ChapterOne
InWhichIIntroduceMyselfThisisthestoryofabadboy。Well，notsuchaverybad，butaprettybadboy;andIoughttoknow，forIam，orratherIwas，thatboymyself。
Lestthetitleshouldmisleadthereader，IhastentoassurehimherethatI
havenodarkconfessionstomake。Icallmystorythestoryofabadboy，partlytodistinguishmyselffromthosefaultlessyounggentlemenwhogenerallyfigureinnarrativesofthiskind，andpartlybecauseIreallywasnotacherub。ImaytruthfullysayIwasanamiable，impulsivelad，blessedwithfinedigestivepowers，andnohypocrite。Ididn’twanttobeanangelandwiththeangelsstand;Ididn’tthinkthemissionarytractspresentedtomebytheRev。WibirdHawkinswerehalfsoniceasRobinsonCrusoe;andIdidn’tsendmylittlepocket—moneytothenativesoftheFeejeeIslands，butspentitroyallyinpeppermint—dropsandtaffycandy。
Inshort，Iwasarealhumanboy，suchasyoumaymeetanywhereinNewEngland，andnomoreliketheimpossibleboyinastorybookthanasoundorangeislikeonethathasbeensuckeddry。Butletusbeginatthebeginning。
Wheneveranewscholarcametoourschool，Iusedtoconfronthimatrecesswiththefollowingwords："Myname’sTomBailey;what’syourname？"Ifthenamestruckmefavorably，Ishookhandswiththenewpupilcordially;butifitdidn’t，Iwouldturnonmyheel，forIwasparticularonthispoint。
SuchnamesasHiggins，Wiggins，andSprigginsweredeadlyaffrontstomyear;whileLangdon，Wallace，Blake，andthelike，werepasswordstomyconfidenceandesteem。
Ahme！someofthosedearfellowsareratherelderlyboysbythistime—lawyers，merchants，sea—captains，soldiers，authors，whatnot？PhilAdams（aspecialgoodnamethatAdams）isconsulatShanghai，whereI
picturehimtomyselfwithhisheadcloselyshaved—heneverhadtoomuchhair—andalongpigtailbangingdownbehind。Heismarried，Ihear;andI
hopeheandshethatwasMissWangWangareveryhappytogether，sittingcross—leggedovertheirdiminutivecupsofteainaskybluetowerhungwithbells。ItissoIthinkofhim;tomeheishenceforthajewelledmandarin，talkingnothingbutbrokenChina。Whitcombisajudge，sedateandwise，withspectaclesbalancedonthebridgeofthatremarkablenosewhich，informerdays，wassoplentifullysprinkledwithfrecklesthattheboyschristenedhimPepperWhitcomb。justtothinkoflittlePepperWhitcombbeingajudge！Whatwouldbedotomenow，Iwonder，ifIweretosingout"Pepper！"somedayincourt？FredLangdonisinCalifornia，inthenative—winebusiness—heusedtomakethebestlicorice—waterIevertasted！
BinnyWallacesleepsintheOldSouthBurying—Ground;andJackHarris，too，isdead—Harris，whocommandedusboys，ofold，inthefamoussnow—ballbattlesofSlatter’sHill。WasityesterdayIsawhimattheheadofhisregimentonitswaytojointheshatteredArmyofthePotomac？Notyesterday，butsixyearsago。ItwasatthebattleoftheSevenPines。
GallantJackHarris，thatneverdrewreinuntilhehaddashedintotheRebelbattery！Sotheyfoundhim—lyingacrosstheenemy’sguns。
Howwehaveparted，andwandered，andmarried，anddied！IwonderwhathasbecomeofalltheboyswhowenttotheTempleGrammarSchoolatRivermouthwhenIwasayoungster？"All，allaregone，theoldfamiliarfaces！"
ItiswithnoungentlehandIsummonthemback，foramoment，fromthatPastwhichhascloseduponthemanduponme。Howpleasantlytheyliveagaininmymemory！Happy，magicalPast，inwhosefairyatmosphereevenConway，mineancientfoe，standsforthtransfigured，withasortofdreamygloryencirclinghisbrightredhair！
WiththeoldschoolformulaIcommencethesesketchesofmyboyhood。MynameisTomBailey;whatisyours，gentlereader？ItakeforgranteditisneitherWigginsnorSpriggins，andthatweshallgetonfamouslytogether，andbecapitalfriendsforever。
ChapterTwoInWhichIEntertainPeculiarViewsIwasbornatRivermouth，but，beforeIhadachancetobecomeverywellacquaintedwiththatprettyNewEnglandtown，myparentsremovedtoNewOrleans，wheremyfatherinvestedhismoneysosecurelyinthebankingbusinessthatbewasneverabletogetanyofitoutagain。Butofthishereafter。
Iwasonlyeighteenmonthsoldatthetimeoftheremoval，anditdidn’tmakemuchdifferencetomewhereIwas，becauseIwassosmall;butseveralyearslater，whenmyfatherproposedtotakemeNorthtobeeducated，Ihadmyownpeculiarviewsonthesubject。IinstantlykickedoverthelittleNegroboywhohappenedtobestandingbymeatthemoment，and，stampingmyfootviolentlyonthefloorofthepiazza，declaredthatIwouldnotbetakenawaytoliveamongalotofYankees！
YouseeIwaswhatiscalled"aNorthernmanwithSouthernprinciples。"I
hadnorecollectionofNewEngland：myearliestmemorieswereconnectedwiththeSouth，withAuntChloe，myoldNegronurse，andwiththegreatill—keptgardeninthecentreofwhichstoodourhouse—awhitewashedstonehouseitwas，withwideverandas—shutoutfromthestreetbylinesoforange，fig，andmagnoliatrees。IknewIwasbornattheNorth，buthopednobodywouldfinditout。Ilookeduponthemisfortuneassomethingsoshroudedbytimeanddistancethatmaybenobodyrememberedit。InevertoldmyschoolmatesIwasaYankee，becausetheytalkedabouttheYankeesinsuchascornfulwayitmademefeelthatitwasquiteadisgracenottobeborninLouisiana，oratleastinoneoftheBorderStates。AndthisimpressionwasstrengthenedbyAuntChloe，whosaid，"darwasn’tnogentl’menintheNorfnoway，"andononeoccasionterrifiedmebeyondmeasurebydeclaringthat，"ifanyofdemmeanwhitestriedtogitherawayfrommarster，shewasjes’gwinetoknock’emondeheadwidagourd！"
Thewaythispoorcreature’seyesflashed，andthetragicairwithwhichshestruckatanimaginary"meanwhite，"areamongthemostvividthingsinmymemoryofthosedays。
Tobefrank，myideaoftheNorthwasaboutasaccurateasthatentertainedbythewell—educatedEnglishmenofthepresentdayconcerningAmerica。I
supposedtheinhabitantsweredividedintotwoclasses—Indiansandwhitepeople;thattheIndiansoccasionallydasheddownonNewYork，andscalpedanywomanorchild（givingthepreferencetochildren）whomtheycaughtlingeringintheoutskirtsafternightfall;thatthewhitemenwereeitherhuntersorschoolmasters，andthatitwaswinterprettymuchalltheyearround。TheprevailingstyleofarchitectureItooktobelog—cabins。
WiththisdelightfulpictureofNortherncivilizationinmyeye，thereaderwilleasilyunderstandmyterroratthebarethoughtofbeingtransportedtoRivermouthtoschool，andpossiblywillforgivemeforkickingoverlittleblackSam，andotherwisemisconductingmyself，whenmyfatherannouncedhisdeterminationtome。AsforkickinglittleSam—Ialwaysdidthat，moreorlessgently，whenanythingwentwrongwithme。
