TIIE OREGON SUNDAY JOURNAL,' PORTLAND. SUNDAY MORNING
STEPHEN THURBER had no notion of falling
in with a great sociologic movement when he
'decided to sell hit farm in Wet Coolly and move
into Bluff Sidinir: he merely yielded to tht im
portunities of his wife and daughter, who looked
laway to the prim little village down the Valley as t
Ubinuior land of leisure and of possible social triumph.
,' It was a lonely place for the women that Stephen'
generously admitted. A long ridge, some five hundred
jfeet high, cut them off from the railway, and all the
iyoung people were leaving by twos and threes, as fast
as they grew up, and the roads were very bad, and visi
tors few.
So at last he sighed and said, " All right, mother, well
To, but I'll declare I hate to give up the farm I don't
fivnow what in time I'll do with-myself." '
Stephen, now that he was about to lose his treas
' jures, recalled Martha's delight as she watched the work
linen set the old oaken slab in its place. He re-lived the
. iparty she gave when the first fire was laid, and thrilled
to remember how pretty she looked as she touched a
bnntch to the shavings and recited a little verse from
hThe Hanging of the Crane." She was cheerful and,
I'Stcphea believed, happy; but when she went away he
began to realize that she had never really taken root in
the West and now that he was growing old, he him
jself began to dwell more and more in the land of his
kouth, his thoughts returned often to his rocky New ..
ulampsbire intervale.
F Yes, it was hardest of all to loose the tendrils of
lis heart from the hearth, for though Serilla had re
arranged and redecorated after her own heart, Martha's
slreplace remained unchanged.
"I'll let you have your way in most things, Scrilly,
liut I want this room to look as it does now, just as she
left if
As the time for the migration drew near, Stephen
stole away from the disordered kitchen to muse sadly
before the fire. He had consented to a " vandue," and
was willing Serilla should sell all the furniture they
had, except a few pieces that had been Martha's, and
cs there was no demand for the irons and brasses
around the fireplace, he expected to box them up as
keepsakes.
The cottage in town seemed to grow smaller after
they moved into it; but Serilla and Cariss were de
lighted with its snugness and went about extolling its
"advantages" with fluent tongues. "It's small, of
icourse; but what do we want with a big house? It's
just that much less work to take care of. Besides here
j,we have a pump right in the kitchen, and a furnace,
land a bathroom, and- everything is as neat as a pin
., -na crar-darfcrcoiwfc"-
By June he was settled into a certain daily groove.
You want to just lay back and rest," said Hiram Fox,
another veteran of the plow; "that's what all the rest
; of us are doin,' and we're doin' it conscientiously. The
town is full of 'tired farmers' like us." :
i Sometimes at night, when his wife thought him doz
ing, hevas really back in the old Coolly house watch
ing the blazing logs, his mind filled with a delicious sad
mess, his eyes wet with tears. What was it that had
; .gone out of his life? v Here he sat in a perfectly com
jfortable room, possessing a horse and a carriage, with
,'an abundance to 'eat and no cares and yet the past,
with all his toil, so called to him that his throat ached at
the thought of it. Oh, if he could only re-live it all I
In those dear days the wind was fierce, the woods of
Winter desolate; but Martha's face shone like a star,
.and the old heart rendered each night with his children
! a poem. Work, was Jutrd in those days; but rest was
' j sweet; Hunger was'Tceen; but eating brought no ill
ness in its train.
' He was loyal to Serilla, the mother of his children;
jfcut Martha was the wife of his youth, the one chosen
wholly of his heart and her fireplace came to typify
jail that was sweetest and most poetic in his life and in
!the lives of his children. It was an altar. Around it
'they had gathered when the corn was cribbed and the
cattle housed tor the night. In its light they had
danced when the threshing was over and at Thanksgiv
ing time.
i He awoke with a start.
f " What will we do on Thanksgiving Day and at
Christmas?" he asked, one night " We can't all get
.into this little box of a place. There ain't a room in the
nouse we can au sit down in, and it we could, wed
have nothing but a hole in the floor to look at. I de
clare it clean disheartens me."
