"I’mnohandatanyworkoutsidethehouse，"sheobserved，asifreflecting。"IcantruthfullysayI’magoodcook，andhaveagreatfacultyformakingalittlegoalongways。"（Sheconsideredthisamaster—stroke，andinfactitwas；fortheDeacon’smouthabsolutelywateredatthisapparentlyunconsciouscomprehensionofhisdisposition。）"ButI’mnohandatanychoresinthebarnorshed，"shecontinued。"Myfirsthusbandwouldneverallowmetodothatkindofwork。"
"PerhapsIcouldgitaboytohelpout；I’vebeenkindo’
thinkin’o’thatlately。WhatwageswouldyouexpectifIpaidaboyfortheroughwork？"askedtheDeacontremulously。"Well，totellthetruth，Idon’tquitefancytheideaoftakingwages。
JudgeDickinsonwantsmetogotoAlfredandhousekeepforhim，andI’dnamedtwelvedollarsamonth。It’sgoodpay，andI
haven’tsaid’No’；butmyrentissmallhere，I’mmyownmistress，andIdon’tfeellikegivingupmyprivileges。"
"Twelvedollarsamonth！"Hehadneverthoughtofapproachingthatsum；andhesawtheheapofunwasheddishesgrowingdaybyday，andthecreamsouringonthemilk—pans。Suddenlyanideasprangfull—bornintotheDeacon’smind（JedMorrill’s"OldDriver"musthavebeencloseathand！）。WouldJaneTillmanmarryhim？Nowomaninthethreevillageswouldbemoreobnoxioustohisdaughters；thatinitselfwasadistinctgain。Shewasafine，robustfigureofawomaninherearlyforties，andhethought，afterall，thatthehollow—chested，spindle—shankedkindweremoreex—pensivetofeed，onthewhole，thantheirbetter—paddedsisters。Hehadneverhadanydifficultyinmanagingwives，andthoughthimselfquiteequaltoonemorebout，evenatsixty—five，thoughhehadjustthefaintestsuspicionthatthehighcoloronMrs。Tillman’sprominentcheek—bones，thevigorshowninthecoarseblackhairandhandsomeeyebrows，mightmakethistaskalittlemoredifficultthanhispreviousones。
Butthisfearvanishedalmostasquicklyasitappeared，forhekeptsayingtohimself："AjudgeoftheCountyCourtwantsherattwelvedollarsamonth；hadn’tIbetterbidhighan’gitsettled？
"Ifyou’dliketohaveahomeo’yourown’thoutpayin’rent，you’veonlygottosaythewordan’I’llmakeyouMis’Baxter，"
saidtheDeacon。"There’llbenobodytointerferewithyou，an’ahandsomelegacyifIdiefirst；fornoneo’myfewsavin’sisgoin’tomydaughters，Icanpromiseyouthat！"
TheDeaconthrewoutthistemptingbaitadvisedly，foratthismomenthewouldhavepouredhishoardintothelapofanywomanwhowouldhelphimtoavengehisfanciedwrongs。
Thiswasinformation，indeed！The"fewsavings"alludedtoamountedtosomethousands，JaneTillmanknew。Hadshenotbetterburnhershipsbehindher，taketherisks，andhavefaithinherownpowers？Shewasgettingalonginears，andhercharmsofpersonwerelesseningwitheverydaythatpassedoverherhead。
IftheDeacon’squeerwaysgrewtooqueer，shethoughtanappealtothedoctorandtheministermightprovideawayofescapeandaneatlittleincometoboot；so，onthewhole，themarriage，thoughmuchagainsthernaturalinclinations，seemedtobeprovidentiallyarranged。
Theinterviewthatsucceeded，haditbeenreportedverbatim，deservedtoberecordedinlocalhistory。DeaconBaxterhadmetinJaneTillmanafoemanmorethanworthyofhissteel。Shewasjustascraftyashe，andingeneralshipasmuchsuperiortohimasNapoleonBonapartetoCephasCole。Herknowledgeofandherexperienceswithmen，allveryhumble，itistrue，butdecidedlyvaried，enabledhertoplayoneveryweaknessofthisparticularoneshehadinhand，andatthesametimeskilfullytoavoidedalarminghim。
