MARTHA AND TOM SKIDDY.

135

CHAPTER XVIII.

Just so romances are, for what else

Is in them all but love and battles?

O' th' first of these we have no great matter

To treat of, but a world o' th' latter.-HUDIBRAS.

"You don't mean to say, Tom Skiddy," said Martha, as she stood leaning against the breakfast room door one morning with her hands behind her; "you don't mean to tell me that he never comes in ?"

"Never comes in-" replied Tom, who was assiduously dressing the line of knives and forks.

"Why I let him in once myself—" said Martha, with a very triumphant twist of her mouth. "Now what do you say to that, Tom Skiddy ?"

"I say he never comes in, Martha Jumps. I don't say he never did come in, in the course of his existenceI've let him in myself, maybe two or three times; but he never does come in,-not this whole summer."

"And so many times as Hulda's been there, too," said Martha parenthetically.

"Just brings her up the steps and sets her down in the hall," said Tom, "and then off he goes before you can say Jack Robinson."

""Taint likely he'd stop if you did get it out, seeing it aint his name," observed Martha; so that's not much to the point."

Everything needn't be pointed in this world," said Tom, dryly.

"That's lucky," said Martha,-"'cause some things don't take one so well as some others."

And Martha swayed herself and the door pleasantly back and forth, while Tom's motions grew dignified.

"Well, that is queer, aint it ?" said Miss Jumps at length. "Now, Tom, you're cute enough sometimeswhat's the sense of it ?"

"This is one of the other times," said Tom,

as he gave

the salt-cellars a composing little shake and set them right and left in their places.

"But after all it aint

"Oh-that's it," said Martha. worth while to keep one's sense for too uncommon occurrences; and I tell you I can't stay but a minute and a quarter, so say on,-what's the use of a man's keeping out when he's dying to come in ?"

"He's mighty tenacitous of life then," said Tom.

"Don't tell me!" said Martha impatiently. "I know! so do you."

"I know one thing," said Tom,-"I wish Miss Rosalie'd get sick." And Tom shook his head and went into the pantry for mats.

"What are you up to, Tom Skiddy ?" said Martha admiringly.

"I should be up to something-seeing where I come from," said Tom.

"Where was that ?" said Martha-" Egypt ?"

Tom signified that he was a chip of the true Charter Oak. Well, that's saying something for you, if it aint for Connecticut," observed Martha. "Then it was some one else came out of the Phoenix's ash-pan. After all, Connecticut aint the biggest state in the United,-not by several."

"And a pint of pippins aint so large as a bushel of lady apples," said Tom, shortly.

Lady apples don't grow in Connecticut, then?" said Martha, with a face of grave inquiry.

"Aint much need- said Tom. "The market's run down with 'em from other places."

"The market'll bear up under 'em this some time yet," said Martha-"the good ones. But I say, Tom Skiddy —what would you do suppos'n Miss Rosalie should take sick ?"

"Just tell him-I'd fetch him in quick enough."
"Do you s'pose he'd come ?" said Martha.
"I guess likely," said Tom.

"He'd be took all of a

sudden, you see, and wouldn't stop to think."

"It's a nice thing to amuse yourself," said Martha as she moved meditatively away, "but it aint best to be too mischievous, Tom Skiddy."

Tom was right.

Often as little Hulda spent the day at the " Quakerage," as Thornton called it, often as her friend brought her home, he never came further than the hall door. And though her little hand and voice made many an effort to bring him in, they won nothing beyond a smile and a kiss, or a kind-spoken "Not to-day."

Meanwhile the year went on, and the war with its varying fortune traversed sea and land. The English papers set forth that "the American navy must be annihilated," ""the turbulent inhabitants must be tamed," and "the Americans beaten into submission;" and nevertheless the papers on this side the sea continued to chronicle such items as these:

"The privateer Paul Jones, of this port, was spoken on the 16th April, having in her company the British ship Lord Sidmouth, her prize, with a valuable cargo, and 80,000 dollars in specie."

"The privateer Comet, of Baltimore, fell in with an English ship, brig, and schooner, under convoy of a Portuguese brig of 16 guns, which she engaged, and captured all three in less than an hour."

