Rensselaer Republican, Volume 15, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 May 1883 — An OLD-FASHIONED LOVE. [ARTICLE]

An OLD-FASHIONED LOVE.

The house was unpainted and onewtoried. Down to the small-paned windows, with their thick, green glass, sloped the roof, bearded at the eaves with . moss and patched with yellow and j gray lichens, and at one end rose a broad, chimney, up which clambered a "woodbine just feathering out with deli•cate new leaves. There was a stone step at the front door; in was worn hollow at the sides where the lilacs grew, and formed a receptacle for the sweetdrooped petals of the pink, old-fash-doned roses, as well as for the pale-pur-ple flowers. A gnarled and ancient cherry-tree shaded the quaint dwelling, and all about it stood crooked, untrimmed apple and wild-plum trees, and along its irregular stone wall sprang currant bushes and blackberry runners that twisted and turned in and out between the great loose stones and stretched over the pathway.. The place was a picturesque bit in the landscape. One came upon it abruptly over a rise in the high road, and it was like an old-time vignette to a whole series of modern and magnificent country residences that formed the suburb of a large city. It had been occupied by generations of the same family, and so little had they varied in physical or mental traits that it was difficult to tell where sire left off and son began. Their small farming had continued from year th year without perceptible improvement or change—save that of the seasons; their garments descended by inheritance, and they eschewed all modern ideas of living or dying, and were at length laid in silent rows, side by side, in the old daisied graveyard on the hillside. At the time of which I write there remained among the living of this family of Barnets but one widow and her granddaughter, Hetty, a girl of 18. A hired man attended to the farm duties, ■as had his father before him; he was faithful, simple and stubbornly set -against all innovatipns. Hetty Barnet, the last of the name, .according to her neighbors, “favored” her father wonderfully, and the Barnet men had been remarkable for fine physique, well developed, clean of blood and tall in stature. Hetty was a handaome girl/ with a bright, wild-rose complexion, clear brown eyes and a rich profusion of wavy chestnut hair. She moved with a serene young dignity, unruffled by tlito stern exigencies of fate, and looked out from under long lashes with a frank, innocent expression that was foreign to all modern coquetry. . And yet the girl did not lack for admirers, nor a pleasant consciousness of the power to win them; nature in her -changing color, her sweet red lips and ‘■the fluttering dimple in her rounded, luealthy cheek did her coquetting for her, and many a wistful glance was cast under the cherry boughs, where in the summer time she was wont to sit. > noon, as a dashing team ascended anotdistant hill; “grandmother! wjio do you think is coming up the road ? It is the Widow Campbell’s son. What a display he makes with his black horses and .handsome ca Tinge I” Mrs. Barnet put on her spec*t»c!es, smoothed her calico apron, and oune out from among the beehives near the garden gate. "Well, I declare to’t, fie does!” ex--dmmed the astonished old lady. “It’s new turnout as sure as I’m Mehitable Barnet! Before his .father, Ebenezer •(Sseapbell, died he djdn’t know scarcely ■wrbere to get his livin’. That’s his Uncle John’s money a-gallivatin’ on now, Hetty, you may be sure of it.” "Why, grandmother, John Jay hasn’t Uft him what’s his own— yet.” Hetty’s month grew round as a puckered rosebad. “He isn’t dead.” "Dead, child! Nobody said he was, iir goin’ to die, either, but everybody knows there ain’t no possible chance of his marryin’, and young Campbell is dashin’, I*tell you, on his future chances. Wa ain't the kind to wait for a ‘dead

man's shoes’;- he’s jest a-wearin’ of ’em while his uncle’s a-livin’. He’s the only likely heir, Hetty, to the big Jay property.” “But John Jay is not old,' grandmother,” returned the girl, vehemently. “His hair may have turned a bit, but he is not an old man.” “Not so old, as you say, Hetty, and the old lady looked sharply over her spectacles at her granddaughter. “But he has dandled you on his knee of’n enough.” Hetty blushed, and devoted herself to her task of shilling, peas, but Grandmother Barnet was diligently looking for insects on her favorite rosebush, and saw»nothing. “You see,” she continued, “there was some kind of talk, Hetty, about John’s havin’ had a disappointment more’n ten years ago. Leastways, it ain’t known he ever cared about any other woman, an’ it stands to reason, he’s told his nephew so. That young man, you may be certain, is pretty sure of the Jay property or he wouldn’t dash out as he’s been a-doin’. Fine clothes, -and horses, and dinners, I’m told, at the old place;” and the old lady shook her head deprecatingly, as she held up an unfortunate insect between her merciless thumb and finger. All the color had gone out of the girl’s cheeks now; she bent lower over her work, and .was sil.ent. “Why, Hetty, child, you can’t have forgot John. He used to visit here for quite a spell about the time you first came home from school. He used to sit evenings with your cousin Jim afore he went to Californy on that unlucky business. You can’t altogether have forgot John?” “Oh, no, grandmother,” said Hetty, quietly, “I remember him very well. ”

