North Branch Democrat

Select Story

THE STAGE DRIVER.

BY MISS C. E. MAYO

Over the Torrey hills regularly came and went, on alternate days, one of the numerous mail stages from Vermont. It was a new coach freshly painted in bright yellow with large bouquets of red roses upon the panelling, and narrow black stripes upon the wheels. Bandboxes, covered with blue, green, pink, white, yellow and parti-colored paper, or perhaps carefully secured from the incidents of a journey by a bag of coarse brown cloth, were piled together with valises, carpet bags and bundles of various shapes and sizes, in huge mountains upon the top. Among these, occasionally, an "extra passenger" found a place—nine grown persons and five small children within and, six upon, and above, the driver's box without, being considered the full complement for a load. To speak of the trunks behind, would require a greater compass of arithmetic than we possess. They were of wood, of hair, of leather; black, red, yellow, white, blue; some strapped and buckled: some corded with ropes; some whose shattered locks had half burst away from their screws, and a few smaller ones upon the top sporting their brass padlocks. This vehicle was drawn by six large white horses always in the finest order and hey-day spirits. In short, it was an exhilarating sight, that, whirling, rumbling, rattling, jolting little world, regularly revolving in its orbit, and changing its passengers no oftener than this large whirling, rattling world, that we call Earth.

Well, as we have said, daily rolled and rumbled this gay mail stage over the Torrey hills; and daily ran Lizzy Hatch to the window, to glance between the scarlet bean-vines—at what? The white horses, or the stage-coach? The bandboxes, or the trunks? The passengers, or—the rosy cheeked young driver? We will not say. Peep she did, with her bright little laughing eyes, and smile she did with her sweet rosy lips.

"What makes him always so merry, I wonder!" thought she. "What can he be always singing about so loud? One would think that on a rainy day, at least, he might be sober; but instead of that, he only screams the louder when the rain pours the hardest!"

"What a curious little chick that must be always prying between the bean vines!" daily thought the rosy cheeked driver, when passing the house of farmer Hatch. "One would think she might sometimes be at work instead of which, there she forever stands thinking herself hid by the bean-flowers which only make her show the fairer. She's a sweet little witch on my word!"

Fal de ral, lal de ral,
Fal de rol, lal de ra!
Gee up! whoa there! general!

The gay painted stage-coach could be seen a long way up and off from Farmer Hatch's western windows, for, from their door way, the hill rose up, and up, till it seemed fair to touch the sky; and the coach came rattling down, and down, and down, till one would verily think it was sent on a despatch to the bottomless abyss. So regularly every alternate morning at precisely eight o'clock, Lizzy shook up her bed in the western bed-room and hung the snowy pillows on the window-sill to air; and precisely at five o'clock on every alternate afternoon, she sat sewing at the east window in the parlor; and precisely at these very hours came either to or fro, the yellow coach and the six white horses.

A quarter of a mile on the road below was the Torrey post-office, the store, the tailor's shop, the church, and a few white and yellow houses called the village. Here the stage always stopped to have the mail changed, here the driver jumped off, and chatted with the loungers about the door; here he met the little dandy tailor in his light blue pants, plaid vest and, invisible green coat, and delivered him sundry packages from the city.

Said tailor, by name Orlando Schneider, was no unimportant personage in the eyes of Frank Gale, the driver: for though he had a hearty contempt for foppishness, he had an unaccountable dislike and dread of his pretensions in another direction. In short Frank had often observed him strutting up to the door of Farmer Hatch's Cottage on a summer's afternoon, or loitering near the open window where Lizzy sat; and it was whispered by male gossips around the door of the tavern and post-office that a match was hatching between the young people.

Now why should Frank care, if it were so? What claims had he on a young maiden with whom he had never exchanged a word in his life? None, to be sure. But then, he pshaw-ed and fretted at this match as though it were doing him a great wrong; and he called the tailor "a blasted fool," though if this were a specimen of his folly, it was one, it must be confessed, which Frank would himself have been both proud and happy to have committed.

"I don't believe it! I won't believe it," he cried to himself. "Lizzy Hatch would never marry such a little tittering, twittering spindle-shanked jackanapes as he! She's a fool if she does! But these girls are all running mad after little tripping dandies in their starched linens, and whalebones, strutting about on their toes, because their pants won't allow them to sit down."

Thoughts similar to these were filling the young driver's mind, as the coach rattled down the hill one bright October morning. Near the foot of the hill, there were several dangerous inequalities in the road, which demanded a slackening of the horses' speed, and great skill and caution in the driver; at least, this was supposed to be the case, from the fact that Frank Gale always drew up the reins, and moderated the cattle's pace just at this point. His eyes, meanwhile, instead of being fixed on their steps, wandered industriously to the little bean-shaded window, and the laughing, rosy lips behind. This morning the lips were not there; but presently the little body herself skipped from the door, and waved her handkerchief for Frank to stop. He obeyed immediately, and Lizzy, rising on tiptoe, (oh what little tiptoes those were!) extended to him a small package.

