Update for 76600HEADmain

7 files changed, 13889 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/76600-0.txt b/76600-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e91291c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/76600-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5541 @@
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***
+
+
+
+
+
+_BOOKS BY_
+
+“Charles Egbert Craddock.”
+
+(MARY N. MURFREE)
+
+
+IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS. Short Stories. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+DOWN THE RAVINE. Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.
+
+THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. A Novel 16mo, $1.25.
+
+IN THE CLOUDS. A Novel 16mo, $1.25.
+
+THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS. 16mo, $1.00.
+
+                          HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
+                           BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
+
+
+
+
+                                    THE
+                          STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS
+
+                                    BY
+                          CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK
+           AUTHOR OF “IN THE CLOUDS,” “DOWN THE RAVINE,” “IN THE
+                 TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE PROPHET OF THE
+                       GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS,” ETC.
+
+                              [Illustration]
+
+                            BOSTON AND NEW YORK
+                       HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
+                      The Riverside Press, Cambridge
+                                   1888
+
+                             Copyright, 1887,
+                            BY MARY N. MURFREE.
+
+                          _All rights reserved._
+
+                     _The Riverside Press, Cambridge_:
+             Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS.
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+
+Towering into the air, reflected deep in the river, the great height of
+Keedon Bluffs is doubled to the casual glance and augmented in popular
+rumor. Nevertheless a vast mass of rock it is, splintered and creviced,
+and with rugged, beetling ledges, all atilt, and here and there a niche
+which holds a hardy shrub, subsisting surely on the bounty of the air or
+the smile of the sun, for scant sustenance can be coaxed from the solid
+sandstone.
+
+Here bats and lizards colonize, and amongst the trailing vines winged
+songsters find a home, and sometimes stealthy, four-footed, marauding
+shadows, famous climbers, creep in and out of the hollows of the rocks,
+for it is in the very heart of the wilderness on a slope of the Great
+Smoky Range. Naught was likely to behold them—save their own bright-eyed
+images in the swift current below, or perhaps a wayfaring cloud above,
+journeying adown the sky from the zenith—until one day a boy chanced
+to come this way in driving home the cow; he paused on one side of the
+horseshoe bend, which the river describes just here, and gazed fixedly
+across the bight at the bluffs.
+
+If at this moment one of the shy dwellers of the cliff had thrust forth
+an unwary head there was no need to hastily withdraw it. The boy’s
+attention was concentrated on a motionless object lying on a ledge; he
+looked at it in doubting surprise. It was a cannon-ball, precariously
+lodged where it had fallen, spent and harmless, years ago.
+
+For Keedon Bluffs had not always been so silent. They had echoed the
+clamors of artillery. Not that a battle was ever fought in these
+fastnesses, but once from a distant point the woods in the cove were
+shelled, and, ranging further than the bursting bombs, this solid round
+shot cleared the river at the mountain’s base, and dropped at last on
+the ledge, remaining the only memento of the day. Covered with rust,
+half draped by a vine, peaceful and motionless and mute, it lay. And Ike
+Guyther, looking at it, wished that he had lived in those times of riding
+and raiding, when the batteries roared their sulphurous thunder, and
+flung their shells, hurtling along these quiet woodland ways, with fuses
+all a-flaring.
+
+“Folks in them days hed a chance ter show thar grit, an’ ride, an’ fight,
+an’ fire off them big guns,” he grumbled, when he had gone back to his
+father’s cabin, in Tanglefoot Cove, three miles away, and had detailed
+his discovery to the fireside group. “They war mos’ly boys, no older
+sca’cely ’n me. An’ hyar _I_ be—_a-drivin’ up the cow_!”
+
+“Waal, now,” exclaimed his mother in her consolatory drawl, “ye oughter
+be powerful thankful ye hev got a cow ter drive. The gu’rillas made beef
+o’ yer aunt Jemimy’s cow.”
+
+“An’ fur goodness’ sake look at yer uncle Abner ef ye hanker so ter go
+a-fightin’,” his aunt Jemima tartly admonished him.
+
+There sat all day beside the wood-fire a man of middle age, but with a
+face strangely young. It was like the face of a faded painting, changing
+only in the loss of color. The hair, growing off a broad forehead, was
+bleaching fast; the tints had become dim on cheek and lip, but time and
+care had drawn no lines, and an expression of childlike tranquillity
+hovered about the downcast eyes, forever shielded by the drooping
+lids. Life seemed to have ended for him twenty years before, on a day
+surcharged with disaster, when the great gun, which had been a sort of
+Thor to him, and which he had served with an admiring affection and
+reverent care, was spiked by its own cannoneers that it might fall
+useless into the hands of the enemy. It was the last thing he ever
+saw—this great silenced god of thunder—as he stood beside it with the
+sponge-staff in his hand. For among the shells shrieking through the
+smoky air, one was laden with his doom. A hiss close at hand, the din of
+an abrupt explosion, and he fell unconscious under the carriage of the
+piece, and there he was captured.
+
+And when the war was over and he came forth alike from the prison and the
+hospital, blinded and helpless, naught remained to him but to vaguely
+ponder on what had been in the days that had gone forever, for he hardly
+seemed to look to the future, and the present was empty-handed.
+
+He had met his grief and the darkness with a stoicism difficult to
+comprehend. He spent his days in calm unimbittered meditation, not
+gentle, but with flashes of his old spirit to attest his unchanged
+identity. Acclimated to sorrow, without hope, or fear, or anxiety, or
+participation in life, time could but pass him by, and youth seemed to
+abide with him.
+
+The old martial interest flared up when Ike told of his discovery on the
+ledge of Keedon Bluffs.
+
+“What kind o’ ball, Ike?” he demanded.
+
+But Ike had been born too late to be discerning as to warlike projectiles.
+
+“I wisht I could lay my hand on it!” said the blind artillery-man.
+“I’ll be bound I’d know, ef I jes’ could heft it wunst! Whar did it
+lodge, Ike? Could I make out ter git a-nigh it? Could ye an’ me git thar
+tergether?”
+
+“Ye ’pear b’reft, Abner!” aunt Jemima cried out angrily. “Ye mus’ hev
+los’ more ’n yer sight. Hev ye furgot how Keedon Bluffs look? Thar ain’t
+nobody sca’cely ez could keep foot-hold ’mongst them sheer cliffs. An’ ye
+oughtn’t ter be aggin’ on Ike ter climb sech places—git his neck bruk.
+Ye hain’t got no call, sure, ter set store on no mo’ cannon-balls, an’
+artillery, an’ sech. I ’low ez ye’d hev hed enough o’ guns, an’ I wish
+ye’d never hed nuthin’ ter do with no rebels.”
+
+For this was one of the divided families so usual in East Tennessee, and
+while the elders had clung to the traditions of their fathers—the men
+fighting staunchly for the Union—the youngest had as a mere boy fled
+from his home to join the Confederate forces, and had stood by his gun
+through many a fiery hail of battle storms. But the bitterness of these
+differences was fast dying out.
+
+“I hev gin the word,” said Ike’s father, and grizzled, and stern, and
+gigantic, he looked eminently fitted to maintain his behests, “ez no mo’
+politics air ter be talked roun’ this ha’th-stone, Jemimy.”
+
+“I ain’t talkin’ no politics,” retorted aunt Jemima, sharply. “But I
+ain’t goin’ ter hold my jaw tee-totally. I never kin git over hevin’ Ab
+settin’ up hyar plumb benighted! plumb benighted!—ez blind ez a mole!”
+She shook her head with a sort of acrimonious melancholy.
+
+“Yes,” drawlingly admitted the blind artillery-man, all unmoved by this
+uncheerful discourse. “Yes, that’s a true word.” He lifted his head
+suddenly and tossed back the gray hair from his boyish face. “But I _hev_
+seen—sights!”
+
+Even less tolerated than politics were Ike’s repinings and longings for
+some flaunting military exploit. “Take yer axe,” his soldier-father said
+sternly, “an’ show what sort’n grit ye hev got at the wood-pile.”
+
+The blind man with a laugh more leniently suggested, “Ye wouldn’t hev
+been much use ter we-uns in our battery, Ike, throwin’ up a yearth-work
+ter pertect the guns an’ sech, seein’ the way ye fairly _de_-spise a
+spade.”
+
+Ike had yet to learn that it is the spirit in which a deed is done that
+dignifies and magnifies it.
+
+He found the stories of the military glories he would have achieved, had
+the opportunity fallen to his lot, much more gently treated by a certain
+young neighbor, who had indeed a good and willing pair of ears, and much
+readiness and adaptability of assent. Very pliable, withal, was “Skimpy”
+Sawyer—by the nickname “Skimpy” he was familiarly known, a tribute to his
+extreme spareness. He was peculiarly thin, and wiry, and loose-jointed.
+He had a good-natured freckled face, paler for the contrast with a crop
+of red hair; a twinkling and beguiling brown eye; great nimbleness of
+limb; and many comical twists of countenance at command.
+
+He accompanied Ike blithely enough to Keedon Bluffs, one afternoon, to
+look at the cannon-ball on the ledge. A bridle-path, almost a road it
+might have seemed—for the woods, bereft of undergrowth by the annual
+conflagrations, gave it space—wound along the side of the mountain
+near the verge of the cliffs. The river, all scarlet, and silver, and
+glinting blue, was swirling far down in the chasm beneath them; the sheer
+sandstone bank rose opposite, solid as a wall; and beyond, the cove—its
+woods, and cabins, and roads, and fences, bounded by the interlacing
+mountains—lay spread out like an open map.
+
+Peaceful enough it was to-day, as the boys stood on the Bluffs. There
+were wings, homeward bound, hurrying through the air, instead of shells
+with fuses burning bright against the sunset sky. No bugle sang. The
+river was murmuring low a plaintive minor lay that one might hear forever
+and never tire. Scanty shrubs of dogwood and sour-wood flaunted, red and
+orange, from the rifts of the great crags; here and there were fissures,
+irregularly shaped, and dark, save that upon the upper arch of each a
+ceaseless silvery light shimmered, reflected from the water. On one of
+the many ledges the cannon-ball lay unstirred.
+
+“Skimpy, I b’lieve I could actially climb down this hyar bluff an’ coon
+it roun’ that thar ledge an’ git that ball,” said Ike, balancing himself
+dangerously over the precipice.
+
+So far did it overhang the river at this point that he was startled by
+seeing a hat and face suddenly looking up at him from the depths below,
+and it was a moment before he realized that the hat and face were his
+own, mirrored in a dark pool.
