Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take

them;

Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and wither and perish,

Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand;

35

Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the ocean,
Sailless, sombre and cold with the comfortless breath of the

east-wind;

Saw the new-built house, and people at work in a meadow; Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical voice of Priscilla Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan an

them,1

40

2

Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of the Psalmist,

Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and comforting many.

Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden

spindle,

Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous 45

While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion.

Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth,1

Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together, Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard,

Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. 50 Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan

anthem,

She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest,
Making the humble house and the modest apparel of home-

spun Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being!

Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold and relentless, 55

Thoughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand;

All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes that had

vanished,

All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion,
Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful faces.
Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he said it,
"Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough look back-

wards;

60

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers of life to its fountains,

Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and the hearths of the living,

It is the will of the Lord; and his mercy endureth forever!".

So he entered the house; and the hum of the wheel and the

singing

65

Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold,

Rose as he entered and gave him her hand, in signal of wel

come,

Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage;

For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning."

Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 70

Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden,

Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, /

Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter,

After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village,

Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encum75

bered the doorway, Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla

Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside,

Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm.

Had he but spoken then! perhaps not in vain had he spoken; Now it was all too late; the golden moment had vanished! 80 So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an

answer.

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beauti

ful springtime;

Talked of their friends at home, and the "Mayflower" that sailed on the morrow.

"I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden,

85

"Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedgerows
of England,-
They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a gar-
den;

Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the

linnet,

Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together,
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the

ivy

90

Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the
churchyard.
paid the ferste quivit ou maide
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion;
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old Eng-
land.

You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: I almost
Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely and

wretched."

95

Thereupon answered the youth: "Indeed I do not condemn you;

Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible
winter.

Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on;
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of mar-

riage

Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of
Plymouth!"

100

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters,

Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in beautiful phrases, But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a

school-boy;

Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly.

Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 105

Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered

her speechless;

Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: "If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo

me?

110

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning!"

Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, Had no time for such things; - such things! the words grating

harshly

Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash she made 115

answer:

"Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married,

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the wedding? That is the way with you men; you don't understand us, you

cannot.

When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and that one, Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with an other,

120

Then you make known your desire, with abrupt and sudden avowal,

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a