was persuaded that Doris's 
 belief in a spiritual guardian was well found- 
 ed ; he felt such an unexpected sense of re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Doris simply. 
 " I like home better every year ; " and sud- 
 denly an invisible quality in the air, a subtle 
 intoxication that had something to do with 
 Dick's question, sent its influence into Do- 
 ris's heart, and for the first time she could 
 not look Dick in the face. She wondered 
 how she might escape, not so much from him 
 as from her appalling self. 
 
 There was a terrible silence, and the longer 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 183 
 
 it continued the more convicting it grew. 
 Dick Dale did not speak again, — he did not 
 know what hindered him ; in that moment 
 his heart beat very fast. Was Doris wait- 
 ing to hear his voice ? Was this his fate 
 and happiness, and was his future in this 
 woman's keeping? 
 
 The breath of enchantment was quickly- 
 gone, and they became their familiar selves 
 again, yet with a difference. Dale, at any 
 rate, felt a faint sense of mistake and disap- 
 pointment, and went away without a word 
 when Doris said that she thought they must 
 go back now, if the boat would float in the 
 creek. She looked at him appealingly as 
 he helped her to her place, and only smiled 
 when he demanded the oars which she had 
 taken. 
 
 " I have not rowed for a long time," she 
 said in excuse, and pulled with strong, steady 
 stroke, as if it were a relief and welcome de- 
 fense against threatened discomfort. " You 
 would not know the meadows in winter," she 
 said once. " They look so dead and deso- 
 late, with great black cracks in the ice, like 
 scars ; and at night you can hear a noise 
 as if the tide were caught and trying to get 
 itself free. I am always so glad when the 
 
184 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 gulls and crows are thick, and it is getting 
 near to spring." 
 
 " No," said Dale to himself, " I don't be- 
 lieve I could stand the long winter. Town 
 is the place when the snow comes." But he 
 wished, none the less, that he could make the 
 winter delay its coming. He did not like 
 to have Doris row the boat, and a great in- 
 security and indecision took possession of 
 him. Should he dare to speak to Doris ? 
 He wondered what he would think of it to- 
 morrow ; but he called himself a coward, as 
 they landed a little later, and he walked back 
 to the still-deserted farmhouse by her side. 
 The old place had arrayed itself against him 
 while he had been away. He felt curiously 
 distinct and separate from his surroundings 
 just then, and yet as if he must use all his 
 powers of resistance if he would keep him- 
 self apart. Did fate mean to graft him to 
 this strong old growth, and was the irresist- 
 ible sap from that centre of life already 
 making its way through his veins ? Was an 
 unlocalized, a disestablished human being at 
 the mercy of a possible system of spiritual 
 economies, so that he was to be held to a spot 
 that was lacking in what he might supply? 
 If a man did not see his duty and opportu- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 185 
 
 nity with his own eyes, must he be attracted 
 by a magnet-like necessity ? But what was 
 this broken, nay, even mutilated, household 
 to him, even though the strange suggestion 
 of his likeness to the young soldier who lay 
 in the orchard burying-ground would flit 
 through his bewildered mind ? There was a 
 new glamour over everything : at one moment 
 he reveled in it, and then as suddenly feared 
 and distrusted it, while a faint indignation 
 returned again and again and troubled him 
 because he had been thus taken by surprise. 
 
 All the tiuie that Dale's thoughts were at- 
 tacking him like an angry and desperate mob, 
 Doris walked at his side, so sweet and self- 
 possessed, so staid and Sunday-like, that her 
 presence was the only thing that quieted the 
 confusion she herself was making. Never 
 before had this girl looked so slender and 
 full of life, so kissable and dear. Presently 
 she turned toward him with almost perfect 
 composure ; there was only a little look of 
 affectionate solicitude to show that they had 
 just come a long way nearer each other's 
 consciousness. 
 
 " I will go up to the orchard and get some 
 peaches for your lunch, Mr. Dale," she said. 
 " The best ones are just getting ripe ; " and 
 
186 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 Doris went away slowly up the hillside, 
 through the long autumn grass, into the 
 shadow of the fruit-trees. Dick could not 
 follow her, but for some minutes he stood 
 still. What a picture for a man to paint ! 
 What a woman for a man to love ! Ah, if 
 Doris had looked over her shoulder in that 
 minute ! But the white dress was lost among 
 the shady apple-trees, Dick sighed, and well 
 he might ; the enchantress had passed by, 
 and her spell had passed with her. An 
 eager song -sparrow flew upward, singing 
 bravely, and for once the blessed notes jarred 
 upon the young man's ear. 
 
 He climbed the stairs to the spinning- 
 room. The light southwesterly wind sent a 
 cloud of cigar-smoke through the northeast- 
 erly window after a few minutes, and as 
 Doris came down the hill she saw this, and 
 smiled. A little later she brought some 
 bread and a blue plate full of great crimson 
 and yellow peaches, and put them on the 
 table. Dick, who held a book in his hand, 
 nodded, and thanked Doris politely, but she 
 had already turned away. She was hardly 
 at the foot of the steep stairway before he 
 had left his chair and dropped the book on 
 the floor. He stood still, eager, irresolute. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 187 
 
 "Was he a fool or a wise man ? — but he saw 
 her no more that afternoon. There was 
 enough else to do. He had letters to an- 
 swer, for one thing; but Dick could not 
 write ; he kept making dots and squares and 
 curious little marks with his pen all over the 
 blotting paper, instead. Neither could he 
 read, for he heard the ripe apples fall to the 
 ground, and saw a gray spider spin its web 
 and lie in wait for flies. At last he heard 
 the elder Owens drive into the yard, and 
 bravely appeared as a listener to the news 
 they had brought home from meeting. A 
 strange pleasure filled his heart at the sight 
 of Israel Owen's honest face. The good 
 man seemed more familiar to him than he 
 did to himself. 
 
XV. 
 
 Sunday evening was apt to be given to 
 social advantages at the Marsh Island. The 
 farmhouse had been for many years a fa- 
 vorite gathering-place of the few neighbors, 
 and in the old days the Owens' tall clock 
 had served as a frequent and formal excuse 
 for the appearance of various sociable ac- 
 quaintances. A clock of such high rank 
 must necessarily rule all timekeepers of 
 lesser degree by the autocratic sway of its 
 leisurely pendulum ; and once in a wliile 
 somebody would still ask, with noticeable 
 humility, for the right time, or set the hands 
 of a cumbrous silver watch, by way of trib- 
 ute, in the clock-room. 
 
 The elder Owens, Israel and Martha, with 
 Temperance Kij^p, returned tired and dis- 
 pirited from their day's devotions, but a com- 
 fortable early supper had refreshed them ; 
 and Doris had seemed so entirely like her- 
 self that when Dick Dale came strolling up 
 from the garden with his cigar, and heard 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 189 
 
 the sound of voices, he joined the cheerful 
 company without a moment's reflection. A 
 luxuriant growth of petunias, still unhurt by 
 frost, had made the old garden deliciously 
 fragrant, and in the dim light he could see 
 the flowers' pale faces glimmering at his 
 feet. He picked one which gained his spe- 
 cial attention, and gave it to Doris as he en- 
 tered the room. A heavy dew was falling 
 outside, and the company, for almost the 
 first time that autumn, had forsaken the 
 broad side-door step altogether. When Dick 
 had first come to the farm, his presence had 
 been a serious hindrance to the undisturbed 
 flow of mild discussion and neighborhood 
 news, but now, after a slight pause and cor- 
 dial greeting, he was allowed to seat himself 
 by one of the windows without note or com- 
 ment. Old Mrs. Bennet, the last arrival, 
 was still out of breath, and presently ex- 
 plained to the new-comer that she always 
 used to walk the distance between her house 
 and this in ten minutes, easy ; but now she 
 had to hurry along, in order to accurately 
 compare the difference of the clocks. 
 
 Temperance Kipp regarded Mr. Dale with 
 keen eyes. She had taken up the neglected 
 championship of Dan Lester with more de- 
 
190 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 cision than before, since she had seen his 
 discouraged face that morning in church. 
 He looked thinner than usual, and alto- 
 gether was very appealing to her tender 
 heart. Even the news of his increase of 
 fortune had not made him light-hearted, 
 though his mother had exchanged a confid- 
 ing and pleased glance with her old friend, 
 as she sat in one of the side pews, not very- 
 far away. 
 
 Dale watched Temperance herself with 
 uncommon pleasure that evening. He had 
 always liked her face, which had a great 
 deal of sympathy and wise understanding 
 in it ; for the first time he recognized a re- 
 semblance, which had always baffled and 
 puzzled his memory, to Holbein's portrait of 
 Sir Thomas More. He was a little amused 
 and surprised at this ; he would have liked 
 Bradish to see her, as she sat in a high- 
 backed rocking-chair. Bradish was very 
 fond of the Holbein. " Ah, well, I must be 
 getting back to town soon," the young man 
 assured himself, and then moved his own 
 chair a little, as if he wished to hear what 
 was being said of the morning's sermon, but 
 in reality to command a better view of 
 Doris. He was not infrequently bored by 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 191 
 
 the theological disputes of Israel Owen and 
 his neighbor Churchill, who was a received 
 authority on some questions, being a dea- 
 con of the first parish. This controversy 
 was evidently almost over with. " Speakin' 
 about the Lord knowin' them that are his," 
 said Israel Owen, in an unsteady voice, " it 
 makes a good text to enlarge upon for a 
 minister ; but when you come to put it right 
 home, deacon, there 's precious few for him 
 to know. Folks ain't so common that bears 
 him any great likeness that he can make 
 friends of. Plenty of us is growing towards 
 him, and kind of stirring about some ; but 
 it 's a mercy, as I view it, that we 've got 
 another life to continue the upward way. 
 If we can only git started whilst we 're here, 
 that 's about all we can do, most on us." 
 
 The deacon grumbled something, which 
 might be an assent, and might not. His own 
 preference was for more inflexible condem- 
 nations and harsher definitions of the con- 
 dition of fallen man ; but somehow he never 
 could bring his arguments to bear when 
 Owen took this tone. " I don't wonder, 
 when I look about me, that folks ain't bet- 
 ter," the old man concluded ; " the 'stonish- 
 ment to me is that they ain't wuss. When 
 
192 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 you take in what folks have inherited down 
 from gineration to gineration, and how some 
 are weak in body and some in mind, 't is a 
 wonder a good many is so decent behaved 
 as they be." 
 
 But the deacon did not like to think of 
 the practical achievements of himself and 
 his brethren, — the abstractions and distinc- 
 tions of certain doctrines were a much bet- 
 ter liked subject ; and he was relieved when 
 a tall figure appeared in the doorway, and 
 Dan Lester looked in, with a touch of de- 
 fiance on his face. 
 
 " Come in, come in, Dan ! " said the 
 farmer. '* Where 've you kept yourself these 
 weeks past ? I did n't know but you was 
 put out about something. Did n't overdo, 
 haying, did ye ? I 've hardly seen ye since. 
 Doris, git Dan a seat. We've got consid- 
 er' ble of a meetin' here, but there 's chairs 
 enough. Step out to the entry, Doris, or 
 fetch one right in from the kitchen." 
 
 Doris had risen at the guest's ajoproach, 
 and they stood together in the room for one 
 awkward minute, with the rest of the people 
 watching them. It takes little time for such 
 a neighborhood to scent out the smallest ex- 
 citement ; and the curiositv to know if there 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 193 
 
 were anything between Doris and Dan of 
 an unpleasant nature, or any prospect of a 
 love affair between her and Dale, had led 
 two or three of the guests to pay this even- 
 ing visit. 
 
 Dick Dale had sometimes been vastly en- 
 tertained by such a Sunday evening gather- 
 ing. He liked the quaint talk and pictur- 
 esque expression of the elder people, and had 
 more than once wished that he were a writer, 
 and could profit by the specimens of a fast- 
 disappearing dialecfc. This night, however, 
 there was a strange influence of excitement 
 and expectancy. He was inclined to resent 
 Dan Lester's coming to the farm in that 
 self-sufficient way, after his late treatment 
 of Doris. He knew well enough that she 
 had been grieved by it. Dear Doris, what 
 a shame it would be to let her waste her- 
 self among such unappreciative people ! He 
 should lik6 to hear what some of his ac- 
 quaintances would say if they saw her, — 
 and this irate admirer proposed to himself 
 to go out-of-doors again, yet lingered, be- 
 cause it might appear that he was unfriendly 
 to his rival. 
 
 " They always came to our funerals," Mrs. 
 Bennet was saying, in a reproachful, low 
 
 13 
 
194 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 voice to the other women, " but they kind 
 of hung off about it, too, and did n't step 
 right to the front and jine in at such a time, 
 as the Maxwells did, and others. 'T ain't 
 what I call being related to folks." 
 
 " They ain't folks ; they 're nothin' but 
 a pack o' images," proclaimed Temperance 
 Kipp, in a tone that admitted no contradic- 
 tion. 
 
 Dick laughed at this ; the other listeners 
 turned their heads to look at him half sus- 
 piciously, yet with great good humor. Pres- 
 ently, seeing that the full moon must be 
 near its rising, he left his seat by the win- 
 dow, and went out. He did not notice the 
 appealing glance of Mrs. Owen ; in fact, 
 there was no trace of any such feeling in 
 Dale's heart as that of being driven off the 
 field. He was simply doing his own pleas- 
 ure, and leaving the good souls to theirs. 
 A minute afterward there was a shout of 
 laughter from the clock-room which made 
 him wince. One naturally thinks one's self 
 the injured subject of mirth at such a mo- 
 ment. Then, as he turned, he saw two fig- 
 ures come out of the door-way, Doris and 
 Dan Lester, who had sat just inside, and 
 who were also tempted to stroll out into the 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 195 
 
 soft night air. As Dick looked and listened, 
 the old farmer and his crony moved their 
 chairs into the square side-entry, and the 
 women passed to and fro in the clock-room, 
 as if they were drawing nearer together for 
 a season of gossip. 
 
 The great willows made huge masses of 
 darkness against the starlit sky ; the lights 
 in the house cast a network of long shadows 
 before their rays. Dick Dale leaned upon 
 the garden fence, and watched the yellow 
 harvest moon as it rose above the misty 
 shrouding of the earth. The outline of the 
 hill looked hard and more distant than the 
 moon itself. He could hear a faint sound 
 of the sea and an occasional laugh from the 
 house. By and by Doris and Dan came 
 back again. The grass had been wet the 
 way they went, but indeed they seemed in- 
 different to their surroundings, and went 
 walking to and fro, while the resentful spec- 
 tator kept his chosen station. He thought 
 that anybody might see him who looked that 
 way, being as conscious of his own presence 
 in the landscape as if it had been broad day- 
 light. 
 
 Even Doris, who knew every outlook so 
 well, did not see that any one stood this 
 
196 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 side of the withered sunflowers. She won- 
 dered once or twice which way Mr. Dale had 
 gone ; but since his lameness was cured, he 
 had often been out until late in the evening, 
 and let himself into the house after every 
 one else was asleep. He was a revelation 
 to her in many ways, with his knowledge of 
 books and his love for nature. She felt a 
 sense of wider liberty with Mr. Dale than 
 with any one else she knew, and believed 
 in the possible treasures of experience and 
 knowledge that lay far beyond the horizon 
 that she was able to discover. 
 
 To-night Dan Lester was very gentle, al- 
 most pathetic, but strangely compelling. As 
 he came into the room, earlier, her heart 
 gave a great bound of relief and affection. 
 Now, as he spoke with eager impatience, as 
 he stood close beside her, and she could 
 just see his familiar features and mark his 
 height against the dim western sky, she 
 would have been thankful to find a way of 
 escape. She did not stop to question his 
 right to call her to account, neither did she 
 answer him when he humbly condemned his 
 own wrong-doing of the day before. Yes, 
 he loved her ; there was no doubt about the 
 truth of his faithful kindness to her, or his 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 197 
 
 endless care and tenderness, — she knew 
 that without his telling it so tempestuously. 
 She wished he would cease his entreaties. 
 She could not speak in reply ; she felt dumb 
 before her inevitable fate when Dan told her 
 of her father's favor toward him, weeks ago, 
 as they were on the south marsh together, 
 one August morning. 
 
 The lover's story did not touch her, after 
 all ; it seemed quite outside her heart, and 
 could not find a way in. Doris grew more 
 and more weighed down a with sense of this 
 grave business. She felt a strange impulse 
 to throw herself into poor Dan's brotherly 
 arms, and beg him to defend her, as if this 
 distress had come from any one but himself. 
 A vision of Dick Dale's boyish face, with 
 the strange, sweet look it had worn for an 
 instant that day, came to her mind, and gave 
 her a fancied courage and protection. She 
 turned away from Dan with a sigh and feel- 
 ing of reprieve. " Don't think hard of me, 
 Dan ; there 's time enough," she faltered, 
 and then hated herself for so heartless a 
 wording. " I must go in. No, don't keep 
 me, Dan. I do think everything of you. I 
 always have " — and the girl's heart felt as 
 if it would break with sorrow and despair. 
 
198 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 Strange to say, she did not think of Dick 
 Dale any more, but of Dan himself instead. 
 She wondered if he would speak again. Her 
 heart softened, and though he had gone away 
 a step or two she felt as if he were drawing 
 her toward him through the darkness. 
 
 Then a thin figure appeared beside them, 
 and hesitated, as if reluctant to intrude. " I 
 guess you two had kind of dry scratchin', 
 coming up the crick this mornin','' said Jim 
 Tales, by way of pleasantry ; " tide was 
 pretty low when I see you. I set out to 
 cross over and tell you to land on the pint 
 where the big pitch-pine is; it ain't much 
 further to walk, when the ma'sh is dry;" 
 and he hurried on, being later than was his 
 wonc, and anxious to report to his employer. 
 