+
+“Ye couldn’t climb up ag’in with it in yer paw,” retorted Skimpy.
+
+“Naw,” Ike admitted. “But ennyhow I’d like ter climb down thar an’ see
+what’s in them hollows. I b’lieve I could git inter one o’ ’em.”
+
+Skimpy had taken a handful of pebbles and was skipping them down the
+river. He turned so suddenly that the one in his hand flew wide of the
+mark and nearly tipped his friend’s hat off his head.
+
+“What air ye a-hankerin’ ter git in one o’ them holes fur?” he demanded,
+surprised, “so ez ye can’t git out ag’in? ’Pears-like ter me they’d be a
+mighty tight fit on sech a big corn-fed shoat ez ye air. An’ then I’d
+hev ter climb down thar an’ break my neck, I reckon, ter pull ye out by
+the heels.”
+
+“I wouldn’t git in ’thout thar ’peared ter be plenty o’ elbow room,” Ike
+qualified.
+
+“Who’s that?” said Skimpy, suddenly.
+
+So absorbed had they been that until this moment they were not aware of
+a slow approach along the road behind them. The sight of a stranger was
+unusual, but so little curiosity do the mountaineers manifest in unknown
+passers-by that if the man’s manner had had no appeal to the boys, they
+would hardly have lifted their eyes; they would not even have stared
+after his back was turned.
+
+But the stranger was about to hail them. He had already lifted his hand
+with an awkward wave of salutation. Still he fixed his eyes upon them and
+did not speak as he slouched toward them, and the two boys were impressed
+with the conviction that he had heard every word that they had been
+saying.
+
+He was a tall, dawdling fellow of forty, perhaps, carrying a rifle on his
+shoulder, and dressed in an old brown jeans suit, ill-mended and patched
+here and there, and with some rents not patched at all. His hair, long
+and brown, streaked with gray, hung down to his collar beneath his old
+broad-brimmed wool hat. His face was lined and cadaverous, his features
+were sharp and shrewd. His eyes, bright, small, dark, and somehow not
+reassuring, expressed a sort of anxiety and anger that the boys could not
+comprehend.
+
+There came along the road after him, plainly defined on the summit of the
+great bluffs, between the woods and the sunset sky, with the river in the
+abyss beneath and a gleaming star in the haze above, a grotesque little
+cart, the wheels creaking dismally with every revolution and filling the
+air with the odor of tar and wagon grease. A lean scraggy ox was between
+the shafts; a cow shambled along at the tail-board; a calf and two or
+three dogs trotted further in the rear. The man was moving, evidently,
+for the poverty-stricken aspect of the vehicle was accented by the meagre
+show of household utensils—frying-pan, oven, skillet, spinning-wheel—and
+the bedding, and two or three chairs with which it was laden. On top of
+it all, sitting in a snug nest of quilts, with a wealth of long yellow
+hair, tousled and curling upon her shoulders, was a little girl, four
+or five years old. Her infantile beauty had naught in common with his
+down-looking, doubtful, careworn face, but she fixed the two boys with a
+pair of grave, urgent, warning gray eyes, which intimated that whatever
+the man might do or say he had a small but earnest backer. And though the
+autumn leaves were red and yellow above her head, the roses of spring
+bloomed on her cheek, and its sunshine was tangled in her hair; all its
+buoyant joys were in her laugh when she chose to be merry, and her smile
+brightened the world for him and for her. She was at the threshold of her
+life—likely to be a poor thing enough and hedged with limitations, but it
+had space for all the throbs of living, for all there is of bliss and woe.
+
+The man glanced back at her as he spoke.
+
+“Jes’ set a-top thar, Rosamondy; set right still an’ stiddy, leetle
+darter. I hev got a word or two ter pass with these folkses. Howdy!
+Howdy! Strangers! Do you-uns know whar old man Binwell hev moved ter
+hyar-abouts? I stopped at his house a piece back, an’ thar warn’t nobody
+thar, ’pears like; chimbly tore down; nare door in the cabin; empty.”
+
+He had a strained rasping voice; his tone was not far from tears.
+
+The two boys looked at one another. “Old man Binwell” was Ancient History
+to them—like Cæsar or Hannibal to boys of wider culture.
+
+“Him? he’s dead,” they said together, slowly producing the recollection.
+
+“I war ’feared so,” said the stranger. “An’ whar’s ’Liza Binwell, an’
+Aleck?”
+
+These were more modern. “Waal—her,” said Ike, “I hev hearn tell ez
+how she merried a man ez kem hyar in the war-times along o’ the Texas
+Rangers; an’ he seen her then, an’ kem arter her when the fightin’ war
+over. I disremember his name. An’ he persuaded Aleck an’ his fambly ter
+move with them ter Texas.”
+
+The man nodded his head in melancholy reception of the facts.
+
+“They be my brother an’ sister,” he said drearily. “I hain’t hearn
+nothin’ ’bout’n ’em fur a long time. But when we-uns lef’ cousin Zeke
+Tynes’s this mornin’—we bided thar las’ night—an’ started fur Tanglefoot
+Cove, he ’lowed they war hyar yit. I counted on stayin’ with ’em this
+winter. Who’s a-livin’ hyar-abouts now ez mought be minded ter let us
+bide with ’em fur ter-night?”
+
+The boys prompting each other, mentioned the names of the few families
+in the cove. The stranger’s face fell as he listened. There was no house
+nearer than three or four miles, and the gaunt and forlorn old ox was not
+a beast of unrivaled speed. The man looked up doubtfully at the ragged
+edges of a black cloud, barely showing above the mountain summits, but
+definitely in motion before a wind that was beginning to surge in the
+upper regions of the air, although it hardly swayed the tops of the
+trees on Keedon Bluffs. The evening had stormy premonitions, despite the
+exquisite clearness of the western sky.
+
+“I’m ’feared I’ll hev ter feed an’ water the beastis, else he won’t hold
+out so fur,” he half soliloquized, looking at the ox, drowsing between
+the shafts.
+
+Then his attention reverted to the boys.
+
+“Thanky, strangers, thanky fur tellin’ me. I dunno ye, ye see, but I war
+born an’ bred hyar-abouts. Thanky. If thar’s enny favior I kin do fur
+you-uns lemme know. Fish-in’?” he inquired suddenly.
+
+Skimpy colored. To be asked if he were fishing from the great heights of
+Keedon Bluffs savored of ridicule.
+
+“How could we fish from sech a place ez this?” he said a trifle gruffly.
+
+“Sure enough! Sure enough! I hed furgot how high ’twar,” and the stranger
+came up and peered with them over the river. “I ain’t seen this spot
+fur a good many seasons, folkses,” he said, his eyes fixed upon the
+cavities of the great cliffs across the bend. The cow was munching the
+half-withered grass by the roadside; the dogs laid their tired bones down
+among the fallen leaves and went to sleep; Rosamond on her throne among
+the household goods sat in the red after-glow of the sunset, all flushed
+and gilded, and swung one plump bare foot, protruding its pink dimples
+from beneath her blue checked homespun dress, and planted the other foot
+recklessly upon her discarded dappled calico sunbonnet which she suffered
+to lie among the quilts.
+
+“I tell ye what,” he added, still looking about at the darkling forests,
+at the swift current below the stern grim cliffs, at the continuous
+shifting shimmer reflected upon the upper arch of the hollows, “you-uns
+hev got mo’ resky ’n ever I be, ter bide ’roun’ this hyar spot when it
+begins ter be cleverly dark.”
+
+Both boys looked quickly at him.
+
+“Hain’t ye hearn what the old folks tells ’bout them hollows in the rock?”
+
+“Naw!” they exclaimed together.
+
+Skimpy’s eyes were distended. He felt a sudden chilly thrill. Ike,
+although as superstitious as Skimpy, experienced an incredulity before he
+even heard what this man had to say.
+
+“Waal,” resumed the stranger, and he lowered his voice, “the old folks
+’low ez the witches lie thar in the daytime—ye know they never die—an’
+the yearth grants ’em no other place in the day, so they takes ter the
+hollows in the rock. An’ thar they keeps comp’ny with sech harnts ez air
+minded fur harm ter humans—folks ez hev been hung an’ sech. An’ then in
+the evenin’-time they all swarms out tergether.”
+
+Skimpy glanced over his shoulder. It was doubtless his fancy, but the
+foolish boy thought he saw a black head thrust suddenly out of one of the
+hollows and as suddenly withdrawn.
+
+Now Skimpy was afraid of nothing that went about in the daytime, and
+indeed of nothing human and mortal. Witches, however, were, he felt,
+of doubtful destiny and origin, malevolent in character, and he had a
+vaguely frightful idea concerning their physiognomy and form. He revolted
+at the prospect of a closer acquaintance.
+
+“Kem on, Ike,” he said hastily, clutching his friend’s sleeve, “let’s go
+home.” And he peered fearfully about in the closing dusk.
+
+But Ike was steadily studying the stranger’s face, and the man looked at
+him though he addressed Skimpy.
+
+“Yes; it’s better ter be away from hyar betimes. They air special active
+in the full o’ the moon.”
+
+It had risen before the sun had set, and ever and again, from fleecy
+spaces amongst the ranks of the dark clouds, its yellow lustre streamed
+forth in myriads of fine fibrous lines slanting upon the tumultuous
+palpitating purple vapors massed about it. Sometimes a rift disclosed its
+full splendor as it rode supreme in the midst of the legions of the storm.
+
+“But them witches an’ sech air in them holes all day an’ ef ennybody war
+sech a fool ez ter go meddlin’ with ’em, ef so be they could git down
+thar ennywise—_they’d ketch it_!”
+
+He shook his head in a way that promised horrors.
+
+“What would they do ter ’em?” asked the morbidly fascinated Skimpy. He
+dared not look over his shoulder now.
+
+The narrator was forced to specify, “Strangle ’em.”
+
+Skimpy shuddered, but Ike was ready to laugh outright. He stared at the
+speaker as if he found him far more queer than his story.
+
+“Ye ’member old man Hobbs?” said the stranger suddenly.
+
+“I hearn my dad tell ’bout’n him,” returned Ike. “Old man Hobbs said
+he walked off’n the Bluffs through bein’ drunk an’ fell inter the
+river—though ez he war picked up alive folks b’lieved he never fell off’n
+the Bluffs, but jes’ said so, bein’ drunk an’ foolish.”
+
+“Naw, it’s a fac’,” said the stranger, as if he knew all about it. “The
+witches got ter clawin’ an’ draggin’ of him, an’ they drug him in the
+water, bein’ ez he war a-foolin’ roun’ them hollows an’ this hyar spot
+ginerally.”
