"You will not want it yourself!" exclaimed Anne Sophia, astonished.

"No," said Mary Erskine, "I am only going to buy it as an investment."

There were so many things to be astonished at in this statement, that Anne Sophia hardly knew where to begin with her wonder. First, she was surprised to learn that Mary Erskine had so much money. When she heard that she had bought the house, she supposed of course that she had bought it on credit, for the sake of having a house in the village to live in. Then she was amazed at the idea of any person continuing to live in a log house in the woods, when she had a pretty house of her own in the middle of the village. She could not for some time be satisfied that Mary Erskine was in earnest in what she said. But when she found that it was really so, she went away greatly relieved. Mary Erskine told her that she had postponed giving her final answer about buying the house, in order first to see Mr. Gordon, to know whether he had any objection to the change of ownership. She knew, of course, that Mr. Gordon would have no right to object, but she rightly supposed that he would be gratified at having her ask him the question.

Mary Erskine went on after this for two or three years very prosperously in all her affairs. Thomas continued to live with her, in her log-house, and to cultivate the land which she had retained. In the fall and winter, when there was nothing to be done in the fields or garden, he was accustomed to work in the shop, making improvements for the house, such as finishing off the stoop into another room, to be used for a kitchen, making new windows to the house, and a regular front door, and in preparing fences and gates to be put up around the house. He made an aqueduct, too, to conduct the water from a new spring which he discovered at a place higher than the house, and so brought a constant stream of water into the kitchen which he had made in the stoop. The stumps, too, in the fields around the house, gradually decayed, so that Thomas could root them out and smooth over the ground where they had stood. Mary Erskine's ten acres thus became very smooth and beautiful. It was divided by fences into very pleasant fields, with green lanes shaded by trees, leading from one place to another. The brook flowed through this land along a very beautiful valley, and there were groves and thickets here and there, both along the margin of the brook, and in the corners of the fields, which gave to the grounds a very sheltered, as well as a very picturesque expression. Mary Erskine also caused trees and shrubbery to be planted near the house, and trained honey-suckles and wild roses upon a trellis over the front door. All these improvements were made in a very plain and simple manner, and at very little expense, and yet there was so much taste exercised in the arrangement of them all, that the effect was very agreeable in the end. The house and all about it formed, in time, an enchanting picture of rural beauty.[A]

[Footnote A: See Frontispiece.]

It was, however, only a few occasional hours of recreation that Mary Erskine devoted to ornamenting her dwelling. The main portion of her time and attention was devoted to such industrial pursuits as were most available in bringing in the means of support for herself and her children, so as to leave untouched the income from her house and her bridge shares. This income, as fast as it was paid in, she deposited with Mr. Keep, to be lent out on interest, until a sufficient sum was thus accumulated to make a new investment of a permanent character. When the sum at length amounted to two hundred and twenty dollars, she bought two more bridge shares with it, and from that time forward she received dividends on six shares instead of four; that is, she received thirty dollars every six months, instead of twenty, as before.

One reason why Mary Erskine invested her money in a house and in a bridge, instead of lending it out at interest, was that by so doing, her property was before her in a visible form, and she could take a constant pleasure in seeing it. Whenever she went to the village she enjoyed seeing her house, which she kept in a complete state of repair, and which she had ornamented with shrubbery and trees, so that it was a very agreeable object to look upon of itself, independently of the pleasure of ownership. In the same manner she liked to see the bridge, and think when teams and people were passing over it, that a part of all the toll which they paid, would, in the end, come to her. She thus took the same kind of pleasure in having purchased a house, and shares in a bridge, that any lady in a city would take in an expensive new carpet, or a rosewood piano, which would cost about the same sum; and then she had all the profit, in the shape of the annual income, besides.

There was one great advantage too which Mary Erskine derived from owning this property, which, though she did not think of it at all when she commenced her prudent and economical course, at the time of her marriage, proved in the end to be of inestimable value to her. This advantage was the high degree of respectability which it gave her in the public estimation. The people of the village gradually found out how she managed, and how fast her property was increasing, and they entertained for her a great deal of that kind of respect which worldly prosperity always commands. The store-keepers were anxious to have her custom. Those who had money to lend were always very ready to let her have it, if at any time she wished to make up a sum for a new investment: and all the ladies of the village were willing that their daughters should go out to her little farm to visit Bella, and to have Bella visit them in return. Thus Mary Erskine found that she was becoming quite an important personage.

