saying that there was use for everything; Bije wished shewere here, to tell him the use of witch-grass. He guessed--At thismoment the tail of his eye caught a flutter, as of a petticoat, beyondthe dividing fence. Now Miss Resigned Elizabeth's petticoats neverfluttered; they were not full enough. Bije looked up, and saw--a girl.
She was standing in the porch, polishing the milk-pails. She hadcurly, fair hair, which she kept shaking back out of her eyes,--blueeyes, as bright as the little pond at home, when the sun shone on itin the morning. The red-and-white of her cheeks was so pure and clear,that Bije thought at once of a snow-apple; and his hand made aninstinctive movement towards his pocket, though it was not near thetime for "snows." There was not much wind, and yet this girl's thingsseemed "all of a flutter;" her pink calico gown, her blue-checkedapron, her flying curls,--all were full of life and dancing motion.The milk-pails twinkled in the morning sun, catching fresh gleams asshe turned them this way and that. They were not common milk-pails, itappeared, but pure silver, or they could not twinkle so. Also, the sunwas brighter than usual. Bije stood gazing, with no knowledge that hismouth was open and his brown eyes staring in a very rude way. Thewitch-grass took breath, and rested from the fierce assaults of thehoe. Bije knew nothing of witch-grass. He had never heard of such athing. There were only two things in the whole world, so far as heknew: a milk-pail and Betsy Garlick.
When Betsy looked up, as of course she did in a moment, she saw nofairy vision, but only a boy: a brown boy, in brown overalls, with hismouth open, staring as if he had never seen a girl in his life before.Betsy had seen plenty of boys, and she was not in the least afraid ofthem; so she returned Bije's stare with a calm survey which took himall in, from his conscious head to his awkward heels, and then, with atoss of her curls and a click of pails, disappeared into the house.
All that day, Bije went about in a dream. When Miss Duty asked himwhat he had been doing all the morning, he answered "Milk-pails;" andwhen she asked what they used to keep off potato-bugs out his way, hecould only say "Pink calico." At this atrocious statement, Miss Dutyturned sharply on him. "Bijah Green," she said, "if you are goin'loony, I'll thank you to take yourself off home. I don't want nonaturals round here, so now you know."
Bije was terribly frightened at this. Yesterday it would have beenrather a good joke to be discharged by the old lady, and go home tothe farm with a month's wages in his pocket; to-day, it seemed themost dreadful calamity that could happen to him; and he hastened togive such an eloquent description of the potato-bug war, as carried onin West Athens (pronounced Aythens) that Miss Duty was mollified, andreckoned she must try paris green herself. When evening came, Bijewent early for his cow, and milked that good beast with undue hasteand trepidation. Then, having carried the brimming pails into thekitchen, he returned to the shed, and looked about him with gleamingeyes. Yes, there it was! the knot-hole that he had found the otherday, when he was brushing down the cobwebs,--just opposite theback-porch of the house across the way. She would be coming out againin a minute; it wasn't likely that she had done milking yet. He drewup a broken stool, and seating himself on it, flattened his faceagainst the rough boards of the shed, and waited. The door of thehouse across the way opened, and Miss Resigned Elizabeth came slowlyout. She was younger than Miss Duty, but she looked older, beingnear-sighted, and walking with a stoop and a shuffle. She was rathergood-looking, with soft brown hair, and a little autumnal red in herthin cheeks; but to Bije's distorted vision, she seemed the mosthorrible old hag that had ever darkened the earth. Her scant grayskirt (made out of her half of a dress of Mother Bute's, who wore herskirts full), her neck-handkerchief, her carpet slippers, all were anoffence to him; and he could hardly resist the impulse to call out toher to take herself out of his field of vision, and leave it clear forthe desired one. The dreadful old woman! how she stood round, as iffolks wanted to see her, instead of wishing she was in Jericho. Shewas actually sitting down, taking out her old knitting! Such thingsought not to be allowed. There ought to be a law against uglywomen--Hark! what was that? Miss Resigned Elizabeth was calling tosomebody,--to somebody in the house. "Betsy! Betsy Garlick! come outhere, will you?"
