"Mine not to make reply; Mine not to reason why; Mine but to do or die."
By a merciful dispensation of Providence5, however, I was saved from the full measure of the fate I feared. Sophronia has a highly imaginative nature; in her a fancy naturally ethereal has been made super-sensitive by long companionship of tender-voiced poets and romancers. So when I bought a railway guide and read over the names of stations within a reasonable distance of New York, Sophronia's interest was excited in exact proportion to the attractiveness of the names themselves. Communipaw she pronounced execrable. Ewenville reminded her of a dreadful psalm6 tune7. Paterson recalled the vulgar question, "Who struck Billy Patterson?" Yonkers sounded Dutch. Morristown had a plebeian8 air. Rutherford Park—well, that sounded endurable; it reminded her of the scene in Mrs. Somebody's novel. Elizabeth was a dreadfully old-fashioned name. Villa9 Valley—
"Stop!" exclaimed Sophronia, raising impressively the hand which bore her diamond engagement ring; "that is the place, Pierre. (I was christened Peter, but Miss Sophronia never looked encouragingly upon me until a friend nicknamed me Pierre.) I have a presentiment11 that our home will be at Villa Valley. How melodious—how absolutely enchanting12 it sounds. There is always a lake or a brook13 in a valley, too, don't you know?"
I did not previously14 possess this exact knowledge of the peculiarity16 of valleys, but I have an accurate knowledge of what my duty is regarding any statement which Sophronia may make, so I promptly17 assented18. By the rarest good fortune, I found in the morning paper an advertisement of a real estate agent who made a specialty19 of Villa Valley property. This agent, when visited by me early in the morning, abundantly confirmed Sophronia's intuition regarding brooks20 and lakes, by asserting that his charming town possessed21 both, beside many other attractions, which irresistibly22 drove us to Villa Valley the next day, with a letter to the agent's resident partner.
It was a bright April morning when we started in the resident agent's carriage, to visit a number of houses, the rent of which did not exceed four hundred dollars.
"Drive first to the Old Stone Cottage," said Sophronia; "the very name is enchanting."
The house itself did not support Sophronia's impression. It stood very near the road, was a quarter of a mile from any tree or bush, had three large and three small rooms, only one of which could be reached without passing through two others, for the house had no hall. The woodwork would have apparently23 greeted paint as a life-long stranger; the doors, in size and clumsiness, reminded me of the gates of Gaza, as pictured in Sunday-school books. The agent said it had once been Washington's headquarters, and I saw no reason to doubt his word; though I timidly asked whether tradition asserted that the Father of his Country had not suffered a twinge of neuralgia while at Villa Valley.
"A Perfect Snuggery" did not belie24 its name, but in size and ventilation forcibly suggested a chicken coop.
"Charming Swiss Cottage" seemed to be a remodeled pig-stye, from which objectionable matter had not been removed. "The House in the Woods" was approachable only through water half-way up to the carriage body; so we regretfully abandoned pursuit of it.
"Silver Lake!" exclaimed Sophronia, reading from the memoranda25 she had penciled from the agent's descriptive list. "That, I am sure, will suit us. Don't you remember, Pierre, my presentiment about a lake at Villa Valley?"
I remembered, by a little stretch of my imagination. But, alas26! for the uncertainty27 even of the presentiments28 of one of Nature's most impressible children. The "lake" was a pond, perhaps twenty feet in diameter; an antiquated29 boot, two or three abandoned milk cans, and a dead cat, reposed30 upon its placid32 beach; and from a sheltered nook upon its southerly side, an early-aroused frog appeared, inquiringly, and uttered a cry of surprise—or, perhaps, of warning.
"Take me away?" exclaimed Sophronia, "It was a dream—a fateful dream."
"New Cottage, with all modern improvements," seemed really to justify33 its title; but Sophronia declined to look farther than its outside.
"I could never be happy in that house, Pierre," said she, with emphasis; "it looks to be entirely34 new."
"'Tis, ma'am," declared the agent; "the last coat of paint hasn't been on a month."
