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"Go see Mt. and Mts. Marsh, up on the Gulf Road," I an told; "they're
the oldest couple around here. Close to ninety, both of thee, maybe more than
ninety."
The Gulf Road is that upper highway which is one of two approaches to the
village from Thomaston; it is favored by residents of the upper part of the com-
munity as the most direct route to their homes, but since the hurricane of last
fall the bridge crossing Northfield brook just past the branch of the highway
has been down, it is necessary now to take the longer may and this situation is
the cause of considerable grumbling.
The few houses scattered along the Gulf Road are in consequence more iso-
lated and out of touch with the remainder of the community than ever before. There
are no more than half a dozen, of which two or three are the property of "summer
people".
The Marshes live about half way down "the Gulf" in an old white colonial
type home which like so many others in the village has obviously been "added to"
during the years so that it rambles in several directions from the center. Huge
stones, flat surfaced, spaced, form a rustic sidewalk leading to front and back
doors. Solidly built, set in grounds which could be made attractive, the house is
badly in need of repair, weather worn and faded.
There is no response to a knock at the front door and I go around to the
back, where after a brief wait the door is opened by an old lady wearing house
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dress, heavy man's sweater and a cap after the fasion of Mrs. Gummidge. She re
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gards me with obvious suspicion as I ask for Mt. Marsh.
"Mr. Marsh is not a business man these days," she says. "You another one
of those magazine salesmen? Because if you be, we don't want any."
I explain my errand, still standing on the doorstep, but she looks only a
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little less doubtful. "I s'pose you could see him," she says reluctantly,
admitting me to the kitchen, The room is neat, but bare, furnished with
purely utilitarian objects, ehiefest among them a deal table and a squat
range no more than two feet high, with a disproportionately big chimney.
"Oh Marsh," calls the old lady, going to the door of an inner roam;
"somebody else to see you. In response to this annoucement "Marsh" comes
into the kitchen, a gnarled, bent old man crippled apparently by arthritis or
rheutatism. His cheeks are a ruddy contrast to a snow white beard, his hair,
white but still comparatively thick is long and unkempt, and upon his feet,
in spite of the wardth of the roam, are basely buckled erotica. Unable to
move his neek.freely, he is forced to bend his upper body in a peculiar con-
tortion in order to see me. Mts. Marsh explains that I am in search of informa-
tion on Northfield.
"Can't get any out of me," says Mt. Marsh irascibly. Mat do they think
I be, all these people comint 'round, an information bew-ry?" Be stands over
the stove, warming the swollen joints of his hands on the lifter.
"What was it exactly you wanted to know?" says Mts. Marsh. "You know
we hain't lived down here to the village such an awful long time. We had a
farm, Mt. Marsh and me, before we moved down here. Oh, yes, we've always lived
around these parts, always in Northfield, but not right in the village. There's
others better able to tell you what goes on than we be. No, Mt. Marsh never
worked in the knife shop. Well, I knew some of the people, yes. The Mershalls,
and the Masons and the Burleys. They were knifemaking families, came over here
from England." (Mt. Marsh, apparently disgusted by his wife's loquaciousness
turns and hobbles into the room from which he came.)
"Those people came over from Sheffield, a big city, you know, and comint
over here was like comm' into a howlin' wilderness for them. Miz Marshall told
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me she honestly expected to see Indians and bears in these parts when she first
came here. They were fine people, very fine people, the ones I knew. They
settled right down here in the village and were well liked by everyone. Some
of them moved on, of course, but many of them stayed in Northfield, and bought
farms. They worked very hard, working in the shop and on the farm too, some
of them.
"They didn't seem to have a great deal of money, there were times when
they paid in scrip, down to the factory. I remember Miz Marshall said Mr. Mar-
shall worked here two years before he ever got any cash for his work. Have you
been up to see Mr. Gill? He used to be superintendent of the knife shop p He
can tell you all about it.
"The Peck family? Well, we knew them, of course. Howard and Henry and
Will. We never knew the old man so well. Howard? Why, I don't know. I've
seen him many a time in that old wagon of his'n. Used to have it piled so high
with his junk you couldn't see hide nor hair of him. But he was a very hard
workin' man, Howard Peck was. Work seamed tole his main object in life, and he
worked all hours of the night. I s'pose you know how they used to call him
'Midnight' on account of him °alibi' on people late at night. Well, that's true,
every bit of it. Mix Turner told me one time he come to her house four o'clock
in the mornin'. Why don't you go see George Peck, he'd ought to be able to tell
you all you want to know.
10 and Mt. Marsh can't help you much. We never was much for historical
stuff. But there's plenty of people around here that should be able to give you
Information. There's Edie Catlin, right down the road, you been to see her? And
biz Goodwin, and Mk. Humiston, they knbw a good bit about Northfield history. Miz
Goodwin's always writin' for the papers. Why don't you go see her? My goodness,
she knows everything there is to know about Northfield, past present, and future!"