Feathertop

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

　　A MORALIZED LEGEND"Dickon," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!"The pipe was in the old dame's mouth when she said these words. She hadthrust it there after filling it with tobacco but without stooping tolight it at the hearth where, indeed, there was no appearance of a firehaving been kindled that morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as theorder was given, there was an intense red glow out of the bowl of thepipe and a whiff of smoke from Mother Rigby's lips. Whence the coalcame and how brought hither by an invisible hand, I have never beenable to discover."Good!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a nod of her head. "Thank ye, Dickon!And now for making this scarecrow. Be within call, Dickon, in case Ineed you again."The good woman had risen thus early (for as yet it was scarcelysunrise) in order to set about making a scarecrow, which she intendedto put in the middle of her corn-patch. It was now the latter week ofMay, and the crows and blackbirds had already discovered the littlegreen, rolled-up leaf of the Indian corn just peeping out of the soil.She was determined, therefore, to contrive as lifelike a scarecrow asever was seen, and to finish it immediately from top to toe, so that itshould begin its sentinel's duty that very morning. Now Mother Rigby(as everybody must have heard) was one of the most cunning and potentwitches in New England, and might with very little trouble have made ascarecrow ugly enough to frighten the minister himself. But on thisoccasion, as she had awakened in an uncommonly pleasant humor, and wasfurther dulcified by her pipe of tobacco, she resolved to producesomething fine, beautiful, and splendid rather than hideous andhorrible."I don't want to set up a hobgoblin in my own corn-patch, and almost atmy own doorstep," said Mother Rigby to herself, puffing out a whiff ofsmoke. "I could do it if I pleased, but I'm tired of doing marvelousthings, and so I'll keep within the bounds of everyday business justfor variety's sake. Besides, there is no use in scaring the littlechildren for a mile roundabout, though 'tis true I'm a witch." It wassettled, therefore, in her own mind that the scarecrow should representa fine gentleman of the period so far as the materials at hand wouldallow.Perhaps it may be as well to enumerate the chief of the articles thatwent to the composition of this figure. The most important item of all,probably, although it made so little show, was a certain broomstick onwhich Mother Rigby had taken many an airy gallop at mid-night, andwhich now served the scarecrow by way of a spinal column or, as theunlearned phrase it, a backbone. One of its arms was a disabled flailwhich used to be wielded by Goodman Rigby before his spouse worried himout of this troublesome world; the other, if I mistake not, wascomposed of the pudding-stick and a broken rung of a chair, tiedloosely together at the elbow. As for its legs, the right was ahoe-handle, and the left an undistinguished and miscellaneous stickfrom the wood-pile. Its lungs, stomach, and other affairs of that kind,were nothing better than a meal-bag stuffed with straw. Thus we havemade out the skeleton and entire corporosity of the scarecrow, with theexception of its head, and this was admirably supplied by a somewhatwithered and shriveled pumpkin, in which Mother Rigby cut two holes forthe eyes and a slit for the mouth, leaving a bluish-colored knob in themiddle to pass for a nose. It was really quite a respectable face."I've seen worse ones on human shoulders, at any rate," said MotherRigby. "And many a fine gentleman has a pumpkin head, as well as myscarecrow."But the clothes in this case were to be the making of the man; so thegood old woman took down from a peg an ancient plum-colored coat ofLondon make and with relics of embroidery on its seams, cuffs,pocket-flaps, and buttonholes, but lamentably worn and faded, patchedat the elbows, tattered at the skirts, and threadbare all over. On theleft breast was a round hole whence either a star of nobility had beenrent away or else the hot heart of some former wearer had scorched itthrough and through. The neighbors said that this rich garment belongedto the Black Man's wardrobe, and that he kept it at Mother Rigby'scottage for the convenience of slipping it on whenever he wished tomake a grand appearance at the governor's table. To match the coatthere was a velvet waist-coat of very ample size, and formerlyembroidered with foliage that had been as brightly golden as themaple-leaves in October, but which had now quite vanished out of thesubstance of the velvet. Next came a pair of scarlet breeches once wornby the French governor of Louisbourg, and the knees of which hadtouched the lower step of the throne of Louis le Grand. TheFrenchman had given these small-clothes to an Indian pow-wow, whoparted with them to the old witch for a gill of strong waters at one oftheir dances in the forest. Furthermore, Mother Rigby produced a pairof silk stockings and put them on the figure's legs, where they showedas unsubstantial as a dream, with the wooden reality of the two sticksmaking itself miserably apparent through the holes. Lastly, she put herdead husband's wig on the bare scalp of the pumpkin, and surmounted thewhole with a dusty three-cornered hat, in which was stuck the longesttail-feather of a rooster.Then the old dame stood the figure up in a corner of her cottage andchuckled to behold its yellow semblance of a visage, with its nobbylittle nose thrust into the air. It had a strangely self-satisfiedaspect, and seemed to say, "Come, look at me!""And you are well worth looking at, that's a fact!" quoth Mother Rigby,in admiration at her own handiwork. "I've made many a puppet since I'vebeen a witch but methinks this the finest of them all. 