a new england girlhood-第12章

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way　there！　But　I　feared　that　trying　to　do　so　would　be　of　no　use；　the　fairies　would　cross　their　wands　to　keep　me　back；　and　their　wings　would　darken　at　my　approach。

The　book　that　I　loved　first　and　best；　and　lived　upon　in　my　childhood；　was　〃Pilgrim's　Progress。〃　It　was　as　a　story　that　I　cared　for　it；　although　I　knew　that　it　meant　something　more；　something　that　was　already　going　on　in　my　own　heart　and　life。　Oh；　how　I　used　to　wish　that　I　too　could　start　off　on　a　pilgrim…　age！　It　would　be　so　much　easier　than　the　continual；　discouraging　struggle　to　be　good！

The　lot　I　most　envied　was　that　of　the　contented　Shepherd　Boy　in　the　Valley　of　Humiliation；　singing　his　cheerful　songs；　and　wearing　〃the　herb　called　Heart's　Ease　in　his　bosom〃；　but　all　the　glorious　ups　and　downs　of　the　〃Progress〃　I　would　gladly　have　shared　with　Christiana　and　her　children；　never　desiring　to　turn　aside　into　any　〃By…Path　Meadow〃　while　Mr。　Great…Heart　led　the　way；　and　the　Shining　Ones　came　down　to　meet　us　along　the　road。　It　was　one　of　the　necessities　of　my　nature；　as　a　child；　to　have　some　one　being；　real　or　ideal；　man　or　woman；　before　whom　I　inwardly　bowed　down　and　worshiped。　Mr。　Great…Heart　was　the　perfect　hero　of　my　imagination。　Nobody；　in　books　or　out　of　them；　compared　with　him。　I　wondered　if　there　were　really　any　Mr。　Great…　Hearts　to　be　met　with　among　living　men。

I　remember　reading　this　beloved　book　once　in　a　snow…storm；　and　looking　up　from　it　out　among　the　white；　wandering　flakes；　with　a　feeling　that　they　had　come　down　from　heaven　as　its　interpreters；　that　they　were　trying　to　tell　me；　in　their　airy　up…and…down…　flight；　the　story　of　innumerable　souls。　I　tried　to　fix　my　eye　on　one　particular　flake；　and　to　follow　its　course　until　it　touched　the　earth。　But　I　found　that　I　could　not。　A　little　breeze　was　stirring　an　the　flake　seemed　to　go　and　return；　to　descend　and　then　ascend　again；　as　if　hastening　homeward　to　the　sky；　losing　itself　at　last　in　the　airy；　infinite　throng；　and　leaving　me　filled　with　thoughts　of　that　〃great　multitude；　which　no　man　could　number；　clothed　with　white　robes；〃　crowding　so　gloriously　into　the　closing　pages　of　the　Bible。

Oh；　if　I　could　only　be　sure　that　I　should　some　time　be　one　of　that　invisible　company！　But　the　heavens　were　already　beginning　to　look　a　great　way　off。　I　hummed　over　one　of　my　best　loved　hymns；

〃Who　are　these　in　bright　array？〃

and　that　seemed　to　bring　them　nearer　again。

The　history　of　the　early　martyrs；　the　persecutions　of　the　Waldenses　and　of　the　Scotch　Covenanters；　I　read　and　re…read　with　longing　emulation！　Why　could　not　I　be　a　martyr；　too？　It　would　be　so　beautiful　to　die　for　the　truth　as　they　did；　as　Jesus　did！　I　did　not　understand　then　that　He　lived　and　died　to　show　us　what　life　really　means；　and　to　give　us　true　life；　like　His；the　life　of　love　to　God　with　all　our　hearts；　of　love　to　all　His　human　children　for　His　sake；and　that　to　live　this　life　faithfully　is　greater　even　than　to　die　a　martyr's　death。

It　puzzled　me　to　know　what　some　of　the　talk　I　heard　about　being　a　Christian　could　mean。　I　saw　that　it　was　something　which　only　men　and　women　could　comprehend。　And　yet　they　taught　me　to　say　those　dear　words　of　the　Master；　〃Suffer　the　little　children　to　come　unto　Me！〃　Surely　He　meant　what　He　said。　He　did　not　tell　the　children　that　they　must　receive　the　kingdom　of　God　like　grown　people；　He　said　that　everybody　must　enter　into　it　〃as　a　little　child。〃

But　our　fathers　were　stalwart　men；　with　many　foes　to　encounter。　If　anybody　ever　needed　a　grown…up　religion；　they　surely　did；　and　it　became　them　well。

