Shoulder-Straps: A Novel of New York and the Army, 1862

by Henry Morford

  CHAPTER XXII.

  A LITTLE ARRANGEMENT BETWEEN TOM LESLIE AND JOE HARRIS--UP THEHUDSON-RIVER ROAD--A DETENTION AND A RECOGNITION--GOING TO WEST FALLS,AND A PEEP AT THE HALSTEAD HOMESTEAD.

  There are some things too sacred to be pryed into, and there are somethings too difficult to make any progress in that attempt, even when theeffort is made with the most determined will. Both these conditions willto some extent apply to the intimacy between Tom Leslie and JosephineHarris, which commenced on a day we well remember, and which may notclose until their joint destiny is accomplished. The very next day afterthat adventure, he called at the house of Mrs. Harris, was introduced toher with great empressement by her daughter, and received by her withgreat cordiality. The good lady, whom we have no intention whatever ofdescribing, was a splendid specimen of the widowed matron in comfortablecircumstances, with just enough threads of silver shining amid her darkhair, to make her matron-hood sacred and all the more loveable. Thatshe, who was not always pleased with a new-comer, chanced to like himfrom the first, completed the vanquishment of the journalist, if thatobject had not before been entirely accomplished; and within an hourafter setting foot within that comfortable little home the young manfelt that it had become dearer to him than any other building of bricksand mortar into which he had ever entered.

  So of the confidence which at once began to exist between the twolovers. Yes--let the word be set down--lovers. When Josephine Harrisaccompanied Tom Leslie to the door, on the night of his first visit toher at home, he held out his arms to her, without a word, and shenestled into them in the same silence, and returned the first kiss hepressed upon her lips. Thenceforth their lips, we may believe, belongedexclusively to neither, but had a divided interest. What matter,thereafter, how many times they were pressed together, or how long thatpressure lingered? What matter how many words they spoke, or what formedthe burden of those words? They had accidentally touched, when driftingdown the stream of life, and who should thenceforth have power toseparate them? A month before, Tom Leslie, who had had fifty flirtationsor less, would have laughed at the idea of being "in love," with whatseemed like a life-passion; and even three days before Josephine Harriswould have considered such an event, on her part, not undesirable, butsimply impossible. So much for what we know, to-day, of that which is toexist to-morrow, even in the "best-regulated families!"

  It was on the third visit paid to the house by Leslie, that Josephinecommunicated to him her intention to be absent from the city for a weekor ten days, visiting some friends in one of the country sectionsreached by the New York Central Railroad; after which she was again toreturn to the city and accompany her mother, late in July, on her annualpilgrimage to the Ocean House at Newport. She would leave for the northon one of the first days of July--perhaps the Third or the Fourth.Strangely enough, Leslie had arranged to go to Niagara for a few days,at about the same time, and he suddenly found it a matter of noconsequence that he should go by the Erie Road, as he had at firstintended. Subsequent inquiries proved that the young girl would gounattended, and leave the railroad at Utica, taking stage for the shortremainder of her journey. Leslie felt it almost a matter of inexcusableimpudence, after so short an acquaintance, to ask the favor of timinghis journey by hers and being her escort so far as Utica; but he daredthe risk, as he had dared many a risk before, from things quite asdeadly as woman's eyes; and he did _not_ meet even one objection orexpression of embarrassment. Josephine Harris accepted his escort asfreely as offered, and seemed rather pleased than otherwise! How absurd,and in fact how improper! She should have blushed, simpered, and hintedthat she would be very much pleased with his escort--but--so short anacquaintance--all her friends would know it--what would peoplesay?--etc., etc. Joe Harris did not understand all these things,exactly; but the next woman would have acted out that role toperfection.

  Not to linger over these details, Mamma Harris not objecting, they leftthe city of New York by the five o'clock train on the Hudson RiverRailroad, on the evening of the Fourth of July, just when the city wassweltering in its most deadly heat and all ablaze with patrioticfireworks. Leslie had certain patrio-political engagements whichoccupied him until after noon on that day, rendering it impossible toleave by the morning train. Leaving by that at five o'clock, they wouldconnect with the train on the New York Central leaving Albany atmidnight, and reach Utica very early in the morning. There Josephinewould be set down, while Leslie, after seeing to her stageaccommodation, would whirl onward with the train, for Niagara.

