Susie Rolliffe's Christmas

by Edward Payson Roe

　　Picnicking in December would be a dreary experience even if onecould command all the appliances of comfort which outdoor lifepermitted. This would be especially true in the latitude of Bostonand on the bleak hills overlooking that city and its environingwaters. Dreary business indeed Ezekiel Watkins regarded it as heshivered over the smoky camp-fire which he maintained withdifficulty. The sun was sinking into the southwest so early in theday that he remarked irritably: "Durned if it was worth while forit to rise at all."Ezekiel Watkins, or Zeke, as he was generally known among hiscomrades, had ceased to be a resident on that rocky hillside frompleasure. His heart was in a Connecticut valley in more sensesthan one; and there was not a more homesick soldier in the army.It will be readily guessed that the events of our story occurredmore than a century ago. The shots fired at Bunker Hill had echoedin every nook and corner of the New England colonies, and theheart of Zeke Watkins, among thousands of others, had been firedwith military ardor. With companions in like frame of mind he hadtrudged to Boston, breathing slaughter and extermination againstthe red-coated instruments of English tyranny. To Zeke theexpedition had many of the elements of an extended bear-hunt, muchexalted. There was a spice of danger and a rich promise of noveltyand excitement. The march to the lines about Boston had been acontinuous ovation; grandsires came out from the wayside dwellingsand blessed the rustic soldiers; they were dined profusely by thehousewives, and if not wined, there had been slight stint in NewEngland rum and cider; the apple-cheeked daughters of the landgave them the meed of heroes in advance, and abated somewhat oftheir ruddy hues at the thought of the dangers to be incurred.Zeke was visibly dilated by all this attention, incense, andmilitary glory; and he stepped forth from each village and hamletas if the world were scarcely large enough for the prowess ofhimself and companions. Even on parade he was as stiff as hislong-barrelled flintlock, looking as if England could hope for noquarter at his hands; yet he permitted no admiring glances frombright eyes to escape him. He had not traversed half the distancebetween his native hamlet and Boston before he was abundantlysatisfied that pretty Susie Rolliffe had made no mistake inhonoring him among the recruits by marks of especial favor. Hewore in his squirrel-skin cap the bit of blue ribbon she had givenhim, and with the mien of a Homeric hero had intimated darkly thatit might be crimson before she saw it again. She had clasped herhands, stifled a little sob, and looked at him admiringly. Heneeded no stronger assurance than her eyes conveyed at thatmoment. She had been shy and rather unapproachable before, soughtby others than himself, yet very chary of her smiles and favors toall. Her ancestors had fought the Indians, and had bequeathed tothe demure little maiden much of their own indomitable spirit. Shehad never worn her heart on her sleeve, and was shy of her rusticadmirers chiefly because none of them had realized her ideals ofmanhood created by fireside stories of the past.Zeke's chief competitor for Susie's favor had been Zebulon Jarvis;and while he had received little encouragement, he laid hisunostentatious devotion at her feet unstintedly, and she knew it.Indeed, she was much inclined to laugh at him, for he wassingularly bashful, and a frown from her overwhelmed him.Unsophisticated Susie reasoned that any one who could be so afraidof her could not be much of a man. She had never heard of hisdoing anything bold and spirited. It might be said, indeed, thatthe attempt to wring a livelihood for his widowed mother and forhis younger brothers and sisters from the stumpy, rocky farmrequired courage of the highest order; but it was not of a kindthat appealed to the fancy of a romantic young girl. Nothing fineror grander had Zebulon attempted before the recruiting officercame to Opinquake, and when he came, poor Zeb appeared to hangback so timorously that he lost what little place he had inSusie's thoughts. She was ignorant of the struggle taking place inhis loyal heart. More intense even than his love for her was thepatriotic fire which smouldered in his breast; yet when otheryoung men were giving in their names and drilling on the villagegreen, he was absent. To the war appeals of those who sought him,he replied briefly. "Can't leave till fall.""But the fighting will be over long before that," it was urged."So much the better for others, then, if not for me."Zeke Watkins made it his business that Susie should hear thisreply in the abbreviated form of, "So much the better, then."She had smiled scornfully, and it must be added, a littlebitterly. In his devotion Zeb had been so helpless, so diffidentlyunable to take his own part and make advances that she, from oddlittle spasms of sympathy, had taken his part for him, andlaughingly repeated to herself in solitude all the fine speecheswhich she perceived he would be glad to make. But, as has beenintimated, it seemed to her droll indeed that such a greatstalwart fellow should appear panic-stricken in her diminutivepresence. In brief, he had been timidity embodied under herdemurely mischievous blue eyes; and now that the recruitingofficer had come and marched away with his squad without him, shefelt incensed that such a chicken-hearted fellow had dared to lifthis eyes to her."It would go hard with the Widow Jarvis and all those children ifZeb 'listed," Susie's mother had ventured in half-hearted defence,for did she not look upon him as a promising suitor."The people of Opinquake wouldn't let the widow or the childrenstarve," replied Susie, indignantly. "If I was a big fellow likehim, my country would not call me twice. Think how grandfatherleft grandma and all the children!""Well, I guess Zeb thinks he has his hands full wrastling withthat stony farm.""He needn't come to see me any more, or steal glances at me 'tweenmeetings on Sunday," said the girl, decisively. "He cuts a sorryfigure beside Zeke Watkins, who was the first to give in his name,and who began to march like a soldier even before he left us.""Yes," said Mrs. Rolliffe; "Zeke was very forward. If he holds outas he began--Well, well, Zeke allus was a little forward, and ableto speak for himself. You are young yet, Susan, and may learnbefore you reach my years that the race isn't allus to the swift.Don't be in haste to promise yourself to any of the young men.""Little danger of my promising myself to a man who is afraid evenof me! I