Edward Moore - "The Gamester (1753)"

Jane Ellen Harrison - "Ancient Art and Ritual"

Charlotte Elizabeth - "Kindness to Animals"

R. R. Lutz - "Wage Earning and Education"

Charles Felton Pidgin - Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

C >> Charles Felton Pidgin >> Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks



[Illustration: "THE VILLAGE GOSSIPS WONDERED WHO HE WAS, WHAT HE WAS,
WHAT HE CAME FOR, AND HOW LONG HE INTENDED TO STAY."]




QUINCY
ADAMS
SAWYER

AND

MASON'S CORNER FOLKS



A PICTURE OF NEW
ENGLAND HOME LIFE

BY

CHAS. FELTON PIDGIN


Boston
C.M. CLARK
PUBLISHING COMPANY
1905




REVISED
EDITION



Respectfully dedicated to
the Memory of the late
HON JAMES
RUSSELL LOWELL
the perusal of whose
famous poem
"THE COURTIN"
supplied the inspiration
that led to the writing
of this book.




AUTHOR'S PREFACE.


QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER'S only title was plain "Mr." His ancestors were
tradesmen, merchants, lawyers, politicians, and Presidents. He, too, was
proud of his honored ancestry, and I have endeavored in this book to
have him live up to an ideal personification of gentlemanly qualities
for which the New England standard should be fully as high as that of
Old England; in fact, I see no reason why the heroes of American novels,
barring the single matter of hereditary titles, should not compare
favorably as regards gentlemanly attributes with their English cousins
across the seas. C.F.P.

GRAY CHAMBERS,
BOSTON, October, 1902.





CHAPTERS

I. The Rehearsal

II. Mason's Corner Folks

III. The Concert in the Town Hall

IV. Ancestry _versus_ Patriotism

V. Mr. Sawyer Meets Uncle Ike

VI. Some New Ideas

VII. "That City Feller"

VIII. City Skill _versus_ Country Muscle

IX. Mr. Sawyer Calls on Miss Putnam

X. Village Gossip

XI. Some Sad Tidings

XII. Looking for a Boarding Place

XIII. A Visit to the Victim

XIV. A Quiet Evening

XV. A Long Lost Relative

XVI. A Promise Kept

XVII. An Informal Introduction

XVIII. The Courtin'

XIX. Jim Sawyer's Funeral

XX. A Wet Day

XXI. Some More New Ideas

XXII. After the Great Snowstorm

XXIII. A Visit to Mrs. Putnam

XXIV. The New Doctor

XXV. Some Plain Facts and Inferences

XXVI. The Surprise Party

XXVII. Town Politics

XXVIII. The Town Meeting

XXIX. Mrs. Hawkins's Boarding House

XXX. A Settlement

XXXI. An Inheritance

XXXII. Aunt Ella

XXXIII. The Weddin's

XXXIV. Blennerhassett

XXXV. "The Bird of Love"

XXXVI. Then They Were Married

XXXVII. Linda's Birthright

XXXVIII. Fernborough




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

_Frontispiece._--"The village gossips wondered
who he was, what
he was, what he came for,
and how long he intended
to stay."

It was a marvellous rig that he wore when he reappeared

The barge led the procession to Mason's Corner

And then he landed a blow on Wood's nose

"The Deacon and his wife led off"


CHARACTERS AND SCENES FROM THE STAGE PRESENTATION OF QUINCY ADAMS
SAWYER.

Mandy Skinner

Mrs. Putnam's anger, upon discovery of Lindy's parentage (Act III.)

Quincy reading Alice's letter to her (Act III.)

Samanthy Green

Quincy makes a speech (Act III.)

An old-fashioned husking bee (Act III.)

Alice recovers her sight (Act IV.)




QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER.




CHAPTER I.

THE REHEARSAL.