  The connection between love and railroad-riding may not be obvious toall; and there are some, no doubt, who think the flying speed of themodern conveyance terribly unromantic. But there are others who know ofnothing more thoroughly pleasant than lounging back easily in thecushioned seat of a railway-carriage, with _the one_ close beside, withone hand in reach at any moment, the one face ready to reply in smilesto the look of pleasure given, and the one head ready to repose upon theshoulder when night comes on or the continued motion of the train bringson drowsiness. Of the latter class were both Tom Leslie and Joe Harris,both of whom had travelled much, though very differently, and neither ofwhom had ever before experienced the luxury of the one peculiarcompanionship. They may ride far and see Nature in her most wonderfulphases, in other days; but it is doubtful whether either will everexperience a greater pleasure than that of sitting by the side of theother, on that July afternoon, conscious that they were _together_, andof very little else, but dimly aware, too, that they were sweeping awayfrom the hot and dusty city, with its thousands of swelteringinhabitants, and flying through green woods, among towering hills andbeside flashing waters.

  It is not more true that "man proposes but God disposes," of any otherseries of events in life than railroad connections. That Albanyexpress-train on the Hudson-River Road, dashed merrily on for theHighlands, meeting excursion-trains passing backwards and forwardsbetween the various towns on the line, all decked with flags, andevergreens, and the passengers in all waving flags and shouting outtheir patriotic merriment. Already the Highlands of the Hudson wererising close before them, with the westering sun sinking low and castingbroad shadows from their tops over the quiet river,--when suddenly, alittle below Peekskill, the train came to a halt, without any stationappearing in view.

  "What is the matter?" asked some of the passengers, after the halt hadbeen prolonged a few minutes. "Have we met with any accident?" askedothers when that halt was longer protracted; and "Are we _never_ goingto get on?" asked all parties together, when the delay lengthened tomore than half an hour and there appeared to be no signs of starting.

  Finally, when more than the half hour had elapsed, a brake-man satisfiedthe eager inquiries of the passengers by the information that acoal-schooner had attempted to pass through the draw-bridge half a mileabove Peekskill, when the tide was too far spent--that she had managedto get aground in the draw-bridge, immediately across the track--andthat, consequently, no train could possibly pass until the tide roseagain and released the unfortunate boat, well along towards midnight!Here was a pleasant predicament, especially for those who, like ourtravellers, had connections to make at Albany for the North and West;and yet, to their credit be it said, that particular couple bore thedelay with wonderful equanimity! It is just possible that bothremembered that they would be together a few hours longer on account ofthe accident, and that they were prepared to endure even a longer forcedcompanionship!

  At last the train moved on, but slowly, through the village ofPeekskill, and reached the little creek, under the very edge of theHighlands, where the accident had occurred. The scene was certainly apicturesque one, with the grounded boat, the swung draw-bridge, the menlaboring to lighter-off the vessel by unloading the coal, the passengerscrowding and swarming from the cars, the setting sun over the nobleheadlands to the West, and the placid river coming out from the darkshadow of the Highlands and sweeping grandly down to Haverstraw Bay.

  It had been arranged that all the passengers by the up-train shoulddisem
bark and cross the long bridge over the estuary, on the narrowstrips of plank temporarily laid down for that purpose, so as to beready to take the next down-train from Albany, the moment it arrived,and go back with it;--while the passengers by the down-train would crossin the same manner and run back with the up-train towards NewYork;--thus saving what would otherwise be hours of additionaldetention. Then streamed across those planks a most picturesque line ofpedestrians, sturdy men and timid women, each a little afraid of sonarrow a footing over the water, some of the women nervous and screaminga little, and some of the men quite as cowardly but much more ashamed toacknowledge the feeling. The novelty of the picture was materially addedto, meanwhile, by the fact that nearly every male passenger was loadedlike a pack-horse with baggage, and the ladies with shawls, parasols andbundles,--and that all, when they reached the neck of land at the end ofthe bridge, squatted down miscellaneously on the dry grass and among thewood and timber, like so many Arabs making a noon encampment.