'Tis almost toogood for a scarecrow. And, by the by, I'll just fill a fresh pipe oftobacco, and then take him out to the corn-patch."While filling her pipe the old woman continued to gaze with almostmotherly affection at the figure in the corner. To say the truth,whether it were chance or skill or downright witchcraft, there wassomething wonderfully human in this ridiculous shape bedizened with itstattered finery, and, as for the countenance, it appeared to shrivelits yellow surface into a grin--a funny kind of expression betwixtscorn and merriment, as if it understood itself to be a jest atmankind. The more Mother Rigby looked, the better she was pleased."Dickon," cried she, sharply, "another coal for my pipe!"Hardly had she spoken than, just as before, there was a red-glowingcoal on the top of the tobacco. She drew in a long whiff, and puffed itforth again into the bar of morning sunshine which struggled throughthe one dusty pane of her cottage window. Mother Rigby always liked toflavor her pipe with a coal of fire from the particular chimney-cornerwhence this had been brought. But where that chimney-corner might be orwho brought the coal from it--further than that the invisible messengerseemed to respond to the name of Dickon--I cannot tell."That puppet yonder," thought Mother Rigby, still with her eyes fixedon the scarecrow, "is too good a piece of work to stand all summer in acorn-patch frightening away the crows and blackbirds. He's capable ofbetter things. Why, I've danced with a worse one when partners happenedto be scarce at our witch-meetings in the forests! What if I should lethim take his chance among the other men of straw and empty fellows whogo bustling about the world?"The old witch took three or four more whiffs of her pipe and smiled."He'll meet plenty of his brethren at every street-corner," continuedshe. "Well, I didn't mean to dabble in witchcraft to-day further thanthe lighting of my pipe, but a witch I am and a witch I'm likely to beand there's no use trying to shirk it. I'll make a man of my scarecrow,were it only for the joke's sake."While muttering these words Mother Rigby took the pipe from her ownmouth and thrust it into the crevice which represented the same featurein the pumpkin-visage of the scarecrow."Puff, darling, puff!" she said. "Puff away, my fine fellow! Your lifedepends on it!"This was a strange exhortation, undoubtedly, to be addressed to a merething of sticks, straw, and old clothes, with nothing better than ashriveled pumpkin for a head, as we know to have been the scarecrow'scase. Nevertheless, as we must carefully hold in remembrance, MotherRigby was a witch of singular power and dexterity; and, keeping thisfact duly before our minds, we shall see nothing beyond credibility inthe remarkable incidents of our story. Indeed, the great difficultywill be at once got over if we can only bring ourselves to believe thatas soon as the old dame bade him puff there came a whiff of smoke fromthe scarecrow's mouth. It was the very feeblest of whiffs, to be sure,but it was followed by another and another, each more decided than thepreceding one."Puff away, my pet! Puff away, my pretty one!" Mother Rigby keptrepeating, with her pleasantest smile. "It is the breath of life to yeand that you may take my word for."Beyond all question, the pipe was bewitched. There must have been aspell either in the tobacco or in the fiercely glowing coal that somysteriously burned on top of it, or in the pungently aromatic smokewhich exhaled from the kindled weed. The figure, after a few doubtfulattempts, at length blew forth a volley of smoke extending all the wayfrom the obscure corner into the bar of sunshine. There it eddied andmelted away among the motes of dust. It seemed a convulsive effort, forthe two or three next whiffs were fainter, although the coal stillglowed and threw a gleam over the scarecrow's visage. The old witchclapped her skinny hands together, and smiled encouragingly upon herhandiwork. She saw that the charm had worked well. The shriveled yellowface, which heretofore had been no face at all, had already a thinfantastic haze, as it were, of human likeness shifting to and froacross it, sometimes vanishing entirely, but growing more perceptiblethan ever with the next whiff from the pipe. The whole figure, in likemanner, assumed a show of life such as we impart to ill-defined shapesamong the clouds and half deceive ourselves with the pastime of our ownfancy.If we must needs pry closely into the matter, it may be doubted whetherthere was any real change, after all, in the sordid, worn-out,worthless and ill-jointed substance of the scarecrow, but merely aspectral illusion and a cunning effect of light and shade, so coloredand contrived as to delude the eyes of most men. The miracles ofwitchcraft seem always to have had a very shallow subtlety and atleast, if the above