 Doris could not say a word. Dan Lester 
 muttered something under his breath, and 
 strode away. The girl looked after him, 
 took a few steps as if she meant to follow 
 him; then she stood still. "Oh, Dan, 
 Dan ! " she whispered, almost aloud. " He 
 is so quick ; what made me let him go ! " 
 But as love and pride fought together in her 
 perplexed mind, the footsteps were gone out 
 of hearing, down the long road, the long, 
 long road, into the dreary darkness. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 199 
 
 Later, the moon was round and bright in 
 the sky ; the cheerful sound of voices grew 
 louder, and the guests were making ready to 
 depart. "I guess the young folks is phi- 
 landerin' off somewhere," said Mrs. Bennet, 
 as she stood on the doorstep. Doris met her 
 bravely, but she was not good at dissem- 
 bling, and lingered in the shadow outside 
 the door. Dan had gone home, she told the 
 waiting audience ; he had to be off early in 
 the morning, as they knew. But Temper- 
 ance grumbled that he might have said 
 good-night, coming as seldom as he had 
 lately. She looked narrowly at Doris's pale 
 face, and resolved to have a talk with her 
 before they slept. As for Doris's mother, 
 she began to wonder if the girl had been 
 foolish or hasty. Dan would be well off 
 now ; and after all, Doris would never like 
 any place so well as the farm, — the love for 
 it was born in her. Dan had treated Mrs. 
 Owen very civilly as he came in, but he was 
 resenting her smiling salutation of the morn- 
 ing more than ever at that moment, if she 
 had only known it. 
 
 Later still, Dick Dale appeared. The 
 night was growing very damp and chilly, he 
 told his friends. He wondered what Lester 
 
200 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 had asked and what Doris had answered, 
 but Doris was nowhere to be seen. The 
 farmer was fastening the doors and win- 
 dows. "We used to leave everything open 
 in warm weather," he said, " but times 
 have changed since the war. Good-night, 
 my lad ! " And so that day was ended. 
 
XVI. 
 
 Next morning the farmhouse seemed 
 quite unlike the scene of an excitement of 
 any sort. The walls kept many a secret 
 already, and the old homestead concerned 
 itself only in providing a shelter and resting- 
 place for its children. Mrs. Owen was sing- 
 ing one of yesterday's psalm-tunes in a high, 
 energetic voice, and sometimes Temperance 
 might be heard also, in a more subdued key, 
 grumbling out some unattractive refrain of 
 an air she did not know very well. Out- 
 of-doors the apple-picking had begun. The 
 farmer had always looked forward to Jim 
 Fales's superior usefulness at this season. 
 Jim was at this moment near the top of 
 the high fall-sweeting tree, and, apparently 
 impatient with his charge of hand-picking 
 the fruit, shuffled it into his basket with all 
 the haste possible. As he pushed his way, 
 head and shoulders, through the topmost 
 branches, his eyes beheld Mr. Dale at the 
 spinning - room window, near by, and the 
 
202 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 friends exchanged as cordial and ceremo- 
 nious greetings as if they had not parted 
 from each other at the breakfast table three 
 quarters of an hour before. 
 
 " See here," said Jim confidentially, after 
 having carefully surveyed the world beneath 
 him, " was it you was talking to Doris, as I 
 come in the yard last night ? " 
 
 " No," said Richard Dale gravely. " No, 
 it was not I," he repeated, gazing with much 
 interest at his questioner's countenance, 
 which suddenly looked like a clock-face that 
 has lost its hands. 
 
 "I thought I'd ask. I had some mis- 
 givin's before the words had left my mouth," 
 the youth explained, and all at once drew 
 back within the green boughs, and was lost 
 to sight. Presently, with much difficulty, 
 he transferred the clumsy ladder to a tree 
 still closer to the window, and climbed it 
 with an empty basket, as if the path of duty 
 led that way, and no other. Dick was in- 
 clined to resent this ; the brilliant color of 
 the fruit had delighted his eyes, and there 
 was little of it left, at any rate. He felt a 
 sudden pang as Jim rustled about among 
 the leaves, and hated him as he selected a 
 fair apple and began to devour it with evi- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 203 
 
 dent satisfaction. " I think there ain't no 
 such cripsy ones on the place as them," he 
 announced. " Have one ? " and he twisted 
 another from the tree, and gave it a leisurely 
 toss at the window, where Dick barely suc- 
 ceeded in catching it. The invasion of his 
 favorite outlook made him impatient. He 
 put the apple on the window-sill, and took 
 up his book again, as if he did not mean to 
 be interrupted. This harvesting hinted at 
 the spoiling of his beloved surroundings. 
 Somehow, there had been so slight and 
 amiable a change in the landscape and the 
 weather itself, that Dick had not been led to 
 think of an end of his pleasant arrangements 
 and his sunshine holiday. He sighed, as if 
 he were obliged to go back to a veritable 
 treadmill, and presently looked out of the 
 window again. The green old apple-tree, 
 with its flecks of red fruit, had been a very 
 lovely thing to look at against the blue and 
 white September skies, and when he first 
 discovered the spinning - room the apples 
 were little more than half grown. 
 
 Jim had been on the alert to catch the 
 least sign of renewed attention, and said 
 softly, leaning toward his listener, " I had it 
 right over about seeing you an' Doris out in 
 
204 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the boat yisterday forenoon. Dan Lester 
 must have been fit to swear. He can't abide 
 that anybody should look at Doris but him. 
 We roughed him fearful one day down on 
 the ma'sh, when we was getting the salt hay 
 in." 
 
 " He 's a good fellow, is n't he ? " asked 
 Dale, as carelessly as possible. 
 
 " First-rate," replied Jim, with another sur- 
 vey of the immediate neighborhood. " Folks 
 has wondered a good deal that him an' Do- 
 ris is so slow about gettin' things settled ; 
 but land ! folks must have something to work 
 over in their minds. I don't expect she sets 
 half so much by him as he does by her, any 
 way," he added confidentially. Jim Fales 
 admired the new resident of the Marsh 
 Island with all his heart. Dale had been 
 very friendly with the young fellow, and 
 seemed, to one person at least, quite the 
 hero ; but now he felt that there was danger 
 of disloyalty if this conversation were al- 
 lowed to go on. His desire to hear all 
 that Jim was more than ready to say was 
 promptly quenched, as he gave a careless 
 nod to the Romeo at his balcony, and re- 
 treated to the opposite side of the room. He 
 had been told nothing jet that he was sur- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 205 
 
 prised to hear, but an undefined dread arose 
 lest there should be some evident recognition 
 of his own personal interest in the tale. 
 
 Somehow, Dick was not inclined toward 
 painting ; his interest in that once-absorbing 
 avocation had been dwindling, of late. No 
 wonder ; he had never done so many good 
 bits in the same length of time before. The 
 sketch of Doris did not seem so necessary 
 and inevitable as it had once, for Doris her- 
 self claimed the better part of his thoughts. 
 Doris as she had looked at him yesterday 
 under the great beech-tree was never to be 
 forgotten, and a strange thrill went over 
 him at the remembrance. She was very 
 sweet and silent and busy that morning, 
 and the temptation came to him to win this 
 little kingdom of the world and the glory of 
 it. He must take Doris away from her own 
 world, — that would be the trouble ; he cer- 
 tainly was possessed of no gifts or qualifica- 
 tions for tilling the soil. He smiled as he 
 whispered to himself, 
 
 " His highest plot 
 To plant the bergamot," 
 
 and wondered if, with all his experience and 
 a half weariness and impatience of the fash- 
 ionable world, he should make the worst sort 
 
206 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of country gentleman. His imagination flew 
 quickly about the old farm. Delightful as 
 it was, it might be made infinitely more at- 
 tractive. Dick almost loved Doris's father, 
 but he was not so pleased with the thought 
 of her mother, though this was followed 
 with a quick self-reproach. He coidd not 
 disguise the fact that there was a tinge of 
 unreality over all these uncharacteristic vis- 
 ions of himself. He must go away soon, 
 and leave Doris to her true lover. She had 
 looked very troubled once or twice that day. 
 After all, he did not believe in making him- 
 self miserable ; but at that moment the 
 thought of Dan Lester's triumph made Dick 
 amazingly angry. Why should such a beau- 
 tiful creature as Doris be degraded into an 
 ordinary country housekeeper, and lose the 
 better sort of love and favor and true knowl- 
 edge of life? It must not be ; the young- 
 man's heart beat fast with a new inspiration. 
 If Doris loved him and he loved her, they 
 would face the future together, and his face 
 grew pale as he stood still in the little studio, 
 looking straight forward, but seeing nothing 
 for a moment ; then the radiant bubble had 
 burst, and all that was left was the same 
 uncertainty and vexation of spirit as before. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 20T 
 
 "James," old Mr. Owen was saying un- 
 der the window, " I thought you had better 
 pick those fall-sweetings first." 
 
 " They was covered with dew, sir," re- 
 sponded the defendant. " There ain't but a 
 few of these, and then I'm going back to 
 finish. The sun strikes here earlier," and 
 Jim began a self-satisfied whistling, as he let 
 a slender, unburdened branch rustle back 
 into place. 
 
 Dick spent a miserable, wandering day. 
 He felt unpardonably thrown off his track, 
 and as if he must not allow such weakness 
 and foolishness. He might have made a 
 fool of himself on a good many occasions, 
 but, thank Heaven, he had always behaved 
 like a man, and not, as now, like a silly 
 woman. It was difficult even to announce 
 his determination to go back to town the 
 next week, and this distressed knight strayed 
 about the familiar places of the farm as if 
 he were bidding them farewell. It was an 
 afternoon to be laughed at heartily some 
 day, — he knew himself well enough to be 
 sure of that ; but a sigh followed this reflec- 
 tion, which was more than likely to be re- 
 peated. 
 
XVII. 
 
 Later in the day Dick came through the 
 clock-room, and stopped a moment to look 
 for a book. There was a noise of strange 
 voices outside, and just as he reached the 
 outer door some one knocked hurriedly, — a 
 fumbling, unaccustomed sort of knock. It 
 must be confessed that he recognized with 
 something like a shock the familiar figure 
 on the broad doorstep. 
 
 " For pity's sake, Kichard, how came you 
 hefe ? " exclaimed this unexpected guest, 
 forgetting for the moment her evidently ex- 
 citing errand, as she gazed at her nephew in 
 complete astonishment. " I believe I never 
 was so thankful to see you," she went on, 
 without waiting for any explanation. " We 
 have lost our way, though I was sure that I 
 knew the right turn. You see this is a new 
 coachman " (tone nearly inaudible, but more 
 spirited). "Johnson became so unreliable 
 that I had to dismiss him, after fourteen 
 years' service. I believe we have broken 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 209 
 
 the bolts of the victoria " (louder), " and I 
 was really in despair ; I have already walked 
 quite a long distance. Do find somebody to 
 look at the carriage and see if it will be 
 safe to drive home ; we have promised to 
 dine with the Chaunceys this evening. You 
 surely remember Mrs. Farley ? — May I pre- 
 sent my nephew, Mr. Dale ? I have n't the 
 slightest idea how he happens to be here, 
 but I really never was so glad to see him 
 in my life." 
 
 The very buttons of the new coachman's 
 new coat were surprising to Mr. Kichard 
 Dale, but to such emergencies as this he was 
 more than equal. He bowed smilingly to 
 Mrs. Farley, and helped her to alight, and 
 then inspected the damaged vehicle under the 
 guidance of Johnson's successor. " That 's a 
 very simple affair," this useful nephew said, 
 with charming reassurance. " Mr. Owen is 
 sure to be able to put it right in a few min- 
 utes. You must go into the house and rest 
 yourselves, and I will take the carriage up 
 the yard." 
 
 " He seems entirely at home," meditated 
 Mrs. Winchester, as she gave a sigh of re- 
 lief and turned toward her friend. Mrs. 
 Farley had become somewhat impatient with 
 
 14 
 
210 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the needless excitement and fears of her 
 companion, who had been behaving as if 
 they were wrecked among cannibals. She 
 had known real disasters herself, but Mrs. 
 Winchester was so used to a luxurious rou- 
 tine of life that she was quite helpless in 
 anything that approached the nature of an 
 accident. She was accustomed to the oppor- 
 tune appearance of her gentlemen friends, 
 and it was only a repetition of the usual 
 state of affairs that Dick should open the 
 farmhouse door for her when she was over- 
 whelmed with anxiety at finding herself be- 
 lated on a strange road, a dozen miles from 
 home. 
 
 " I could have made the carriage all right, 
 sir," said the distressed servant, as soon as 
 they were out of the ladies' hearing. He evi- 
 dently thought it best to forestall reproach 
 for his want of resource. " Mrs. Winches- 
 ter kept telling me the roads, though I knew 
 we were all the time getting too far from 
 home, please, sir. And she screeched with 
 fright when I was getting down from the 
 box. I had a bit of stout cord, too. I am 
 with her only a month, sir, or I 'd know 
 every road within reach." 
 
 Dick nodded indulgently, and the new re- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 211 
 
 tainer held himself in his most upright and 
 stiffly effective position as they approached 
 hospitable Mr. Owen, who was quite uncon- 
 scious of the town-like splendor of this ap- 
 pearance ; and wondering Jim Tales, who 
 was nearly overcome with awe and delight. 
 
 As for Mrs. Owen, she had promptly 
 come forward to welcome the strangers, af- 
 ter first having watched them through the 
 kitchen blinds, with a temporary loss of self- 
 confidence. The ladies were much pleased 
 with the simple hospitality and friendliness 
 of her greeting, and presently were invited 
 to leave the sitting-room, where they had es- 
 tablished themselves, and accompany their 
 hostess to the best parlor. They had been 
 delighted with the clock-room ; but the par- 
 lor, which had been refurnished by good 
 Mrs. Owen according to her own mistaken 
 lights, had always been shunned by Dick 
 with ill-concealed abhorrence, and was now 
 more than ever damp and close, and per- 
 vaded with the odor of its woolen carpet 
 and haircloth upholstery. The blinds were 
 opened, and the fading light of day entered 
 somewhat doubtfully. Mrs. Winchester grew 
 more and more puzzled. What could Dick 
 mean by being here, evidently quite familiar 
 
212 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 with the household, and never letting her 
 know of his whereabouts ? 
 
 There was a light step in the hall outside ; 
 somebody pushed back a chair which had 
 been moved out of its place ; then a young 
 woman stood, surprised, at the best room 
 door. 
 
 Mrs. Farley, who was ready at conversa- 
 tion, and a most sympathetic soul, had been 
 describing their wanderings and distress to 
 her new acquaintance. Now she noticed a 
 new look of interest in her auditor's pleasant 
 face, and Mrs. Owen, without waiting for a 
 pause in the narrative, said, with motherly 
 pride, " Come in, Doris, do. This is Mr. 
 Dale's aunt, and — I did n't tatch the other 
 lady's name ? They met with an accident, 
 and lost their way besides. Yes, I 'm sure it 
 was confusing," she added encouragingly to 
 Mrs. Farley, who showed no desire to con- 
 tinue, and just then met Mrs. Winchester's 
 confidential and most meaning glance and 
 gesture with an amused smile. 
 
 Doris hesitated on the threshold ; she was 
 never awkward, but who would not have 
 quailed now? She had not heard the vis- 
 itors enter, but the next instant she had 
 taken her place beside them, and was even 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 213 
 
 busy with thought for their comfort. The 
 place displeased her strangely ; these guests 
 dismayed her. "Wouldn't you like to go 
 up to the room Mr. Dale has used for his 
 studio?" she asked, with sudden self-reli- 
 ance. " I am sure he will want to show you 
 his pictures." 
 
 The ladies rose with alacrity; and pres- 
 ently Dick turned from a consultation with 
 Mr. Owen and the coachman to see them 
 coming up the yard. " That was very clever 
 of Doris," he said to himself gratefully, and 
 nodded to them as they disappeared. Mrs. 
 Owen was of the party, and almost directly 
 the delinquent nephew's ears caught the 
 sound of delighted exclamations. Then he 
 saw Doris come down the steep outer stair- 
 way of the spinning-room, looking preoccu- 
 pied, and go quickly by, stopping to confer 
 with Temperance, whose head emerged from 
 one of the kitchen windows. 
 
 In a few minutes he saw the fair daughter 
 of the house returning with a white-covered 
 tray of fruit and cakes. These dear, good 
 people ! this lovely Doris! He was glad 
 enough when his part of the work was done, 
 and he could join the pleased and pacified 
 company. 
 
214 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 " This is very kind of you, to make my 
 shipwrecked friends so comfortable, Mrs. 
 Owen," he said. Dick's aunt thought he 
 had never been so handsome. Doris looked 
 at him, and felt as if he were again a 
 stranger. She had needed only this hint 
 and visible evidence of his previous life and 
 associations to disengage herself, as it were, 
 from a sense of entire familiarity. 
 
 "You will have the moon to light you 
 home, if you wait," Dick was saying. " 1 
 do not think that you need hurry away. I 
 have told the coachman a much shorter road 
 back. He seems an excellent fellow. I 
 wonder that you risked your life so long 
 with Johnson." 
 
 " You should have followed the short road 
 yourself long ago, Dick," said Mrs. Win- 
 chester. " But I will not scold you, after 
 seeing these sketches. You never began to 
 do anything so charming. I dare say that I 
 am quite faithless about the new man," she 
 went on, "but since I have found you I 
 mean to lay claim to you. We cannot pos- 
 sibly get home before evening : the horses 
 are very slow; you know that you always 
 make fun of them. Dick, you really must 
 go back with us, and I will send you over as 
 early as you like in the morning." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 215 
 
 There was no mistaking the sincerity and 
 insistence of Mrs. Winchester's plea, and 
 her nephew consented, though without en- 
 thusiasm. Perhaps it was just as well, after 
 all, and a little later he found himself spin- 
 ning along the East Road on the box of the 
 victoria. The maligned horses were much ex- 
 cited at their unusual delay, and more than 
 anxious for their supper. Mrs. Winchester's 
 thoughts were busy now with hoj)es of reach- 
 ing home in time for her evening engage- 
 ment, all other perplexities having been dis- 
 persed. 
 