"So I divined," replied Sophronia. "And so it is simply a lifeless mass of boards and plaster—no loving heartthrobs ever consecrated35 its walls—no tender romances have been woven under its eaves—no wistful yearnings—no agonies of parting have made its chambers36 instinct with life—no—"
"I declare!" exclaimed the agent; "excuse me for interrupting, ma'am, but I believe I've got the very house you're looking for. How would you like a rambling38, old family homestead, a hundred years old, with quaint39, wide fireplaces, high mantels, overhanging eaves, a heavy screen of evergreens40, vines clambering over everything, a great wide hall—"
"Exquisite41—charming—enchanting—paradisaical—divine!" murmured Sophronia.
"And the rent is only three hundred dollars," continued the agent.
This latter bit of information aroused my strongest sentiment, and I begged the agent to show us the house at once.
The approach was certainly delightful42. We dashed into the gloom of a mass of spruces, pines, and arbor-vit?s, and stopped suddenly in front of a little, low cottage, which consisted principally of additions, no one of which was after any particular architectural order. Sophronia gazed an instant; her face assumed an ecstatic expression which I had not seen since the day of our engagement; she threw her arms about my neck, her head drooped43 upon my bosom44, and she whispered:
"My ideal!"
Then this matchless woman, intuitively realizing that the moment for action had arrived, reassumed her natural dignity, and, with the air of Mrs. Scott Siddons in "Elizabeth," exclaimed:
"Enough! We take it!"
"Hadn't you better examine the interior first, my love?" I suggested.
"Were the interior only that of a barn," remarked my consistent mate, "my decision would not be affected45 thereby46. The eternal unities47 are never disunited, nor are—"
"I don't believe I've got the key with me," said the agent; "but perhaps we can get in through one of the windows."
The agent tied his horse and disappeared behind the house. Again Sophronia's arm encircled me, and she murmured:
"Oh, Pierre, what bliss48!"
"It's a good way from the station, pet," I ventured to remark.
Sophronia's enthusiasm gave place to scorn; she withdrew her affectionate demonstration49, and replied:
"Spoken like a real man! The practical, always—the ideal, never! Once I dreamed of the companionship of a congenial spirit, but, alas! 'A good way from the station!' Were I a man, I would, to reside in such a bower51, plod52 cheerily over miles of prosaic53 clods."
"And you'd get your shapely boots most shockingly muddy," I thought, as the agent opened one of the front windows and invited us to enter.
"French windows, too!" exclaimed Sophronia; "oh Pierre! And see that exquisite old mantel; it looks as if it had been carved from ebony upon the banks of one of the Queen of the Adriatic's noiseless by-ways. And these tiny rooms, how cozy—how like fairy land! Again I declare, we will take it! Let us return at once to the city—how I loathe54 the thought of treading its noisy thoroughfares again!—and order our carpets and furniture."
"Are you sure you won't be lonesome here, darling?" I asked. "It is quite a distance from any neighbors."
"A true woman is never lonesome when she can commune with Nature," replied Sophronia. "Besides," she continued, in a less exalted55 strain, "I shall have Laura Stanley and Stella Sykes with me most of the time."
The agent drove us back to his office, spending not more than ten minutes on the road; yet the time sufficed Sophronia to give me in detail her idea of the combination of carpets, shades, furniture, pictures, etc., which would be in harmony with our coming domicile. Suddenly nature reasserted her claims, and Sophronia addressed the agent.
"Your partner told my husband that there were a lake and two brooks at Villa Valley. I should like to see them."
"Certainly, ma'am," replied the agent, promptly; "I'll drive you past them as you go to the train."
Ten minutes later the lease was made out and signed. I was moved to interrupt the agent with occasional questions, such as, "Isn't the house damp?" "Any mosquitoes?" "Is the water good and plentiful56?" "Does the cellar extend under the whole house?" But the coldly practical nature of these queries57 affected Sophronia's spirits so unpleasantly, that, out of pure affection, I forebore. Then the agent invited us into his carriage again, and said he would drive us to the lower depot58.
"Two stations?" I inquired.
"Yes," said he; "and one's as near to your house as the other."
"Your house," whispered Sophronia, turning her soulful eyes full upon me, and inserting her delicate elbow with unnecessary force between my not heavily covered ribs—"your house! Oh, Pierre! does not the dignity of having a house appear to you like a beautiful vision?"
"I strove for an instant to frame a reply in keeping with Sophronia's mental condition, when an unpleasant odor saluted59 my nose. That Sophronia was conscious of the same disgusting atmospheric60 feature, I learned by the sound of a decided sniff61. Looking about us, I saw a large paper mill beside a stream, whose contents looked sewer-like.