Most　of　our　every…day　reading　also　came　to　us　over　the　sea。　Miss　Edgworth's　juvenile　stories　were　in　general　circulation；　and　we　knew　〃Harry　and　Lucy〃　and　〃Rosamond〃　almost　as　well　as　we　did　our　own　playmates。　But　we　did　not　think　those　English　children　had　so　good　a　time　as　we　did；　they　had　to　be　so　prim　and　methodical。　It　seemed　to　us　that　the　little　folks　across　the　water　never　were　allowed　to　romp　and　run　wild；　some　of　us　may　have　held　a　vague　idea　that　this　freedom　of　ours　was　the　natural　inheritance　of　republican　children　only。

Primroses　and　cowslips　and　daisies　bloomed　in　these　pleasant　story…books　of　ours；　and　we　went　a…Maying　there；　with　our　transatlantic　playmates。　I　think　we　sometimes　started　off　with　our　baskets；　expecting　to　find　those　English　flowers　in　our　own　fields。　How　should　children　be　wiser　than　to　look　for　every　beautiful　thing　they　have　heard　of；　on　home　ground？

And；　indeed；　our　commonest　field…flowers　were；　many　of　them；　importations　from　the　mother…countryclover；　and　dandelions；　and　ox…eye　daisies。　I　was　delighted　when　my　mother　told　me　one　day　that　a　yellow　flower　I　brought　her　was　a　cowslip；　for　I　thought　she　meant　that　it　was　the　genuine　English　cowslip；　which　I　had　read　about。　I　was　disappointed　to　learn　that　it　was　a　native　blossom；　the　marsh…marigold。

My　sisters　had　some　books　that　I　appropriated　to　myself　a　great　deal：　〃Paul　and　Virginia；〃　〃Elizabeth；　or　the　Exiles　of　Siberia；〃　〃Nina：　an　Icelandic　Tale；〃　with　the　〃Vicar　of　Wakefield；〃　the　〃Tour　to　the　Hebrides；〃　〃Gulliver's　Travels；〃　the　〃Arabian　Nights；〃　and　some　odd　volumes　of　Sir　Walter　Scott's　novels。

I　read　the　〃Scottish　Chiefs〃my　first　novel　when　I　was　about　five　years　old。　So　absorbed　was　I　in　the　sorrows　of　Lady　Helen　Mar　and　Sir　William　Wallace；　that　I　crept　into　a　corner　where　nobody　would　notice　me；　and　read　on　through　sunset　into　moonlight；　with　eyes　blurred　with　tears。　I　did　not　feel　that　I　was　doing　anything　wrong；　for　I　had　heard　my　father　say　he　was　willing　his　daughters　should　read　that　one　novel。　He　probably　did　not　intend　the　remark　for　the　ears　of　his　youngest；　however。

My　appetite　for　reading　was　omnivorous；　and　I　devoured　a　great　many　romances。　My　sisters　took　them　from　a　circulating　library；　many　more；　perhaps；　than　came　to　my　parents'　knowledge；　but　it　was　not　often　that　one　escaped　me；　wherever　it　was　hidden。　I　did　not　understand　what　I　was　reading；　to　be　sure；　and　that　was　one　of　the　best　and　worst　things　about　it。　The　sentimentalism　of　some　of　those　romances　was　altogether　unchildlike；　but　I　did　not　take　much　of　it　in。　It　was　the　habit　of　running　over　pages　and　pages　to　get　to　the　end　of　a　story；　the　habit　of　reading　without　caring　what　I　read；　that　I　know　to　have　been　bad　for　my　mind。　To　use　a　nautical　expression；　my　brain　was　in　danger　of　getting　〃water…　logged。〃　There　are　so　many　more　books　of　fiction　written　nowadays；　I　do　not　see　how　the　young　people　who　try　to　read　one　tenth　of　them　have　any　brains　left　for　every…day　use。

One　result　of　my　infantile　novel…reading　was　that　I　did　not　like　to　look　at　my　own　face　in　a　mirror；　because　it　was　so　unlike　that　of　heroines；　always　pictured　with　〃high　white　foreheads〃　and　〃cheeks　of　a　perfect　oval。〃　Mine　was　round；　ruddy；　and　laughing　with　health；　and；　though　I　practiced　at　the　glass　a　good　deal；　I　could　not　lengthen　it　by　puckering　down　my　lips。　I　quite　envied　the　little　girls　who　were　pale　and　pensive…looking；　as　that　was　the　only　ladyfied　standard　in　the　romances。　Of　course；　the　chief　pleasure　of　reading　them　was　that　of　identifying　myself　with　every　new　heroine。　They　began　to　call　me　a　〃bookworm〃　at　home。　I　did　not　at　all　relish　the　title。