explanations do not hit the truth of the process, Ican suggest no better."Well puffed, my pretty lad!" still cried old Mother Rigby. "Come!another good, stout whiff, and let it be with might and main. Puff forthy life, I tell thee! Puff out of the very bottom of thy heart, if anyheart thou hast, or any bottom to it. Well done, again! Thou didst suckin that mouthful as if for the pure love of it."And then the witch beckoned to the scarecrow, throwing so much magneticpotency into her gesture that it seemed as if it must inevitably beobeyed, like the mystic call of the lodestone when it summons the iron."Why lurkest thou in the corner, lazy one?" said she. "Step forth! Thouhast the world before thee!"Upon my word, if the legend were not one which I heard on mygrandmother's knee, and which had established its place among thingscredible before my childish judgment could analyze its probability, Iquestion whether I should have the face to tell it now.In obedience to Mother Rigby's word and extending its arm as if toreach her outstretched hand, the figure made a step forward--a kind ofhitch and jerk, however, rather than a step--then tottered and almostlost its balance. What could the witch expect? It was nothing, afterall, but a scarecrow stuck upon two sticks. But the strong-willed oldBeldam scowled and beckoned and flung the energy of her purpose soforcibly at this poor combination of rotten wood and musty straw andragged garments that it was compelled to show itself a man, in spite ofthe reality of things; so it stepped into the bar of sunshine. There itstood, poor devil of a contrivance that it was, with only the thinnestvesture of human similitude about it, through which was evident thestiff, rickety, incongruous, faded, tattered, good-for-nothingpatchwork of its substance, ready to sink in a heap upon the floor, asconscious of its own unworthiness to be erect. Shall I confess thetruth? At its present point of vivification the scarecrow reminds me ofsome of the lukewarm and abortive characters composed of heterogeneousmaterials used for the thousandth time, and never worth using, withwhich romance writers (and myself, no doubt, among the rest) have sooverpeopled the world of fiction.But the fierce old hag began to get angry and show a glimpse of herdiabolic nature, like a snake's head peeping with a hiss out of herbosom, at this pusillanimous behavior of the thing which she had takenthe trouble to put together."Puff away, wretch!" cried she, wrathfully. "Puff puff, puff, thouthing of straw and emptiness! thou rag or two! thou meal-bag! thoupumpkin-head! thou nothing! Where shall I find a name vile enough tocall thee by? Puff, I say, and suck in thy fantastic life along withthe smoke, else I snatch the pipe from thy mouth and hurl thee wherethat red coal came from."Thus threatened, the unhappy scarecrow had nothing for it but to puffaway for dear life. As need was, therefore, it applied itself lustilyto the pipe, and sent forth such abundant volleys of tobacco-smoke thatthe small cottage-kitchen became all-vaporous. The one sunbeamstruggled mistily through, and could but imperfectly define the imageof the cracked and dusty window-pane on the opposite wall.Mother Rigby, meanwhile, with one brown arm akimbo and the otherstretched toward the figure, loomed grimly amid the obscurity with suchport and expression as when she was wont to heave a ponderous nightmareon her victims and stand at the bedside to enjoy their agony.In fear and trembling did this poor scarecrow puff. But its efforts, itmust be acknowledged, served an excellent purpose, for with eachsuccessive whiff the figure lost more and more of its dizzy andperplexing tenuity and seemed to take denser substance. Its verygarments, moreover, partook of the magical change, and shone with thegloss of novelty, and glistened with the skilfully embroidered goldthat had long ago been rent away, and, half revealed among the smoke, ayellow visage bent its lustreless eyes on Mother Rigby.At last the old witch clenched her fist and shook it at the figure. Notthat she was positively angry but merely acting on the principle--perhapsuntrue or not the only truth, though as high a one as Mother Rigbycould be expected to attain--that feeble and torpid natures, beingincapable of better inspiration, must be stirred up by fear. But herewas the crisis. Should she fail in what she now sought to affect, itwas her ruthless purpose to scatter the miserable simulacre into itsoriginal elements."Thou hast a man's aspect," said she, sternly, "have also the echo andmockery of a voice. I bid thee speak!"The scarecrow gasped, struggled, and at length emitted a murmur whichwas so incorporated with its smoky breath that you could scarcely tellwhether it were indeed a voice or only a whiff of tobacco. Somenarrators of this legend held the opinion that Mother Rigby'sconjurations and the fierceness of her will had compelled a familiarspirit into the figure, and that the voice was his."Mother," mumbled the poor stifled voice, "be not so awful with me! Iwould fain speak, but, being without wits, what can I say?""Thou canst speak, darling, canst thou?" cried Mother Rigby, relaxingher grim countenance into a smile. "And what shalt thou say, quotha?Say, indeed! Art thou of the brotherhood of the empty skull anddemandest of me what thou shalt say? Thou shalt say a thousand things,and