want a husband like grandfather. He wasn't afraid to faceanything, and he honored his wife by acting as if she wasn'tafraid either."Zeb gave Susie no chance to bestow the rebuffs she hadpremeditated. He had been down to witness the departure of theOpinquake quota, and had seen Susie's farewell to Zeke Watkins.How much it had meant he was not sure--enough to leave no hope orchance for him, he had believed; but he had already fought hisfirst battle, and it had been a harder one than Zeke Watkins orany of his comrades would ever engage in. He had returned andworked on the stony farm until dark. From dawn until dark hecontinued to work every secular day till September.His bronzed face grew as stern as it was thin; and since he wouldno longer look at her, Susie Rolliffe began to steal an occasionaland wondering glance at him "'tween meetings."No one understood the young man or knew his plans except hispatient, sad-eyed mother, and she learned more by her intuitionsthan from his spoken words. She idolized him, and he loved andrevered her: but the terrible Puritan restraint paralyzedmanifestations of affection. She was not taken by surprise whenone evening he said quietly, "Mother, I guess I'll start in a dayor two."She could not repress a sort of gasping sob however, but after afew moments was able to say steadily, "I supposed you werepreparing to leave us.""Yes, mother, I've been a-preparing. I've done my best to gatherin everything that would help keep you and the children and thestock through the winter. The corn is all shocked, and the olderchildren can help you husk it, and gather in the pumpkins, thebeans, and the rest. As soon as I finish digging the potatoes Ithink I'll feel better to be in the lines around Boston. I'd haveliked to have gone at first, but in order to fight as I ought I'dwant to remember there was plenty to keep you and the children.""I'm afraid, Zebulon, you've been fighting as well as working sohard all summer long. For my sake and the children's, you've beenletting Susan Rolliffe think meanly of you.""I can't help what she thinks, mother; I've tried not to actmeanly.""Perhaps the God of the widow and the fatherless will shield andbless you, my son. Be that as it may," she added with a heavysigh, "conscience and His will must guide in everything. If Hesays go forth to battle, what am I that I should stay you?"Although she did not dream of the truth, the Widow Jarvis was adisciplined soldier herself. To her, faith meant unquestioningsubmission and obedience; she had been taught to revere a jealousand an exacting God rather than a loving one. The heroism withwhich she pursued her toilsome, narrow, shadowed pathway was assublime as it was unrecognized on her part. After she had retiredshe wept sorely, not only because her eldest child was going todanger, and perhaps death, but also for the reason that her heartclung to him so weakly and selfishly, as she believed. With atenderness of which she was half-ashamed she filled his walletwith provisions which would add to his comfort, then, both to hissurprise and her own, kissed him good-by. He left her and theyounger brood with an aching heart of which there was littleoutward sign, and with no loftier ambition than to do his duty;she followed him with deep, wistful eyes till he, and next thelong barrel of his rifle, disappeared in an angle of the road, andthen her interrupted work was resumed.Susie Rolliffe was returning from an errand to a neighbor's whenshe heard the sound of long rapid steps.A hasty glance revealed Zeb in something like pursuit. Her heartfluttered slightly, for he had looked so stern and sad of latethat she had felt a little sorry for him in spite of herself. Butsince he could "wrastle" with nothing more formidable than a stonyfarm, she did not wish to have anything to say to him, or meet theembarrassment of explaining a tacit estrangement. She was glad,therefore, that her gate was so near, and passed in as if she hadnot recognized him. She heard his steps become slower and pause atthe gate, and then almost in shame in being guilty of too markeddiscourtesy, she turned to speak, but hesitated in surprise, fornow she recognized his equipment as a soldier."Why, Mr. Jarvis, where are you going?" she exclaimed.A dull red flamed through the bronze of his thin cheeks as hereplied awkwardly, "I thought I'd take a turn in the lines aroundBoston.""Oh, yes," she replied, mischievously, "take a turn in the lines.Then we may expect you back by corn-husking?"He was deeply wounded, and in his embarrassment could think of noother reply than the familiar words, "'Let not him that girdeth onhis harness boast himself as he that putteth it off.'""I can't help hoping, Mr. Jarvis, that neither you nor others willput it off too soon--not, at least, while King George claims to beour master. When we're free I can stand any amount of boasting.""You'll never hear boasting from me, Miss Susie;" and then anawkward silence fell between them.Shyly and swiftly she raised her eyes. He looked so humble,deprecatory, and unsoldier-like that she could not repress alaugh. "I'm not a British cannon," she began, "that you should beso fearful."His manhood was now too deeply wounded for further endurance evenfrom her, for he suddenly straightened himself, and throwing hisrifle over his shoulder, said sternly, "I'm not a coward. I neverhung back from fear, but to keep mother from charity, so I couldfight or die as God wills. You may laugh at the man who never gaveyou anything but love, if you will, but you shall never laugh atmy deeds. Call that boasting or not as you please," and he turnedon his heel to depart.His words and manner almost took away the girl's breath, sounexpected were they, and unlike her idea of the man. In thatbrief moment a fearless soldier had flashed himself upon herconsciousness, revealing a spirit that would flinch at nothing--that had not even quailed at the necessity of forfeiting heresteem, that his mother might not want. Humiliated and conscience-stricken that she had done him so much injustice, she rushedforward, crying, "Stop, Zebulon; please do not go away angry withme! I do not forget that we have been old friends and playmates.I'm willing to own that I've been wrong about you, and that's agood deal for a girl to do. I only wish I were a man, and I'd gowith you."Her kindness restored him to his awkward self again, and hestammered, "I wish you were--no, I don't--I merely stopped,thinking you might have a message; but I'd rather not take any toZeke Watkins--will, though, if you wish. It cut me all up to haveyou think I was afraid," and then he became