+
+“Oh, I’m goin’,” cried Skimpy; then as he started off, the idea of being
+alone in the great woods, with the night settling down, came upon him
+with overwhelming terror, and he renewed his pleas to Ike. “Kem on, Ike.
+We-uns hev been hyar long enough.”
+
+“Oh, shet up,” cried Ike roughly. “The witches ain’t goin’ ter strangle
+ye ez long ez ye hev got me alongside ter pertect ye.”
+
+He wanted to hear more of what this man had to say, for he placed a
+different interpretation upon his words. But Rosamond had lifted her
+voice, and seeing that her father was preparing to start anew on their
+forlorn journeying was insisting on a change in the arrangement.
+
+“I wants ye ter let the calf ride!” she cried in her vibrating musical
+treble. “I wants the calf ter ri-ride!”
+
+The calf added its voice to hers, and bleated as it ran along behind. It
+had evidently come far and was travel-worn.
+
+“I wants the calf ter ride wif _me_!” she cried again, with an imperious
+squeal upon the last syllable.
+
+“The calf can’t ride, Rosamondy,” the man said, in gentlest
+expostulation. “He’s too heavy fur the steer—pore steer.”
+
+“Naw, pore calf!” cried Rosamondy, and burst into tearful rage.
+
+“Ah, Rosamondy, ain’t ye ’shamed ter be sech a bad leetle gal? Ain’t ye
+’feared them boys’ll go off an’ tell ev’ybody what a bad leetle gal ye
+be!”
+
+But Rosamond evidently did not care how far and wide they published her
+“badness,” and after the boys had turned off into the woods, leaving the
+wagon creaking along the road with the ox between the shafts, and the man
+driving the cow in advance, they still heard the piteous bleats of the
+little calf trotting behind, and Rosamondy’s insistent squeal, “I wants
+the calf ter ride wif _me_!”
+
+In the dense woods the darkness was deeper; indeed they might only know
+that as yet it was not night by seeing vaguely the burly forms of the
+great boles close at hand. The shadowy interlacing boughs above their
+heads merged indistinguishably into the mass of foliage. Every sound was
+startlingly loud and in the nature of an interruption of some sylvan
+meditation. The rustle of their feet in the crisp fallen leaves seemed
+peculiarly sibilant, and more than once suggested a pursuer. Skimpy
+looked hastily over his shoulder,—only the closing obscurity that baffled
+his vision. A gust of wind swept through the woods rousing a thousand
+weird utterances of bough, and leaf, and rock, and hollow, and died away
+again into the solemn silence.
+
+Skimpy quickened his pace. “Kem on, Ike,” he muttered, and started at the
+sound of his own voice.
+
+Suddenly Ike Guyther, without a word of warning, turned about and began
+to retrace his way.
+
+“Whar ye bound fur?” cried Skimpy, laying hold on his arm and striving to
+keep him back.
+
+“Bound fur the Bluffs,” said Ike. “’Twon’t take we-uns long. I jes’
+wanter sati’fy myself whether that thar man air too ’feard o’ witches
+ter water an’ feed his steer at that thar spring ’mongst the rocks nigh
+Keedon Bluffs.”
+
+“_We-uns!_” cried Skimpy. “I tell ye now, I’d be palsied in every toe an’
+toe-nail too ’fore I’d go a inch.”
+
+“Waal, I’ll ketch up with ye,” said Ike.
+
+Skimpy made an effort to hold him, but the stronger boy pulled easily
+away from him and ran. A whirl of the dry leaves, a whisking sound, and
+he was lost among the trees.
+
+He did not keep this speed. He had slackened his pace to a walk before he
+emerged upon the road that ran between the verge of the bluffs and the
+woods. It seemed much earlier now, for here was presented the definite
+aspect of the evening instead of the uncertain twilight of the forest.
+In the faint blue regions of the zenith still loitered gauzy roseate
+reflections of the gorgeous sunset, not yet overspread by the black cloud
+gradually advancing up the vast spaces of the heavens. The river, in its
+cliff-bound channel, caught here and there a glittering moonbeam on its
+lustrous dark current. The amber tints of the western sky shaded into a
+pallid green above the duskily purple mountains. A pearl-colored mist,
+most vaguely visible, lurked in the depths of the cove.
+
+Suddenly the rocks by the roadside stood distinct and ruddy in a broad
+flickering red flare; there were moving figures, grotesque elongated
+shadows, among the trees. Ike Guyther stopped short, with a sudden
+dread of the witches of Keedon Bluffs trembling within him. Then, for
+he was stout-hearted, he ventured to creep along a few steps further.
+There under the boughs of the pines and the scarlet oaks and the yellow
+hickory trees a fire of pine knots flamed, throwing hilarious sparks
+and frisking smoke high into the melancholy white mists gathering in
+the woods; and grouped about it—not witches nor harnts—but the humble
+travelers eating their supper by the wayside. Ike recognized the clumsy
+cart in the shadowy background; the ox, out of the shafts, now munching
+his well-earned feed; the cow lying on the ground licking the head of
+her calf. And sitting by the fire with her yellow hair glittering, her
+face illumined by the blaze, her pink feet presented to the warmth, was
+Rosamondy, commenting gravely as her father broiled a bit of bacon on
+the coals and deftly constructed an ash-cake. The dogs too sat beside
+the fire, all upright and wide awake, and with an alert interest in the
+proceedings. Now and then as the man turned the meat and the savory odor
+would rise, one of them would twist his head admiringly askew and lick
+his chops in anticipation.
+
+The little girl talked continuously, her babyish voice clear on the still
+air, and the man listened and affected amazement when she thought she
+was astonishing him, and laughed mightily when she laughed, and agreed
+punctiliously with whatever she might say. But indeed she seemed a person
+who would tolerate little contradiction.
+
+The picture vanished suddenly as Ike Guyther turned back into the sombre
+depths of the woods.
+
+“Waal, sir!” said the shrewd young fellow to himself, “whoever b’lieves
+ez witches an’ harnts swarm out’n them hollows in the night times ter
+strangle folks ez be nigh by, the man ez stops ter cook his supper a-top
+o’ the Bluffs—don’t. An’ that air a true word.”
+
+The more he reflected upon the circumstance, as he took his way through
+the woods to rejoin Skimpy, the more he felt sure that this stranger
+had overheard his proposal to climb down to those hollows, and had some
+purpose to serve in frightening him away from the cavities in the cliffs.
+
+Still pondering upon this mystery he looked back once after he and
+Skimpy had reached the levels of Tanglefoot Cove. The advancing cloud
+still surged over the summit of the range, throwing its darkling
+shadows far down the steeps. In the mingled light of the dying day and
+the fitful gleam of the moon he could yet distinguish the stern grim
+crags, and below, on the slope where the grassy road wound in serpentine
+convolutions, he saw the cart with the little girl once more perched
+high, the ox between the shafts, the man driving the cow, the dogs and
+the calf trotting in the rear—all the little procession on the way again
+to seek shelter in some hospitable farmer’s cabin. And thus they fared
+down the rugged mountain ways into the future of Tanglefoot Cove.
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+
+When clouds gather over Tanglefoot Cove, and storms burst on the mountain
+slopes, the sounds of the tempest are redoubled by the echoes of the
+crags, trumpeting anew the challenge of the wind and reiterating the
+slogan of the thunder. For begirt on every side by clifty ranges the
+secluded valley lies. Ike’s mother, listening to the turmoil of the
+powers of the air and the sinister response of the powers of the earth,
+as the surly night closed in, waited with anxiety for the boy’s return,
+and welcomed him with a brightening face as he entered.
+
+A great fire flared on the hearth, illumining the ill-laid puncheon
+floor; the high bed with its gayly tinted quilts; the warping bars; the
+spinning-wheel; the guns upon their racks of deer-antlers; the strings
+of red peppers, swaying overhead; the ladder leading up to the shadowy
+regions of the roof-room through a black hole in the ceiling. The
+fire-light even revealed in a dusky nook a rude box on rockers—which had
+cradled in turn these stalwart soldiers, and later Ike, himself—and,
+under a low shelf in the corner, a tiny empty chair.
+
+The wind rushed down the chimney, and every cranny piped a shrill
+fife-like note, and the thunder rolled.
+
+“I dunno when I ever hev seen sech a onexpected storm,” said Ike’s father
+as he hung up the ox-yoke on the wall, having turned out the team from
+his wagon.
+
+“T’wouldn’t s’prise me none,” said aunt Jemima, “ef ’twar jes’ a big blow
+ez tore down the fodder-stack an’ rooted up yer orcherd’ an’ never gin
+ye nare drop o’ rain fur the drought;” she cast an almost reprehensive
+glance upon him, as if it were through his neglect that he was threatened
+with these elemental disasters.
+
+“Waal,” he retorted, “I ain’t settin’ myself ter fault the Lord’s
+weather. An’ my immortal hopes ain’t anchored in a fodder-stack, nuther
+in the orcherd. An’ thar’s no dispensation ez kin happen ez I ain’t in
+an’ about able ter stan’.”
+
+Even aunt Jemima was rather taken aback by this sturdy defiance of fate.
+She had nothing to say, which was rather rare, for she had given most
+of her declining years to argument, and much practice had developed her
+natural resources of contradiction, which were originally great. As Ike’s
+father was himself testy and dogmatic, and the blind man often proclaimed
+that he took “nuthin’ off’n nobody,” the family might have been divided
+by dissension were it not for the placid temperament of Ike’s mother.
+She received no credit, however, for—as people often observed—she was
+not born a Guyther and had “no call to be high-strung an’ sperited.” She
+had been a great beauty in her girlhood and had had lovers by the score,
+but care and age and poverty had bereft her of her personal charms, and
+she had neither culture nor grace of manner to fill the breach. Her hard
+experience of life, however, had failed to sour her temper, and her
+placidity had something of the buoyancy of youth, as she often declared,
+“It’ll be all the same a hundred year from now.”
+
+“’Pears like ter me ’twon’t blow that hard,” she remarked as she stirred
+the corn-meal batter in a wooden bowl, “the wind don’t fool much with our
+orcherd nohow.”
+
+“I’d ruther hev the wind ’n, no rain,” said aunt Jemima, plaintively.
+
+“I’m a-thinkin’ we’ll git rain too, jes’ ’bout enough. Yellimints don’t
+neglec’ us noways ez I kin see. Seedtime an’ harvest shell never fail”—
+
+“Kems mighty nigh it, wunst in a while,” said aunt Jemima, shaking
+her head. “Ef ye hed enny jedgment an’ forecast, M’ria, ye’d look fur
+troubles ahead like them ye hev seen.”