 " Do you think they would let me have 
 butter, another year ? " she asked once, with 
 sudden eagerness ; but Dick was sure that 
 he did not know, and she concluded, from 
 his evident lack of interest, that the butter 
 might not be entirely to his taste. " I dare 
 say they would not care to bring it so far," 
 Mrs. W^inchester announced magnanimously. 
 In spite of the sketches, she could not help 
 thinking that the young girl's undeniable 
 good looks had something to do with Dick's 
 going into retreat in such a determined 
 fashion. 
 
 The western sky was clear and shining 
 after the sunset, and there was already a 
 
216 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 glow of coming moonlight in the east as the 
 belated victoria trundled homeward. The 
 lamps were lit in one wayside farmhouse 
 after another, the shadows were gathering 
 faster and faster in the fields, and some 
 tracts of woodland were dark as night and 
 cold as late October when they drove under 
 the overarching boughs. The two ladies 
 were very warm and comfortable in their 
 wraps ; they leaned back against their cush- 
 ions, and talked together in low voices about 
 the house and the people they had just left. 
 They were pleased with their adventure, now 
 that all danger was past, and it seemed a 
 great joke that Dick should have been dis- 
 covered and drawn from his hiding-place. 
 Mrs. Farley kindly took the young man's 
 part, and spoke of his work with admiration, 
 but his aunt amused herself with little jokes 
 at his expense ; therefore Dick himself was 
 conscious of a great liking for Mrs. Farley, 
 who was an old friend of his mother's, and 
 had lived in China for many years. Dick 
 assured himself, with sudden satisfaction, 
 that it would not be such a bad thing to go 
 to the East Indies. Bradish and he had 
 often talked about it. Nothing could give 
 Bradish a better chance ; it was exactly in 
 his line. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 217 
 
 Mrs. Winchester, after a long pa'^so, re- 
 peated an accusation about Dick's love for 
 peaches. He had stolen some once which 
 had been procured at vast expense for a din- 
 ner party, and he was an altogether unami- 
 able nephew as he turned half-way round 
 to wave a deprecatory hand at his accuser. 
 Aunt Susan was a kind-hearted creature, and 
 was considered very clever by her friends. 
 Dick was obliged to confess that he had 
 heard her talk charmingly to other people ; 
 but somehow she usually treated him like a 
 school-boy, and they were not apt to enjoy 
 each other. Why need she hunt up all those 
 silly old stories of his infancy every time 
 they found themselves together? He wrapped 
 the tliin lap-rug about his knees, and settled 
 himself into his place, as if he did not wish 
 to be spoken to again. It was strange how 
 entirely out of sympathy he was with this 
 change of scene. 
 
 The victoria was driven into its own 
 avenue, after a while. The lights were 
 bright in the great house, and the alarmed 
 maids came hurrying out to hear what had 
 happened. Dick was recognized with sur- 
 prise, and as the coachman turned the horses 
 away from the door one or two comrades ap- 
 
218 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 peared from behind the hedge, and walked 
 beside him, asking eager questions. 
 
 " We lost our way, — that was all," said 
 the mistress, in an amiable, clear voice, to 
 the little audience. " Luckily we found 
 Mr. Dale, who has been sketching, and he 
 brought us home. We must have some tea 
 uj)-stairs directly, and Mr. Dale will have 
 supper presently in the dining-room. Dear 
 me, how late we shall be ! " and Mrs. Win- 
 chester and her guest quickly ascended the 
 long staircase. It seemed a pity that their 
 allegiance to society did not permit any cora^ 
 fort or rest at that moment. A great fire 
 was leaping and crackling in the wide hall 
 fireplace, and the chairs near by looked most 
 inviting. Dick chose the largest, and pulled 
 it close to the hearth ; he heard a scurrying 
 to and fro up-stairs, the doors were opened 
 and shut many times, and his aunt once re- 
 called a loitering maid impatiently to add 
 further directions about his own supper. 
 She had been annoyed because he had dis- 
 obeyed her command to bring his evening 
 clothes, and had reprimanded him sharply 
 as they were driving homeward. " I am not 
 in any mood for squiring to-night," he told 
 himself, and smiled to think what joy they 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 219 
 
 would have presently in relating their adven- 
 ture to their friends. 
 
 The ladies came rustling down ; the co- 
 coons of the victoria were transformed into 
 moth -like creatures of sober splendors and 
 soft raiment. Here and there they glittered 
 and shone, and Dick examined them with 
 sudden interest. There was a thinness and 
 poverty about the dress of those women at 
 the farm, compared with this richness and 
 stateliness. Doris Owen would be beautiful 
 in such quiet tints ; the simplicity of true 
 elegance would suit her exactly. 
 
 " I am admiring you both immensely," 
 the young man said. "I have been quite 
 unused to such magnificence, you know." 
 
 " How charming it was at the farm ! " and 
 Mrs. Farley smiled at him in a most sympa- 
 thetic fashion. " I shall so often remember 
 the spinning-room and the clock-room, and 
 all the rest of it. What a pretty idea to 
 make that your studio! But you ought to 
 have kept the spinning-wheels, and asked the 
 rustic maidens to come and whir them while 
 you painted." 
 
 "I am certain that the peaches won the 
 day," interrupted Mrs. Winchester, with 
 conscious unconsciousness and a good deal 
 
220 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of emphasis. " It was all very picturesque, 
 but I can't imagine your being contented 
 there for a month or more, unless you hap- 
 pened to see your favorite fruit in a green 
 state, and determined to wait and enjoy it. 
 But I am heartily pleased about the sketches. 
 I can see every one now! I can't forgive 
 myself for leaving that delightful bit where 
 the two little white sails are following each 
 other through the green marsh. I dare say 
 you will throw it away upon one of your 
 cronies, when you go back to town." 
 
 " It shall be yours from this moment," 
 Dick responded gallantly, w^hile the}^ made 
 little bows at each other. The aunt was 
 very fond of him ; and indeed he returned 
 her unselfish affection, after his own fash- 
 ion. 
 
 The ladies deplored the impossibility of 
 staying at home, and waited impatiently for 
 things they had forgotten ; finally they went 
 out into the moonlight. " I should never 
 think of going at this late hour," said the 
 hostess, "but they will be so anxious to 
 know what has become of us. I have a feel- 
 ing that we shall make ourselves very inter- 
 esting, my dear. They would be disap- 
 pointed not to see you I " 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 221 
 
 Mrs. Farley gave her shoulders a little 
 shruo^. She did not think these neig^hbors 
 very amusing, and she was curious to know 
 more about Mr. Dick Dale. She wished 
 that she had ventured to act her own pleas- 
 ure, and send a regret to her entertainers. 
 
 As for Dick, his ears had caught the 
 sound of the sea, as he stood in the doorway 
 watching the ladies drive away. He lighted 
 a cigar, and went across the grounds to a 
 small summer-house, which looked ghostly 
 and felt damp ; and here he sat at the edge 
 of the high cliff, and saw the familiar coun- 
 try, sea and shore. The moon was high in 
 the sky ; could it be possible that he saw it 
 only last night as it rose above the marshes ? 
 That seemed like a year ago. The small 
 fire of the cigar went out, and the world 
 instantly grew large and exceedingly cold ; 
 then Dick gave a great shiver, and went 
 back to the house. The servant who met 
 him looked displeased ; they had been look- 
 ing for him everywhere, and his supper was 
 waiting. He had seldom enjoyed a supper 
 more than he did this, but once or twice he 
 looked up, and was obliged to recognize the 
 fact that he had expected to see Doris oj^po- 
 site him, as usual. In the morning he would 
 
222 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 ask his aunt's advice upon the subject of a 
 proper gift for Mrs. Owen. But that night 
 he made a selection of new books, and 
 marched up to his own room in excellent 
 season. He well knew his aunt's love for a 
 bit of midnight gossip, and he was not sure 
 of his answers for some simple questions 
 which she would be sure to ask. He won- 
 dered what was going on at the farmhouse ; 
 his thoughts kept flying in that direction, 
 and this once familiar life became a little 
 strange and constraining. 
 
 As he might have known, the Owens were 
 taking great pleasure in talking over the 
 surprising events of the afternoon. Doris 
 alone had not much to say. Temperance 
 was considerably displeased because one of 
 the guests had offered her money, just as 
 they were ready to begin their homeward 
 drive. She had refused it indignantly, with 
 the information that she had done nothing 
 to earn it, and a wise suspicion of such un- 
 necessary patronage. 
 
 " I suppose that was her way of showing 
 gratitude," said Doris, with a sigh. " I dare 
 say such people find enough who are ready 
 to take pay for everything. They were very 
 pleasant, I 'm sure." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 223 
 
 The farmer looked at his daughter, as he 
 sat reading close by the lamp. This was the 
 day for the Semi- Weekly Tribune, and he 
 was deeply interested in a political argu- 
 ment, but he did not go on with it dii^^ctly. 
 Doris was very pale to-night. Something 
 had evidently gone wrong with her, and he 
 accused himself of being neglectful and 
 thoughtless. They had not been so much 
 together as usual this fall. Doris was grown 
 into a woman now. The truth flashed upon 
 him that she was no longer the childish 
 creature he had loved and fondly wished to 
 keep beside him. Dan Lester had behaved 
 strangely, but he was a high-strung fellow, 
 and might have had some foolish notions 
 about young Dale. He would stop and have 
 a word with Dan to-morrow, when he must 
 go through Sussex. Perhaps he would take 
 Doris herself along, and this thought gave 
 Israel Owen great pleasure. Dan was the 
 best fellow in the world, and seemed like a 
 son already. There was no need for his tin- 
 kering away at a trade, if he and the little 
 girl made it up. Dan had uncommon good 
 sense about farming, and he should have his 
 way, — he should have his way. A sudden 
 remembrance of the little flas: came to the 
 
224 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 farmer's mind. The colors of it were faded 
 now : May was long ago. The family never 
 had gathered round the evening light, in all 
 these years, that the father had not sadly, 
 and as if for the first time, missed his son. 
 To-night they had established themselves in 
 the wide kitchen, after supper was over ; the 
 clock-room was a trifle damp, and for some 
 reason or other a little cheerless. 
 
 Mrs. Owen was still revolving the news 
 of Dan Lester's good fortune in her mind, 
 and viewing it in all aspects. She had been 
 longing to ask Temperance certain ques- 
 tions, and she wondered if Dan himself had 
 said anything to Doris the evening before ; 
 but she was not yet ready to throw her long- 
 cherished opposition and objection to the 
 four winds. As if she were afraid of being 
 even suspected of these thoughts, she has- 
 tened to talk about the afternoon's guests 
 again. " I 'm real glad it was so that they 
 saw the parlor," she said once, in a gratified 
 tone. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Mr. Dale was just reflecting that he 
 should soon be very sleepy indeed, and that 
 he had not been awake so late for several 
 weeks, when a sound was heard outside his 
 door, followed by a light knocking. 
 
 " Come in ! "he said reluctantly, and then 
 almost laughed aloud at the innocence and 
 good-nature of his aunt's expression. " I 
 might have known she would not let me off 
 so easily," he said to himself, and rose from 
 his comfortable arm-chair without a word, as 
 Mrs. Winchester entered, though he looked 
 as if he were ready to be informed of so 
 unseasonable an errand. 
 
 " I knew that you could n't be asleep," 
 declared Mrs. Winchester, resuming her 
 beaming expression, which had been aban- 
 doned temporarily, at the sight of the flar- 
 ing candles. Dick really was as much care 
 as when he was ten 3^ears old and her orphan 
 ward. " I thought you must be reading 
 when I saw the bright light, as I came up 
 
 15 
 
226 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the avenue. The Chaunceys were really 
 quite hurt because you did n't make your 
 appearance. Dinner was later than usual, 
 — at any rate, only the soup had been 
 served ; and Will Chauncey was detained in 
 town, so that there was an empty seat for 
 you next Kate Dent. She is here for a week 
 it seems. I always thought her extremely 
 handsome and attractive. You have n't seen 
 her since she returned from abroad have 
 you?" 
 
 " I believe not," answered Dick patiently. 
 
 " I see that you have the Village on the 
 Cliff. Was there ever anything so charm- 
 ing and full of color ! " jDursued the little 
 lady, after a short pause. She was comfort- 
 ably settled in a low chair, and was taking 
 a careful survey of her nephew. Really, his 
 clothes were much the worse for wear; he 
 looked not unlike a farmer, himself. "I 
 have been telling everybody what a lovely 
 face that old Mr. Owen has," she continued 
 enthusiastically. " I wish you were fond of 
 figure-sketching. I should like a portrait 
 of him immensely ; just a suggestion of all 
 but his eyes, you know, — in charcoal, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " All but his eyes," repeated Dick cyn- 
 ically. " I think " — 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 227 
 
 " Oh, you know what I mean," she laughed. 
 " Don't be superior, Dick, if you have such 
 a misfortune as a stupid old aunt. I meant, 
 of course, that his eyes are so fine I cared 
 most for that part of his likeness. He has 
 such a pathetic expression at times. A most 
 sincere, kindly old man. He seems very 
 fond of you. What did he mean by telling 
 me that you bore a welcome resemblance ? " 
 
 " He thought, when I first went there, 
 that I was like his only son, who was killed 
 in the war," answered Dick, in a more sym- 
 pathetic tone than he had used before. " I 
 supposed he had forgotten about that." 
 
 " And the old handmaiden, too. Charity 
 did they call her ? No, Temperance ! She 
 has an interesting, blighted sort of face. 
 She was very indignant because I offered 
 her some money. I suppose it was rude of 
 me, but one gets so used to that way of ex- 
 pressing gratitude in this mercenary world." 
 
 " You must wait until you die to pay your 
 debts to your friends gracefully," announced 
 the host of the occasion, beginning to pace 
 up and down the room. It was a familiar 
 sign of his impatience, but Mrs. Winchester 
 did not mean to be dismissed so soon. 
 
 " 1 never thought of that," she said, ap- 
 
228 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 parently much pleased. " Yes, we can give 
 money to whom we like, — it is the way we 
 do the thing ; " whereupon Dick came and 
 stood before his aunt, and regarded her be- 
 nignantly. 
 
 " Do scold me," he said. " I know you 
 are tired to death, aunt Susy, but you must 
 do your duty by me before you sleep. I 
 must be off early to-morrow. I have set my 
 heart upon making a few sketches over at 
 Sussex." 
 
 " I have always v/ished that somebody 
 would do that very thing. To me it is the 
 most charmingly picturesque little place. 
 But, Richard, you must surely give me a 
 few days before I go back to town ; you 
 used to like to stay with me. And this year, 
 of all others, while Nelly and the children 
 are away, and I have missed them so much, 
 I do think you should not have forgotten 
 me. 
 
 "You always have such a houseful of 
 people," grumbled Dick. "Yes, I suppose 
 I can come for next week ; or you may put 
 me down for all next summer, if you like 
 that better. Don't be foolish, aunt Susan. 
 You always have laughed at me, but you 
 never must let me make you sorry," and he 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 229 
 
 laid Kand gently on her little lace cap 
 and sc,^ . hair, and then turned away 
 quickly^a walked over to the window. 
 " What vht moonlight 1 " he said. " I)o 
 go to b'' aunt. Be friendly, and take 
 yourself c^^^. You have no idea how 
 early I hac y breakfast." 
 
 " Dick," iel the little woman, raismg 
 herself to 1 full height and coming to 
 stand before^im, — '' Dick, my dear, I 
 begin to thini^ou had better let me have 
 your traps brtTht here to-morrow or next 
 day. I don't 'ite like your staying there 
 any more. Tht're good people and ever 
 so fond of you;'out for their sakes, and 
 that nice girl's ike especially, I hate to 
 have you run int any sort of danger, 
 think it has been great thing for you in 
 many ways, and a. harming experience on 
 the whole ; but belive me, you had better 
 come away. I reall should be hurt if you 
 did n't come to me, dw that I have told the 
 Chaunceys that you mve been hiding your- 
 self so near me for veeks and weeks, 
 you were a girl yourself, I should feel dif- 
 ferently ; but with your good looks and your 
 fortune, and your way o^ making everybody 
 like you, I think it is all a great risk." 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
230 A MARSE ISLAND. 
 
 Dick tried to laugh at this determined 
 charge, but at that moment he felt as a girl 
 might truly feel, not like a man. " I am 
 all right, thank you, dear old lady," he said. 
 " Doris has a lover already, if tha^ is what 
 you mean. Perhaps you think ttiat Tem- 
 perance is setting her nets." 
 
 " Good old soul ! " responded Mrs. Win- 
 chester, with some spirit. " I won't have 
 you make such low jokes, Dick.* 
 
 " I like her, myself," answexid the young 
 man, angril}^ " I like every cue of them at 
 the island. If I ever amount to anything, I 
 shall thank those sincere, simple people for 
 setting me the example o: following my 
 duty and working hard andsteadily. I wish 
 sometimes that I had n't ;wo cents in the 
 world. I never was soiiappy in my life 
 as I have been there ; :obody ever asked 
 whether I was rich or loor. You have to 
 be put into an honest place like that to 
 know anything of yourslf. You can't think 
 how tired and sick I ax of the kind of life 
 I have somehow driftc into." 
 
 " I have always feWhat you were capable 
 of better things," ag^ed aunt Susan, much 
 moved by the glcmy eagerness of her 
 nephew. " But now^hat you have had your 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 231 
 
 lesson you must profit by it ; you would 
 waste yourself even more if you stayed long 
 on that farm. Think of your opportunities I 
 I dare say you have found time for thought, 
 and I congratulate you ; but what are you 
 going to do with your new energy? Dick, 
 dear, I have been a sort of mother to you. 
 I have loved you, and tried to make up for 
 the loss of your own mother. Now don't 
 be foolish and sentimental, and fall in love 
 with that pretty girl. You 're spasmodic ; 
 you 're led by your enthusiasms. I think 
 she is really charming to look at, but she is 
 not a fit wife for you." 
 
