I.

AN ALL DAY VISIT

(Continued)

Springing to her feet, the little lady shook out the crushed folds of her pretty muslin, and was standing before the quaint mirror patting here and there her tousled head when the kitchen door opened with a bang. Mrs. Bowles, blowsy and heated and swinging a Shaker sunbonnet by the string, entered the square-room and threw herself down upon one of the straightbacked chairs.

"Wal,' if this ain't a day to be remembud," she ejaculated, going on as usual, unmindful of all voices. save her own. "Ain't you most starved, Mis' Norris? I worried about ye, but I hadn't no time to waste on ye. Sich a thing never's happened to me before. Prob'ly ev'rybuddy down t' the Works is wonderin' what under the sun has come across Mandy Bowles' cause 'er diner-horn hain't blowed. But if I can't blow on time I don't blow. Catch me advertisin' my own shif❜lisniss. But as I was sayin', this day'll be remembud."

The woman paused to indulge in a prolonged breath, when Ploomy's voice joined with Mrs. Norris, "Mother, do tell us what has happened. Stop your talkin' and tell us."

Mandy turned sharply on her daughter, "Ploomy Bowles," she exclaimed, "I'd clean forgot ye. O Lord! how red your cheeks is. And your eyes is brighter'n they ought t'be. You go right up stairs and lay down this minute. Go I tell ye. Mother doesn't like to see

you lookin' so all flushed up and worrited."

Ploomy, casting a bright glance on her new-found friend, arose quietly and left the room, while her mother began her tardy explanations.

"Wal,' she commenced, "I was jest goin' to blow, right on tick as usual, when Phibby come tumblin' over the garden wall hollerin,' 'Marm, Father says, you'n Liddy git a couple long-necked bottles and a kittle o'b'ilin' water an' stiver for the field.' I knew what that meant. Old Suke, our best hoss, was havin' nuther one of her spells of colic. She likes to die with 'em sometimes. But it's all over now, and Suke's in the barn right as a trivit, thanks to the Elder. He had a parcil of hoss-medicine in his buggy. That saved the day, or the hoss. He's a sight better hoss-doctor than he'll ever be a preacher in my opinion. Now don't flare up, little woman, he was our 'boy minister' afore he was your'n; and there ain't a house. in the hull town where the Elder ain't counted one of the fam❜ly; nor Priest Burt nuther. He's the Congregationlist preacher, and he can preach too; but of course he is older and a sight more ministerfied."

"Why do you call Mr. Burt, Priest?" choked the brave little woman, eager to change the subject.

"Same as we Baptists call our man, Elder; so'st not to git 'em mixed s'pose. I should like to know what they all are sayin' though, down to the works 'cause my dinner-horn didn't blow. Le's go out in the kitchen now, the men

folks will be right in, and Liddy's got the dinner on by this time. Tain't sp'iled nuther, for baked beans and Injun puddin' is all the better for standin' a spell."

Mandy's kitchen, where the dinner-table was spread, looked wholesome and homelike, from its shining spruce-yellow floor to the Monday's wash, faultlessly laundered and hung high overhead to air, on slender bars suspended from the ceiling.

The wide-open South door, with casings slightly sagging, framed a rare picture, blurred today by a smoky atmosphere and the scorched effects of a summer's drought. A picture of bare and lofty peaks, near and distant, with a deep and narrow valley winding southward its panoramic way among bold foothills; here a miniature canyon, there broadening into sunny meadows and everywhere watched by close-peeping summits.

Within this valley, overlooked from the high ridge of the Red Barn Farm, a small village or hamlet, was slowly building, along the narrow meadows that fringed two mountain streams. The one, a true cavalier from the heights, leaping, dancing, noisy with bravado, hurrying to his tryst; the other, dallying through the low-lands, dreaming in the pools, at last to steal out from under the hem of the hill, there to be caught in the ripple and swirl of meeting waters.