  "Oh, isn't this jolly!" exclaimed Joe Harris, as Tom Leslie was leadingher over the line of plank, when they were about half way across, andwhen, from the instability of a part of the structure, there seemed afair prospect of taking a duck in the river.

  "Bravo, little girl!" said Tom Leslie, in reply. "That is the way totake detention and disappointment in travelling; and after thatexpression I would bet on you for ascending Mont Blanc or living on araft." Such little events, to close observers, sometimes furnish keys tothe capabilities of whole characters.

  "You compliment me," said the young girl, "but there is really nothingto compliment me about. I am not enduring, but enjoying. Lookout!--there I go! No I don't!" as she partially lost her balance andthen recovered it. "Why we should have lost all this, but for theaccident; and probably nothing in our whole ride could have compensatedit."

  "It is indeed a striking scene," said Leslie, his quick appreciation ofthe beautiful actively brought into play, as they landed safely on thesward at the end of the bridge. "See the dusky shadows creeping over theHighlands, yonder, and their still duskier shadows in the still water.See the orange and pink of the sunset sky, reaching half way to thezenith, and that quarter moon dividing the sunset colors from the darkblue beyond, like a sentinel. Then see that steamboat creeping close inunder the shadow of the land, as if she was trying to steal byunobserved. And then yonder, that smelting furnace perched on one of thehills, throwing out its gleams of molten metal, with their glowingreflection in the little creek. And last, not least, Peekskill lyingacross the cove yonder, with its Independence flags still flying, thoseuntimely rockets going up, boats with singing parties putting off fromthe shore, and the music of the band coming over the water just softlyenough to make an undertone for the feeling of the place and the hour."

  "It is indeed a picture worth remembering," said Josephine, "and themore so after you have so graphically described it." But suddenly, andwithout any perceptible reason, at that moment the young girl pulledaway from his arm, on which she had been leaning, flung down the lightveil of her bonnet, stepped away a few paces, and turned her facetowards the river. Leslie looked around to see what could have causedthe movement, but saw nothing except a few of the last passengersleaving the planks, and among them a military officer in full colonel'suniform, whose face he did not recognize. He saw that the officer passedon, farther up the railroad-track; and the moment after, slightlyturning her head, but very warily, the young girl appeared to bebeckoning to him. He stepped towards her at once, and turning her headonce more towards the river and the western skies, she said:

  "Excuse my strange behaviour; I know that you will do so when youunderstand my reasons--no, you cannot understand them all, at least justnow--but part of them. I dare not turn around my head, for fear ofbeing recognized. You saw an officer coming off the bridge just now. Didyou know him?"

  "No, I did not," answered Leslie, and it must be confessed that hewished to add, though he did not do so, "But what the deuce is themystery in _your_ young life, that you are obliged to shun recognitionin this manner?"

  Josephine Harris, from the position in which she stood, could notclearly see his face, and she was consequently spared his look ofsurprise, almost of pain, which was momentary. The instant after, sheasked:

  "Is he here still? Is he close by us?"

  "No," said Leslie, looking around, "he has passed up the track somedistance. But tell me--what _can_ be the matter?"

  "I know you must think it odd," said the young girl, turning her facearound towards Leslie, now that she knew the officer was not near them."Not only odd, but a little suspicious. But a few words will explain allthat it is either necessary or proper for me to say in this place. Keepan eye on that man, please, and if you see him coming this way again,let me know. That officer is Colonel Egbert Crawford, of whom you mayhave heard."

  "I think I have heard the name, through the newspapers. Getting up abogus regiment, or something of that kind, isn't he?" asked Leslie. "Anyrelation to Miss Bell, who accompanied us the other day on that--thatexpedition?"

  "Which you regard as among the most foolish things of your life? Eh, Mr.Leslie?" asked Joe, with a little mischief in her tone.

  "Which I regard as one of the most fortunate events in my wholeexistence," said the young journalist, managing to touch her hand at thesame time. She appeared to understand the words and the gesture, andwent on with the explanation that had been interrupted.

  "He is a cousin of Miss Bell Crawford, and very intimate in the family.I have met him very often, and he would recognize me in a moment if heshould see my face. If he should do so, probably the great object of myvisit to the North would be prevented."

