Maine in history and romance

Front matter

AINE IN HISTORY fD ROMANCE

BY MAINE CLUB WOMEN

Qass_ Book.

Foreword

I am asked to say grace, before this feast of reason and flow of soul. In the writer's request to his Master by Henry Van Dyke is my cautionary grace: "Lord, let me never tell a story without a meaning. Make me respect so much my material that I dare not slight my work. Help me to deal very honestly with words and with people because they are both alive. Give me an ideal that will stand the strain of weaving into human stuff, on the loom of the real, and when that is done, help me to say a grateful Amen."

The women of Maine in this same spirit salute you, whose stories grace this book. You have that which cannot be taken from you— a gift sent to you as the golden windows come by reflection from above. Cherish your gifts and refresh us again. We thank you; we prize your work ; and above all, your efforts. One may know only so much as one lives and the day is his at its best when it is full of serenity and rich in work accomplished with high aims.

Treasure the ideals ! May faith with understanding keep you and may you so continue, dear friends who have written this charming book, and you, women of Maine who may become its readers, till the twilight comes with its glorious sunset and God's "well done."

Portland, Maine, November 28, 1915.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book, the first ever published by a federation of women's clubs in the United States, came about thru the publication of a series of articles in competition for prizes offered by the Lewiston Journal, and confined wholly to members of the women's clubs comprising the Maine Federation. The decision to publish these articles in book form was made at the annual meeting of the Maine Federation at Biddeford in October, 1915.

In the development of the original offer and the decision of the club members to publish this book there were so many helpers among the members of the Federation and so much encouragement that if the committee of the Federation were to name them all, the list would comprise a great majority of the club women of Maine. The committee does feel constrained, however, to make special acknowledgment of its great obligation to the following :

Mrs. Frederick P. Abbott of Saco and the executive board, Mrs. Grace A. Wing of Auburn, Mrs. Frederick E. Moore of Waterville, Mrs. M. W. Bessey of Waterville, Miss Mary A. Bradbury of Saco, Mrs. Charles F. Roberts of Portland and Mrs. S. C. C. Ward of Augusta, for encouraging and accepting the original prize offer.

To the Federation prize award committee, Mrs. Emma W. Moseley of Portland, Mrs. W. A. Murchie of Calais, and Mrs. Sidney A. Green of Waterville, who so carefully and conscientiously read the great amount of manuscript submitted and who so impartially and intelligently made their awards.

To the club presidents and members of the Federation, especially those who attended the 1915 meeting at Biddeford, for their enthusiastic acceptance of the recommendation of the prize committee that the prize stories be put in permanent book form.

To the Lewiston Journal Company for the gift of the copyrighted stories, the cuts and its co-operation in the publication of the book.

And finally, the committee wishes to express especial appreciation to Mrs. Grace A. Wing of Auburn, president of the Maine Federation 1915-1916, for her cordial co-operation in the publication and sale of this volume ; and for the countless valuable suggestions which she has offered in its compilation, its make-up and its artistic conception.

FLORENCE L. NYE, Lewiston LIDA L. BROWN, Oldtown IDA F. NEWELL, Lewiston

Book Publication Committee.

Contents

Chapter Page

By Mrs. Harry Delbert Smart, Nineteenth Century Club, Bangor

By Jessica J. Haskell, Augusta Current Events Club, Hallowell

Chapter I — The Gulf Between

|jp? HY ARE you idling here? Is there not enough work on the farm to keep you busy ?"

I had seated myself by the dining-room window and was watching the falling snow.

Only a week had passed since my arrival in America, and the quietness of the winter scenery made me homesick. There seemed to be a gulf between me and home. Dear old Scotland, my native land, and the happy days spent with the family, while my mother and father were living, rose up before me.

Then disturbing thoughts filled my mind — the death of both my parents; the breaking up of my home: the necessity of seeking work.

Though only a boy, I had procured on credit a small package of goods to the value of about ten dollars, and started on a peddling expedition in order to earn a livelihood.

At the very beginning of my proposed tour, I had the misfortune to lose my whole stock in trade which was stolen from me in the night at the tavern where I had stopped. From the circumstances of the case, a recovery of the goods I knew to be hopeless, and I was in utter consternation. ■

Without even returning to bid farewell to my friends, I struck a bargain with a captain of an emigrant brig and embarked. In due time I reached the coast of Maine and found my relative, Alexander McLean, whose name I bore.

My uncle's harsh voice filled me with evil forebodings. Had he already heard of my dishonest dealings? I was so agitated I could not answer at once, and the stern voice broke the silence again. "Come, why do you look so sulky? This is Thanksgiving Day; you ought to feel a little gratitude for past favors!"