Serill was a little dashed, but replied, comfortably,
wen manage somenow, i guess. We can't have but
a part of the children at a time, that's alL We can bid
your folks for Thanksgiving and my folks for Christ
snas." This rankled in Stephen's mind, and thereafter he de
spised his toy house. It was a good enough tenement
a place to rent for a while, but as a home in which to
grow old, it was revolting in spite of its shining paint
nd spick and span new furniture.
In reality it held out no charm, no poetry, no associa
tions; it was as rectangular as a dry-goods box, and as
child born in such a house is cheated of its hirthnVht
ivi uuu, wiuc rooms ui up uy tne aancmg nrengnt ;
robbed of the sagas the great trees chant as they roar
joutside in the wild wind deprived of all shadow, all
j suggestion. Something of this flitted through Stephen's
uiougnr, inougn ne could not give it voice.
and homeless. Among all 'his fellow. Stephen alone
began to perceive that to seek comfort for the body
in new things left the mind filled with longing for old
things left it comfortless and unhoused. ..
So, while outwardly he remained the same, inwardly
he was filled with recollections which made him tremble
with their power. He greeted his neighbors with a smile
which grew each month a little more absent-minded
a little more wistful and when he wrote to his son in
Chicago, he said: "Our house is about as big as your
hat, and it's nice and neat, but we can't have any Christ
mas this year no place to set a table for more'n six.
I'm trying hard to pass the time"; and as he wrote his
glasses grew misty with his tears.
But one day while he was, sitting alone by his win
dow at sunset, when the blue-jays were in flight and the
butternut leaves were falling, Stephen' permitted him
self a most heroic dream. In imagination he said to a
contractor, " I want my old house across the hill I
, tight down and give him a little help yoa bein' an au
'.thority on fireplaces. We all hung our stockings in
chimney corners back East, but I'll be dinged if I can
remember just how you put em- in.
weeks of burning desire and irresolution, he had broken
ground. . '.' ' ". . "
No one suspected his connection with the building
his plan was too audacious, too far removed from the
It's a funny thing to me," said Hiram. "In the practical, everyday, life of Bluff Siding to be imagined
davs when we all had fireplaces we were crazy for
stoves, and now when we are. all peryided with, furnaces
some people want fireplaces. You'd think a family that
had mgh about froze to death in front of a hole in the
wall would fight hy of 'era thereafter."
" But they have their good p'ints," said Stephen, eag
erly. "Recollect -the mug o' cider on the hob, and the
by anyone ; and yet he was tormented with dread of the
storm of shrill astonishment ana protest which wouia
encircle him, when his 'secret should be disclosed. "
His hope and comfort lay in the belief that a visit to
the new house .all complete and. read to move into
would subdue and win his wife. Of Cariss he had no
fear. He also, covertly, depended upoirhe sympathy
.chestnuts in the ashes, and the apple parin's and the and support of his "Chicago Boy." as he called John;'
dances I tell you there's nothin' takes the place of a ' but Albert, who was a hard-working dentist in Tyre,
good old ', 1 . ' ' with a large and annually increasing family (and who
"Well, you can have hot cider and apple bees without ' was casting forward very definitely, to his share of the
a hole in the wail you can sung a yearling tnrougn. estate; AiDert wouia iook. wiw aisuvor pn tne ex-
What's the matter with a base-burner r"
Stephen was stubborn. "Won't do. " A base-burner
'V:,-. ' ' ' V "' .. - '
penditure of so much money in so foolish a fashion.
As for Pilcher and old Hiram and the) rest of the boys
3
s V
VV
i i
1
III
!
ft'
6 V
i f
V'
H 4
4
V
i
K
v.
V V
i
v. . - a y
"tut" "
ySMyyyyM
s
i?
4
1'
AH
mm
THE WINTERS OF THAT FAR TIME WERE MADE AS CHEERY AS SUMMEES BV THE BLAZE Of THE HEARTH.
I 1 f j 1 II - i a t m
i iuoiner,. ne saia one day, I wish we had one
.room big enough to turn round in, and a rag carpet and
some old-fashioned chairs and a fireplace "
i "There you go again about that fireplace," exclaimed
his wife irritably. "Nobody has fireplaces now, and
how are you going to have a big room in this house?"
