One Fold of the Curtain drawn back.

A new comer in a country village is always sure to elicit more or less curiosity, and Mrs. Norton did not escape without her due share from the inhabitants of Grassmere. With telegraph speed it was found out that she was a lady between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in bombazine, and wore close mourning caps. Miss Norton was talked of as a slender, fair girl, with blue eyes, and long, flowing curls, and might be seventeen, perhaps twenty—of course, they could not be strictly accurate in this matter.

Bales of India matting were unrolled in the door-yard—crates of beautiful china unpacked in the piazza—sofas and chairs crept out from their rough traveling cases, displaying all the beauty of rosewood and damask, until finally by aid of all these means and appliances to boot, Mrs. Norton and her daughter were pronounced very genteel—but—

“But, I wonder what they are!” said Mrs. Humphreys to the deacon, as talking over these secular matters she handed him his second cup of coffee.

Not that the good lady had any doubt of their being bona fide flesh and blood; neither did she believe they were witches or fairies who had taken up their abode at Silver-Fall. “I wonder what they are!” must therefore be interpreted as “I wonder what church they attend,” or “what creed they profess.”

The deacon shook his head and looked solemn.

“It is to be hoped,” continued Mrs. Humphreys, complacently stirring the coffee, “that at her period of life Mrs. Norton may be a professor of some kind.”

The deacon dropped his knife and fork—he was shocked—astounded.

“I am surprised to hear you speak thus lightly, Mrs. Humphreys—a professor of some kind! Is it not better that she should yet rest in her sins, than to be walking in the footsteps of error—a professor of some kind! Wife—wife—you forget yourself!” exclaimed the deacon.

“I spoke thoughtlessly, I acknowledge,” answered Mrs. Humphreys, much confused by the stern rebuke of her husband. “I meant to say, I hoped she had found a pardon for her sins.”

“Have you forgotten that you are a parent?” continued the deacon, solemnly. “Can you suffer the ears of your daughter to drink in such poison! A professor of some kind! Naomi, my child,” placing his hand on the sunny head before him, “beware how you listen to such doctrine; there is but one true faith—there is but one way by which you can be saved. Go to your chamber, and pray you may not be led into error through your mother’s words of folly!”

But there were others at Grassmere most anxiously wondering, like good Mrs. Humphreys, “what they were,” ere they so far committed themselves as to call upon the strangers. Sunday, however, was close at hand; Mrs. Norton’s choice of a church was to determine them the choice of her acquaintance.

Does the reader think the inhabitants of Grassmere peculiar? I think not. There are very many just such people not a hundred rods from our own doors.

Unfortunately, on Sunday the rain poured down in torrents. Nothing less impervious than strong cowhide boots—India-rubber overcoats, and thick cotton umbrellas, could go to meeting, consequently, Mrs. Norton staid at home, and on Monday afternoon, after the washing was done, and the deacon had turned his well saturated hay, Mrs. Humphreys put on her best black silk gown and mantilla, her plain straw bonnet, with white trimmings, and walked over with her husband to Silver-Fall cottage. As the widow rented her house of them, they could not in decency, they reasoned, longer defer calling upon her.

A glance within the cottage would convince any one that Mrs. Norton and Grace were at least persons of refinement—for there is as much character displayed in the arrangement of a room as in the choice of a book.

Cream colored mattings, and window-curtains of transparent lace, relieved by hangings of pale sea-green silk, imparted a look of delicious coolness to the apartments. There was no display of gaudy furniture, as if a cabinet warehouse had been taken on speculation—yet there was enough for comfort and even elegance; nor was there an over exhibition of paintings—one of Cole’s beautiful landscapes, and a few other gems of native talent were all; nor were the tables freighted as the counter of a toy-shop; the only ornament of each was a beautiful vase of Bohemian glass, filled with fresh garden flowers, whose tasteful arrangement even fairy hands could not have rivaled.

The few moments they were awaiting the entrance of Mrs. Norton were employed by Mrs. Humphreys in taking a rapid survey of all these surroundings, the result of which was to impress her with a sort of awe for the mistress of this little realm.

“My stars!” said she, casting her eyes to the right and left, half rising from the luxurious couch to peep into one corner, and almost breaking her neck to dive into another, “my stars, deacon, if this don’t beat all I ever did see!”

But the deacon, with an air worthy of a funeral, shook his head, closed his eyes, and muttered,

“Vanity—vanity!”

The door opened, and Grace gliding in, sweetly apologized for her mother, whom a violent headache detained in her apartment.