Her plan of teaching herself and her children succeeded perfectly. By the time that she had thoroughly learned to write her own name, she knew half of the letters of the alphabet, for her name contained nearly that number. She next learned to write her children's names, Bella Forester and Albert Forester. After that, she learned to write the names of all the months, and to read them when she had written them. She chose the names of the months, next after the names of her own family, so that she might be able to date her letters if she should ever have occasion to write any.

Mary Bell set copies for her, when she came out to see her, and Mary Erskine went on so much faster than Bella, that she could teach her very well. She required Bella to spend an hour at her studies every day. Thomas made a little desk for her, and her mother bought her a slate and a pencil, and in process of time an arithmetic, and other books. As soon as Mary Erskine could read fluently, Mary Bell used to bring out books to her, containing entertaining stories. At first Mary Bell would read these stories to her once, while she was at her work, and then Mary Erskine, having heard Mary Bell read them, could read them herself in the evening without much difficulty. At length she made such progress that she could read the stories herself alone, the first time, with very little trouble.

Thus things went on in a very pleasant and prosperous manner, and this was the condition of Mary Erskine and of her affairs, at the time when Malleville and Phonny went to pay her their visit, as described in the first chapter of this volume.



CHAPTER X.

THE VISIT TO MARY ERSKINE'S.

Malleville and Phonny arrived at Mary Erskine's about an hour after Beechnut left them. They met with no special adventures by the way, except that when they reached the great pine-tree, Phonny proposed to climb up, for the purpose of examining a small bunch which he saw upon one of the branches, which he thought was a bird's nest. It was the same pine-tree that marked the place at which a road branched off into the woods, where Mary Bell had lost her way, several years before. Malleville was very unwilling to have Phonny climb up upon such a high tree, but Phonny himself was very desirous to make the attempt. There was a log fence at the foot of the tree, and the distance was not very great from the uppermost log of the fence, to the lowermost branch of the tree. So Phonny thought that he could get up without any difficulty.

Malleville was afraid to have him try, and she said that if he did, he would be acting just as foolish as the boy that Beechnut had told them about, who nipped his own nose; and that she should not stop to see him do any such foolishness. So she walked along as fast as she could go.

Phonny unfortunately was rendered only the more determined to climb the tree by Malleville's opposition. He accordingly mounted up to the top of the fence, and thence reaching the lower branches of the tree he succeeded at length, by dint of much scrambling and struggling, in lifting himself up among them. He climbed out to the limb where he had seen the appearances of a bird's nest, but found to his disappointment that there was no bird's nest there. The bunch was only a little tuft of twigs growing out together.

Phonny then began to shout out for Malleville to wait for him.

"Mal—le—ville! Mal—le—ville!" said he. "Wait a minute for me. I am coming down."

He did not like to be left there all alone, in the gloomy and solitary forest. So he made all the haste possible in descending. There are a great many accidents which may befall a boy in coming down a tree. The one which Phonny was fated to incur in this instance, was to catch his trowsers near the knee, in a small sharp twig which projected from a branch, and tear them.

When he reached the ground he looked at the rent in dismay. He was generally nice and particular about his clothes, and he was very unwilling to go to Mary Erskine's, and let her and Bella see him in such a plight. He was equally unwilling to go home again, and to lose his visit.

"Provoking!" said he. "That comes from Malleville's hurrying me so. It is all her fault." Then starting off suddenly, he began to run, shouting out, "Malleville! Malleville!"

At length, when he got pretty near her, he called out for her to stop and see what she had made him do.

"Did I make you do that?" said Malleville, looking at the rent, while Phonny stood with his foot extended, and pointing at it with his finger.

"Yes," said Phonny,—"because you hurried me."

"Well, I'm sorry;" said Malleville, looking very much concerned.

Phonny was put quite to a nonplus by this unexpected answer. He had expected to hear Malleville deny that it was her fault that he had torn his clothes, and was prepared to insist strenuously that it was; but this unlooked-for gentleness seemed to leave him not a word to say. So he walked along by the side of Malleville in silence.

