the village watch-tower- 第1部分

The　Village　Watch…Tower


by　Kate　Douglas　Wiggin









Dear　old　apple…tree；　under　whose　gnarled　branches　these

stories　were　written；　to　you　I　dedicate　the　book。　　My　head　was

so　close　to　you；　who　can　tell　from　whence　the　thoughts　came？

I　only　know　that　when　all　the　other　trees　in　the　orchard　were　barren；

there　were　always　stories　to　be　found　under　your　branches；　and　so　it

is　our　joint　book；　dear　apple…tree。　Your　pink　blossoms　have　fallen

on　the　page　as　I　wrote；　your　ruddy　fruit　has　dropped　into　my　lap；

the　sunshine　streamed　through　your　leaves　and　tipped　my　pencil　with　gold。

The　birds　singing　in　your　boughs　may　have　lent　a　sweet　note　here

and　there；　and　do　you　remember　the　day　when　the　gentle　shower　came？

We　just　curled　the　closer；　and　you　and　I　and　the　sky　all　cried

together　while　we　wrote　〃The　Fore…Room　Rug。〃



It　should　be　a　lovely　book；　dear　apple…tree；　but　alas！

it　is　not　altogether　that；　because　I　am　not　so　simple　as　you；

and　because　I　have　strayed　farther　away　from　the　heart

of　Mother　Nature。



KATE　DOUGLAS　WIGGIN



〃Quillcote；〃　Hollis；　Maine；

August　12；　1895。







CONTENTS。



The　Village　Watch…Tower　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　1

Tom　o'　the　Blueb'ry　Plains　　　　　　　　　　　　　31

The　Nooning　Tree　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　55

The　Fore…Room　Rug　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　95

A　Village　Stradivarius　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　123

The　Eventful　Trip　of　the　Midnight　Cry　195









THE　VILLAGE　WATCH…TOWER。





It　stood　on　the　gentle　slope　of　a　hill；　the　old　gray　house；

with　its　weather…beaten　clapboards　and　its　roof　of　ragged　shingles。

It　was　in　the　very　lap　of　the　road；　so　that　the　stage…driver　could　almost

knock　on　the　window　pane　without　getting　down　from　his　seat；　on　those　rare

occasions　when　he　brought　〃old　Mis'　Bascom〃　a　parcel　from　Saco。



Humble　and　dilapidated　as　it　was；　it　was　almost　beautiful

in　the　springtime；　when　the　dandelion…dotted　turf　grew　close

to　the　great　stone　steps；　or　in　the　summer；　when　the　famous

Bascom　elm　cast　its　graceful　shadow　over　the　front　door。

The　elm；　indeed；　was　the　only　object　that　ever　did　cast　its

shadow　there。　　Lucinda　Bascom　said　her　〃front　door　'n'　entry

never　hed　ben　used　except　for　fun'rals；　'n'　she　was　goin'

