the village watch-tower-第22章

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face　downward；　into　the　glowing　embers。　　It　was　a　full　minute

before　the　horror…stricken　boy　could　extricate　the　little　creature

from　the　cruel　flame　that　had　already　done　its　fatal　work。

The　baby　escaped　with　her　life；　but　was　disfigured　forever。

As　she　grew　older；　the　gentle　hand　of　time　could　not　entirely

efface　the　terrible　scars。　　One　cheek　was　wrinkled　and　crimson；

while　one　eye　and　the　mouth　were　drawn　down　pathetically。

The　accident　might　have　changed　the　disposition　of　any　child；

but　Lyddy　chanced　to　be　a　sensitive；　introspective　bit　of　feminine

humanity；　in　whose　memory　the　burning　flame　was　never　quenched。

Her　mother；　partly　to　conceal　her　own　wounded　vanity；　and　partly

to　shield　the　timid；　morbid　child；　kept　her　out　of　sight　as　much

as　possible；　so　that　at　sixteen；　when　she　was　left　an　orphan；

she　had　lived　almost　entirely　in　solitude。



She　became；　in　course　of　time；　a　kind　of　general　nursery

governess　in　a　large　family　of　motherless　children。

The　father　was　almost　always　away　from　home；　his　sister　kept　the　house；

and　Lyddy　stayed　in　the　nursery；　bathing　the　brood　and　putting

them　to　bed；　dressing　them　in　the　morning；　and　playing　with　them

in　the　safe　privacy　of　the　back　garden　or　the　open　attic。

They　loved　her；　disfigured　as　she　was；　for　the　child　despises

mere　externals；　and　explores　the　heart　of　things　to　see　whether　it

be　good　or　evil；but　they　could　never　induce　her　to　see　strangers；

nor　to　join　any　gathering　of　people。



The　children　were　grown　and　married　now；　and　Lyddy　was　nearly

forty　when　she　came　into　possession　of　house　and　lands　and　fortune；

forty；　with　twenty　years　of　unexpended　feeling　pent　within　her。

Forty；　that　is　rather　old　to　be　interesting；　but　age　is　a　relative　matter。

Haven't　you　seen　girls　of　four…and…twenty　who　have　nibbled　and　been

nibbled　at　ever　since　they　were　sixteen；　but　who　have　neither　caught

anything　nor　been　caught？　　They　are　old；　if　you　like；　but　Lyddy　was

forty　and　still　young；　with　her　susceptibilities　cherished；　not　dulled；

and　with　all　the　〃language　of　passion　fresh　and　rooted　as　the　lovely

leafage　about　a　spring。〃



IV。





〃He　shall　daily　joy　dispense

Hid　in　song's　sweet　influence。〃



Emerson's　_Merlin。_





Lyddy　had　very　few　callers　during　her　first　month

as　a　property　owner　in　Edgewood。　　Her　appearance　would

have　been　against　her　winning　friends　easily　in　any　case；

even　if　she　had　not　acquired　the　habits　of　a　recluse。

It　took　a　certain　amount　of　time；　too；　for　the　community

to　get　used　to　the　fact　that　old　Mrs。　Butterfield　was　dead；

and　her　niece　Lyddy　Ann　living　in　the　cottage　on　the　river　road。

There　were　numbers　of　people　who　had　not　yet　heard　that　old

Mrs。　Butterfield　had　bought　the　house　from　the　Thatcher　boys；

and　that　was　fifteen　years　ago；　but　this　was　not　strange；　for；

notwithstanding　aunt　Hitty's　valuable　services　in　disseminating

general　information；　there　was　a　man　living　on　the　Bonny　Eagle

road　who　was　surprised　to　hear　that　Daniel　Webster　was　dead；

and　complained　that　folks　were　not　so　long…lived　as　they

used　to　be。



Aunt　Hitty　thought　Lyddy　a　Goth　and　a　Vandal　because　she　took　down

the　twenty　silver　coffin　plates　and　laid　them　reverently　away。

〃Mis'　Butterfield　would　turn　in　her　grave；〃　she　said；　〃if　she　knew　it。

She　ain't　much　of　a　housekeeper；　I　guess；〃　she　went　on；　as　she　cut

over　Dr。　Berry's　old　trousers　into　briefer　ones　for　Tommy　Berry。

〃She　gives　considerable　stuff　to　her　hens　that　she'd　a　sight　better　heat

over　and　eat　herself；　in　these　hard　times　when　the　missionary　societies　can't

hardly　keep　the　heathen　fed　and　clothed　and　warmedno；　I　don't　mean　warmed；

for　most　o'　the　heathens　live　in　hot　climates；　somehow　or　'nother。

My　back　door's　jest　opposite　hers；　it's　across　the　river；　to　be　sure；

but　it's　the　narrer　part；　and　I　can　see　everything　she　does　as　plain

as　daylight。　　She　washed　a　Monday；　and　she　ain't　taken　her　clothes　in　yet；

