Be Courteous | Page 4

house upon the plain, he had seen that house brilliantly illuminated,
and once or twice had heard old Mr. Croswell call to him from the
window, and say, "Beware, Graffam, beware." Little, however, was
thought of these stories, for we all knew that the unhappy man often
went home at night with a fire upon his brain, and had no doubt but that
he got up his own illuminations; and as for the admonition, "Beware,
Graffam, beware," it doubtless came from the frogs, and was
interpreted by his own conscience. Snag-Orchard, however, was
evidently dreaded until the Lindsays came to live there, when it became
less gloomy: for though the old trees with their heavy foliage were still
there, descending in long sentinel-like rows down the hill-slope, until
the last row drooped their branches into the bright waters of the brook,
yet the rank grass around the house, that had so long raised its seedy
head, and looked in at the windows, was mowed down, and
sociable-looking flowers had taken its place; and then at evening, the
traveler returning from the pond by the way of the plain, realized what
had once been but the brilliant phantasy of poor Graffam's brain--for
though Mrs. Lindsay was a widow, she was neither poor nor deserted.
The reason for her coming there was not at that time known among us.

A gentleman who was projecting the plan of a settlement at the pond, in
reference to mill and factory privileges, bargained for the Croswell
place, and early in the spring this family took up a residence there.
Three months had passed away, and they were still strangers. This was
not from any want of sociability upon the part of their neighbors,--or
from studied indifference upon their own part, but from the time of
their first coming they had seemed fully occupied with company. Gay
parties upon horse-back had frequently issued from the large gate,
where in years gone by oxen had walked demurely in, bearing a
three-story load of hay. The long riding-dresses and feathered caps of
these gay riders, inasmuch as they were new in that old-fashioned place,
were judged of according to the several tastes of the farmers' wives and
daughters. Some thought it pretty business for girls to be figuring about
with men's hats, when there was work enough for women folks within
doors: and others thought (very justly too) that the matter of this riding
was no concern of theirs; and having business enough of their own,
they concluded to let Mrs. Lindsay and her guests do as they pleased.
This was a wise conclusion, since it daily became more and more
evident that they had no intention of doing otherwise than as they
pleased. Some of the family always presented themselves at church on
the Lord's day, but among them Miss Emma, and an elderly woman
supposed to be the housekeeper, were the only constant attendants.
Thus much of the new family at Appledale. The reader will learn more
as we progress in our story.
"I would see Mrs. Lindsay and the young ladies," said Henry Boyd, as
the servant opened the door. Henry was shown into the same room,
where many a time he had sat and talked with old Mr. Croswell, but
which now seemed to him like another place. A handsome carpet now
covered the white oaken floor, and rich curtains partially concealed the
windows once shaded by simple green. Where stood the old
"sideboard" was now an elegant piano, and luxurious chairs and
lounges had taken the place of Mr. Croswell's high-backed,
upright-looking furniture. But Henry was self-possessed; and though
there were a number of young ladies in the room, dressed in handsome
morning _dishabille_, he neither stammered nor turned red, but bowing
easily to Mrs. Lindsay, gave Misses Martha and Emma an invitation to
go with him and the young ladies to the plain. Mrs. Lindsay saw that

Martha, on glancing from the window at the rustic-looking company,
could scarcely suppress a smile, so she courteously thanked Henry, and
was about to excuse her daughters, when Emma entered the room.
Henry could not accuse either Mrs. Lindsay or Martha of impoliteness,
but he felt somehow as though there was a great contrast between this
courtesy and that shown him by Emma; for she offered him her hand,
and said, "It is very kind of you to call for us, and if mamma pleases, I
should like to go."
"I have no objection, my love," said Mrs. Lindsay, "provided you
return before night."
Henry assured her that they should, Martha respectfully declined the
invitation, and Emma ran up stairs. "I am going," said she joyfully to
the elderly woman with whom she was often seen at church. "I am
going, Dora; and that dear little Mary