Myfatherwasgreatlyperplexedandtroubledbythisunusuallyviolentoutbreak，andespeciallybytherealconsternationwhichbesawwrittenineverylineofmycountenance。AslittleblackSampickedhimselfup，myfathertookmyhandinhisandledmethoughtfullytothelibrary。
Icanseehimnowasheleanedbackinthebamboochairandquestionedme。
HeappearedstrangelyagitatedonlearningthenatureofmyobjectionstogoingNorth，andproceededatoncetoknockdownallmypineloghouses，andscatteralltheIndiantribeswithwhichIhadpopulatedthegreaterportionoftheEasternandMiddleStates。
"Whoonearth，Tom，hasfilledyourbrainwithsuchsillystories？"askedmyfather，wipingthetearsfromhiseyes。
"AuntChloe，sir;shetoldme。"
"Andyoureallythoughtyourgrandfatherworeablanketembroideredwithbeads，andornamentedhislegginswiththescalpsofhisenemies？"
"Well，sir，Ididn’tthinkthatexactly。"
"Didn’tthinkthatexactly？Tom，youwillbethedeathofme。"
Hehidhisfaceinhishandkerchief，and，whenhelookedup，heseemedtohavebeensufferingacutely。Iwasdeeplymovedmyself，thoughIdidnotclearlyunderstandwhatIhadsaidordonetocausehimtofeelsobadly。
PerhapsIhadhurthisfeelingsbythinkingitevenpossiblethatGrandfatherNutterwasanIndianwarrior。
MyfatherdevotedthateveningandseveralsubsequenteveningstogivingmeaclearandsuccinctaccountofNewEngland;itsearlystruggles，itsprogress，anditspresentcondition—faintandconfusedglimmeringsofallwhichIhadobtainedatschool，wherehistoryhadneverbeenafavoritepursuitofmine。
IwasnolongerunwillingtogoNorth;onthecontrary，theproposedjourneytoanewworldfullofwonderskeptmeawakenights。Ipromisedmyselfallsortsoffunandadventures，thoughIwasnotentirelyatrestinmymindtouchingthesavages，andsecretlyresolvedtogoonboardtheship—thejourneywastobemadebysea—withacertainlittlebrasspistolinmytrousers—pocket，incaseofanydifficultywiththetribeswhenwelandedatBoston。
Icouldn’tgettheIndianoutofmyhead。OnlyashorttimepreviouslytheCherokees—orwasittheCamanches？—hadbeenremovedfromtheirhunting—groundsinArkansas;andinthewildsoftheSouthwesttheredmenwerestillasourceofterrortothebordersettlers。"TroublewiththeIndians"wasthestaplenewsfromFloridapublishedintheNewOrleanspapers。WewereconstantlyhearingoftravellersbeingattackedandmurderedintheinteriorofthatState。IfthesethingsweredoneinFlorida，whynotinMassachusetts？
YetlongbeforethesailingdayarrivedIwaseagertobeoff。MyimpatiencewasincreasedbythefactthatmyfatherhadpurchasedformeafinelittleMustangpony，20andshippedittoRivermouthafortnightprevioustothedatesetforourowndeparture—forbothmyparentsweretoaccompanyme。
Thepony（whichnearlykickedmeoutofbedonenightinadream），andmyfather’spromisethatheandmymotherwouldcometoRivermoutheveryothersummer，completelyresignedmetothesituation。Thepony’snamewasGitana，whichistheSpanishforgypsy;soIalwayscalledher—shewasaladypony—Gypsy。
Atlengththetimecametoleavethevine—coveredmansionamongtheorange—trees，tosaygoodbytolittleblackSam（Iamconvincedhewasheartilygladtogetridofme），andtopartwithsimpleAuntChloe，who，intheconfusionofhergrief，kissedaneyelashintomyeye，andthenburiedherfaceinthebrightbandanaturbanwhichshehadmountedthatmorninginhonorofourdeparture。
Ifancythemstandingbytheopengardengate;thetearsarerollingdownAuntChloe’scheeks;Sam’ssixfrontteethareglisteninglikepearls;I
wavemyhandtohimmanfully。thenIcallout"goodby"inamuffledvoicetoAuntChloe;theyandtheoldhomefadeaway。Iamnevertoseethemagain！
ChapterThreeOnBoardtheTyphoonIdonotremembermuchaboutthevoyagetoBoston，forafterthefirstfewhoursatseaIwasdreadfullyunwell。
Thenameofourshipwasthe"ANo。1，fast—sailingpacketTyphoon。"I
learnedafterwardsthatshesailedfastonlyinthenewspaperadvertisements。MyfatherownedonequarteroftheTyphoon，andthatiswhywehappenedtogoinher。Itriedtoguesswhichquarteroftheshipheowned，andfinallyconcludeditmustbethehindquarter—thecabin，inwhichwehadthecosiestofstate—rooms，withoneroundwindowintheroof，andtwoshelvesorboxesnailedupagainstthewalltosleepin。
Therewasagooddealofconfusionondeckwhileweweregettingunderway。
Thecaptainshoutedorders（towhichnobodyseemedtopayanyattention）
throughabatteredtintrumpet，andgrewsoredinthefacethatheremindedmeofascooped—outpumpkinwithalightedcandleinside。Hesworerightandleftatthesailorswithouttheslightestregardfortheirfeelings。Theydidn’tminditabit，however，butwentonsinging—
"Heaveho！
Withtherumbelow，AndhurrahfortheSpanishMainO！"
Iwillnotbepositiveabout"theSpanishMain，"butitwashurrahforsomethingO。Iconsideredthemveryjollyfellows，andsoindeedtheywere。
Oneweather—beatentarinparticularstruckmyfancy—athick—set，jovialman，aboutfiftyyearsofage，withtwinklingblueeyesandafringeofgrayhaircirclinghisheadlikeacrown。AshetookoffhistarpaulinI
observedthatthetopofhisheadwasquitesmoothandflat，asifsomebodyhadsatdownonhimwhenhewasveryyoung。
Therewassomethingnoticeablyheartyinthisman’sbronzedface，aheartinessthatseemedtoextendtohislooselyknottedneckerchief。Butwhatcompletelywonmygood—willwasapictureofenviablelovelinesspaintedonhisleftarm。Itwastheheadofawomanwiththebodyofafish。Herflowinghairwasoflividgreen，andsheheldapinkcombinonehand。Ineversawanythingsobeautiful。Ideterminedtoknowthatman。I
thinkIwouldhavegivenmybrasspistoltohavehadsuchapicturepaintedonmyarm。
WhileIstoodadmiringthisworkofart，afatwheezysteamtug，withthewordAJAXinstaringblacklettersonthepaddlebox，camepuffingupalongsidetheTyphoon。Itwasridiculouslysmallandconceited，comparedwithourstatelyship。Ispeculatedastowhatitwasgoingtodo。Inafewminuteswewerelashedtothelittlemonster，whichgaveasnortandashriek，andcommencedbackingusoutfromthelevee（wharf）withthegreatestease。
Ioncesawanantrunningawaywithapieceofcheeseeightortentimeslargerthanitself。Icouldnothelpthinkingofit，whenIfoundthechubby，smoky—nosedtug—boattowingtheTyphoonoutintotheMississippiRiver。