Heretofore，thewomenwithwhomtheDeaconhadcomeincontacthadtimidlysteeredawayfromtherocksandreefsinhisnature，andhadbeentooignorantortooproudtolookamongthemforcertainsofterplacesthatwerelikelytobethere——sincemanisman，afterall，evenwhenheismadeonaverysmallpattern。
IfJaneTillmanbecameMrs。Baxter，sheintendedtogetthewhiphandandkeepit；butnothingwasfurtherfromherintentionthantomaketheDeaconmiserableifshecouldhelpit。Thatwasnotherdisposition；andso，whenthedeludedmanleftherhouse，hehadmademoreconcessionsinasinglehourthaninalltheformeryearsofhislife。
Hisfuturespousewastowriteoutalittlepaperforhissignature；justafriendlylittlepapertobekeptquiteprivateandconfidentialbetweenthemselves，statingthatshewastodonoworkoutsideofthehouse；thatherpensionwastobeherown；
thatshewastohavefivedollarsincashonthefirstofeverymonthinlieuofwages；andthatineaseofhisdeathoccurringfirstshewastohaveathirdofhisestate，andthewholeofitifatthetimeofhisdeceasehewasstillpleasedwithhisbargain。TheonlypointsinthiscontractthattheDeaconreallyunderstoodwerethathewaspayingonlyfivedollarsamonthforahousekeepertowhomajudgehadofferedtwelve；that，ashehadexpectedtopayatleasteight，hecouldgetaboyfortheremainingthree，andsobenonetheworseinpocket；also，thatifhecouldkeephisdaughtersfromgettinghismoney，hedidn’tcareahangwhohadit，ashehatedthewholehumanracewithentireimpartiality。IfJaneTillmandidn’tbehaveherself，hehadpleasingvisionsofconvertingmostofhisfortuneintocashandhavingitdroppedoffthebridgesomedarknight，whenthedoctorhadgivenhimupandprovedtohissatisfactionthatdeathwouldoccurinthenearfuture。
Allthisbeingharmoniouslysettled，theDeacondroveaway，andcausedtheannouncementofhisimmediatemarriagetobeposteddirectlybelowthatofWaitstillandIvoryBoynton。
"Mightaswellhaveallthefatinthefiretoonce，"hechuckled。"Therewon’tbeanyhouse—workdoneinthispartofthecountyforaweektocome。Ifweshouldhavemoresnow，nobody’llhavetodoanyshovellin’，forthewomen—folks’llkeepallthepathsinthevillagetroddownfromdoortodoor，travellin’
roundwiththenews。"
A"spitematch，"thecommunityingeneralcalledtheDeacon’smarriage；andmanyaman，andmanyawoman，too，regardingtheamazingpublishingnoticeintheframeupatthemeeting—house，feltthatinJaneTillmanDeaconBaxterhadmethisWaterloo。
"She’splentygoodenoughforhim，"saidAuntAbbyCole，"thoughIknowthat’saterriblepoorcompliment。Ifshethinksshe’lleverbreakintos’cietyhereattheFalls，she’llfindherselfmistaken！It’samysterytomewhythepoordeludedmaneverdoneit；butain’titwonderfultheingenuitytheLordshowsinpunishin’sinners？Icouldn’t’a’thoughtoutsuchagoodcomeuppancemyselfforDeaconBaxter，asmarryin’JaneTillman！
Thethingthattroublesmemost，isthinkin’howtickledtheBaptists’11betogitherouto’theirmeetin’an’intoourn！"
XXXV
TWOHEAVENS
ATtheverymomentthatDeaconBaxterwasIstartingoutonhisquestforahousekeeper，PattyandMarkdroveintotheMasondooryardandthesistersflewintoeachother’sarms。ThedressthatMarkhadboughtforPattywastheusualchartingandunsuitableofferingofaman’sspontaneousaffection，beingofdarkvioletclothwithawaddedcapelinedwithsatin。Alittlebrimmedhatofvioletvelvettiedunderherchinwithsilkribbonscompletedthecostume，andbeforetheyouthfulbrideandgroomhadlefttheancestraldoorMrs。Wilsonhadhungherownerminevictorine（theenvyofallEdgewood）aroundPatty’sneckandputhererminewillowmuffintohernewdaughter’shands；
thusshewasasdazzlingapersonage，andasimproperlydressedforthejourney，asshecouldwellbe。