" I'll build one. if you say so.
"Nonsense. This house is all right, plenty big enough
Tor us with Cariss likely to go off any minute. And
'as for Thanksgiving and Christmas, we can go to the
i hotel and get dinner, or take 'em in squads here at
home." ,, ; .
i "That wouldn't do," he protested. "It wouldn't do
; at all It wouldn't seem natural or right for us to eo to
a hotel on such days. We'd ought 'o have all such meals
tt home."
" Well, you wouldn't build a big house just to use for
"lankrivinff. would voti ?"
"Id' know but I would," he answered, sturdily. . " I
:f know but it would be just about as good a wav to
rr-eni our money as any other. I m sick o this little
1 f.sr-.n I rt't titiv th fsrrill mA .
don't care what jt costs. I am worth thirty thousand
dollars, and if it takes half of it I want my home. My
women folks will never go back to the Coolly with me,
and I can't live there alone, so you must bring the old
house fireplace and all across the ridge and put it
up under the trees somewhere. I want it just as it was
can you do this ?"
In this imagined conversation he was able to express
himself easily ; so he went on to say, " I ain't got but a
little while to stay here and I want to spend my days
in peace I want to be comfortable in my mind and
my mind ain't easy in this little box; I want a roomy
room with shadows in the corners and a fire to watch
when I don't want to read or talk-r-I want the old
room "
And when his wife broke in on this magical re very he
looked up with eyes so scared and pleading that she
wondered and sharply cried out, "What's the matter,
Stephen? You lock as if you'd seen a ghost"
" There, mother-r-there ! mebbe I have, he answered,
and turned away to hide the quiver of his lips.
One day he came in from his usual trip up town
visibly excited, and after he had taken off his coat and
hting" up his hat he began : '
" Well, somebody has bought the Merrill place."
Serilla looked up from her sewing.
"Who?"
"Hiram said he heard that a man from Tyre, a con
tractor, had bought it and was going to build on specu
lation." The Merrill place, as it was called, was the remnant
of a fine farm which had once been the pride of old
Abiter MerrilL The house, standing among magnificent
elms, commanded ten scares of land all the rest had
been sold away by the heirs. The outbuildings were in
decay and the yard was littered with rusty machinery,
but it was a beautiful site, and Stephen had long ad
mired it He never .passed it without planning what he
You've got to
I'll admit you
is such a sullen sort o thing. No, sir.
have the names a-leapin and a-crackin . 1 II admit you
need other heat," he added, "when the weather's too
cold; but I just believe we'd all be healthier if we went
back to the drafty old fireplaces. It did keep the room
ventilated the bad air was all swept up the chimney."
" Yes, 'long with the cat and the almanac and the
weekly newspaper," remarked Hiram. "My stars I but
the draft in our old chimney would draw nails out of
oak planks. We had to put a stun on the Bible."
"But we didn't have consumption in those days r "
"We had somethin' worse," piped Pilcher.
"What's that?" ;
"Chilblains, by cracky!"
And then they cackled together, and the Com
mittee broke up.
" What's this I hear ?" inquired Serilla, sharply, a few
days later. " Has the owner of the Merrill place asked
Jane Kittredge to go into that house?"
" I guess that's right, mother."
Serilla snorted, "Well, that's a fool thing to do
how come it? Did you advise it?"
. " Well, no Mr, Hill was sort o' inquiring 'round for
someone, and as Amos was sick and Jane "
"I knew it! I knew you had a hand in that "
"Well, why not? Amos is my brother-in-law Tve
a right to help him and Jane's a good housekeeper;
you. can't "deny that 1" ,
Serilla turned away. She and Jane were a little
"aidgewise" toward each other partly because Amos
was Stephen's first wife's brother and partly because
Jane herself was quite as sharp-tongued as any one.
Serilla had grazed her husband's larger secret, but
had not really touched it and he went out to the barn
to think the situation over.
cance a iig it we want to.
.No, sirreel loa don t ketch me linn' on the edge of would do if he owned it Now he said: "Well, I'm
icvrn, wnn no siaewaiKi. i want to be right in the glad somebody is going to im
improve it, but I wish yoa
'j?rtnc ngnts ana an.