 " Aunt Susan," and the listener to these 
 exhortations faced about suddenly from the 
 window, " Doris Owen is the most beautiful 
 woman I ever knew. She 's capable of any- 
 thing. She is not inferior. She may lack 
 certain experiences, but she is equal to meet- 
 ing them. She is a fit wife for any man." 
 
 " Oh dear, dear! " groaned aunt Susan at 
 this incomprehensible nephew, "is it as bad 
 as that ? " 
 
 "Bad as what?" said Dick, ready to 
 fight for his rights. " Come, this is too late 
 a council; we never should have fallen to 
 discussing such things by daylight." 
 
232 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 " You must tell me all about it. How far 
 have you really gone ? " persisted the troub- 
 led woman. 
 
 " Gone ? " exclaimed Dick Dale. " I have 
 done nothing at all. If you wish to know 
 whether I have asked Doris Owen to be my 
 wife, I certainly have not. And nobody but 
 you should drive me to the wall in this fash- 
 ion, and question me as if I were a school- 
 boy." 
 
 Mrs. Winchester asks to be forgiven. 
 She trusts Dick, and tells him so. She has 
 never been ashamed of him yet. All these 
 things she says in a matter-of-fact tone, and 
 then bids him good-night, and goes away. 
 Dick does not kiss her, after his old fash- 
 ion, though she wishes he would, as she lets 
 go his strong hand and looks at him an in- 
 stant before she flits away from the door, 
 stepping softly along the hall in her light 
 little shoes. A moment after it is too late, 
 Dick is sorry he did not give her the kiss, 
 and then he considers the propriety of his 
 last statement. He liked, after all, to be 
 treated in exactly this way ; it was the only 
 bit of home life that seemed to be always 
 his own. He was invariably called to ac- 
 count by his aunt Susan, and as a general 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 233 
 
 thing took his catechising meekly, as became 
 the nephew whom a kind fate had put under 
 Mrs. AVinchester's charge through his early 
 years. The time of boyish marauding, of 
 shirking lessons and abusing clothes and tor- 
 menting servants, was happily over with, but 
 his misdemeanors were only transferred to 
 more dangerous quarters. Poor Dick ! he 
 felt very young and very willful now ; it was 
 only city life and association that made him 
 look upon himself as the Methuselah of so- 
 ciety. 
 
 The sea was dashing against the low cliffs, 
 not far away. He listened to the sound of 
 it until he fell asleep. The waves were call- 
 ing and waiting, and calling again, louder 
 than before. The great sea was farther 
 away from the Marsh Island, and there the 
 cry of it seemed more distant and dull ; here 
 there was an insistence, a mercilessness, in 
 its voice. There was a great pain in such a 
 consciousness of great possibilities and mis- 
 erable achievements. Was Mrs. Winches- 
 ter wrong or right ? Her horizons might in- 
 deed be contracted, but her directions were 
 as true as the compass. 
 
XIX. 
 
 Early the next morning Doris and her 
 father set forth on their long drive to the 
 outer shore. It would have been hard to 
 say which of them was most pleased with 
 the prospect of this expedition. Doris had 
 looked unwontedly gratified, and even re- 
 lieved, when she accepted the invitation, as 
 they sat together at breakfast, and indeed 
 was ready some time before there was any 
 need of it, and stood waiting in the yard 
 with almost childish impatience. Israel 
 Owen was in a most placid and serene mood, 
 but tried to take the unusual pleasure as 
 indifferently as possible, and consulted his 
 wife with gratifying deference as to the best 
 bargain that might be made for some hay. 
 He was going to hold a solemn business con- 
 ference with the overseer and manager of a 
 large estate on the neighboring sea-coast. 
 
 Mrs. Owen was mildly excited, and called 
 loudly after her husband, when he was fairly 
 out of the yard, not to make an out-and-out 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 235 
 
 present of his hay-mow to those who would 
 never thank him for it ; then she returned to 
 the kitchen, and became stolid and silent. 
 Temperance Kipp was also silent for a time, 
 but increasingly energetic, and kept hurry- 
 ing from room to room, driving before her 
 an alarmed flock of resourceless flies. She 
 complained of this unseasonable escort, and 
 bewailed the fact once or twice that when 
 fall flies hived into the house in that fash- 
 ion they were always a sign of changing 
 weather. " I urged the 'Square not to ride 
 way over there in the open wagon," she men- 
 tioned reproachfully, " and all he had to say 
 was that he wanted the sun on him. I hope 
 't won't come on a cold rain this afternoon." 
 But the mistress of the house preserved a 
 scornful indifference, as if she had resolved 
 never to make another futile protest against 
 waywardness and folly. 
 
 There was a great deal to be done that 
 day, but neither of the elder women had of- 
 fered the slightest opposition to Doris's tak- 
 ing a holiday, or seemed offended by her 
 absence. Indeed, it was an evident relief 
 for the time being, and the current of affairs 
 presently flowed with its usual tranquillity. 
 Temperance would have liked to put more 
 
236 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 of her thoughts into speech, but Martha 
 Owen judiciously continued to hold her 
 peace and conceal whatever excitement she 
 may have felt. 
 
 " Seems to me it feels like old times," 
 Temperance ventured, as she bent over the 
 ironing-board. " There, I should really miss 
 doin' up Mr. Dale's shirts, if he was to go 
 away. They do polish so handsome. This 
 one 's a - beginnin' to crack out a little. 
 Everything he buys is good quality, and it 's 
 the best economy, certain. I wonder if he 's 
 goin' to get back before afternoon ? " 
 
 Meanwhile, Doris was growing more and 
 more pleased with the day's enterprise. To 
 be sure, there were clouds in the sky, but 
 they afforded a subject for discussion rather 
 than alarm, and the weather suited exactly. 
 The young girl looked pale at first, but the 
 light wind and warm sunshine soon brought 
 a flicker of bright color into her cheeks, 
 where her father quickly saw it and rejoiced. 
 "They've tormented her about to pieces, 
 amongst them," he assured himself, and 
 struck at a bee, which had alighted on the 
 horse's neck, with his clumsy, long -lashed 
 whip. "Let them work, I say. Young 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 237 
 
 folks will be young folks ; " and presently, 
 where the Sussex road branched off, he de- 
 terminedly passed it by, though the other 
 highway made their journey two or three 
 miles longer. " I thought I 'd just look in 
 to see how Asher's folks are gettin' on," he 
 explained. " We might as well make a good 
 day of it, and go one road and come the 
 other. Don't you say so, Doris ? " 
 
 Doris smiled assent. " What a long while 
 it is since we have been over this way, 
 father ! " she said. 
 
 "The country does look handsome, for 
 the time of the year," the farmer announced. 
 " I believe I feel just like having a play-time 
 myself. It makes me think of wlien you 
 used to go ridin' about with me, when you 
 were a little girl. I recollect one time I 
 thought I couldn't get along without you. 
 Why, you used to want to be set up on the 
 horse's back and ride forwards an' back in 
 the furrows, when I was ploughing ; and one 
 spell you used to get right on to the plough, 
 and roll off sometimes, too," and they both 
 laughed at this reminiscence. 
 
 Doris remembered that she had been with 
 her father less than usual the last few 
 months, and felt very sorry. She would not 
 
238 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 forget his pleasure in that way again. He 
 must have missed her more than she had 
 suspected ; but he was in unusually good 
 spirits that morning. 
 
 " Seems to me you 're dressed up pretty 
 smart to go travelin' with a rusty old farmer 
 like me. I believe I should ha' put on my 
 best co't," said Israel; and they laughed 
 together again, and looked at one another 
 affectionately. 
 
 " I like you best as you are," the girl an- 
 swered shyly. "I should think we felt 
 strange : " but she did not meet her father's 
 eyes again ; they were both too conscious of 
 each other's thought. 
 
 Many a man and woman gave the travel- 
 ers a pleasant greeting, as they jogged along. 
 They stopped before other doors than Ash- 
 er's, and told the news and heard it with 
 equal satisfaction. One observant neighbor 
 took a shrewd look at Doris, and gave an 
 opinion that she was looking a little peaked ; 
 at which Mr. Owen was startled, and stole 
 a glance at his daughter, who eagerly insisted 
 that she was very well. The father had a 
 somewhat uncanny gift for understanding 
 secrets that were not told him; especially 
 those concealed with the care which is com- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 239 
 
 plete betrayal to such intuition. He seemed 
 possessed to-day by an unusual spirit of ob- 
 servation, and presently, after neither had 
 spoken for a few minutes, Doris found him 
 directing significant glances at her hands, 
 which were clasped together, holding the 
 pair of unused gloves which her mother had 
 suggested at the last moment before they 
 left home. 
 
 " Seems to me some o' the rest of 'em 
 might do the apple-parin'," he said, half to 
 himself. " You '11 spile your pretty fingers, 
 Doris." 
 
 " Why, father ! " exclaimed the girl, ap- 
 pealingly ; and Israel Owen was much dis- 
 turbed by the alarm and surprised awaken- 
 inof of her tone. 
 
 " 'T wa'n't wise," he reflected, and struck 
 at the horse's ear again. "I don't know 
 what my wits are about to-day ; " and then 
 he laughed aloud, as unconcernedly as pos- 
 sible, and said, " Blamed if I don't hit him 
 next time ! " as if the eluding bee were 
 really his chief object of thought. The father 
 and daughter had been seldom troubled by 
 such self - consciousness. The even flow of 
 their home -life had lately been fretted by 
 unaccustomed currents, and it was impossi- 
 
240 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 ble to keep a straight course. But Doris 
 smiled wheu the whip-lash proved itself in- 
 vincible, and the horse, bewildered by such 
 unusual strokes, darted along the road. The 
 bee had done old Major no harm by lighting 
 so persistently on his already thickened coat, 
 but its presence served the driver an excel- 
 lent turn. 
 
 " I declare, I do feel glad to be out-of- 
 door to-day," said the farmer, quite himself 
 again. " I 've been under cover seeing to 
 the fruit, and so on, and I begun to feel sort 
 of hustled. You brought along something 
 besides this little cape o' yourn, did n't you, 
 sister ? We 're likely to have it cooler down 
 to the shore. I declare, this is a sightly 
 place ! " and he stopped the horse at the top 
 of a hill, under a great maple-tree, while a 
 flock of the early fallen leaves came racing 
 toward them along the ground, like a crowd 
 of children at play. " There, you get a 
 plain view here, if you do anywhere; the 
 country lays itself out like a map. See the 
 shipping down Westmarket way. The masts 
 are in thick as bean-poles, all ready to take 
 a lot of poor fellows out an' sink 'em," the 
 old landsman grumbled, as he looked toward 
 the white town clustered about a distant har- 
 bor side. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 241 
 
 " I always seem to forget what a little ways 
 it is from home right across. It can't be half 
 so far as it is by the nearest road," said Doris, 
 as they went on again. " See, father, you get 
 across our marsh, and then row over to the 
 great white beach, and cross the sand heaps 
 to the back river and go up over the quarry 
 hills, and right down into Westmaket ! " 
 
 " I have followed that road many a time, 
 when I was younger," answered Mr. Owen, 
 turning to look back at the lowlands. " I 
 used to think 't was a good deal farther than 
 need be, too, when I was travelin' back 
 and forwards from the harbor, courtin' your 
 mother. The folks at home thought I was 
 n't old enough to know my own mind, and 
 did n't favor us no great ; " and Israel Owen 
 smiled with an unforgotten sense of triumph, 
 while Doris grew sober again. It had been 
 very comfortable to forget herself for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " Somehow, everything looks pleasant to- 
 day," she said. " Perhaps you '11 get through 
 in time to go to Westmarket. I want to do 
 some shopping, and mother always likes to 
 hear from there." 
 
 " The days are n't so long as they have 
 been," said the farmer sagely. " We '11 see 
 
 18 
 
242 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 what we can do, Doris," and presently they 
 were in the lower country again. 
 
 It was a famous day for crows : from one 
 field after another a flight of them took 
 heavily to their wings, and, as if unwil- 
 lingly, mounted to the higher air. They 
 cawed loudly, and appeared to have busi- 
 ness of a public nature on hand. Some were 
 migrating, and others were contemptuously 
 rebuking these wanderers, and making their 
 arrangements to winter in their familiar 
 woods : it was all a great chatter and clatter 
 and commotion. The affairs of human be- 
 ings were but trivial in comparison. Help- 
 less creatures, who crept to and fro on the 
 face of the earth, and were drawn about by 
 captive animals of lesser intellect, were not 
 worth noticing, and the great black birds 
 sailed magnificently down the sky, with the 
 fresh breeze cool in their beaks and the sun- 
 light shining on their sombre wings. What- 
 ever might be said of their morals, they 
 were masters of the air, and could fly, while 
 men could not. Doris watched them with 
 childlike pleasure, perhaps with a faint in- 
 stinctive recognition of the ancient auspices ; 
 the home people had always laughed at her 
 fancy for the crows ever since she could re- 
 member. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 243 
 
 The end of the journey was reached ; the 
 business talk was promptly begun, and, find- 
 ing that the owners of the great house had 
 gone away to town, Doris left the wagon, 
 and went strolling toward the shore. The 
 noise of the sea sounded louder and nearer 
 than usual, as if a storm were coming or the 
 tide just turning ; the gray snow-birds were 
 fluttering and calling one another in the 
 thickets, as she went by. It was not the 
 first time that she had driven to this place 
 with her father. He had sold hay here for 
 many years, and the Marsh Island was one 
 of the reservoirs upon which the luxurious 
 housekeeping depended for its supplies. The 
 people themselves sometimes came over to 
 the farm, and there was a pleasant bond of 
 interest and respect between the two fam- 
 ilies. Mrs. Owen had fretted and planned 
 about Doris's appearance, but the girl her- 
 self was glad when she saw the great house 
 deserted and in winter order, though she 
 looked at it with a new curiosity and eager- 
 ness which she could hardly have explained. 
 
 The horse had been fastened and the two 
 men had disappeared before Doris was fairly 
 across the lawn, and she was glad enough. 
 She liked the freedom of her solitary ramble, 
 
244 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 and presently went round to the side of the 
 house next the sea, and seated herself on 
 the broad balustrade, among the frost-bitten 
 vines that had shaded and adorned the wide 
 piazza all summer. Below, on a terrace, the 
 hardier flowers were still blooming, and she 
 wondered that any home could seem more 
 enticing than this. It had almost an ap- 
 pealing look to her, with its deserted garden 
 and so noble an outlook and surrounding. 
 She never had felt so close a sympathy with 
 this more involved and complex mode of 
 existence. This all belonged in a way to 
 Mr. Dale, and was familiar to him ; it was 
 the sort of life he had always lived, and she 
 was familiar with Mr. Dale. 
 
 A quick flush showed itself for a moment 
 on her cheek, as she spoke his name in her 
 thoughts. She looked along the house front, 
 and rose to peep wistfully in at the heart- 
 shaped hole of the nearest window shutter ; 
 but this was not the most satisfactory thing 
 in the world, and she turned to break a blos- 
 soming tendril of the late morning-glories 
 that had sheltered themselves under the cor- 
 nice. Then she went down the steps that 
 were littered with fallen leaves, and along the 
 path that led to the clifPs and the sea. The 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 245 
 
 great hemlocks and pines had conquered 
 their territory, and stood strong and vigor- 
 ous among the ledges ; the barberry bushes 
 were bright with fruit, and the song -spar- 
 rows played at summer sports and kept a 
 famous holiday. Doris stopped in the tennis 
 court to hear them sing, and looked round 
 delightedly at the quaint place, with its high 
 walls of the rough stone of the hill on three 
 sides, and the fading hollyhocks that had 
 stood discreetly back out of the way of the 
 players all summer. The grass was smooth 
 and as green as ever ; a tall poplar that 
 stood on the ledge above had been dropping 
 down some of its yellow leaves, and the 
 warm sunshine was filling every corner of 
 the windless pleasure-ground. Nothing had 
 ever spoken so plainly to this girl of the pur- 
 suit of amusement which belongs to many 
 lives. She thought with almost contempt of 
 the idle ways of rich people, having been 
 brought face to face with a sterner fashion 
 of things ; and then a more generous sense 
 of the added care and responsibility of such 
 householding as this made her go on her 
 way bewildered and yet contented. Just be- 
 yond Doris found a seat for herself on the 
 brown pine needles, beside a great green 
 
246 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 juniper, where she could look down over the 
 rocks and see the white waves come tumbling 
 in from the open sea. One might say of 
 her that she had been confronted with a 
 materialization of her vague ambitions and 
 hopes, and that these shapes of luxury and 
 worldly consequence were by no means with- 
 out power. The crows kept up a desperate 
 argument with each other overhead, and for 
 the first time in her life Doris thought 
 them too clamorous and obtrusive, as they 
 balanced themselves clumsily on the high 
 branches of the pine - trees. What should 
 she do, — or rather, what was going to be 
 done with her? Her life was not familiar 
 and easily lived any more, poor Doris ! She 
 shrank from the great blue sea as if it were 
 her own future of surprise and uncertainty ; 
 the friendly country-side of her childhood 
 all lay behind her. She felt as if she were 
 on the verge of a greater sea, which might 
 prove either wonderful happiness or bitter 
 misery ; and confused and dismayed by her 
 loyalty to both her lovers, she hid her face 
 in her hands. If she only knew what to do ! 
 Yet it was too plain that she must and could 
 do nothing. Poor Dan ! — and she rose 
 quickly to her feet, frightened at the first 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 247 
 
 sober thought of him. Nothing should make 
 her hurt his feelings again; there was a 
 great gulf between her and the realization of 
 such silly dreams of splendor. Dan was part 
 of herself, and closer than she knew to all 
 her pleasure. An odd, choking tenderness 
 possessed her at the remembrance of his 
 words the last time they had been together. 
 No matter if there were somebody by to 
 hear, the very next time she saw Dan she 
 would tell him how it happened that she 
 had been out in the boat with Mr. Dale Sun- 
 day morning. Dan would be sure to come 
 round ; he never had been so bad-tempered 
 before, and his fits of anger, ever since she 
 could remember, had been quick to come 
 and quick to go. Dan's honest cheerful- 
 ness, his generosity, his merry laughter, were 
 much more familiar than this late unchar- 
 acteristic behavior. The situation already 
 seemed less tragical, and by the time her 
 father came to look for her Doris was quite 
 herself again. 
 
