Chapter II: A Country Ride

An hour after Gillian disappeared from the deck, the steamer put in to her port, a little cove breaking up between the mountains, that had seemed to overtop each other at a distance, but which now revealed a narrow valley opening back into the country, with the germ of a village lying at its mouth and crowding close down to the water.

A wharf, barricaded with piles of split wood ready for shipment, received the steamer, which took the inhabitants by surprise, and created no little excitement among the wood-cutters, who hung around a grocery-store on the wharf. The arrival of a steamer was something, but the two persons, who stood upon the deck, were so unlike the passengers usually brought to the little harbor, that they excited a general and lively curiosity.

Before Mr. Bentley and his daughter could reach the wharf, half a dozen men had boarded the steamer, while a group of children, who had been shying oyster-shells into the river and fishing with pin-hooks from the timbers, crowded close, with open mouths and looks of common wonder.

Mr. Bentley inquired of a man, who approached him first, if any conveyance could be obtained at the village for the interior; but the man, true to his Yankee origin, answered by another question:

“Was the gentleman straight from New York?”

Mr. Bentley smiled; for the first time he felt completely at home. This peculiarity of his countrymen went to his heart like a welcome.

“Yes! he was directly from New York.”

“Come from further along, though, I reckon?” rejoined the countryman.

“Yes!”

“East, mebby?—this town settled by down-easters.”

“No! from Italy.”

“Whar?” cried the man, in open-mouthed perplexity. “Whar?”

“Beyond seas,” answered Mr. Bentley, with great good humor; for the man’s curiosity awoke a thousand kindly feelings.

“Beyond seas? Oh, yes! Travel all the way by land or water, if I ain’t too bold?”

Gillian’s face sparkled. The conversation delighted her.

“By water all the way,” answered Mr. Bentley, reproving her with a glance, and turning to the man again.

“Now pray inform me if there is any chance of obtaining a conveyance, which will take myself and daughter some twenty miles into the country?”

“Your daughter, ha? It kinder struck me that the gal must be something to you. Harnsome as a pictur; ain’t she, though?”

Gillian laughed outright, and the countryman drowned her voice in an answering laugh.

“Knew it the minit I sot eyes on you a standing together,” he said, addressing her directly. “’Spose you calculate to ketch a beau in these parts? Well, there ain’t the least mite of danger but you’ll do it, right off the reel. Now, how old might you be?”

Gillian was half frightened out of her merriment by his ardent curiosity. But she answered that he had not yet replied to her father about the “carriage.”

“Carriage?” answered the man, sinking both hands into his pockets and ejaculating his surprise in a broken whistle. “Why, I reckon the only carriage you’ll be likely to get in these parts’ll be a Pennsylvania wagon, with two chairs sot in behind, and a board laid across for the driver: that’s the kind of carriages our gals ride in.”

“Well, papa, I suppose that will do,” cried Gillian, delighted with the idea of a ride in the open air, and still more delighted with the promise of this novel conveyance.

But the countryman was not to be so easily put off.

“Any more family?” he inquired, turning to Mr. Bentley.

“I will tell you that, and give a silver dollar in to the bargain, if you bring me a respectable conveyance to the wharf, in just twenty minutes,” said Bentley, looking at his watch.

“But how much’ll you agree to give for the team, with a good-looking driver that your gal won’t be ashamed to ride behind—throwing in horse-feed and a bite on the way?”

Mr. Bentley named a sum so liberal that the man forgot even curiosity in his haste to secure it. In less time than that appointed, he came dashing down to the wharf in a stout wagon, which contained one comfortable seat, and a piece of rough board answering for the driver’s accommodation. A pair of beautiful iron-gray horses, that might have befitted a queen’s carriage, gave promise of a quick if not comfortable journey.

Into the wagon the luggage which had been brought from the steamer was placed, and in a fit of extra politeness the countryman threw a buffalo robe over the seat, forming a rather imposing affair, of which Mr. Bentley and his daughter took possession. Then he gave a shout, and a young man came forth from a neighboring store, ready to act as jehu for his father.

Away they drove over the hills, and along the beautiful lakes, that render the basin of Rockland county scarcely less than a wild paradise. Every thing was strange and new to Gillian. The forest trees, grouped in masses of red, yellow, maroon, green, and brown, all relieving and brightening each other; the broken hollows choked up with hemlocks and pines; the ferns and mosses creeping down to the wayside! each sending out some new fragrance soothed while it invigorated and filled her with delight.