saying them a thousand times over, thou shalt still have saidnothing. Be not afraid, I tell thee! When thou comest into theworld--whither I purpose sending thee forthwith--thou shalt not lackthe wherewithal to talk. Talk. Why, thou shalt babble like amill-stream, if thou wilt. Thou hast brains enough for that, I trow.""At your service, mother," responded the figure."And that was well said, my pretty one!" answered Mother Rigby. "Thenthou spakest like thyself and meant nothing. Thou shalt have a hundredsuch set phrases and five hundred to the boot of them. And now,darling, I have taken so much pains with thee and thou art so beautifulthat, by my troth, I love thee better than any witch's puppet in theworld; and I've made them of all sorts--clay, wax, straw, sticks, nightfog, morning mist, sea-foam, and chimney-smoke. But thou art the verybest; so give heed to what I say.""Yes, kind mother," said the figure, "with all my heart!""With all thy heart!" cried the old witch, setting her hands to hersides, and laughing loudly. "Thou hast such a pretty way of speaking!With all thy heart! And thou didst put thy hand to the left side of thywaistcoat, as if thou really hadst one!"So now in high good-humor with this fantastic contrivance of hers,Mother Rigby told the scarecrow that it must go and play its part inthe great world, where not one man in a hundred, she affirmed, wasgifted with more real substance than itself. And that he might hold uphis head with the best of them, she endowed him on the spot with anunreckonable amount of wealth. It consisted partly of a gold-mine inEldorado, and of ten thousand shares in a broken bubble, and ofhalf a million acres of vineyard at the North Pole, and of a castle inthe air and a chateau in Spain, together with all the rents and incometherefrom accruing. She further made over to him the cargo of a certainship laden with salt of Cadiz which she herself by her necromantic artshad caused to founder ten years before in the deepest part ofmid-ocean. If the salt were not dissolved and could be brought tomarket, it would fetch a pretty penny among the fishermen. That hemight not lack ready money, she gave him a copper farthing ofBirmingham manufacture, being all the coin she had about her, andlikewise a great deal of brass, which she applied to his forehead, thusmaking it yellower than ever."With that brass alone," quoth Mother Rigby, "thou canst pay thy wayall over the earth. Kiss me, pretty darling! I have done my best forthee."Furthermore, that the adventurer might lack no possible advantagetoward a fair start in life, this excellent old dame gave him a tokenby which he was to introduce himself to a certain magistrate, member ofthe council, merchant, and elder of the church (the four capacitiesconstituting but one man) who stood at the head of society in theneighboring metropolis. The token was neither more nor less than asingle word, which Mother Rigby whispered to the scarecrow and whichthe scarecrow was to whisper to the merchant."Gouty as the old fellow is, he'll run thy errands for thee when oncethou hast given him that word in his ear," said the old witch. "MotherRigby knows the worshipful justice Gookin, and the worshipful justiceknows Mother Rigby!"Here the witch thrust her wrinkled face close to the puppet's,chuckling irrepressibly, and fidgeting all through her system withdelight at the idea which she meant to communicate."The worshipful Master Gookin," whispered she, "hath a comely maiden tohis daughter. And hark ye, my pet. Thou hast a fair outside and apretty wit enough of thine own. Yea, a pretty wit enough! Thou wiltthink better of it when thou hast seen more of other people's wits. Nowwith thy outside and thy inside thou art the very man to win a younggirl's heart. Never doubt it; I tell thee it shall be so. Put but abold face on the matter, sigh, smile, flourish thy hat, thrust forththy leg like a dancing-master, put thy right hand to the left side ofthy waistcoat, and pretty Polly Gookin is thine own."All this while the new creature had been sucking in and exhalingthe vapory fragrance of his pipe and seemed now to continue thisoccupation as much for the enjoyment it afforded as because it wasan essential condition of his existence. It was wonderful to see howexceedingly like a human being it behaved. Its eyes (for it appearedto possess a pair) were bent on Mother Rigby, and at suitable juncturesit nodded or shook its head. Neither did it lack words proper for theoccasion--"Really!"--"Indeed!"--"Pray tell me!"--"Is it possible!"--"Uponmy word!"--"By no means!"--"Oh!"--"Ah!"