 Mr. Owen had evidently made a good bar- 
 gain without any painful preliminaries or 
 opposition, for he was in excellent spirits, 
 and exchanged time-honored jokes with his 
 patron on the propriety of hauling the hay 
 
248 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 in wet weather, to make it weigh more. The 
 guardian of the place looked at Doris with 
 undisguised admiration, and at parting pre- 
 sented her with a noble bunch of hot-house 
 grapes. 
 
 " He makes a sight of money there," said 
 the farmer, as they drove away toward 
 Westmarket. " He 's a single man, too," 
 and crafty Israel stole a sly look at his 
 daughter to see if she were displeased, 
 whereupon she laughed aloud, in spite of 
 herself, her hopes and fears, and even her 
 grave responsibilities. All the way to West- 
 market they talked with great freedom and 
 satisfaction, and each apparently forgot the 
 constraint that had bound them earlier in 
 the day. They visited a cousin in the town, 
 and enjoyed better than usual the brief as- 
 sociation with a more bustling life than 
 was known within the farm limits. Doris's 
 father inclined toward lavish generosity 
 when they were in the shops together, and 
 seemed as pleased as a boy with the holiday. 
 There was a new schooner lying at one of 
 the wharves near the street, and he stopped 
 the horse to take a good look at the pretty 
 craft, with her clean white sails and unused 
 rigging. There were men busy aloft, and 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 249 
 
 hurrying to and fro on the deck. " Seems 
 to me they 're in a great drive," said the 
 farmer. " She won't look so smart when 
 they git her back here, if ever. Doris, 
 another year I should n't wonder if you and 
 me and mother went to New York, or some- 
 wheres off. She 's always desirin' to travel, 
 mother is, and I don't know but 't would 
 keep the barnacles off of us. Young Dale 
 was saying the other day that whenever I 'd 
 come he 'd show me all round everywhere, 
 and make me enjoy myself the best he could. 
 What do you say now ? " and without wait- 
 ing for an answer to his enthusiastic pro- 
 posal, the good man started his horse quickly 
 up the street, as if that were the first stage 
 of such a distinguished journey. 
 
XX. 
 
 Supper was an unusually grave occasion 
 that evening, and somehow everybody was 
 made to feel responsible for the general in- 
 felicity. Mr. Owen alone made gallant at- 
 tempts to be cheerful and talkative, but his 
 wife did not come to the table at all, being 
 pretentiously busy in the outer kitchen, and 
 still in that frame of mind which did not in- 
 vite friendly intercourse. The artist had 
 been far afield all the afternoon, but, con- 
 trary to his usual habit, he put away his 
 sketches without displaying them, and came 
 down from the studio after dark, looking 
 quite frost-bitten. The weather had grown 
 very bleak and cold toward night, and the 
 farmer several times bewailed the effect of a 
 possible black frost upon his ungathered 
 fruit. There was, altogether, a dishearten- 
 ing suggestion of approaching winter, and 
 even the door of the outer kitchen, which 
 Mrs. Owen kept throwing open in a willful, 
 aggressive way, admitted a provoking 
 draught of chilly air. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 251 
 
 If Doris were chief offender of the family- 
 peace, her companions could not find it hard 
 to be forgiving: she never had been more 
 appealing in her gentleness and power of 
 attraction. The bit of morning-glory vine 
 still clung to her belt ; the leaves were 
 hardly wilted, and the lamp -light brought 
 out a faint fleck of color on one of the crum- 
 13led blossoms. She felt a strange sense of 
 security, as if she had come to a quiet place 
 in the current which had so lately swept 
 her along and beaten her to and fro. This 
 evening was like a peaceful reach of still 
 water ; indeed, her thoughts kept wandering- 
 back to the quiet August night when she had 
 waited for the haymakers at the landing- 
 place, before the first sign had been given of 
 any misunderstanding between Dan and her- 
 self. The soft air, the faint color of the 
 western sky, the sweet notes of the thrushes, 
 — she remembered everything with a glow 
 of pleasure, and smiled more than once un- 
 consciously. The slight change and restful- 
 ness of the holiday had done her good, and 
 Dick thought she had not looked so serene 
 and untroubled for many an evening before. 
 Her father gave a pleased glance at Doris 
 from time to time, after he had wisely re- 
 
252 A MARSH JSLAND. 
 
 lapsed into silence. He ate his supper with 
 an excellent api3etite ; but Dale felt himself 
 upon the brink of a crisis, and pushed back 
 his chair presently without a word, and went 
 into the clock - room. Temperance made 
 great eyes at the half -opened door, and shook 
 her head as if in mournful foreboding ; while 
 Israel Owen gave a reproachful look in his 
 wife's direction, as if to say accusingly that 
 she had been destroying the household peace 
 and harmony in his absence. In this dis- 
 agreeable moment of suspense and uncer- 
 tainty Temperance took a candle from the 
 high mantel - piece, and disappeared down 
 the cellar stairs ; raising a hymn as she went, 
 as if to protect her from evil spirits on her 
 way. The farmer and Doris looked at each 
 other with amused sympathy; there was 
 something so absurdly unnecessary and in- 
 congruous in the outburst of psalmody. 
 Temperance must have had the boldness 
 of a pirate, but it was impossible for two 
 of her audience not to accept the diversion 
 with gratitude. 
 
 The light from the kitchen shone bright 
 into the clock-room, where there was only a 
 newly kindled fire on the hearth of the 
 Franklin stove, and Dick summoned his 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 253 
 
 host to join him in a comforting evening- 
 smoke. It was a serious loss that they could 
 no longer keep each other company on the 
 side -door step, for their conversation had 
 become more conventional since they had 
 been shut within four walls. The farmer 
 was always sympathetic in his moods, and 
 tilted himself backward in his chair now, 
 while they both looked toward the kitchen ; 
 it may have been that one was as glad as 
 the other when Doris flitted before the door- 
 way. " Where 's Jim Fales ? " they heard 
 her ask; and a surly voice from the outer 
 kitchen made a mysterious reply. If the 
 listeners had only known it, Dan Lester's 
 most ardent champion at present was the 
 mistress of the Marsh Island. She was in- 
 dignant with everybody, but most of all with 
 Doris, and she said to herself, with ever-in- 
 creasing decision, that the poor fellow should 
 have his rightSc There were no half-way 
 measures with Martha Owen. 
 
 " You should come on and make us a 
 visit in the winter," Israel Owen was saying 
 to his guest. " I tell you we keep amazin' 
 warm and comfortable here, to what some 
 folks can." 
 
 " Warm ! " exclaimed Mrs. Owen, who 
 
254 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 looked in disapi)rovingly at that moment. 
 " I should think you had been burning up 
 the chopping-block now. I 'm all of a roast." 
 Dick did not know why, but he had never 
 had such a consciousness of being a foreigner 
 as that night ; he was like a cinder in the 
 family eye, and it winked and winked, in 
 the hope of dismissing him. He even felt 
 like an interloper suddenly discovered at 
 the meeting of a secret society. They were 
 all linked together by their prejudices and 
 interests, after all, these friendly Owens, 
 and would no more lend themselves for his 
 idle observation and picture -making, being 
 intent upon their own more important con- 
 cerns. He, Dick Dale, was out of place; 
 but where was his place ? What had been 
 the use of him, and what would be his fate ? 
 A man who has been led and encouraged 
 by fortune to complacently avail himself of 
 all sorts of rights and favors is suddenly 
 brought face to face with his duties: what 
 then? Dick, who had always thought a 
 great deal of what he meant to do, was 
 forced to contemplate with great dismay the 
 things he had not done. Fortune had un- 
 kindly deserted him, and left him in deep 
 water, after a most inadequate swimming 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 255 
 
 lesson. He was sensitive to such convicting 
 moods and misgivings, and suffered deeply 
 when the demands of life and reproaches 
 of conscience showed him his shortcomings. 
 He had not aimed at reaching one goal, — 
 there had seemed rather to be a succession 
 of goals; and happily at this point there 
 dawned upon his mind a suspicion that all 
 these were simply stations on his great high- 
 way, and perhaps he was going in the right 
 direction, after all. That very day a letter 
 had come from Bradish, announcing that he 
 and a few comrades would join Dick at the 
 Marsh Island for a week. There was yet 
 time for such a pilgrimage. They could 
 catch the last tints of the autumn foliage, 
 and no doubt on such marshes there was the 
 best of gunning. In the time of coots, there- 
 fore, and of ducks and snipe, they might be 
 expected. Of course the cheerful farmer 
 would stow them away somewhere, and they 
 would not steal Dale's material ; they would 
 only look him over, and have a jolly week 
 together. Dick had already answered such 
 inflammatory proposals ; he had sent Jim 
 Fales away, on his own responsibility, to the 
 nearest post-office with the letter. To-morrow 
 he would dismantle the spinning-room stu- 
 
256 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 dio, and the next day he would go back to 
 town ; and so the good time would be over 
 with. No doubt the fellows would make it 
 an excuse for a supper when he put in an 
 appearance, and a sickening dislike to the 
 aimless, silly routine of existence possessed 
 this young man whom almost everybody en- 
 vied and admired. Then Dick lifted his 
 head, and, with his eyes a little dazzled by 
 looking at the glowing coals of the fire, took 
 a good view of the old-fashioned room. The 
 farmer was dozing in the high-backed rock- 
 ing - chair at his side. Temperance and 
 Doris had joined them, and were talking to- 
 gether in low tones by the lamp. Oh, that 
 beautiful Doris ! The truth was that he felt 
 powerless to keep the reins of his self-con- 
 trol ; it was all nonsense to pretend to him- 
 self that he must go away from her to make 
 sure. He belonged here as much as any- 
 where, and he could not make a fool of him- 
 self any longer. The shape of her head was 
 something exquisite ; the sound of her voice 
 thrilled him through and through, and he 
 grew unbearably impatient. No more medi- 
 tation and philosophy and vague plans for 
 him, with such a woman as this, such a love 
 as theirs might be ! No ; he would stay until 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 267 
 
 Doris said she would give herself to him, 
 and then they would go out into the wide 
 world too:ether. Here she would be unde- 
 veloped on every side save that of the affec- 
 tions, but he could give her the sort of life 
 for which nature had made her fit. One 
 thing had been proved to him by his short 
 absence ; that he longed to see her again, 
 and longed to put her in her rightful place, 
 among the books and pictures and silks, 
 among the thoughtful, beauty - loving, and 
 progressive people with whom his own life 
 had been associated. He did not know that 
 Doris herself had been thinking of many 
 things that very day, as she sat on the step 
 of the great house, v/ith the sound of the sea 
 in her ears. He would not have been will- 
 ing to believe that her serenity to-night came 
 from her decision, instinctive as it was, and 
 almost unrecognized, that she did not belong 
 to the existence or the surroundings so fa- 
 miliar to him, — that there was an unlike- 
 ness which never could be bridged over be- 
 tween her and himself. 
 
 But some unsilenced monitor kept soberly 
 
 telling Dick Dale to wait, something kept 
 
 holding him back ; a lack of trust in his 
 
 own sincerity stung this flower of passion at 
 
 17 
 
258 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 its heart, and it was already beginning to 
 fade. He had spent a miserable day, poor 
 Dick, as must any man who fears that his 
 love may prove his fall. As for the man 
 who through his love had hoped to rise, he 
 also had been wretched. Doris, the woman 
 around whom so much revolved, on whom so 
 much depended, seemed calm enough ; but 
 who knows what knowledge of being a pivot, 
 what fixity and steadfastness, were almost 
 dulling her sense of responsibility ! She felt 
 her heart beat heavily at every sound from 
 without the house. It was impossible that 
 Dan should not come that night ; she had 
 such a sense of his presence that at one mo- 
 ment she was impelled to go out under the 
 willow boughs, and find him there waiting 
 in the darkness, wishing only for her, and 
 dreadinof to come in to meet her where the 
 others would watch them curiously. But 
 how late it was growing ! What could be 
 keeping him ! At last, in her excitement 
 and suspense, she rose, as if the room were 
 too hot, and went to the side-doorway. In- 
 deed, there was a step close by, and Doris 
 started back. " Oh, Jim Fales, is that you ? " 
 she said sharply, a moment afterward, and 
 went on to the kitchen, where her mother sat 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 259 
 
 in surly silence, mending the family stock- 
 ings, which service she never allowed any 
 one else to perform, and always did herself 
 as if it were a penance. 
 
 Jim Fales came blundering in with an air 
 of great consequence, and threw his hat on 
 the floor, beside the chair which he drew be- 
 fore the kitchen stove. " Got some news 
 now, I guess," he announced, looking at 
 Martha Owen, who did not vouchsafe the 
 slightest notice of him. " I heard as I come 
 along that Dan Lester 's been and shipped 
 for the Banks. They was short o' hands for 
 that new schooner that 's just rigged and 
 ready, and he up and said he wanted to go a 
 v'y'ge. If I wa'n't promised here I do' know 
 but I 'd gone along too," and Jim looked 
 round, slightly dismayed by the silence of 
 his audience. Temperance was standing in 
 the doorway behind him, casting glances at 
 Doris, who looked shocked and white. " I 
 see Dan myself, as I come along," said 
 Jim, as if he had kept the best of his news 
 to the last. Mrs. Owen had condescended to 
 lay her stocking down. " He had been home 
 to say good-by to the old lady, I expect. 
 Don't know how he settled with her ; she al- 
 ways has been so against his follerin' the sea, 
 
260 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 they said. P'r'aps he was here earlier ? " 
 asked the lad suddenly, with a crestfallen 
 countenance. It would be a dreadfiul blow 
 if he were telling an old story, after all. 
 
 " No," said Temperance briskly ; and ev- 
 erybody was grateful to her for not being 
 stricken with speechlessness, — " no, we 've 
 seen nothing of him hereabouts. When d' 
 you hear they was going to sail? " 
 
 " Quick 's they can git away ; some said 
 't was to-morrow mornin' at daybreak," — 
 and Doris turned her face toward the win- 
 dow. " Oh, Dan, Dan ! " she thought, as if 
 calling his name in such an agony of pity 
 and remorse would be enough to bring him 
 back again. 
 
 " The hoss was peltin' right along, I 
 tell you," pursued Jim Fales. " ' Where ye 
 goin' ? ' says I, and he kind of hauled up 
 and went slow for a minute. ' That you ? ' 
 says he, and I says Yes ; and he waited, kind 
 of, and then says he, ' How 's all the folks ? ' 
 and I told him we was smart, and asked 
 him when he calc'lated Bangs' s schooner was 
 goin' to sail ; and he says to-morrow, early. 
 They wanted to get her off by daybreak, if 
 't was so they coidd. He was goin' right 
 over then ; he 'd promised to do a little job 
 
A MARSE ISLAND. 261 
 
 for the cap'n before they went to sea. 'T was 
 only a minute he stopped, and then drove 
 right along. Gorry ! I wished I 'd asked him 
 who he was goin' to let keep his hoss. I 'd 
 rather have that colt than any / see go by. 
 'T ain't none o' your Canady lunkheads, that 
 colt ain't ! " 
 
 But nobody responded to Jim's enthu- 
 siasm. Dick Dale followed the farmer to 
 the kitchen, after a minute's reflection and 
 an unworthy feeling of elation and of tri- 
 umph over his rival. '" Dear, dear ! " said 
 Mr. Owen ruefully as if to Dick alone. 
 " Hot haste makes a long road back. Well, 
 't is a great pity. I would n't have believed 
 Dan could be such a fool. He 's master of 
 a good trade to help him out, and he 's got 
 good prospects ashore, but he 's of a mind 
 to throw 'em to the four winds, — that 's 
 plain." 
 
 Martha Owen looked at nobody, and 
 drudged away at her stocking. Dale knew 
 that he was unwelcome. He meekly went 
 back to the clock-room, and listened with a 
 sense of personal responsibility to the mur- 
 mur of voices which began directly after Jim 
 Fales's heavy boots had been dropped be- 
 hind the stove, and he had gone softly up 
 
262 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the back stairs to bed. Jim must be up 
 early in the morning, in these cider-making 
 days. There was something absurd in the 
 lack of disguise as to the state of affairs. 
 In a city household there would have been 
 a thin icing of general conversation over the 
 dangerous depths of such a misfortune, but 
 here the stranger was not considered, and 
 indeed was made to feel his evident agency 
 in bringing about the disaster. " I don't 
 care who hears me," said his hostess once, 
 in a raised voice, which came as straight to 
 Dick's ears as if there had been no others 
 on the way : " Dan ought n't to have been 
 drove away from his rights. He 's just come 
 into a handsome property in the West, and 
 nobody knows whether there '11 be a straw 
 of it left when he gets back, if ever he 
 does ; " and at this point somebody — Dick 
 thought it might be Doris herself — came 
 nearer, and shut the kitchen door. 
 
 Dick was thoroughly uncomfortable. He 
 was ashamed to quietly disappear, and hide 
 himself in his bed at that early hour. He 
 took one of his own books from the table, 
 and tried to read; but the situation was 
 too startling a combination of tragedy and' 
 comedy. It was something, however, to pre- 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 263 
 
 serve the appearance of a devotion to lit- 
 erature when Temperance reappeared. She 
 looked at him as if he were a blameless but 
 mistaken baby, who had played with matches 
 and beggared its family. When Mr. Richard 
 Dale tried to behave as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, and, looking at his own sketch of the 
 young soldier which hung on the wall before 
 him, ventured at last to say that the younger 
 Israel must have been a fine fellow and a 
 terrible loss. Temperance clicked her knit- 
 ting-needles vindictively, and made no reply. 
 " It is a glorious thing to die for one's 
 country," Dale added pensively; and this 
 brought his companion to an expression 
 of her opinion. " That 's what everybody 
 s'posed they must remark," she snapped ; 
 " but I called it a darned shame, and I al- 
 ways shall : " whereupon Dick took up his 
 book again to conceal his quite unexpected 
 revulsion of feeling. He wished, and yet he 
 feared, to see Doris again that night ; but 
 she did not appear, and after lingering a 
 while this unhappy stranger and foreigner 
 took a candle and departed. The old clock 
 ticked in a more leisurely fashion than ever 
 that night, as if to keep a check upon the 
 excited household. It had measured off sad- 
 
264 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 der hours than these many times over. Life 
 should not be spoiled by haste or waste ; to- 
 morrow would be a new day. Some younger 
 timekeepers might be saying, Hurry, hurry 1 
 but this was one that said, Wait, wait ! 
 