+
+There was a shadow on the wasted placid face under Mrs. Guyther’s
+sunbonnet as she knelt to put the potatoes with their jackets on in the
+ashes to roast.
+
+“Waal—let troubles go down the road. I wouldn’t hev liked thar looks no
+better through viewin’ ’em ’fore I got ter ’em. I ain’t a-goin’ ter turn
+roun’ now ter see ag’in how awful they war whenst they war a-facin’ me.
+Let troubles go down the road.”
+
+And so she covered the potatoes while aunt Jemima knit off another row.
+
+The next moment both were besprinkled with ashes; the chimney-place
+seemed full of a vivid white light never kindled on a hearthstone; there
+was a frightful crack of thunder, then it seemed to roll upon the roof,
+and the cabin rocked with the fierce assaults of the wind.
+
+“That thar shot war aimed p’int blank,” said the blind artillery-man,
+thrusting his hands deeper in his pockets, and stretching out his long
+legs, booted to the knee. His gray hair had flakes of the white ashes
+scattered upon it.
+
+“Suthin’ mus’ hev been struck right hyar in the door-yard,” said aunt
+Jemima. She had laid down her knitting with a sort of affronted and
+expostulatory air. “I’ll be bound it’s the martin-house.”
+
+“I’ll be bound it’s nuthin’ we want,” said Mrs. Guyther.
+
+There was a hesitating drop, another, upon the clap-boards that roofed
+the house; then came the heavy down-pour of the rain, the renewed gusts
+of the wind, and amidst it all a husky cry.
+
+They turned and looked at one another. Then Hiram Guyther lifted the
+latch. The opening door let in the moist, melancholy air of the stormy
+evening that seemed to saturate the room in pervading it. A crouching
+figure, the sombre clouds, the slanting lines of rain, the tossing
+dark woods, were barely visible without, until a sudden, blue forked
+flash, of lightning played through this dusky landscape of grays and
+browns. As it broadened into a diffusive red flare, it showed an ox with
+low-hanging horns between the shafts of a queer little cart, piled high
+with household goods. Among them half smothered in the quilts—wound
+tightly about her shoulders—appeared the yellow head, and pink face, and
+big, startled gray eyes of a little girl. It was only for a moment that
+this picture was presented, then it faded away to the dark monotony of
+the shapeless shadows of the woods; and as Ike went to the door he heard
+the drawling voice of the man he had seen at Keedon Bluffs asking Hiram
+Guyther for shelter for the night.
+
+“We-uns hev been travelin’ an’ hoped ter git settled fur the winter ’fore
+enny sech weather ez this lit onto us.”
+
+“Kem in, traveler! Ye air hearty welcome ef ye kin put up with sech
+ez we-uns kin gin ye,” the hospitable mountaineer drawled sonorously,
+raising his voice that it might be heard above the blast.
+
+“We’ll all hev pleurisy, though, ef ye don’t shet that thar door, an’
+keep it shet,” muttered aunt Jemima, in her half articulate undertone.
+
+She was silent the next moment, for there was slowly coming into the
+room—nay, into the grim heart of aunt Jemima—a new power in her life. A
+yellow-topped, cylindrical bundle, much like a silking ear of corn, was
+set on end in the middle of the puncheon floor, and as the strange man
+unwrapped the parti-colored quilts from about it, there stepped forth,
+golden-haired, ragged, smiling, with one finger between her small and
+jagged teeth, with dimples that graced the poverty and atoned for the
+dirt, a little girl, looking quaintly askance at the group about the
+fire, and making straight for the little chair under the shelf. She
+did not move it. She sat there, under the shelf, smiling and pink and
+affectedly shy.
+
+Aunt Jemima stared over her spectacles. She too smiled as her eyes met
+the child’s—a grim demonstration. Her features adapted themselves to it
+reluctantly as if they were not used to it.
+
+“Kem up by the fire, child,” she said.
+
+But the little girl sat still under the shelf.
+
+“Warm yer feet!” aunt Jemima further sought to beguile her.
+
+The little guest’s pleased smile took on the proportions of an ecstatic
+grin, but she only settled herself more comfortably in the small chair
+under the shelf.
+
+Aunt Jemima, tall, bent, raw-boned, rose and approached the little girl
+with a seriousness that might have seemed formidable. She looked up with
+her big gray eyes all shining in the firelight, but did not offer to
+retreat. She only clutched fast the arms of the little chair that had
+taken her delighted fancy, and since she evidently would not leave it for
+a moment, the old woman pulled the chair, child and all, in front of the
+fire, into the full genial radiance of the blazing hickory logs. Ike and
+his mother and the hounds looked on at this proceeding, and one of the
+dogs, following close after the chair when it was dragged over the floor,
+squeaked in a low-spirited key and wheezed and licked aunt Jemima’s hand,
+as it grasped the knob, seeking to call attention to himself. “Now ain’t
+ye a nice one, a-goin’ on four legs an’ switchin’ a tail a-hint ye, an’
+yit ondertakin’ ter be ez jealous ez folks,” she admonished him, and he
+frisked a little, glad to be spoken to on any terms, and sat down between
+her and the little girl, who still clutched the arms of the tiny chair.
+
+“Waal now, it air a plumb shame fur her ter be bar’foot this weather,”
+said aunt Jemima, contemplating the little guest.
+
+The old woman was abashed when she glanced up and saw the child’s
+companion, who, with Hiram Guyther, had just returned from the task of
+stabling the ox and sheltering the wagon, for she had not intended that
+the stranger should overhear this reflection.
+
+“I know that,” he drawled in a desolate low-spirited cadence, his
+eyes blinking in the light of a tallow dip that Mrs. Guyther had set
+on the mantel-piece, and seeking with covert curiosity to distinguish
+the members of the group. He paused suddenly, for at the sound of his
+voice the blind man abruptly rose to his feet and stretched out his
+arms gropingly. “Who—who?” he stuttered, as if his speech were failing
+him—“who be this ez hev kem hyar ter-night?” He passed his hands angrily
+across his eyes—“Ain’t it Jerry Binwell?”
+
+Blind as he was, he was the first to recognize the newcomer with that
+sharpening of the remaining senses which seeks to compensate for the loss
+of one. But indeed Jerry Binwell had outwardly changed beyond recognition
+in the twenty years since they had last seen him, when he and Abner were
+mere boys in the Cove, and had run off together to join the Southern army.
+
+Binwell took a step toward the door as if he regretted his entrance and
+wished that he still might go.
+
+“What hev gin ye the insurance ter kem a-nigh me!” Abner cried angrily,
+still reaching out with hands that were far enough from what they sought
+to clutch. The child, in her little chair at his feet, gazed up with
+awe. “Arter all ye done in camp, a-lyin’ an’ a-deludin’ me; an’ then
+slanderin’ an’ backbitin’ me ter the off’cers, an’ men; an’ every leetle
+caper I cut, gittin’ me laid by the heels fur it; an’ ev’ry time ye got
+in a scrape, puttin’ the blame on me. An’ at last—at last”—he cried,
+raising his voice and smiting his hands together as if overborne anew
+by the despair and scorn of it, “whenst we war flanked by the Feds ye
+deserted! An’ ye gin ’em the word how ter surround our battery! An’
+cannon, an’ cannoneers, an’ horses, an’ caissons, an’ battery-wagon, all
+war captured! That war yer sheer o’ the fight.”
+
+He paused for a moment. Then he took a step forward, his stalwart,
+soldierly figure erect, his face flushed, his hand pointing toward the
+door.
+
+“G ’long!” he said roughly. “Go out. Haffen o’ this house is mine. An’ ye
+sha’n’t bide in it one minute. I hev hed enough of ye an’ yer ways. Go
+out!”
+
+“It’s a plumb harricane out’n doors, Ab,” Mrs. Guyther pleaded timidly.
+“Won’t ye—won’t ye jes’ let him bide till the storm’s over?”
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+
+The lightning flashed; the thunder pealed. The blind man lifted his head,
+listening. He hesitated between his righteous scorn, his sense of injury,
+and the hospitality that was the instinct of his nature. He yielded at
+last, shamefacedly, as to a weakness.
+
+“Waal, waal,” he said, in an off-hand cavalier fashion, “keep Jerry dry;
+he’s mighty val’y’ble. Good men air sca’ce, Jerry; take keer o’ yerse’f!”
+
+He laughed sarcastically and resumed his chair. As he did so his booted
+knee struck against the little girl, still staring at him with eyes full
+of wonder.
+
+“What’s this?” he cried sharply, his nerves jarring yet with the
+excitement. He had not before noticed her. “I can’t see!” with a shrill
+rising inflection, as if the affliction were newly realized.
+
+A propitiatory smile broke upon her face.
+
+“Jes’ Rosamondy.” Her voice vibrated through the room—the high quavering
+treble of childhood that might have been shrill were it not so sweet.
+
+“Jerry’s leetle gal,” said aunt Jemima.
+
+“Shucks!” he exclaimed, contemptuously, and turned aside.
+
+“Set down, Rosamondy,” said aunt Jemima, assuming a grandmotherly
+authority. “Set down like a good leetle gal.”
+
+But Rosamond was not amenable to bidding and paid no heed. She had risen
+from her chair and stood by the side of the blind artillery-man.
+
+“Set down,” aunt Jemima admonished her again. “_He_ can’t see.”
+
+“Kin ye feel?” she said, suddenly laying her dimpled pink hand upon his.
+She gazed up at him, her eyes bright and soft, her lips parted, her cheek
+flushed. “Kin ye feel my hand?”
+
+He looked surly, affronted for a moment. He shook the light hand from
+his own. It fell upon his knee where Rosamond leaned her weight upon
+it. There was a subtle change on his face. In his old debonair way
+he drawled, “Yes, I kin feel. What’s this?”—he laid his hand upon her
+hair—“Flax, I reckon. Hyar, Sis’ Jemimy, hyar’s that flax ye war goin’
+ter hackle. Mus’ I han’ it over ter ye?”
+
+He made a feint of lifting her by her hair, and she sank down beside him,
+screaming with laughter till the rafters rang.
+
+Aunt Jemima had taken the sock from her knitting needles and was swiftly
+putting on the stitches for newly projected work.
+
+“Lemme medjure ye fur a stockin’,” she said, reaching out for the little
+girl. “Look at the stitches this child’s stockin’ will take! The fatness
+of her is s’prisin’. An’ ef Ab air willin’,” she continued, “I want
+Rosamondy ter bide hyar till I can knit her a couple o’ pair o’ stockin’s
+an’ mend up her clothes.”