" I could put in the telephone
"I wont hear of it, Steve. I came away from the
f.rm to live rrr town, and I don't want no half-way busi
ifi in mine."
i '.yben surrendered to her wi3 and made no further
cr TAint -
j l ey took their Thankseiving dinner at the hotel
f i oa the way home Senila said, "There! For once
: i r-r 1 i-rs, Cariss, we don't have to thick of Thanks
l - ? d nrxr di'hes.".
" iUt s r cht." answered Cariss, "and yet it doesn't
r j a tit 1 U Tha:.k giving, does it,ttr
' ca !.d net answer, for h was far away fa the
f . ;. t f the - - - - - - -
' trajk liirg to grow e!d in d.!y Iaboir, but
n as sad to grow cl whh nothing to d-
'
To this Serilla made no answer.
Stephen had been " kind o' dauncy " all through the
hot weather, but the work going forward on the Mer
rill place seemed to interest him. He fell into the habit
of walking down there of a morning, and Serilla was
glad of it, though she took her fimg at him and his
cronies.
"It's a wonder to me that yon and Hiram and old
mart Pilcher don't get a tent and camp ot in the Mer
rill yard. Seems to me if I was that builder I'd order
yoa off the premises." "
"He comiders our advice valuable, mother."
"IH bet he doesT he cornful!y repJied.
A few days later old Hiram rerWled to "the Com
mittee on the tnirere," that Mr. Hi'.l, the raider, wi
futtipg in a tig chimney and frep'ace. "He says a'i
the ritv people btrt 'rm thrt A s."
"iVeik, dow, Steve." sjd richer, "jog better go
The truth was that all this buying, planning and
building were stanzas in a poem of Stephen Thurber's
imagining. He was the " owner," Mr. Hill was merely
his confederate, his blind.
To the sympathetic young fellow he had gone (while
on a visit to Tyre) and to him had explained his needs.
" Now, I cant move the old bouse over from the Coolly,
that's out of the question, but I want you to go and
look it over and build me another exactly like it Make
it just as it was mhen I went into it for the f rt time,
. to that when I sit down by the fire I can jest imagine
I "rrr home again." He paused t?:ere, for his voice failed
him.
Th it was' his secret pin a ene of homeJetsnes.
All the subtle rharni ct his life, all the poetry of the.
part, wai associated with the home beyond the ridge,
and the eme cf loss grew m power cf appeal day by
day as his palms softened srhh 1!enes and his cheeks
lost their coat of tan. He wis bitterly tmhappy in his
present, nd in crr.-vmrt his face ttrmed more nd
rwre fcllv toward the lore! dart of his youth. The
thongft of grwfng old on a ffty-for lot in a crsrrped.
he was prepared to weather their laughter for It would
be good-natured and, besides, the joke would be
partly on them, for could he not say, "I fooled ye,
though, every, man jack of ye!"
But the strain, of his duplicity wore upon him, and
. Serilla grew so concerned about his silence, his abstrac
tion, that she wrote to John to come up and see what
was the matter with his father. t '
John came, and in answer to his questions, Stephen
said :" There's nothin' the matter with me, my son,
only I ain't got nothin' to do. I miss the old place."
"Well, you are in snug quarters," John admitted, as
he looked about the little house. "It's all very nice,
mother, but it isn't a bit like home."
Serilla was defiant. "Did you s'pose 1 was goin'
to end my days in Wet Coolly, twelve miles from the
railroad? I was just as sorry to leave the old house
as he was. But, my stars! I couldn't stand the strain.
It's all right for you to talk; you can come and go, but
I had to stay there Winter and Summer "
John was generous enough to acknowledge that it was
a lonesome place for a woman in Winter.
" Lonesome ! You might as well be buried."
" I s'pose you're right, mother. It's all a part of a
sorrowful exodus"; and leaving a, prescription for his
father he went back to the city, quite uninstructed in
the real cause of' his father's loss of health.
The point toward which Stephen was definitely
working was. a grand house-warming- on New Year's
Day; and he wished to surprise John especially, for hi
would certainly understand, i .
