been Lady Lincoln? But as for this purlieu of creation, I know of no chance a body has for a husband, without they pick up some stray Narraganset, or wandering Tarateen."
"O, don't name such a thing," said Mary, shuddering.
"Why, what makes you take me in earnest?" answered Sally. "But perhaps since there are so many young folks to pick and choose among, you'll be weary of my crackling mirth, as that stupid Graves calls it."
"No, Sally, these new comers won't make me forget how kind you have always been in sickness and health; but, to tell you the truth, there is something troubles me---and if you'll promise not to tell of it, I'll tell you."
"O, I'll promise that, and keep it too. If I was disposed to tell your secrets, I don't know any body but owls and bats I should tell them too."
"Well then, you must know, the other night I did a wicked thing. It frightens me to think thereof. You know the trick I told you about? Well, a few weeks ago, I tried it; and just as I was saying over the verses the third time, Hobomok, the Indian, jumped into the circle."
"Hobomok, the Indian!"
"Yes;---and I screamed when I saw him."
"I believe so indeed. But was it he, real flesh and blood?"
"It was he himself; though I thought at first, it must be his ghost?"
"But how came he there, at that time of night?"
"That's more than I can tell. He said he came to throw a bow on the sacrifice heap, down in Endicott's hollow; but I don't know what should put it into his head just at that time. What do you suppose did?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Mary. I think it is an awful wicked thing to try these tricks. There's no telling what may come of asking the devil's assistance. He is an acquaintance not so easily shook off, when you've once spoke with him, to my certain knowledge. My father says he's no doubt the Lord has given Beelzebub power to choose many a damsel's husband, to recompense her for such like wickedness. I'm sure I have been curious enough to know, but I never dared to speak to Satan about the matter."
"I believe it is a sin to be repented of; but what could I do? Father won't suffer me to see Charles any where, if he can help it; and if I dared to be disobedient to him, I wouldn't do it while my poor mother was alive, for I know it would break her heart. But there are two things more about this affair which puzzle me. Just as I came out of the hollow, I met Charles. He said he dreamed I was in danger there, and he could not help coming to see whether I was there or not. So I told him how foolish I had been, and he laughed, and said he should be my husband after all. But the strangest thing of all, is, that Englishman you saw me give a letter to, to-day, whispered in my ear never to try a trick again, for fear worse should come of it. I wonder how he knew any thing concerning it?"
"Likely as not, he followed you. Or may be Hobomok told him. But I am glad Mr. Brown dreamed about it. After all, I guess he is to be the one; and Hobomok only came that way after some stray fox or squirrel he caught sight of."
"I don't know how it was," replied Mary, with a deep sigh. "I suppose I must submit to whatever is fore-ordained for me. Folks who have the least to do with love are the best off. The longer you keep as free from it as you are now, the happier you"ll be."
"May be you don't know how free that is," rejoined Sally. "If you had half an eye for other folks' affairs, you would remember something about a young man in Plymouth who used to help me milk my cows, inasmuch as you have often heard me speak of him. Do you know I spoke to him on the beach this morning? I should have had a good opportunity to have seen him again, if it had not been for that everlasting fellow, talking about `crackling thorns;' I would not care an'he had one of them in his tongue. Howsomever, if I guess right concerning Mr. Collier, he did'nt come up to see the cattle. But I can't stop to say any more, for the cows an't milked yet; and now these new orders have come from London, and there are so many sick folks from the vessels, we shall have enough to do. So, good bye," said the roguish damsel, as she sprung over the log inclosure, into her father's farm-yard.
Chapter III
I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you;
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Beside yourself, to like of.
Tempest
Notwithstanding her increase of avocations, and the many wearisome nights she had spent in tending the sick who had come among them, there was no one more heartily rejoiced at the new order of things than Sally Oldham, whom I find mentioned in the manuscript as "a promp and jolly damsell, much given to lightnesse of speeche, but withal virtuous." The merry maiden, amid all the labours and privations necessarily attendant upon their lonely situation at Plymouth, had found means to put on the airs of rustic coquetry with considerable success; and therefore she had felt no little regret when her father's passionate and unjustifiable conduct toward the ruling elders, had subjected him to the shameful punishment referred to in the first chapter, and driven his family from their comparatively comfortable home. Her only consolation during this period was in recounting to Mary the numerous acts of gallantry she had received from her Plymouth lovers. The young man whom she had seen upon the beach, on the morning of the 28th, had a kinder remembrance than all his competitors; and when she heard that he had walked from Plymouth, with Hobomok for his guide, in the true spirit of female vanity, she judged that nothing but her own pretty face was the object of his journey. Still it seemed she had some fears about his diffidence, for when she had taken her milking-pail and quietly seated herself beside the miserable pile of logs and boughs, which she dignified with the name of a cow-house, she muttered to herself, "I wish Collier was a little easier to take a hint." Her cogitations were interrupted by a well known voice, which had become associated in Sally's mind with nought but "the crackling of thorns." "What brought you hither, Mr. Graves?" inquired the maiden.
"I thought," replied he, as he stood scratching his head with one hand, and holding out the other in token of amity, "I thought, may be, you'd repent your rashness this morning, inasmuch as husbands don't grow on every tree in these deserts."
Notwithstanding this cogent argument, well backed with humble gestures, the offered peace was rejected; and his clammy hand remained awkwardly upraised in the air, like the quivering claw of a dying lobster.
"I tell you sir," rejoined the angry damsel, "that I am weary of your unsavory discourse; and if husbands like you, grew by hundreds on the lowest boughs of the trees, they might stay there till doomsday before I'd stop to pluck 'em therefrom."
"But you'll let me take the milk across for you," continued the persevering suitor, as she stept upon a narrow board that was laid across a deep ditch. Sally, in the wickedness of her heart, held out the pail to him; but just as he was in the act of taking it, she managed by a gentle motion, to place him ancle-deep in the mud below; then turning round for an instant, with a loud and provoking laugh, she soon disappeared.
As Mr. Graves rose, and struck off the mud from his clothes, he murmured, "It is plain she is given over to a reprobate mind;" and it was noticed he never afterwards darkened Mr. Oldham's dwelling.
To Sally the day seemed to pass tardily away, for she had predicted, that the evening would bring a visit from Mr. Collier; and accordingly the manuscript states, that "the curtains of nighte were but halfe shut, when he seated