Inthemiddleofthestreamweswunground，thecurrentcaughtus，andawayweflewlikeagreatwingedbird。Onlyitdidn’tseemasifweweremoving。
Theshore，withthecountlesssteamboats，thetangledriggingoftheships，andthelonglinesofwarehouses，appearedtobeglidingawayfromus。
Itwasgrandsporttostandonthequarter—deckandwatchallthis。Beforelongtherewasnothingtobeseenonothersidebutstretchesoflowswampyland，coveredwithstuntedcypresstrees，fromwhichdroopeddelicatestreamersofSpanishmoss—afineplaceforalligatorsandCongosnakes。
Hereandtherewepassedayellowsand—bar，andhereandthereasnaglifteditsnoseoutofthewaterlikeashark。
"Thisisyourlastchancetoseethecity，Toseethecity，Tom，"saidmyfather，aswesweptroundabendoftheriver。
Iturnedandlooked。NewOrleanswasjustacolorlessmassofsomethinginthedistance，andthedomeoftheSt。CharlesHotel，uponwhichthesunshimmeredforamoment，wasnobiggerthanthetopofoldAuntChloe’sthimble。
WhatdoIremembernext？ThegrayskyandthefretfulbluewatersoftheGulf。Thesteam—tughadlongsinceletslipherhawsersandgonepantingawaywithaderisivescream，asmuchastosay，"I’vedonemyduty，nowlookoutforyourself，oldTyphoon！"
Theshipseemedquiteproudofbeinglefttotakecareofitself，and，withitshugewhitesailsbulgedout，struttedofflikeavainturkey。Ihadbeenstandingbymyfathernearthewheel—houseallthiswhile，observingthingswiththatnicetyofperceptionwhichbelongsonlytochildren;butnowthedewbeganfalling，andwewentbelowtohavesupper。
Thefreshfruitandmilk，andtheslicesofcoldchicken，lookedverynice;
yetsomehowIhadnoappetiteTherewasageneralsmelloftarabouteverything。Thentheshipgavesuddenlurchesthatmadeitamatterofuncertaintywhetheronewasgoingtoputhisforktohismouthorintohiseye。Thetumblersandwineglasses，stuckinarackoverthetable，keptclinkingandclinking;andthecabinlamp，suspendedbyfourgiltchainsfromtheceiling，swayedtoandfrocrazily。Nowthefloorseemedtorise，andnowitseemedtosinkunderone’sfeetlikeafeather—bed。
Therewerenotmorethanadozenpassengersonboard，includingourselves;
andallofthese，exceptingabald—headedoldgentleman—aretiredsea—captain—disappearedintotheirstateroomsatanearlyhouroftheevening。
Aftersupperwasclearedaway，myfatherandtheelderlygentleman，whosenamewasCaptainTruck，playedatcheckers;andIamusedmyselfforawhilebywatchingthetroubletheyhadinkeepingthemenintheproperplaces。
justatthemostexcitingpointofthegame，theshipwouldcareen，anddownwouldgothewhitecheckerspell—mellamongtheblack。Thenmyfatherlaughed，butCaptainTruckwouldgrowveryangry，andvowthathewouldhavewonthegameinamoveortwomore，iftheconfoundedoldchicken—coop—that’swhathecalledtheship—hadn’tlurched。
"I—IthinkIwillgotobednow，please，"Isaid，layingmybandonmyfather’sknee，andfeelingexceedinglyqueer。
Itwashightime，fortheTyphoonwasplungingaboutinthemostalarmingfashion。Iwasspeedilytuckedawayintheupperberth，whereIfeltatriflemoreeasyatfirst。Myclotheswereplacedonanarrowshelfatmyfeet，anditwasagreatcomforttometoknowthatmypistolwassohandy，forImadenodoubtweshouldfallinwithPiratesbeforemanyhours。ThisisthelastthingIrememberwithanydistinctness。Atmidnight，asIwasafterwardstold，wewerestruckbyagalewhichneverleftusuntilwecameinsightoftheMassachusettscoast。
FordaysanddaysIhadnosensibleideaofwhatwasgoingonaroundme。
Thatwewerebeinghurledsomewhereupside—down，andthatIdidn’tlikeit，wasaboutallIknew。Ihave，indeed，avagueimpressionthatmyfatherusedtoclimbuptotheberthandcallmehis"AncientMariner，"biddingmecheerup。ButtheAncientMarinerwasfarfromcheeringup，ifIrecollectrightly;andIdon’tbelievethatvenerablenavigatorwouldhavecaredmuchifithadbeenannouncedtohim，throughaspeaking—trumpet，that"alow，black，suspiciouscraft，withrakingmasts，wasrapidlybearingdownuponus！"
Infact，onemorning，Ithoughtthatsuchwasthecase，forbang！wentthebigcannonIhadnoticedinthebowoftheshipwhenwecameonboard，andwhichhadsuggestedtometheideaofPirates。Bang！wentthegunagaininafewseconds。Imadeafeebleefforttogetatmytrousers—pocket！ButtheTyphoonwasonlysalutingCapeCod—thefirstlandsightedbyvesselsapproachingthecoastfromasoutherlydirection。
Thevesselhadceasedtoroll，andmysea—sicknesspassedawayasrapidlyasitcame。Iwasallrightnow，"onlyalittleshakyinmytimbersandalittleblueaboutthegills，"asCaptainTruckremarkedtomymother，who，likemyself，hadbeenconfinedtothestate—roomduringthepassage。
AtCapeCodthewindpartedcompanywithuswithoutsayingasmuchas"Excuseme";sowewerenearlytwodaysinmakingtherunwhichinfavorableweatherisusuallyaccomplishedinsevenhours。That’swhatthepilotsaid。
Iwasabletogoabouttheshipnow，andIlostnotimeincultivatingtheacquaintanceofthesailorwiththegreen—hairedladyonhisarm。Ifoundhimintheforecastle—asortofcellarinthefrontpartofthevessel。Hewasanagreeablesailor，asIhadexpected，andwebecamethebestoffriendsinfiveminutes。
Hehadbeenallovertheworldtwoorthreetimes，andknewnoendofstories。Accordingtohisownaccount，hemusthavebeenshipwreckedatleasttwiceayeareversincehisbirth。HehadservedunderDecaturwhenthatgallantofficerpepperedtheAlgerinesandmadethempromisenottoselltheirprisonersofwarintoslavery;hehadworkedagunatthebombardmentofVeraCruzintheMexicanWar，andhehadbeenonAlexanderSelkirk’sIslandmorethanonce。Therewereveryfewthingshehadn’tdoneinaseafaringway。
"Isuppose，sir，"Iremarked，"thatyournameisn’tTyphoon？"
"Why，Lordloveye，lad，myname’sBenjaminWatson，ofNantucket。ButI’matrueblueTyphooner，"headded，whichincreasedmyrespectforhim;Idon’tknowwhy，andIdidn’tknowthenwhetherTyphoonwasthenameofavegetableoraprofession。
Notwishingtobeoutdoneinfrankness，IdisclosedtohimthatmynamewasTomBailey，uponwhichhesaidbewasverygladtohearit。
Whenwegotmoreintimate，IdiscoveredthatSailorBen，ashewishedmetocallhim，wasaperfectwalkingpicturebook。Hehadtwoanchors，astar，andafrigateinfullsailonhisrightarm;apairoflovelybluehandsclaspedonhisbreast，andI’venodoubtthatotherpartsofhisbodywereillustratedinthesameagreeablemanner。Iimaginehewasfondofdrawings，andtookthismeansofgratifyinghisartistictaste。Itwascertainlyveryingeniousandconvenient。Aportfoliomightbemisplaced，ordroppedoverboard;butSailorBenbadhispictureswhereverhewent，justasthateminentpersoninthepoem，"Withringsonherfingersandbellsonhertoes"—
