第 三 章 · THE SUPPER-TABLE

was spread.

IV. THE SUPPER-TABLE

The pleasant firelight! I must still keep harping on it. The kitchen

hearth had an old-fashioned breadth, depth, and spaciousness, far

within which lay what seemed the butt of a good-sized oak-tree, with

the moisture bubbling merrily out at both ends. It was now half an

hour beyond dusk. The blaze from an armful of substantial sticks,

rendered more combustible by brushwood and pine, flickered powerfully

on the smoke-blackened walls, and so cheered our spirits that we cared

not what inclemency might rage and roar on the other side of our

illuminated windows. A yet sultrier warmth was bestowed by a goodly

quantity of peat, which was crumbling to white ashes among the burning

brands, and incensed the kitchen with its not ungrateful fragrance.

The exuberance of this household fire would alone have sufficed to

bespeak us no true farmers; for the New England yeoman, if he have the

misfortune to dwell within practicable distance of a wood-market, is as

niggardly of each stick as if it were a bar of California gold.

But it was fortunate for us, on that wintry eve of our untried life, to

enjoy the warm and radiant luxury of a somewhat too abundant fire. If

it served no other purpose, it made the men look so full of youth, warm

blood, and hope, and the women--such of them, at least, as were anywise

convertible by its magic--so very beautiful, that I would cheerfully

have spent my last dollar to prolong the blaze. As for Zenobia, there

was a glow in her cheeks that made me think of Pandora, fresh from

Vulcan's workshop, and full of the celestial warmth by dint of which he

had tempered and moulded her.

"Take your places, my dear friends all," cried she; "seat yourselves

without ceremony, and you shall be made happy with such tea as not many

of the world's working-people, except yourselves, will find in their

cups to-night. After this one supper, you may drink buttermilk, if you

please. To-night we will quaff this nectar, which, I assure you, could

not be bought with gold."

We all sat down,--grizzly Silas Foster, his rotund helpmate, and the

two bouncing handmaidens, included,--and looked at one another in a

friendly but rather awkward way. It was the first practical trial of

our theories of equal brotherhood and sisterhood; and we people of

superior cultivation and refinement (for as such, I presume, we

unhesitatingly reckoned ourselves) felt as if something were already

accomplished towards the millennium of love. The truth is, however,

that the laboring oar was with our unpolished companions; it being far

easier to condescend than to accept of condescension. Neither did I

refrain from questioning, in secret, whether some of us--and Zenobia

among the rest--would so quietly have taken our places among these good

people, save for the cherished consciousness that it was not by

necessity but choice. Though we saw fit to drink our tea out of

earthen cups to-night, and in earthen company, it was at our own option

to use pictured porcelain and handle silver forks again to-morrow.

This same salvo, as to the power of regaining our former position,

contributed much, I fear, to the equanimity with which we subsequently

bore many of the hardships and humiliations of a life of toil. If ever

I have deserved (which has not often been the case, and, I think,

never), but if ever I did deserve to be soundly cuffed by a fellow

mortal, for secretly putting weight upon some imaginary social

advantage, it must have been while I was striving to prove myself

ostentatiously his equal and no more. It was while I sat beside him on

his cobbler's bench, or clinked my hoe against his own in the

cornfield, or broke the same crust of bread, my earth-grimed hand to

his, at our noontide lunch. The poor, proud man should look at both

sides of sympathy like this.

The silence which followed upon our sitting down to table grew rather

oppressive; indeed, it was hardly broken by a word, during the first

round of Zenobia's fragrant tea.

"I hope," said I, at last, "that our blazing windows will be visible a

great way off. There is nothing so pleasant and encouraging to a

solitary traveller, on a stormy night, as a flood of firelight seen

amid the gloom. These ruddy window panes cannot fail to cheer the

hearts of all that look at them. Are they not warm with the

beacon-fire which we have kindled for humanity?"

"The blaze of that brushwood will only last a minute or two longer,"

observed Silas Foster; but whether he meant to insinuate that our moral

illumination would have as brief a term, I cannot say.

"Meantime," said Zenobia, "it may serve to guide some wayfarer to a

shelter."

And, just as she said this, there came a knock at the house door.

"There is one of the world's wayfarers," said I. "Ay, ay, just so!"

quoth Silas Foster. "Our firelight will draw stragglers, just as a

candle draws dorbugs on a summer night."