It　was　fortunate　for　me　that　I　liked　to　be　out　of　doors　a　great　deal；　and　that　I　had　a　brother；　John；　who　was　willing　to　have　me　for　an　occasional　companion。　Sometimes　he　would　take　me　with　him　when　be　went　huckleberrying；　up　the　rural　Montserrat　Road；　through　Cat　Swamp；　to　the　edge　of　Burnt　Hills　and　Beaver　Pond。　He　had　a　boy's　pride　in　explaining　these　localities　to　me；　making　me　understand　that　I　had　a　guide　who　was　familiar　with　every　inch　of　the　way。　Then；　charging　me　not　to　move　until　he　came　back；　he　would　leave　me　sitting　alone　on　a　great　craggy　rock；　while　he　went　off　and　filled　his　basket　out　of　sight　among　the　bushes。　Indeed；　I　did　not　want　to　move；　it　was　all　so　new　and　fascinating。　The　tall　pine…trees　whispering　to　each　other　across　the　sky…openings　above　me；　the　graceful　ferns；　the　velvet　mosses　dotted　with　scarlet　fairy…cups；　as　if　the　elves　had　just　spread　their　table　for　tea；　the　unspeakable　charm　of　the　spice…breathing　air；　all　wove　a　web　of　enchantment　about　me；　from　which　I　had　no　wish　to　disentangle　myself。　　The　silent　spell　of　the　woods　held　me　with　a　power　stronger　even　than　that　of　the　solemn…voiced　sea。　Sometimes　this　same　brother　would　get　permission　to　take　me　on　a　longer　excursion；to　visit　the　old　homestead　at　〃The　Farms。〃　Three　or　four　miles　was　not　thought　too　long　a　walk　for　a　healthy　child　of　five　years；　and　that　road；　in　the　old　time；　led　through　a　rural　Paradise；　beautiful　at　every　season；whether　it　were　the　time　of　song…sparrows　and　violets；　of　wild　roses；　of　coral…hung　barberry…bushes；　or　of　fallen　leaves　and　snow…drifts。　The　wildness　of　the　road；　now　exchanged　for　elegant　modern　cultivation；　was　its　great　charm　to　us。　We　stopped　at　the　Cove　Brook　to　hear　the　cat…birds　sing；　and　at　Mingo's　Beach　to　revel　in　the　sudden　surprise　of　the　open　sea；　and　to　listen　to　the　chant　of　the　waves；　always　stronger　and　grander　there　than　anywhere　along　the　shore。　We　passed　under　dark　wooded　cliffs　out　into　sunny　openings；　the　last　of　which　held　under　its　skirting　pines　the　secret　of　the　prettiest　woodpath　to　us　in　all　the　world；　the　path　to　the　ancestral　farmhouse。

We　found　children　enough　to　play　with　there；as　numerous　a　family　as　our　own。　We　were　sometimes；　I　fancy；　the　added　drop　too　much　of　already　overflowing　juvenility。　Farther　down　the　road；　where　the　cousins　were　all　grown…up　men　and　women；　Aunt　Betsey's　cordial；　old…fashioned　hospitality　sometimes　detained　us　a　day　or　two。　We　watched　the　milking；　and　fed　the　chickens；　and　fared　gloriously。　Aunt　Betsey　could　not　have　done　more　to　entertain　us；　had　we　been　the　President's　children。

I　have　always　cherished　the　memory　of　a　certain　pair　of　large…　bowed　spectacles　that　she　wore；　and　of　the　green　calash；　held　by　a　ribbon　bridle；　that　sheltered　her　head；　when　she　walked　up　from　the　shore　to　see　us；　as　she　often　did。　They　announced　to　us　the　approach　of　inexhaustible　kindliness　and　good　cheer。　We　took　in　a　home…feeling　with　the　words　〃Aunt　Betsey〃　then　and　always。　She　had　just　the　husband　that　belonged　to　her　in　my　Uncle　David；　an　upright　man；　frank…faced；　large…hearted；　and　spiritually　minded。　He　was　my　father's　favorite　brother；　and　to　our　branch　of　the　family　〃The　Farms〃　meant　〃Uncle　David　and　Aunt　Betsey。〃

My　brother　John's　plans　for　my　entertainment　did　not　always　harmonize　entirely　with　my　own　ideas。　He　had　an　inventive　mind；　and　wanted　me　to　share　his　boyish　sports。　But　I　did　not　like　to　ride　in　a　wheelbarrow；　nor　to　walk　on　stilts；　nor　even　to　coast　down　the　hill　on　his　sled　and　I　always　got　a　tumble；　if　I　tried；　for　I　was　rather　a　clumsy　child；　besides；　I　much　preferred　girls'　quieter　games。

We　were　seldom　permitted　to　play　with　any　boys　except　our　brothers。　I　drew　the　inference　that　our　boys　must　be　a　great　deal　better　than　〃the　other　boys。〃　My　brother　John　had　some　fine　play…　fellows；　but　he　seemed　to　consider　me　in　the　way　when　they　were　his　guests。　Occasionally　we　would　forget　that　the　neighbor…boys　were　not　girls；　and　would　find　ourselves　all　playing　together　in　delightful　unconsciousness；　although　possibly　a　thought；　like　that　o