wasaccompaniedbymusiconalloccasions。
Thetwobandsonhisbreast，heinformedme，wereatributetothememoryofadeadmessmatefromwhomhehadpartedyearsago—andsurelyamoretouchingtributewasneverengravedonatombstone。ThiscausedmetothinkofmypartingwitholdAuntChloe，andItoldhimIshouldtakeitasagreatfavorindeedifhewouldpaintapinkhandandablackhandonmychest。Hesaidthecolorswereprickedintotheskinwithneedles，andthattheoperationwassomewhatpainful。Iassuredhim，inanoff—handmanner，thatIdidn’tmindpain，andbeggedhimtosettoworkatonce。
Thesimple—heartedfellow，whowasprobablynotalittlevainofhisskill，tookmeintotheforecastle，andwasonthepointofcomplyingwithmyrequest，whenmyfatherhappenedtoownthegangway—acircumstancethatratherinterferedwiththedecorativeart。
Ididn’thaveanotheropportunityofconferringalonewithSailorBen，forthenextmorning，brightandearly，wecameinsightofthecupolaoftheBostonStateHouse。
ChapterFourRivermouthItwasabeautifulMaymorningwhentheTyphoonhauledupatLongWharf。
WhethertheIndianswerenotearlyrisers，orwhethertheywereawayjustthenonawar—path，Icouldn’tdetermine;buttheydidnotappearinanygreatforce—infact，didnotappearatall。
IntheremarkablegeographywhichIneverhurtmyselfwithstudyingatNewOrleans，wasapicturerepresentingthelandingofthePilgrimFathersatPlymouth。ThePilgrimFathers，inratheroddhatsandcoats，areseenapproachingthesavages;thesavages，innocoatsorhatstospeakof，areevidentlyundecidedwhethertoshakehandswiththePilgrimFathersortomakeonegrandrushandscalptheentireparty。Nowthisscenehadsostampeditselfonmymind，that，inspiteofallmyfatherhadsaid，Iwaspreparedforsomesuchgreetingfromtheaborigines。Nevertheless，Iwasnotsorrytohavemyexpectationsunfulfilled。Bytheway，speakingofthePilgrimFathers，IoftenusedtowonderwhytherewasnomentionmadeofthePilgrimMothers。
Whileourtrunkswerebeinghoistedfromtheholdoftheship，Imountedontheroofofthecabin，andtookacriticalviewofBoston。Aswecameuptheharbor，Ihadnoticedthatthehouseswerehuddledtogetheronanimmensebill，atthetopofwhichwasalargebuilding，theStateHouse，toweringproudlyabovetherest，likeanamiablemother—hensurroundedbyherbroodofmany—coloredchickens。Acloserinspectiondidnotimpressmeveryfavorably。ThecitywasnotnearlysoimposingasNewOrleans，whichstretchesoutformilesandmiles，intheshapeofacrescent，alongthebanksofthemajesticriver。
Isoongrewtiredoflookingatthemassesofhouses，risingaboveoneanotherinirregulartiers，andwasgladmyfatherdidnotproposetoremainlonginBoston。AsIleanedovertherailinthismood，ameasly—lookinglittleboywithnoshoessaidthatifIwouldcomedownonthewharfhe’dlickmefortwocents—notanexorbitantprice。ButIdidn’tgodown。Iclimbedintotherigging，andstaredathim。This，asIwasrejoicedtoobserve，soexasperatedhimthathestoodonhisheadonapileofboards，inordertopacifyhimself。
ThefirsttrainforRivermouthleftatnoon。AfteralatebreakfastonboardtheTyphoon，ourtrunkswerepileduponabaggage—wagon，andourselvesstowedawayinacoach，whichmusthaveturnedatleastonehundredcornersbeforeitsetusdownattherailwaystation。
Inlesstimethanittakestotellit，wewereshootingacrossthecountryatafearfulrate—nowclatteringoverabridge，nowscreamingthroughatunnel;herewecutaflourishingvillageintwo，likeaknife，andherewedivedintotheshadowofapineforest。Sometimesweglidedalongtheedgeoftheocean，andcouldseethesailsofshipstwinklinglikebitsofsilveragainstthehorizon;sometimeswedashedacrossrockypasture4andswherestupid—eyedcattlewereloafing。Itwasfuntoscarelazy—lookingcowsthatlayroundingroupsunderthenewlybuddedtreesneartherailroadtrack。
Wedidnotpauseatanyofthelittlebrownstationsontheroute（theylookedjustlikeovergrownblack—walnutclocks），thoughateveryoneofthemamanpoppedoutasifhewereworkedbymachinery，andwavedaredflag，andappearedasthoughhewouldliketohaveusstop。Butwewereanexpresstrain，andmadenostoppages，exceptingonceortwicetogivetheengineadrink。
Itisstrangehowthememoryclingstosomethings。ItisovertwentyyearssinceItookthatfirstridetoRivermouth，andyet，oddlyenough，I
rememberasifitwereyesterday，that，aswepassedslowlythroughthevillageofHampton，wesawtwoboysfightingbehindaredbarn。Therewasalsoashaggyyellowdog，wholookedasifhehadcommencedtounravel，barkinghimselfallupintoaknotwithexcitement。Wehadonlyahurriedglimpseofthebattle—longenough，however，toseethatthecombatantswereequallymatchedandverymuchinearnest。IamashamedtosayhowmanytimessinceIhavespeculatedastowhichboygotlicked。Maybeboththesmallrascalsaredeadnow（notinconsequenceoftheset—to，letushope），ormaybetheyaremarried，andhavepugnaciousurchinsoftheirown;yettothisdayIsometimesfindmyselfwonderinghowthatfightturnedout。
Wehadbeenridingperhapstwohoursandahalf，whenweshotbyatallfactorywithachimneyresemblingachurchsteeple;thenthelocomotivegaveascream，theengineerranghisbell，andweplungedintothetwilightofalongwoodenbuilding，openatbothends。Herewestopped，andtheconductor，thrustinghisheadinatthecardoor，criedout，"PassengersforRivermouth！"
Atlastwehadreachedourjourney’send。Ontheplatformmyfathershookhandswithastraight，briskoldgentlemanwhosefacewasverysereneandrosy。Hehadonawhitehatandalongswallow—tailedcoat，thecollarofwhichcameclearupabovehiscars。Hedidn’tlookunlikeaPilgrimFather。
This，ofcourse，wasGrandfatherNutter，atwhosehouseIwasborn。Mymotherkissedhimagreatmanytimes;andIwasgladtoseehimmyself，thoughInaturallydidnotfeelveryintimatewithapersonwhomIhadnotseensinceIwaseighteenmonthsold。
Whileweweregettingintothedouble—seatedwagonwhichGrandfatherNutterhadprovided，Itooktheopportunityofaskingafterthehealthofthepony。Theponyhadarrivedallrighttendaysbefore，andwasinthestableathome，quiteanxioustoseeme。20
