VIII.

THE SPINNING-WHEEL.

MONTH after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of the merchants

Came with kindred and friends, with cattle

and corn for the Pilgrims.

All in the village was peace; the men were

intent on their labors,

Busy with hewing and building, with garden

plot and with merestead,

Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the

grass in the meadows,

Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest.

All in the village was peace; but at times the Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension of danger.

Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scour

ing the land with his forces,

Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien armies,

Till his name had become a sound of fear to

the nations.

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the

remorse and contrition

Which in all noble natures succeed the pas

sionate outbreak,

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the

rush of a river,

Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter and brackish.

Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new habitation,

Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from

the firs of the forest.

Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof

was covered with rushes;

Latticed the windows were, and the window

panes were of paper,

Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were excluded.

There too he dug a well, and around it

planted an orchard:

Still may be seen to this day some trace of

the well and the orchard.

Close to the house was the stall, where, safe

and secure from annoyance,

Raghorn, the snow-white steer, that had fallen

to Alden's allotment

In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the night-time

Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by sweet pennyroyal.

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager feet would the dreamer

Follow the pathway that ran through the woods to the house of Priscilla,

Led by illusions romantic and subtile decep

tions of fancy,

Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the semblance of friendship.

Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned

the walls of his dwelling;

Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the

soil of his garden;

Ever of her he thought, when he read in his

Bible on Sunday

Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is de

scribed in the Proverbs,

How the heart of her husband doth safely

trust in her always,

How all the days of her life she will do him good, and not evil,

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and

worketh with gladness,

How she layeth her hand to the spindle and

holdeth the distaff,

How she is not afraid of the snow for herself

or her household,

Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving!

So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in

the Autumn,

Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching

her dexterous fingers,

As if the thread she was spinning were that of

his life and his fortune,

After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the

sound of the spindle.

"Truly, Priscilla," he said, "when I see you spinning and spinning,

Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others,