continued with the raucous drinking song until the family had entered the house.
"Row me up some brandy, 0
Row, row, row
Row me up some brandy, 0.
Row me up some more."
The Bells' Christmas that year cannot have been merry.
As the bleak winter days passed, Mrs. Bell found a few rays of light in the gloom of her bereavement. She had strong sons to carry on her husband's work, and many loyal friends. The Spirit's worst malice had apparently been expended on John Bell; it had never been rude or unpleasant to Lucy, and that winter it was even kind to Betsy, bringing her exotic delicacies to tempt her failing appetite, and telling her amusing stories about social events in the outside world. As might have been expected of so shallow a personality, most of these tales concerned the doings of the wealthy and socially prominent, in Europe and in America. The newspapers took some time to reach that remote region, but when they arrived Betsy found the Spirit's descriptions of balls and parades—and scandals—completely accurate.
In those salubrious climes spring comes early. The first wild-flowers bloom amid the snows of February, and April sees the forest floor carpeted with violets. Betsy's young heart bloomed as well. She was now seventeen years old—the tenderest, most beautiful age of a woman's life. Handsome gray-eyed Joshua was at her side, and it was spring. But when Joshua proposed marriage she held back. Her forebodings were justified. The Spirit had not abandoned its unexplained opposition to the young man, and one day, when Josh pleaded his suit in passionate language, he was interrupted by the old refrain: "Betsy, don't marry Joshua Gardner!"
Once again brother John was consulted—at least, that is what John claimed. The Spirit demanded that he intervene to prevent the marriage. As before, it refused to give reasons, but John took Betsy aside for a private talk. Neither of them ever divulged what he said (indeed, Betsy never mentioned it at all), but evidently John warned his sister of the peril she was facing. That same day Betsy told Joshua she could never be his.
Many years later, after a long and happy life, Betsy looked back on this decision and expressed considerable resentment— not of the Spirit, but of friends who had criticized her for not defying the eerie voice. She claimed they had no right to judge her, for they had never been in her position—and indeed, few women have. Over and over the Spirit had proved its power to hurt and harm, Should she have exposed her lover to the malice that had already destroyed her father? It would not have been fair to Joshua.
This last concession satisfied the Spirit. Though it lingered on for several months, its tricks gradually decreased in frequency. One night as the family sat around the fire, an object like a cannonball rolled down the chimney and out into the room, bursting into a great cloud of smoke.
"I am going," the odiously familiar voice announced. "I will be gone for seven years. Goodbye to all."
ELEVEN
The Spirit had indeed departed. The years passed and the old house saw the usual changes, including several weddings. Yes, Betsy was a bride—but her favored suitor was not Josh Logan. Perhaps she feared the Spirit would return prematurely if she violated its command. Or perhaps there were other reasons. Who can fathom the mysteries of a young girl's heart?
Betsy's husband was Richard Powell, the schoolmaster. He waited a decent interval—whatever that may be—after Joshua's dismissal before expressing his love. By then he had entered the state legislature and was something of a catch. The fact that he was considerably older than his bride was unimportant; as brother John sagely remarked, a good marriage consists of "a husband taking all the ills of life to himself and not allowing her to assume responsibilities which might become burdensome." The marriage lasted only seventeen years, but by all accounts it was a happy one.
Drewry had bought a
"Row me up some brandy, 0
Row, row, row
Row me up some brandy, 0.
Row me up some more."
The Bells' Christmas that year cannot have been merry.
As the bleak winter days passed, Mrs. Bell found a few rays of light in the gloom of her bereavement. She had strong sons to carry on her husband's work, and many loyal friends. The Spirit's worst malice had apparently been expended on John Bell; it had never been rude or unpleasant to Lucy, and that winter it was even kind to Betsy, bringing her exotic delicacies to tempt her failing appetite, and telling her amusing stories about social events in the outside world. As might have been expected of so shallow a personality, most of these tales concerned the doings of the wealthy and socially prominent, in Europe and in America. The newspapers took some time to reach that remote region, but when they arrived Betsy found the Spirit's descriptions of balls and parades—and scandals—completely accurate.
In those salubrious climes spring comes early. The first wild-flowers bloom amid the snows of February, and April sees the forest floor carpeted with violets. Betsy's young heart bloomed as well. She was now seventeen years old—the tenderest, most beautiful age of a woman's life. Handsome gray-eyed Joshua was at her side, and it was spring. But when Joshua proposed marriage she held back. Her forebodings were justified. The Spirit had not abandoned its unexplained opposition to the young man, and one day, when Josh pleaded his suit in passionate language, he was interrupted by the old refrain: "Betsy, don't marry Joshua Gardner!"
Once again brother John was consulted—at least, that is what John claimed. The Spirit demanded that he intervene to prevent the marriage. As before, it refused to give reasons, but John took Betsy aside for a private talk. Neither of them ever divulged what he said (indeed, Betsy never mentioned it at all), but evidently John warned his sister of the peril she was facing. That same day Betsy told Joshua she could never be his.
Many years later, after a long and happy life, Betsy looked back on this decision and expressed considerable resentment— not of the Spirit, but of friends who had criticized her for not defying the eerie voice. She claimed they had no right to judge her, for they had never been in her position—and indeed, few women have. Over and over the Spirit had proved its power to hurt and harm, Should she have exposed her lover to the malice that had already destroyed her father? It would not have been fair to Joshua.
This last concession satisfied the Spirit. Though it lingered on for several months, its tricks gradually decreased in frequency. One night as the family sat around the fire, an object like a cannonball rolled down the chimney and out into the room, bursting into a great cloud of smoke.
"I am going," the odiously familiar voice announced. "I will be gone for seven years. Goodbye to all."
ELEVEN
The Spirit had indeed departed. The years passed and the old house saw the usual changes, including several weddings. Yes, Betsy was a bride—but her favored suitor was not Josh Logan. Perhaps she feared the Spirit would return prematurely if she violated its command. Or perhaps there were other reasons. Who can fathom the mysteries of a young girl's heart?
Betsy's husband was Richard Powell, the schoolmaster. He waited a decent interval—whatever that may be—after Joshua's dismissal before expressing his love. By then he had entered the state legislature and was something of a catch. The fact that he was considerably older than his bride was unimportant; as brother John sagely remarked, a good marriage consists of "a husband taking all the ills of life to himself and not allowing her to assume responsibilities which might become burdensome." The marriage lasted only seventeen years, but by all accounts it was a happy one.
Drewry had bought a
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