speechless."But you acted as if you were afraid of me, and that seemed soridiculous."He looked at her a moment so earnestly with his dark, deep-seteyes that hers dropped. "Miss Susie," he said slowly, and speakingwith difficulty, "I am afraid of you, next to God. I don't supposeI've any right to talk to you so, and I will say good-by. I wasreckless when I spoke before. Perhaps--you'll go and see mother.My going is hard on her."His eyes lingered on her a moment longer, as if he were taking hislast look, then he turned slowly away."Good-by, Zeb," she called softly. "I didn't--I don't understand.Yes, I will go to see your mother."Susie also watched him as he strode away. He thought he couldcontinue on steadfastly without looking back, but when the roadturned he also turned, fairly tugged right about by his loyalheart. She stood where he had left her, and promptly waved herhand. He doffed his cap, and remained a moment in an attitude thatappeared to her reverential, then passed out of view.The moments lapsed, and still she stood in the gateway, lookingdown the vacant road as if dazed. Was it in truth awkward, bashfulZeb Jarvis who had just left her? He seemed a new and distinctbeing in contrast to the youth whom she had smiled at and in ameasure scoffed at. The little Puritan maiden was not a reasoner,but a creature of impressions and swift intuitions. Zeb had notset his teeth, faced his hard duty, and toiled that long summer invain. He had developed a manhood and a force which in one briefmoment had enabled him to compel her recognition."He will face anything," she murmured. "He's afraid of only Godand me; what a strange thing to say--afraid of me next to God!Sounds kind of wicked. What can he mean? Zeke Watkins wasn't a bitafraid of me. As mother said, he was a little forward, and I wasfool enough to take him at his own valuation. Afraid of me! How hestood with his cap off. Do men ever love so? Is there a kind ofreverence in some men's love? How absurd that a great strong,brave man, ready to face cannons, can bow down to such a little--"Her fragmentary exclamations ended in a peal of laughter, buttears dimmed her blue eyes.Susie did visit Mrs. Jarvis, and although the reticent woman saidlittle about her son, what she did say meant volumes to the girlwho now had the right clew in interpreting his action andcharacter. She too was reticent. New England girls rarely gushedin those days, so no one knew she was beginning to understand. Hereyes, experienced in country work, were quick, and her mindactive. "It looks as if a giant had been wrestling with this stonyfarm," she muttered.Zeb received no ovations on his lonely tramp to the lines, and thevision of Susie Rolliffe waving her hand from the gateway wouldhave blinded him to all the bright and admiring eyes in the world.He was hospitably entertained, however, when there was occasion;but the advent of men bound for the army had become an old story.Having at last inquired his way to the position occupied by theConnecticut troops, he was assigned to duty in the same companywith Zeke Watkins, who gave him but a cool reception, and soughtto overawe him by veteran-like airs. At first poor Zeb was awkwardenough in his unaccustomed duties, and no laugh was so scornful asthat of his rival. Young Jarvis, however, had not been many daysin camp before he guessed that Zeke's star was not in theascendant. There was but little fighting required, but muchdigging of intrenchments, drill, and monotonous picket duty. Zekedid not take kindly to such tasks, and shirked them when possible.He was becoming known as the champion grumbler in the mess, and noone escaped his criticism, not even "Old Put"--as General Putnam,who commanded the Connecticut quota, was called. Jarvis, on theother hand, performed his military duties as he had worked thefarm, and rapidly acquired the bearing of a soldier. IndomitablePutnam gave his men little rest, and was ever seeking to draw hislines nearer to Boston and the enemy's ships. He virtually foughtwith pick and shovel, and his working parties were often exposedto fire while engaged in fortifying the positions successivelyoccupied. The Opinquake boys regarded themselves as well seasonedto such rude compliments, and were not a little curious to see howZeb would handle a shovel with cannon-balls whizzing uncomfortablynear. The opportunity soon came. Old Put himself could not havebeen more coolly oblivious than the raw recruit. At last a ballsmashed his shovel to smithereens; he quietly procured another andwent on with his work. Then his former neighbors gave him a cheer,while his captain clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Promoteyou to be a veteran on the spot!"The days had grown shorter, colder, and drearier, and thediscomforts of camp-life harder to endure. There were few tentseven for the officers, and the men were compelled to improvisesuch shelter as circumstances permitted. Huts of stone, wood, andbrush, and barricades against the wind, lined the hillside, andthe region already was denuded of almost everything that wouldburn. Therefore, when December came, Zeke Watkins found that evena fire was a luxury not to be had without trouble. He had becomethoroughly disgusted with a soldier's life, and the military glorywhich had at first so dazzled him now wore the aspect of thewintry sky. He had recently sought and attained the only promotionfor which his captain now deemed him fitted--that of cook forabout a dozen of his comrades; and the close of the December dayfound him preparing the meagre supper which the limited rationspermitted. By virtue of his office, Zeke was one of the best-fedmen in the army, for if there were any choice morsels he couldusually manage to secure them; still, he was not happy. KingGeorge and Congress were both pursuing policies inconsistent withhis comfort, and he sighed more and more frequently for the widekitchen-hearth of his home, which was within easy visitingdistance of the Rolliffe farmhouse. His term of enlistment expiredsoon, and he was already counting the days. He was not alone inhis discontent, for there was much homesickness and disaffectionamong the Connecticut troops. Many had already departed, unwillingto stay an hour after the expiration of their terms; and not a fewhad anticipated the periods which legally released them from duty.The organization of the army was so loose that neither appeals northreats had much influence, and Washington, in deep solicitude,saw his troops melting away.It was dark by the time the heavy tramp of the working party washeard returning from the fortifications. The great mess-pot,partly filled