"Will you please leave this bundle at Mrs Wainwright's in Court St.? I have forgotten the number but you will find her sign on the door—she is a dress-maker. Here is the ninepence for you."

"None of your ninepences for me," said Frank good humoredly, receiving the bundle, but dropping the coin; "I charge nothing for serving an old friend."

"But I cannot claim your services on that score," replied Lizzy.

"At least call me such whenever I can be of use to you," said Frank, eagerly.

"Oh! you are too good," Lizzy cried laughing. "How many such 'old friends' have you to serve? You will find many eager enough to be your friends in that way."

"But we have made friendship through those little sly windows. Isn't it so?"

"I shall draw the curtains in future."

"What to pay me for carrying your bundles? No, sit there every day, as you have done before, and sometimes look up with a smile when I pass. It will make my day's ride twenty miles shorter."

"Well, I will," said Lizzy gaily; and then skipping back into the house, left Frank, with a light heart to pursue his way.

From this time numerous little packages were sent to and fro; and very often a bunch of autumn flowers, a golden peach, a large red apple, or a fine cluster of grapes, was found lying on the grass-plat under Lizzy's window just after the mail coach had passed.

But cool November days were coming. The frost had laid its destructive hand upon the bean-vines the little window was closed; never had Autumn seemed to Frank so desolate as now. What increased his mortification, was to observe that little contemptible jackanapes of an Orlando Schneider often seated by the window and Lizzy not far distant.

The once merry, singing, roughish Frank, grew sober, dumb, demure. His passengers noted the change with regret, but couldn't divine no cause. Frank himself did not fully understand why he had lost his spirits. He attributed it to the cursed chill winds; and to be sure they sweep down the long Torrey hills somewhat fiercely, though he was not, in reality, the man to mind them.

About a fortnight before Thanksgiving when the weather was softer than usual, and something like an Indian Summer atmosphere seemed brooding over the hills, Lizzy once more beckoned the driver to stop to receive a message.

"Are you not tired of being troubled?" she asked in a voice that seemed to say "I know you are not."

"Yes Lizzy, I am!" he replied, somewhat gravely; "but I am not tired of doing any thing to oblige you."

"And does any thing else ever trouble you but me?" she said, laughingly.

He was on the point of answering, "Orlando Schneider!" but he checked himself and asked her soberly, what message she had for him.

"I am ashamed to trouble you," she replied, "but I have no other resource. I want a pair of white kid gloves, which cannot be obtained in this part of the country. Do you think you can make such a Lady's purchase?"

Frank jumped from his seat to the ground.

"Yes," he said if you will let me see the size of your hand."

Lizzy laughed and colored behind her little stuffed hood, but held out her hand, which, though it showed signs of having been usefully employed, was nevertheless very small and pretty.

"What a little kitty's paw it is, Lizzy!—
Nothing but the wild fox-glove from the fields will fill it. Just tell me now, Lizzy, in secret, if it is wedding gloves you want?"

"Perhaps they will be worn on such an occasion," said she, smiling.

"And is Thanksgiving to be the day?"

"Yes, and the hour, seven in the evening."

"May you be happy!" said Frank, suppressing a sigh, and turning to remount his box.

"And you, too," cried Lizzy, smiling again and showing her white teeth, like pearls among roses.

The next night Frank brought the white gloves, and upon trial they proved to be a perfect fit. Frank's minuteness of observation was truly miraculous.

The next Monday morning, the gossip of the post office and store door loungers all ran upon the banns of Schneider and Lizzy Hatch. The matter was then no longer doubtful, and Frank resigned himself to the first dark and bitter disappointment of his life.

The day came at length in which all hearts are peculiarly invited to gratitude; the old stately Thanksgiving day, with its long dull sermons, its sumptuous dinners, and its merry party givings. The stage-driver, alone, with this class, was not permitted to enjoy its festivities. The same work remained for him—the same long ride over the Torrey hills broken only by a hasty dinner at the tavern, and cheered only by the hope of rest at night.

The day was dark and drizzling. The roads were muddy and dangerous. Night fell in the middle of the afternoon. At five o'clock it was densely dark. As he left the Torrey tavern, they cautioned him to look out for a bad place in the road just above Farmer Hatch's, on the hill. As he drew near the critical spot, his eyes were caught by the glare of the wedding illumination in the Farmer's Cottage. Wreaths of evergreen hung before the windows, and tall candles were suspended among them. The dazzling effect of these lights, entirely took from his eyes the power of seeing in the darkness before him; and possibly also, the associations connected therewith, might have rendered his nerves slightly unsteady. Whatever might have been the cause, it is certain that Frank did not guide his horses with usual caution, and before a thought of danger had occurred to him, the coach upset, and poor Frank was thrown with terrible force far down into the unfathomable darkness.