It was a little after seven o'clock on the evening of December 31,
186--. Inside, the little red schoolhouse was ablaze with light. Sounds
of voices and laughter came from within and forms could be seen flitting
back and forth through the uncurtained windows. Outside, a heavy fall of
snow lay upon hill and vale, trees and house-tops, while the rays of a
full-orbed moon shone down upon the glistening, white expanse.

At a point upon the main road a short distance beyond the square, where
the grocery store was situated, stood a young man. This young man was
Ezekiel Pettengill, one of the well-to-do young farmers of the village.
His coat collar was turned up and his cap pulled down over his ears, for
the air was piercing cold and a biting wind was blowing. Now and then he
would walk briskly back and forth for a few minutes, clapping his hands,
which were encased in gray woollen mittens, in order to restore some
warmth to those almost frozen members. As he walked back and forth, he
said several times, half aloud to himself, "I don't b'lieve she's comin'
anyway. I s'pose she's goin' to stay ter hum and spend the evenin' with
him." Finally he resumed his old position near the corner and assumed
his previous expectant attitude.

As he looked down the road, a man came out of Mrs. Hawkins's boarding
house, crossed the road and walked swiftly towards him.

As the new-comer neared him, he called out, "Hello, Pettengill! is that
you? Confounded cold, ain't it? Who wuz yer waitin' for? Been up to the
schoolhouse yet?"

To these inquiries 'Zekiel responded: "No!" and added, "I saw yer comin'
out of the house and thought I'd walk up with yer."

"Wall! they can't do nuthin' till I git thar," said Mr. Obadiah Strout,
the singing-master, "so we shall both be on time. By the way," he
continued, "I was up to Boston to-day to git some things I wanted for
the concert to-morrer night, and the minister asked me to buy some new
music books for the church choir, and I'm goin' up there fust to take
'em;" and 'Zekiel's attention was attracted to a package that Mr. Strout
held under his arm. "Say, Pettengill!" continued Mr. Strout, "when yet
git up ter the schoolhouse, tell them I'll be along in a few minutes;"
and he started off, apparently forgetful of 'Zekiel's declaration that
he had intended to walk up with him.

It is evident that 'Zekiel's statement was untruthful, for his words
have betrayed the fact that it was not the Professor of whom he had been
thinking.

'Zekiel did not move from his position until he had seen Strout turn
into the yard that led to the front door of the minister's house. Then
he said to himself again, "I don't believe she's comin', arter all."

As he spoke the words a deep, heavy sigh came from his great, honest
heart, heard only by the leaflless trees through which the winter wind
moaned as if in sympathy.

What was going on in the little red schoolhouse? The occasion was the
last rehearsal of the Eastborough Singing Society, which had been
studying vocal music assiduously for the last three months under the
direction of Professor Obadiah Strout, and was to give its annual
conceit the following evening at the Town Hall at Eastborough.

A modest sum had been raised by subscription. A big barge had been hired
in Cottonton, and after the rehearsal there was to be a sleigh ride to
Eastborough Centre and return. It was evident from the clamor and
confusion that the minds of those present were more intent upon the ride
than the rehearsal, and when one girl remarked that the Professor was
late, another quickly replied that, "if he didn't come at all 'twould be
early enough."

There were about two score of young persons present, very nearly equally
divided between the two sexes. Benjamin Bates was there and Robert Wood,
Cobb's twins, Emmanuel Howe, and Samuel Hill. Among the girls were Lindy
Putnam, the best dressed and richest girl in town, Mandy Skinner, Tilly
James, who had more beaus than any other girl in the village; the Green
sisters Samanthy and Betsy, and Miss Seraphina Cotton, the village
schoolteacher.

Evidently all the members of the society had not arrived, for constant
inquiries were being made about Huldy Mason and 'Zekiel Pettengill. When
Betsy Green asked Mandy Skinner if Hiram Maxwell wa'n't comin', the
latter replied that he'd probably come up when Miss Huldy and the new
boarder did.

News had reached the assemblage that Arthur Scates, the best tenor
singer in the society, was sick. Lindy Putnam was to sing a duet with
him at the concert, and so she asked if anybody had been to see him.