Aswedrovethroughthequietoldtown，IthoughtRivermouththeprettiestplaceintheworld;andIthinksostill。Thestreetsarelongandwide，shadedbygiganticAmericanelms，whosedroopingbranches，interlacinghereandthere，spantheavenueswitharchesgracefulenoughtobethehandiworkoffairies。Manyofthehouseshavesmallflower—gardensinfront，gayintheseasonwithchina—asters，andaresubstantiallybuilt，withmassivechimney—stacksandprotrudingeaves。Abeautifulrivergoesripplingbythetown，and，afterturningandtwistingamongalotoftinyislands，emptiesitselfintothesea。20
Theharborissofinethatthelargestshipscansaildirectlyuptothewharvesanddropanchor。Onlytheydon’t。Yearsagoitwasafamousseaport。PrincelyfortunesweremadeintheWestIndiatrade;andin1812，whenwewereatwarwithGreatBritain，anynumberofprivateerswerefittedoutatRivermouthtopreyuponthemerchantvesselsoftheenemy。
Certainpeoplegrewsuddenlyandmysteriouslyrich。Agreatmanyof"thefirstfamilies"oftodaydonotcaretotracetheirpedigreebacktothetimewhentheirgrandsiresownedsharesintheMatildaJane，twenty—fourguns。Well，well！
FewshipscometoRivermouthnow。Commercedriftedintootherports。Thephantomfleetsailedoffoneday，andnevercamebackagain。Thecrazyoldwarehousesareempty;andbarnaclesandeel—grassclingtothepilesofthecrumblingwharves，wherethesunshinelieslovingly，bringingoutthefaintspicyodorthathauntstheplace—theghostoftheolddeadWestIndiatrade！
Duringourridefromthestation，Iwasstruck，ofcourse，onlybythegeneralneatnessofthehousesandthebeautyoftheelm—treesliningthestreets。IdescribeRivermouthnowasIcametoknowitafterwards。
Rivermouthisaveryancienttown。InmydaythereexistedatraditionamongtheboysthatitwashereChristopherColumbusmadehisfirstlandingonthiscontinent。IrememberhavingtheexactspotpointedouttomebyPepperWhitcomb！Onethingiscertain，CaptainJohnSmith，whoafterwards，accordingtothelegend，marriedPocahontas—wherebyhegotPowhatanforafather—in—law—exploredtheriverin1614，andwasmuchcharmedbythebeautyofRivermouth，whichatthattimewascoveredwithwildstrawberry—vines。
Rivermouthfiguresprominentlyinallthecolonialhistories。Everyotherhouseintheplacehasitstraditionmoreorlessgrimandentertaining。Ifghostscouldflourishanywhere，therearecertainstreetsinRivermouththatwouldbefullofthem。Idon’tknowofatownwithsomanyoldhouses。
Letuslinger，foramoment，infrontoftheonewhichtheOldestInhabitantisalwayssuretopointouttothecuriousstranger。
Itisasquarewoodenedifice，withgambrelroofanddeep—setwindow—frames。
Overthewindowsanddoorsthereusedtobeheavycarvings—oak—leavesandacorns，andangels’headswithwingsspreadingfromtheears，oddlyjumbledtogether;buttheseornamentsandotheroutwardsignsofgrandeurhavelongsincedisappeared。Apeculiarinterestattachesitselftothishouse，notbecauseofitsage，forithasnotbeenstandingquiteacentury;noronaccountofitsarchitecture，whichisnotstriking—butbecauseoftheillustriousmenwhoatvariousperiodshaveoccupieditsspaciouschambers。
In1770itwasanaristocratichotel。Attheleftsideoftheentrancestoodahighpost，fromwhichswungthesignoftheEarlofHalifax。Thelandlordwasastanchloyalist—thatistosay，bebelievedintheking，andwhentheovertaxedcoloniesdeterminedtothrowofftheBritishyoke，theadherentstotheCrownheldprivatemeetingsinoneofthebackroomsofthetavern。
Thisirritatedtherebels，astheywerecalled;andonenighttheymadeanattackontheEarlofHalifax，toredownthesignboard，brokeinthewindow—sashes，andgavethelandlordhardlytimetomakehimselfinvisibleoverafenceintherear。
Forseveralmonthstheshatteredtavernremaineddeserted。Atlasttheexiledinnkeeper，onpromisingtodobetter，wasallowedtoreturn;anewsign，bearingthenameofWilliamPitt，thefriendofAmerica，swungproudlyfromthedoor—post，andthepatriotswereappeased。Hereitwasthatthemail—coachfromBostontwiceaweek，formanyayear，setdownitsloadoftravelersandgossip。Forsomeofthedetailsinthissketch，Iamindebtedtoarecentlypublishedchronicleofthosetimes。
Itis1782。TheFrenchfleetislyingintheharborofRivermouth，andeightoftheprincipalofficers，inwhiteuniformstrimmedwithgoldlace，havetakenuptheirquartersatthesignoftheWilliamPitt。Whoisthisyoungandhandsomeofficernowenteringthedoorofthetavern？ItisnolessapersonagethantheMarquisLafayette，whohascomeallthewayfromProvidencetovisittheFrenchgentlemenboardingthere。Whatagallant—lookingcavalierheis，withhisquickeyesandcoalblackhair！
Fortyyearslaterhevisitedthespotagain;hislocksweregrayandhisstepwasfeeble，buthishearthelditsyoungloveforLiberty。
Whoisthisfinelydressedtraveleralightingfromhiscoachand—four，attendedbyservantsinlivery？Doyouknowthatsoundingname，writteninbigvalorouslettersontheDeclarationofIndependence—writtenasifbythehandofagiant？Canyounotseeitnow？JOHNHANCOCK。Thisishe。
Threeyoungmen，withtheirvalet，arestandingonthedoorstepoftheWilliamPitt，bowingpolitely，andinquiringinthemostcourteoustermsintheworldiftheycanbeaccommodated。ItisthetimeoftheFrenchRevolution，andthesearethreesonsoftheDukeofOrleans—LouisPhilippeandhistwobrothers。LouisPhilippeneverforgothisvisittoRivermouth。
Yearsafterwards，whenhewasseatedonthethroneofFrance，heaskedanAmericanlady，whochancedtobeathiscourt，ifthepleasantoldmansionwerestillstanding。
ButagreaterandabettermanthanthekingoftheFrenchhashonoredthisroof。Here，in1789，cameGeorgeWashington，thePresidentoftheUnitedStates，topayhisfinalcomplimentaryvisittotheStatedignitaries。Thewainscotedchamberwhereheslept，andthedining—hallwhereheentertainedhisguests，haveacertaindignityandsanctitywhicheventhepresentIrishtenantscannotwhollydestroy。
DuringtheperiodofmyreignatRivermouth，anancientlady，DameJocelynbyname，livedinoneoftheupperroomsofthisnotablebuilding。ShewasadashingyoungbelleatthetimeofWashington’sfirstvisittothetown，andmusthavebeenexceedinglycoquettishandpretty，judgingfromacertainportraitonivorystillinthepossessionofthefamily。AccordingtoDameJocelyn，GeorgeWashingtonflirtedwithherjustalittlebit—inwhatastatelyandhighlyfinishedmannercanbeimagined。