High on the bank above the united streams, an iron-furnace reared its belching smoke-stack. This busy intruder with forge, and shop, and sooty coal-sheds on the island, sorely vexed, (with its dams and bridges,) the once untrammelled river. Maddened by a sudden storm from the mountain, the swollen torrent roared over the dam and through the sluices, foaming and biting at its banks until its wild bel

lowings were plainly heard at the old South door.

Today, Sally Norris stands there, watching the leisurely approach of the "men-folks" toward the house after giving a last look at old Suke, now quietly nibbling at her hay. Evidently no one is seriously disturbed by Mandy's last threat to "clear them vittles off'n the table," if she waited another minute. Instead all were gravely discussing the increasing signs of fire, "mullin' away somewhere on the mountain." Sally looked at her husband with dismay and decided disapproval, but met such a deprecatory glance from his eye that she refrained from farther noticing that the men, the minister with them, were coming into dinner, collarless and in their shirtsleeves, after their vigorous wash and scrub at the log water-trough.

With Janey, Mrs. Norris tripped down the worn path to meet good Mr. Bowles. Very tall, thin and loose-jointed, he came toward her extending a broad, cleanly palm which she took smilingly, assured of its gentle grasp.

"Wal,' wal,' Sister Norris." with his genial drawl, "I'm real glad ye come up terday, you'n the Elder. 'Tain't very pleasant but it might ben wuss. Here's Elijah, my fustborn," he continued, giving place to a young man as tall as himself, though well-knit and far from awkward. "Son, this is the Elder's little woman."

Looking up into steady grey eyes, listening to a quiet greeting, the "little woman" thought, "he might have ben wuss too." though the manly young man blushed like a maiden.

"This 'ere is Steve,-Steve Houghton." Mr. Bowles continued introducing, "he's ben our hired man for fifteen year past. But," with a sad shake of the head, "Abby Ann Barritt's growin' powerful winnin',"

At a distance Mr. Houghton impressed Mrs. Norris unpleasantly; but on nearer approach, all suggestion of dark deeds or smugglers' caves vanished. She met a somewhat conceited "Old Bach" with voice like silk.

The rascal of the family was yet invisible. Only as the last chairs were being drawn up to the table with much clatter, especially by the "extra men," did he appear. Mrs. Norris heard a remembered voice at her elbow, "Say, can you spell my name today, Teacher?" She turned to recognize the same black-eyed, curly-headed boy who nearly tortured her to tears, in her first attempt at Sunday-school teaching. There he stood grinning, bare-foot, with Sunday pants rolled high, face, neck and even knuckles pink from Liddy's relentless scrubbing.

"Me-phib-o-sheth Bowles," sparred Sally, "I'll not attempt your cranky name until I have eaten my dinner. Take your seat, sir."

With a saucy giggle the boy obeyed, and the big bowl of cider applesauce intervening, was an unconscious witness to the merry-eyed pact of goodfellowship formed that day to be culminated, years later, in heartbreaking tenderness on the distant field of Shiloh.

Now came the perfect hush, so familiar in those days, and the simple giving of thanks, after which, Mr. Bowles heartily urged,

"Now dew take right holt an' help yerselves. We don't have no marners," adding, "Brother Norris, see that your wife gits a good holpin' o' beans and brown bread; Mother's brick oven turns out good victuals. You can always count on that. Have some of her cowcumbers, rumpickled, put up tew year ago. Some twangy, but that don't hurt 'em." ‚“Yis, I'm a marster hand, to pickle and put up," chimed in Mandy. "I always calcerlate to have 'nough to

give 'way. The shif'less ye have always round ye. But now there ain't scurce a cowcumber nor any other garden sass, or I wouldn't het up my brick oven this time o' year, minister or no minister."

