CHAPTER VI.

_AT MEETING._

FOR a good many days Fanny saw nothing more of Sarah Leyman. She was not at the spring or down by the river, nor did she come to the house, as Fanny had feared she would.

One day, however, Willy came in, bringing a pretty little birch bark basket filled with beautiful wild raspberries. He said Sarah Leyman had met him in the lane and handed him the basket, asking him to give it to Mrs. Lilly.

"What beautiful berries, and what a nice little basket the poor girl has made!" said Mrs. Lilly, admiring the basket, which was indeed most ingeniously made, and lined with fresh green leaves. "I wonder where she found the berries? I thought they were all over."

"Up on the mountains somewhere, I dare say," replied Oney. "They always ripen ten days later up there. I wonder she dares run about as she does, but she seems to have no more fear than a wild creature. They say she is often gone whole days and nights together."

"Grandma, why is it so dangerous to go on the mountain without a guide?" asked Fanny. "Are there wild beasts to hurt anybody?"

"It is dangerous for several reasons," replied Mrs. Lilly. "In the first place, it is very easy for inexperienced persons to lose themselves, and there are many dangerous places."

"Such as what?" asked Fanny.

"Such as precipices and deep cracks between the rocks into which one might fall and never be found again, and bogs in which you might be smothered and swallowed up in the mud. Then, in the upper part of the mountain, there are often sudden fogs and showers and cold winds which would chill you to the bone in five minutes."

"Are there any wild beasts?"

"Not on this side, though even here, I suppose, one might meet a bear or a wildcat now and then. But on the other side they say there are both bears and panthers, besides plenty of rattlesnakes, though I have not heard of any being killed very lately. But the mountain is a very dangerous place, and you must never go up alone as Sarah does. It is a thousand pities the poor child has not a better home."

"What is the matter with her home?" asked Fanny.

"Well, her father is a bad man, to begin with. He drinks very hard at times; and though he is a skilful workman, he will never do a day's work as long as he can help it. His mother is—well, I don't mean to be hard upon her," said Mrs. Lilly, "but the truth is, she is nothing but a nuisance—an idle, gossiping, tale-bearing, mischief-making slattern. If she spent half the time in taking care of her house and family that she does in running about the village, picking up and repeating slanders and gossiping with old Miss Clarke, she might keep things going on well enough. But as it is, they never have anything comfortable or decent from one year's end to another."

"Who was Sarah's aunt Sally?" asked Fanny.

"She was Mr. Leyman's sister, but as different from him as light from darkness. A better woman never breathed, and while she lived the family were somewhat respectable. She used to do tailoring and dressmaking, and sometimes she went out nursing. She was one of the best hands in a sick-room that ever I saw."

"What did she die of?" asked Fanny.

"Of hard work principally—of toiling night and day to support her great lazy brother and his family. I never saw a child grieve so at a death as Sarah did for her aunt. She was only eight years old, poor little wild thing! But when they came to screw down the coffin, she screamed, and threw herself upon it and would not let anybody touch it, and they had to take her away by force. Does Sarah ever say anything about her aunt?"

"I don't know," answered Fanny, coolly. "I never see Sarah nowadays. You told me not to play with her, so I don't."

Willy's black eyes shot a glance at Fanny which said a great deal, but he spoke not a word.

Fanny felt the look, however, and wondered how much Willy knew, and whether he would be likely to tell of her.

The next Sunday, as they were coming home from church in the village, Mrs. Lilly said to Fanny, "We are going to have some company this week, Fanny. Mrs. Cassell and Mr. and Mrs. Brandon and Annie are coming up here to spend the day on Wednesday, and perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Brandon may stay a few days."

"Oh how nice!" said Willy.

And Oney added, "It will seem like old times to have Mr. Brandon about the house again. But I must be careful, now that he has grown such a great man. As likely as not, I shall be calling him Hugh, the first thing."

"I dare say it wouldn't do any harm if you did," said Mrs. Lilly.

"Where in the world did 'you' ever know Mr. Brandon?" asked Fanny, with an emphasis on the "you" which was not very polite, to say the least.

"He used to live with us once," replied Oney. "He was rather a delicate boy, and his father used to send him to the mountains in summer, and he spent all his college vacations with us after his father died. Don't you remember the description of our house in his book—I don't remember the name, but that story about the war?"

"I never read any of Mr. Brandon's books," said Fanny.

"Why, Fanny!" exclaimed Willy, who had an untamable appetite for books, and who was perpetually astonished by Fanny's indifference to them. "Why, it has lain on the table all summer."