with pork and beans, was bubbling over the fire;Zeke, shifting his position from time to time to avoid the smokewhich the wind, as if it had a spite against him, blew in hisface, was sourly contemplating his charge and his lot, bent ongrumbling to the others with even greater gusto than he hadcomplained to himself. His comrades carefully put away theirintrenching tools, for they were held responsible for them, andthen gathered about the fire, clamoring for supper."Zeke, you lazy loon," cried Nat Atkinson, "how many pipes haveyou smoked to-day? If you'd smoke less and forage and dun thecommissary more, we'd have a little fresh meat once in a hundredyears.""Yes, just about once in a hundred years!" snarled Zeke."You find something to keep fat on, anyhow. We'll broil you somecold night. Trot out your beans if there's nothing else.""Growl away," retorted Zeke. "'Twon't be long before I'll beeating chickens and pumpkin-pie in Opinquake, instead of cookingbeans and rusty pork for a lot of hungry wolves.""You'd be the hungriest wolf of the lot if you'd 'a' been pickingand shovelling frozen ground all day.""I didn't 'list to be a ditch-digger!" said Zeke. "I thought I wasgoing to be a soldier.""And you turned out a cook!" quietly remarked Zeb Jarvis."Well, my hero of the smashed shovel, what do you expect to be--Old Put's successor? You know, fellows, it's settled that you'reto dig your way into Boston, tunnel under the water when you cometo it. Of course Put will die of old age before you get halfthere. Zeb'll be the chap of all others to command a division ofshovellers. I see you with a pickaxe strapped on your side insteadof a sword.""Lucky I'm not in command now," replied Zeb, "or you'd shovel dirtunder fire to the last hour of your enlistment. I'd give grumblerslike you something to grumble about. See here, fellows, I'm sickof this seditious talk in our mess. The Connecticut men aregetting to be the talk of the army. You heard a squad of NewHampshire boys jeer at us to-day, and ask, 'When are ye going hometo mother?' You ask, Zeke Watkins, what I expect to be. I expectto be a soldier, and obey orders as long as Old Put and GeneralWashington want a man. All I ask is to be home summers long enoughto keep mother and the children off the town. Now what do youexpect to be after you give up your cook's ladle?""None o' your business.""He's going home to court Susie Rolliffe," cried Nat Atkinson."They'll be married in the spring, and go into the chickenbusiness. That'd just suit Zeke.""It would not suit Susie Rolliffe," said Zeb, hotly. "A braver,better girl doesn't breathe in the colonies, and the man that saysa slurring word against her's got to fight me.""What! Has she given Zeke the mitten for your sake, Zeb?" pipedlittle Hiram Woodbridge."She hasn't given me anything, and I've got no claim; but she isthe kind of girl that every fellow from Opinquake should stand upfor. We all know that there is nothing chicken-hearted about her.""Eight, by George--George W., I mean, and not the king," respondedHiram Woodbridge. "Here's to her health, Zeb, and your success! Ibelieve she'd rather marry a soldier than a cook.""Thank you," said Zeb. "You stand as good a chance as I do; butdon't let's bandy her name about in camp any more'n we would ourmother's. The thing for us to do now is to show that the men fromConnecticut have as much backbone as any other fellows in thearmy, North or South. Zeke may laugh at Old Put's digging, butyou'll soon find that he'll pick his way to a point where he cangive the Britishers a dig under the fifth rib. We've got the bestgeneral in the army. Washington, with all his Southern style,believes in him and relies on him. Whether their time's up or not,it's a burning shame that so many of his troops are sneaking offhome.""It's all very well for you to talk, Zeb Jarvis," growled Zeke."You haven't been here very long yet; and you stayed at home whenothers started out to fight. Now that you've found that diggingand not fighting is the order of the day, you're just suited. It'sthe line of soldiering you are cut out for. When fighting men andnot ditch-diggers are wanted, you'll find me---""All right, Watkins," said the voice of Captain Dean from withoutthe circle of light. "According to your own story you are just thekind of man needed to-night--no ditch-digging on hand, butdangerous service. I detail you, for you've had rest compared withthe other men. I ask for volunteers from those who've been at workall day."Zeb Jarvis was on his feet instantly, and old Ezra Stokes alsobegan to rise with difficulty. "No, Stokes," resumed the officer,"you can't go. I know you've suffered with the rheumatism all day,and have worked well in spite of it. For to-night's work I wantyoung fellows with good legs and your spirit. How is it you'rehere anyhow Stokes? Your time's up.""We ain't into Boston yet," was the quiet reply."So you want to stay?""Yes, sir.""Then you shall cook for the men till you're better. I won't keepso good a soldier, though, at such work any longer than I canhelp. Your good example and that of the gallant Watkins hasbrought out the whole squad. I think I'll put Jarvis in command,though; Zeke might be rash, and attempt the capture of Bostonbefore morning;" and the facetious captain, who had once been aneighbor, concluded, "Jarvis, see that every man's piece is primedand ready for use. Be at my hut in fifteen minutes." Then hepassed on to the other camp-fires.In a few minutes Ezra Stokes was alone by the fire, almostroasting his lame leg, and grumbling from pain and the necessityof enforced inaction. He was a taciturn, middle-age man, and hadbeen the only bachelor of mature years in Opinquake. Although herarely said much, he had been a great listener, and no one hadbeen better versed in neighborhood affairs. In brief, he had beenthe village cobbler, and had not only taken the measure of SusieRolliffe's little foot, but also of her spirit. Like herself hehad been misled at first by the forwardness of Zeke Watkins andthe apparent backwardness of Jarvis. Actual service had changedhis views very decidedly. When Zeb appeared he had watched thecourse of this bashful suitor with interest which had rapidlyripened into warm but undemonstrative goodwill. The young fellowhad taken pains to relieve the older man, had carried his toolsfor him, and more than once with his strong hands had almostrubbed the rheumatism out of the indomitable cobbler's leg. He hadreceived but slight thanks, and had acted as if he didn't care forany. Stokes was not a man to return favors in words; be broodedover his gratitude as if it were a grudge. "I'll