Therewasamirrorwithadeepfiligreedframehangingoverthemantel—pieceinthisroom。Theglasswascrackedandthequicksilverrubbedoffordiscoloredinmanyplaces。Whenitreflectedyourfaceyouhadthesingularpleasureofnotrecognizingyourself。Itgaveyourfeaturestheappearanceofhavingbeenrunthroughamince—meatmachine。Butwhatrenderedthelooking—glassathingofenchantmenttomewasafadedgreenfeather，tippedwithscarlet，whichdroopedfromthetopofthetarnishedgiltmouldings。ThisfeatherWashingtontookfromtheplumeofhisthree—corneredhat，andpresentedwithhisownhandtotheworshipfulMistressJocelynthedayheleftRivermouthforever。IwishIcoulddescribethemincinggenteelair，andtheill—concealedself—complacency，withwhichthedearoldladyrelatedtheincident。
ManyaSaturdayafternoonhaveIclimbedupthericketystaircasetothatdingyroom，whichalwayshadaflavorofsnuffaboutit，tositonastiff—backedchairandlistenforhourstogethertoDameJocelyn’sstoriesoftheoldentime。Howshewouldprattle！Shewasbedridden—poorcreature！—andhadnotbeenoutofthechamberforfourteenyears。MeanwhiletheworldhadshotaheadofDameJocelyn。Thechangesthathadtakenplaceunderherverynosewereunknowntothisfaded，crooningoldgentlewoman，whomtheeighteenthcenturyhadneglectedtotakeawaywiththerestofitsoddtraps。Shehadnopatiencewithnewfanglednotions。Theoldwaysandtheoldtimesweregoodenoughforher。Shehadneverseenasteamengine，thoughshehadheard"thedrattedthing"screechinthedistance。Inherday，whengentlefolktraveled，theywentintheirowncoaches。Shedidn’tseehowrespectablepeoplecouldbringthemselvesdownto"ridinginacarwithrag—tagandbobtailandLord—knows—who。"PooroldaristocratThelandlordchargedhernorentfortheroom，andtheneighborstookturnsinsupplyingherwithmeals。Towardsthecloseofherlife—shelivedtobeninety—nine—shegrewveryfretfulandcapriciousaboutherfood。Ifshedidn’tchancetofancywhatwassenther，shehadnohesitationinsendingitbacktothegiverwith"MissJocelyn’srespectfulcompliments。"
ButIhavebeengossipingtoolong—andyetnottoolongifIhaveimpresseduponthereaderanideaofwhatarusty，delightfuloldtownitwastowhichIhadcometospendthenextthreeorfouryearsofmyboyhood。
Adriveoftwentyminutesfromthestationbroughtustothedoor—stepofGrandfatherNutter’shouse。Whatkindofhouseitwas，andwhatsortofpeoplelivedinit，shallbetoldinanotherchapter。
ChapterFiveTheNutterHouseandtheNutterFamilyTheNutterHouse—allthemoreprominentdwellingsinRivermoutharenamedaftersomebody;forinstance，thereistheWalfordHouse，theVennerHouse，theTrefethenHouse，etc。，thoughitbynomeansfollowsthattheyareinhabitedbythepeoplewhosenamestheybear—theNutterHouse，toresume，hasbeeninourfamilynearlyahundredyears，andisanhonortothebuilder（anancestorofours，Ibelieve），supposingdurabilitytobeamerit。Ifourancestorwasacarpenter，heknewhistrade。IwishIknewmineaswell。Suchtimberandsuchworkmanshipdon’toftencometogetherinhousesbuiltnowadays。
Imaginealow—studdedstructure，withawidehallrunningthroughthemiddle。Atyourrightband，asyouenter，standsatallblackmahoganyclock，lookinglikeanEgyptianmummysetuponend。Oneachsideofthehallaredoors（whoseknobs，itmustbeconfessed，donotturnveryeasily），openingintolargeroomswainscotedandrichinwood—carvingsaboutthemantel—piecesandcornices。Thewallsarecoveredwithpicturedpaper，representinglandscapesandsea—views。Intheparlor，forexample，thisenliveningfigureisrepeatedallovertheroom。AgroupofEnglishpeasants，wearingItalianhats，aredancingonalawnthatabruptlyresolvesitselfintoasea—beach，uponwhichstandsaflabbyfisherman（nationalityunknown），quietlyhaulinginwhatappearstobeasmallwhale，andtotallyregardlessofthedreadfulnavalcombatgoingonjustbeyondtheendofhisfishing—rod。Ontheothersideoftheshipsisthemain—landagain，withthesamepeasantsdancing。Ourancestorswereveryworthypeople，buttheirwall—paperswereabominable。
Thereareneithergratesnorstovesinthesequaintchambers，butsplendidopenchimney—places，withroomenoughforthecorpulentback—logtoturnovercomfortablyonthepolishedandirons。Awidestaircaseleadsfromthehalltothesecondstory，whichisarrangedmuchlikethefirst。Overthisisthegarret。Ineedn’ttellaNewEnglandboywhat—amuseumofcuriositiesisthegarretofawell—regulatedNewEnglandhouseoffiftyorsixtyyears’standing。Heremeettogether，asifbysomepreconcertedarrangement，allthebroken—downchairsofthehousehold，allthespavinedtables，alltheseedyhats，alltheintoxicated—lookingboots，allthesplitwalking—sticksthathaveretiredfrombusiness，"wearywiththemarchoflife。"Thepots，thepans，thetrunks，thebottles—whomayhopetomakeaninventoryofthenumberlessoddsandendscollectedinthisbewilderinglumber—room？Butwhataplaceitistositofanafternoonwiththerainpatteringontheroof！20WhataplaceinwhichtoreadGulliver’sTravels，orthefamousadventuresofRinaldoRinaldini！
Mygrandfather’shousestoodalittlebackfromthemainstreet，intheshadowoftwohandsomeelms，whoseovergrownboughswoulddashthemselvesagainstthegableswheneverthewindblewhard。Intherearwasapleasantgarden，coveringperhapsaquarterofanacre，fullofplum—treesandgooseberrybushes。Thesetreeswereoldsettlers，andarealldeadnow，exceptingone，whichbearsapurpleplumasbigasanegg。Thistree，asI
remark，isstillstanding，andamorebeautifultreetotumbleoutofnevergrewanywhere。Inthenorthwesterncomerofthegardenwerethestablesandcarriage—houseopeninguponanarrowlane。YoumayimaginethatImadeanearlyvisittothatlocalitytoinspectGypsy。Indeed，Ipaidheravisiteveryhalf—hourduringthefirstdayofmyarrival。Atthetwenty—fourthvisitshetrodonmyfootratherheavily，asareminder，probably，thatI
waswearingoutmywelcome。Shewasaknowinglittlepony，thatGypsy，andIshallhavemuchtosayofherinthecourseofthesepages。
Gypsy’squarterswereallthatcouldbewished，butnothingamongmynewsurroundingsgavememoresatisfactionthanthecoseysleepingapartmentthathadbeenpreparedformyself。Itwasthehallroomoverthefrontdoor。
Ihadneverhadachamberalltomyselfbefore，andthisone，abouttwicethesizeofourstate—roomonboardtheTyphoon，wasamarvelofneatnessandcomfort。Prettychintzcurtainshungatthewindow，andapatchquiltofmorecolorsthanwereinJoseph’scoatcoveredthelittletruckle—bed。