Waitstill，inherplainlinsey—woolsey，wasentrancedwithPatty’sbeautyandelegance，andthetwogirlshadafewminutesofsisterlytalk，ofinterchangeofradianthopesandconfidencesbeforeMarktorethemapart，theircheekswetwithhappytears。
AstheMasonhousefadedfromview，Pattyhavingwavedhermuffuntilthelastmoment，turnedinherseatandsaid：——
"Mark，dear，doyouthinkyourfatherwouldcareifIspentthetwenty—dollargold—piecehegaveme，forWaitstill？Shewillbemarriedinafortnight，andifmyfatherdoesnotgiveherthefewthingssheownsshewillgotoherhusbandmoreill—providedeventhanIwas。Ihavesomuch，dearMark，andshesolittle。"
"It’syourownwedding—presenttouseasyouwish，"Markanswered，"andit’sexactlylikeyoutogiveitaway。Goaheadandspenditifyouwantto；Icanalwaysearnenoughtokeepyou，withoutanybody’shelp！"andMark，aftercrackingthewhipvaingloriously，kissedhiswifejustoverthevioletribbons，andwithsleigh—bellsjinglingtheyspedoverthesnowtowardswhatseemedParadisetothem，theNewHampshirevillagewheretheyhadbeenmarriedandwhereSoafewdayslater，Waitstillreceivedagreatparcelwhichrelievedherofmanyfeminineanxietiesandshebegantoshapeandcutandstitchduringallthehoursshehadtoherself。Theywerenotmany，foreverydayshetrudgedtotheBoyntonfarmandbeganwithyouthfulenthusiasmthehouseholdtasksthatweresosoontobehersbyright。
"Don’twastetoomuchtimeandstrengthhere，mydearest，"saidIvory。"DoyousupposeforamomentIshallkeepyoulongonthislonelyfarm？IamreadyforadmissiontotheBarorIamfittedtoteachinthebestschoolinNewEngland。Nothinghasheldmeherebutmymother，andinherpresentconditionofmindwecansafelytakeheranywhere。Wewillneverlivewheretherearesomanymemoriesandassociationstosaddenandhamperus，butgowherethebestopportunityoffers，andassoonasmaybe。Mywifewillbeapearlofgreatprice，"headdedfondly，andIintendtoprovidearightsettingforher！"
Thiswasallsaidinaglowofloveandjoy，prideandambition，asIvorypacedupanddownbeforetheliving—roomfireplacewhileWaitstillwashangingthefreshlylaunderedcurtains。
Ivorywasright；WaitstillBaxterwas，indeed，ajewelofawoman。Shehadlittleknowledge，butmuchwisdom，andafterall，knowledgestandsfortheleavesonatreeandwisdomforthefruit。Therewasinfiniterichnessinthegirl，arichnessthathadbeengrowingandripeningthroughtheyearsthatshethoughtsograyandwasted。Thefewbookssheownedandlovedhadgenerallylainunopened，itistrue，uponherbedroomtable，andsheheldherselfashavingfartoolittlelearningtobeaworthycompanionforIvoryBoynton；butallthebeautyandcheeracomfortthatcouldeverbepressedintothearidlifeoftheBaxterhouseholdhadcomefromWaitstill’sheart，andthathearthadgrowninwarmthandplentyyearbyyear。
Thoselonelytasks，toohardforagirl’shands，thoseunrewardeddrudgeries，thosedaysoffaithfullaborinandoutofdoors，thoseeveningsofself—sacrificeoverthemending—basket；thequietavoidanceofallthatmightvexherfather’scrustytemper，herpatiencewithhismiserlyexactions；thehourlyholdingbackofthehastyword，——allthesehadplayedtheirpart；allthesehadbeensomehowweldedintoastrong，sunny，steady，life—wisdom，thereisnobetternameforit；andsoshehadunconsciouslythebestofallharveststobringasdowertoahusbandwhowasworthyofher。Ivory’sstrengthcalledtohersandansweredit，justashisgreatneedawokesuchapowerofhelpfulnessinherasshedidnotknowshepossessed。Shelovedtheman，butshelovedthetaskthatbeckonedher，too。Thevisionofitwaslikethebreathofwindfromahill—top，puttingsaltandsavorintothenewlifethatopenedbeforeher。