“Well, I do wish I knew what they were!” again exclaimed Mrs. Humphreys, as she took the deacon’s arm and plodded thoughtfully homeward.

Then going to a dark cupboard under the stairs, she rummaged for some time among the jars and gallipots, and finally producing one marked “Raspberry Jam,” she told Naomi to put on her Sunday bonnet, and carry it to the cottage, and?—

“Naomi, you may just as well ask Grace Norton what meeting she goes to.”

Delighted to make the acquaintance of Grace, Naomi threw on her bonnet and tripped lightly to the cottage, thinking little, we fear, of her mother’s last charge. At any rate it was omitted, and so the night-cap of Mrs. Humphreys again threw its broad frilling over an unsatisfied brow.

In the morning the deacon received a very neat note from Mrs. Norton, requesting to see him up on business.

“And now, my dear sir,” said she, after the common courtesies of the day were passed, “I have taken the liberty to send for you to transact a little business for me. If not too great a tax upon your time, will you purchase a pew for me?”

The deacon grimly smiled, and rubbing his knee, replied,

“Why, yes, Mrs. Norton, I shall be glad to attend to the matter. True, it is a busy season with us farmers, but the Lord forbid I should therefore neglect his business.”

“Do you think you can procure me one?” asked Mrs. Norton.

“O, I reckon so, for I am certain there are several pews now to be let or sold either.”

“And what price, Mr. Humphreys?”

“Well, I guess about sixty dollars; and now I recollect, Squire Bryce wants to sell his—it is right alongside of mine, and I reckon my pew is as good for hearing the word as any in the meeting-house. I am glad, really I do rejoice to find you a true believer.”

“You mistake my church, I see,” said Mrs. Norton, smiling, “I belong to a different denomination from the one of which as I am aware you are a professor.”

“Then,” cried the deacon, rising hastily and making for the door, “excuse me—I—I know nothing of any other church or its pews. I cannot be the instrument of seating you where false doctrines are preached! I—good morning, ma’am.”

The widow sighed as the gate slammed after her visiter, but Grace burst into a merry fit of laughter.

“How ridiculous!” she exclaimed; “was there ever such absurdity!”

“Hush, hush my dear child,” said Mrs. Norton, “Mr. Humphreys is without doubt perfectly conscientious in this matter—we may pity, but not condemn such zeal in the cause of religion.”

“Do you call bigotry religion, mamma?” asked Grace.

“A person may be a very good Christian, Grace, and yet be very much of a bigot,” answered her mother. “That such a spirit as Mr. Humphreys has just now shown may often be productive of more evil than good, I allow. His aim is to do good, but he adopts the wrong measures.”

“Why, mamma, one would have judged from his manner that we were infidels!” said Grace.

“O no, my child, he did not really think that,” replied Mrs. Norton, smiling at her earnestness. “He only felt shocked at what he deems our error—for he sacredly believes there can be no safety in any other creed than his own. Without the charity therefore to think there may be good in all sects, and lacking the desire to study the subject, or rather so much wedded to his belief that he would deem it almost a sin to do so, like an unjust judge, he condemns without a hearing. There are too many such mistaken zealots in every creed of worship. O, my dear child,” continued Mrs. Norton, her fine eyes bathed in tears, “would that members of every sect might unite in love and charity to one another! They are all aiming alike to love and serve Christ, and yet take no heed to his commandment, ‘Love ye one another!’”

“Well, mamma, for the sake of his sweet daughter, Naomi, I can forgive the good deacon. I have never seen a more interesting face than hers, and her manners are as graceful and lady-like as if she had never seen the country,” said Grace.

“And most probably a great deal more so, my love,” replied Mrs. Norton, “for nature can add a grace which courts cannot give. But I agree with you in thinking Miss Humphreys interesting; she is, indeed, so, and if her countenance prove an index of her mind, I think you may promise yourself a pleasing companion.”

But the deacon, it seems, was of a different way of thinking, and no sooner did he enter under his own roof, place his oak stick in the corner, and hang up his hat on the peg behind the door, than going into the kitchen where the good wife was busily employed preparing the noonday meal, assisted by Naomi, he made known with serious countenance, that he had discovered what they were at Silver-Fall cottage!

Of course, Miss Norton was not such a companion as they would choose for Naomi. True, she was a pretty girl, and Mrs. Norton a lady of faultless manners; but then so much the more danger, and therefore Naomi, though not forbidden, was admonished to beware of their new acquaintances.

——