The noise of this disaster reaching the inmates of the cottage, the old Farmer and his two stout sons rushed forth to ascertain the extent of the calamity. They found the coach down upon its side, and the two passengers within crying out lustily for help. Having extricated these, who were fortunately much more frightened than hurt, though a little bruised, they began to search for Frank. But Lizzy, with a lantern, was before them. She had found him at the foot of a steep bank on the road-side, lying bloody and senseless. She cried out piteously for help. The Farmer and his sons bore the poor youth into their house. One then ran for a surgeon, another to get help from the village to take charge of the coach and horses. It was a time of general bustle and excitement. Frank, only was insensible to it. He lay in Lizzy's own little bed-room, bathing her white pillows with his blood. She stood by him weeping.

The surgeon came in a few moments, and on applying restoratives, brought poor Frank back to consciousness. But he was frightfully bruised and wounded. The surgeon was occupied two hours in dressing his wounds, while Lizzy sat all the while scraping lint in the adjoining room. Every now and then he would open his eyes and catch a glimpse of her as she ran in and out supplying the surgeon's calls. At last the bandages were all applied, and Frank resigned to what little rest he could hope to obtain with a bruised head and mangled limbs, fortunately no bones were broken, so that his case did not seem very desperate. While he lay in his darkened room, with only a few rays from a rush-light behind a screen, the door softly opened, and Lizzy entered in her bridal robe of white muslin. She looked pale and beautiful as a spirit, in that dim light, and her voice was as sweet falling upon his dizzy brain.

"Forgive us all for leaving you a short time," she said. "Perhaps you remember it is the wedding night. The minister has arrived, and they are only waiting for me. You shall have better attention when that is over."

"Go, and God bless you, Lizzy. Do not think of me. I am quite easy, and in want of nothing. You have all been very kind to me forgive me for bringing my sufferings here to disturb your joys. Why didn't you send me back to the tavern? It was the place for me to night."

Lizzy put her soft fingers gently over his lips. "Don't talk so," she whispered. "It is the deepest of our thanksgivings to-night that we have been able to do something for you. Think of that, and let it console you."

Before he could reply she had glided softly away from him, and left the room.

The wedding ceremony was performed in the parlor adjoining; and as he lay helpless upon his pillow, he heard the deep voice of prayers lifted in consecration of the nuptial vows. He heard the vows spoken—Orlando Schneider, Elizabeth Hatch—; then there was a bustle of the guests seating themselves; and a general suppressed tittering, and murmuring, and rattling of plates, and wine-glasses.

The hour was a long and painful one to Frank. At last the door opened into his room again, and the old Farmer approached.

"Well, the job is over," he cried. "Considerable business we've done here in one night."

"I am afraid I am in your way, at this time," said Frank, in a mournful voice, that sounded strangely coming from his lips.

"Not a jot! not a jot! Schneider takes his wife away to-night, so we have an empty crib just in time. We're just about packing 'em away, and then we'll have an eye to you again."

He left the room, and presently Frank heard a carriage drive to the door. As it rolled slowly away, he could not suppress a deep groan, not of bodily, but of mental torture. "Are you in such pain?" sighed a tender, pitying voice in his ear. "Can I do nothing for you?"

"Why Lizzy! how came you here? I tho't you were gone.

"Not I, nor do I intend to go."

"Your father just told me that you were to leave to night."

"Oh no, you misunderstood him. He meant the bride, not me."

"Not you!" cried Frank, almost springing from his pillow, in spite of his wounds and bandages. "Who in the name of Heaven is the bride, if not you?"

It is my aunt Lizzy," said she, laughing a little roguishly, notwithstanding her pity for Frank.

"Then I have been deceived, and you are not Schneider's wife?

"No, thank heaven! I am free from any such claims. Aunt Lizzy is happy in being married at the ripe age of forty, and Uncle Orlando, in claiming with his wife's hand a title to five thousand dollars. I am far happier in being here to wait upon you."

"Dear Lizzy! weak and wounded as I am, not a being breathes this night with so thankful a heart as I. Tell me, Lizzy, in a word is there a man in the world who has a claim on you?"

"Only my father"

"Then I may lie here in peace, and dream sweet dreams, may I not?"

"Yes, any thing to make you happy."

"And you will wait on me?"

"Yes, with pleasure."

"Then I am the happiest man alive."

Here the door opened, and old Farmer Hatch entered with his wife, just as Frank had managed to clasp Lizzy's hand.

"Ho! ho! another wedding in the wind!" he cried.

But Lizzy ran out of the room in a twinkling of an eye, or I am not certain that the old Farmer would not have settled the bargain at once. Any way, it was not many weeks before the young people had settled it for themselves, which, after all, is much the best way in such cases.