Thesewerequietlyhappydaysatthefarm，forMrs。Boyntontookanew，iftransient，holduponlifethatdeceivedeventhedoctor。RodmanwasnearlyasardentaloverasIvory，hoveringaboutWaitsillandexclaiming，"Youneverstaytosupperandit’ssolonesomeeveningswithoutyou！WillitneverbetimeforyoutocomeandEvewithus，Waitydear？Thedayscrawlsoslowly！"AtwhichIvorywouldlaugh，pushhimawayanddrawWaitstillnearertohisownside，saying："Ifyouareinahurry，youyoungcormorant，whatdoyouthinkofme？"AndWaitstillwouldlookfromonetotheotherandblushattheheavenoflovethatsurroundedheroneveryside。
"Ibelieveyouarelongingtobeginonmycooking，youtwobiggreedyboys！"shesaidteasingly。"WhatshallwehaveforNewYear’sdinner，Rod？Doyoulikeaturkey，roastedbrownandcrispy，withgibletgravyandcranberryjelly？Doyoufancyanappledumplingafterwards，——anappledumplingwithpotatocrust，——orwillyouhaveasuetpuddingwithfoamysauce？"
"Stop，Waitstill！"criedIvory。"Don’tputhopeintousuntilyouarereadytosatisfyit；wecan’tbearit！"
"AndIhaveaboxofgoodiesfrommyowngardensafelystowedawayinUncleBart’sshop，"Waitstillwentonmischievously。
"TheyweretobesoldinPortland，butIthinkthey’llhavetobemywedding—presenttomyhusband，thoughaverystrangeone，indeed！Therearepeachesfloatinginsweetsyrup；therearetumblersofquincejelly；therearejarsoftomatoandcitronpreserves，andforsupperyoushalleatthemwithbiscuitsaslightasfeathersandwhiteassnowdrifts。"
"Wecanneverwaittwomoredays，Rod；letuskidnapher！Letustaketheoldbob—sledandrunovertoNewHampshirewhereonecanbemarriedtheminuteonefeelslikeit。Wecoulddoitbetweensunriseandmoonriseandbeathomeforalatesupper。Wouldshebetootiredtobakethebiscuitsforus，doyouthink？Whatdoyousay，Rod，willyoubebestman？"Andtherewouldbeyouthful，unaccustomedlaughterfloatingoutfromthekitchenorliving—room，bringingasmileofcontenttoLoisBoynton’sfaceasshelayproppedupinbedwithheropenBiblebesideher。"Hebindsupthebroken—hearted，"shewhisperedtoherself。"Hegivesuntothemagarlandforashes；theoilofjoyformourning；thegarmentofpraiseforthespiritofheaviness。"
Thequietweddingwasover。Therehadbeenneitherfeasting，norfinery，norpresents，norbridaljourney；onlyahome—comingthatmeantdeepandsacredajoy，asferventgratitudeasanyfourheartsevercontainedinalltheworld。Butthelaughterceased，thoughthehappinessflowedsilentlyunderneath，almostforgotteninthesuddensorrowthatovercamethem，foritfelloutthatLoisBoyntonhadonlywaited，asitwere，forthemarriage，andcouldstaynolonger。
"……Therearetwoheavens……
Bothmadeoflove，——one，inconceivableEv’nbytheother，sodivineitis；
Theother，faronthissideofthestars，Bymencalledhome。"
Andthesetwoheavensmet，overatBoyntons’，duringthesecold，white，glisteningDecemberdays。
LoisBoyntonfoundhersfirst。Afterawindymoonlitnightamorningdawnedinwhichahushseemedtobeontheearth。Thecattlehuddledtogetherinthefarmyardsandthefowlsshrankintotheirfeathers。Theskywasgray，andsuddenlythefirstwhiteheraldscamefloatingdownlikescoutsseekingforpathsandcamping—places。
WaitstillturnedMrs。Boynton’sbedsothatshecouldlookoutofthewindow。Slopeafterslope，dazzlinginwhitecrust，roseoneuponanotherandvanishedastheyslippedawayintothedarkgreenofthepineforests。
Then，"……therefellfromouttheskiesAfeatherywhitenessoveralltheland；
Astrange，soft，spotlesssomething，pureaslight。"