  "And that is--" began Leslie.

  "Precisely what I cannot tell you, until I know more of the mattermyself, because I have no right to take liberties with the characters ofothers. Would you have thought me so prudent?" concluded the young girl.

  "I do not now need to learn for the first time," answered Leslie, "thatthose whom the world calls 'rattle-brains'--and I am sure they call_you_ one,--have sometimes plenty of forethought and a good deal ofprudence."

  "Thank you," said Josephine, and no doubt she did thank him, from hersoul. For the rarest flattery is of course the sweetest, and poor wildJoe was in the habit of being oftener complimented for any thing elserather than that terrible quality "forethought."

  "But I may tell you," the young girl resumed, "that I have very gravesuspicions of that man's honesty, in some of his dealings with theCrawfords, who are my very dear friends; and I am going to unsex myself,I suppose, in your mind, by acknowledging that I am playing the part ofa detective, _en amateur_, for a few days."

  "Not a particle unsexed," said Leslie, rubbing a match on his boot-soleand preparing to desecrate the sweet air of evening with cigar-smoke."Go on, please."

  "Well," said Joe, "if I do not mistake, Col. Egbert Crawford and myselfare going to the very same place--at least to houses not a quarter of amile apart; and if he should know of my presence in the neighborhood allmy researches might be blocked. Do you see?"

  "I see," said Leslie, though how he _could_ see through that cloud ofcigar-smoke, was a little unaccountable.

  "That is why I turned away and dropped my veil," the young girl went on."And now I am under the necessity of troubling you a little more than Iintended. You must look out, for me, that we do not get into the samecar, and afterwards you may have a good deal more of trouble to keep usapart. May I tax you so far?"

  "I think so," answered Leslie. "Hark!"

  Through the hills above them there swept down a rumble, a roar, and arattle, growing deeper every moment.

  "Clear the track, there," cried Leslie, loud enough to be heard by allthe hundreds of passengers. "The down-train is coming!"

  In an instant the train from Albany broke into sight from the woodsabove, and came thundering down, barely giving the passengers who hadbeen lounging on the track, time to drag themselves and their baggageout of the way. It was now growi
ng dusk, but the train stopped upon thebridge without accident; and in a few moments the down passengers wereunloaded and transferred, those going up were on board, and the longline moved back again, the locomotive in the rear and pushing all thecars backwards like a gigantic wheelbarrow.

  Leslie had taken Miss Harris' hint at once, and kept his eye on theColonel when the embarkation was being made. He saw him step on boardone of the rear cars, and himself and his companion took places fartherforward, so that any danger of recognition was past for the time.

  There was nothing of incident in the night-ride which followed,demanding description in these pages, except that Leslie found apleasure he had not anticipated, in Miss Josey's growing drowsy andmaking a pillow of him eventually. There, have been heavier burdens thanthat he bore; and what with the soft breath playing so near his cheek inthe innocence of slumber--the light form around which he was obliged toclasp his arm (as a matter of duty--to keep her from slipping from theseat, of course!)--the dashes through dusky woods and the glimpses ofthe moonlit river,--what with all these and the pleasant company of aheart that had never yet known what it was to be desponding, Tom Lesliemanaged to enjoy the latter portion of the ride to Albany, amazingly. Atone o'clock he woke up the pleasant burden on his arm, and half an hourafter, Josephine Harris was cradled in soft slumbers at the Delavan, inAlbany, while Tom Leslie, a very human description of guardian angel,was watching over her slumbers from his sleepless pillow in another wingof the building.

  Corresponding precautions to those of the evening were taken in themorning, when the travellers took the cars of the Central Road, forUtica and their separation; but in that instance they seemed to besuperfluous. Whether Colonel Egbert Crawford disdained to pursue hisroute at that early hour in the morning, or whether he had one morefavorable report to make at the Adjutant-General's office, of thecondition of the Two Hundredth Regiment, detaining him in Albany foranother train,--certain it is that he did not make his appearance, andthat the "amateur detective" and her companion were free to choose anyof the cars of the train. A rapid ride through the Mohawk Valley, withthe quiet river of the same name ever at their side, and the Erie Canalcontinually in view, with its pleasant reminder of the extent and thewealth of the Empire State,--and before their morning's conversation washalf finished (for what check or bound is there to the invaluablenothings of two lovers who have not yet recovered from the novelty oftheir first impressions?) they dashed up to the station at Utica andalighted for dinner at the American.