"Was it a pretty bird's-nest?" said Malleville in a conciliatory tone, after a moment's pause.

"No," said Phonny. "It was not any bird's nest at all."

When the children reached the farm as they called it, Mary Erskine seated Phonny on the bed, and then drawing up her chair near to him, she took his foot in her lap and mended the rent so neatly that there was afterwards no sign of it to be seen.

Little Albert was at this time about three years old, and Bella was seven. Phonny, while Mary Erskine was mending his clothes, asked where the children were. Mary Erskine said that they had gone out into the fields with Thomas, to make hay. So Phonny and Malleville, after getting proper directions in respect to the way that they were to go, set off in pursuit of them.

They went out at a back-door which led to a beautiful walk under a long trellis, which was covered with honey-suckles and roses. Malleville stopped to get a rose, and Phonny to admire two humming-birds that were playing about the honey-suckles. He wished very much that he could catch one of them, but he could not even get near them. From the end of the trellis's walk the children entered a garden, and at the back side of the garden they went through a narrow place between two posts into a field. They walked along the side of this field, by a very pleasant path with high green grass and flowers on one side, and a wall with a great many raspberry bushes growing by it, and now and then little thickets of trees, on the other. The bushes and trees made the walk that they were going in very cool and shady. There were plenty of raspberries upon the bushes, but they were not yet ripe. Phonny said that when the raspberries were ripe he meant to come out to Mary Erskine's again and get some.

Presently the children turned a sort of a corner which was formed by a group of trees, and then they came in sight of the hay-making party.

"Oh, they have got the horse and cart," said Phonny. So saying he set off as fast he could run, toward the hay-makers, Malleville following him.

The horse and cart were standing in the middle of the field among the numerous winrows of hay. The two children of Mrs. Forester, Bella and Albert, were in the cart, treading down the hay as fast as Thomas pitched it up. As soon as Phonny and Malleville reached the place, Malleville stood still with her hands behind her, looking at the scene with great interest and pleasure. Phonny wanted to know if Thomas had not got another pitch-fork, so that he might help him pitch up the hay.

Thomas said, no. He, however, told Phonny that he might get into the cart if he pleased, and drive the horse along when it was time to go to a new place. Phonny was extremely pleased with this plan. He climbed into the cart, Bella helping him up by a prodigious lift which she gave him, seizing him by the shoulder as he came up. Malleville was afraid to get into the cart at all, but preferred walking along the field and playing among the winrows.

Phonny drove along from place to place as Thomas directed him, until at length the cart was so full that it was no longer safe for the children to remain upon the top. They then slid down the hay to the ground, Thomas receiving them so as to prevent any violent fall. Thomas then forked up as much more hay as he could make stay upon the top of his load, and when this was done, he set out to go to the barn. The children accompanied him, walking behind the cart.

When the party reached the barn, the children went inside to a place which Phonny called the bay. Thomas drove his cart up near the side of the barn without, and began to pitch the hay in through a great square window, quite high up. The window opened into the bay, so that the hay, when Thomas pitched it in, fell down into the place where the children were standing. They jumped upon it, when it came down, with great glee. As every new forkful which Thomas pitched in came without any warning except the momentary darkening of the window, it sometimes fell upon the children's heads and half buried them, each new accident of this kind awakening, as it occurred, loud and long continued bursts of laughter.

After getting in two or three loads of hay in this manner, dinner time came, and the whole party went in to dinner. They found when they entered the house that Mary Erskine had been frying nut-cakes and apple-turnovers for them. There was a large earthen pan full of such things, and there were more over the fire. There were also around the table four bowls full of very rich looking milk, with a spoon in each bowl, and a large supply of bread, cut into very small pieces, upon a plate near the bowls. The children were all hungry and thirsty, and they gathered around the table to eat the excellent dinner which Mary Erskine had provided for them, with an air of great eagerness and delight.

After their dinner was over, Mary Erskine said that they might go out and play for half an hour, and that then she would go with them into the fields, and see if they could not find some strawberries. Accordingly, when the time arrived, they all assembled at the door, and Mary Erskine came out, bringing mugs and baskets to put the strawberries in. There were four mugs made, of tin; such as were there called dippers. There were two pretty large baskets besides, both covered. Mary Erskine gave to each of the children a dipper, and carried the baskets herself. She seemed to carry them very carefully, and they appeared to be heavy, as if there might be something inside. Phonny wanted very much to know what there was in those baskets. Mary Erskine said he must guess.