--"Hem!" and other such weightyutterances as imply attention, inquiry, acquiescence, or dissent onthe part of the auditor. Even had you stood by and seen the scarecrowmade, you could scarcely have resisted the conviction that itperfectly understood the cunning counsels which the old witch pouredinto its counterfeit of an ear. The more earnestly it applied its lipsto the pipe, the more distinctly was its human likeness stamped amongvisible realities, the more sagacious grew its expression, the morelifelike its gestures and movements, and the more intelligibly audibleits voice. Its garments too glistened so much the brighter with anillusory magnificence. The very pipe in which burned the spell of allthis wonder-work ceased to appear as a smoke-blackened earthern stump,and became a meerschaum with painted bowl and amber mouthpiece.It might be apprehended, however, that, as the life of the illusionseemed identical with the vapor of the pipe, it would terminatesimultaneously with the reduction of the tobacco to ashes. But thebeldam foresaw the difficulty."Hold thou the pipe, my precious one," said she, "while I fill it forthee again."It was sorrowful to behold how the fine gentleman began to fade backinto a scarecrow while Mother Rigby shook the ashes out of the pipe andproceeded to replenish it from her tobacco-box."Dickon," cried she, in her high, sharp tone, "another coal for thispipe."No sooner said than the intensely red speck of fire was glowing withinthe pipe-bowl and the scarecrow, without waiting for the witch'sbidding, applied the tube to his lips and drew in a few short,convulsive whiffs, which soon however became regular and equable."Now, mine own heart's darling," quoth Mother Rigby, "whatever mayhappen to thee, thou must stick to thy pipe. Thy life is in it; andthat, at least, thou knowest well, if thou knowest nought besides.Stick to thy pipe, I say! Smoke, puff, blow thy cloud, and tell thepeople, if any question be made, that it is for thy health and that sothe physician orders thee to do. And, sweet one, when thou shalt findthy pipe getting low, go apart into some corner, and--first fillingthyself with smoke--cry sharply, 'Dickon, a fresh pipe of tobacco!' and'Dickon, another coal for my pipe!' and have it into thy pretty mouthas speedily as may be, else instead of a gallant gentleman in agold-laced coat, thou wilt be but a jumble of sticks, and tatteredclothes, and a bag of straw, and a withered pumpkin. Now depart, mytreasure, and good luck go with thee!""Never fear, mother," said the figure, in a stout voice, and sendingforth a courageous whiff of smoke. "I will thrive if an honest man anda gentleman may.""Oh, thou wilt be the death of me!" cried the old witch, convulsed withlaughter. "That was well said! If an honest man and a gentleman may!Thou playest thy part to perfection. Get along with thee for a smartfellow and I will wager on thy head, as a man of pith and substance,with a brain and what they call a heart, and all else that a man shouldhave against any other thing on two legs. I hold myself a better witchthan yesterday for thy sake. Did I not make thee? And I defy any witchin New England to make such another! Here! take my staff along withthee."The staff, though it was but a plain oaken stick, immediately took theaspect of a gold-headed cane."That gold head has as much sense in it as thine own," said MotherRigby, "and it will guide thee straight to worshipful Master Gookin'sdoor. Get thee gone, my pretty pet, my darling, my precious one, mytreasure; and if any ask thy name, it is 'Feathertop,' for thou hast afeather in thy hat and I have thrust a handful of feathers into thehollow of thy head. And thy wig, too, is of the fashion they call'feathertop'; so be 'Feathertop' thy name."And issuing from the cottage, Feathertop strode manfully towards town.Mother Rigby stood at the threshold, well pleased to see how thesunbeams glistened on him, as if all his magnificence were real, andhow diligently and lovingly he smoked his pipe, and how handsomely hewalked in spite of a little stiffness of his legs. She watched himuntil out of sight and threw a witch-benediction after her darling whena turn of the road snatched him from her view.Betimes in the forenoon, when the principal street of the neighboringtown was just at its acme of life and bustle, a stranger of verydistinguished figure was seen on the sidewalk. His port as well as hisgarments betokened nothing short of nobility. He wore a richlyembroidered plum-colored coat, a waistcoat of costly velvetmagnificently adorned with golden foliage, a pair of splendid scarletbreeches and the finest and glossiest of white silk stockings. His headwas covered with a peruke so daintily powdered and adjusted that itwould have been sacrilege to disorder it with a hat, which, therefore(and it was a gold-laced hat set off with a snowy feather), he carriedbeneath his arm. On the breast of his coat glistened a star. He managedhis gold-headed cane with an airy grace peculiar to the fine gentlemenof the period and, to give the highest possible finish to hisequipment, he had lace ruffles at his wrist of a most etherealdelicacy, sufficiently avouching how idle and aristocratic must be thehands which they half-concealed.It was a remarkable point in the accoutrement of this brilliantpersonage that he held in his left hand a fantastic kind of pipe withan exquisitely painted bow and an amber mouthpiece. This he applied tohis lips as often as every five or six paces and inhaled a deep whiffof smoke, which after being retained a moment in his lungs might beseen to eddy gracefully from his mouth and nostrils.As may well be supposed, the street was all astir to find out thestranger's name."It is some great nobleman, beyond question," said one of thetownspeople. "Do you see the star at his breast?""Nay, it is too bright to be seen," said another. "Yes, he must needsbe a nobleman, as you say. But by what conveyance, think you, can hisLordship have voyaged or traveled hither? There has been no vessel fromthe old country for a month past; and if he have arrived overland fromthe southward, pray where are his attendants and equipage?""He