"Smell the paper-mash boiling?" asked the agent. "Peculiar15, isn't it? Very healthy, though, they say."
On the opposite side of the road trickled62 a small gutter64, full of a reddish-brown liquid, its source seeming to be a dye-house behind us. Just then we drove upon a bridge, which crossed a vile65 pool, upon the shore of which was a rolling-mill.
"Here's the lake," said the agent; "Dellwild Lake, they call it. And here's the brooks emptying into it, one on each side of the road."
Sophronia gasped66 and looked solemn. Her thoughtfulness lasted but a moment, however; then she applied67 her daintily perfumed handkerchief to her nose and whispered: "Dellwild! Charbig dabe, Pierre, dod't you thig so?"
During the fortnight which followed, Sophronia and I visited house-furnishing stores, carpet dealers69, furniture warehouses70, picture stores, and bric-a-brac shops. The agent was very kind; he sent a boy to the house with the keys every time the express wished to deliver any of our goods. Finally, the carpet dealer68 having reported the carpets laid, Sophronia, I, and our newly engaged servant, started by rail to Villa Valley, three double-truck loads of furniture preceding us by way of the turnpike. I had thoughtfully ordered quite a quantity of provisions put into the house, in advance of our arrival. Hiring a carriage at the station, and obtaining the keys of the agent, we drove to our residence. Sophronia, to use her own expression, 'felt as she imagined Juno did, when first installed as mistress of the rosy72 summit of the divine mount; while I, though scarcely in a mood to compare myself with Jove, was conscious of a new and delightful sense of manliness73. The shades and curtains were in the windows, the sun shone warmly upon them, and a bright welcome seemed to extend itself from the whole face of the cottage. I unlocked the door and tenderly kissed my darling under the lintel; then we stepped into the parlor74. Sophronia immediately exclaimed:
"Gracious!"
The word that escaped my lips, I shrink from placing upon the printed page. A barrel of flour, one of sugar, another of corned beef, and a half-barrel of molasses, a box of candles, a can of kerosene75 oil, some cases of canned fruits, a box of laundry soap, three wash-tubs, and a firkin of butter—all these, and many other packages, covered the parlor floor, and sent up a smell suggestive of an unventilated grocery. The flour had sifted76 between the staves of the barrel, the molasses had dripped somewhat, the box of soap had broken open and a single bar had been fastened to the carpet by the seal of a boot-heel of heroic size. Sophronia stepped into little pools of molasses, and the effect seemed to be that the carpet rose to bestow77 sweet clinging kisses upon the dainty feet of the loveliest of her sex.
"Horrible!" ejaculated Sophronia.
"And here come the trucks," said I, looking out of the window, "and the one with the parlor furniture is in front."
Fortunately, the truckmen were good-tempered and amenable78 to reason, expressed by means of currency; so we soon had the provisions moved into the kitchen. Then the senior truckman kindly79 consented to dispose of an old tarpaulin80, at about twice the price of a piece of velvet81 carpet of similar size, and this we spread upon the parlor floor while the furniture should be brought in. Sophronia assumed the direction of proceedings82, but it soon became evident that she was troubled.
"The room, evidently, was not arranged for this furniture," said she.
And she spoke50 truthfully. We had purchased a lounge, a large centre-table, an etagere, a Turkish chair, two reception chairs, four chairs to match the lounge, a rocker or two, an elegant firescreen, and several other articles of furniture, and there was considerable difficulty experienced, not only in arranging them, but in getting them into the parlor at all. Finally, the senior truckman spoke:
A bright welcome from the cottage.
A bright welcome seemed to extend itself from
the whole face of the cottage.
"The only way to git everythin' in, is to fix 'em the way we do at the store—set 'em close together."
He spoke truly; and Sophronia, with a sigh, assented to such an arrangement, suggesting that we could rearrange the furniture afterward83, and stipulating84 only that the lounge should be placed in the front of the room. This done, there were three-and-a-half feet of space between the front of the lounge and the inside of the window-casings.
We can, at least, sit upon it and lose our souls in the dying glories of the sun upon the eternal hills, and—"Gracious, Pierre, where's the piano to go?"