get even withthat young Jarvis yet," he muttered, as he nursed his leg over thefire. "I know he worships the ground that little Rolliffe girltreads on, though she don't tread on much at a time. She nevertrod on me nuther, though I've had her foot in my hand more'nonce. She looked at the man that made her shoes as if she wouldlike to make him happier. When a little tot, she used to say Icould come and live with her when I got too old to take care ofmyself. Lame as I be, I'd walk to Opinquake to give her a hint inher choosin'. Guess Hi Woodbridge is right, and she wouldn't belong in making up her mind betwixt a soger and a cook--a mightypoor one at that. Somehow or nuther I must let her know beforeZeke Watkins sneaks home and parades around as a soldier 'boveditch-digging. I've taken his measure."He'll be putting on veteran airs, telling big stories of whathe's going to do when soldiers are wanted, and drilling such foolsas believe in him. Young gals are often taken by such strutters,and think that men like Jarvis, who darsn't speak for themselves,are of no account. But I'll put a spoke in Zeke's wheel, if I haveto get the captain to write."It thus may be gathered that the cobbler had much to say tohimself when alone, though so taciturn to others.The clouds along the eastern horizon were stained with red beforethe reconnoitring party returned. Stokes had managed, by hobblingabout, to keep up the fire and to fill the mess-kettle with theinevitable pork and beans. The hungry, weary men therefore gavetheir new cook a cheer when they saw the good fire and provisionawaiting them. A moment later, however, Jarvis observed how lameStokes had become; he took the cobbler by the shoulder and sat himdown in the warmest nook, saying, "I'll be assistant cook untilyou are better. As Zeke says, I'm a wolf sure enough; but assoon's the beast's hunger is satisfied, I'll rub that leg of yourstill you'll want to dance a jig;" and with the ladle wrung fromStokes's reluctant hand, he began stirring the seething contentsof the kettle.Then little Hi Woodbridge piped in his shrill voice, "Anothercheer for our assistant cook and ditch-digger! I say, Zeke,wouldn't you like to tell Erza that Zeb has showed himself fit forsomething more than digging? You expressed your opinion very plainlast night, and may have a different one now."Zeke growld something inaudible, and stalked to his hut in orderto put away his equipments."I'm cook-in-chief yet," Stokes declared; "and not a bean will anyone of you get till you report all that happened.""Well," piped Hi, "you may stick a feather in your old cap, Ezra,for our Opinquake lad captured a British officer last night, andOld Put is pumping him this blessed minute.""Well, well, that is news. It must have been Zeke who did thatneat job," exclaimed Stokes, ironically; "he's been a-pining forthe soldier business.""No, no; Zeke's above such night scrimmages. He wants to swim thebay and walk right into Boston in broad daylight, so everybody cansee him. Come, Zeb, tell how it happened. It was so confoundeddark, no one can tell but you.""There isn't much to tell that you fellows don't know," was Zeb'slaconic answer. "We had sneaked down on the neck so close to theenemy's lines---""Yes, yes, Zeb Jarvis," interrupted Stokes, "that's the kind ofsneaking you're up to--close to the enemy's lines. Go on.""Well, I crawled up so close that I saw a Britisher going theround of the sentinels, and I pounced on him and brought him outon the run, that's all.""Oho! you both ran away, then? That wasn't good soldiering either,was it, Zeke?" commented Stokes, in his dry way."It's pretty good soldiering to stand fire within an inch of yournose," resumed Hi, who had become a loyal friend and adherent ofhis tall comrade. "Zeb was so close on the Britisher when he firedhis pistol that we saw the faces of both in the flash; and a lotof bullets sung after us, I can sell you, as we dusted out ofthose diggin's.""Compliments of General Putnam to Sergeant Zebulon Jarvis,' saidan orderly, riding out of the dim twilight of the morning. "Thegeneral requests your presence at headquarters.""Sergeant! promoted! Another cheer for Zeb!" and the Opinquakeboys gave it with hearty goodwill."Jerusalem, fellows! I'd like to have a chance at those beansbefore I go!" but Zeb promptly tramped off with the orderly.When he returned he was subjected to a fire of questions by thetwo or three men still awake, but all they could get out of himwas that he had been given a good breakfast. From Captain Dean,who was with the general at the time of the examination, it leakedout that Zeb was in the line of promotion to a rank higher thanthat of sergeant.The next few days passed uneventfully; and Zeke was compelled toresume the pick and shovel again. Stokes did his best to fulfilhis duties, but it had become evident to all that the exposure ofcamp would soon disable him utterly. Jarvis and Captain Deanpersuaded him to go home for the winter, and the little squadraised a sum which enabled him to make the journey in a stage.Zeke, sullen toward his jeering comrades, but immensely elated insecret, had shaken the dust--snow and slush rather--of camp-lifefrom his feet the day before. He had the grace to wait till thetime of his enlistment expired, and that was more than could besaid of many.It spoke well for the little Opinquake quota that only two othersbesides Zeke availed themselves of their liberty. Poor Stokes wasalmost forced away, consoled by the hope of returning in thespring. Zeb was sore-hearted on the day of Zeke's departure. Hisheart was in the Connecticut Valley also. No message had come tohim from Susie Rolliffe. Those were not the days of swift andfrequent communication. Even Mrs. Jarvis had written but seldom,and her missives were brief. Mother-love glowed through the fewquaint and scriptural phrases like heat in anthracite coals. Allthat poor Zeb could learn from them was that Susie Rolliffe hadkept her word and had been to the farm more than once; but thegirl had been as reticent as the mother. Zeke was now on his wayhome to prosecute his suit in person, and Zeb well knew howforward and plausible he could be. There was no deed of daringthat he would not promise to perform after spring opened, and Zebreasoned gloomily that a present lover, impassioned andimportunate, would stand a better chance than an absent one whohad never been able to speak for himself.When it was settled that Stokes should return to Opinquake, Zebdetermined that he would not give up the prize to Zeke without onedecisive effort; and as he was rubbing the cobbler's leg, hestammered, "I say Ezra, will you do me a turn? 