needs no equipage to set off his rank," remarked a third. "If hecame among us in rags, nobility would shine through a hole in hiselbow. I never saw such dignity of aspect. He has the old Normanblood in his veins, I warrant him.""I rather take him to be a Dutchman or one of your High Germans," saidanother citizen. "The men of those countries have always the pipe attheir mouths.""And so has a Turk," answered his companion. "But in my judgment, thisstranger hath been bred at the French court and hath there learnedpoliteness and grace of manner which none understand so well as thenobility of France. That gait, now! A vulgar spectator might deem itstiff--he might call it a hitch and jerk--but, to my eye, it hath anunspeakable majesty and must have been acquired by constant observationof the deportment of the Grand Monarque. The stranger's character andoffice are evident enough. He is a French ambassador come to treat withour rulers about the cession of Canada.""More probably a Spaniard," said another, "and hence his yellowcomplexion. Or most likely he is from the Havana or from some port onthe Spanish main and comes to make investigation about the piracieswhich our governor is thought to connive at. Those settlers in Peru andMexico have skins as yellow as the gold which they dig out of theirmines.""Yellow or not," cried a lady, "he is a beautiful man! So tall, soslender! Such a fine, noble face, with so well shaped a nose and allthat delicacy of expression about the mouth! And, bless me! how brighthis star is! It positively shoots out flames.""So do your eyes, fair lady," said the stranger, with a bow and aflourish of his pipe, for he was just passing at the instant. "Upon myhonor, they have quite dazzled me!""Was ever so original and exquisite a compliment?" murmured the lady,in an ecstasy of delight.Amid the general admiration excited by the stranger's appearance therewere only two dissenting voices. One was that of an impertinent curwhich, after sniffing at the heels of the glistening figure, put itstail between its legs and skulked into its master's backyard,vociferating an execrable howl. The other dissentient was a young childwho squalled at the fullest stretch of his lungs and babbled someunintelligible nonsense about a pumpkin.Feathertop, meanwhile, pursued his way along the street. Except for thefew complimentary words to the lady, and now and then a slightinclination of the head in requital of the profound reverences of thebystanders, he seemed wholly absorbed in his pipe. There needed noother proof of his rank and consequence than the perfect equanimitywith which he comported himself, while the curiosity and admiration ofthe town swelled almost into a clamor around him. With a crowdgathering behind his footsteps, he finally reached the mansion-house ofthe worshipful Justice Gookin, entered the gate, ascended the steps ofthe front door and knocked. In the interim before his summons wasanswered the stranger was observed to shake the ashes out of his pipe."What did he say in that sharp voice?" inquired one of the spectators."Nay, I know not," answered his friend. "But the sun dazzles my eyesstrangely. How dim and faded His Lordship looks all of a sudden! Blessmy wits, what is the matter with me?""The wonder is," said the other, "that his pipe, which was out aninstant ago, should be all alight again and with the reddest coal Iever saw. There is something mysterious about this stranger. What awhiff of smoke was that! 'Dim and faded,' did you call him? Why, as heturns about the star on his breast is all ablaze.""It is, indeed," said his companion, "and it will go near to dazzlepretty Polly Gookin, whom I see peeping at it out of the chamberwindow."The door being now opened, Feathertop turned to the crowd, made astately bend of his body, like a great man acknowledging the reverenceof the meaner sort, and vanished into the house. There was a mysteriouskind of a smile--if it might not better be called a grin orgrimace--upon his visage, but of all the throng that beheld him not anindividual appears to have possessed insight enough to detect theillusive character of the stranger, except a little child and acur-dog.Our legend here loses somewhat of its continuity, and, passing over thepreliminary explanation between Feathertop and the merchant, goes inquest of the pretty Polly Gookin. She was a damsel of a soft, roundfigure with light hair and blue eyes, and a fair rosy face which seemedneither very shrewd nor very simple. This young lady had caught aglimpse of the glistening stranger while standing at the threshold andhad forthwith put on a laced cap, a string of beads, her finestkerchief and her stiffest damask petticoat, in preparation for theinterview. Hurrying from her chamber to the parlor, she had ever sincebeen viewing herself in the large looking-glass and practising prettyairs--now a smile, now a ceremonious dignity of aspect, and now asofter smile than the former, kissing her hand likewise, tossing herhead and managing her fan, while within the mirror an unsubstantiallittle maid repeated every gesture and did all the foolish things thatPolly did, but without making her ashamed of them. In short, it was thefault of pretty Polly's ability, rather than her will, if she failed tobe as complete an artifice as the illustrious Feathertop himself; andwhen she thus tampered with her own