EXCITEMENT? The venerable Deacon Twinkham, the oldest inhabitant, said there had not been such an excitement at Hardhack since the meeting-house steeple blew down in a terrible equinoctial, forty-seven years before.
And who could wonder?
Even a larger town than Hardhack would have experienced unusual agitation at seeing one of its own boys, who had a few years before gone away poor, slender and twenty, come back with broad shoulders, a full beard, and a pocketful of money, dug out of the ugly hills of Nevada.
But even the return of Nathan Brown, in so unusual a condition for a Hardhackian to be found in, was not the fullness of Hardhack’s excitement, for Nathan had brought with him Tom Crewne and Harry Faxton, two friends he had made during his absence, and both of them broad-shouldered, full-bearded, and auriferous as Nathan himself.
No wonder the store at Hardhack was all the while crowded with those who knew all about Nathan, or wanted to—no wonder that “Seen ’m?” was the passing form of salutation for days.
The news spread like wildfire, and industrious farmers deliberately took a day, drove to town, and stood patiently on the door-steps of the store until they had seen one or more of the wonderful men.
The good Deacon Twinkham himself, who had, at a late prayer-meeting, stated that “his feet already felt the splashin’ of Jordan’s waves,” temporarily withdrew his aged limbs from the rugged banks famed in song, and caused them to bear him industriously up and down the Ridge Road, past Nathan’s mother’s house, until he saw all three of the bearded Crœsuses seat themselves on the piazza to smoke. Then he departed, his good face affording an excellent study for a “Simeon in the Temple.”
Even the peaceful influences of the Sabbath were unable to restore tranquillity to Hardhack.
On Sunday morning the meeting-house was fuller than it had been since the funeral services of the last pastor. At each squeak of the door, every head was quickly turned; and when, in the middle of the first hymn, the three ex-miners filed decorously in, the staring organist held one chord of “Windham” so long that the breath of the congregation was entirely exhausted.
The very pulpit itself succumbed to the popular excitement; and the Reverend Abednego Choker, after reading of the treasures of Solomon’s Temple, and of the glories of the New Testament, for the first and second lessons, preached from Isaiah xlvi. 6: “They lavish gold out of the bag and weigh silver in the balance.”
But all this excitement was as nothing compared with the tumult which agitated the tender hearts of the maidens at Hardhack.
Young, old, handsome, plain, smart and stupid, until now few of them had dared to hope for a change of name; for, while they possessed as many mental and personal charms as girls in general, all the enterprising boys of Hardhack had departed from their birthplace in search of the lucre which Hardhack’s barren hills and lean meadows failed to supply, and the cause of their going was equally a preventive of the coming of others to fill their places.
But now—oh, hope!—here were three young men, good-looking, rich, and—if the other two were fit companions for the well-born and bred Nathan—all safe custodians for tender hearts.
Few girls were there in Hardhack who did not determine, in their innermost hearts, to strive as hard as Yankee wit and maiden modesty would allow for one of those tempting prizes.
Nor were they unaided. Rich and respectable sons-in-law are scarce enough the world over, so it was no wonder that all the parents of marriageable daughters strove to make Hardhack pleasant for the young men.
Fathers read up on Nevada, and cultivated the three ex-miners; mothers ransacked cook-books and old trunks; Ladies’ Companions were industriously searched for pleasing patterns; crimping-irons and curling-tongs were extemporized, and the demand for ribbons and trimmings became so great that the storekeeper hurried to the city for a fresh supply.
Then began that season of mad hilarity and reckless dissipation, which seemed almost a dream to the actors themselves, and to which patriotic Hardhackians have since referred to with feelings like those of the devout Jew as he recalls the glorious deeds of his forefathers, or of the modern Roman as, from the crumbling arches of the Coliseum, he conjures up the mighty shade of the Cæsarian period.
The fragrant bohea flowed as freely as champagne would have done in a less pious locality; ethereal sponge-cakes and transparent currant-jellies became too common to excite comment; the surrounding country was heavily drawn upon for fatted calves, chickens and turkeys, and mince-pies were so plenty, that observing children wondered if the Governor had not decreed a whole year of special Thanksgiving.
Bravely the three great catches accepted every invitation, and, though it was a very unusual addition to his regular duties, the Reverend Abednego Choker faithfully attended all the evening festivities, to the end that they might be decorously closed with prayer, as had from time immemorial been the custom of Hardhack.
And the causes of all these efforts on the part of Hardhack society enjoyed themselves intensely. Young men of respectable inclinations, who have lived for several years in a society composed principally of scoundrels, and modified only by the occasional presence of an honest miner or a respectable mule-driver, would have considered as Elysium a place far less proper and agreeable than Hardhack. In fact, the trio was so delighted, that its eligibility soon became diminished in quantity.
Faxton, at one of the first parties, made an unconditional surrender to a queenly damsel, while Nathan, having found his old schoolday sweetheart still unmarried, whispered something in her ear (probably the secret of some rare cosmetic), which filled her cheeks with roses from that time forth.