'Twon't be so much,what I ask, except that I'll like you to keep mum about it, andyou're a good hand at keeping mum.""I know what yer driving at, Zeb. Write yer letter and I'lldeliver it with my own hands.""Well, now, I'm satisfied, I can stay on and fight it out with aclear mind. When Zeke marched away last summer, I thought it wasall up with me; and I can tell you that any fighting that's to doabout Boston will be fun compared with the fighting I did whilehoeing corn and mowing grass. But I don't believe that SusieRolliffe is promised to Zeke Watkins, or any one else yet, and I'mgoing to give her a chance to refuse me plump.""That's the way to do it, Zeb," said the bachelor cobbler, with anemphasis that would indicate much successful experience. "Asking agirl plump is like standing up in a fair fight. It gives the girla chance to bowl you over, if that's her mind, so there can't beany mistake about it; and it seems to me the women-folks ought tohave all the chances that in any way belong to them. They have gotfew enough anyhow.""And you think it'll end in my being bowled over?""How should I know, or you either, unless you make a square trial?You're such a strapping, fighting feller that nothing but acannon-ball or a woman ever will knock you off your pins.""See here, Ezra Stokes, the girl of my heart may refuse me just asplump as I offer myself; and if that's her mind she has a right todo it. But I don't want either you or her to think I won't standon my feet. I won't even fight any more recklessly than my dutyrequires. I have a mother to take care of, even if I never have awife.""I'll put in a few pegs right along to keep in mind what you say;and I'll give you a fair show by seeing to it that the girl getsyour letter before Zeke can steal a march on you.""That's all I ask," said Zeb, with compressed lips. "She shallchoose between us. It's hard enough to write, but it will be asight easier than facing her. Not a word of this to another soul,Ezra; but I'm not going to use you like a mail-carrier, but afriend. After all, there are few in Opinquake, I suppose, but knowI'd give my eyes for her, so there isn't much use of my putting onsecret airs.""I'm not a talker, and you might have sent your letter by a worsemessenger'n me," was the laconic reply.Zeb had never written a love-letter, and was at a loss how tobegin or end it. But time pressed, and he had to say what wasuppermost in his mind. It ran as follows:"I don't know how to write so as to give my words weight. I cannotcome home; I will not come as long as mother and the children canget on without me. And men are needed here; men are needed. Thegeneral fairly pleads with the soldiers to stay. Stokes would stayif he could. We're almost driving him home. I know you will bekind to him, and remember he has few to care for him. I cannotspeak for myself in person very soon, if ever. Perhaps I could notif I stood before you. You laugh at me; but if you knew how I loveyou and remember you, how I honor and almost worship you in myheart, you might understand me better. Why is it strange I shouldbe afraid of you? Only God has more power over me than you. Willyou be my wife? I will do anything to win you that you can ask.Others will plead with you in person. Will you let this letterplead for the absent?"Zeb went to the captain's quarters and got some wax with which toseal this appeal, then saw Stokes depart with the feeling that hisdestiny was now at stake.Meanwhile Zeke Watkins, with a squad of homeward-bound soldiers,was trudging toward Opinquake. They soon began to look into oneanother's faces in something like dismay. But little provision wasin their wallets when they had started, for there was little todraw upon, and that furnished grudgingly, as may well be supposed.Zeke had not cared. He remembered the continuous feasting that hadattended his journey to camp, and supposed that he would only haveto present himself to the roadside farmhouses in order to enjoythe fat of the land. This hospitality he proposed to repayabundantly by camp reminiscences in which it would not bedifficult to insinuate that the hero of the scene was present.In contrast to these rose-hued expectations, doors were slammed intheir faces, and they were treated little better than tramps. "Isuppose the people near Boston have been called on too often andimposed on, too," Zeke reasoned rather ruefully. "When we once getover the Connecticut border we'll begin to find ourselves athome;" and spurred by hunger and cold, as well as hope, theypushed on desperately, subsisting on such coarse provisions asthey could obtain, sleeping in barns when it stormed, and notinfrequently by a fire in the woods. At last they passed theConnecticut border, and led by Zeke they urged their way to alarge farmhouse, at which, but a few months before, the table hadgroaned under rustic dainties, and feather-beds had luxuriouslyreceived the weary recruits bound to the front. They approachedthe opulent farm in the dreary dark of the evening, and pursued bya biting east wind laden with snow. Not only the weather, but thevery dogs seemed to have a spite against them; and the family hadto rush out to call them off."Weary soldiers ask for shelter," began Zeke."Of course you're bound for the lines," said the matronlyhousewife. "Come in."Zeke thought they would better enter at once before explaining;and truly the large kitchen, with a great fire blazing on thehearth, seemed like heaven. The door leading into the familysitting-room was open, and there was another fire, with the red-cheeked girls and the white-haired grandsire before it, their eyesturned expectantly toward the new-comers. Instead of heartywelcome, there was a questioning look on every face, even on thatof the kitchen-maid. Zeke's four companions had a sort of hang-doglook--for they had been cowed by the treatment received along theroad; but he tried to bear himself confidently, and began with aninsinuating smile, "Perhaps I should hardly expect you to rememberme. I passed this way last summer---""Passed this way last summer?" repeated the matron, her facegrowing stern. "We who cannot fight are ready and glad to shareall we have with those who fight for us. Since you carry arms wemight very justly think you are hastening forward to use them.""These are our own arms; we furnished them ourselves," Zekehastened to say."Oh, indeed," replied the matron, coldly; "I supposed that notonly the weapons, but the ones who carry them, belonged to thecountry. I hope you are not deserting from the army.""I assure you we are not. Our terms of enlistment have expired.""And your