  It is no matter, here, what arrangements had been made between the twofor their subsequent meeting and correspondence; it is enough to knowthat no fetter has yet been forged by any Tubal Cain of them all, strongenough to hold apart those who choose to single out each other from theworld. Tom Leslie and Josephine Harris were to meet again, and at anearly day; and with that understanding both were reasonably wellcontent--the male member of the combination because he had no option,and the female member because she really had such a multitude ofbenevolent plans in her busy brain that she had no time to be otherwise.

  Before Josephine Harris had finished her capital dinner at the American,and ceased trifling with those magnificent strawberries, the finest ofany season within memory, (that young person was favored with a mostunromantic appetite, and often managed to astonish those who had thepleasure of paying her bills at a restaurant dinner or supper)--beforeall this was accomplished, and before the bell had rung, calling thepassengers for the Northward to resume their seats on the train, Lesliehad succeeded in discovering the whereabouts of the proper stage for theremainder of Miss Josey's journey, and making the necessaryarrangements for her baggage and her personal accommodation. This done,and his mind at rest on that particular point, the bell rung, the twomade a hurried farewell, in which a warm pressure of the hand served(for propriety's sake) in the place of a parting kiss understood; andLeslie sprung into his car and was whirled away Northward towards theMecca of American summer-tourists; while the young girl went up to "do"Utica in a bird's-eye view from the window of her room, and to await thefour o'clock that was to bear her away in the lumbering stage to WestFalls. Perhaps Tom Leslie felt at that moment that he would have beenglad of any excuse or any shadow of invitation to accompany her to thatrustic paradise, instead of going away alone to any paradise named inBible or Koran; and perhaps Joe Harris had the faintest suspicion of aheavy and lonely feeling at her heart, at parting with the "eyes" andthe merry brain that lay behind them, so suddenly flung as an elementinto her own existence.

  Henceforward, for the present, the business of this narration onlyrequires that the course of Miss Josephine Harris shall be traced,leaving the "other half" of her incomplete "pair of scissors" to bepicked up hereafter.

  No one who has ever travelled among the mountains or through any of theNorthern hill-sections, needs any description of the heavy lumbering"Concord coach" in which the young girl and her stage-companions wereslowly dragged up Genesee Street, Utica, by four horses of lymphatictemperament, on that sultry July afternoon with occasional sprinkles ofshower thrown in to make it endurable. They are all alike--those heavycoaches--except as to paint and upholstery, wherever we meetthem,--whether they drag us up the Cattskills, bear us over from Moreauto Lake George, dash down with us through the gorges of the WhiteMountains, or jog us heavily along the rough roads that thread theAlleghanies. The same half cord of wood in each of the curvedbodies--the same complication of sole-leather in the swinging jackswhich serve in the place of springs--the same cumbrous weight of wheel,suggesting that a mill may have gone out on its travels, locomoted onits running-gear. And yet there is no conveyance so safe or so easy forthe mountain; and some of us have enjoyed pleasant hours lounging backupon those polished leather cushions within, or shouting outenthusiastic admiration of scenery from the pokerish seats on the top.

  It is a pleasant ride, at any season of the year--that from Utica overthe range of hills which lies westward, to the Oneida Valley whichnestles down a few miles beyond. And it was especially pleasant andenjoyable, that afternoon, with the cloud-shadows playing over the yetuncut wheat-fields, and the glints of sunlight falling on the roofs andgables of cozy-looking farmsteads bordering the road on either hand orpeeping out from behind clumps of woods in the distance. The openedback-curtains of the coach gave a delicious view, when they hadsurmounted the height, of Utica lying on the slope below, stretchingdownwards towards the Mohawk and the Canal, with its clustering domesand spires and the melancholy Lunatic Asylum overlooking all from theNorth-west. And a view not less pleasant opened before, of the longstretch of valley lying in the distance, bounded on either side by acontinuous range of hills rising up with an almost even slope, crownedwith woods and diversified with the divisions of cultivated fields, andhere and there a glint of water, showing where the silver Sauquoit, mostlaboriously taxed of all minor streams except those of the Naugatuck andHousatonic Valleys, wound its busy way down to the Mohawk.