"I was up there this arternoon," said Ben Bates, "and he seemed powerful
bad in the throat. Grandmother Scates tied an old stocking 'round his
throat and gin him a bowl of catnip tea and he kinder thought he'd be
all right to-morrer. I told him you'd have a conniption fit if he didn't
show up, but Grandmother Scates shook her head kind o' doubtful and
said, 'The Lord's will be done. What can't be cured must be endured;'
and I guess that's about the way it will be."

The outer door opened and 'Zekiel Pettengill entered. The creaking of
the opening door attracted the attention of all. When the girls saw who
it was, they ran and gathered about him, a dozen voices crying out,
"Where is Huldy? We all thought she'd come with you."

'Zekiel shook his head.

"You don't know?" asked Tilly James, incredulously. 'Zekiel shook his
head again. "Of course you do," said Tilly contemptuously.

She turned away, followed by a number of the girls. "He knows well
enough," she observed in an undertone, "but he won't tell. He's gone on
Huldy, and when a feller's gone on a girl he's pretty sure to keep the
run of her."

In the meantime Lindy Putnam had been using her most persuasive powers
of coaxing on 'Zekiel and with same success, for 'Zekiel told quite a
long story, but with very little information in it. He told the crowd of
girls gathered about him that he'd be twenty-eight on the third of
January, and that ever since he was a little boy, which was, of course,
before any of those present were born, he'd always followed the rule of
not saying anything unless he knew what he was talking about.

"Now," said 'Zekiel, feeling that it was better to talk on than to stand
sheep-facedly before this crowd of eager, expectant faces, "I might tell
yer that Huldy was ter hum and wasn't comin' up to-night, but yer see,
p'r'aps she's on the road now and may pop in here any minute! Course you
all know Deacon Mason's got a boarder, a young feller from the city.
P'r'aps he'll come up with Huldy. But I heerd tell his health wa'n't
very good and mebbe he went to bed right after supper."

"What's he down here for anyway?" asked Tilly James.

"Now you've got me," replied 'Zekiel. "I s'pose he had some purpose in
view, but you see I ain't positive even of that. As I said before, I
heerd he's come down here for his health. It's too late for rakin' hay,
and as hard work's the best country doctor, p'r'aps he'll go to choppin'
wood; but there's one point I feel kinder positive on."

"What is it? What is it?" cried the girls, as they looked into his face
inquiringly.

"Wall, I think," drawled 'Zekiel, "that when he gits what he's come for,
he'll be mighty apt to pull up stakes and go back to Boston."

Again the outer door creaked upon its hinges, and again every face was
turned to see who the new-comer might be.

"Here she is," cried a dozen voices; and the owners thereof rushed
forward to greet and embrace Miss Huldy Mason, the Deacon's daughter and
the most popular girl in the village.

'Zekiel turned and saw that she was alone. Evidently the city fellow had
not come with her.

Huldy was somewhat astonished at the warmth of her greeting, and was at
a loss to understand the reason for it, until Lindy Putnam said:

"Didn't he come with you?"

"Who?" asked Huldy, with wide-open eyes.

"Oh, you can't fool us," cried Tilly James. "'Zeke Pettengill told us
all about that city feller that's boarding down to your house. We were
just talking it over together, and he surmised that it might be the same
one that you met down to your aunt's house, when you went to Boston last
summer."

"As Mr. Pettengill seems to know so much about my gentlemen friends, if
you want any more information, no doubt he can supply it," said Huldy
coldly.

"'Zeke kinder thought," said Bob Wood, "that he might be tired, and
probably went to bed right after supper."

"Well, he didn't," said Huldy, now thoroughly excited, "he came with me,
and he's outside now talking with Hiram about the barge."

"Why don't he come in?" asked Bob Wood. "P'r'aps he's bashful."

"If he didn't have no more common sense than you've got," retorted
Huldy, "he'd have to go to bed as soon as he had eaten his supper."

The laugh that followed this remark so incensed Wood that he answered
coarsely, "I never saw one of those city chaps who knew B from a bull's
foot."