Thepatternofthewall—paperleftnothingtobedesiredinthatline。Onagraybackgroundweresmallbunchesofleaves，unlikeanythatevergrewinthisworld;andoneveryotherbunchperchedayellow—bird，pittedwithcrimsonspots，asifithadjustrecoveredfromasevereattackofthesmall—pox。Thatnosuchbirdeverexisteddidnotdetractfrommyadmirationofeachone。Thereweretwohundredandsixty—eightofthesebirdsinall，notcountingthosesplitintwowherethepaperwasbadlyjoined。IcountedthemoncewhenIwaslaidupwithafineblackeye，andfallingasleepimmediatelydreamedthatthewholeflocksuddenlytookwingandflewoutofthewindow。FromthattimeIwasneverabletoregardthemasmerelyinanimateobjects。
Awash—standinthecorner，achestofcarvedmahoganydrawers，alooking—glassinafiligreedframe，andahigh—backedchairstuddedwithbrassnailslikeacoffin，constitutedthefurniture。Overtheheadofthebedweretwooakshelves，holdingperhapsadozenbooks—amongwhichwereTheodore，orThePeruvians;RobinsonCrusoe;anoddvolumeofTristramShandy;Baxter’sSaints’Rest，andafineEnglisheditionoftheArabianNights，withsixhundredwood—cutsbyHarvey。
ShallIeverforgetthehourwhenIfirstoverhauledthesebooks？IdonotalludeespeciallytoBaxter’sSaints’Rest，whichisfarfrombeingalivelyworkfortheyoung，buttotheArabianNights，andparticularlyRobinsonCrusoe。Thethrillthatranintomyfingers’endsthenhasnotrunoutyet。ManyatimedidIstealuptothisnestofaroom，and，takingthedog’s—earedvolumefromitsshelf，glideoffintoanenchantedrealm，wheretherewerenolessonstogetandnoboystosmashmykite。InalidlesstrunkinthegarretIsubsequentlyunearthedanothermotleycollectionofnovelsandromances，embracingtheadventuresofBaronTrenck，JackSheppard，DonQuixote，GilBlas，andCharlotteTemple—allofwhichIfeduponlikeabookworm。
Inevercomeacrossacopyofanyofthoseworkswithoutfeelingacertaintendernessfortheyellow—hairedlittlerascalwhousedtoleanabovethemagicpageshourafterhour，religiouslybelievingeverywordheread，andnomoredoubtingtherealityofSindbadtheSailor，ortheKnightoftheSorrowfulCountenance，thanhedidtheexistenceofhisowngrandfather。
Againstthewallatthefootofthebedhungasingle—barrelshot—gun—placedtherebyGrandfatherNutter，whoknewwhataboyloved，ifeveragrandfatherdid。Asthetriggerofthegunhadbeenaccidentallytwistedoff，itwasnot，perhaps，themostdangerousweaponthatcouldbeplacedinthehandsofyouth。Inthismaimedconditionits"bumpofdestructiveness"
wasmuchlessthanthatofmysmallbrasspocket—pistol，whichIatonceproceededtosuspendfromoneofthenailssupportingthefowling—piece，formyvagariesconcerningtheredmanhadbeenentirelydispelled。
HavingintroducedthereadertotheNutterHouse，apresentationtotheNutterfamilynaturallyfollows。Thefamilyconsistedofmygrandfather;
hissister，MissAbigailNutter;andKittyCollins，themaid—of—all—work。
GrandfatherNutterwasahale，cheeryoldgentleman，asstraightandasbaldasanarrow。Hehadbeenasailorinearlylife;thatistosay，attheageoftenyearshefledfromthemultiplication—table，andranawaytosea。A
singlevoyagesatisfiedhim。Thereneverwasbutoneofourfamilywhodidn’trunawaytosea，andthisonediedathisbirth。Mygrandfatherhadalsobeenasoldier—acaptainofmilitiain1812。IfIowetheBritishnationanything，IowethankstothatparticularBritishsoldierwhoputamusket—ballintothefleshypartofCaptainNutter’sleg，causingthatnoblewarrioraslightpermanentlimp，butoffsettingtheinjurybyfurnishinghimwiththematerialforastorywhichtheoldgentlemanwasneverwearyoftellingandIneverwearyoflisteningto。Thestory，inbrief，wasasfollows。
Atthebreakingoutofthewar，anEnglishfrigatelayforseveraldaysoffthecoastnearRivermouth。Astrongfortdefendedtheharbor，andaregimentofminute—men，scatteredatvariouspointsalong—shore，stoodreadytorepeltheboats，shouldtheenemytrytoeffectalanding。CaptainNutterhadchargeofaslightearthworkjustoutsidethemouthoftheriver。Lateonethicknightthesoundofoarswasheard;thesentineltriedtofireoffhisgunathalf—cock，andcouldn’t，whenCaptainNuttersprungupontheparapetinthepitchdarkness，andshouted，"Boatahoyl"A
musket—shotimmediatelyembeddeditselfinthecalfofhisleg。TheCaptaintumbledintothefortandtheboat，whichhadprobablycomeinsearchofwater，pulledbacktothefrigate。
Thiswasmygrandfather’sonlyexploitduringthewar。Thathispromptandboldconductwasinstrumentalinteachingtheenemythehopelessnessofattemptingtoconquersuchapeoplewasamongthefirmbeliefsofmyboyhood。
AtthetimeIcametoRivermouthmygrandfatherhadretiredfromactivepursuits，andwaslivingateaseonhismoney，investedprincipallyinshipping。Hebadbeenawidowermanyyears;amaidensister，theaforesaidMissAbigail，managinghishousehold。MissAbigailalsomanagedherbrother，andherbrother’sservant，andthevisitoratherbrother’sgate—notinatyrannicalspirit，butfromaphilanthropicdesiretobeusefultoeverybody。Inpersonshewastallandangular;shehadagraycomplexion，grayeyes，grayeyebrows，andgenerallyworeagraydress。Herstrongestweakpointwasabeliefintheefficacyof"hot—drops"asacureforallknowndiseases。
Iftherewereevertwopeoplewhoseemedtodislikeeachother，MissAbigailandKittyCollinswerethosepeople。Ifevertwopeoplereallylovedeachother，MissAbigailandKittyCollinswerethosepeoplealso。Theywerealwayseitherskirmishingorhavingacupoftealovinglytogether。
MissAbigailwasveryfondofme，andsowasKitty;andinthecourseoftheirdisagreementseachletmeintotheprivatehistoryoftheother。
AccordingtoKitty，itwasnotoriginallymygrandfather’sintentiontohaveMissAbigailattheheadofhisdomesticestablishment。Shehadswoopeddownonhim（Kitty’sownwords），withaband—boxinonehandandafadedbluecottonumbrella，stillinexistence，intheother。Cladinthissingulargarb—IdonotrememberthatKittyalludedto—anyadditionalpeculiarityofdress—MissAbigailbadmadeherappearanceatthedooroftheNutterHouseonthemorningofmygrandmother’sfuneral。ThesmallamountofbaggagewhichtheladybroughtwithherwouldhaveledthesuperficialobservertoinferthatMissAbigail’svisitwaslimitedtoafewdays。Irunaheadofmystoryinsayingsheremainedseventeenyears！
Howmuchlongershewouldhaveremainedcanneverbedefinitelyknownnow，asshediedattheexpirationofthatperiod。