  And when the eye tired of resting upon these, it could find variety instudying the Welsh contour and primitive aspect of many of the Oneidacountrymen passing upon the road--the clumsy contrivances of a hundredyears ago, on which the gathered loads of hay were going homeward fromsome of the out-lands--and the long, low wagons on which great pyramidsof boxes of cheese, the staple of the section, were being slowly draggedtowards Utica and a market.

  But fair Oneida showed that war was in the land, removed though it mightbe from the great centres of recruiting operations. Joe Harris hadnoticed that a recruiting tent for McQuade's gallant Fourteenth stoodin the middle of Genesee Street, only a little way above the hotels,with drums beating and flags and placards exhibited; and even in thefields she saw traces of the effort to answer the President's lastdemand for troops. Where on the visits of previous years she had seenonly men toiling in the sunshine, many women were laboring now, and thechange was significant. The homes of Oneida had already given of theirbest and bravest to the cause of the nation, and still the Moloch of wardemanded mor
e!--more, ever and continually more!

  There was a reminder of the war, too, within the coach, and a reminderof the mode in which the recruiting service was being conducted. On oneof the front seats sat a fine-looking young man, bright-eyed andkeen-faced, in the shoddy uniform of a private. His conversation was atonce that of a patriot and a gentleman; and it did not require manymoments of unavoidable listening for the young girl to discover that hewas well educated. Further conversation between himself and otherpassengers who seemed to know and respect him, showed that he hadabandoned his studies in a leading institution, to answer the call ofthe country--that mathematics and military science had formed aconsiderable part of his studies--that he had had some hopes, when heenlisted, of obtaining the grade of a subaltern officer, when he shouldsucceed in procuring sufficient enlistments--that by his personalefforts and fervid eloquence he had already succeeded in enlisting morethan fifty men for the regiment with which he was connected, and wasthen on his way to another section of the county to make further effortsin the same direction--and that he was still a "full private," with acertainty of rising no higher, because he had neither money norpolitical influence to put him forward. So that this young patriot andsoldier, who showed the power and energy of his nature in every glanceof his eye and every word he spoke, was to be kept in the lowestposition known to the service, and commanded by men who had never heardof a book on military science or tactics, a week before, but who couldbuy commissions or command a certain number of votes at a town-meeting!Josephine Harris had studied the current history of the time, enough toknow and recognize the picture set before her, and to say, silently andbetween her set teeth:

  "Oh, I wish I was only a man, to start out with a horsewhip and lashthese incapables until they howled!"

  Six o'clock, and the stage went rumbling and swaying into the littlevillage of West Falls, which it is hoped that no matter-of-fact readerwill attempt to find on the map of Oneida, albeit it has a veritableexistence there under another name. It was a cozy little spot, nestleddown into the valley of a small stream, half creek and half river, thatformed a cataract in the neighborhood and gave it the name. Factoriesclustered along the stream, making the idle water labor for the benefitof man, and within them whirred the spindle of the cotton or woolspinner and clanked the hammer of the worker in iron and steel. Thevillage itself lay partly in the valley, along the east margin of thestream, and partly climbing the slight range of hills that bounded itstill farther eastward. A wilderness of shade-trees bordered the mainstreet and seemed to cluster around every house on the narrow lanes thatbranched from it, presenting a cool and refreshing picture in the hotsummer afternoon, and suggesting rosy-cheeked lasses, breezy halls andbed-rooms, real milk instead of the manufactured article, and all theother pleasant things traditionally supposed to belong to summer in thecountry.

  Up the long shady street, then down a wide bye-street that branched tothe left under the very edge of the hills, and the accommodating stageset the city girl down at the gate of a neat-looking story-and-a-halfhouse, buried in trees and bowered in summer flowers, unvisited by herfor the previous three years, but before that time the scene of many anhour of quiet rustic enjoyment. For reasons best known to herself,Josephine Harris had chosen not to advise her hostess of her intendedvisit, but she had no fears that it could possibly find her "not athome," and indeed before the clanking steps of the coach were well letdown, the new-comer had been recognized from the house, and a young girlcame flying down the pathway to the gate. This was Susan Halstead, hercousin, three years younger than herself, petite in figure,brown-haired and round-faced, with the curls flying loose over hershoulders and her childish mouth all puckered with pleasure at once moreseeing and embracing "Cousin Joe."