As they approached the western hills that bounded the county, Mr. Bentley grew silent and anxious—so silent and pale that Gillian ceased to talk, and grew lonely. The driver, who had amused her with his blunt questions and shrewd remarks, now began to be a little curious about their destination. Hitherto Mr. Bentley had told him what road to take, and where to turn. But now the sun was on the verge of the horizon; the western outline was one glow of gold; and the gorgeous trees swayed to and fro in its light, blending sky and earth together in rich harmony.

“Well, now, I suppose there would be no harm in asking where we are driving to?” inquired the man, leaning back, with one hand on his seat, and checking his horses with the other.

Mr. Bentley, whose eyes had been fixed on one point, with a strained gaze, directed the man’s attention to a distant dwelling, which stood upon the slope of the hills, and answered in a husky voice,

“To that house.”

There was something in his voice that impressed the man, who merely answered, “just so,” and prepared to drive on. But one of the horses had got a pebble in the hollow of his hoof, and he was obliged to dismount from his seat and remedy the accident. As he stood in the road, with the horse’s foot bent back between his knees, striving to beat the pebble out with a stone, a hearty voice came out of a side road, and directly a man appeared, riding on a heavy farm-horse, and mounted on two plethoric flour-bags, which were flung across the saddle.

“Hello, there! What’s the difficulty? Lamed your hoss or broke a linch-pin?”

“Nothing to speak of,” answered the driver. “One of the horses has got a stone in his hoof, and limps a trifle. I’m obliged to you all the same.”

The farmer rode up to the wagon, looked down at the horse, who held his hoof daintily, with the edge to the ground, and then took a friendly survey of the travellers.

“Strangers, I reckon?” he muttered. Then turning to the driver he commenced an acquaintance in the usual way.

“Any news stirrin’ from where you come from, neighbor?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

“Just from the river?”

“Started from that point to-day.”

“Crops good in that vicinity?”

“From fair to middling.”

All this time the farmer kept his eyes on Mr. Bentley, who fixed uneasy glances on his face while he was speaking, but turned away, perplexed and uncertain in the end.

As the driver mounted to his seat again, the farmer prepared to ride on, but with evident hesitation, for he laid the bridle down on his horse’s neck twice, as if about to address the travellers, but took it up again and urged his horse into a slow jog.

Now Mr. Bentley seemed to shake off his uncertainty. He bent forward in nervous haste, and bade the driver call that man back. The sound of a voice made the farmer turn, and he came trotting up to the wagon, evidently glad to be recalled.

“Tell me,” said Bentley, leaning toward him, “is your name Hart? And do you live in the stone house on the slope of the hill yonder?”

“My name is Hart, sir; and that stone house is my home, till the owner claims it,” answered the farmer, promptly.

“Daniel,” said Mr. Bentley, reaching forth his hand, “have you entirely forgotten me?”

The farmer took the slender hand in his hard palm, grasped it, and was silent for a moment. But his broad features worked, and at last his eyes filled, and, while shaking Mr. Bentley’s hand, he turned his head aside, ashamed of his weakness.

It is strange how little people have to say, who meet for the first time, after years of separation! The first words that passed between these two persons, after a mutual recognition, were simple enough:

“This is my daughter,” said Bentley.

“Not now. I’d rather look at her in—in the old house,” almost sobbed the farmer, keeping his head turned away. “I’ve got a gal too; not like what she was; but a likely critter enough. I’ll ride forard, if you’d just as lief, and tell her you’re a-comin’!”

With this the farmer beat his heels against the sides of his horse, and dashed off, ashamed of the emotion that had heaved his broad chest with a tempest of old recollections.

Gillian looked after him, her lips parted and her eyes dilating with wonder. To her there was something ludicrous in the heavy trot which kept the farmer in constant motion on his meal-bags, and she broke into a laugh when the horse dashed into a skeltering gallop, that threatened to dislodge the whole load at every awkward leap. Little did she know of the genuine feeling which went with that jumbling picture.

Mr. Bentley turned upon her with an angry flash of the eyes, and said, sternly,

“Gillian Bentley, that man is your mother’s only brother, her benefactor. Laugh now, if you have the heart.”

Gillian’s mirth broke into a sob. Never in her life had she been addressed so harshly before. The surprise took away her breath.

“Oh, father!”

“Her brother, girl. A man whom I hold in reverence above all others on the earth.”

“Father, forgive me!”

Gillian was trembling from head to foot. She could have beaten herself for that wanton laugh. Mr. Bentley drew her to his side, and strove to smile upon her. But it was not easy, even for this forgiving caress, to reconcile the sensitive girl to herself.

Meantime the driver had started his horses, unconscious of the little domestic drama going on behind his back; and every moment drew the travellers nearer home.