"Some cake," said Phonny.

"Guess again," said Mary Erskine.

"Apples," said Phonny.

"Guess again," said Mary Erskine.

"Why, have not I guessed right yet?" asked Phonny.

"I can't tell you," replied Mary Erskine. "Only you may guess as much as you please."

Phonny of course gave up guessing, since he was not to be told whether he guessed right or not; though he said he was sure that it was cake, or else, perhaps, some of the turn-overs. The party walked along by very pleasant paths until they came to a field by the side of the brook. There were trees along the banks of the brook, under which, and near the water, there were a great many cool and shady places that were very pleasant. Mary Erskine led the way down to one of these where there was a large flat stone near the water. She hid her two baskets in the bushes, and then directed the children to go up into the field with her and get the strawberries. The strawberries were not only very abundant, but also very large and ripe. Mary Erskine said that they might all eat ten, but no more. All that they got, except ten, they must put into their dippers, until the dippers were full. She herself went busily at work, finding strawberries and putting them into the dippers of the children, sometimes into one and sometimes into another. In a short time the dippers were full.

The whole party then went back to the brook and sat down upon the great flat stone, with their dippers before them. Mary Erskine then brought out one of her baskets, and lifting up the cover, she took out five saucers and five spoons.

"There," said she, "I brought you some saucers and spoons to eat your strawberries with. Now take up the bunches from your dippers, and pull off the strawberries from the stems, and put them in the saucers."

While the children were all busily engaged in doing this, Mary Erskine opened the other basket, and took out a pitcher of very rich looking cream. The sight of this treasure of course awakened in all the party the utmost enthusiasm and delight. They went on hulling their strawberries very industriously, and were soon ready, one after another, to have the cream poured over them, which Mary Erskine proceeded to do, giving to each one of the children a very abundant supply.



Phonny finished his strawberries first, and then went to the margin of the brook to look into the water, in order, as he said, "to see if he could see any fishes." He did see several, and became greatly excited in consequence, calling eagerly upon the rest of the party to come down and look. He said that he wished very much that he had a fishing-line. Mary Erskine said that Thomas had a fishing-line, which he would lend him, she had no doubt; and away Phonny went, accordingly, to find Thomas and to get the line.

This procedure was not quite right on Phonny's part. It is not right to abandon one's party under such circumstances as these, for the sake of some new pleasure accidentally coming into view, which the whole party cannot share. Besides, Phonny left his dipper for Mary Erskine or Malleville to carry up, instead of taking care of it himself. Mary Erskine, however, said that this was of no consequence, as she could carry it just as well as not.

Mary Erskine and the three remaining children, then went back to the house, where Bella and Malleville amused themselves for half an hour in building houses with the blocks in Thomas's shop, when all at once Malleville was surprised to see Beechnut coming in. Beechnut, was returning from the mill, and as the children had had to walk nearly all the way to Mary Erskine's, he thought it very probable that they would be too tired to walk back again. So he had left his horse and wagon at the corner, and had walked out to the farm to take the children home with him, if they were ready to go.

"I am not ready to go," said Malleville, after having heard this story, but I will go for the sake of the ride. I am too tired to walk all the way. But Phonny is not here. He has gone a-fishing."

"Where has he gone?" said Beechnut.

"Down to the brook," replied Malleville.

"I will go and find him," said Beechnut.

So saying, Beechnut left the shop, went out into the yard, and began to walk down the path which led toward the brook. Very soon he saw Phonny coming out from among the bushes with his pole over his shoulder, and walking along with quite a disconsolate air. Beechnut sat down upon a log by the side of the road, to wait for him.

"Did you catch any fishes?" said Beechnut, as Phonny approached him.

"No," said Phonny, despondingly.

"I am glad of that," said Beechnut.

"Glad!" said Phonny, looking up surprised, and somewhat displeased. "What are you glad for?"

"For the sake of the fishes," said Beechnut.

"Hoh!" said Phonny. "And the other day, when I did catch some, you said you were glad of that."