The platters and yellow nappies. emptied of the richly flavored beans and "Injun puddin,", Liddy of the deft hand and quiet step, replaced them with plates of milk-yeast bread, solid pats of butter, and generous bowls of preserved "Canada plums," floating like monster rubies in their rich, translucent syrup. There were big cubes of maple-sugar sweet cake, twisted nut-cakes, spiced with caraway, the like of which this generation. may only dream of and pies, of course, with bronzed and tender crust, flanked by plates of Mandy's cheese.

With renewed cups of tea, general conversation began.

"Stephen," said Mr. Norris, after helping his wife to the plums, "you were speaking of a gang of counterfeiters who have been ranging the mountains lately, and of their carelessness with fire; you said they camped near Mormon City. Where is that city? Is there a buried city as well as a lost river in this wonderful region of the North Woods?"

While the rest were laughing and joking at the minister's expense, Stephen reached his long arm in its clean, white shirt-sleeve, half-way across the table, and inserting his own knife underneath a juicy triangle of applepie, he adroitly transferred it to his own plate, together with a “hunk" of cheese and the biggest doughnut.

Now that his favorite dessert was secured, he expressed a willingness to impart all the information needed.

"Eh," sniffed Mandy, "There's jest one thing, Steve Houghton, is always ready to give and that's information."

Undisturbed, Stephen began, "No doubt, Elder, you have followed up

Ham Branch, many's the time, to call on that good man, Elder Cogswell."

"Certainly, certainly," choked the minister, his mouth full of pie.

"Well," proceeded the narrator, in his most ponderous style, that never failed to nettle Mandy, "Well, if you had followed that road far enough, you would have struck the Old County road that leads over the Benton Hills to Haverhill; the very road (only a hard-trod Indian trail then, probably hundreds of years old,) by which our first white settlers came into this Francony region, as late as seventeen seventy-four, or' thereabouts. The country was wild as snakes. The first ten years, there were killing frosts, war with Britain, the Indian scare, with no mills, no roads, no bridges; though there was a log school-house and a meetinghouse is referred to in the Proprietor's Books as the proper place to post their notices, 'being the most frequented public place.'

"That sartin speaks well for 'em," interrupted good Mr. Bowles. "They might have ben wuss; and they do say, Artemas Knight, our fust settler, was powerful in prayer, and as kind-hearted and honist as he was pious. Well to do, too."

"Shet up, Siah, and pass the Elder some of my sage cheese. Don't believe he's had a speck."

"After the settlers had lost all their titles, through the war of the charters," Stephen went calmly on, "everybody was for leaving the valley to grow up to wilderness again. But about that time, they began to dig first-class ore out of Iron Mountain; they formed the Haverhill and Franconia Iron Company, and built a small furnace, (the first one in town, all the old folks tell me.) a mile or so up the valley on Ham Branch. From there they followed a road up the steepest of the hill to the mine, because it was nearer, and all the ore was hauled by oxen. The

Upper Works, as we call it now, must have been a smart, busy, little place for those days. There were the furnace buildings, neat and snug, on both sides of the Branch and a goodsized store, with a hall for meetings. and the like; besides, there were nigh a dozen houses, not counting the haunted house, nor the big one on the bank above the grist-mill. It was a pretty spot, with the pond. spreading from hill to hill, and farms scattered around on the hillsides. But they built a larger furnace here on the river, and since that one at the Upper Works was burned, they have been hauling that first little village down here house by house. There'll be nothing left on the Branch but cellar-holes and scrub growth; the town is going to forget and perhaps deny its own birth-place."

Mandy had reached across the table and filled Steve's cup with boiling tea, its acrid fumes beguiling him to pause and take a cautious soop.

"Now Elder," she cut in, "have another piece of my dried rosb'ry pie. Good, ain't it? Made it pupus for ye.

You'll need it too, 'fore you ever see Mormon City at this rate," schemed the hustler. "I say, Steve, I'll take the Elder a shorter trip, while you catch up with them victuals on your plate there."