Whether to enjoy a dramatic suspense, or that we were selfishly

contrasting our own comfort with the chill and dreary situation of the

unknown person at the threshold, or that some of us city folk felt a

little startled at the knock which came so unseasonably, through night

and storm, to the door of the lonely farmhouse,--so it happened that

nobody, for an instant or two, arose to answer the summons. Pretty

soon there came another knock. The first had been moderately loud; the

second was smitten so forcibly that the knuckles of the applicant must

have left their mark in the door panel.

"He knocks as if he had a right to come in," said Zenobia, laughing.

"And what are we thinking of?--It must be Mr. Hollingsworth!"

Hereupon I went to the door, unbolted, and flung it wide open. There,

sure enough, stood Hollingsworth, his shaggy greatcoat all covered with

snow, so that he looked quite as much like a polar bear as a modern

philanthropist.

"Sluggish hospitality this!" said he, in those deep tones of his, which

seemed to come out of a chest as capacious as a barrel. "It would have

served you right if I had lain down and spent the night on the

doorstep, just for the sake of putting you to shame. But here is a

guest who will need a warmer and softer bed."

And, stepping back to the wagon in which he had journeyed hither,

Hollingsworth received into his arms and deposited on the doorstep a

figure enveloped in a cloak. It was evidently a woman; or,

rather,--judging from the ease with which he lifted her, and the little

space which she seemed to fill in his arms, a slim and unsubstantial

girl. As she showed some hesitation about entering the door,

Hollingsworth, with his usual directness and lack of ceremony, urged

her forward not merely within the entry, but into the warm and strongly

lighted kitchen.

"Who is this?" whispered I, remaining behind with him, while he was

taking off his greatcoat.

"Who? Really, I don't know," answered Hollingsworth, looking at me

with some surprise. "It is a young person who belongs here, however;

and no doubt she had been expected. Zenobia, or some of the women

folks, can tell you all about it."

"I think not," said I, glancing towards the new-comer and the other

occupants of the kitchen. "Nobody seems to welcome her. I should

hardly judge that she was an expected guest."

"Well, well," said Hollingsworth quietly, "We'll make it right."

The stranger, or whatever she were, remained standing precisely on that

spot of the kitchen floor to which Hollingsworth's kindly hand had

impelled her. The cloak falling partly off, she was seen to be a very

young woman dressed in a poor but decent gown, made high in the neck,

and without any regard to fashion or smartness. Her brown hair fell

down from beneath a hood, not in curls but with only a slight wave; her

face was of a wan, almost sickly hue, betokening habitual seclusion

from the sun and free atmosphere, like a flower-shrub that had done its

best to blossom in too scanty light. To complete the pitiableness of

her aspect, she shivered either with cold, or fear, or nervous

excitement, so that you might have beheld her shadow vibrating on the

fire-lighted wall. In short, there has seldom been seen so depressed

and sad a figure as this young girl's; and it was hardly possible to

help being angry with her, from mere despair of doing anything for her

comfort. The fantasy occurred to me that she was some desolate kind of

a creature, doomed to wander about in snowstorms; and that, though the

ruddiness of our window panes had tempted her into a human dwelling,

she would not remain long enough to melt the icicles out of her hair.

Another conjecture likewise came into my mind. Recollecting

Hollingsworth's sphere of philanthropic action, I deemed it possible

that he might have brought one of his guilty patients, to be wrought

upon and restored to spiritual health by the pure influences which our

mode of life would create.

As yet the girl had not stirred. She stood near the door, fixing a

pair of large, brown, melancholy eyes upon Zenobia--only upon

Zenobia!--she evidently saw nothing else in the room save that bright,

fair, rosy, beautiful woman. It was the strangest look I ever

witnessed; long a mystery to me, and forever a memory. Once she seemed

about to move forward and greet her,--I know not with what warmth or

with what words,--but, finally, instead of doing so, she dropped down

upon her knees, clasped her hands, and gazed piteously into Zenobia's

face. Meeting no kindly reception, her head fell on her bosom.

I never thoroughly forgave Zenobia for her conduct on this occasion.

But women are always more cautious in their casual hospitalities than

men.

"What does the girl mean?" cried she in rather a sharp tone. "Is she

crazy? Has she no tongue?"

And here Hollingsworth stepped forward.

"No wonder if the poor child's tongue is frozen in her mouth," said he;

and I think he positively frowned at Zenobia. "The very heart will be

frozen in her bosom, unless you women can warm it, among you, with the

warmth that ought to be in your own!"