"Well, what of that?" returned Fanny, tartly. "Is that any reason why I should read it?"

"It would be a reason with me," said Willy; "besides, it is so interesting."

"There's an odds in folks, you see, Willy," said Oney. "But hadn't you better study it up, Fanny? Mr. Brandon might ask you some questions about it."

"Dear me! I hope not," said Fanny, in alarm. "Do you think he will, grandma?"

"No, my dear. Authors are not very apt to talk about their own books."

"Do you think he would be offended if I were to ask him about some things in his other book—I mean the one about South America?" asked Willy.

"No; I dare say he would be pleased to find that you had read his book so carefully."

"I am glad of that, because there are ever so many things that I want to know more about," said Willy. "I mean to get the book and look it over again."

"Well, I shouldn't think you would want to, Willy," said Fanny, who had her private reasons for being alarmed at Willy's announcement. "It would look like putting yourself forward, and I am sure Mr. Brandon would not like it. He isn't used to associating with all sorts of people," said Fanny, with a grand air. "He associates with the best families in Boston."

"Oh!" said Willy. "Well, I don't know about the first families in Boston, but I don't mean to keep any company I am ashamed to own, Fanny."

This hint alarmed Fanny, and she did not speak another word all the way home; she was afraid Willy knew too much.

That evening Fanny went with the rest to the five-o'clock meeting in the schoolhouse down the road. They were rather early, and took their usual seats on the side of the room. Fanny liked this, because she could watch all who came in, and make her remarks on their dress and manners. The room was pretty full at last, for it was a cool, pleasant evening, and quite a number of people walked up from the village to attend the service.

Just as the first hymn was being sung, Sarah Leyman came in and slipped into a seat near the door. She had made herself as neat as she knew how, and looked very handsome, for in spite of her dark skin, made darker by exposure to all sorts of weather, Sarah was a beautiful girl. She behaved with perfect propriety; and when she raised her head after the first prayer, Fanny felt sure that she had been crying.

"Well, I declare!" said Fanny to herself. "I wonder what she will do next? I wonder if she really means to do as she said! Oh dear! I am sure I hope not, for then she will go and tell grandma."

And then for one moment Fanny saw how utterly mean and selfish she was, and what a wicked and false life she was leading. That momentary glimpse of herself might have done Fanny a great deal of good and saved herself and others a great deal of distress if she had profited by it. But she did not. She only went on thinking how she could possibly manage to keep Sarah and her grandmother apart.

"Were you not surprised at seeing Sarah Leyman at meeting?" asked Oney of Mrs. Lilly as they walked home together. "I should as soon have expected to see one of the wild eagles off the mountain. But she looked and behaved very well, didn't she?"

"Very well; and I was glad to see her there," replied Mrs. Lilly. "I hope it is a good sign. I must try to have a talk with her some time. I have a Testament that her aunt gave to my Eunice when they were girls together; I think I will give it to Sarah. Perhaps she would read it because it was her aunt's."

"I wouldn't, grandma," said Fanny; "she would only make all sorts of fun of it, as she does of everything about religion. That's one reason why I didn't want to play with her any more. She talked so she scared me."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Mrs. Lilly.

"That's all she went to meeting for, I know," continued Fanny, growing bolder, and determined at all hazards to prevent any chance of an understanding between her grandmother and Sarah. "She will go home and mimic the minister and deacon and poor Mr. Willson, and make all sorts of fun of them. She has listened under the window on purpose before now."

"Who told you?" asked Oney.

"She told me herself," returned Fanny, boldly. "I used to play with her when I first came here, and I did play with her two or three times after grandma forbade me, but I have not done it this long time—not since I have been trying to be a good girl. If you talked to her ever so kindly, she would only go away and make fun of you."

"Well, that wouldn't hurt me," said Mrs. Lilly, "and we can never know what words will do good. I don't like to think that any girl can be a hardened sinner at fifteen, and especially one who was the child of so many prayers as Sarah."

"Mrs. Lilly," said Willy, "don't you think that a person who pretended to be good and religious all the time that he knew he was wicked would be a great deal harder to convert than one like Sarah Leyman?"

"No doubt," returned Mrs. Lilly. "Especially if the hypocrite were self-deceived."

"I suppose hypocrites usually do impose on themselves more or less," remarked Oney.