+
+“I dunno ’bout’n that,” said Jerry Binwell. He had seated himself in a
+chair, his garments dripping with rain, and small puddles forming from
+them on the floor. “I dunno ez we-uns kin bide enny arter the rain’s
+over.”
+
+The capable aunt Jemima cast upon him a glance which seemed to contrast
+his limp, forlorn, and ineffective personality with her own stalwart
+moral value.
+
+“I ain’t talkin’ ter you-uns, Jerry, nor thinkin’ ’bout ye, nuther,”
+she remarked slightingly. “I done said my say,” she continued after
+the manner of a proclamation. “That thar child air goin’ ter bide hyar
+till I fix her clothes comfortable—ef it takes me a year.” Then with
+a recollection of her brother’s grievance she again added, “Ef Ab’s
+willin’.”
+
+The stocking was already showing a ribbed top of an admirable
+circumference. Aunt Jemima evidently felt a pride in its proportions
+which was hardly decorous.
+
+Jerry made no reply. He looked disconsolately at the fire from under the
+brim of his rain-soaked hat, that now and then contributed a drop to his
+cheek, which thus bore a tearful aspect. Presently he broke the silence,
+speaking in a strained rasping voice.
+
+“Ef I hed knowed ez Ab held sech a pack o’ old gredges ag’in me I
+wouldn’t kem nigh hyar,”—he glanced at the stalwart soldierly form
+bending to the little laughing maiden. “Ab dunno what I tole the en’my—he
+warn’t thar. I never tole the en’my nuthin’. An’ ennybody ez be captured
+kin be accused o’ desertin’—ef folks air so minded. I never deserted,
+nuther. An’ sech gredges ez Ab hev got,” he continued, complainingly,
+“air fur what I done, an’ what I ain’t done whenst I war nuthin’ but a
+boy.”
+
+Ab turned his imperious youthful face toward him. “Ye hesh up!” he said.
+“Thar ain’t no truce hyar fur you-uns.”
+
+His attention reverted instantly to the babyish sorceress at his knee,
+who with an untiring repetition and an unfailing delight in the exercises
+would rise from her chair and gently touch his hand or brow crying out,
+with a joyous voice full of laughter, “Kin you-uns feel my hand!” Then he
+would pinch her rosy cheeks and retort in a gruff undertone, “Kin you-uns
+feel my hand!”
+
+They all behaved, Ike thought, as if they had found something choice and
+of rare value. And if the truth must be known, he watched the scene
+with somewhat the same sentiments which animated the old dogs. He shared
+their sense of supersedure, and he noticed how they whined and could take
+comfort in no spot about the hearth; how they would walk around three
+times and lie down with a sigh of renunciation, to get up suddenly with
+an afflicted wheeze, and hunt about for another place where the distemper
+of their jealous hearts might let them find rest for their lazy bones.
+They all sought to intrude themselves upon notice. One of them crept
+to aunt Jemima and humbly licked her foot, only to have that stout and
+decided member deal him a prompt rebuke upon the nose, eliciting a yelp
+altogether out of proportion to the twinge inflicted; for the dog, since
+he was not going to be petted, was glad to have some grievance to howl
+about, as he might thus more potently appeal to her sympathy. The hound
+that was accustomed to lead the blind man was even more insistent in
+his manifestations. He went and rested his head on his master’s knee,
+while the little girl sat close in her chair on the opposite side, and
+he wagged his tail and looked imploringly up in the sightless face. But
+Rosamondy leaned across and patted the dog on the head, and let him take
+her hand between his teeth, and jovially pulled his ears, and finally
+caught him by both, when they lost their balance and went over on the
+hearth together in a wild scramble, about to be “scorched an’ scarified
+ter death,” as aunt Jemima said snappishly when she rescued the little
+girl, who was a very red rose now, and with a tender shake deposited her
+once more in her chair. Then the old dog left his master, and ran and sat
+by her and sought to incite more gambols.
+
+But Ike was not so easily reconciled. He did not appreciate the
+gratulation in this acquisition that pervaded the fireside. She was
+nothing but a girl, and a little one at that. Girls were not uncommon;
+in fact they abounded. They were nothing to brag on—Ike was young as
+yet. They couldn’t do anything that was worth while. To be sure the
+miller’s daughter _was_ tolerably limber, and could walk on the timbers
+of the race, which were high above the stream. But how she worked her
+arms above her head to balance herself! And she pretended to shoot once
+in a while; he would rather be the mark than stand forty yards from it.
+That was the best he could say for her shooting. And she was the most
+valuable and desirable specimen of girlhood in his acquaintance. He noted
+with a sort of wonder that his mother, through sheer absorption, let the
+hoe-cake burn to a cinder, and had to make up and bake one anew. And when
+it was at last done, and placed on the table with the platter of venison
+and corn dodgers, he did not admire particularly the simple but vivid
+delight with which Rosamond greeted the prospect of supper. But even the
+saturnine Hiram Guyther looked at her with a smile as she ran glibly
+around the table, and with her hands on the edge stood on her tiptoes to
+see what they were to have, and he turned and said to Jerry Binwell, “She
+air a powerful bouncin’ leetle gal. I reckon we-uns’ll hev ter borry her,
+Jerry—ef,” recollecting in his turn that this was the child of his blind
+brother’s enemy, “ef Ab’s willin’.”
+
+The dawdling Jerry, still staring disconsolately at the fire, drawled
+non-committally, “I dunno ’bout’n that.”
+
+Despite all her fervor of anticipation, Rosamondy was not hungry. She
+knelt in her chair at the table to be tall enough to participate in the
+exercises, and her beaming pink face, and her tossing yellow hair, and
+her glittering rows of squirrel teeth—she showed a great many of them
+when she laughed—irradiated the space between aunt Jemima and Ab. Her
+conduct was what Ike mentally designated as “robustious.” She bounced
+up and down; she fed her supper to the dogs; she let the cat climb up
+the back of her chair and put two paws on her shoulder among her tangled
+yellow curls and lap milk out of her saucer. She shrieked and bobbed
+about till Ike did not know whether he was eating hoe-cake or sawdust.
+She looked as if she were out in a high wind. Aunt Jemima vainly sought
+to make her eat her supper, but the displeasure on her face was a feigned
+rebuke for which Rosamond cared as little as might be. When she concluded
+her defiance of all those observances, which Ike had been taught to
+respect, by taking her empty saucer, inverting it and perching it on her
+tousled yellow pate after the manner of a cap, Hiram Guyther, the meal
+being ended, caught her up delightedly and rode her to the fireplace on
+his shoulder.
+
+“I declar’, Jerry,” he exclaimed cordially, his big bass voice booming
+amidst the trilling treble laughter, “we-uns’ll hev ter steal this hyar
+leetle gal from ye.”
+
+And Jerry, demurely disconsolate, replied, “I reckon I couldn’t spare
+her, right handy.”
+
+Presently Ike began to notice that it was very difficult for Rosamondy
+to get enough of a joke. She refused to descend from the gigantic
+mountaineer’s shoulder, and when he tried to put her down clung to his
+collar, around his neck, indeed she did not scruple to clutch his hair.
+Hiram Guyther had not for a long time taken such active exercise—for in
+this region men of his age assume all the privileges and ailments of
+advanced years—as during the time that he trotted up and down the floor
+with the little girl on his shoulder, playing he was a horse. A hard
+driver he had, to be sure, and he was obliged to stamp, and shy, and
+jump, and spurt, smartly. He did not look quite sensible Ike thought in
+unfilial surprise.
+
+The whole domestic routine was upset. His mother and aunt Jemima had left
+the clearing away of the dishes and applied themselves to pulling out
+the old trundle-bed—long ago too short for any of the family—and they
+arranged it with loving care and much precaution against the cold and
+draughts.
+
+“I’m fairly feared she mought roll out, an’ git her spine bruk, or her
+neck,” said aunt Jemima, knitting her wrinkled brows in affectionate
+alarm as she looked at the trundle-bed that was about two feet from the
+floor.
+
+“I reckon not,” said Jerry meekly as he inoffensively watched the
+arrangement of the cosy nest. “She never fell off ’n the top o’ the
+kyart—an’ sometimes she napped ef the sun war hot.”
+
+“An’ ye air the only man in Tennessee ez would hev sot the leetle critter
+up thar—an’ her tender bones so easy ter break,” said aunt Jemima, tartly.
+
+“Waal, I done the bes’ I could fur her,” drawled Jerry in his tearful
+voice, looking harried and woeful.
+
+And remembering how kind and gentle he had seemed to his little
+daughter, Ike wondered that he did not feel sorry for Jerry when aunt
+Jemima intimated that he was heedless of her safety and neglected her.
+But watching the man Ike was even more disapproving of the wholesale
+adoration which the family seemed disposed to lay at the feet of the
+little girl and of her adoption into a solicitude and love that was
+almost parental. He believed that Jerry had an inimical appreciation of
+all the slighting consideration of him, but offered no objection to the
+authority they had assumed over Rosamondy, thinking it well that she
+should get all she could out of them.
+
+Her hilarity seemed to increase as the hour waxed later, and when
+aunt Jemima finally took her, squirming and wriggling and shouting
+with laughter, from Hiram Guyther’s shoulder and tucked her into the
+trundle-bed with a red quilt drawn up close under her dimpled white
+chin and her long yellow hair, Ike expected to see the whole bed
+paraphernalia rise up while she resurrected herself.
+
+“Ye lie still, now,” said aunt Jemima sternly, laying a hand upon each
+shoulder.
+
+A vague squirm, a sleepy chuckle, and Rosamond was eclipsed for the night.
+
+“Waal, that beats my time,” said the grim aunt Jemima softly. “Asleep
+a’ready!”
+
+She sat down and resumed her knitting. Hiram Guyther was mopping his brow
+with his handkerchief.
+
+“I feel like ez ef I’d los’ ten pound o’ flesh,” he said. And Ike thought
+it not unlikely. His mother was washing the dishes; the blind man was
+reflectively smoking his pipe; the dogs came and disposed themselves with
+reproachful sighs prominently about the hearth. Jerry Binwell did not
+share their relief. He stirred uneasily in his chair, the legs grating on
+the puncheon floor, as if he feared that with this distraction removed
+the more unfriendly attention of the family might be directed to him. No
+one spoke for a moment, all listening to the tumult of the rain on the
+roof; they had not before noticed that the violence of the storm had
+subsided into a steady downpour. Then, after a glance at the sleeping
+face, pensive now and ethereal and sensitive, framed in the yellow hair
+that streamed over the red quilt, aunt Jemima turned a long calculating
+gaze on Jerry Binwell.