country's need was over at the same moment? Are youhastening home at this season to plow and sow and reap?""Well, madam, after being away so long we felt like having alittle comfort and seeing the folks. We stayed a long as weagreed. When spring opens, or before, if need be---""Pardon me, sir; the need is now. The country is not to be savedby men who make bargains like day-laborers, and who quit when thehour is up, but by soldiers who give themselves to their countryas they would to their wives and sweethearts. My husband and sonsare in the army you have deserted. General Washington has writtento our governor asking whether an example should not be made ofthe men who have deserted the cause of their country at thiscritical time when the enemy are receiving re-enforcements. We aretold that Connecticut men have brought disgrace on our colony andhave imperilled the whole army. You feel like taking comfort andseeing the folks. The folks do not feel like seeing you. Myhusband and the brave men in the lines are in all the more dangerbecause of your desertion, for a soldier's time never expires whenthe enemy is growing stronger and threatening every home in theland. If all followed your example, the British would soon be uponyour heels, taking from us our honor and our all. We are notignorant of the critical condition of our army; and I can tellyou, sir, that if many more of our men come home, the women willtake their places."Zeke's companions succumbed to the stern arraignment, and after abrief whispered consultation one spoke for the rest. "Madam," hesaid, "you put it in a way that we hadn't realized before. We'llright-about-face and march back in the morning, for we feel thatwe'd rather face all the British in Boston than any moreConnecticut women.""Then, sirs, you shall have supper and shelter and welcome," wasthe prompt reply.Zeke assumed an air of importance as he said: "There are reasonswhy I must be at home for a time, but I not only expect to return,but also to take many back with me.""I trust your deeds may prove as large as your words," was thechilly reply; and then he was made to feel that he was barelytolerated. Some hints from his old associates added to thedisfavor which the family took but little pains to conceal. Therewas a large vein of selfish calculation in Zeke's nature, and hewas not to be swept away by any impulses. He believed he couldhave a prolonged visit home, yet manage so admirably that when hereturned he would be followed by a squad of recruits, and chief ofall he would be the triumphant suitor of Susie Rolliffe. Hermanner in parting had satisfied him that he had made go deep animpression that it would be folly not to follow it up. He trudgedthe remainder of the journey alone, and secured tolerabletreatment by assuring the people that he was returning forrecruits for the army. He reached home in the afternoon ofChristmas; and although the day was almost completely ignored inthe Puritan household, yet Mrs. Watkins forgot country, Popery,and all, in her mother love, and Zeke supped on the finest turkeyof the flock. Old Mr. Watkins, it is true, looked rather grim, butthe reception had been reassuring in the main; and Zeke hadresolved on a line of tactics which would make him, as hebelieved, the military hero of the town. After he had satisfied anappetite which had been growing ever since he left camp, hestarted to call on Susie in all the bravery of his best attire,filled with sanguine expectations inspired by memories of the pastand recent potations of cider.Meanwhile Susie had received a guest earlier in the day. The stagehad stopped at the gate where she had stood in the Septembersunshine and waved her bewildered farewell to Zeb. There was nobewilderment or surprise now at her strange and unwontedsensations. She had learned why she had stood looking after himdazed and spellbound. Under the magic of her own light irony shehad seen her drooping rustic lover transformed into the ideal manwho could face anything except her unkindness. She had guessed thedeep secret of his timidity. It was a kind of fear of which shehad not dreamed, and which touched her innermost soul.When the stage stopped at the gate, and she saw the driver helpingout Ezra Stokes, a swift presentiment made her sure that she wouldhear from one soldier who was more to her than all the generals.She was soon down the walk, the wind sporting in her light-goldhair, supporting the cobbler on the other side."Ah, Miss Susie!" he said, "I am about worn out, sole and upper.It breaks my heart, when men are so sorely needed, to be thrownaside like an old shoe."The girl soothed and comforted him, ensconced him by the fireside,banishing the chill from his heart, while Mrs. Rolliffe warmed hisblood by a strong, hot drink. Then the mother hastened away to getdinner, while Susie sat down near, nervously twisting anduntwisting her fingers, with questions on her lips which she darednot utter, but which brought blushes to her cheeks. Stokes lookedat her and sighed over his lost youth, yet smiled as he thought:"Guess I'll get even with that Zeb Jarvis to-day." Then he asked,"Isn't there any one you would like to hear about in camp?"She blushed deeper still, and named every one who had gone fromOpinquake except Zeb. At last she said a little ironically: "Isuppose Ezekiel Watkins is almost thinking about being a generalabout this time?""Hasn't he been here telling you what he is thinking about?""Been here! Do you mean to say he has come home?""He surely started for home. All the generals and a yoke of oxencouldn't 'a' kept him in camp, he was so homesick--lovesick too, Iguess. Powerful compliment to you, Miss Susie," added the politiccobbler, feeling his way, "that you could draw a man straight fromhis duty like one of these 'ere stump-extractors.""No compliment to me at all!" cried the girl, indignantly. "Helittle understands me who seeks my favor by coming home at a timelike this. The Connecticut women are up in arms at the way our menare coming home. No offence to you, Mr. Stokes. You're sick, andshould come; but I'd like to go myself to show some of the strongyoung fellows what we think of them.""Coming home was worse than rheumatism to me, and I'm going backsoon's I kin walk without a cane. Wouldn't 'a' come as 'tis, ifthat Zeb Jarvis hadn't jes' packed me off. By Jocks! I thought youand he was acquainted, but you don't seem to ask arter him.""I felt sure he would try--I heard he was doing his duty," shereplied with averted face."Zeke Watkins says he's no soldier at all--nothing but a dirt-digger."For a moment, as the cobbler had hoped, Susie forgot her blushesand