"Almost always to some degree, I presume. A man who is destroying his neighbour's body and soul by selling liquor, may very likely make himself think that he is quite a good man because he gives away money liberally; and another, who will cheat half an ounce in every pound he sells, comforts himself by thinking that he keeps Sunday carefully, and always has family prayers; and so of other things. I would rather undertake to make an impression on poor Sarah, or even on Sam Leyman himself, than on such a person. But I will certainly speak to Sarah if I have a chance. It can at least do no harm. Oney, there is Squire Howe before us, and I want to speak to him about drawing Mrs. Merrill some wood. He said he would give her a load any time, and I dare say it will be more convenient for him to do it before harvest."

Mrs. Lilly and Oney walked on quickly, and no sooner were the children alone together than Willy broke out with more than his usual vehemence.

"Fanny Lilly, I do think that you are the very meanest creature that ever lived in this world. Nobody but a girl could be so mean as you are. You are as much worse than Sarah Leyman than she is worse than—than Grandma Lilly," said Willy, finishing up with a grand climax.

"Why, Willy, what is the matter now?" asked Fanny. "What have I done to you?"

"To me! You haven't done anything to me, only you are always hinting about my being a hired boy and coming from the poorhouse, and Mr. Brandon said himself that nobody but a snob would throw such a thing in a fellow's face. But I don't care so much about that. It is the way you treat Sarah Leyman that makes me despise you. As if I didn't know how you have been with her day after day, going over to the Corners with her, and all! As if I didn't know how she saved you from the bull! And you never said one word about her, though it is the greatest wonder in the world she wasn't killed."

"I should like to know how you found out anything about it," said Fanny, trying to speak in an unconcerned manner.

"Because I saw it; that's all."

"I think you might have come to help us, than, instead of watching and spying," said Fanny.

"I did come, but I was too late. I was up in the barn-loft and saw the whole performance, but before I could get to you, it was all over. So I went to find Mr. Wye and tell him about the bull. And after that, you abuse her behind her back, and don't want your grandma to show her the least kindness or even speak a good word to the poor girl. I suppose you are afraid she will find out some of your secrets. I always thought you knew more about that pie than you chose to tell."

Fanny was very angry, but she controlled herself; and answered, quickly, "You are very much mistaken, Willy, as you will see when you know all about it. I only met Sarah by accident that day. The only reason that I didn't tell grandma and Oney how she saved me from the bull was that she made me promise not to say a word about it, because she said she left the bars down, and let out the bull herself. All I said about her making fun of religion was every word true, only I didn't tell it half as bad as it was, because I didn't like to repeat such stuff, and because I didn't want to tell grandma how Sarah made fun of her for praying in the meeting Thursday evening, and for sitting at the table with a dirty nigger, like Oney. Those were her very words."

"Oney isn't a nigger, and if she was, she couldn't help it; and I don't think nigger is a very pretty name to call any one," said Willy.

"Nor I; and that wasn't the worst she said, by a great deal. As for the pie," continued Fanny, feeling that she was "in for it," and that a few more lies would not make much difference—"as for the pie, you are right, Willy. I do know—or at least I have a very good guess—where it went, but I wasn't going to say what I thought when Sarah and I had played together. I would like to have Sarah a good girl as well as anybody, and I have talked to her myself, but there is no use in it. She only makes fun of me, and I don't want her to make fun of grandma.

"I know I have hurt your feelings, sometimes, Willy, but I never meant to do it, and I beg your pardon. You see things are very different here from what they are in Boston. There were two girls who came to our school last winter, and everybody liked them at first, but by and by the girls found out that their mother was a dressmaker, and after that a good many of the scholars would not speak to them. I heard Cousin Emma tell of a gentleman who refused to be introduced to a young girl at her house because he thought she was not genteel enough."

"If I had been master of the house, he would have seen the outside of it pretty suddenly," said Willy, who had the instincts of a gentleman. "Besides, I know all Boston people are not like that. Those gentlemen who came up and camped out on the mountain last summer were as polite and pleasant to everybody as they could be."

"Well, anyhow, that was the reason I didn't like to see Sarah at meeting, because I knew why she had come," persisted Fanny, returning to the first subject. "Of course I am thankful to her for saving me from the bull, though she got me into the scrape in the first place, but that doesn't prevent me from seeing her faults."

"Humph!" said Willy, not more than half satisfied. "Well, anyhow, I hope Grandma Lilly will have a real good talk with her."

"And so do I, because, after all, it won't hurt grandma if Sarah does make fun of her, and perhaps grandma may do her some good," said Fanny. But in her heart she was determined that this talk should never take place if she could help it.