"Perhaps he'll teach you the difference some day," remarked Huldy,
sarcastically.

"Well, I guess not," said Wood with a sneer; "'less he can put two b's
in able."

Further altercation was stopped by the sudden entrance of Mr. Strout,
who quickly ascended the platform and called the society to order. It
must be acknowledged that the Professor had a good knowledge of music
and thoroughly understood the very difficult art of directing a mixed
chorus of uncultivated voices. With him enthusiasm was more important
than a strict adherence to quavers and semiquavers, and what was lost in
fine touches was more than made up in volume of tone.

Again, the Professor paid strict attention to business at rehearsals,
and the progress of the society in musical knowledge had been very
marked. So it is not to be wondered at that the various numbers allotted
to the chorus on the next evening's programme were gone through quickly
and to the evident satisfaction of the leader.

The last number to be taken up was an original composition, written and
composed by the singing-master himself, and during its rehearsal his
enthusiasm reached its highest pitch. At the conclusion of the chorus,
which had been rendered with remarkable spirit, the Professor darted
from one-end of the platform to the other, crying out, "Bravo! Fust
rate! Do it again! That'll fetch 'em!"

After several repetitions of the chorus, each one given with increasing
spirit and volume, the Professor threw down his baton and said: "That'll
do. You're excused until to-morrow night, seven o'clock sharp at
Eastborough Town Hall. I guess the barge has just drove up and we'd
better be gittin' ready for our sleigh ride."

Miss Tilly James, who had acted as accompanist on the tin-panny old
piano, was putting up her music. The Professor, with his face wreathed
in smiles, walked up to her and said, "I tell you what, Miss James, that
last composition of mine is bang up. One of these days, when the 'Star
Spangled Banner,' 'Hail Columbia,' and 'Marching through Georgia' are
laid upon the top shelf and all covered with dust, one hundred million
American freemen will be singing Strout's great national anthem, 'Hark,
and hear the Eagle Scream.' What do you think of that prophecy?"

"I think," said Miss James, turning her pretty face towards him, her
black eyes snapping with fun, "that if conceit was consumption, there'd
be another little green grave in the cemetery with O. Strout on the
headstone."

The Professor never could take a joke. In his eye, jokes were always
insults to be resented accordingly. Turning upon the young lady
savagely, he retorted:

"If sass was butter, your folks wouldn't have to keep any cows."

Then he walked quickly across the room to where 'Zekiel Pettengill
stood aloof from the rest, wrapped in some apparently not very pleasant
thoughts.

At this juncture Hiram Maxwell dashed into the schoolroom, and judging
from appearances his thoughts were of the pleasantest possible
description.

"Say, fellers and girls," he cried, "I've got some news for yer, and
when you hear it you'll think the day of judgment has come, and you're
goin' to git your reward."

An astonished "Oh!" came up from the assemblage.

"Out with it," said Bob Wood, in his coarse, rough voice.

"Well, fust," said Hiram, his face glowing with animation, "you know we
got up a subscription to pay for the barge and made me treasurer, cuz I
worked in a deacon's family. Wall, when I asked Bill Stalker to-night
how much the bill would be, just to see if I'd got enough, he told me
that a Mr. Sawyer, who said he 'boarded down to Deacon Mason's, had paid
the hull bill and given him a dollar beside for hisself." Cheers and the
clapping of hands showed that the city fellow's liberality was
appreciated by a majority, at least, of the singing society. "When we
git on the barge I'll pay yer back yer money, and the ride won't cost
any one on us a durn cent. That ain't all. Mr. Sawyer jest told me
hisself that when he was over to Eastborough Centre yesterday he ordered
a hot supper for the whole caboodle, and it'll be ready for us when we
git over to the Eagle Hotel. So come along and git your seats in the
barge." A wild rush was made for the door, but Hiram backed against it
and screamed at the top of his voice: "No two girls must sit close
together. Fust a girl, then a feller, next a girl, then a feller, next a
girl, then a feller, that's the rule."

