Part 17 (1/2)
But there was another, carved more than once, which might well cause a deeper shudder. It ran:-
”Beneath this stone Death's prisoner lies, Ye stone shall move, ye prisoner rise, When Jesus, with Almighty word, Calls his dead Saints to meet their Lord.”
”Dreadful theology, don't you think?” Mr. Hadley said, turning with a little s.h.i.+ver to the girls, and their grandfather added his a.s.sent to theirs with emphasis. ”Yes, Jesus hasn't got any dead saints. They or'
to have remembered what He said Himself, that G.o.d is not the G.o.d of the dead, but of the living.”
But by far the greater number of these ancient headstones were marked with texts of scripture, and however mirth might be provoked by sentiment or phrase from other sources, the simple dignity of the book of books always brought back seriousness and reminded on what word the hearts of men had leaned, through the long generations, to endure the old, old sorrow of death. The faith of the fathers, not their fas.h.i.+ons, was the thought which one must bear away in the end from such a spot.
They had paused longest by the graves of Ruel Saxon's people, and again as they left the place he lingered for a moment by the low gray line of stones. ”They were G.o.d-fearing men and women, all of them,” he said, with tender reverence in his voice; then, lifting his face, he added, with inexpressible pride and solemnity:-
”My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth, But higher far my proud pretensions rise- The son of parents pa.s.sed into the skies.”
That was the last word spoken before they let down the bars in the old stone wall and made their way back to their horses. Possibly the young man, who was so anxious to establish his family record, may have caught, at that moment, a new thought of ancestral honors.
It had been a full afternoon, and it was a late one when they reached the farmhouse. Mr. Hadley would have mounted to his buggy at once after helping Stella down, but the deacon interposed.
”Why, it's high time for supper,” he said, ”and you mustn't drive back to Hartridge without having a bite to eat, you or your horses either.”
”Of course not,” said Stella, cordially. ”We count on your staying to supper.” And then she added archly, ”I really think you ought, for the sake of your great-great-grandfather.”
”Whom your great-great-grandmother could never get rid of?” he replied, laughing. ”I'm not sure but on his account I ought to go, to convince you that his descendants at least can turn their backs on pleasure.”
But he did not insist on doing it, and it is extremely doubtful whether Jabez Bridgewood ever enjoyed a meal under the old roof more than Philip Hadley enjoyed the one that followed. The fact was, both Stella and her mother had foreseen that the delays and digressions of the old gentleman in showing his party around would consume the afternoon, and bring the young man back at about this time. They had conferred carefully as to the setting of the table in the best old-fas.h.i.+oned china, with a pretty mingling of Stella's hand-painted pieces; the menu had been settled to a nicety in advance, and the delicate French salad, which Mr. Hadley p.r.o.nounced the best he had ever tasted, had been compounded by Stella herself before leaving the house.
Tom and Kate, who were just in from a tramp to a distant pasture, had their places with the others. Tom had objected at first to sitting down with ”the nabob,” as he called their guest, but Kate's persuasions and his own curiosity finally overcame him.
The meal was a social one. The girls talked of their intended outing, and Mr. Hadley, who was much interested, made some capital suggestions.
Then a question or two drew him out in regard to his own summer, and he talked quite charmingly of a yachting trip in July. There was a plan for the White Mountains early in September. He had succeeded better than usual in killing time this summer, he said; to which he added gracefully, that he believed no other day of it had been as pleasant as this which was just ending.
This brought them back to the excursion of the afternoon, and Esther in particular grew quite eloquent over the delights of it.
”That's what it is to live in an old country,” she said wistfully. ”You feel as if you belonged to the past as well as the present when you stand in the places where the things you've read of really happened. I think it's beautiful to have historic a.s.sociations.”
There was an approving murmur over this sentiment, but Kate did not join in it. There was no mistaking its implied suggestion of a point in which New England had the advantage over her native state. She might possibly have let it pa.s.s if Tom had not had the indiscretion at that moment to press her foot under the table. Up to this point her part in the conversation had been mostly questions, but now she advanced an opinion boldly.
”Well, I must say I never wanted to live in an old country on that account,” she said. ”I remember when mother used to read Child's History of England to us, I was always glad that our country began later, and that we didn't have those cruel times, when people were beheaded for nothing, and princes' eyes put out by their wicked uncles, in our history at all. Those things you've been hearing about this afternoon-there wasn't anything very beautiful about some of them. That poor old thing they drowned-I don't suppose she was any more a witch than I am. And that rock where Whitefield preached-it was a mean bigoted thing to keep him out of the churches, and I should think good people would be ashamed every time they looked at the rock.”
There was silence for a minute when she ended. Then Mr. Hadley said, with a smile, ”In other words, if you have historic a.s.sociations at all, you want those of the very best sort.” To which he added, lifting his eyebrows a trifle, ”I presume you wouldn't object to Bunker Hill and Lexington!”
Kate took a swallow of water before speaking. Then she said with dignity: ”I have never regarded Bunker Hill and Lexington as local affairs. I think they belong to the whole country!”
Mr. Hadley made her a bow across the table. ”Capital!” he said. ”I surrender.”
”If you knew how my cousin Kate stands up for everything connected with her own part of the country, you'd surrender in advance any attempt to impress her with the beauties of ours,” said Stella, laughing. ”Talk of loyalty to one's home!”
”Well, you certainly have a remarkably fine section of country out your way,” said Mr. Hadley, graciously. ”My father was there buying grain one summer, and I remember he came back perfectly enthusiastic over everything except the ague, which he brought home with him, and had hard work to get rid of. I suppose you'll admit that you do have some chills and fever lying round in your low lands.”
”Oh, people have to have something,” said Kate, carelessly, ”but ague isn't the worst thing that ever was. People very seldom die of it, and it's really the most interesting disease in the world. I could give you a list as long as my arm of the ingenious ways country people have of curing it; and some of them are perfectly fascinating, they're so queer.