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<div> <h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2><h3>LIDDY.</h3></div> In one of the New England States, and occupying a beautiful valley between two low ranges of mountains, was the town of Southton. One of these ranges, that on the east, was known as the Blue Hills; the other was nameless. This valley was about four miles in width, and winding through it ran a small river. On the banks of this, and nearly in the center of the town, was a village, or "town center," as it was called, containing two churches, an academy and several stores. In one of these churches, Rev. Jonas Jotham expounded the orthodox Congregational faith, including predestination, foreordination, and all creation, and in the other Rev. Samuel Wetmore argued on the same lines, clinching them all with the necessity of total immersion as a means of salvation. There was no affiliation between the two sects, each declaring the other totally blind to Scriptural truths; wrong in all points of creed, and sure to be damned for it. Sectarian feeling was strong, social lines between the two churches were sharply drawn, and the enmities of feeling engendered in the pulpits were reflected among the members. Each worthy dominie emitted long sermons every Sunday, often extending to "seventeenthly," while occasionally a few of the good deacons slept; and so, year after year, the windy war continued. In the meantime the children attended school, played hard, were happy, grew up, courted, married, and kept on farming, and life in Southton flowed onward as peacefully as the current of the river that meandered through it. Near the eastern border, and beside a merry brook that tumbled down from the Blue Hill range, was the home of Loring Camp, his wife, and his only daughter, Liddy. He was not a member of either of the two orthodox churches, but a fearless, independent thinker, believing in a merciful God of love and forgiveness, rather than a Calvinistic one, and who might be classed as a Unitarian in opinion. Broad-chested, broad-minded, outspoken in his ways, he was at once a loving husband, a kind father, a good neighbor, an honest man and respected. Tilling a small farm and mingling with that more or less attention to his trade of a builder, he earned a good livelihood. A reader of the best books and a thinker as well, he was firm in his convictions, terse in his criticism, and yet charitable toward all. His daughter inherited her father's keen intellect and her mother's fair face and complexion, it is needless to say, was the pride of his heart and loved by all. Of Liddy herself, since she is the central figure in this narrative, a more explicit description must be given. To begin with, she was at the age of seventeen, a typical New England girl of ordinary accomplishments, home loving and filial in disposition, with a nature as sweet as the daisies that grew in the green meadows about her home, and a mind as clear as the brook that rippled through them. Fond of pretty things in the house, a daintily set table, tidy rooms, and loving neatness and order, she was a good cook, a capable housekeeper and a charming hostess as well. She loved the flowers that bloomed each summer in the wide dooryard, and had enough romance to enjoy nature's moods at all times. She cared but little for dress and abhorred loud or conspicuous garments of any kind. While fond of music, she never had had an opportunity to cultivate that taste, and her sole accomplishment in that respect was to play upon the cottage organ that stood in her parlor, and sing a few simple ballads or Sabbath-school hymns. She was of medium height, with a charmingly rounded figure, and blessed with a pair of blue eyes that could change from grave to gay, from mirth to tenderness, as easily as clouds cross the sun. With the crowning glory of her sunny hair, a sweet and sympathetic mouth, modest and unassuming ways, tender heart and affectionate manner, she was an unusually attractive girl. Of her feelings toward the boy little need be said; and since he has now reached eighteen and a moustache, he deserves and shall have an introduction by his name of Mr. Charles Manson. He was tall, had honest brown eyes, an earnest manner; was unsophisticated and believed all the world like himself, good and true. He was of cheerful temper and generous disposition; hated shams and small conceits, and—next to Liddy—loved the fields, the woods, and the brooks that had been his companions since boyhood. She had known him when, at the district school, he ignored girls; and later, as he began to bring her flag-root in summer, or draw her on his sled in winter, she had taken more notice of him. When he left the little brown schoolhouse for good she had given him a lock of hair, though for what reason she could hardly tell; and when he walked home with her from his first party she felt startled a little at his boldness in kissing her. That act had caused a flutter in her feelings, and though she thought none the less of him for it, nothing would have tempted her to tell her parents about it. That experience may be considered as the birthday of her girlish love, and after that they were always the best of friends. He had never been presuming, but had always treated her with a kind of manly respect that slowly but surely had won her heart. When they met at the academy she feared he might be too attentive, but when she found him even less so than she expected, unknown to herself, her admiration increased. While she gave him but little encouragement there, still if he had paid any attention to another girl it would have hurt her. By nature she despised any deception, and to be called a flirt was to her mind an insult. She would as soon have been called a liar. On the other hand, any display of affection in public was equally obnoxious. She was loving by nature, but any feeling of that kind toward a young man was a sacred matter, that no one should be allowed to suspect, or at least inspect. This may be an old-fashioned peculiarity, yet it was a part of her nature. It may seem strange, but "Charlie," as she always called her admirer, had early discovered this and had always been governed by it. It is not easy to give an accurate pen-picture of a young and pretty girl who is bright, vivacious, piquant, tender, sweet and lovable. One might as well try to describe the twinkle of a star or the rainbow flash of a diamond. To picture the growth of love in such a girl's heart is like describing the shades of color in a rose, or the expression of affection in the eyes of a dog, and equally impossible. Liddy's home was one of the substantial, old-time kind, with tall pillars in front, a double piazza and wide hall, where stood an ancient clock of solemn tick. There were open fireplaces in parlor and sitting-room, and the wide dooryard was divided by a graveled and flower-bordered walk, where in summer bloomed syringas, sweet williams, peonies and phlox. On either side of the gate were two immense and broad-spreading maples. Houses have moods as well as people, and the mood of this one was calm, cool, dignified and typical of its fairest inmate. When the first term of their academy life together closed, and the long summer vacation began, Manson called on Liddy the next Sunday evening and asked her to take a ride. He had called at various times before, but not as though she were the sole object of his visit. This time he came dressed in his best and as if he boldly came to woo the fair girl. All that summer he was a regular caller, and always received the same quiet and cordial welcome. Together they enjoyed many delightful drives along shaded roads on pleasant afternoons or moonlit evenings, and each charming hour only served to bind the chains of love more tightly. Occasionally they gathered waterlilies from a mill pond hidden away among the hills, and one Saturday afternoon he brought her to Ragged Brook—a spot that had been the delight of his boyhood—and showed her how to catch a trout. The first one she hooked she threw up into the top of a tree, and as the line was wound many times around the tip of the limb the fish had to be left hanging there. Though almost mature in years, they were in many ways like children, telling each other their little plans and hopes, and giving and receiving mutual sympathy. It was all the sweetest and best kind of a courtship, for neither was conscious that it was such, and when schooltime came after the summer was over, the tender bond between them had reached a strength that was likely to shape and determine the history of their lives. How many coming heartaches were also to be woven into the tender bond they little realized. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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