Itcouldnotbecalledastorm，fortherehadbeennowindsincesunrise，nowhirlingfury，nodrifting；onlyastill，steady，solemnfallofcrystalflakes，hourafterhour，hourafterhour。
Mrs。Boynton’sBookofbookswasopenonthebedandherfingermarkedapassageinherfavoriteBible—poet。
"Hereitis，daughter，"shewhispered。"Ihavefoundit，inthesamechapterwherethemorningstarssingtogetherandthesonsofGodshoutforjoy。TheLordspeakstoJoboutofthewhirlwindandsays：’HASTTHOUENTEREDINTOTHETREASURESOFTHESNOW？OR
HASTTHOUSEENTHETREASURESOFTHEHAIL？’Sitnearme，Waitstill，andlookoutonthehills。’HASTTHOUENTEREDINTOTHE
TREASURESOFTHESNOW？’No，notyet，butpleaseGod，Ishall，andintomanyothertreasures，soon"；andsheclosedhereyes。
Alldaylongtheair—wayswerefilledwiththeglitteringarmyofthesnowflakes；alldaylongthesnowgrewdeeperanddeeperontheground；andonthebreathofsomewhite—wingedwonderthatpassedLoisBoynton’swindowherwhitesoulforsookits"earth—lot"andtookflightatlast。
Theywatchedbesideher，butneverknewthemomentofhergoing；
itwasjustasilentflitting，aceasingtobe，withoutatremor，oraflutterthatcouldbeseenbymortaleye。Herfacewassolikeanangel’sinitsshiningserenitythatthefewwholovedherbestcouldnotlookuponherwithanythingbutreverentjoy。
Onearthshehadknownnothingbutthe"brokenarcs，"butinheavenshewouldfindthe"perfectround"；thereatlast，ontheothersideofthestars，shecouldrememberright，poorLoisBoynton！
Forweeksafterwardsthevillagewasshroudedinsnowasithadneverbeenbeforewithinmemory，butineveryhappyhouseholdthehome—lifedeepeneddaybyday。Thebookscameoutinthelongevenings；thegrandsirestoldoldtalesundertheinspirationofthehearth—fire：thechildrengatheredontheirwoodenstoolstoroastapplesandpopcorn；andheartscameclosertogetherthanwhensummercalledthehousematestowanderhereandthereinfieldsandwoodsandbesidetheriver。
OveratBoyntons’，whenthesnowwaswhirlingandthewindhowlingroundthechimneysofthehigh—gabledoldfarmhouse；wheneverywindowhaditsframeofermineandfringeoficicles，andthesleetrattledfuriouslyagainsttheglass，thenIvorywouldthrowagreatbacklogonthebankofcoalsbetweenthefire—dogs，thekettlewouldbegintosing，andtheeatcomefromsomesnugcornertocurlandpurronthebraidedhearth—rug。
Schoolwasinsession，andIvoryandRodhadtheirtextbooksofanevening，butoh！whatanewandstrangejoytostudywhentherewasasweetwomansittingnearwithherworkbasket；awomanwearingashiningbraidofhairasifitwereacoronet；awomanofcleareyesandtenderlips，onewhocouldfeelaswellasthink，onewhocouldbeaman’scomradeaswellashisdearlove。
Trulythesecondheaven，theoneon"thissideofthestars，bymencalledhome，"wasverypresentoveratBoyntons’。
Sometimesthebroad—seatedoldhairclothsofawouldbedrawninfrontofthefire，andIvory，layinghispipeandhisGreekgrammaronthetable，wouldtakesomelighterbookandopenitonhisknee。
Waitstillwouldlifthereyesfromhersewingtomeetherhusband’sglancethatspokelongingforherclosercompanionship，andgladlyleavingherwork，andslippingintotheplacebyhisside，shewouldputherelbowonhisshoulderandreadwithhim。
Once，Rod，fromhisplaceatatableontheothersideoftheroom，lookedandlookedatthemwithakindofinstinctbeyondhisyears，andfinallycreptuptoWaitstill，andputtinganarmthroughhers，nestledhiscurlyheadonhershoulderwiththequaintcharmandgracethatbelongedtohim。
Itwasayoungandbeautifulshoulder，Waitstill’s，andtherehadalwaysbeen，andwouldalwaysbe，agraciouscurveinitwhereachild’sheadmightlieincomfort。Presentlywithashypressure，Rodwhispered："ShallIsitintheotherroom，WaitstillandIvory？——AmIintheway？"