  The stage rolled away, the luggage found its way inside the white gate,and Josephine was soon in the arms of her matronly-looking Aunt Betsey,her mother's sister and the country type of the family as Mrs. Harrisherself supplied that representing the city. Much taller in figure thanher daughter, a little deaf and with many threads of silver shining inher dark hair, but with the kindest face and the merriest laugh in theworld, Mrs. Betsey Halstead furnished a pleasant specimen of thosemoderately-circumstanced Lady Bountifuls of the country and the countryvillage, who always have a spare bed for the wayfarer, always a cup ofmilk and a slice of fresh bread for the weak and the needy, and alwaysan unalloyed enjoyment in the coming of "company," _i.e._, _visitors_.

  It need scarcely be said that the coming of merry Joe was a pleasure, aswell as a surprise, that she was overwhelmed with welcomes as well asquestions, that aunt and cousin and the tidy "help" all vied in theeffort to "put away her things," and that in five minutes the city girlwas more pleasantly flustered than she would have been on entering afashionable ball at Irving Hall or attending the first hop of the seasonat Newport. Pleasantly flustered--that is, she did not quite knowwhether her head was on or off her shoulders, and yet she knew that shewas for the time in a quiet little haven of country rest from the noiseand whirl of the great city, very pleasant to contemplate.

  "And you did not write us a word about your coming?" said Aunt Betsey,interrogatively, when the bonnet had been laid off, the dust brushedaway, and the second kiss of meeting exchanged.

  "Not a word, Aunt," was the young girl's reply. "You know that I neverdo things like other people. I knew that you would be at home--knew thatyou would be glad to see me--did not know that I was coming, myself,until a day or two ago--and do not think that I should have written, ifI had, when it was so much easier to bring the information myself."

  "Still the same rattle-brain!" said Aunt Betsey, shaking her head withthat peculiar gesture which really implies admiration of a prodigy. "Somother is still in the city, is she? Why did not she come along?"

  "Yes?" echoed Susan. "Why didn't she come along? Did you come all theway alone?"

  "No," answered Josey, with the least little bit of hesitation in heranswer, and the tiniest flush creeping up on her face, that neither ofthe others had the tact to see. "There were some friends of mine goingon to Niagara, and so I had company all the way to Utica, and they setme down there." Sly Joe!--why did she use the plural number,--"friends,"and "they"? Why will people, even those belonging to the mostirreproachable classes of society, indulge in these little fibs uponoccasion?

  "Oh, Cousin Joe," said Susy, "you do not know what a nice little room wehave for you, up-stairs. The vines have climbed up and half covered thewindow, and a robin has built its nest in one of the branches of the bigapple-tree, that hangs so close to it. Little robie will wake you earlyin the morning, I'll be bound--none of the late lying in bed that theysay you all practice in the great city!"

  "No, you rose-bud!" exclaimed Joe. "I will get up as early as any ofyou, especially as I have not come out here to be idle, but to _work_.But where is Uncle?--I have not seen _him_ yet?"

  "Your Uncle Halstead," said Aunt Betsey, with a shade of sorrowmomentarily crossing her kindly face. "Oh, I suppose you did not knowit! Your Uncle has gone to the war, with the rest of them. There have agreat many gone from Oneida--scarcely a family that does not miss onemember at least. Some of them will not come back, I suppose; and somemay. God shelter and keep your Uncle! It was a little hard to part withhim, after being together nearly all the time for so many years; but hefelt that he must go, and he knew his duty best."

  "And you so cheerful about it that I did not even know till now that hewas gone!" said Joe, with surprise.

  "Why yes," said her Aunt. "If _they_ have a duty to fight for thecountry, _we_ have a duty to be patient while they are gone and do thebest we can with what they leave behind them!"