simplicity, the witch's phantommight well hope to win her.No sooner did Polly hear her father's gouty footsteps approaching theparlor door, accompanied with the stiff clatter of Feathertop'shigh-heeled shoes, than she seated herself bolt upright and innocentlybegan warbling a song."Polly! Daughter Polly!" cried the old merchant. "Come hither, child."Master Gookin's aspect, as he opened the door, was doubtful andtroubled."This gentleman," continued he, presenting the stranger, "is thechevalier Feathertop--nay, I beg his pardon, My Lord Feathertop--whohath brought me a token of remembrance from an ancient friend of mine.Pay your duty to His Lordship, child, and honor him as his qualitydeserves."After these few words of introduction the worshipful magistrateimmediately quitted the room. But even in that brief moment, had thefair Polly glanced aside at her father instead of devoting herselfwholly to the brilliant guest, she might have taken warning of somemischief nigh at hand. The old man was nervous, fidgety and very pale.Purposing a smile of courtesy, he had deformed his face with a sort ofgalvanic grin which, when Feathertop's back was turned, he exchangedfor a scowl, at the same time shaking his fist and stamping his goutyfoot--an incivility which brought its retribution along with it. Thetruth appears to have been that Mother Rigby's word of introduction,whatever it might be, had operated far more on the rich merchant'sfears than on his good-will. Moreover, being a man of wonderfully acuteobservation, he had noticed that the painted figures on the bowl ofFeathertop's pipe were in motion. Looking more closely, he becameconvinced that these figures were a party of little demons, each dulyprovided with horns and a tail, and dancing hand in hand with gesturesof diabolical merriment round the circumference of the pipe-bowl. As ifto confirm his suspicions, while Master Gookin ushered his guest alonga dusky passage from his private room to the parlor, the star onFeathertop's breast had scintillated actual flames, and threw aflickering gleam upon the wall, the ceiling and the door.With such sinister prognostics manifesting themselves on all hands, itis not to be marveled at that the merchant should have felt that he wascommitting his daughter to a very questionable acquaintance. He cursedin his secret soul the insinuating elegance of Feathertop's manners asthis brilliant personage bowed, smiled, put his hand on his heart,inhaled a long whiff from his pipe, and enriched the atmosphere withthe smoky vapor of a fragrant and visible sigh. Gladly would poorMaster Gookin have thrust his dangerous guest into the street, butthere was a restraint and terror within him. This respectable oldgentleman, we fear, at an earlier period of life had given some pledgeor other to the Evil Principle, and perhaps was now to redeem it by thesacrifice of his daughter.It so happened that the parlor door was partly of glass shaded by asilken curtain the folds of which hung a little awry. So strong was themerchant's interest in witnessing what was to ensue between the fairPolly and the gallant Feathertop that after quitting the room he couldby no means refrain from peeping through the crevice of the curtain.But there was nothing very miraculous to be seen--nothing except thetrifles previously noticed, to confirm the idea of a supernatural perilenvironing the pretty Polly. The stranger, it is true, was evidently athorough and practised man of the world, systematic and self-possessed,and therefore the sort of person to whom a parent ought not to confidea simple young girl without due watchfulness for the result. The worthymagistrate, who had been conversant with all degrees and qualities ofmankind, could not but perceive every motion and gesture of thedistinguished Feathertop came in its proper place. Nothing had beenleft rude or native in him; a well-digested conventionalism hadincorporated itself thoroughly with his substance and transformed himinto a work of art. Perhaps it was this peculiarity that invested himwith a species of ghastliness and awe. It is the effect of anythingcompletely and consummately artificial in human shape that the personimpresses us as an unreality, and as having hardly pith enough to casta shadow upon the floor. As regarded Feathertop, all this resulted in awild, extravagant, and fantastical impression, as if his life and beingwere akin to the smoke that curled upward from his pipe.But pretty Polly Gookin felt not thus. The pair were now promenadingthe room--Feathertop with his dainty stride, and no less daintygrimace, the girl with a native maidenly grace just touched, notspoiled, by a slightly affected manner which seemed caught from theperfect artifice of her companion. The longer the interview continued,the more charmed was pretty Polly, until within the first quarter of anhour (as the old magistrate noted by his watch) she was evidentlybeginning to be in love. Nor need it have been witchcraft that subduedher in such a hurry: the poor child's heart, it may be, was so veryfervent that it melted her with its own warmth, as reflected from thehollow semblance of a lover. No matter what Feathertop said, his wordsfound depth and reverberation in her ear; no matter what he did, hisaction was very heroic to her eye. And by this time, it is to besupposed, there was a blush on Polly's cheek, a tender smile