+
+As its result she observed bluntly, “Her mother mus’ hev been a mighty
+pritty woman.”
+
+If the inference that Rosamond inherited none of her beauty from her
+father was apprehended by Jerry, he did not resent it. His eyes filled
+with tears.
+
+“Yes, she war,” he said, dropping his voice to a husky undertone. “She
+war a plumb beauty whenst she war young, afore she tuk ter ailin’.”
+
+Another pause ensued. The rain beat monotonously; the eaves dripped
+and dripped; the trees on the mountain slopes swayed, and creaked, and
+crashed together.
+
+“It hev been mighty hard on me,” Jerry again lifted up his dreary voice,
+“ter know how bes’ ter keer fur Rosamondy—not bein’ a ’oman myself an’
+sech. I know she’s ragged, but I can’t mend her clothes so they’ll
+stay; she jumps so onexpected. I can’t sew fitten fur much, though I hev
+tried ter l’arn. I ’pear ter be slow an’ don’t get much purchase on it.
+I can’t keep no stiddy aim with a needle, nuther. An’ all the wimmen
+ez ever hed a chance at Rosamondy tuk ter quar’lin over her, like them
+done ez Sol’mon hed ter jedge a-twixt, till I war actially afeared she
+be tore in two. Ever since the war I hev been livin’ down in Persimmon
+Cove an’ thar it war I merried. ’Bout a year ago Em’line she died o’
+the lung complaint. An’ then the ’tother wimmen, her sister an’ mother,
+they quar’led so over Rosamondy, an’ set tharse’fs so ter spite me every
+which-a-way, ez I jes’ ’lowed I’d fetch her up hyar fur this winter ter
+bide with my folks awhile. An’ I fund ’em all dead or moved away—jes’
+my luck! Rosamondy an’ me hev hed a mighty hard time. I hev been mighty
+poor, never could git no good holt on nuthin’. I ain’t felt much like
+tryin’ noways sence Em’line lef’; ’pears mighty hard she couldn’t hev
+been let ter bide awhile longer.” And once more his eyes filled with
+tears.
+
+“Waal, mournin’ the dead is grudgin’ ’em the glory,” said Mrs. Guyther in
+her comforting tones.
+
+“I know that,” said Jerry, “I hev tried ter bow my mind;” his eyes were
+still full of tears. And Ike, looking at them, was disposed to wonder
+where he got them, so little did they seem genuine.
+
+The tallow dip on the mantel-piece went out in a splutter and left them
+all sitting in the red glow of the fire, which was a mass of coals where
+the white flames had been. It was far later than the usual bed-time of
+the family, and thus they were reminded of it. Mrs. Guyther, kneeling on
+the hearth, began to cover the coals with the plentiful ashes that lay
+in great heaps on either side. The dogs, summoned by Hiram Guyther to
+leave the house, pulled themselves into various efforts at an upright
+posture, and sat gazing blinkingly at the fire with a determination to
+misunderstand the tenor of his discourse. One of them glanced over his
+shoulder at the door and shivered at the thought of the bleak dampness
+outside. Another yawned shrilly and was adjured by aunt Jemima to
+hesh his mouth—didn’t he know he’d wake the baby up if he kep’ yappin’
+that-a-way.
+
+“Let the dogs alone, Hiram,” said Mrs. Guyther, “they count on bein’
+allowed ter stay till the las’ minit. Ye show Jerry whar he hev ter sleep
+whilst I fix the fire.”
+
+After the host had shown Jerry up the ladder to the shadowy roof-room,
+Abner, who had not again spoken to the visitor, and seeming as if he were
+gazing ponderingly into the fire, said suddenly to the two women:—
+
+“What do that leetle gal look like?”
+
+Mrs. Guyther paused with the shovel in her hand, as she still knelt on
+the hearth.
+
+Aunt Jemima dropped her knitting in her lap.
+
+They replied in a breath:—
+
+“The pritties’ yearthly human ever you see!”
+
+“Bigges’ gray eyes!” cried Mrs. Guyther, “an’ black lashes!”
+
+“An’ yaller hair—yaller ez gold an’ haffen a yard long,” exclaimed aunt
+Jemima.
+
+“Fine bleached skin, white ez milk,” said Mrs. Guyther.
+
+“An’ yit she’s all pink—special when she laughs,” cried aunt Jemima,
+“jes’ like these hyar wild roses—ye ’member ’em, don’t ye, Ab, growin’ in
+the fence corner in the June weather”—
+
+—“Sech a many of ’em over yander by Keedon Bluffs,” put in Mrs. Guyther.
+
+“I ’member ’em,” said Ab.
+
+“Jes’ the color of ’em when she laughs—jes’ like they be, a-blowin’ about
+in the wind,” declared aunt Jemima.
+
+“She’s named right—Rosy; she’s like ’em,” said Mrs. Guyther.
+
+The red glow of the embers was full on the blind man’s face, encircled by
+shadows. It seemed half smiling, or perhaps that was some illusion of the
+fire-light, for it was pensive too, and wistful. He pondered for a while;
+then—“I’d like ter see her,” he said, simply. “I would.”
+
+Every word was distinctly audible in the roof-room. Jerry Binwell sat
+in a rickety chair amongst the shadows, his head attentively bent down,
+his hands on his knees, his hat drooping half over his face. The rifts
+between the puncheons of the flooring admitted a red glow from the
+fire-lit room below, and illumined the dusky loft with longitudinal
+shafts of light. A triumphant smile played over his face as the women
+talked of the beauty of the little Rosamond—a smile that might have
+expressed only paternal pride and satisfaction in the comfortable results
+of the evening. But when the blind man’s rich low voice sounded, “I’d
+like ter see her—I would,” the listener’s face changed. The narrow
+gleam of light from the cracks in the floor played upon the mocking
+animosity in his eyes, the sneer on his lips as they parted. He stood
+suddenly erect, in a tense soldierly position—among the shadows, and the
+bags of “yerbs,” and the old clothes, and the peltry hanging from the
+ridge-pole—brought his heels together with a swift precision, and then
+the deserter mockingly carried his hand to his hat in a military salute.
+
+“I would,” dreamily reiterated the blind soldier in the room below.
+
+The deserter, relaxing his martial attitude to his normal slouch,
+noiselessly smote his thigh with his right hand, and burst into silent
+laughter.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+The next morning Ike woke with an odd, heavy sense of having sustained
+some serious misfortune, and it was several moments before he
+could identify it; when he did, he was amazed to find it only his
+intuitive distrust of the stranger’s presence here, and an aversion
+to its continuance. He upbraided himself in the same instant for the
+inhospitable thought. “Hyar I be, actially a-grudgin’ the houseless ones
+a shelter from the yellimints,” he said in shame.
+
+He was disappointed, however, to observe that after breakfast there was
+no sign of an impending departure; Jerry Binwell easily adapted himself
+to the domestic routine and smoked and lounged before the fire, or
+strolled lazily about the yard. Ike thought, for all he so readily made
+himself at home, that his sordid, weak, sly face looked strangely alien
+and out of place among the sterling, honest, candid countenances of the
+family circle. So ill at ease did Ike feel with this vague anxiety that
+he was glad enough when his mother bethought herself that she needed
+logwood from the store. Mounted on the old gray mare he set out on this
+errand, feeling liberated in a measure, riding against the fresh wind
+that seemed to blow away the vexing distemper of his thoughts.
+
+The rain had revivified the world; everything seemed made anew. The
+colors were so luminously clear; how splendidly the maples deployed down
+the mountain side, with red and amber and purple gleams; every needle of
+the pines was tipped with a rain-drop, prismatically glittering. Mists
+rose from the intermediate valleys between the ranges, and folded their
+wings for a space, dallying on the summit, and then, drawn sunwards,
+lifted with silent ethereal grace into the soft blue sky. How lofty the
+mountains seemed to-day—how purple! Even the red mud beneath his mare’s
+hoofs had depths of rich ocherous tints, restful to the eye. It splashed
+monotonously under the steady jogging tread, so muffled that a squirrel,
+nimbly speeding along the topmost rail of the wayside fence, had no
+thought of an approach, and seemed a fellow-traveler; a swift one!—the
+old mare is soon far behind. And now the river is crossed, swollen by
+the rain and of a clay-color, instead of its wonted limpid silvery tint,
+and deep enough in the middle to make the old mare flounder to the girth
+and then unwillingly swim, while Ike gathers himself on his knees on
+the saddle to keep out of the cold water. And now up the rocky bank in
+the deep shadowy woods,—where there is no fence on either side of the
+road, which seems merely a vagrant wheel-track here and there in the
+mud, covered with the yellow and red and brown fallen leaves—and all the
+bosky vistas are full of richest color. Everywhere the giant trees close
+thickly in—no sign of mountains now, save the tonic balsamic air in proof
+of the altitudes. Only the pines and cedars and the jungles of the laurel
+are green, and green they will be all winter. Hear that! a fox barks in
+that dense tangle—are the frost grapes ripe, old Crafty? And suddenly
+between a scarlet oak and a yellow hickory a section of purple mountain
+shows, a floating capricious sprite-like mist slips in and out of sight,
+and there at the base of the range is the little store—a low white-washed
+shanty of one room; further up the slope in the clearing a gray log-cabin
+stands where Skimpy Sawyer lives.
+
+Skimpy’s father kept the store, in a leisurely and unexcited
+fashion—indeed many people might have considered that the store kept
+itself. As Ike dismounted and hitched the mare to the fence, he gave a
+peculiar whistle, a preconcerted signal, loud and shrill enough to summon
+his friend if he had been anywhere in the vicinity. No one responded, and
+Ike took his way to the open door of the store.
+
+He had a certain pleasant anticipation; here congregated the mountain
+cronies, and he loved to listen to their talk enriched with warlike
+reminiscences, through which vibrated, as it were, some faint and far-off
+echo of the strain of the bugle and the roll of the drum.
+
+His hopes were suddenly destroyed. As he ascended the three or four
+unhewn rocks that formed the steps to the door, he heard the long,
+expressionless drawl of the storekeeper within, and then a fat man’s
+husky laugh. Ike started guiltily at the sound. But the broad sunshine
+had thrown a squatty shadow of him upon the floor within, and he
+knew that this caricature was recognized, for the voice sang out
+suddenly—“Ai—yi Ike; I see ye! Needn’t be hidin’! I’ll kem arter ye!”