  Bravely and truly said, wife of the Oneida soldier! If the battles ofthe Union are lost, half the fault will lie with the women who havepreferred their own ease and the contentment of their own affections, tothe peril of their native land; and if those battles are won, no smallshare of the credit will be due to those true-hearted descendants ofMolly Starke, who have emulat
ed the self-sacrificing spirit of the womenof old Rome and sent off the husbands they loved and the sons upon whomthey leaned, to win their love and confidence over again on thebattle-field, or to die for the worshipped flag and the perilled nation!

  "God shelter and keep him, indeed!" responded the young girl. "And hewill, without a doubt." No one could exactly understand why it should beso, in conjunction with the dash and freedom of her character; buthidden away somewhere among the dark glossy hair was a bump ofVeneration that recognized the Supreme Being with the most filial loveand trust, and in the heart there was a corresponding throb ofgratitude, confidence and childlike dependence.

  "But what have you got, out-of-doors?" she asked, changing her manneragain to that of one who had no thought beyond the present. "I have notquite forgotten how the old yard looks, with the smoke-house, close tothe back door, and the barn at the other end. Got any pigs and chickens?And how's your cat?"

  "The cat is well," said Susan, gravely--"that is, as well as could beexpected. She has quite a family. We have lots of chickens--you musthave seen some of them in the front yard as you came in. And pigs--a penfull of them, but a little too big to suit _you_. They are too heavy anddirty to take in your arms, and all the curl is gone out of theirtails."

  "So sorry!" said Miss Josey, with the most melancholy of pouts on herlip, and with a funny reminder of Laura Keene when she uses the sameexpression to the discarded _Pomander_ in "Peg Woffington."

  "But we have something else that you _will_ like," Susy continued,determined to atone for any disappointment in the pigs and theirterminations. "We have got a calf--a nice red-and-white spotted calf,only about a week old."

  "Oh, that is the thing!" cried the merry girl. "We will go at once andhave a look at the calf. Does it hook?"

  "Hook?--you stupid thing!" laughed Susy. "Why it is only a week old, Itell you; and of course it hasn't any horns. But come along!" and downfrom a convenient peg she pulled a couple of sun-bonnets, her mother'sand her own, sticking one on the gypsy head of Josey and the other onher own refractory curls. "But stop--we have something else that youhave not thought of"--and she pulled down the head of her cousin andwhispered in her ear.

  "Cherries! oh good gracious!" absolutely yelled the young lady."Quick--get me some boy's-trousers and a step-ladder! No, you needn'tmind the trousers, as long as it is only you, Susy, who is going to helpme pick; but the step-ladder--don't forget the step-ladder!" and awayshe went, flying out of the house, her hand in that of Susan, and thewhole movement more suggestive than anything else, of two young coltsturned out in a clover-field for a summer-day frolic.

  Five minutes afterwards, a subterranean observer, could such a personhave been possible, would have seen Miss Josey most unromanticallyastride of a limb, half way up the big Tartarean cherry tree overhangingthe smoke-house, appropriating those pulpy little purple globes at amost luxurious rate, and staining her cherry lips and her white fingersvery nearly of the same color. Susy stood below, laughing and clappingher hands at mad Joseph's position, and eating, by way of sympathy, thefew clusters thrown down to her by the busy fingers.

  But we cannot linger upon this picture, pleasant as it is--nor yet uponthe adventures of Josey among the pigs, chickens, cats, with the calf(which managed to "butt" her over, even if it could not "hook"), andamong all and singular the belongings and appliances connected with thatcozy little retreat in the country village. Then what a supper followed,with the flaky white tea-biscuit made by Aunt Betsey's own hands, withthe fresh cream equally divided between the cherries and thestrawberries, and the scent of the roses stolen by the slight eveningbreeze and thrown in at the windows. Then an hour of moonlight, but onlyan hour, for the young girl was wearied out by the changes of scene thathad kept her excited during the day, and the broken rest of the nightbefore. Long hours earlier than Tom Leslie heard the whistle of histrain, braking-up at Suspension Bridge, Josephine was nestling among thewhite sheets and cool pillows of her pleasant chamber, nodded at by thevines at the window and just lovingly kissed by one glint of the moonthat stole in upon her privacy--sleeping such a sleep as wealth andpower turn wearily upon their pillows and pray for without hope.