Sure enough; and the piano was already at the door. The senior truckman cast his professional eye at the vacant space, and spoke:
"You can put it right there," said he. "There won't be no room fur the stool to go behind it; but if you put the key-board to the front, an' open the winder, you can stand outdoors an' play."
Sophronia eyed the senior truckman suspiciously for a moment, but not one of his honest facial muscles moved, so Sophronia exclaimed:
"True. And how romantic!"
While the piano was being placed I became conscious of some shocking language being used on the stairway. Looking out I saw two truckmen and the headboard of our new bedstead inextricably mixed on the stairs.
"Why don't you go on?" I asked.
The look which one of the truckmen gave me I shall not Forget until my dying day; the man's companion remarked that when (qualified) fools bought furniture for such (doubly qualified) houses, they ought to have brains enough to get things small enough to get up the (trebly qualified) stairs.
I could not deny the logic85 of this statement, impious as were the qualifying adjectives which were used thereupon. But something had to be done; we could not put the bedstead together upon the stairway and sleep upon it there, even were there not other articles of furniture imperatively86 demanding a right of way.
"Try to get it down again," said I.
They tried, and, after one mighty87 effort, succeeded; they also brought down several square yards of ceiling plaster and the entire handrail of the stair.
"Think the ceilings of these rooms is high enough to let that bed stand up?" asked the senior truckman.
I hastily measured the height of the ceilings, and then of the bedstead, and found the latter nearly eighteen inches too high. Then I called Sophronia: the bedstead was of her selection, and was an elegant sample of fine woods and excessive ornamentation. It was a precious bit of furniture, but time was precious, too. The senior truckman suggested that the height of the bedstead might be reduced about two feet by the removal of the most lofty ornament88, and that a healthy man could knock it off with his fist.
"Let it be done," said Sophronia. "What matter? A king discrowned is still a king at heart."
The senior truckman aimed a deadly blow with a cart-rung, and the bedstead filled its appointed place. The remaining furniture followed as fast as could be expected; we soon gave up the idea of getting it all into the house; but the woodhouse was spacious89 and easy of access, so we stowed there important portions of three chamber37 sets, a gem10 of a sideboard, the Turkish chair, which had been ordered for the parlor, and the hat-rack, which the hall was too small to hold. We also deposited in the woodhouse all the pictures, in their original packages.
At length the trucks were emptied; the senior truckman smiled sweetly as I passed a small fee into his hand then he looked thoughtfully at the roof of the cottage, and remarked:
"It's none of my business, I know; but I hate to see nice things spiled. I'd watch that roof, ef I was you, the fust time it rained."
I thanked him; he drove off; I turned and accepted the invitation which was presented by Sophronia's outstretched arms.
"Oh, Pierre!" she exclaimed; "at last we are in our own home! No uncongenial spirits about us—no one to molest90 or annoy—no unsympathetic souls to stifle91 our ardent92 passion for Nature and the work of her free, divine hands."
A frowsy head suddenly appeared at the dining-room door, and a voice which accompanied it remarked:
"Didn't they bring in any stove, ma'am?"
Sophronia looked inquiringly at me, and I answered:
"No!" looking very blank at the same time.
"Then how am I to make a fire to cook with?" asked the girl.
"In the range, of course," said Sophronia.
Our domestic's next remark had, at least, the effect of teaching what was her nationality:
"An' do ye think that I'd ax fur a sthove av dhere was a range in the house? Dhivil a bit!"
"Never mind, dear," said I soothingly93; "I'm an old soldier; I'll make a fire out of doors, and give you as nice a cup of tea and plate of hot biscuit as you ever tasted. And I'll order a stove the first thing in the morning."
Sophronia consented, and our domestic was appeased94. Then I asked the domestic to get some water while I should make the fire. The honest daughter of toil95 was absent for many moments, and when she returned, it was to report, with some excitement, that there was neither well nor cistern96 on the premises97.
Then I grew angry, and remarked, in Sophronia's hearing, that we were a couple of fools, to take a house without first proving whether the agent had told the truth. But Sophronia, who is a consistent optimist98, rebuked99 me for my want of faith in the agent.
"Pierre," said she, "it is unmanly to charge a fellow-man with falsehood upon the word of a menial. I know that agent tells the truth, for he has such liquid blue eyes; besides, his house is right next to the Presbyterian Church."