+
+Then as the boy, shamefaced and a little lowering, appeared in the
+doorway, he continued, “Whar’s that buckeye tree ye war a-goin’ ter cut
+down fur me so brash?”
+
+“I plumb furgot it,” mumbled Ike, as if his contrition were more
+acceptable when half articulate. “I furgot it, Mr. Corbin.”
+
+“I’ll be bound ye did!” said the fat man vivaciously.
+
+He was seated in one of the rickety chairs which hardly seemed adequate
+to his weight. He wore an unbleached cotton shirt, a suit of blue jeans
+much creased and crumpled, and a broad-brimmed hat, beneath which was
+a face also creased and crumpled. He was slow and inactive rather than
+old, and a man of his age who had lived a different life would hardly
+have such gray hair as his, or so many wrinkles. Nevertheless he had
+not entirely subsided into the chimney corner as is the habit of the
+elderly mountaineer. He still plied his trade which was that of making
+spinning-wheels and chairs, bread troughs and bowls, which require
+mechanical dexterity rather than agility; thus it was that he had hired
+Ike to find and cut down a sound and stalwart buckeye suitable for his
+purposes, his own unwieldy bulk and sedentary habits making him averse to
+undertaking the job himself.
+
+Peter Sawyer, the storekeeper, was tall and lank. He had a long head,
+an attenuated face, and a habit of basking in the sun, which was not
+incongruous with a certain lizard-like aspect. He sat now with his
+chair tilted against the frame of the doorway, and the sunshine poured
+through upon him. He too wore his hat, and did not move while one of
+his customers counted some pelts that he had brought to exchange and
+announced the result. “Want some sugar an’ salt fur ’em?” demanded the
+merchant lazily. “He’p yerse’f, neighbor; he’p yerse’f.”
+
+The neighbor, who lived on the other side of the mountain, pottered
+around among the merchandise in search of the sugar and salt, attended
+only by the storekeeper’s dog, an earnest-minded and grave-mannered
+brute, that guarded the store by night and seemed to clerk there by day,
+following the customers about with sedulous politeness, and apparently
+only hindered from waiting upon them by the lack of adaptability in
+his paws. His urbanity did not extend to their followers. He measured
+strength with all the dogs that came to the store. It was useless for any
+pacifically disposed hound to sit under the wagon bed at a safe distance.
+The clerk would rush out with a celerity that implied a hundred feet,
+and the fracas under the wagon would be long and loud and bloody. But
+he had not all the canine pluck in the Big Smoky, and thus it was that
+one of his ears was slit, and he preferred to shut one eye, and his tail
+was but a stump. He turned wagging it vivaciously as Ike came in, and
+the storekeeper, regardless of old Corbin’s reproofs, said benignantly,
+“Howdy, Ike, howdy? Make yerse’f at home. How’s the fambly, Ike, how’s
+the fambly?”
+
+“Jes’ toler’ble,” said Ike, taking a rickety chair near the door.
+
+“Uncle Ab ez well ez common?” demanded the customer, still hunting about
+for the salt. He was a tall, straight, soldierly fellow, and though he
+had fought on the opposite side he felt a comrade-like sympathy for the
+blinded artillery-man.
+
+“He be jes’ ez peart ez ever—jes’ a-settin’-back,” said Ike, with
+responsive interest. He had great love for his uncle and a special
+veneration for a man so learned as he fancied Abner Guyther to be in the
+science of gunnery. “He air jes’ ez lively ez a three-year-old colt.”
+
+“Ain’t he a heap o’ trouble ter lead about an’ sech?” demanded old
+Corbin, turning his crow’s-feet—one could hardly have said his glance,
+for it was so deeply enveloped among the folds of wrinkles—upon Ike.
+
+“Naw sir!” the boy repudiated the idea with a glowing cheek and a
+flashing eye. “Uncle Ab air sech good comp’ny everybody in the fambly
+jes’ hankers ter bide nigh him; the identical dogs fight one another fur
+which one air ter be ’lowed ter lead him—sometimes ef we-uns air busy
+he walks with a string ter the dog’s neck. Shucks! the main thing air
+to _git_ ter lead him—jes’ ez apt ez not uncle Ab will set out by his
+lone self. An’ he don’t often run over ennything—he ’pears ter hev a
+heap o’ sense in his hands, an’ he knows whenst he air a-comin’ towards
+ennything like a door or post, though he’ll walk ag’in cheers or tubs or
+sech. ’Tother day—ye mought hev knocked me down I war so surprised—I kem
+along the road ’bout a quarter o’ a mile from home, an’ thar sot uncle
+Ab a-top o’ the rail fence—jes’ a-settin’ thar in the sun all alone an’
+a-whistlin’ the bugle calls.”
+
+“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the customer, “he always hed spunk,—Abner hed; an’ he
+air a-showin’ it now, jes’ ez true ez when he sarved in his battery.”
+
+“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Ike, gratified by this sign of appreciation.
+Then warming to the subject he continued, “Uncle Ab ain’t ’feared o’
+nuthin’—not even now, in the everlastin’ dark ez he be. Why, ’tother
+day I see a old cannon-ball a-layin’ on a ledge over yander at Keedon
+Bluffs, an’ when he learn ’bout’n it he war plumb trembly, he war so
+excited, an’ he ’lowed he’d go ef I’d holp him a leetle, an’ climb down
+them tremenjious cluffs, jes’ ter lay his hand on that cannon-ball,
+ter remind hisself o’ that thar old gun o’ his’n, what he doted on so.
+It fairly bruk his heart ter spike it. I hev heard him tell ’bout’n it
+a-many-a-time.”
+
+“Hey!” exclaimed Peter Sawyer, turning about in amaze, “a blind man climb
+down Keedon Bluffs! ’Twould take a mighty spry feller with all his senses
+fur that. I misdoubts ef ennybody hev ever done sech ez that—thout ’twar
+Ab whenst he war young an’ limber, an’ wild ez a buck.”
+
+Ike had become suddenly conscious that old Corbin was watching him
+curiously.
+
+“He don’t ’pear ter know he air blind, do he?” demanded the fat man,
+slowly.
+
+Ike detected some covert meaning in the tones. “Waal,” he said, vaguely
+embarrassed and swinging his foot against the rung of the chair, “Uncle
+Ab—he jes’ sets an’ laffs, an’ talks ’bout whar he hev been an’ what him
+an’ his comrades done, an’ he don’t notice much what’s goin’ on now, nor
+look out fur nuthin’ ez is ter kem.”
+
+“He ain’t soured noways,” put in the customer, still intent on his
+purchase.
+
+There was a momentary silence. The flies buzzed about the sorghum barrel.
+You might have heard the cat purring on the shelf.
+
+“This hyar ’bout fair medjure, Pete?” the customer demanded lifting his
+grave eyes as he helped himself to salt.
+
+“I reckon so; I reckon so,” said the storekeeper casually.
+
+Ike rose abruptly in awkward and eager haste; in a constrained and
+nervous way he asked for the logwood he wanted. His quick instincts had
+detected fault in something that he had said or the meaning that he had
+conveyed. But his penetration was not so subtle as to descry wherein the
+fault consisted. He was eager to get away. “’Fore I let my jaw git ter
+wabblin’ ag’in. An’ then I hed better cut off the e-end o’ my tongue with
+a hatchet an’ mebbe it wouldn’t be so powerful nimble.”
+
+He expected old Corbin to say more, but the fat man sat solemnly puffing
+his pipe, his face more than usually wrinkled, as he watched Ike with his
+small twinkling eyes while Peter Sawyer procured the logwood and gave it
+to the boy.
+
+With some indefinite intention of propitiation Ike turned toward him at
+the door. “I hev been toler’ble busy lately, but I’m a-goin’ ter cut down
+that thar tree this evening, sure.”
+
+“So do! So do!” assented old Corbin unreservedly. “Then I’ll gin ye that
+thar rooster I war a-tellin’ ye ’bout. Powerful spry Dominicky.”
+
+Ike looked back over his shoulder once as he trotted off on the old white
+mare. The storekeeper and his clerk were standing in the doorway; the
+ex-soldier had completed his purchases, and was riding off toward the
+mountain; old Corbin was visible sitting within the door, a hand on
+either knee, his eyes meditatively downcast. He solemnly shook his head
+as he cogitated, and Ike was moved to wonder what he meant by it. “I
+wisht I hedn’t tole what uncle Ab say ’bout climbin’ down them bluffs.
+They ’pear ter think it be so cur’ous.”
+
+And it was of Abner Guyther that the two gossips were talking as Ike rode
+away out of sight.
+
+“That be a powerful strange thing fur Abner ter be a-sayin’,” remarked
+the storekeeper presently.
+
+Old Corbin shook his head with a wise look; a wise smile wrinkled about
+the corners of his mouth.
+
+“In my opinion _he_ ain’t no blind man. He kin see _some_, mebbe more,
+mebbe less. He air jes’ purtendin’. Set up thar an’ laff an’ joke ez spry
+ez a boy o’ twenty, an’ talk ’bout climbin’ down the bluffs—an’ tell me
+he ain’t hed his vision for all these years! I know Abner!”
+
+“What makes ye ’low sech ez that, Jake?” demanded his crony, fairly
+startled out of his composure by this proposition.
+
+“Kase Abner always war a ’sateful an’ a plottin’ boy—look at the way he
+fooled his folks when he run off ter jine the Secesh! I ain’t furgittin’
+that. An sure’s ye air born thar’s suthin’ behind all them thar shet
+eyeballs. Abner, he hain’t quit his plannin’ an’ sech. He hev got his
+reason fur it. It’s slow a-showin’. But it’ll be made plain.”
+
+The storekeeper puffed his cob-pipe, and silently watched the blue
+wreaths curl from it. He did not enter readily into this opinion, for
+he was a man of the practical views natural to those who associate much
+with their fellows. Despite the sparse population of the district he had
+a pivotal participation in such life as there was on the slopes and in
+the cove, for it revolved about the store. But Corbin spent his days in
+mere mechanical labor that left his mind free to wander. Thus speculation
+and vague fancies were his companions, and there was scant wonder that he
+should presently treat them as conclusions and facts.
+
+In silent anticipation of the elucidation of the singular theory
+advanced, Peter Sawyer drew from his pocket a strong clasp knife and
+began to whittle a bit of wood which he picked up from the doorstep. But
+old Corbin’s next remark seemed to have no relation to the subject.
