Pembroke | Page 4

instead of good
chambers, because folks' fathers had been scared to death of wind, and
Barnabas agreed with her. If he had inherited any of his father's and
grandfather's terror of wind, he made no manifestation of it.
In the lower story of the new cottage were two square front rooms like
those in his father's house, and behind them the great kitchen with a
bedroom out of it, and a roof of its own.
Barnabas paused at last in the kitchen, and stood quite still, leaning
against a window casement. The windows were not in, and the spaces
let in the cool air and low light. Outside was a long reach of field
sloping gently upward. In the distance, at the top of the hill, sharply
outlined against the sky, was a black angle of roof and a great chimney.
A thin column of smoke rose out of it, straight and dark. That was
where Charlotte Barnard lived.
Barnabas looked out and saw the smoke rising from the chimney of the
Barnard house. There was a little hollow in the field that was quite blue
with violets, and he noted that absently. A team passed on the road
outside; it was as if he saw and heard everything from the innermost
recesses of his own life, and everything seemed strange and far off.
He turned to go, but suddenly stood still in the middle of the kitchen, as

if some one had stopped him. He looked at the new fireless hearth,
through the open door into the bedroom which he would occupy after
he was married to Charlotte, and through others into the front rooms,
which would be apartments of simple state, not so closely connected
with every-day life. The kitchen windows would be sunny. Charlotte
would think it a pleasant room.
"Her rocking-chair can set there," said Barnabas aloud. The tears came
into his eyes; he stepped forward, laid his smooth boyish cheek against
a partition wall of this new house, and kissed it. It was a fervent
demonstration, not towards Charlotte alone, nor the joy to come to him
within those walls, but to all life and love and nature, although he did
not comprehend it. He half sobbed as he turned away; his thoughts
seemed to dazzle his brain, and he could not feel his feet. He passed
through the north front room, which would be the little-used parlor, to
the door, and suddenly started at a long black shadow on the floor. It
vanished as he went on, and might have been due to his excited fancy,
which seemed substantial enough to cast shadows.
"I shall marry Charlotte, we shall live here together all our lives, and
die here," thought Barnabas, as he went up the hill. "I shall lie in my
coffin in the north room, and it will all be over," but his heart leaped
with joy. He stepped out proudly like a soldier in a battalion, he threw
back his shoulders in his Sunday coat.
The yellow glow was paling in the west, the evening air was like a cold
breath in his face. He could see the firelight flickering upon the kitchen
wall of the Barnard house as he drew near. He came up into the yard
and caught a glimpse of a fair head in the ruddy glow. There was a
knocker on the door; he raised it gingerly and let it fall. It made but a
slight clatter, but a woman's shadow moved immediately across the
yard outside, and Barnabas heard the inner door open. He threw open
the outer one himself, and Charlotte stood there smiling, and softly
decorous. Neither of them spoke. Barnabas glanced at the inner door to
see if it were closed, then he caught Charlotte's hands and kissed her.
"You shouldn't do so, Barnabas," whispered Charlotte, turning her face
away. She was as tall as Barnabas, and as handsome.

"Yes, I should," persisted Barnabas, all radiant, and his face pursued
hers around her shoulder.
"It's pretty cold out, ain't it?" said Charlotte, in a chiding voice which
she could scarcely control.
"I've been in to see our house. Give me one more kiss. Oh, Charlotte!"
"Charlotte!" cried a deep voice, and the lovers started apart.
"I'm coming, father," Charlotte cried out. She opened the door and went
soberly into the kitchen, with Barnabas at her heels. Her father, mother,
and Aunt Sylvia Crane sat there in the red gleam of the firelight and
gathering twilight. Sylvia sat a little behind the others, and her face in
her white cap had the shadowy delicacy of one of the flowering apple
sprays outside.
"How d'ye do?" said Barnabas in a brave tone which was slightly
aggressive. Charlotte's mother and aunt responded rather nervously.
"How's your mother, Barnabas?" inquired