and　it's　Thursday。　　She　may　be　bleachin'　of　'em　out；　but　it　looks　slack。

I　said　to　Si　last　night　I　should　stand　it　till　'bout　Friday；seein'　'em　lay

on　the　grass　there；　but　if　she　didn't　take　'em　in　then；　I　should　go

over　and　offer　to　help　her。　　She　has　a　fire　in　the　settin'…room　'most

every　night；　though　we　ain't　had　a　frost　yet；　and　as　near's　I　can

make　out；　she's　got　full　red　curtains　hangin'　up　to　her　windows。

I　ain't　sure；　for　she　don't　open　the　blinds　in　that　room　till　I

get　away　in　the　morning；　and　she　shuts　'em　before　I　get　back　at　night。

Si　don't　know　red　from　green；　so　he's　useless　in　such　matters。

I'm　going　home　late　to…night；　and　walk　down　on　that　side　o'　the　river；

so't　I　can　call　in　after　dark　and　see　what　makes　her　house　light　up

as　if　the　sun　was　settin'　inside　of　it。〃



As　a　matter　of　fact；　Lyddy　was　reveling　in　house…furnishing

of　a　humble　sort。　　She　had　a　passion　for　color。　　There　was

a　red…and…white　straw　matting　on　the　sitting…room　floor。

Reckless　in　the　certain　possession　of　twenty　dollars　a　month；

she　purchased　yards　upon　yards　of　turkey　red　cotton；

enough　to　cover　a　mattress　for　the　high…backed　settle；　for　long

curtains　at　the　windows；　and　for　cushions　to　the　rockers。

She　knotted　white　fringes　for　the　table　covers　and　curtains；

painted　the　inside　of　the　fireplace　red；　put　some　pots；

of　scarlet　geraniums　on　the　window…sills；　filled　newspaper

rack　with　ferns　and　tacked　it　over　an　ugly　spot　in　the　wall；

edged　her　work…basket　with　a　tufted　trimming　of　scarlet　worsted；

and　made　an　elaborate　photograph　case　of　white　crash　and　red

cotton　that　stretched　the　entire　length　of　the　old…fashioned

mantelshelf；　and　held　pictures　of　Mr。　Reynolds；　Miss

Elvira　Reynolds；　George；　Susy；　Anna；　John；　Hazel；　Ella；

and　Rufus　Reynolds；　her　former　charges。　　When　all　this　was　done；

she　lighted　a　little　blaze　on　the　hearth；　took　the　red　curtains

from　their　hands；　let　them　fall　gracefully　to　the　floor；

and　sat　down　in　her　rocking…chair；　reconciled　to　her　existence

for　absolutely　the　first　time　in　her　forty　years。



I　hope　Mrs。　Butterfield　was　happy　enough　in　Paradise　to　appreciate

and　feel　Lyddy's　joy。　　I　can　even　believe　she　was　glad　to　have　died；

since　her　dying　could　bring　such　content　to　any　wretched　living　human　soul。

As　Lydia　sat　in　the　firelight；　the　left　side　of　her　poor　face

in　shadow；　you　saw　that　she　was　distinctly　harmonious。　　Her　figure；

clad　in　plain　black…and…white　calico　dress；　was　a　graceful；　womanly　one。

She　had　beautifully　sloping　shoulders　and　a　sweet　wrist。　　Her　hair　was

soft　and　plentiful；　and　her　hands　were　fine；　strong；　and　sensitive。

This　possibility　of　rare　beauty　made　her　scars　and　burns　more　pitiful；

for　if　a　cheap　chrome　has　smirch　across　its　face；　we　think　it　a　matter

of　no　moment；　but　we　deplore　the　smallest　scratch　or　blur　on　any

work　of　real　art。



Lydia　felt　a　little　less　bitter　and　hopeless　about　life　when　she

sat　in　front　of　her　own　open　fire；　after　her　usual　twilight　walk。

It　was　her　habit　to　wander　down　the　wooded　road　after　her　simple

five…o'clock　supper；　gatherings　ferns　or　goldenrod　or　frost　flowers

for　her　vases；　and　one　night　she　heard；　above　the　rippling　of　the　river；

the　strange；　sweet；　piercing　sound　of　Anthony　Croft's　violin。



She　drew　nearer；　and　saw　a；　middle…aged　man　sitting　in　the　kitchen

doorway；　with　a　lad　of　ten　or　twelve　years　leaning　against　his　knees。

She　could　tell　little　of　his　appearance；　save　that　he　had　a　high　forehead；

and　hair　that　waved　well　back　from　it　in　rather　an　unusual　fashion。

He　was　in　his　shirt…sleeves；　but　the　gingham　was　scrupulously　clean；

and　he　had　the　uncommon　refinement　of　a　collar　and　necktie。

Out　of　sight　herself；　Lyddy　drew　near　enough　to　hear；　and　this　she

did　every　night　without　recognizing　that　the　musician　was　blind。

The　music　had　a　curious　effect　upon　her。　　It　was　a　hitherto　unknown　influence

in　her　life；　and　it　interpreted　her；　so　to　speak；　to　herself。

As　she　sat　on　the　bed　of　brown　pine　needles；　under　a　friendly　tree；

her　head　resting　against