XXI. 
 
 Doris never had known so long a night. 
 Her poor eyes were worn out with tears, for 
 she accused herself a hundred times of be- 
 ing wholly to blame. She had not meant 
 to be f aitliless or provoking, and yet she had 
 brought down such calamity upon everybody. 
 She tried to think over Dan's grievances as 
 he had evidently seen them, but she failed 
 to convict herself of any real fault. She 
 liked Mr. Dale ; she enjoyed the pleasant- 
 ness and novelty of the new interests his 
 coming had brought. She had dreamed a lit- 
 tle, as girls will, of her future if she should 
 love him. There had been times when she 
 did not shrink from the new atmosphere 
 that had surrounded the young artist and 
 herself, and the remembrance of one mo- 
 ment under the beech -tree would always 
 keep a tender place for him in her heart. 
 But she knew now once for all that she never 
 could belong to anybody but Dan, and Dan 
 was angry with her ; he was putting his dear 
 
266 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 life in peril all for a foolish mistake. The 
 girl was long at her prayers in the cold lit- 
 tle chamber. She shivered and cried. She 
 feared, as she never had feared anything 
 before, that this handsome, reckless fellow 
 would be drowned, if he went to sea. She 
 remembered his sad old mother, and grew 
 every hour more alarmed and hopeless. At 
 last she thought of a plan, — or to her it 
 was like the bidding of an angel : she would 
 go herself to Westmarket in the morning, 
 and find Dan Lester, and beg him to stay at 
 home. 
 
 The moonlight was clear and bright, and 
 many times Doris looked out of her narrow 
 window to see if there were any signs of 
 dawn. She must get to the schooner by day- 
 light, if she were to be in time. They would 
 be likely to sail at high water from that 
 wharf, for the harbor was shallow near by. 
 She counted the hours, and laid her plan 
 with the intensity of one out of her reason ; 
 though once, when from very weariness the 
 exigency of it faded away, it seemed to poor 
 Doris as if the punishment for her fault and 
 foolishness were out of all proportion to its 
 deserts. And if Dan were so unreasonable 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 267 
 
 and jealous the worst was his own. The 
 next minute a sense of his great love, a love 
 that had always been growing, and of his 
 bitter disappointment made her cry with pity 
 for him and for herself. How could they 
 live through so many wretched, silent weeks 
 apart ! Perhaps these fishermen, like many 
 others, would never be heard from after they 
 left port ; for many a schooner, Doris knew, 
 had been ploughed under by the great prow 
 of a steamship, its little light gone out 
 through carelessness, and the sleeping men 
 drowned in the sea and lost, as if it were a 
 bad dream of danger mingled with their 
 dreams of home. 
 
 It was still night when Doris left her com- 
 fortless bed, and stepping carefully about 
 the room, so that she would wake nobody, 
 dressed herself in her warmest clothes. Her 
 heart was breaking with fear and shame 
 together. She had determined at last not to 
 wake her father or Jim, to beg them to go 
 with her to Westmarket ; neither would she 
 wait even to drive along the highway, as if 
 this were any other errand. The remem- 
 brance of the shorter distance across the 
 marshes to the town filled her mind wholly. 
 It was already four o'clock ; she had heard 
 
268 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 the great timekeeper count it out slowly, and 
 there was not a minute to lose. Enough 
 time had been wasted already in fruitless 
 self-reproaches and bewailings, and the relief 
 of action under so great a sense of disaster 
 was a blessing in itself. A little later the 
 girl was fairly out-of-doors, — outside the 
 silent house, outside all protection and pre- 
 cedent also, as if she had been launched 
 off the face of this familiar earth, and must 
 find her way unwelcomed and unheralded 
 through space. 
 
 The frost had fallen, and glistened white 
 along the trodden pathway that led up 
 through the dooryard. The window of the 
 spinning - room caught the moonlight, and 
 flashed in her face as she passed by ; and 
 Doris turned once and looked at the old 
 house, as if she were asking forgiveness, and 
 wondering if life would ever be the same to 
 her after this dreadful night. She thought 
 of her soldier brother, and wondered, too, if 
 he had not sometimes been brave alone at 
 night, like this, and so would keep her com- 
 pany in love and pity. Oh, there were so 
 many reasons why she must get to Dan in 
 time ! Everybody would guess his reason 
 for going ; everybody would talk of it, and 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 269 
 
 laugh, and watch her until he came back, 
 and blame her forever, for his poor mother's 
 sake, if he were lost. In time of war and 
 peril women had done such things as this, 
 but Doris could not think of herself as he- 
 roic. She only repented the sins for which 
 she must be blamed if she did not get to 
 West market before the schooner sailed. 
 Out of her quiet life and simple thoughts, 
 troubled with pain and sorrow of the keenest 
 sort, she hurried away into the night. After 
 one great shiver she did not feel cold again, 
 but hurried, hurried, over the crisp gray 
 grass, down across the long, clean-swept field, 
 where the moon, sinking low in the sky, hin- 
 dered her with a trailing shadow that seemed 
 to delay her more and more. 
 
 There was a high tide of treacherous-look- 
 ing water, and when she came to the brink 
 of it she stopped an instant, as if hesitating. 
 The creek was wide here, and it never had 
 looked half so far across ; but Doris went 
 carefully along the shore until she came to 
 an old boat, which had been on many an 
 errand, but never in all its life had carried 
 a young girl alone on a night like this. Be- 
 fore long she was afloat. The boat leaked 
 and went heavily; the oars that she had 
 
270 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 pulled from their familiar hiding-place were 
 short and heavy, and splintering at their 
 handles. But Doris rowed as if this were 
 a race, and looked often over her shoidder, 
 until at last she heard the dry sedges of the 
 farther shore rustle and bend, and she could 
 step on dry land and be on her way again. 
 
 The dawn was glimmering in the east ; 
 the moon was almost down ; the whole coun- 
 try lay dead and still, as if it would not 
 live again with the morning. Beyond the 
 marshes which Doris must cross there were 
 great drifts of bleached white sand, as if 
 the ghosts of the night had transformed the 
 world to their color, and it had hardly re- 
 gained its own again. It was a dead frag- 
 ment of the world, at any rate, — a field 
 where little grew that needed more than rain 
 and air. Doris kept her eyes fixed on the 
 sand dunes, and they appeared to recede as 
 she advanced, mocking her like a mirage, 
 and at last coming close when she thought 
 they were still far away. At length her feet 
 stumbled in the white, shifting, slipping 
 heaps, and she toiled and crept upon them, 
 so slowly, so disappointingly ; for they 
 seemed to be planted there as a barrier, 
 raised by enchantment. Alas ! this night 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 271 
 
 was all enchantment. Where was the sun- 
 shiny yesterday, when she had been secure 
 and peaceful, and almost happy, when one 
 compared those hours with these ? 
 
 The sky was clear in the east, and fast 
 growing brighter; but each way Doris 
 looked, there was only this desert waste of 
 sand, white as bone, deep and bewildering, 
 and the coarse grass and hungry heather 
 clung to the higher heaps of it here and 
 there. It was like a picture of the misery 
 and emptiness of the girl's future, if her 
 lover went away to sea. For the first time 
 she grew afraid, and her strength left her 
 suddenly, while she looked ahead to where, 
 across more sand and more water and a long 
 slope of upland pastures, the spires of West- 
 market were already catching the color of 
 the sunrise. Beside her were some old 
 apple-trees that the shifting dunes had waged 
 war against and defeated. They were dis- 
 couraged and forlorn in their desolation, like 
 the fig-tree that was cursed. Doris looked 
 pityingly at their dead leaves and mossy 
 tangle of branches ; and at that moment a 
 withered, pathetic mockery of fruit fell on 
 the sand at her feet. It was like a conscious 
 gift from these outlawed growths ; it some- 
 
272 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 how gave her a bit of sympathy. Did they 
 indeed know the bitterness of loneliness and 
 the withdrawal of everything that makes life 
 comfortable and dear? They had been 
 walled in and condemned to death, the poor 
 trees, though away in the world people were 
 making merry fearlessly under the same 
 great empty sky. 
 
 As the light grew clearer little tracks of 
 birds and small wild creatures could be seen 
 on the drifted sand. Once Doris surprised 
 a fox that was stealing along through the 
 hollows of the dunes. He was hardly star- 
 tled ; he only changed his course a little, 
 and went gliding down toward the marshes, 
 with his brush trailing after him. Doris 
 felt as if she were a wild creature, too. She 
 tried to remind herself of other days than 
 this, to keep her wits together. She won- 
 dered once, if she should faint and fall here, 
 how long it would be before any one would 
 come and find her, or if they had missed her 
 yet; her mother and Temperance would be 
 sure to wake her early on this unhappy 
 morning. She thought of herself as if she 
 were still at home in her warm bed un- 
 der the blue and white counterpane. She 
 dreaded the sound of heavy footsteps in the 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 273 
 
 entry outside. They might leave her to her- 
 self that one day, until Mr. Dale and Jim, 
 and even her father, were out of the house. 
 And all the while she was flitting on, on, 
 over the white desert, with a chill autumn 
 sky above her, with a fox and the wondering 
 birds of the air for company. 
 
 When she gained the shore of the last in- 
 let, all seemed lost! She had not thought 
 how she could cross there ; and she stopped 
 still and looked about her, hoping in vain to 
 see a boat. It was too late to retrace her 
 steps, and go round by the neck of land that 
 joined the sand wastes to some marshes and 
 the mainland ; and she sat down, and cov- 
 ered her face with her hands. The tears 
 would come, because she was so tired and 
 so desperate ; she had not thought of crying 
 before, but now it was a great comfort. "" O , 
 God, help me!" said poor Doris, over and 
 over again, and for one moment Dick Dale's 
 eyes looked into hers again, with that same 
 dazzle. If he were only here, he would help 
 her, — anything would be better than this. 
 He was so gentle ! But her thoughts went 
 roving away again to her own dear Dan. 
 How many things she had learned of Mr. 
 Dale which she could do for him by and by I 
 
 18 
 
274 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 Dan would like to have the house pleasant. 
 Dan had a pretty taste, and his mother had 
 always said that his fingers were as quick as 
 a woman's. She should always be sorry 
 that he had not seen Mr. Dale's pictures ; he 
 would have liked them better than anybody. 
 Oh, if she were only at home ! She never 
 could go all the way back, and they would 
 hunt for her soon, and grow frightened when 
 she could not be found. How could she face 
 them all when she got home ? By that time 
 Dan would be out of the harbor. How could 
 he be so angry ! — and Doris wished she 
 could die there, and never open her eyes 
 again upon this miserable world. 
 
 As the sun rose, a weather-beaten boat, 
 with two boys for crew, came down the river. 
 They were enjoying a stolen pleasure, and it 
 was not surprising to them that in a time of 
 such excitement and tremendous consequence 
 a strange young woman, with a white, scared 
 face, should call to them from the farther 
 shore and ask to be set across. Their cheer- 
 ful voices and red cheeks and their air of 
 mystery and adventure did Doris good, and 
 she put them on the track of the fox with 
 their clumsy gun, and wished them a fine 
 day's sport. They looked at her furtively 
 
A MARSH ISLAND, 275 
 
 as they tugged the old boat through the 
 water ; they watched her quickly climb the 
 low hill that rose between them and the town. 
 It was a bright, sunshiny morning at last, 
 — just the day to begin a voyage. The blue 
 sea sparkled, and dazzled the eyes that looked 
 eastward from the high ground, from whence 
 one could overlook the village roofs and chim- 
 neys, with the line of masts between them 
 and the narrow harbor beyond. At one place 
 and another there were white sails hoisted, 
 and a fleet of fishing-smacks were making 
 ready to go out with the tide. As the wives 
 and mothers of the fishermen were astir early 
 in the little town, some of them tearful enough 
 already, they might have seen a slender fig- 
 ure making its way to the shore. They 
 did not know what a fear-stricken, heavy 
 heart was passing by their windows, or how 
 much need of comfort the young stranger 
 had that morning. Would she be too late, 
 after all ? Was Dan beyond her reach even 
 now ? The schooners would drift quickly 
 away from their moorings, the sails unfurl 
 themselves to the fresh westerly breeze. Un- 
 less she could hurry along the harbor side 
 and put off in a dory, there was no chance 
 left, and a vision of the mocking faces of the 
 
276 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 sailors, and even of Dan's displeasure, made 
 Doris hesitate for one dismayed instant ; then 
 she hurried on again. The street looked end- 
 lessly long ; she felt as if she were in a night- 
 mare, and a dreadful dullness made her go 
 more and more slowly. At last she came 
 near the wharf ; round the next corner she 
 could see — 
 
 " Doris ! Here, Doris ! " and for a min- 
 ute the girl looked bewildered, and the light 
 faded in her eyes. Somebody was coming 
 across the street, also to make his way down 
 the lane that led to the water- side. Could 
 it be Dan himself, in his every-day clothes ? 
 There never was a stranger sight ; and yet 
 this was truly Dan, not gone to sea at all. 
 Were they there, where nobody was watch- 
 ing them, instead of at the harbor, where 
 people could flout at such a scene ? 
 
 " Oh, Dan," said the girl faintly, " please 
 take me home as quick as you can. I thought 
 you — Jim Tales said you were going to the 
 George's Banks. I didn't mean to make 
 you feel bad " — 
 
 " Take right hold of my arm," said Dan. 
 " Come, we 'd better go home, Doris," as if 
 she had been a child. " I love the ground 
 you step on, darlin'. How did you get over 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 277 
 
 here this time o' day? I"— But Dan fal- 
 tered, and could say no more. He thought 
 it would never do for him to cry there in the 
 street, even if Doris were draggled and wet, 
 and looked so pinched and cold ; even, as he' 
 knew a little later, if she had come across 
 the marshes. Heaven only knew how, for his 
 unworthy sake. 
 
XXII. 
 
 When the lovers drove into the farm- 
 house yard, they were greeted with mingled 
 expressions of relief and astonishment. Dan 
 was instantly received as a member of the 
 family, for it was unmistakable that the 
 young folks had in some way or other " made 
 it up between them." " I must say you have 
 led us a pretty dance," Mrs. Owen said, 
 with a cheerful, bantering air, to her daugh- 
 ter. " We never missed you tiU just now. 
 I thought likely you was sleeping late, after 
 driving so far yesterday. Now, Dan, I hope 
 Doris and your mother together have per- 
 suaded you out o' such school-boy nonsense 
 as goin' fishin' ? " There could be detected 
 a slight impatience with the girl, who was 
 believed to have stolen away so early in 
 the morning to join forces with her lover's 
 mother. Mrs. Owen herself would never 
 have stooped to such a thing, but this was no 
 time to make a bad impression upon so pros- 
 perous and evidently victorious a son-in-law. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 279 
 
 She had been too fearful of losing him the 
 night before. 
 
 Doris stole upstairs, grateful and bewil- 
 dered, but longing only to be quiet for a 
 while. She felt as if she had left the famil- 
 iar room years ago instead of a few hours, all 
 her life was so changed. The sweet warmth 
 of the sun was pouring in at the window; 
 some late flies buzzed at the panes, as if 
 they wished to escape and share the free- 
 dom of the bright October day. Doris heard 
 her lover's voice now and then. It seemed 
 like a Sunday morning out-of-doors. Her 
 thoughts went backward with wonder and 
 delight, finding in every memory some proof 
 and assurance that she and Dan were born 
 to love each other. Their happiness had sud- 
 denly burst into bloom ; but for all that, the 
 flower's roots had been growing unseen in 
 the darkness, and even the misunderstand- 
 ing, of the past. 
 
 Later, with an air of unusual hilarity. 
 Temperance went out to meet Jim Fales, as 
 he came loitering home from the pasture 
 and a prolonged experience of salting sheep. 
 " Jim Fales," she inquired, with mysterious 
 deference, " I s'pose you don't know of a 
 
280 A MARSH ISLAND, 
 
 wanderin' minister of the Orthodox persua- 
 sion anywhere about ? " 
 
 " Lor', yes," said Jim promptly, equal to 
 a joke, but puzzling his brains for the mean- 
 ing of this. " Got occasion for one right 
 away. Temperance ? Who 've you picked 
 out since I 've been gone ? " while at that 
 moment his eyes fell upon Israel Owen and 
 Dan Lester, who were leaning over the gar- 
 den fence together in friendly intercourse. 
 
 Temperance gave an emphatic nod, as her 
 colleague opened his eyes very wide and 
 whistled a wild note ; then she turned back 
 toward the house, wearing her most circum- 
 spect expression. Her great checked apron 
 fluttered and bulged in the breeze ; she 
 seemed to be looking down intently at some 
 white geese feathers that had caught in the 
 dry grass stalks, and were floating lightly 
 like tiny flags of truce. One of the cats 
 came running to meet her. Mrs. Owen was 
 standing in the kitchen doorway, very amia- 
 ble and friendly, it was plain to see, and of- 
 fering no apparent objections to a good talk. 
 Young Fales directed his steps toward the 
 barn door, where he had observed the wheels 
 of Lester's buggy, and there he passed 
 a season of wonder and enjoyment. The 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 281 
 
 vehicle bore traces of having been driven 
 at uncommon speed, and the horse, a swift 
 young creature, was drooping his head, and 
 still breathing faster than usual. " Here 's 
 some of that blanied red mud that comes from 
 most over to Westmarket," meditated the 
 curious lad. " He 's given up goin' fishin', 
 that 's plain enough ; " and Jim wandered 
 into the kitchen, brimful of sincere inter- 
 est and good-will, only to be promptly dis- 
 missed by Martha Owen, and blamed for 
 hanging round at that time in the morning, 
 when there was everything to be done. 
 " Ain't he goin' to sea ? " asked the lad, 
 with uncalled-for sympathy in his tone, and 
 the two women smiled at each other. 
 