But Crewne, the handsomest and most brilliant of the three, still remained, and over him the fight was far more intense than in the opening of the campaign, when weapons were either rusty or untried, and the chances of success were seemingly more numerous.
But to designate any particular lady as surest of success seemed impossible. Even Nathan and Faxton, when besought for an opinion by the two ladies who now claimed their innermost thoughts, could only say that no one but Crewne knew, and perhaps even he didn’t.
Crewne was a very odd boy, they said—excellent company, the best of good fellows, the staunchest of friends, and the very soul of honor; but there were some things about him they never could understand. In fact, he was something like that sum of all impossibilities, a schoolgirl’s hero.
“But, Harry,” said the prospective Mrs. Faxton, with rather an angry pout for a Church-member in full communion, “just see what splendid girls are dying for him! I’m sure there are no nicer girls anywhere than in Hardhack, and he needn’t be so stuck up——”
“My dear,” interrupted Faxton, “I say it with fear and trembling, but perhaps Crewne don’t want to be in love at all.”
An indignant flash of doubt went over the lady’s face.
“Just notice him at a party,” continued Faxton. “He seems to distribute his attentions with exact equality among all the ladies present, as if he were trying to discourage the idea that he was a marrying man.”
“Well,” said the lady, still indignant, “I think you might ask him and settle the matter.”
“Excuse me, my dear,” replied Faxton. “I have seen others manifest an interest in Crewne’s affairs, and the result was discouraging. I’d rather not try the experiment.”
A few mornings later Mrs. Leekins, who took the place of a newspaper at Hardhack, was seen hurrying from house to house on her own street, and such housekeepers as saw her instantly discovered that errands must be made to houses directly in Mrs. Leekins’s route.
Mrs. Leekins’s story was soon told. Crewne had suddenly gone to the city, first purchasing the cottage which Deacon Twinkham had built several years before for a son who had never come back from sea.
Crewne had hired old Mrs. Bruff to put the cottage to rights, and to arrange the carpets and furniture, which he was to forward immediately. But who was to be mistress of the cottage Mrs. Leekins was unable to tell, or even to guess.
The clerks at the store had been thoroughly pumped; but while they admitted that one young lady had purchased an unusual quantity of inserting, another had ordered a dress pattern of gray empress cloth, which was that year the fashionable material and color for traveling dresses.
Old Mrs. Bruff had received unusual consideration and unlimited tea, but even the most systematic question failed to elicit from her anything satisfactory.
At any rate, it was certain that Crewne was absent from Hardhack, and it was evident that he had decided who was to be the lady of the cottage, so the season of festivity was brought to an abrupt close, and the digestions of Hardhack were snatched from ruin.
From kitchen-windows were now wafted odors of boiled corned beef and stewed apples, instead of the fragrance of delicate preserves and delicious turkey.
Young ladies, when they met in the street, greeted each other with a shade less of cordiality than usual, and fathers and mothers in Israel cast into each other’s eyes searching and suspicious glances.
One afternoon, when the pious matrons of Hardhack were gathering at the pastor’s residence to take part in the regular weekly mothers’ prayer-meeting, the mail-coach rolled into town, and Mrs. Leekins, who was sitting by the window, as she always did, exclaimed:
“He’s come back—there he is—on the seat with the driver!”
Every one hurried to the window, and saw that Mrs. Leekins had spoken truly, for there sat Crewne with a pleasant smile on his face, while on top of the stage were several large trunks marked C.
“Must have got a handsome fit-out,” suggested Mrs. Leekins.
The stage stopped at the door of Crewne’s new cottage, and Crewne got out. The pastor entered the parlor to open the meeting, and was selecting a hymn, when Mrs. Leekins startled the meeting by ejaculating:
“Lands alive!”
The meeting was demoralized; the sisters hastened to the window, and the good pastor, laying down his hymnbook, followed in time to see Crewne helping out a well-dressed and apparently young and handsome lady.
“Hardhack girls not good ’nough for him, it seems!” sneered Mrs. Leekins.
A resigned and sympathetic sigh broke from the motherly lips present, then Mrs. Leekins cried:
“Gracious sakes! married a widder with children!”
THE SISTERS HASTENED TO THE WINDOW.
It certainly seemed that she told the truth, for Crewne lifted out two children, the youngest of whom seemed not more than three years old.
The gazers abruptly left the window, and the general tone of the meeting was that of melancholy resignation.
“Why didn’t he ever say he was a married man?” asked the prospective Mrs. Faxton, of her lover, that evening.
“Partly because he is too much of a gentleman to talk of his own affairs,” replied Faxton; “but principally because there had been, as he told me this afternoon, an unfortunate quarrel between them, which drove him to the mines. A few days ago he heard from her, for the first time in three years, and they’ve patched up matters, and are very happy.”
“Well,” said the lady, with considerable decision, “Hardhack will never forgive him.”
Hardhack did, however, for Crewne and his two friends drew about them a few of their old comrades, who took unto themselves wives from the people about them, and made of Hardhack one of the pleasantest villages in the State.