Either one of these powerful arguments was sufficient to silence me, of course; so I took the pail, and sought well and cistern myself. But if either was on the place, it was so skillfully secreted100 that I could not find the slightest outward evidence of it. Finally, to be thorough, I paced the garden from front to rear, over lines not more than ten feet apart, and then scrutinized101 the fence-corners.
While at this work, I was approached by a gentleman, who seemed to come from a house two or three hundred yards off.
"Moved into the cottage, it seems," said he.
"Yes," I replied. "Do you know the place? The agent said there was excellent water here, but I can't find it."
"He meant there was good water in my well, where all occupants of the cottage have drawn102 water for several years. The well belonging to your place was covered up when the road was cut through, a few years ago, and neighbor Hubbell—well, I don't say anything against him—neighbors must be neighborly, but folks do say he's too stingy to dig a new well. That's the reason the cottage hasn't been occupied much for the last few years. But everybody is welcome to draw from my well—come along."
I followed the kind-hearted man, but I wished that the liquid depth of the agent's blue eyes had a proper parallel upon the estate which he had imposed upon me. I returned as full of wrath103 as my pail was of water, when, across the fence, I saw Sophronia's face, so suffused104 with tender exaltation, that admiration105 speedily banished106 ill nature.
But it was for a brief moment only, for Sophronia's finely-cut lips parted and their owner exclaimed:
"Oh, Pierre! What a charming pastoral picture—you and the pail, and the lawn as a background! I wish we might always have to get water from our neighbor's, well."
We retired107 early, and in the delightful quiet of our rural retreat, with the moon streaming through our chamber window, Sophronia became poetic108, and I grew too peaceful and happy even to harbor malice109 against the agent. The eastern sun found his way through the hemlocks111 to wake us in the morning, and the effect was so delightfully112 different from the rising bell of the boarding-house, that when Sophronia indulged in some freedom with certain of Whittier's lines, and exclaimed:
"Sad is the man who never sees
The sun shine through his hemlock110 trees"
I appreciated her sentiment, and expressed my regard in a, loving kiss. Again I made a fire out of doors, boiled coffee, fried ham and eggs, made some biscuit, begged some milk of our neighbor, and then we had a delightful little breakfast. Then I started for the station.
"Don't forget the stove, dear," said Sophronia, as she gave me a parting kiss; "and be sure to send a butcher, and baker113, and grocer, and—"
Just then our domestic appeared and remarked:
"Arah ye may as well get another girl; the likes ai me isn't goin' to bring wather from half-a-mile away."
Sophronia grew pale, but she lost not an atom of her saintly calmness; she only said, half to herself:
"Poor thing! she hasn't a bit of poetry in her soul."
When I returned in the evening, I found Sophronia in tears. The stove men had not quite completed their work, so Sophronia and her assistant had eaten nothing but dry bread since breakfast. The girl interrupted us to say that the stove was ready, but that she couldn't get either coal or wood, and would I just come and see why? I descended114 five of the cellar stairs, but the others were covered with water, and upon the watery115 expanse about me floated the wagon-load of wood I had purchased. The coal heap, under a window fifteen feet away, loomed116 up like a rugged117 crag of basaltic rock. I took soundings with a stick and found the water was rather more than two feet deep. Fortunately, there were among my war relics118 a pair of boots as long as the legs of their owner, so I drew these on and descended the stairs with shovel120 and coal scuttle121. The boots had not been oiled in ten years, so they found accommodation for several quarts of water. As I strode angrily into the kitchen and set the scuttle down with a suddenness which shook the floor, Sophronia clapped her hands in ecstasy122.
"Pierre," she exclaimed, "you look like the picture of the sturdy retainers of the old English barons123. O, I do hope that water won't go away very soon. The rattling124 of the water in your boots makes your step so impressive."
I found that in spite of the hunger from which she had suffered, Sophronia had not been idle during the day. She had coaxed126 the baker's man to open the cases of pictures, and she and the domestic had carried each picture to the room in which it was to hang. The highest ceiling in the house was six and a half feet from the floor, whereas our smallest picture measured three feet and a half in height. But Sophronia's art-loving soul was not to be daunted127; the pictures being too large to hang, she had leaned them against the walls.
"It's such an original idea," said she; "and then, too, it gives each picture such an unusual effect—don't you think so?"
I certainly did.