Whetherornotmygrandfatherwasquitepleasedbythisunlooked—foradditiontohisfamilyisaproblem。HewasverykindalwaystoMissAbigail，andseldomopposedher;thoughIthinkshemusthavetriedhispatiencesometimes，especiallywhensheinterferedwithKitty。
KittyCollins，orMrs。Catherine，asshepreferredtobecalled，wasdescendedinadirectlinefromanextensivefamilyofkingswhoformerlyruledoverIreland。Inconsequenceofvariouscalamities，amongwhichthefailureofthepotato—cropmaybementioned，MissKittyCollins，incompanywithseveralhundredofhercountrymenandcountrywomen—alsodescendedfromkings—cameovertoAmericainanemigrantship，intheyeareighteenhundredandsomething。
Idon’tknowwhatfreakoffortunecausedtheroyalexiletoturnupatRivermouth;butturnupshedid，afewmonthsafterarrivinginthiscountry，andwashiredbymygrandmothertodo"generalhousework"forthesumoffourshillingsandsix—penceaweek。
Kittyhadbeenlivingaboutsevenyearsinmygrandfather’sfamilywhensheunburdenedherheartofasecretwhichhadbeenweighinguponitallthattime。Itmaybesaidofpeople，asitissaidofnations，"Happyaretheythathavenohistory。"Kittyhadahistory，andapatheticone，Ithink。
OnboardtheemigrantshipthatbroughthertoAmerica，shebecameacquaintedwithasailor，who，beingtouchedbyKitty’sforlorncondition，wasverygoodtoher。Longbeforetheendofthevoyage，whichhadbeentediousandperilous，shewasheartbrokenatthethoughtofseparatingfromherkindlyprotector;buttheywerenottopartjustyet，forthesailorreturnedKitty’saffection，andthetwoweremarriedontheirarrivalatport。Kitty’shusband—shewouldnevermentionhisname，butkeptitlockedinherbosomlikesomepreciousrelic—hadaconsiderablesumofmoneywhenthecrewwerepaidoff;andtheyoungcouple—forKittywasyoungthen—livedveryhappilyinalodging—houseonSouthStreet，nearthedocks。ThiswasinNewYork。
Thedaysflewbylikehours，andthestockinginwhichthelittlebridekeptthefundsshrunkandshrunk，untilatlasttherewereonlythreeorfourdollarsleftinthetoeofit。ThenKittywastroubled;forsheknewhersailorwouldhavetogotoseaagainunlesshecouldgetemploymentonshore。Thisheendeavoredtodo，butnotwithmuchsuccess。Onemorningasusualhekissedhergoodday，andsetoutinsearchofwork。
"Kissedmegoodby，andcalledmehislittleIrishlass，"sobbedKitty，tellingthestory，"kissedmegoodby，and，Heavenhelpme，Iniversetoionhimnoronthelikesofhimagain！"
Henevercameback。Dayafterdaydraggedon，nightafternight，andthenthewearyweeks。Whathadbecomeofhim？Hadbebeenmurdered？Hadbefallenintothedocks？Hadhe—desertedher？No！Shecouldnotbelievethat;
hewastoobraveandtenderandtrue。Shecouldn’tbelievethat。Hewasdead，dead，orhe’dcomebacktoher。
Meanwhilethelandlordofthelodging—houseturnedKittyintothestreets，nowthat"herman"wasgone，andthepaymentoftherentdoubtful。Shegotaplaceasaservant。ThefamilyshelivedwithshortlymovedtoBoston，andsheaccompaniedthem;thentheywentabroad，butKittywouldnotleaveAmerica。SomehowshedriftedtoRivermouth，andforsevenlongyearsnevergavespeechtohersorrow，untilthekindnessofstrangers，whohadbecomefriendstoher，unsealedtheheroiclips。
Kitty’sstory，youmaybesure，mademygrandparentstreathermorekindlythanever。Intimeshegrewtoberegardedlessasaservantthanasafriendinthehomecircle，sharingitsjoysandsorrows—afaithfulnurse，awillingslave，ahappyspiritinspiteofall。IfancyIhearhersingingoverherworkinthekitchen，pausingfromtimetotimetomakesomewittyreplytoMissAbigail—forKitty，likeallherrace，hadaveinofunconscioushumor。Herbrighthonestfacecomestomeoutfromthepast，thelightandlifeoftheNutterHousewhenIwasaboyatRivermouth。
ChapterSixLightsandShadowsThefirstshadowthatfelluponmeinmynewhomewascausedbythereturnofmyparentstoNewOrleans。Theirvisitwascutshortbybusinesswhichrequiredmyfather’spresenceinNatchez，wherehewasestablishingabranchofthebankinghouse。Whentheyhadgone，asenseoflonelinesssuchasIhadneverdreamedoffilledmyyoungbreast。Icreptawaytothestable，and，throwingmyarmsaboutGypsy’sneck，sobbedaloud。ShetoohadcomefromthesunnySouth，andwasnowastrangerinastrangeland。
Thelittlemareseemedtorealizeoursituation，andgavemeallthesympathyIcouldask，repeatedlyrubbinghersoftnoseovermyfaceandlappingupmysalttearswithevidentrelish。
Whennightcame，Ifeltstillmorelonesome。Mygrandfathersatinhisarm—chairthegreaterpartoftheevening，readingtheRivermouthBamacle，thelocalnewspaper。Therewasnogasinthosedays，andtheCaptainreadbytheaidofasmallblock—tinlamp，whichheheldinonehand。Iobservedthathehadahabitofdroppingoffintoadozeeverythreeorfourminutes，andIforgotmyhomesicknessatintervalsinwatchinghim。Twoorthreetimes，tomyvastamusement，hescorchedtheedgesofthenewspaperwiththewickofthelamp;andatabouthalfpasteighto’clockIhadthesatisfactionsamsorrytoconfessitwasasatisfaction—ofseeingtheRivermouthBarnacleinflames。
Mygrandfatherleisurelyextinguishedthefirewithhishands，andMissAbigail，whosatnearalowtable，knittingbythelightofanastrallamp，didnotevenlookup。Shewasquiteusedtothiscatastrophe。
Therewaslittleornoconversationduringtheevening。Infact，Idonotrememberthatanyonespokeatall，exceptingonce，whentheCaptainremarked，inameditativemanner，thatmyparents"musthavereachedNewYorkbythistime";atwhichsuppositionInearlystrangledmyselfinattemptingtointerceptasob。
Themonotonous"clickclick"ofMissAbigail’sneedlesmademenervousafterawhile，andfinallydrovemeoutofthesitting—roomintothekitchen，whereKittycausedmetolaughbysayingMissAbigailthoughtthatwhatI
neededwas"agooddoseofhot—drops，"aremedyshewasforeverreadytoadministerinallemergencies。Ifaboybrokehisleg，orlosthismother，IbelieveMissAbigailwouldhavegivenhimhot—drops。
Kittylaidherselfouttobeentertaining。ShetoldmeseveralfunnyIrishstories，anddescribedsomeoftheoddpeoplelivinginthetown;but，inthemidstofhercomicalities，thetearswouldinvoluntarilyoozeoutofmyeyes，thoughIwasnotaladmuchaddictedtoweeping。ThenKittywouldputherarmsaroundme，andtellmenottomindit—thatitwasn’tasifIhadbeenleftaloneinaforeignlandwithnoonetocareforme，likeapoorgirlwhomshehadonceknown。Ibrightenedupbeforelong，andtoldKittyallabouttheTyphoonandtheoldseaman，whosenameItriedinvaintorecall，andwasobligedtofallbackonplainSailorBen。