It was a time of anxiety, but it was. a time of great
joy. Each day as the bouse took shape he rode by or
sat in the yard to feast upon it. From the porch in front
to the little garden fence on its roof, it was exactly like
the old house 4he windows were tne same, the chim
ney rose through the shingles at the same point. Some
times he went inside, but the litter "there troubled hint,'
and, besides,, he wanted to wait until all was com- '
pleted, in order that the impression might come to '
him in fulness of power. .
His notion in getting Jane and her husband in was
at first due to his desire to have some one to put the
place to rights pending his confession to Serilla con
fession which became each day more difficult for as
the days slipped by and the house c eared completion
he became absorbed in the idea of restoring the fur
nishing of the house as it was when Martha was alive,
an idea which came to him as be sat with Amos and
his wife among their furniture.' He was surprised to
fmf a numtr of pieces of Martha's "fnrnitnre which
he hadjri.en them after her death, and he asked Jane
to see if she could find the armchair he had let her
sister have. .
As the day for wanning the hearth drew near Stephen
fairly trembled with joyous excitement. The builder
was paid rrn and gnie: the yard was " slirk as a whistle."
and the br new hone stfvwt rotd and while and rrand
feigVco'cred lrtti bouse appaed hiraand, so. after trader the bare branches of the eiins.Tfc sadirons and one day
the mantel were in place, but Stephen had not yet per
.rnitted himself the luxury of sitting down before the
fire he wanted to wait till the room was furnished and
Martha s rugs in place. , ,
' Jl uKtiTly- tI!.tdV; in dcr,"to help Amoi"
move in, heVxplamed to his wife. ; s
raW daJvrcl?udy. -v-ith- stron north wind
andAVlnfer seemed in the air and when the night be
gan to fall and Jane s furniture was sparsely distributed
r ( Jane herself being busy m the kitchen). Stephen lit
the fire;on his hearth and sat down before it with a
thrill of satisfaction, j : . ,
As he gaited the spell of that which he had. wrought
tell upon hint. The first stanza of his poem was being .
sung by. the roaring flames. On the white walls the
golden light was flickering and along the ceiling the '
shadows of the tall andirons danced grotesquely, fa
miliarly, as of old. rThe mantel with itr carven figures
and its candles and vases seemed unchanged." The
vi, mc ciuij uuisiuc was me same. '
Tears dimmed his eyes, a big lump filled his throat.
, For a mohjent he had the exaltation of the artist. He
seemed to have triumphed over time's decrees as the
,. poet does. It appeared that he had actually restored his
home, reconstructed the past, so that Martha might at '
any moment steal into the room,' light of step as of
- old, to sit on the arm of his chair and to ask with that
tenderness of sympathy which always melted his heart,
"Tired, Stephen?" and lay her cheek against his
shoulder. N
He loved Serilla: he honored and Cared for her as the
mother of his children ; but Martha was the wife of his
; youth, the Madonna of his dreams." She was associated
with the mystery of his life, the dew of his morning.
The whole earth was young that marvellous May when
they two adventured into this suave and fertile land.
The oerfume of wild honey, the song of larks in flowery
meadows lay in her name, and around her fireplace still
lingered such heartiness of cheer, such neighborliness as
the world no longer knew. Ob, those glorious pioneer
OBVJI ;
He sat so long in dreams that the red sky and fire
grew gray ana tne gooa people til the kitchen became
- uneasy, ana Amos came and brought a lamp-, and then
with an absent-minded smile the dreamer rose, stiff with
tne cniu oi age, ana went DacK to bis acknowledged
home, to the wife of his present
He came again the next day, and the next, and the ,s
is-jsi ivuig niM uiuiaiic pain ana pleasure nis
story in stone and steel, his epic in pungent pine, basking
in the glow of his fire, forgetting his gray hair and
jneCTelejs Jimb From theses
secret delicious excursions into the past, these com
munions with the dead, he returned to his wife and
daughter with reluctance, with a certain gnilty fear.
Without meaning to be .disloyal, he began to find
Serilla s brusque ways intolerable, and .had moments
when he resolved to keep his secret , He shrank from
her sharp voice, her prosaic and harsh comment He
was like a bridegroom, jealous of the very name of his
tove.