We spent the evening in trying to make our rooms look less like furniture warehouses, but succeeded only partly. We agreed, too, that we could find something for painters and kalsominers to do, for the ceilings and walls were blotched and streaked129 so much that our pretty furniture and carpets only made the plastering look more dingy130. But when again we retired, and our lights were put, and only soft moonbeams relieved the darkness, our satisfaction with our new house filled us with pleasant dreams, which we exchanged before sleeping. After falling asleep, I dreamed of hearing a wonderful symphony performed by an unseen orchestra; it seemed as if Liszt might have composed it, and as if the score was particularly strong in trombones and drums. Then the scene changed, and I was on a ship in a storm at sea; the gale131 was blowing my hair about, and huge rain-drops occasionally struck my face. Sophronia was by my side; but, instead of glorying with me in meeting the storm-king in his home, she complained bitterly of the rain. The unaccountable absence of her constitutional romanticism provoked me, and I remonstrated132 so earnestly, that the effort roused me to wakefulness. But Sophronia's complaining continued. I had scarcely realized that I was in a cottage chamber instead of on a ship's deck, when Sophronia exclaimed:
"Pierre, I wonder if a shower-bath hasn't been arranged just where our bed stands? because drops of water are falling in my face once in a while. They are lovely and cool, but they trickle63 off on the pillow, and that don't feel nice."
I lit a candle, and examined the ceiling; directly over Sophronia's head there was a heavy blotch128, from the centre of which the water was dropping.
"Another result of taking that liquid blue-eyed agent's word," I growled133, hastily moving the bed and its occupant, and setting the basin on the floor to catch the water and save the carpet.
"Why, Pierre!" exclaimed Sophronia, as I blew out the light, "how unjust you are. Who could expect an agent to go over the roof like a cat, and examine each shingle134? Gracious! it's dropping here, too!"
Again I lighted the candle and moved the bed, but before I had time to retire Sophronia complained that a stream was trickling135 down upon her feet. The third time the bed was moved water dropped down upon my pillow, and the room was too small to re-locate the bed so that none of these unauthorized hydrants should moisten us. Then we tried our spare chamber, but that was equally damp.
Suddenly I bethought myself of another war relic119; and, hurrying to an old trunk, extracted an india-rubber blanket. This, if we kept very close together, kept the water out, but almost smothered136 us. We changed our positions by sitting up, back to back, and dropping the rubber blanket over our heads. By this arrangement the air was allowed to circulate freely, and we had some possibilities of conversation left us; but the effect of the weight of the blanket resting largely upon our respective noses was somewhat depressing. Suddenly Sophronia remarked:
"Oh, Pierre! this reminds me of those stories you used to tell me, of how you and all your earthly treasures used to hide under this blanket from the rain!"
The remark afforded an opportunity for a very graceful137 reply, but four hours elapsed before I saw it. Sophronia did not seem hurt by my negligence138, but almost instantly continued:
"It would be just like war, if there was only some shooting going on. Can't you fire your revolver out of the window, Pierre?"
"I could," I replied, "if that blue-eyed agent was anywhere within range."
"Why, Pierre, I think you're dreadfully unjust to that poor man. He can't go sleeping around in all the rooms of each of his cottages every time there's a rainstorm, to see if they leak. Besides—oh, Pierre! I've a brilliant idea! It can't be wet down-stairs."
True. I was so engrossed139 by different plans of revenge, that I had not thought of going into the parlor or dining-room to sleep. We moved to the parlor; Sophronia took the lounge, while I found the floor a little harder than I supposed an ex-soldier could ever find any plane surface. It did not take me long, however, to learn that the parlor-floor was not a plane surface. It contained a great many small elevations140 which kept me awake for the remainder of the night, wondering what they could be. At early dawn I was as far from a satisfactory theory as ever, and I hastily loosened one end of the carpet and looked under. The protuberances were knots in the flooring boards. In the days when the sturdy patriots141 of New Jersey142 despised such monarchical143 luxuries as carpets, the soft portions of these boards had been slowly worn away, but the knots—every one has heard the expression "as tough as a pine knot." Fortunately, we had indulged in a frightfully expensive rug, and upon this I sought and found a brief period of repose31 and forgetfulness.
While we were at the breakfast-table our girl appeared, with red eyes and a hoarse144 voice, and remarked that now she must leave; she had learned to like us, and she loved the country, but she had an aged71 parent whose sole support she was, and could not afford to risk her life in such a house.