Why, this was not such a horrid old lady after all. Now he thought ofit, she was rather nice-looking, for an old one. The door was opening,opening wider. There she came with her pails. The wonderful girl! notflashing and sparkling, as in the morning light, but with the softnessof twilight in her eyes and her lovely waving hair. What was it theother lad said, over there in the old Verona, at a minute like this?
"Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear!"
and so on, in his glowing, tropical way. But Bije could not sayanything of that sort. His heart was as high as Borneo's, and seemedto be beating in his throat, as he gazed at the fair vision; but heknew nothing of language, and if he had tried to put his thoughtsinto words, he would only have said: "Ain't she slick!" A mostun-Shakespearian Bije! an ordinary, good country-boy! But no fierygallant of them all was ever thrilled with purer fire than burned nowin his veins. He wanted to do something, something wonderful, for thisgirl. What did all those fellers do, in the story-books Delilah waseverlastingly reading? He wished he had read some of the stories,instead of laughing at them for girl's fool-talk. She was smiling now;did anybody ever smile like that before? Of course not! He wished hewere Miss Resigned Elizabeth, to be smiled at in that way; he wonderedwhat it felt like. But no! the poor old lady was deef! (she was not inthe least deaf, be it said, by the way). Deef, and that girl talkingto her! Poor old lady! It was a dreadful thing to be deef.
And so on, and so on: Ossa on Pelion of rapture and young delight andwonder, when suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. The boystarted as if he had been shot. Miss Duty Bute whirled him round, awayfrom the opening into Paradise,--I should say the knot-hole,--andstooping down, applied her eye to the aperture.
The little scene on the porch of the opposite house had no specialcharm for Miss Duty: she only saw her sister, Resigned Eliz, as shehad called her in former days, and her hired girl. The butcher hadtold her that Resigned Eliz had hired a girl; also, she, Miss Duty,had rheumatism in her joints, which made stooping painful to her.Therefore, when she straightened her poor back, and turned once moreupon the trembling Bije, her mood was none of the softest.
Briefly, he was told that if ever she caught him spying upon the otherhouse, whensoever or howsoever, he would pack off that moment of time.He had no more to do with the other house than he had with the Plaguesof Egypt, she'd have him to know; and when she wanted spying done, shecould do it herself, without hiring no shif'less, long-legged,trifling boys to do it for her. Finally, was she to have anykindling-wood split that night, or was she not?
This was very dreadful, and for some days Bije hardly dared to lookover the fence, much less to loiter in the shed for an instant. Butwhat says the old song, the Lover's song, that perhaps (who knows?)may have been sung in the streets when Will Shakespeare was a littlenaughty boy?
"Over the mountain, And over the waves; Under the fountains, And under the graves; Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way."
This being so, what could two elderly ladies, who seldom stirred fromtheir own door-yards, save to go to meeting--what were they to doagainst the all-conquering little god, or against Abijah Green, hissoldier and slave? Bije found out the way, unconscious of anyfluttering wings about him, any mischievous, rosy imp with bow andarrow.
A posy laid on the fence; then an apple, polished on the coat-sleevetill it shone again; then two more apples and a posy beside them, toshow that there could be no mistake about it.
Betsy was only eighteen, and if life was dull at Miss Duty's, it wasnot exciting at Miss Resigned Elizabeth's. She, too, had beencautioned to have nothing to do with "that bold-lookin' boy over t'the other house!" But Betsy did not think the boy was bold-look
ing.Anyhow, she hoped (but her hopes were not expressed aloud) she hadmanners enough to say thank you, when any one was pretty-behaved. Soshe said thank you, first with her eyes (because Miss ResignedElizabeth was close by, watering the flower-beds), then with her lips;and it became evident to Bije that she had the sweetest voice thatever was heard in the world. The flowers were real pretty! Betsythought a sight o' flowers. They had lots of pansies to home, and shedid miss 'em, so these seemed real homelike. Did Mr.--well, there!some might think 'twas queer for her to be talkin' to him, and neverknowin' what his name was! Bijah Green? Betsy wanted to know! Why, shehad an uncle named Green, over to South Beulah. Not her own uncle--hemarried her aunt Phrony; real nice man, he was. She wondered if he wasany relation. But what she was
Narcissa, or the Road to Rome; In Verona Page 8