"Yes," said Beechnut, "then I was glad for your sake. There is always a chance to be glad for some sake or other, happen what may."

This, though very good philosophy, did not appear to be just at that time at all satisfactory to Phonny.

"I have had nothing but ill-luck all this afternoon," said Phonny, in a pettish tone. "That great ugly black horse of Thomas's trod on my foot."

"Did he?" said Beechnut; his countenance brightening up at the same time, as if Phonny had told him some good news.

"Yes," said Phonny, "Thomas came along near where I was fishing, and I laid down my fishing-line, and went up to the horse, and was standing by his head, and he trod on my foot dreadfully."

"Did he?" said Beechnut, "I am very glad of that."

"Glad of that!" repeated Phonny. "I don't see whose sake you can be glad of that for. I am sure it did not do the horse any good."

"I am glad of that for your sake," said Beechnut. "There never was a boy that grew up to be a man, that did not have his foot trod upon at some time or other by a horse. There is no other possible way for them to learn that when a horse takes up his foot, he will put it down again wherever it happens, and if a boy's foot is under it, it will get trod upon. There is no possible way for boys to learn that but by experiencing it. The only difference is, that some boys take the treading light, and others get it heavy. You have got it light. So if you have only learned the lesson, you have learned it very easily, and so I am glad."

"No, it was not light," said Phonny. "It was very heavy. What makes you think it was light?"

"By your walking," replied Beechnut. "I have known some boys that when they took their lesson in keeping out of the way of horses' forefeet, could not stand for a week after it. You have had most excellent luck, you may depend."

By the time that Beechnut and Phonny reached the house, Malleville had put on her bonnet and was ready to go. Mary Erskine said that she would go with them a little way. Bella and Albert then wanted to go too. Their mother said that she had no objection, and so they all went along together.

"Did you know that we were going to have a new road?" said Mary Erskine to Beechnut.

"Are you?" asked Phonny eagerly.

"Yes," said Mary Erskine. "They have laid out a new road to the corner, and are going to make it very soon. It will be a very good wagon road, and when it is made you can ride all the way. But then it will not be done in time for my raspberry party."

"Your raspberry party?" repeated Phonny, "what is that?'

"Did not I tell you about it? I am going to invite you and all the children in the village that I know, to come here some day when the raspberries are ripe, and have a raspberry party,—like the strawberry party that we had to-day. There are a great many raspberries on my place."

"I'm very glad," said Malleville. "When are you going to invite us?"

"Oh, in a week or two," said Mary Erskine. "But then the new road will not be done until the fall. They have just begun it. We can hear them working upon it in one place, pretty soon."

The party soon came to the place which Mary Erskine had referred to. It was a point where the new road came near the line of the old one, and a party of men and oxen were at work, making a causeway, across a low wet place. As the children passed along, they could hear the sound of axes and the voices of men shouting to oxen. Phonny wished very much to go and see. So Mary Erskine led the way through the woods a short distance, till they came in sight of the men at work. They were engaged in felling trees, pulling out rocks and old logs which were sunken in the mire, by means of oxen and chains, and in other similar works, making all the time loud and continual vociferations, which resounded and echoed through the forest in a very impressive manner.

What interested Phonny most in these operations, was to see how patiently the oxen bore being driven about in the deep mire, and the prodigious strength which they exerted in pulling out the logs. One of the workmen would take a strong iron chain, and while two others would pry up the end of a log with crow-bars or levers, he would pass the chain under the end so raised, and then hook it together above. Another man would then back up a pair of oxen to the place, and sometimes two pairs, in order that they might be hooked to the chain which passed around the log. When all was ready, the oxen were started forward, and though they went very slowly, step by step, yet they exerted such prodigious strength as to tear the log out of its bed, and drag it off, roots, branches, and all, entirely out of the way.

Monstrous rocks were lifted up and dragged out of the line of the road in much the same manner.

After looking at this scene for some time, the party returned to the old road again, and there Mary Erskine said that she would bid her visitors good-bye, and telling them that she would not forget to invite them to her raspberry party, she took leave of them and went back toward her own home.

"If all the children of the village that Mary Erskine knows, are invited to that party," said Phonny, "what a great raspberry party it will be!"

"Yes," said Beechnut, "it will be a raspberry jam."



THE END.