'T am grateful, Uncle Alex," I finally answered, "more than I can tell. I have tried to do everything as you wished."

"Perhaps Andy is hungry," said Aunt Mary. "It is late." I called Mary Given aunt, although she was only a sister-in-law to Rev. Alexander McLean.

"I do not see why the guests tarry," said uncle, impatiently, pacing the floor like a caged tiger. His beast of a temper was under control, but it was always growling to be let loose. He often brought it forth to exercise it under a cloak of religion.

When my uncle went up-stairs to his study, Aunt Mary gave me a generous piece of pumpkin pie, and then gave her attention to the dinner. Her activity made me forget my troubles and her tongue kept pace with her hands and feet.

"Your uncle was born on the Tsle of Skye, Scotland, and educated at the University of Aberdeen. He was the son of a Scotch Presbyterian who was wealthy."

Now she drew forward a kettle, hanging over the fire on a crane, lifted the cover, emitting a savory odor that made me hungrier than ever. "He is now regularly settled in Bristol, being the first to receive the honor, and preaches successively in the three meeting houses of the town, Walpole, Broad Cove and Pemaquid. Rev. William Riddell, the minister who boards here, is his colleague. Your uncle is talented, and the people like his sermons, but his peculiarities have made him very unpopular."

She caught up a holder, as if to emphasize her words, and opened an oven door in the side of the chimney. All being satisfactory, she continued, "He married my twin sister, but his harshness shortened her life. She was a beautiful girl of seventeen, while he was twice her age." As if to hide her emotion, Aunt Mary seized a crank and, handing it to the colored servant, made her understand that she wished assistance. The old negress turned the roast, by turning an iron rod thrust thru it, given such help as was needed by the younger woman.

As I looked on, I wondered why this amiable woman, whose father was considered the richest man at the Falls, had come here to work for such a disagreeable man. I spoke my thoughts, but was sorry a moment after, for possibly I had offended. Aunt Mary turned, rosy from her exertions over the hot blaze. There was a twinkle in her eye, and wit and humor lurking about her mouth, while no trace of sadness remained. "I will tell you a little secret," she said, playfully, placing a finger on her lips, to indicate that I was to keep it. "Your poor uncle has a hard time pleasing housekeepers. The last one cruelly threatened to pin the dishcloth to his coat-tails because he wished to show her how to do the work. Called it interference and left without fulfilling her threat," Aunt Mary finished with a musical laugh.

"He doesn't seem to interfere with ycur work," I said, much amused.

She laughed again, and changed the subject. After a short silence, she said, earnestly, "Really, I am not overworked. Mammy does the rough part ; but since the tragic death of her little daughter, she has been too broken by grief to bear responsibility." There was another pause and then she added bitterly, "Your uncle is responsible for that. It was one of those times when he thought he was obliged to bring forth his tiger temper and exercise it."

In a moment. Aunt Mary had recovered her old cheerfulness, and tenderly patting the colored woman's hand, said, "You did take good care of the little twins, didn't you? Sister and I loved our dear old nurse." Then she turned to me and said, "When Sarah was married, father, who kept slaves, gave her this colored mammy and her little daughter as servants." In the silence that followed, I remembered Jennie, my young companion, my play-fellow, my much-loved cousin, who was two years my junior, and eagerly said, "Why couldn't Jennie take charge? She could cook a nice dinner, Aunt Mary, I am quite sure. She knows a lot."

My aunt, smiling at my enthusiasm, answered, "Jennie is a very capable girl for only twelve. She is a good housekeeper and takes excellent care of her little brother, Wallace, but she is sensitive like her mother. I wish to protect her from her father's censure. Should he consider it a religious duty to exercise his temper to-day, it will fall on the first one handy, and I wish to be the handiest one about, this Thanksgiving." Aunt Mary folded her hands in such a comically resigned way that I laughed aloud. There was a gulf between Aunt Mary and Uncle Alex.

"But there is a weightier motive for shouldering the responsibility on a day like this," she continued in a subdued voice. "Among the expected guests is one who deserves all the respect that we can give him. Not because he is idolized by the people here in Bristol, not because he has been commissioned by Washington" — as she continued, she waxed eloquent — "nor, yet because he is one of the greatest heroes of the Revolutionary War, but because of his nobility of mind and character."

"Who is the hero. Aunt Mary?" My quesition was lost in the excitement. There was the sound of horses' hoofs without, and we knew the expected guests had arrived.