Janey slipped from her chair, gave Phib's curls a sly twitch, and vanished through the South door, the boy following, with a whoop of relief.

All the men, save Stephen, had moved their seats a space from the table, each taking a comfortable position, and were now busily manipulating their goose-quill tooth-picks. Mrs. Norris had volunteered, and was quietly helping Liddy "clear off the table,' good-naturedly assisted by the hired men, around whom they both were obliged to circulate.

"Now, Elder," said Mrs. Bowles, "come with me down East Landaf' way, and up among the hills there,

on the flank of old Kinsman, you'll find all there is left of Mormon City. Nothin', not even a sunken holler. Much less a broken door-stone, with an old lilock bush, or clump of cinnamon roses nigh; though ther's slathers of Bouncin' 'Bets' in places, they say. There used to be a little graveyard. But the angels couldn't find it now. The place is all growin' up thick, to young timber with miles of stun wall windin' through it, that used to mark off fields and pastures. Now there's the city, Elder, I can tell ye more about it if ye want to listen; somethin' of a story though. But just as you say, seein' your wife's helpin' Liddy do the dishes; and these hired men can mog off to the field any time now, nobuddy'll miss 'em."

The minister had begged for the story, Steve had at last left the table and was happy with his toothpick, and the "extry men" had taken Mrs. Bowles' sharp hint, and "mogged off" to the field to finish their day's reaping.

"Wel' as I was goin' to say," began Mandy, seated in her splintbottomed arm-chair by the South door, her flying knitting-needles vying with her tongue, "them settlers want no Mormons when they fust come to these parts. My Gran'ther Spooner used to trade cattle with 'em in his young days. He called 'em honist and close-fisted in their deal, and their wimmin'-folks, he said, was good house-keepers and poor gadabouts; uncommon good-lookin' too, he said. And their farms was prosperous. 'Bout the time their boys and gals was growed up to sparkin' age, a stranger come snoopin' round these parts. There wa'n't nothin' partic'lar ag'inst 'im fust off. But when folks, spesh'ly young folks got to be carried away with him, he let it leak out that he was a Mormon Elder, and he 'pointed meetin's round in the school-houses. When the news got to good old Elder Quimby's ears, you'd

better believe there was some hustling in the flock and the Mormon come up missin'; 'xactly like a wolf that had ben sneakin' round a sheep-pen. But the next day they heerd, he was up in the mountain district makin' converts and baptizin' of 'em every Sunday up there in the pool. But one Sunday he had a bigger aud'yance and one more candidate then he was expectin'.

"Wal', as I was tellin" Mandy had stopped to set her seam, "one Sunday, not as I approve, some boys got cur'ous as boys will, and went up there on the sly and hid 'mong the thick spruces on the high bank of the pool. The lit'list shaver among 'em, (prob'ly a Noyes or maybe an Edwards, all nice folks) shinned up a slim birch that leaned over the water. The boys could see right off that there wa'n't any high jinks goin' to be performed; there was nothin' dif'runt from Elder Quimby's baptisums; jest a gatherin' on the shaller bank of the pool, with him readin' to 'em. When he shet up his book, a woman begun to sing. My old gran'ther has heered Zeb Young tell this many's the time, and he was the biggest rogue among 'em.

"Zeb always said that he didn't see the woman fust off, and that he sartin thought it was one of them birds what we hear singin' deep in the woods, thrushes, Steve calls 'em; but when he heered words that sounded like 'All to leave and follow,' he peeked through the thick boughs, he said, and see the woman standin' and singin' and lookin' up into the sky, with the sunshine fallin' down all round her, and in the pool. Then the Elder stepped down into it. Zeb said, that all at once, he felt so mad at the old hypocritter breakin' up homes, and hearts, maybe, that'e just had to do somethin' partic'lar mean. So he grabbed up his axe, that he had brung along to hack off sprucegum with, and struck it plumb into the slim birch; the sca't little imp in