He opened the door and dashed out, followed by all the members of the
society excepting the Professor and 'Zekiel, who were left alone in the
room.

"See that flock of sheep," said the Professor to 'Zekiel, with a strong
touch of sarcasm in his tone. "That's what makes me so cussed mad.
Brains and glorious achievement count for nothin' in this community. If
a city swell comes along with a pocketful of money and just cries,
'Baa,' over the fence they all go after him."

"Hasn't it always been so?" asked 'Zekiel.

"Not a bit of it," said Strout. "In the old days, kings and queens and
princes used to search for modest merit, and when found they rewarded
it. Nowadays modest merit has to holler and yell and screech to make
folks look at it."

Hiram again appeared in the room, beckoning to the two occupants.

"Say, ain't you two comin' along?" he cried. "We've saved good places
for yer."

"Where's Mr. Sawyer?" asked 'Zekiel.

"Oh, he's goin' along with the crowd," said Hiram; "he's got a seat in
between Miss Putnam and Miss Mason, and looks as snug as a bug in a rug.
There's a place for you, Mr. Pettengill, between Miss Mason and Mandy,
and I comes in between Mandy and Mrs. Hawkins. Mandy wanted her mother
to go cuz she works so confounded hard and gits out of doors so seldom,
and there's a seat 'tween Mrs. Hawkins and Tilly James for the
Professor, and Sam Hill's t'other side of Tilly and nex' to S'frina
Cotton."

"I guess I can't go," said 'Zekiel. "The house is all alone, and I'm
kind of 'fraid thet thet last hoss I bought may get into trouble again
as he did last night. So I guess I'd better go home and look arter
things." Leaning over he whispered in Hiram's ear, "I reckon you'd
better take the seat between Huldy and Mandy, you don't want ter
separate a mother from her daughter, you know."

"All right," said Hiram, with a knowing wink, "I'm satisfied to
obleege."

Hiram then turned to the Professor: "Ain't yer goin', Mr. Strout?"

"When this sleigh ride was projected," said the Professor with dignity,
"I s'posed it was to be for the members of the singin' class and not for
boardin' mistresses and city loafers."

"I guess it don't make much difference who goes," replied Hiram, "as
long as we git a free ride and a free supper for nothing."

"Present my compliments to Mr. Sawyer," said the Professor, "and tell
him I've had my supper, and as I don't belong to a fire company, I don't
care for crackers and cheese and coffee so late in the evenin'."

"Oh, bosh!" cried Hiram, "it's goin' to be a turkey supper, with fried
chicken and salery and cranberry juice, and each feller's to have a
bottle of cider and each girl a bottle of ginger ale."

A horn was heard outside, it being the signal for the starting of the
barge. Without stopping to say good-by, Hiram rushed out of the room,
secured his seat in the barge, and with loud cheers the merry party
started off on their journey.

The Professor extinguished the lights and accompanied by 'Zekiel left
the building. He locked the door and hung the key in its accustomed
place, for no one at Mason's Corner ever imagined that a thief could be
so bad as to steal anything from a schoolhouse. And it was once argued
in town meeting that if a tramp got into it and thus escaped freezing,
that was better than to have the town pay for burying him.

Both men walked along silently until they reached Mrs. Hawkins' boarding
house; here the Professor stopped and bade 'Zekiel good night. After
doing so he added:

"Pettengill, you and me must jine agin the common enemy. This town ain't
big enough to hold us and this destroyer of our happiness, and we must
find some way of smokin' him out."

The slumbers of both 'Zekiel and the Professor were broken when the
jolly party returned home after midnight. 'Zekiel recalled Hiram's
description of the arrangement of seats, and another deep sigh escaped
him; but this time there were no leafless trees and winter wind to
supply an echo.