"Let her go," said Sophronia. "If variety is the spice of life, why shouldn't the rule apply to servants?"
"Perhaps it does, my dear," I replied; "but if we have to pay each girl a month's wages for two or three days of work, the spice will be more costly145 than enjoyable—eh?"
Immediately after breakfast I sought the agent. I supposed he would meet me with downcast eyes and averted146 head, but he did nothing of the kind; he extended his hand cordially, and said he was delighted to see me.
"That roof," said I, getting promptly to business, "leaks—well, it's simply a sieve147. And you told me the house was dry."
"So the owner told me, sir; of course you can't expect us to inspect the hundreds of houses we handle in a year."
"Well, however that may be, the owner is mistaken, and he must repair the roof at once."
The agent looked thoughtful. "If you had wished the landlord to make necessary repairs, you should have so stipulated148 in the lease. The lease you have signed provides that all repairs shall be made at your own expense."
"Did the landlord draw up the lease?" I asked, fixing my eye severely149 upon the agent's liquid orbs150. But the agent met my gaze with defiance151 and an expression of injured dignity.
"I asked you whether you would have the usual form of lease," said the agent, "and you replied, 'Certainly.'"
I abruptly152 left the agent's presence, went to a lumber153 yard near by, and asked where I could find the best carpenter in town. He happened to be on the ground purchasing some lumber, and to him I made known my troubles, and begged him to hasten to my relief. The carpenter was a man of great decision of character, and he replied promptly, ciphering on a card in the meantime:
"No you don't. Every carpenter in town has tried his hand on that roof, and made it worse than before. The only way to make it tight is to re-shingle it all over. That'll cost you $67.50, unless the scantling is too rotten to hold the nails, in which case the job'll cost you $18.75 more. I guess the rafters are strong enough to hold together a year or two longer."
I made some excuse to escape the carpenter and his dreadful figures, and he graciously accepted it; doubtless the perfect method in which he did it was the result of frequent interviews with other wretched beings who had leased the miserable154 house which I had taken into my confidence. I determined155 to plead with the landlord, whose name I knew, and I asked a chance acquaintance on the train if he knew where I could find the proprietor156 of my house.
"Certainly," said he; "there he is in the opposite seat but one, reading a religious weekly."
I looked; my heart sank within me, and my body sank into a seat. A cold-eyed, hatchet-faced man, from whom not even the most eloquent157 beggar could hope to coax125 a penny. Of what use would it be to try to persuade him to spend sixty-seven dollars and fifty cents on something which I had agreed to take care of. Something had to be done, however, so I wasted most of the day in consulting New York roofers. The conclusion of the whole matter was that I spent about thirty dollars for condemned158 "flies" from "hospital" tents, and had these drawn tightly over the roof. When this was done the appearance of the house was such that I longed for an incendiary who would compel me to seek a new residence; but when Sophronia gazed upon the roof she clapped her hands joyfully159, and exclaimed:
"Pierre, it will be almost as nice as living in a tent, to have one on the roof; it looks just the same, you know, until your eyes get down to the edge of it."
There was at least one comfort in living at Villa Valley: the people were very intelligent and sociable160, and we soon made many pleasant acquaintances. But they all had something dreadful to suggest about our house. A doctor, who was a remarkably161 fine fellow, said he would be glad of my patronage162, and didn't doubt that he would soon have it, unless I had the cellar pumped out at once. Then Mrs. Blathe, the leader of society in the village, told my wife how a couple who once lived in our cottage always had chills, though no one else at Villa Valley had the remotest idea of what a chill was. The several coal dealers in the village competed in the most lively manner for our custom, and when I mentioned the matter, in some surprise, to my grocer, he remarked that they knew what houses needed most coal to keep them warm the year through, and worked for custom accordingly. A deacon, who was sociable but solemn, remarked that some of his most sweetly mournful associations clustered about our cottage—he had followed several of its occupants to their long homes.
And yet, as the season advanced, and the air was too dry to admit of dampness anywhere, and the Summer breezes blew in the windows and doors whole clouds of perfume from the rank thickets163 of old-fashioned roses which stood about the garden, we became sincerely attached to the little cottage. Then heavy masses of honeysuckles and vines which were trained against the house, grew dense164 and picturesque165 with foliage166, and Sophronia would enjoy hours of perfect ecstasy, sitting in an easy-chair under the evergreens and gazing at the graceful outlines of the house and its verdant167 ornaments168.