And then came the less pleasant intelligence, "The Lord Sidmouth, prize to the privateer Paul Jones, was recaptured on Sunday afternoon within Gull light, near New London, by the British frigate Orpheus. On the same day the Orpheus captured two other American ships."

But as the papers said again,—

"The spirit of our transatlantic brethren, in conformity with the spirit of true republicanism, rises with every succeeding miscarriage and defeat.”

Then came the battles of Lake Erie, and of the Thames ; and the American papers found full employment for all their exclamation points.

One Saturday evening, late in October, the city was in an unusual state of murmur and commotion,-tea-time seemed to have no power to send people home; and night fell on even busier streets than the day had seen. Busy tongues and busy feet kept pace with each other, and the city seemed to have poured itself out into the chief

thoroughfares. And as the great wave of people rolled steadily on and down, the upper part of the city became more and more deserted; and once off the pavements, the watchman and his sonorous cry of "All's well!" were the most notable subjects of attention.

No city stir had reached the "Quakerage,"-indeed, a bustling crowd could hardly abide there, but would, like a swarm of bees, seek some rougher place whereon to cling. And if silence reigned without, and swayed her sceptre over tree and bush, her rule was no less complete within. There was talk enough in the kitchen, but the quiet "thee" and "thou," "nay" and "yea, verily," of Rachel and her companions, sent forth no more than a gentle murmur which had rather a lullaby effect. And up-stairs the wood snapped and crackled audibly enough to attest the stillness. Whatever Mr. Penn had done with himself, he was not there; and Mr. Henry sat writing, and his mother with her usual busy play of knitting-needles. The cat dozed before the fire, sending forth occasional long and sleepy purrs as if they scarce paid for the trouble; now and then getting up to take a dreamy survey of his master or mistress, and then curling down again, as if by the sheer force of necessity.

Nor were those green eyes the only ones that took note of Mr. Henry. His mother looked at him often in the slight pauses of her work; when a needle was knit off, or the heel finished, or when the turn came in knitting the gore. He looked tired, she thought, and so he did, and was; being one of those spirits so absolutely at rest within themselves that their energies work hard for other people,-and then need from still others, rest and refreshment.

"Henry," said the Quakeress at length, "move thy head further to the right, that I may see thee,"

He smiled as he complied, and said

Well, mother?"

"I thought to see if the shadow on thy eyes came only from the lamp," she answered.

"There is no undue shade upon them now, is there, mother ?"

"Nay," said the Quakeress, though her look was a

"WE HAVE MET THE ENEMY!"

139

little wistful,-"truly I think there is nothing undue about thee." But she eyed him still; and he threw down his pen and came and took part of her ample footstool.

"If I interfere with your feet, mother, you can put them on my lap. Are you troubling yourself about me ?" "I would I could remove all trouble from thee, dear," she said.

"That would not be well for me-since it is not done," he answered gently. "Why, mother, have you forgot your favourite saying, ' Patience reacheth all ?""

The Quakeress bent down, and stroking both hands across his forehead she kissed it two or three times.

"Go back to thy work, dear child," she said, “and surely the Lord is with thee in all that thou doest. Go back, Henry, I will not have thee sit here-thou art a strong reproof to me."

He went as she bade him, but wrote less steadily than before; breaking off now and then to talk or ask some question, until his letters were done and ready for sealing. The taper was lit and the melted wax was just in a right state for the first letter, when there came a rush through the house it might have been the wind, but it was only Mr. Penn.

Slam went the door, whirl went the table an inch or two from its place, and down went Mrs. Raynor's ball of yarn upon the cat, ere Mr. Penn had the floor to his satisfaction and could give utterance to his sentiments.

"United States Brig Niagara," he began-"off the Western Sister, head of Lake Erie, Sept. 10, 1813, 4 P.M. "Dear General,-We have met the enemy-and they are ours. Two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop. Yours, with great respect and esteem, O. H. PERRY.'

His breath quite spent with the various exclamation points which were introduced to suit his fancy, Mr. Penn stood still to take the effect of his intrusion.

Mr. Henry looked up at him for a moment with some gravity; and then looking down again with a smile which if not sympathetic was at least kindly, he threw aside the wrapper on which the melted wax had dropped in the wrong place, took another and went on sealing his letters. The Quakeress felt herself more aggrieved.