The Professor's half-awakened mind travelled in very different channels.
He imagined himself engaged in several verbal disputes with a number of
fisticuff encounters in which he invariably proved to be too much for
the city fellow. Just before he sank again into a deep sleep he imagined
that the entire population of Mason's Corner escorted a certain young
man forcibly to the railroad station at Eastborough Centre and put him
in charge of the expressman, to be delivered in Boston. And that young
man, in the Professor's dream, had a tag tied to the lapel of his coat
upon which was written, "Quincy Adams Sawyer."




CHAPTER II.

MASON'S CORNER FOLKS.


In 186-- the town of Eastborough was located in the southeastern part of
Massachusetts, in the county of Normouth. It was a large town, being
fully five miles wide from east to west and from five to seven miles
long, the northern and southern boundaries being very irregular.

The town contained three villages; the western one being known as West
Eastborough, the middle one as Eastborough Centre, and the easterly one
as Mason's Corner. West Eastborough was exclusively a farming section,
having no store or post office. As the extreme western boundary was only
a mile and a half from Eastborough Centre, the farmers of the western
section of the town were well accommodated at the Centre. The middle
section contained the railroad station, at which five trains a day, each
way, to and from Boston, made regular stops. The Centre contained the
Town Hall, two churches, a hotel, and express office, a bank, newspaper
office, and several general stores. Not very far from the hotel, on a
side road, was the Almshouse, or Poorhouse, as it was always called by
the citizens of Eastborough.

Between the Centre and Mason's Corner was a long interval of three
miles. The land bordering the lower and most direct route was, to a
great extent, hilly and rocky, or full of sand and clay pits. The upper
and longest road ran through a more fertile section. The village of
Mason's Corner contained the best arable land in the town, and the
village had increased in population and wealth much faster than the
other sections of the town. To the east of the village of Mason's
Corner lay the town of Montrose, and beyond that town was situated the
thriving city of Cottonton, devoted largely, as its name indicated, to
the textile manufacturing industries.

The best known and most popular resident of Mason's Corner was Deacon
Abraham Mason. He was a retired farmer on the shady side of fifty. He
had married young and worked very hard, his labors being rewarded with
pecuniary success. When a little over fifty, he gave up active farm work
and devoted his time to buying and selling real estate, and to church
and town affairs, in both of which he was greatly interested. His house
stood about halfway down a somewhat steep hill, the road over which, at
the top, made a sharp turn. It was this turn which had received the
appellation of Mason's Corner and from which the village eventually had
taken its name.

Mrs. Sophia Mason, the Deacon's wife, was a little less than fifty years
of age. She was a comely, bright-faced, bright-eyed, and energetic
woman, who had been both a loving wife and a valued helpmeet to her
husband. Their only living child was a daughter named Huldah Ann, about
nineteen years of age, and considered by many to be the prettiest and
smartest girl in Mason's Corner. The only other resident in Deacon
Mason's house was Hiram Maxwell, a young man about thirty years of age.
He had been a farm hand, but had enlisted in 1861, and served through
the war. On his return home he was hired by Deacon Mason to do such
chores as required a man's strength, for the Deacon's business took him
away from home a great deal. Hiram was not exactly what would be called
a pronounced stutterer or stammerer; but when he was excited or had a
matter of more than ordinary importance to communicate, a sort of
lingual paralysis seemed to overtake him and interfered materially with
the vocal expression of his thoughts and ideas. Type would be inadequate
to express the facial contortions and what might be termed the
chromatic scales of vocal expression in which he often indulged, and
they are, therefore, left for full comprehension to those of inventive
and vivid imaginative powers. This fact should not be lost sight of in
following the fortunes of this brave soldier, honest lover, good
husband, and successful business man.

The Pettengill homestead was situated on the other side of the road,
southwest from Deacon Mason's house. Ezekiel's grandfather had left
three sons, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the latter being Ezekiel's
father. Abraham had died when he was a young man, and Jacob had been
dead about five years. Uncle Ike was in his seventy-sixth year, and was
Ezekiel's only living near relative, with the exception of his sister
Alice, who had left home soon after her father's death and was now
employed as bookkeeper in a large dry goods store in Boston.

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