 " I guess he was only talkin' about it," 
 volunteered Temperance, evidently much 
 amused ; but Mrs. Owen gravely explained 
 that Dan's mother was set against it from 
 the first, and Dan himself gave up the no- 
 tion when he came to find out what kind of 
 a crew they 'd shipped. 
 
 The triumphant lover stayed to dinner, 
 and that was a day of high festival at the 
 farm, although there were few outward signs 
 of the satisfaction and rejoicing. After a 
 
282 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 short absence Dan returned with his mother, 
 both dressed in their best, and there was 
 much hand-shaking among the men and a 
 few kisses and tears to show the women's ap- 
 proval. Nobody spoke directly of the great 
 event, — perhaps the Marsh Island's vocabu- 
 lary did not contain any form of speech for 
 such deep thoughts ; but the little group 
 talked together about Dan's Western pros- 
 pects, as if they were one family already in 
 very truth. Mr. Dale was not slow to offer 
 his congratulations. He tried to forget that 
 there had been the slightest cloud of discom- 
 fort over the sky ; he imagined that he found 
 it very charming at the studio, and that it 
 seemed more like the first part of his resi- 
 dence on the island than the last. Dick was 
 very sympathetic : he could not help being 
 glad that everybody else was so happy, and 
 there was a certain sort of relief in finding 
 that there was no serious decision to be made 
 after all, and that he had been mistaken in 
 his consciousness of an uncommon respon- 
 sibility and need of action. He could not 
 bear the thought of Doris's narrow future ; 
 perhaps, if the truth were told, he was more 
 concerned for her sake than for his own. 
 And yet — 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 283 
 
 At supper-time Dick expressed much sor- 
 row to his entertainers because he could not 
 linger a week later. He should like to carry- 
 away a sketch or two of the cider-making, 
 having just passed the press at their neigh- 
 bor Bennet's, and joined the friendly com- 
 pany that surrounded it. He was deeply 
 touched when Mr. Owen turned to him, with 
 an affectionate look, and said, " I must say 
 I hate to part with you, my lad." 
 
 " I expect he '11 be a great man one of 
 these days," added Mrs. Owen politely. 
 " You must always make it your home here, 
 if you come this way, Mr. Dale. You must 
 n't get to feelin' above us." After this it 
 seemed to Dick as if the sooner he were gone 
 the better. 
 
 That afternoon, as he was putting his 
 sketches together in the spinning-room, he 
 thought a good deal about Doris. He had 
 not seen her since the day before, but he had 
 won a confession of her morning journey 
 from the wistful old father, who alternated 
 complete delight with compassion for even 
 the happy young people themselves. " They 
 don't know life as I know it. But I 've cal- 
 c'lated for a considerable spell on havin' 
 Dan take holt of the farm. He could n't help 
 
284 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 weepin', Dan could n't, — an' I don' know 
 's I blame him, — when he was tellin' how 
 Doris come after him. He made me promise 
 that I nor nobody else should n't ever hint 
 a word about it to her." 
 
 Dick nodded. There was no use in saying 
 that he believed the beautiful girl capable of 
 any heroism and masterly scope of achieve- 
 ment, as he knew her equality to all re- 
 finements and tenderness. He was bitterly 
 ashamed of his deliberations. He wished 
 more than ever that a strong tide might have 
 assailed him and swept him off the shore 
 where mistaken reason or any aspect of world- 
 liness had given insecure foothold. Doris 
 had seemed younger than her years, and had 
 painted herself upon his consciousness in 
 pale colors, and faint, though always per- 
 fectly defined, outlines. But his old knowl- 
 edge of her seemed now as the enthusiasm 
 and eagerness of a first sketch does to the 
 dignity and fine assertion of a finished pic- 
 ture. One could say easily that Doris and 
 Dan Lester were destined for each other, 
 and console one's self by thinking there was 
 never any chance to win. Alas for those 
 who let the golden moment pass, — who let 
 the gate of opportunity be shut in their 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 285 
 
 faces, while they wait before it trying to 
 muster favoring conditions, or argument and 
 authority, like an army with banners to es- 
 cort them through. 
 
 Farmer Owen thought that Dick looked a 
 good deal older than when he came, as he 
 shook hands with the young man and said 
 good- by. " There, it always seemed more 
 like having a girl about than a man," said 
 the mistress of the Marsh Island, as she 
 watched the wagon, already almost out of 
 sight far down the road. " I expect we shall 
 miss him considerable, he was so pleasant. 
 I believe he took to Doris more 'n he 'd let 
 on. I should n't wonder if he sent her some- 
 thin' real handsome for a weddin' present." 
 
 " He won't never set the river afire," said 
 Temperance, whose countenance wore a most 
 regretful and sentimental expression. "He 
 wants to have all the town ladders out to git 
 him over a grain o' sand." 
 
 " I tell you he 's got good grit, now ! " 
 exclaimed Mr. Owen fiercely ; " there 's more 
 to him than you think for. He ain't got 
 a brow an' eye so like pore Israel's all for 
 nothin'. He promised he 'd write an' tell 
 me when he 'd been an' voted to this next 
 
286 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 election, too," added the farmer, who was a 
 conscientious politician. " No wonder the 
 country 's been goin' to the dogs, when such 
 folks don't think it 's wuth their while to 
 take holt." But as the little company sep- 
 arated each could have told the other that 
 Dick's going away reminded them of a far 
 sadder day, not many years before. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 " Good-morning, my melancholy Jaques ! " 
 said Mr. Bradish, a day or two afterward, 
 looking up from his easel at a friend who 
 had strayed into the studio as if he had left 
 it only an hour or two before. " Are you 
 sure there was no malaria in your para- 
 dise?" 
 
 Bradish was a sedate-looking young gen- 
 tleman, with a roundish head, and short 
 black hair, and pathetic brown eyes. He 
 almost never laughed, he rarely even smiled, 
 but he was always called the prince of good 
 fellows by his comrades. There is a well- 
 known chemical process, called the action 
 of presence, where a certain substance pro- 
 duces a radical change in others, but re- 
 mains unaffected itself. Bradish could make 
 everybody else laugh and take a cheerful 
 view of life. You smiled at the mere sight 
 of him, as if he were some great comedian. 
 At that moment his financial affairs had 
 reached an unprecedented crisis, and he re- 
 
288 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 joiced to see his best ally at hand, though 
 he painted busily, and apparently paid Dick 
 no further attention for some minutes. 
 
 " You might have given a poor beggar a 
 chance," he asserted presently. "I have 
 had frightful luck all summer." 
 
 " That sketch does n't look like it," said 
 Dick, coming nearer, and stepping to and 
 fro to get a better light. " That 's better 
 than ever, Bradish, — a first-rate blow-away 
 sky. What 's going on ? I feel like a her- 
 mit dropped down into the middle of the 
 theatre. I came near waiting half the af- 
 ternoon out here on the sidewalk, to let the 
 crowd get by." 
 
 " Welcome home, my love," said Bradish, 
 in a delightful tone of voice. " You must 
 give away those clothes, you know." 
 
 "Another aunt of mine frowned upon 
 them," responded Dale meditatively, as he 
 went sauntering about the room. "But 
 wait until I show you my sketches. Ah, 
 here 's the box from the farm, now ! When 
 did it get here ? You would have just lost 
 your head completely. It really was a love- 
 ly old place. I used to wish for you with 
 all my heart." 
 
 " I thought so." 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 289 
 
 " Oh, never mind nonsense," and Dick's 
 voice had a strange eagerness. Jim Fales 
 had reckoned on the perils of travel when 
 he drove the nails, and the comrades worked 
 together diligently to loosen them. Dick had 
 not anticipated the little shock, almost like 
 pain, that the sight of his pictures would 
 give him. Life at the farm seemed already 
 very far away. Here was the first sketch of 
 the birch- tree, the willows, and the wide out- 
 look across the green marshes. It was odd 
 that this should have come uppermost, and 
 he held it off and looked at it without a 
 word, while Bradish admired the pretty 
 landscape with eager friendliness. 
 
 " This was only the first," said Dale. " I 
 feel like Rip Van Winkle. Look them over, 
 if you like, and say the worst you can. I 've 
 had a good solid bit of life, at any rate. It 
 was a good thing to get a look at such a 
 permanent institution as that farm and its 
 inhabitants. I felt all the time like an ac- 
 cident, an ephemeral sort of existence ; but 
 I believe we are all a sort of two-stalked 
 vegetable, with a power of locomotion that 
 ought not to be too severely taxed." 
 
 Bradish groaned. " I hoped you would 
 forsake your philosophy, when I found you 
 
 19 
 
290 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 had really taken to painting," he said, and 
 gave his attention to the contents of the flat 
 box. " You rich fellows are always lucky," 
 he added ruefully, a little later, after his 
 enthusiasm had cooled enough to allow his 
 thoughts to express themselves. " The ava- 
 rice of you in keeping such a mine to your- 
 self was despicable, but there '11 be a con- 
 vention of us there next summer. Of course 
 you even fell in love with the daughter? " 
 
 " No," said Dick slowly, — " no. But I 
 wish I had, Bradish, if you want the simple 
 truth." 
 
 "I should be wishing I had n't," an- 
 swered Bradish, with great gravity. " Cry 
 a little. Dale ; it will do you good." 
 
 Yet Dick, who was always ready to be 
 amused at his friend's jokes, did not even 
 smile. If there were any difference, exist- 
 ence was a more serious thing now he was 
 back in town than it had been at the Sussex 
 farm. "Whether the warmth of his feeling 
 for Doris Owen was equal or not to chang- 
 ing the iron of his character into steel, he 
 was dimly conscious that for each revelation 
 of truth or beauty Heaven demands tribute 
 and better service than before. He had at 
 least gained a new respect for his own life 
 and its possible value. 
 
A MARSH ISLAND. 291 
 
 One day in midwinter Doris went away 
 by herself for a long walk over the crusted 
 snow. She climbed the hill, and looked out 
 across the marshes. They seemed larger 
 than in summer, and there were black cracks 
 in the ice, like scars. She wished that it 
 were spring again, and thought eagerly of 
 all the work she meant to do ; being, indeed, 
 happier as a wife than she had ever been as 
 a maiden, and just beginning the very best 
 of her days. The night before, a shower 
 of rain had frozen as it fell, and the world 
 was all sparkling and glistening, as if it 
 were a great arctic holiday. The sky was 
 a clear, dazzling blue, and the air was still 
 and cold. Doris Lester thought of Mr. 
 Dale, and with a quick sympathy imagined 
 how much he would like to see this fan- 
 tastic, ice-bound country. She could see 
 through and through his feeling for her 
 now, but she knew that he had not gone 
 away and forgotten her ; and half wistfully 
 she gave a glance at the smaller island 
 where she had found him asleep on the Sun- 
 day morning. 
 
 Dan and her father had gone away early 
 in the day to visit a distant piece of wood- 
 land, and just as she reached the house they 
 drove into the yard. 
 
292 A MARSH ISLAND. 
 
 " I expected you 'd have to go out to see 
 the trees, Doris," said the elder man, smil^ 
 ing. " Don't they look handsome ? I wished 
 you was with us up in the country where 
 there 's more growth ; but I declare, it 's as 
 pretty a place here as 't is anywhere." 
 
 " I tell you we 're just going to make the 
 old farm hum next summer," said Lester, as 
 he stepped out of the high-backed sleigh; 
 but his companion did not follow him at 
 once. " I 've got a New York paper in my 
 pocket," Israel Owen told the little audi- 
 ence. " Young Mr. Dale sent it to me, and 
 he marked a place that tells about his pic- 
 tures being exhibited with the rest of the 
 folks', and that they all come round his like 
 a swarm of bees. There 's a long piece 
 about 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Owen was listening eagerly. " Now, 
 Doris ! " she said. " Don 't you wish you 
 was there, a-queenin' it ? " But Doris and 
 Dan gave each other a happy look that was 
 answer enough. They could not imagine 
 anything better than life was that very day 
 on their own Marsh Island. 
 
moY^$ of fiction 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
 
 4 Park Street, Boston, Mass. 
 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 
 
 Story of a Bad Boy. Illustrated. i2mo $1.50 
 
 Marjorie Daw and Other People. i2mo '1.50 
 
 The Same. Riverside Aldine Series. i6mo . . . i.oo 
 
 Prudence Palfrey. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Queen of Sheba. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Stillwater Tragedy. i2mo I.50 
 
 Hans Christian Andersen. 
 
 Complete Works. In ten uniform volumes, crown 8vo. 
 
 The Improvisatore; or, Life in Italy 1.50 
 
 The Two Baronesses 1.50 
 
 O. T. ; or, Life in Denmark 1.50 
 
 Only a Fiddler 1.50 
 
 In Spain and Portugal 1.50 
 
 A Poet's Bazaar 1.50 
 
 Pictures of Travel 1.50 
 
 The Story of my Life. With portrait 1.50 
 
 Wonder Stories told for Children. Illustrated . . . 1.50 
 
 Stories and Tales. Illustrated 1.50 
 
 The set 15.00 
 
 A new and cheap Edition, in attractive binding. Sold 
 
 only in sets 10.00 
 
 William Henry Bishop. 
 
 Detmold : A Romance. " Little Classic " style. i8mo 1.25 
 
 The House of a Merchant Prince. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Choy Susan, and other Stories. i6mo 1.25 
 
2 Works of Fiction Published by 
 
 Bjornstjerne Bjornson. 
 
 Works. American Edition, sanctioned by the author, 
 and translated by Professor R. B. Anderson, of the 
 University of Wisconsin. In seven volumes, i6ino. 
 
 Synnove Solbakken. 
 
 Arne. 
 
 A Happy Boy. 
 
 The Fisher Maiden. 
 
 The Bridal March, and Other Stories. 
 
 Captain Mansana, and Other Stories. 
 
 Magnhild. 
 
 Each volume $t.oo 
 
 The set 7.00 
 
 The Same. In three volumes, i2mo 4.50 
 
 Alice Gary. 
 
 Pictures of Country Life. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Mary Clemmer. 
 
 His Two Wives. i2mo 1.50 
 
 John Esten Cooke. 
 
 My Lady Pokahontas. i6mo, gilt top 1.25 
 
 James Fenimore Cooper. 
 
 Complete Works. New Household Edition, in attrac« 
 tive binding. With Introductions to many of the 
 volumes by Susan Fenimore Cooper, and Illustra- 
 tions. In thirty-two volumes, i6mo. 
 
 Precaution. The Prairie. 
 
 The Spy. Wept of Wish-ton- Vv^ish, 
 
 The Pioneers. The Water Witch. 
 
 The Pilot. The Bravo. 
 
 Lionel Lincoln. The Heidenmauer. 
 
 Last of the Mohicans. The Headsman. 
 
 Red Rover. The Monikins. 
 
 Homeward Bound. Miles Wallingford. 
 
 Home as Found. The Red Skins. 
 
 The Pathfinder. The Chainbearer. 
 
 Mercedes of Castile. Satanstoe. 
 
 The Deerslayer. The Crater. 
 
 The Two Admirals. Jack Tier. 
 
 Wing and Wing. The Sea Lions. 
 
 Wyandotte. Oak Openings. 
 
 Afloat and Ashore. The Ways of the Hour. 
 
 Each volume sold separately. 
 
Houghtofiy Miffli7i and Company, 3 
 
 Each volume $1.00 
 
 The set 32.00 
 
 Half calf 80.00 
 
 Globe Edition. With thirty-two original Illustrations, 
 by Darley, Dielman, Fredericks, Sheppard, and 
 Waud. In sixteen volumes, i2mo. 
 
 The set 20.00 
 
 Half calf 43.00 
 
 {Sold only in sets.) 
 
 Sea Tales. New Household Edition, \\\^\.\.xz.Q.\\\t.'\imdL- 
 ing, the volumes containing Introductions by Susan 
 Fenimore Cooper. Illustrated. 
 First Series. Including — 
 
 The Pilot. The Red Rover. 
 
 The Water Witch. The Two Admirals. 
 
 Wing and Wing. 
 
 Second Series. Including — 
 
 The Sea Lions. Afloat and Ashore. 
 
 Jack Tier. Miles Wallingford. 
 
 The Crater. 
 
 Each set, 5 vols. i6mo 5.00 
 
 Half calf 12.50 
 
 Leather-Stocking Tales. New Household Edition, in 
 attractive binding, the volumes containing Introduc- 
 tions by Susan Fenimore Cooper. Illustrated. In 
 five volumes, i6mo. 
 
 The Deerslayer. The Pioneers. 
 
 The Pathfinder. The Prairie. 
 
 Last of the Mohicans. 
 
 The set 5.00 
 
 Half calf 12.50 
 
 Cooper Stones ; being Narratives of Adventure se- 
 lected from his Works. With Illustrations by F. O. 
 C. Darley. In three volumes, i6mo, each .... i.oo 
 
 Charles Egbert Craddock. 
 
 In the Tennessee Mountains. i6mo 1.25 
 
 The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. {In press.) 
 Down the Ravine. {In press.) 
 
 F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 To Leeward. i6mo r.25 
 
 A Roman Singer. i6mo 1.25 
 
 An American Politician. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Maria S. Cummins. 
 
 The Lamplighter. i2mo 1.50 
 
 El Fureidis. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Mabel Vaughan. i2mo 1.50 
 
4 Works of Fiction Published by 
 
 Daniel De Foe. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe. Illustrations by Thomas Nast and 
 E. Bayard. i6mo $1.00 
 
 P. Deming. 
 
 Adirondack Stories. "Little Classic" style. i8mo . .75 
 Tompkins and other Folks. "Little Classic" style. 
 i8mo l.oo 
 
 Thomas DeQuincey. 
 