Amos had guessed Stephen's proprietorship of the
houser but being a man of perception, he had cautioned
his wife to yield no hint of their secret knowledge ; and
Jane was not merely discreet; she was sympathetic.
She added in many little ways to Stephen's enjoyment
of his home. The fire was always blazing on the hearth
when he came in, and he was left alone for the most
part; only upon invitation did she enter the room to sit
with him before his shrine.
This understanding was mutual Stephen knew that
they were in possession of his secret, but he gave no
outward sign ; indeed, he kept up the fiction by greeting
them as his hosts, and even went so far as to discuss the
coming of "the owner" in the spring. He always ex
pressed gratitude for a chance to sit against the fire. " I
don't know what I'll do when you move out," he said
once. "Well, IT! have one comfortable winter, any
way," he ended.
Serilla deeply resented his truancy, which she as
cribed to the influence of Jane Kittredge, and a barrier
of distrust and defense had risen between them. Cariss,
involved with the young life of trie village, gave very lit- -tie
thought to the matter, though she occasionally de
fended her father. "If he gets any fun out of Aunt
Jane, let him," she rather flippantly remarked; and the
tone of her" plea did not incline Stephen to confide in
her. John would understand, but he hesitated about
writing. " I'll wait till he comes up a-Christmas," he
decided.
His old cronies found him distinctly less companion
able, more"remote.t A settled sadness, a growing reserve
difficult of analysis, had come into his daily, greeting.
He told fewer stories, he was less often at the grocery
store, and his laugh was seldom heard. '
All this change they referred to ill-health, and their
comment was gentle and commiserating. '
. " Stephen is failin' fas" remarked Pilcher, one day.
"The cold weather seems to grip him. It wouldn't
surprise me to hear any day that he was taken flat down.
I doubt if he stands many more of these winters."
Hiram looked up with a smile which was at once
defiant and wistful. " We're all in the same boat and
driftin' the same way," he said ; and then they spoke
with resolute cheer of the weather and the price of fire
wood. ,
November pasted without any change of plan on
Stephen's part, and December, was half-way gone before
he broke silence. Being moved by a letter from John, :
he suddenly said one night, quite in his old, hearty way. '
" I tell you what you do, Amos. Yoa and Jane send
out invitations to John and Albert's folks and to all of
Serilla's kin, bidding 'em all to a Christmas dinner. Say
to the boys that, seein's their mother haint got room '
enough, I m kind o' goin in with you here. You can ...
. say I'm helpin' out on the turkey and things, and the v
children's stockin's, and that they can stay here part of
'em at least We can all get together here in this big
roonv " A lump came into his throat and he did not
fini$li-
Jane and Amos fell in with the suggestion quite as if
it were a command, and withdrew to write out the let
ters of invitation, leaving Stephen alone in the glow of
the fire, for, the walk that day had been a stern battle
with both wind and snow, and. he seemed older and
feebler. - .
A couple of hours later, as they went downstairs to
lock the doors and put out the lights, Jane said. " Look
ia and see how the fire in the big room is, while I see
to the furnace. My, hear that wind! "
Amos opened the door, but paused on the threshold
and beckoned with a smile. "Come here, Jane," he
whispered. " I thought I didn't hear him go out Jane
looked over his shoulder with a word of surprise . "
.The fire had burned low. In a deep bed of ashes a
big oaken gnarl still smoldered, sending up now and
again a single leaping jet of flame, and by its fitful light
Stephen was intermittently revealed, deep-sunk in his
armchair, his gray head turned laxly aside, his gaunt
hands hanging rmptilv by bis side.
"Better' wake him, said Jane. "IIeIl4ke a chil
He'd better sleep here to-night."
Arms went over and touched the sleeper on the
shoulder. He did not repond. Amos laid his band
against the grizzled cheek, and turned wt.h a start
toward his wife, a look of awe on his face a look, I
gesture which told his story instantly and wtib com
pleteneM. ...... i
Stephen was with'-Manha. and the pt and the j
present were to him as the rooming and toe evening of j