“An’ how sudden he did take himself off! He scarcely come in to say good-by. I always wondered at that, because it wasn’t his way, nohow. And Marthy Ames (that’s his mother’s second cousin) told me file family hadn’t heard a thing from him since he went.- It’s a queer proceeding. Sometimes, Hetty, I did use to think that—bless me if young Campbell ain’t turned up the lane and enmin’ straight here, and me with my old cap on 1 You’ll have to see him, child.” And Hetty did “see him, ” as she had done before. He tied his horse to a limb of an apple tree, and came in over the sunken, vine-colored stone wall, and sat down on the grass, leaning on his elbow, with Hetty’s, sweet, fresh face above, and in his bright young way made himself agreeable. Yet the girl could not ever quite bring herself to feel at ease with him, for with all his winsome spontaneity of manner he seemed too conscious of himself and his surroundings that were all foreign to Hetty’s. But he liked her, and never appeared to better advantage than when he was striving to make himself acceptable to her. “You will come some afternoon for a drive with me,” he was saying, as Hetty admired the attractive turnout by the roadside. “Why not now, this lovely day?” he added, eagerly starting up. “It is splendid going, and we have three hours till dusk. We can go down the old mill road and get a look at the river. ”

Hetty’s young heart thrilled with innocent anticipation. A drive behind such a team was a treat. But the proposition was a novel one to a Barnet. They were a primitive people, and whoever married into the family was sure of getting a wife whose thoughts were fresh as the morning dew, and lips as fragrant and pure as wild roses. To accept a “promiscuous” attention was unhfeard of. But this sudden temptation was over strong, and old Grandmother Barnet, proud of her Hetty’s attractions, made no serious objections, and so the young couple drove gayly away in the golden sunlight. How delightful the drive was along the daisyfringed country road, into a woodland path where the spicy hemlock branches drifted across their faces, and up. to a height that overlooked the sleepy, winding river! It was an episode in the monotonous girl-life, and she surrendered herself to a keen enjoyment of it. * * “Who do you think has been here, Hetty?” said her grandmother, as the girl appeared, with the first star at the door. “John Jay.” Hettie drew a quick breath and the light died suddenly out of her eyds. “He asked most particularly for you, child, as soon as he came in, and I told him you’d gone off to drive with * his nephew. I thought perhaps he’d be glad the young man wasn’t with worse company. ” “And what did—he say' grandmother?” asked the girl slowly. “He said, ‘Does she go often with him ?’ ” “And you told him—” Hettie paused with a choking breathlessness. The old lady deliberately took out her glasses, rubbed them carefully on the corner of her apron, and then placing them on her nose, looked at her granddaughter reflectively as she responded : “Well, yes, child, I didn’t see no reason for not telling him that John Campbell had been coming about here pretty regular.” “Oh, grandmother!” cried Hettie with burning cheeks. “Well, I did say this was the first downright set attention afore folks. And told him, child, there wa’nt to be fonnd nowhere a liklier girl than my Hetty, an’young Campbell might count himself powerful lucky to get you. The Barnets were always a particular set, and I’ve no objection to John Jay knowing it, He don’t want to throw his property away, it ain’t all likely, on a relation with a shiftless wife.” “Grandmother!” cried Hetty, again;

“oh, grandmother, you never told him that!” “Of course I did. The Barnets was always an outspoken family. John will have to settle the property onto somebody. It may as well be your husband as— Bless me, Hetty Barnet!” For the young girl broke suddenly Unto a passionate storm of sqbs and tears. “What on earth is the matter, child ? You ain’ got it in your head John Jay is is going to die, have you? He looks amazin’ well and young, considerin’. Don’t get notions—” Whatever ailed Hetty, she had disappeared, and had hidden herself from her loquacious grandmother behind the old sweep, near the lilac bushes. There she sat until the stars grew brighter through the purple night and 4 the dew dampened the soft, disheveled’hair that was already wet with tears. She heard the lonesome cry of the whip-poor-will from the distant meadow, and the call seemed to mock her own loneliness. “Hetty.” The girl started up with a bounding heart and outstretched arms, to find them clasped in a pair of stronger ones. She was trembling like the shm poplar in the corner of the yard, and only found breath to say: “Yes, of course I am glad,” and even to her own ears her voice sounded unnatural and formal. Her fingers were slowly loosed from the warm grasp, and fell down cold and limp; the tall, bearded man at her side retreated, and paused to lean heavily against the wellcurb. Then he said, in a voice well under control:

“I am only in town for a few hours. I shall make another trip later to the Rocky Mountains. Hetty,” he added, after a few moment’s silence, “I believe I shall never come back again. It is the life that best suits me—this wandering one—and who should care now?” Hetty’s heart throbbed hard. He was only corroborating what so many declared—that he “never would marry, that desire for a love and home was within him. She replied primly: “Your sister will miss you.” “She has her interests,” returned John Jay, his glance seeking passionately out the sweet face in the settling shadow. “My nephew—has his. No one needs me, no one will miss me.” Hetty did not hear the long, quivering sigh that issued from the strong lean’s breast. “Yes,” he continued, “a roving life suits me after all. You are happy And satisfied, Hetty?” The apparently careless question made the girl’s heart sink like lead. But the Barnets were proud, and followed the way of their kind, and Hetty dare not cry out. ' She only said, beneath her breath: “Yes, happy. Our lives do not change.” “Well, I am/ glad—glad,” responded her companion, drearily, taking once again the girl’s cold hand in his. “I can only hope you may ever be able to say so. In the change that must of necessity now come to you, I wish you all joy and prosperity. Good-by, Hetty. I am going now, child. God keep you!” and the only man Hetty Barnet ever loved was gone. * * * “I declare to’t you’re a queer girl, Hetty Barnet!” her grandmother said. The two old women sat as of old under the apple boughs. The face of the elder was -seamed with "many new seams, and even with her glasses she could not see her granddaughter’s face opposite, and her tremulous hands were useless for all earthly work. But to the end the sturdy race held their own mentally, and Mehitable Barnet was not an exception. “Why, queer, grandmother?” responded Hetty, in her sweet, calm way. “Because I do not intend to marry ? Am I not content with you? I could not bear to leave the dear pld place to strangers- and neglect, as I should be obliged to if I married, and you would not wish to live elsewhere. I think I will always stay here.” But Mrs. Barnet realized her own approaching end, and fretted constantly at leaving her granddaughter alone and unprotected.

“Hetty, child,” shp said, querulously, “I always will wonder about young Campbell. He was desperately in love with you, and he was a good match. And then after John Jay deeded him his fine place, too—” “Don’t, grandmother, please don’t talk over the. affair,” pleaded Hetty. “It is so long past now. Ten years’ ago. only think of it, and Mr. Campbell is married and has two childfen. I never loved him, grandmother. Would you have a Barnet marry for money or family?” The old lady bridled with the dignity of her kind. “No, never, child. Ton are right. The Lord will watch over you.” Hetty sighed softly and went on with her work. She had not changed much, this fair, healthsome woman; there was a calmer expression upon her brow, Mid a not infrequent look of yearning sadness in her eyes, but she was still the last “handsome Barnet.” Much had come to pass to fret her/ The faithful serving-man had been “gathered to his fathers,” and matters, consequently, gone wrong on the unproductive farm. There was a mortgage, too, upon the place that threatened her with trouble, and Hetty had ho one with whom she might discuss business matters, so entirely had she and her grandmother lived to themselves. But her love for the quaint old house was as that of all her kindred, and she resolved in souie way to live and die beneath its roof-tree. Day and night she turned the problem in her brain, and prayed for a speedy solution of it. Hetty had

assisted her helpless grandmother to retire, and then stiblled down to her favorite seat on the low wall under the wild cherry tree. A young moon curved its bow in the purple sky, the dew fed down like silver beads, and once again the lonely woman listened to the faiirt, far call of a whip-poor-will in the distant meadow. How the past returned to her! “At times,” she whispered, softly, as memory broke within her past control, “I do believe John loved me. Why could I not have forgotten self, pride, shame, everything, and tried to understand? So much seems clear to me now. But wo Barnets were ever taught to suffer in silence—and so he went for ever. Ah! me! I wonder where he has been all these years? He told me he should never come back, but I did not believe him. The giving tip all he posessed to his nephew proved how mistaken I was—how right were all the rest. Ten years! How long! How long.” Hetty pressed her hands over her eyes, and the hot tears trickled through her fingers. She brushed them vehemently away. “He never intended to marry. I know it. Nor do L But it is a lopely life—a lonely life!” Plaintively came the cry of the bird. Hetty was alive with memories, and she startled.

“Just so the bird cried out when he said ‘good-by.’" Her head sank on her arm, and the shadowy night folded her in sad reveries. “Hetty! Hetty!” Softly, tenderly the voice, out of the long ago, penetrated her dream of lost love. “John.” A firm footstep sprang into the shadow, strong, arms lifted her out of it into the star-light, and Hetty knew the hour of her joy was come. “I have returned to find you!” cried her lover, triumphantly. “I dared not believe it until I saw you here alone. My nephew is married, thank God, and you —you, my only love, are free, and mine! Neither riches nor pride could tempt you. When I learned this, I dared to hope my earlier dreams had not misled me. And you have always loved me, Hetty?” “I do not think a Barnet ever loves but once,” said the happy womaa, between smiles and tears. “But, you remember, yeur grandmother gave me to understand—” “Ah,” interrupted Hetty, clasping her lover as though she might again lose him, “remember also that a Barnet never reveals her love unasked. Grandmother could not know the way of my heart.” What plans the stars and leaves were witnesses to that night one cannot know, but Hetty made no delay to wed with her first love, and the quaint house received another inmate. Still picturesque and moss-roofed, it stands beneath its gnarled old trees, and children’s voices that call Hetty “mother” are heard merrily mocking the robins in the springtime. Peace, plenty and happiness dwell therein, and one is fain to say: “There is no love like the old love.”