 Romances and Extravaganzas. Riverside Edition. 
 
 i2mo 1.50 
 
 Narrative and Miscellaneous Papers. Riverside Edi- 
 tion. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Complete Works. Illustrated Library Edition. With 
 Introductions, biographical and historical, by E. P. 
 Whipple. Containing all the Illustrations that have 
 appeared in the English edition by Cruikshank, Phiz, 
 Seymour, John Leech, Maclise, Marcus Stone, and 
 others, engraved on steel, to which are added the de- 
 signs of F. O. C. Darley and John Gilbert, in all num- 
 bering over 550. Handsomely bound, and complete 
 in twenty-nine volumes, i2mo. 
 
 The Pickwick Papers, 2 vols. Dombey and Son, 2 vols. 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 2 vols. Pictures from Italy, and 
 Oliver Twist. American Notes. 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop, and Re- Bleak House, 2 vols. 
 
 printed Pieces, 2 vols. Little Dorrit, 2 vols. 
 Barnaby Rudge, and Hard David Copperfield, 2 vols. 
 
 Times, 2 vols. A Tale of Two Cities. 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit, 2 vols. Great Expectations. 
 Our Mutual Friend, 2 vols. Edwin Drood, Master 
 Uncommercial Traveller. Humphrey's Clock, and 
 
 A Child's History of Eng- Other Pieces. 
 
 land, and Other Pieces. Sketches by Boz. 
 Christmas Books. 
 
 Each volume i-5*^ 
 
 The set. With Dickens Dictionary. 30 vols . . 45.00 
 Half calf 100.00 
 
 Globe Edition. Printed in large type (long prirner) on 
 good paper, and containing all the Illustrations of 
 Darley and Gilbert (55 in number) on steel, and the 
 Index of Characters. In fifteen volumes, i2mo. 
 
 Each volume 1.25 
 
 The set . . . .• 18.75 
 
 Half calf, or half morocco 40.00 
 
Houghton, Mifflin and Company. 5 
 
 Christmas Carol. Illustrated. 8vo, full gilt 
 Morocco 
 
 The Same. 32mo 
 
 Christmas Books. Illustrated. i2mo . . 
 Morocco 
 
 • $3-00 
 . 7.00 
 
 • -75 
 . 2,00 
 . 5.00 
 
 Edgar Fawcett. 
 
 A Hopeless Case. " Little Classic " style. i8mo . r.25 
 A Gentleman of Leisure. " Little Classic" style. i8mo i.oo 
 An Ambitious Woman. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Fenelon. 
 
 Adventures of Telemachus. i2mo 2.25 
 
 Harford Flemming. 
 
 A Carpet Knight. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Baron de la Motte Fouque. 
 
 Undine, Sintram and his Companions, with St. Pierre's 
 " Paul and Virginia," 32mo 75 
 
 Undine and other Tales. Illustrated. " Riverside 
 
 Classics." i6mo i.co 
 
 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 
 
 Wilhelm Meister. Translated by Thomas Carlyle. 
 
 Portrait of Goethe. In two volumes. i2mo . . 3.00 
 The Tale and Favorite Poems. 32mo 75 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 Vicar of Wakefield. Handy-Volume Edition. 32mo, 
 
 gilt top 1.25 
 
 The Same. " Riverside Classics." Illustrated. i6mo i.co 
 
 Jeanie T. Gould. 
 
 Marjorie's Quest. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Thomas Chandler Haliburton. 
 
 The Clockmaker ; or, The Sayings and Doings of 
 Samuel Slick of Slickville. " Riverside Classics." 
 Illustrated by Darley. i6mo I.oo 
 
 A. S. Hardy. 
 
 But Yet a Woman. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other Sketches. i6mo 1.50 
 The Same. Riverside Aldine Series. i6mo . . . i.oo 
 Condensed Novels. Illustrated. i6mo 1.50 
 
6 Works of Fiction Published by 
 
 Mrs. Skaggs's Husbands, and Other Sketches. i6mo. I1.50 
 Tales of the Argonauts, and Other Stories. i6mo . 1.50 
 Thankful Blossom. " Little Classic " style. i8mo . 1.25 
 Two Men of Sandy Bar. A Play. " Little Classic " 
 
 style. i8mo i.oo 
 
 The Story of a Mine. " Little Classic " style. i8mo i.oo 
 Drift from Two Shores. "Little Classic" style. iSmo 1.25 
 The Twins of Table Mountain, and Other Sketches. 
 
 " Little Classic " style. iSmo 1.25 
 
 Works. Rearranged, with an Introduction and a 
 
 Portrait. In five volumes, crown Svo. 
 Poetical Works, and the drama, " Two Men of Sandy 
 
 Bar,'* with an Introduction and Portrait. 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp, and Other Stories. 
 Tales of the Argonauts and Eastern Sketches. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 Stories and " Condensed Novels." 
 
 Each volume 2.00 
 
 The set 10 00 
 
 Half calf 20.00 
 
 Flip ; and, Found at Blazing Star. " Little Classic " 
 
 style. iSmo i.oo 
 
 In the Carquinez Woods. " Little Classic " style. 
 
 iSmo I.oo 
 
 On the Frontier " Little Classic " style. iSmo. . , i.oo 
 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 Works. Ne%u Riverside Edition. With an original 
 etching in each volume, and a new Portrait. With 
 bibliographical notes by George P. Lathrop. Com- 
 plete in twelve volumes, crown Svo. 
 
 Twice-Told Tales. 
 
 Mosses from an Old Manse. 
 
 The House of the Seven Gables, and the Snow-Image. 
 
 The Wonder-Book, Tanglewood Tales, and Grand- 
 father's Chair. 
 
 The Scarlet Letter, and The Blithedale Romance. 
 
 The Marble Faun. 
 
 Our Old Home, and English Note-Books. 2 vols. 
 
 American Note-Books. 
 
 French and Italian Note-Books. 
 
 The Uolliver Romance, Fanshawe, Septimius Felton, 
 and, in an Appendix, the Ancestral Footstep. 
 
 Tales, Sketches, and Other Papers. With Biograph- 
 ical Sketch by G. P. Lathrop, and Indexes. 
 
 Each volume 200 
 
 The set 24.00 
 
 Half calf , 48.00 
 
 Half crushed levant 60.00 
 
Houghton, Mifflin and Company. 7 
 
 ^^ Little Classic'''' Edition. Each volume contains a 
 new Vignette Illustration. In twenty-five volumes, 
 i8mo. 
 
 Each volume $1.00 
 
 The set 25.00 
 
 Half calf, or half morocco 62.50 
 
 Tree calf Si.oo 
 
 Volumes of the Original idfno Edition still in stock : — 
 
 Twice-Told Tales. Steel portrait. 2 vols. . . . . 3.00 
 
 The Snow-Image 1.50 
 
 Septimius Felton 1.50 
 
 A Wonder-Book for Girls and Boys. Holiday Edition. 
 
 With Illustrations by F. S. Church. 4to 2. 50 
 
 Twice-Told Tales. School Edition. i8mo i.oo 
 
 The Scarlet Letter. Holiday Edition. Illustrated by 
 Mary Hallock Foote. Red-line border. 8vo, full 
 
 gilt 4.00 
 
 Half calf 6.00 
 
 Morocco, or tree calf 9.00 
 
 True Stories from History and Biography. i2mo . 1.50 
 
 The Wonder-Book. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Tanglewood Tales. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Tales of the White Hills, and Legends of New Eng- 
 land. 32mo 75 
 
 Legends of Province House, and A Virtuoso's Col- 
 lection. 32mo 75 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 Elsie Venner. A Romance of Destiny. Crown Svo . • 2.00 
 
 The Guardian Angel. Crown Svo 2.00 
 
 The Story of Iris. 32mo 75 
 
 Blanche Willis Howard. 
 
 One Summer. A Novel. " Little Classic " style. 
 
 i8mo .' 1.25 
 
 Holiday Edition. Illustrated by Hoppin. Square 
 
 i2mo 2.50 
 
 Augustus Hoppin. 
 
 Recollections of Auton House. Illustrated. Small 
 
 4to 1.25 
 
 A Fashionable Sufferer. Illustrated. i2mo . . . 1.50 
 
 Two Compton Boys. Illustrated. Square i6mo. 1.50 
 
 William Dean Howells. 
 
 Their Wedding Journey. Illustrated. i2mo . . . I.50 
 The Same. Illustrated. Paper covers. i6mo . . .50 
 
8 Works of Fiction Published by 
 
 The Same. " Little Classic" style. i8mo .... $1.25 
 
 A Chance Acquaintance. Illustrated. i2mo . . . 1.50 
 
 The 5iame. Illustrated. Paper covers. i6mo . . .50 
 
 The Same. "Little Classic " style. i8mo .... 1.25 
 
 A Foregone Conclusion. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Lady of the Aroostook. i2mo 1. 50 
 
 The Undiscovered Country. i2mo 1.50 
 
 A Day's Pleasure, etc. 32mo 75 
 
 Thomas Hughes. 
 
 Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby. Illustrated 
 
 Edition. l6mo 1. 00 
 
 Tom Brown at Oxford. i6mo 1,25 
 
 Henry James, Jr. 
 
 A Passionate Pilgrim, and Other Tales. i2mo . . . 2.00 
 
 Roderick Hudson. i2mo 2.C0 
 
 The American. i2mo 2.00 
 
 Watch and Ward. " Little Classic " style. i8mo . 1.25 
 
 The Europeans. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Confidence. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Portrait of a Lady. i2mo 2.00 
 
 Anna Jameson. 
 
 Studies and Stories. " Little Classic " style. iSmo . 1.50 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures. Illustrated. " River- 
 side Classics." i6mo i.oo 
 
 Sarah Orne Jewett. 
 
 Deephaven. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Old Friends and New. iSmo 1.25 
 
 Country By- Ways. iSmo 1.25 
 
 The Mate of the Daylight. iSmo 1.25 
 
 A Country Doctor. i6mo 1.25 
 
 A Marsh Island. {In press.) 
 
 Rossiter Johnson. 
 
 " Little Classics." Each in one volume. i8mo. 
 
 I. Exile. IV. Life. 
 
 II. Intellect. V. Laughter. 
 
 III. Tragedy. VI. Love. 
 
Houghtofiy Mifflin and Company. g 
 
 VII. Romance. XIIT. Narrative Poems. 
 
 VIII. Mystery. XIV. Lyrical Poems. 
 
 IX. Co'medy, XV. Minor Poems. 
 
 X. Childhood. XVI. Nature. 
 
 XI. Heroism. XVII. Humanity. 
 
 XII. Fortune. XVIII. Authors. 
 
 Each volume $i.oo 
 
 The set 18.00 
 
 Half calf, or half morocco ........ 45.00 
 
 The Same. In nine volumes, square i6mo. 
 
 The set i3-5o 
 
 Half calf 27 00 
 
 Tree calf 40.50 
 
 {So/d only in sets.) 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 Tales from Shakespeare. iSmo 1. 00 
 
 The Same. Illustrated. i6mo i.oo 
 
 The Same. Handy-Volume Edition. 32mo, gilt top . 1.25 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 Hyperion. A Romance. i6mo 1.50 
 
 Popular Edition. i6mo 40 
 
 Popular Edition. Paper covers, l6mo 15 
 
 Outre-Mer. i6mo 1.50 
 
 Popular Edition. l6mo 40 
 
 Popular Edition. Paper covers, i6mo 15 
 
 Kavanagh. i6mo 1.50 
 
 S. Weir Mitchell. 
 
 In War Time. i6mo I.25 
 
 Nora Perry. 
 
 The Tragedy of the Unexpected, and Other Stories. 
 
 ''Little Classic " style. i8mo 1.25 
 
 Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 
 
 The Gates Ajar. i6mo 1.50 
 
 Beyond the Gates. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Men, Women, and Ghosts. i6mo . 1.50 
 
 Hedged In. i6mo 1.50 
 
 The Silent Partner. i6mo 1.50 
 
 The Story of Avis. i6mo 1.50 
 
 Sealed Orders, and Other Stories. i6mo .... 1.50 
 
 Friends : A Duet. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Doctor Zay. i6mo 1.25 
 
 Phoebe. 
 
 By the author of " Rutledge." i6mo $1-2$ 
 
lO Works of Fiction Published by 
 
 Marian C. L. Reeves and Emily Read. 
 
 Pilot Fortune. i6mo I.25 
 
 Joseph Xavier Boniface Saintine. 
 
 Picciola. " Riverside Classics." Illustrated. i6mo . i.oo 
 
 Jacques Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. 
 
 Paul and Virginia. " Riverside Classics." Illustrated. 
 
 i6mo I.oo 
 
 The Same, together with Undine, and Sintram. 32mo .75 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 The Waverley Novels. Illustrated Library Edition. 
 This edition has been carefully edited, and is illus- 
 trated with 100 engravings by Darley, Dielman, 
 Fredericks, Low, Share, Sheppard, and has also a 
 glossary and a very full index of characters. In 25 
 volumes, i2mo. 
 Waverley. Peveril of the Peak. 
 
 Guy Mannering. Quentin Durward. 
 
 The Antiquary. St. Ronan's Well. 
 
 Rob Roy. Redgauntlet. 
 
 Old Mortality. The Betrothed, and the 
 
 Black Dwarf, and Legend Highland Widow. 
 
 of Montrose. TheTalisman, and Other 
 
 Heart of Mid-Lothian. Tales. 
 
 Bride of Lammermoor. Woodstock. 
 
 Ivanhoe. The Fair Maid of Perth. 
 
 The Monastery. Anne of Geierstein. 
 
 The Abbot. Count Robert of Paris. 
 
 Kenil worth. The Surgeon's Daughter, 
 
 The Pirate. and Castle Dangerous. 
 
 The Fortunes of Nigel. 
 
 Each volume i-OO 
 
 The set 25-00 
 
 Half calf 62.50 
 
 Half seal 75-00 
 
 Globe Edition. Complete in 13 volumes. With 100 
 Illustrations. i6mo. 
 
 The set 16.25 
 
 Half calf, or half morocco 35.00 
 
 [Sold only in sets.) 
 Tales of a Grandfather. Illustrated Library Edition. 
 With six steel plates. In three volumes, i2mo . . 4.50 
 
 Half calf 9-00 
 
 Ivanhoe. Fancy binding. 8vo .1.00 
 
 Half calf 2.50 
 
Hotighton, Mifflin and Company, n 
 
 Horace E. Scudder. 
 
 The Dwellers in Five-Sisters' Court. i6mo . . . .fti2C 
 Stones and Romances. i6mo ] 12? 
 
 Mark Sibley Severance. 
 
 Hammersmith; His Harvard Days. i2mo . . . i.ro 
 
 T. D. Sherwood. 
 
 Comic History of the United States. Illustrated. i2mo 2.50 
 
 J. E. Smith. 
 
 Oakridge : An Old-Time Story of Maine. i2mo . . 2.00 
 
 Mary A. Sprague. 
 
 An Earnest Trifler. i6mo . . , ^- 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
 
 Agnes of Sorrento. r2mo . 
 
 The Pearl of Orr's Island. i2mo '. \Tr, 
 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin. Popular Illustrated' Edition. 
 i2mo 
 
 The Minister's Wooing. ' i2mo f°° 
 
 The Mayflower, and Other Sketches. i2mo* ' ' * xfc^ 
 
 Nma Gordon (formerly called "Dred"). i2mo .' .' i.'cq 
 
 Oldtown Folks. i2mo . , • *-i" 
 
 Sam Lawson's Fireside Stories.' Illustrated. * New '^^ 
 
 Edition, enlarged . 
 My Wife and I. Illustrated. ■i2mo* '.'.**' * !"S 
 We and Our Neighbors. Illustrated. i2mo ' * * r'S 
 Poganuc People. Illustrated. i2mo . . ' ' tS 
 
 The above eleven volumes, in box .....'' le'm 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin. Holiday Edition. With* red line" 
 
 border. Introduction, and a Bibliography by George 
 
 Bullen, of the British Museum. Over 100 Illustra- 
 
 tions. i2mo . . 
 
 Half calf. ..;;;;; if^ 
 
 Morocco, or tree calf ...*.* v'ro 
 
 A Dog's Mission, etc. Illustrated. Small 4to *. '. \ 12c 
 
 Queer Little People. Illustrated. Small /o . . . 1.25 
 
 Little Pussy Willow. Illustrated. Small 4to . . . 1.25 
 
 Gen. Lew Wallace. 
 
 The Fair God ; or, The Last of the 'Tzins. i2mo . 1,50 
 
12 Works of Fiction, 
 
 Henry Watterson. 
 
 Oddities in Southern Life and Character. Illustrated. 
 
 i6mo $1.50 
 
 Richard Grant White. 
 
 The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys, together with the 
 Episode of Mr. Washington Adams in England. 
 i6mo 1.25 
 
 Adeline D. T. Whitney. 
 
 Faith Gartney's Girlhood. Illustrated. i2mo . . . 1.50 
 
 Hitherto: A Story of Yesterdays. i2mo .... 1.50 
 
 Patience Strong's Outings. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Gayworthys. 12 mo 1.50 
 
 Leslie Goldthwaite. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 
 
 We Girls : A Home Story. Illustrated. i2mo . . 1.50 
 
 Real Folks. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The Other Girls. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 
 
 Sights and Insights. 2 vols. i2mo 3.00 
 
 Odd, or Even .-' i2mo 1.50 
 
 Boys at Chequasset. Illustrated. i2mo 1.50 
 
 The above twelve volumes in box 18.00 
 
 *#* For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price {in 
 check on Boston or New York, money-order, or registered letter) by the 
 Publisliers, 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 
 
 4 Park St., Boston, Mass. ; 1 1 East Seventeenth St., 
 
 New York. 
 
 A Catalogue containing portraits of many of the above authors, 
 with a description of their works, will be sent free, on application, 
 to any address.