secret in her indignation. "Zeke Watkins indeed!" sheexclaimed. "He'd better not tell me any such story. I don'tbelieve there's a braver, truer man in the--Well," she added insudden confusion, "he hasn't run away and left others to dig theirway into Boston, if that's the best way of getting there.""Ah, I'm going to get even with him yet," chuckled Stokes tohimself. "Digging is only the first step, Miss Susie. When Old Putgets good and ready, you'll hear the thunder of the guns a'most inOpinquake.""Well, Mr. Stokes," stammered Susie, resolving desperately on ashort cut to the knowledge she craved, "you've seen Mr. Jarvis a-soldiering. What do you think about it?""Well, now, that Zeb Jarvis is the sneakin'ist fellow---""What?" cried the girl, her face aflame."Wait till I get in a few more pegs," continued Stokes, coolly."The other night he sneaked right into the enemy's lines andcarried off a British officer as a hawk takes a chicken. TheBritisher fired his pistol right under Zeb's nose; but, law! hedidn't mind that any more'n a 'sketer-bite. I call thatsoldiering, don't you? Anyhow, Old Put thought it was, and sentfor him 'fore daylight, and made a sergeant of him. If I had asgood a chance of gettin' rid of the rheumatiz as he has of bein'captain in six months, I'd thank the Lord."Susie sat up very straight, and tried to look severely judicial;but her lip was quivering and her whole plump little formtrembling with excitement and emotion. Suddenly she dropped herface in her hands and cried in a gust of tears and laughter: "He'sjust like grandfather; he'd face anything!""Anything in the 'tarnal uinverse, I guess, 'cept you, Miss Susie.I seed a cannon-ball smash a shovel in his hands, and he gotanother, and went on with his work cool as a cucumber. Then I seedhim writin' a letter to you, and his hand trembled---""A letter to me!" cried the girl, springing up."Yes; 'ere it is. I was kind of pegging around till I got to that;and you know---"But Susie was reading, her hands trembling so she could scarcelyhold the paper. "It's about you," she faltered, making one moredesperate effort at self-preservation. "He says you'd stay if youcould; that they almost drove you home. And he asks that I be kindto you, because there are not many to care for you--and--and---""Oh, Lord! never can get even with that Zeb Jarvis," groaned Ezra."But you needn't tell me that's all the letter's about."Her eyes were full of tears, yet not so full but that she eaw theplain, closing words in all their significance. Swiftly the letterwent to her lips, then was thrust into her bosom, and she seizedthe cobbler's hand, exclaiming: "Yes, I will! I will! You shallstay with us, and be one of us!" and in her excitement she put herleft hand caressingly on his shoulder."Susan!" exclaimed Mr. Rolliffe, who entered at that moment, andlooked aghast at the scene."Yes, I will!" exclaimed Susie, too wrought up now for restraint."Will what?" gasped the mother."Be Zebulon Jarvis's wife. He's asked me plump and square like asoldier; and I'll answer as grandma did, and like grandma I'llface anything for his sake.""Well, this is suddent!" exclaimed Mrs. Rolliffe, dropping into achair. "Susan, do you think it is becoming and seemly for a youngwoman---""Oh, mother dear, there's no use of your trying to make a primPuritan maiden of me. Zeb doesn't fight like a deacon, and I can'tlove like one. Ha! ha! ha! to think that great soldier is afraidof little me, and nothing else! It's too funny and heavenly---""Susan, I am dumfounded at your behavior!"At this moment Mr. Rolliffe came in from the wood-lot, and he wasdazed by the wonderful news also. In his eagerness to get evenwith Zeb, the cobbler enlarged and expatiated till he was hoarse.When he saw that the parents were almost as proud as the daughterover their prospective son-in-law, he relapsed into his oldtaciturnity, declaring he had talked enough for a month.Susie, the only child, who apparently had inherited all the fireand spirit of her fighting ancestors, darted out, and soonreturned with her rosebud of a face enveloped in a great calyx ofa woollen hood."Where are you going?" exclaimed her parents."You've had the news. I guess Mother Jarvis has the next right."And she was off over the hills with almost the lightness andswiftness of a snowbird.In due time Zeke appeared, and smiled encouragingly on Mrs.Rolliffe, who sat knitting by the kitchen fire. The matron did notrise, and gave him but a cool salutation. He discussed thecoldness of the weather awkwardly for a few moments, and thenventured: "Is Miss Susan at home?""No, sir," replied Mrs. Rolliffe; "she's gone to make a visit toher mother-in-law that is to be, the Widow Jarvis. Ezra Stokes issittin' in the next room, sent home sick. Perhaps you'd like totalk over camp-life with him."Not even the cider now sustained Zeke. He looked as if a cannon-ball had wrecked all his hopes and plans instead of a shovel."Good-evening, Mrs. Rolliffe," he stammered; "I guess I'll--I'll--go home."Poor Mrs. Jarvis had a spiritual conflict that day which she neverforgot. Susie's face had flashed at the window near which she hadsat spinning, and sighing perhaps that Nature had not providedfeathers or fur for a brood like hers; then the girl's arms wereabout her neck, the news was stammered out--for the letter couldnever be shown to any one--in a way that tore primness to tatters.The widow tried to act as if it were a dispensation of Providencewhich should be received in solemn gratitude; but before she knewit she was laughing and crying, kissing her sweet-faced daughter,or telling how good and brave Zeb had been when his heart wasalmost breaking.Compunction had already seized upon the widow. "Susan," she began,"I fear we are not mortifyin' the flesh as we ought---""No mortifying just yet, if you please," cried Susie. "The mostimportant thing of all is yet to be done. Zeb hasn't heard thenews; just think of it! You must write and tell him that I'll helpyou spin the children's clothes and work the farm; that we'll faceeverything in Opinquake as long as Old Put needs men. Where is theink-horn? I'll sharpen a pen for you and one for me, and such newsas he'll get! Wish I could tell him, though, and see the greatfellow tremble once more. Afraid of me! Ha! ha! ha! that's thefunniest thing--Why, Mother Jarvis, this is Christmas Day!""So it is," said the widow, in an awed tone. "Susie, my heartmisgives me that all this should have happened on a day of whichPopery has made so much.""No, no," cried the girl. "Thank God it is Christmas! andhereafter I shall keep Christmas as long as love is love and Godis good."