to　keep　it　nice　for　that　purpose；　'n'　not　get　it　all　tracked　up。〃



She　was　sitting　now　where　she　had　sat　for　thirty　years。

Her　high…backed　rocker；　with　its　cushion　of　copperplate　patch

and　its　crocheted　tidy；　stood　always　by　a　southern　window　that

looked　out　on　the　river。　　The　river　was　a　sheet　of　crystal；　as　it

poured　over　the　dam；　a　rushing；　roaring　torrent　of　foaming　white；

as　it　swept　under　the　bridge　and　fought　its　way　between　the　rocky

cliffs　beyond；　sweeping　swirling；　eddying；　in　its　narrow　channel；

pulsing　restlessly　into　the　ragged　fissures　of　its　shores；

and　leaping　with　a　tempestuous　roar　into　the　Witches'　Eel…pot；　a　deep

wooded　gorge　cleft　in　the　very　heart　of　the　granite　bank。



But　Lucinda　Bascom　could　see　more　than　the　river　from　her

favorite　window。　　It　was　a　much…traveled　road；　the　road　that　ran

past　the　house　on　its　way　from　Liberty　Village　to　Milliken's　Mills。

A　tottering　old　sign…board；　on　a　verdant　triangle　of　turf；　directed　you

over　Deacon　Chute's　hill　to　the　〃Flag　Medder　Road；〃　and　from　thence

to　Liberty　Centre；　the　little　post…office　and　store；　where　the　stage

stopped　twice　a　day；　was　quite　within　eyeshot；　so　were　the　public

watering…trough；　Brigadier　Hill；　and；　behind　the　ruins　of　an　old　mill；

the　wooded　path　that　led　to　the　Witches'　Eel…pot；　a　favorite

walk　for　village　lovers。　　This　was　all　on　her　side　of　the　river。

As　for　the　bridge　which　knit　together　the　two　tiny　villages；

nobody　could　pass　over　that　without　being　seen　from　the　Bascoms'。　The

rumble　of　wheels　generally　brought　a　family　party　to　the　window；

Jot　Bascom's　wife　（she　that　was　Diadema　Dennett）；　Jot　himself；

if　he　were　in　the　house；　little　Jot；　and　grandpa　Bascom；　who　looked

at　the　passers…by　with　a　vacant　smile　parting　his　thin　lips。

Old　Mrs。　Bascom　herself　did　not　need　the　rumble　of　wheels　to　tell

her　that　a　vehicle　was　coming；　for　she　could　see　it　fully　ten　minutes

before　it　reached　the　bridge；at　the　very　moment　it　appeared　at　the　crest

of　Saco　Hill；　where　strangers　pulled　up　their　horses；　on　a　clear　day；

and　paused　to　look　at　Mount　Washington；　miles　away　in　the　distance。

Tory　Hill　and　Saco　Hill　met　at　the　bridge；　and　just　there；　too；　the　river

road　began　its　shady　course　along　the　east　side　of　the　stream：

in　view　of　all　which　〃old　Mis'　Bascom's　settin'…room　winder〃

might　well　be　called　the　〃Village　Watch…Tower；〃　when　you　consider

further　that　she　had　moved　only　from　her　high…backed　rocker　to

her　bed；　and　from　her　bed　to　her　rocker；　for　more　than　thirty　years；

ever　since　that　july　day　when　her　husband　had　had　a　sun…stroke

while　painting　the　meeting…house　steeple；　and　her　baby　Jonathan

had　been　thereby　hastened　into　a　world　not　in　the　least　ready

to　receive　him。



She　could　not　have　lived　without　that　window；　she　would　have　told　you；

nor　without　the　river；　which　had　lulled　her　to　sleep　ever　since　she

could　remember。　　It　was　in　the　south　chamber　upstairs　that　she　had　been　born。

Her　mother　had　lain　there　and　listened　to　the　swirl　of　the　water；　in　that　year

when　the　river　was　higher　than　the　oldest　inhabitant　had　ever　seen　it；

the　year　when　the　covered　bridge　at　the　Mills　had　been　carried　away；

and　when　the　one　at　the　Falls　was　in　hourly　danger　of　succumbing　to　the　force

of　the　freshet。



All　the　men　in　both　villages　were　working　on　the　river；

strengthening　the　dam；　bracing　the　bridge；　and　breaking　the　jams　of　logs；

and　with　the　parting　of　the　boom；　the　snapping　of　the　bridge　timbers；

the　crashing　of　the　logs　against　the　rocks；　and　the　shouts　of

the　river…drivers；　the　little　Lucinda　had　come　into　the　world。

Some　one　had　gone　for　the　father；　and　had　found　him　on　the　river；

where　he　had　been　since　day…break；　drenched　with　the　storm；

blown　fro　his　dangerous　footing　time　after　time；　but　still　battling

with　the　great　heaped…up　masses　of　logs；　wrenching　them　from　one