Hollingsworth's appearance was very striking at this moment. He was

then about thirty years old, but looked several years older, with his

great shaggy head, his heavy brow, his dark complexion, his abundant

beard, and the rude strength with which his features seemed to have

been hammered out of iron, rather than chiselled or moulded from any

finer or softer material. His figure was not tall, but massive and

brawny, and well befitting his original occupation; which as the reader

probably knows--was that of a blacksmith. As for external polish, or

mere courtesy of manner, he never possessed more than a tolerably

educated bear; although, in his gentler moods, there was a tenderness

in his voice, eyes, mouth, in his gesture, and in every indescribable

manifestation, which few men could resist and no woman. But he now

looked stern and reproachful; and it was with that inauspicious meaning

in his glance that Hollingsworth first met Zenobia's eyes, and began

his influence upon her life.

To my surprise, Zenobia--of whose haughty spirit I had been told so

many examples--absolutely changed color, and seemed mortified and

confused.

"You do not quite do me justice, Mr. Hollingsworth," said she almost

humbly. "I am willing to be kind to the poor girl. Is she a protegee

of yours? What can I do for her?"

"Have you anything to ask of this lady?" said Hollingsworth kindly to

the girl. "I remember you mentioned her name before we left town."

"Only that she will shelter me," replied the girl tremulously. "Only

that she will let me be always near her."

"Well, indeed," exclaimed Zenobia, recovering herself and laughing,

"this is an adventure, and well-worthy to be the first incident in our

life of love and free-heartedness! But I accept it, for the present,

without further question, only," added she, "it would be a convenience

if we knew your name."

"Priscilla," said the girl; and it appeared to me that she hesitated

whether to add anything more, and decided in the negative. "Pray do

not ask me my other name,--at least not yet,--if you will be so kind to

a forlorn creature."

Priscilla!--Priscilla! I repeated the name to myself three or four

times; and in that little space, this quaint and prim cognomen had so

amalgamated itself with my idea of the girl, that it seemed as if no

other name could have adhered to her for a moment. Heretofore the poor

thing had not shed any tears; but now that she found herself received,

and at least temporarily established, the big drops began to ooze out

from beneath her eyelids as if she were full of them. Perhaps it showed

the iron substance of my heart, that I could not help smiling at this

odd scene of unknown and unaccountable calamity, into which our

cheerful party had been entrapped without the liberty of choosing

whether to sympathize or no. Hollingsworth's behavior was certainly a

great deal more creditable than mine.

"Let us not pry further into her secrets," he said to Zenobia and the

rest of us, apart; and his dark, shaggy face looked really beautiful

with its expression of thoughtful benevolence. "Let us conclude that

Providence has sent her to us, as the first-fruits of the world, which

we have undertaken to make happier than we find it. Let us warm her

poor, shivering body with this good fire, and her poor, shivering heart

with our best kindness. Let us feed her, and make her one of us. As

we do by this friendless girl, so shall we prosper. And, in good time,

whatever is desirable for us to know will be melted out of her, as

inevitably as those tears which we see now."

"At least," remarked I, "you may tell us how and where you met with

her."

"An old man brought her to my lodgings," answered Hollingsworth, "and

begged me to convey her to Blithedale, where--so I understood him--she

had friends; and this is positively all I know about the matter."

Grim Silas Foster, all this while, had been busy at the supper-table,

pouring out his own tea and gulping it down with no more sense of its

exquisiteness than if it were a decoction of catnip; helping himself to

pieces of dipt toast on the flat of his knife blade, and dropping half

of it on the table-cloth; using the same serviceable implement to cut

slice after slice of ham; perpetrating terrible enormities with the

butter-plate; and in all other respects behaving less like a civilized

Christian than the worst kind of an ogre. Being by this time fully

gorged, he crowned his amiable exploits with a draught from the water

pitcher, and then favored us with his opinion about the business in

hand. And, certainly, though they proceeded out of an unwiped mouth,

his expressions did him honor.

"Give the girl a hot cup of tea and a thick slice of this first-rate

bacon," said Silas, like a sensible man as he was. "That's what she

wants. Let her stay with us as long as she likes, and help in the

kitchen, and take the cow-breath at milking time; and, in a week or

two, she'll begin to look like a creature of this world."

So we sat down again to supper, and Priscilla along with us.

V.