about hermouth, and a liquid softness in her glance, while the star keptcoruscating on Feathertop's breast, and the little demons careered withmore frantic merriment than ever about the circumference of hispipe-bowl. Oh, pretty Polly Gookin! Why should these imps rejoice somadly that a silly maiden's heart was about to be given to a shadow? Isit so unusual a misfortune--so rare a triumph?By and by Feathertop paused and, throwing himself into an imposingattitude, seemed to summon the fair girl to survey his figure andresist him longer if she could. His star, his embroidery, his buckles,glowed at that instant with unutterable splendor; the picturesque huesof his attire took a richer depth of coloring; there was a gleam andpolish over his whole presence betokening the perfect witchery ofwell-ordered manners. The maiden raised her eyes and suffered them tolinger upon her companion with a bashful and admiring gaze. Then, as ifdesirous of judging what value her own simple comeliness might haveside by side with so much brilliancy, she cast a glance toward thefull-length looking glass in front of which they happened to bestanding. It was one of the truest plates in the world and incapable offlattery. No sooner did the images therein reflected meet Polly's eyethan she shrieked, shrank from the stranger's side, gazed at him amoment in the wildest dismay, and sank insensible upon the floor.Feathertop, likewise, had looked toward the mirror, and there beheld,not the glittering mockery of his outside show, but a picture of thesordid patchwork of his real composition stripped of all witchcraft.The wretched simulacrum! We almost pity him. He threw up his arms withan expression of despair that went farther than any of his previousmanifestations toward vindicating his claims to be reckoned human. Forperchance the only time since this so often empty and deceptive life ofmortals began its course, an illusion had seen and fully recognizeditself.Mother Rigby was seated by her kitchen hearth in the twilight of thiseventful day and had just shaken the ashes out of a new pipe, when sheheard a hurried tramp along the road. Yet it did not seem so much thetramp of human footsteps as the clatter of sticks or the rattling ofdry bones."Ha!" thought the old witch, "what step is that? Whose skeleton is outof its grave now, I wonder?"A figure burst headlong into the cottage door. It was Feathertop. Hispipe was still alight, the star still flamed upon his breast, theembroidery still glowed upon his garments, nor had he lost in anydegree or manner that could be estimated the aspect that assimilatedhim with our mortal brotherhood. But yet, in some indescribable way (asis the case with all that has deluded us when once found out), the poorreality was felt beneath the cunning artifice."What has gone wrong?" demanded the witch. "Did yonder snifflinghypocrite thrust my darling from his door? The villain! I'll set twentyfiends to torture him till he offer thee his daughter on his bendedknees!""No, mother," said Feathertop, despondingly; "it was not that.""Did the girl scorn my precious one?" asked Mother Rigby, her fierceeyes glowing like two coals of Tophet. "I'll cover her face withpimples! Her nose shall be as red as the coal in thy pipe! Her frontteeth shall drop out! In a week hence she shall not be worth thyhaving.""Let her alone, mother," answered poor Feathertop. "The girl was halfwon, and methinks a kiss from her sweet lips might have made mealtogether human. But," he added after a brief pause and then a howl ofself-contempt, "I've seen myself, mother! I've seen myself for thewretched, ragged, empty thing I am. I'll exist no longer."Snatching the pipe from his mouth, he flung it with all his mightagainst the chimney, and at the same instant sank upon the floor, amedley of straw and tattered garments, with some sticks protruding fromthe heap and a shriveled pumpkin in the midst. The eyeholes were nowlustreless but the rudely carved gap that just before had been a mouthstill seemed to twist itself into a despairing grin, and was so farhuman."Poor fellow!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a rueful glance at the relicsof her ill-fated contrivance. "My poor, dear, pretty Feathertop! Thereare thousands upon thousands of coxcombs and charlatans in the worldmade up of just such a jumble of worn-out, forgotten andgood-for-nothing trash as he was, yet they live in fair repute, andnever see themselves for what they are. And why should my poor puppetbe the only one to know himself and perish for it?"While thus muttering the witch had filled a fresh pipe of tobacco, andheld the stem between her fingers, as doubtful whether to thrust itinto her own mouth or Feathertop's."Poor Feathertop!" she continued. "I could easily give him anotherchance, and send him forth again to-morrow. But no! His feelings aretoo tender--his sensibilities too deep. He seems to have too much heartto bustle for his own advantage in such an empty and heartless world.Well, well! I'll make a scarecrow of him, after all. 'Tis an innocentand useful vocation, and will suit my darling well; and if each of hishuman brethren had as fit a one, 'twould be the better for mankind. Andas for his pipe of tobacco, I need it more than he."So saying, Mother Rigby put the stem between her lips."Dickon," cried she, in her high, sharp tone, "another coal for mypipe!"