another's　grasp；　and　sending　them　down　the　swollen　stream。



Finally　the　jam　broke；　and　a　cheer　of　triumph　burst

from　the　excited　men；　as　the　logs；　freed　from　their　bondage；

swept　down　the　raging　flood；　on　and　ever　on　in　joyous　liberty；

faster　and　faster；　till　they　encountered　some　new　obstacle；

when　they　heaped　themselves　together　again；　like　puppets　of　Fate；

and　were　beaten　by　the　waves　into　another　helpless　surrender。



With　the　breaking　of　the　jam；　one　dead　monarch　of　the　forest

leaped　into　the　air　as　if　it　had　been　shot　from　a　cannon's　mouth；

and　lodged　between　two　jutting　peaks　of　rock　high　on　the　river　bank。

Presently　another　log　was　dashed　against　it；　but　rolled　off　and　hurried

down　the　stream；　then　another；　and　still　another；　but　no　force　seemed

enough　to　drive　the　giant　from　its　intrenched　position。



〃Hurry　on　down　to　the　next　jam；　Raish；　and　let　it　alone；〃

cried　the　men。　　〃Mebbe　it'll　git　washed　off　in　the　night；　and　anyhow

you　can't　budge　it　with　no　kind　of　a　tool　we've　got　here。〃



Then　from　the　shore　came　a　boy's　voice　calling；　〃There's　a　baby

up　to　your　house！〃　　And　the　men　repeated　in　stentorian　tones；

〃Baby　up　to　your　house；　Raish！　　Leggo　the　log；　you're　wanted！〃



〃Boy　or　girl？〃　shouted　the　young　father。



〃Girl！〃　came　back　the　answer　above　the　roar　of　the　river。



Whereupon　Raish　Dunnell　steadied　himself　with　his　pick

and　taking　a　hatchet　from　his　belt；　cut　a　rude　letter　〃L〃

on　the　side　of　the　stranded　log。



〃L's　for　Lucindy；〃　he　laughed。　　〃Now　you　log　if　you　git's　fur　as　Saco；

drop　in　to　my　wife's　folks　and　tell　'em　the　baby's　name。〃



There　had　not　been　such　a　freshet　for　years　before；　and　there　had

never　been　one　since；　so；　as　the　quiet　seasons　went　by；　〃Lucindy's　log〃

was　left　in　peace；　the　columbines　blooming　all　about　it；　the　harebells

hanging　their　heads　of　delicate　blue　among　the　rocks　that　held　it　in　place；

the　birds　building　their　nests　in　the　knot…holes　of　its　withered　side。



Seventy　years　had　passed；　and　on　each　birthday；

from　the　time　when　she　was　only　〃Raish　Dunnell's　little　Lou；〃

to　the　years　when　she　was　Lucinda　Bascom；　wife　and　mother；

she　had　wandered　down　by　the　river　side；　and　gazed；

a　little　superstitiously　perhaps；　on　the　log　that　had

been　marked　with　an　〃L〃　on　the　morning　she　was　born。

It　had　stood　the　wear　and　tear　of　the　elements　bravely；

but　now　it　was　beginning；　like　Lucinda；　to　show　its　age。

Its　back　was　bent；　like　hers；　its　face　was　seamed　and　wrinkled；

like　her　own；　and　the　village　lovers　who　looked　at　it　from

the　opposite　bank　wondered　if；　after　all；　it　would　hold　out

as　long　as　〃old　Mis'　Bascom。〃



She　held　out　bravely；　old　Mrs。　Bascom；　though　she　was

〃all　skin；　bones；　and　tongue；〃　as　the　neighbors　said；　for　nobody

needed　to　go　into　the　Bascoms'　to　brighten　up　aunt　Lucinda　a　bit；

or　take　her　the　news；　one　went　in　to　get　a　bit　of　brightness；

and　to　hear　the　news。



〃I　should　get　lonesome；　I　s'pose；〃　she　was　wont　to　say；　〃if　it　wa'n't

for　the　way　this　house　is　set；　and　this　chair；　and　this　winder；　'n'　all。

Men　folks　used　to　build　some　o'　the　houses　up　in　a　lane；　or　turn　'em　back

or　side　to　the　road；　so　the　women　folks　couldn't　see　anythin'　to　keep　their

minds　off　their　churnin'　or　dish…washin'；　but　Aaron　Dunnell　hed　somethin'

else　to　think　about；　'n'　that　was　himself；　first；　last；　and　all　the　time。

His　store　was　down　to　bottom　of　the　hill；　'n'　when　he　come　up　to　his　meals；

he　used　to　set　where　he　could　see　the　door；　'n'　if　any　cust'mer　come；

he　could　call　to　'em　to　wait　a　spell　till　he　got　through　eatin'。　Land！

I　can　hear　him　now；　yellin'　to　'em；　with　his　mouth　full　of　victuals！

They　hed　to　wait　till　he　got　good　'n'　ready；　too。　　There　wa'n't　so　much

comp'tition　in　business　then　as　there　is　now；　or　he'd　'a'　hed　to　give　up

eatin'　or　hire　a　clerk。　　。　。　。　I've　always　felt　to　be　thankful　that　the　house