But the cellar was obdurate169. It was pumped dry several times, but no pump could reach the inequalities in its floor, and in August there came a crowd of mosquitoes from the water in these small holes. They covered the ceilings and walls, they sat in every chair, they sang accompaniments to all of Sophronia's songs, they breakfasted, dined, and supped with us and upon us. Sophronia began to resemble a person in the first stages of varioloid, yet that incomparable woman would sit between sunset and dusk, looking, through nearly closed eyes, at the walls and ceiling, and would remark:
"Pierre, when you look at the walls in this way, the mosquitoes give them the effect of being papered with some of that exquisite new Japanese wall-paper, with its quaint spots; don't you think so?"
Finally September came, and with it the equinoctial storm. We lay in bed one night, the wind howling about us, and Sophronia rhapsodising, through the medium of Longfellow's lines, about
"The storm-wind of the Equinox,"
when we heard a terrific crash, and then the sound of a falling body which shook the whole house. Sophronia clasped me wildly and began to pray; but I speedily disengaged myself, lighted a candle, and sought the cause of our disturbance170. I found it upon the hall-floor: it was the front-door and its entire casing, both of which, with considerable plaster, lathing171, and rotten wood, had been torn from its place by the fury of the storm.
In the morning I sought a printer, with a small but strong manuscript which I had spent the small hours of the night in preparing. It bore this title, "The House I Live In." The printer gave me the proof the same day, and I showed it to the owner of the house the same evening, remarking that I should mail a copy to every resident of Villa Valley, and have one deposited in every Post Office box in New York City. The owner offered to cancel my lease if I would give up my unkind intention, and I consented. Then we hired a new cottage (not from the agent with the liquid blue eyes), and, before accepting it, I examined it as if it were to be my residence to all eternity172. Yet when all our household goods were removed, and Sophronia and I took our final departure, the gentle mistress of my home turned regretfully, burst into tears, and sobbed173:
"Oh, Pierre! in spite of everything, it is a love of a cottage."
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1
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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inebriety
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| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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21
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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24
belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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26
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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27
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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28
presentiments
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| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
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29
antiquated
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| adj.陈旧的，过时的 | |
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30
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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33
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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34
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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36
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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38
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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39
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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40
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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41
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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42
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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43
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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45
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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46
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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47
unities
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| n.统一体( unity的名词复数 )；（艺术等） 完整；（文学、戏剧） （情节、时间和地点的）统一性；团结一致 | |
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48
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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49
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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50
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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51
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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52
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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53
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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54
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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55
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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56
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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57
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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58
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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59
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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60
atmospheric
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| adj.大气的，空气的；大气层的；大气所引起的 | |
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61
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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62
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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63
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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64
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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65
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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66
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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67
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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68
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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69
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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70
warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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71
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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72
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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73
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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74
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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75
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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76
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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77
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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78
amenable
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| adj.经得起检验的；顺从的；对负有义务的 | |
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79
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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80
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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81
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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82
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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83
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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84
stipulating
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| v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的现在分词 )；规定，明确要求 | |
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85
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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86
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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87
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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88
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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89
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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90
molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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91
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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92
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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93
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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94
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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95
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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96
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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97
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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98
optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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99
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
secreted
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| v.（尤指动物或植物器官）分泌( secrete的过去式和过去分词 )；隐匿，隐藏 | |
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101
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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103
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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104
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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106
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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108
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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109
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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110
hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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111
hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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112
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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113
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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114
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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115
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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116
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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117
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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118
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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119
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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120
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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121
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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122
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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123
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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124
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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125
coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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126
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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127
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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129
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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130
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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131
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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132
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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133
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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134
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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135
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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136
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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137
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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138
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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139
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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140
elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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141
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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142
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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143
monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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146
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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147
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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148
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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150
orbs
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| abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球，天体，圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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151
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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152
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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153
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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154
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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155
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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156
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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157
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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158
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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159
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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160
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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161
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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162
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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163
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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164
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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165
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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166
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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167
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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168
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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169
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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170
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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171
lathing
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| 覆以板条，板条 | |
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172
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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173
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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