There was still further proof of Drowne's lunacy, if credit were due to the rumour that he had been seen kneeling at the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing with a lover's passionate ardour into the face that his own hands had created. The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of surprise if an evil spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful form, and seduce the carver to destruction.
The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabitants visited it so universally,
that, after a few days of exhibition, there was hardly an old man or a child
who had not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had the story of
Drowne's wooden image ended here, its celebrity might have been prolonged
for many years, by the reminiscences of those who looked upon it in their
childhood, and saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town
was now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has formed itself into
one of the most singular legends that are yet to be met with in the traditionary
chimney-corners of the New England metropolis, where old men and women sit
dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers of the present and
the future.