Ivorylookedupfromhisbookquietlyshakinghishead，whileWaitstillputherarmaroundtheboyanddrewhimcloser。
"Ourlittlebrotherisneverintheway，"shesaid，asshebentandkissedhim。
Menmaycomeandmenmaygo；SacoWaterstilltumblestumultuouslyoverthedamandrushesundertheEdgewoodbridgeonitswaytothesea；andstillitlistenstothestoryofto—daythatwillsometimebethehistoryofyesterday。
OnmidsummereveningsthewindowsoftheoldfarmhouseoveratBoyntons’gleamwithunaccustomedlightsandvoicesbreakthestillness，lesseningthegloomofthelonggrass—grownlaneofLoisBoynton’swatchingindaysgoneby。Onsunnymorningsthereisamerrybabelofchildren’schatter，mingledwithgentlematernalwarnings，forthisisanewbroodofyoungthingsandtheriveriscallingthemasithascalledalltheotherswhoevercamewithinthecircleofitsmagic。Thefragileharebellshangingtheirblueheadsfromthecrevicesoftherocks；thebrilliantcolumbinesswayingtoandfroontheirtallstalks；thepatchesofgleamingsandinshallowplacesbeckoninglittlebarefeettocomeandtreadthem；theglintofsilverminnowsdartinghitherandthitherinsomestillpool；thetempestuousjourneyofsomeweather—beatenlog，fightingitswaydownstream；——hereislifeinabundance，luringthechildtoshareitsrisksanditsjoys。
WhenWaitstill’sboysandPatty’sgirlscomebacktothefarm，theyplaybySacoWaterastheirmothersandtheirfathersdidbeforethem。Thepathsthroughthepinewoodsalongtheriver’sbrinkaretroddensmoothbytheirrestless，wanderingfeet；theireager，curiouseyessearchthewaysidesforadventure，buttheirbabbleandlaughterareoftenestheardfromtheruinsofanoldhousehiddenbygreattrees。Thestonesofthecellar，allovergrownwithblackberryvines，arestillthere；andafragmentofthebrickchimney，whereswallowsbuildtheirnestsfromyeartoyear。Awildernessofweeds，tallandluxuriant，springsuptohidethestoneoverwhichJacobCochranesteppeddailywhenheissuedfromhisdoor；andthepolishedstickwithwhichthree—year—oldPattybeatsatattoomaybearoundfromtheverychairinwhichhesat，expoundingtheBibleaccordingtohisownvision。Thethicketsofsweetcloverandred—tippedgrasses，ofwavingfernsandyoungalderbusheshideallofuglinessthatbelongstothedesertedspotandserveasaminiatureforestinwhoseshadetheyounglingsforeshadowthefutureattheirplayofhome—buildingandhousekeeping。Inafarcorner，altogetherconcealedfromthepasser—by，thereisasecrettreasure，awonderfulrosebush，itsgreenleavesshiningwithhealthandvigor。WhentheJulysunisturningthehay—fieldsyellow，thechildrenpartthebushesintheleafycornerandlittleWaitstillBoyntonstepscautiouslyin，togatheronesplendidrose，"forfatherandmother。"
JacobCochrane’sheart，withallitsfaultsandfrailtieshaslongbeenatpeace。Onachill，drearynightinNovember，allthatwasmortalofhimwasraisedfromitsunhonoredresting—placenotfarfromtheruinsofhisoldabode，andbornebythreeofhisdisciplesfarawaytoanotherstate。Thegravestoneswerereplaced，facedownward，deep，deepintheearth，andthesodlaidbackuponthem，sothatnomanthenceforwardcouldmarktheplaceoftheprophet’stransientburialamidthescenesofhisfirstandonlytriumphantministry。
"Itisasadstory，JacobCochrane’s，"Waitstillsaidtoherhusbandwhenshefirstdiscoveredthatherchildrenhadchosenthedesertedspotfortheirplay；"andyet，Ivory，theredrosebloomsandbloomsintheruinsoftheman’shouse，andperhaps，somewhereintheworld，hehasleftamessagethatmatchestherose。"
End