+
+“Who d’ye reckon I seen yestiddy up yander by that thar big vine-grown
+spot what they calls Old Scratch’s vineyard?”
+
+Pete Sawyer looked inquiringly doubtful, but silently puffed his pipe.
+
+“_Jerry Binwell!_”
+
+Old Corbin paused after he said this, smiling broadly and fixedly—all the
+wrinkles about his mouth and eyes seemed to come out as if to enjoy the
+sensation that this announcement occasioned.
+
+The storekeeper stared blankly for a moment, then dropped his pipe upon
+the ground. The fire rolled out.
+
+“Laws-a-massy!” he exclaimed, unheeding.
+
+“Yes, sir! same old Jerry; the wuss fur wear; some _de_-lapidated;
+but—same old Jerry!”
+
+“I ’lowed he war in Texas; folks said he went thar arter the war.”
+
+“I hailed him; he purtended not ter know me a-fust, an’ he stopped, an’
+we talked awhile. He ’lowed he had never been ter Texas. Jes’ down the
+kentry a piece in Persimmon Cove. I dunno whether he war tellin’ the
+truth.”
+
+“I reckon he war,” said the storekeeper. “It air a mighty out-o’-the-way
+place—Persimmon Cove; Satan hisself mought hid out in Persimmon an’ folks
+in gineral never be the wiser ez the Enemy war enny nigher.”
+
+“He ’lowed he married thar,” continued Corbin. “An’ what d’ye reckon he
+hed along o’ him?”
+
+He looked at his crony with a broad grin.
+
+“A—leetle gal! Thar they war a-travelin’ along the slope. Hed a leetle
+ox-cart an’ a steer geared up in it; he hed a cow critter too; calf
+followed; an’ sech cheers an’ house-stuff ez he owned piled in the cart,
+an’ settin’ a-top o’ it all this hyar leetle gal—’bout ez big ez a
+shingle. She rid, bein’ ez she hain’t got no weight sca’cely.”
+
+“An’ whar’s the ’oman?” asked the storekeeper, missing an important
+factor in the family circle.
+
+Corbin lowered his voice and his humorous wrinkles strove to retire
+themselves.
+
+“Dead,” he said gravely.
+
+Peter Sawyer, bethinking himself of his pipe, filled it anew with a
+crumpled leaf of tobacco, relighted it, and with the pipe-stem between
+his teeth resumed the conversation.
+
+“An’ what sorter welcome do he reckon he air goin’ ter find ’mongst the
+mountings hyar. Do he ’low we hev furgot his sheer in the war, kase it
+hev been right smart time since? Naw sir. I ’members like yestiddy whenst
+old Jeemes Guyther—Abner’s dad, ye know—kem ter my store, lookin’ ez ef
+he hed buried all his kin on yearth, an’ tole ez Abner hed run off ter
+jine the Secesh along o’ Jerry Binwell. An’ the old man said he hoped Ab
+mought die afore he reached the Rebel lines, kase he’d ruther mourn him
+dead ’n know he hed raised his hand ag’in the Nunion.”
+
+“But he wouldn’t, though,” said Corbin prosaically. “Them war days when
+men talked mighty big.”
+
+“An’ they acted mighty big too, sometimes,” retorted Sawyer.
+
+“Waal, Abner war the apple o’ the old man’s eye,” said Corbin; “I b’lieve
+he’d turn in his grave ef he could know how Ab war hurt. The whole fambly
+jes’ the same, too. Look how Ab air pompered now. Ef Abner war blind sure
+enough he couldn’t be better treated. His dad always put the blame o’
+Ab’s goin’ on Jerry. An’ Jerry war a wuthless chance! He kem back inside
+o’ a year—deserted! But Ab never kem back till arter the s’render.”
+
+“What makes ye ’low ez Abner hev got his vision same ez common?” Sawyer
+demanded again. “That notion ’pears powerful cur’ous ter me—seein’ him
+led about hyar fur nigh on ter twenty year, now by Ike, an’ now by his
+brother, an’ then ag’in by a dog an’ sech.”
+
+Old Corbin looked cautiously over his shoulder through the open door
+as if he feared some lurking eaves-dropper. The cabin on the slope
+stood silent and motionless in the motionless yellow radiance of the
+autumnal sun. But the winds were astir, and as they swayed the woods
+they revealed bizarre sunbeams rioting hither and thither in glittering
+fantasies among the leaves. No one sauntered down the curves of the
+winding road nor along the banks of the shining river. The only creature
+visible was the old dog asleep, but sitting upright, in a dislocated
+posture, his head nodding spasmodically, and his lower jaw dropped.
+
+“Ye hearn,” said Corbin softly, “that thar nevy o’ his, Ike Guyther, ’low
+Ab want ter climb down Keedon Bluffs ter whar that old ball’s a-lyin’.
+Now do ye reckon a _blind_ man ez hev got good sense air goin’ ter trest
+his bones a-gittin’ down that jagged bluff ez sheer ez a wall with sech
+holp ez that thar skitter-brained Ike kin gin?”
+
+Sawyer, holding his pipe in one hand and his grizzled chin in the other,
+meditatively shook his head.
+
+“Naw sir,” said Corbin, putting the gesture into the more stalwart
+negation of words. “A man, though, ez hed his vision, though his j’ints
+be stiff some with age and laziness, mought do it, special ef he hed the
+holp o’ some strong spry boy like Ike, ez be astonishin’ grown fur his
+age, but ain’t got no mo’ sense an’ scrimination than a boy naterally
+hev.”
+
+Once more Peter Sawyer nodded his head—this time the action was vertical,
+for the gesture intimated affirmation.
+
+“What in the name o’ reason do Abner want ter go down whar the old ball
+be lodged?” he asked in a speculative voice, as if he hardly expected an
+answer.
+
+But the ready Corbin, primed with surmises, first looked cautiously up
+and down the road and then ventured a suggestion.
+
+“Waal, sir; seein’ Jerry Binwell minded me o’ Abner Guyther, an’ how they
+used ter consort together, an’ thinkin’ o’ Ab ’minded me o’ the store
+old Squair Torbett used ter set on him. Ab war mighty nigh always at the
+Squair’s house a-doin’ some leetle job or other, special arter the Squair
+tuk ter agein’ so through worryin’ ’bout the war an’ his sons ez war in
+the army. An’ Jerry Binwell war at the Squair’s too, bein’ Ab’s shadder.
+Waal, ye know the Squair hed a power o’ money, an’ he hed drawed it
+out’n the banks in the valley towns, ’count o’ the raidin’ soldiers an’
+sech. An’ he hid it somehows. Some ’lowed he buried it, but most folks
+said he let these hyar two boys inter the secret, an’ Ab clomb down
+an’ hid the money in a strong box in a hole in Keedon Bluffs, whilst
+Jerry watched. Ye hev hearn that word? Waal, sir, the Bluffs air like a
+honeycomb; so full o’ holes ef a body didn’t know which one they hid it
+in they couldn’t find it.”
+
+“I hev hearn folks a-talkin’ ’bout it myself,” put in Pete Sawyer,
+“though o’ late years they hev gin that up, mos’ly.”
+
+“Yessir,” assented Corbin. “An’ the g’rillas they s’arched the Squair’s
+house ag’in an’ ag’in, an’ couldn’t find nuthin’. These two boys hed run
+off ter the Secesh army, by that time, else they’d hev been made ter tell
+whar the plunder war hid. An’ though Jerry deserted an’ kem back, the
+Southern sympathizers wouldn’t let him bide one single night in the cove,
+but druv him off, an’ he ain’t dared ter show his face hyar sence, else I
+reckon he’d hev stole the money, ef he hed knowed whar it war—the Squair
+being dead mighty onexpected.”
+
+The storekeeper’s eyes widened. “Ye—’low—the—money’s—thar—yit—hid in
+Keedon Bluffs?” he panted.
+
+“I know this,” said old Corbin. “’Twar hid thar, an’ I hearn with my
+own ears the heirs say they never got no money out’n Keedon Bluffs—they
+fairly scouted the idee. An’ now,” he pursued, “one of the heirs is dead;
+an’ the t’ other’s moved ter Arkansas. An’ hyar kems one o’ the men ez
+watched whilst the money war hid; an’ the t’ other ez hid it—a _blind_
+man—be in a mighty hurry an’ disturbament ter climb down Keedon Bluffs. I
+dunno why they hain’t got it afore. I can’t foller percisely the serpient
+trail of the evil men. But ye mark my words—them two fellers will hev a
+powerful big row—or”—his eyes twinkled—“they’ll divide the plunder an’
+ye’ll hear o’ them consortin’ tergether like frien’s.”
+
+He met with a triumphant leer the distended astonished gaze of the
+storekeeper.
+
+“Ho! ho! Keedon Bluffs don’t speak ’less they be spoke to fust,” he
+continued, “but thar secrets git noised abroad. Thar’s suthin’ thar wuth
+layin’ hands on ’thout foolin’ along of a old spent cannon-ball.”
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+
+The arrival of Jerry Binwell and his little girl at Hiram Guyther’s cabin
+soon became known throughout the Cove, and the fact, which Ike shortly
+discovered, that the newcomers were regarded with disfavor by others
+did not tend to further commend them to him. He felt an odd sinking of
+the heart and a grotesque sort of mortification whenever he went to the
+mill or the store and encountered questions and comments concerning his
+father’s guests. Sometimes he was taken aside by a conservative old
+codger, and the queries were propounded in a mysterious and husky whisper
+which imparted additional urgency.
+
+“They tell me ez _Jerry Binwell_ air a-visitin’ yer dad—air that a true
+word?”
+
+And Ike would sulkily nod.
+
+“What did he kem fur?”
+
+“Ter get out’n the storm.”
+
+“Storm’s been over a week an’ better”—with an implacable logic. Then,
+dredging with new energy for information—“When’s he goin’ away?”
+
+“Dunno.”
+
+“Whar’s he goin’ ter?” persistently.
+
+“Dunno.”
+
+“What’s he doin’ of?” changing the base of attack.
+
+“Nuthin’.”
+
+“What’s he say?”
+
+“Ennything.”
+
+“Waal sir!” in a tone of disappointment, the whole examination resulting
+in the total amount of nothing.
+
+Out of Ike’s presence public opinion expressed itself more freely and
+it was unanimous. No one denied that it was a strange thing that Hiram
+Guyther, one of the most solid, respectable, and reliable men of the
+whole country-side, whose very name was a guarantee of good faith,
+should be harboring a graceless, worthless, neer-do-weel like Jerry
+Binwell, who was, moreover, suspected of treachery which had resulted
+in Abner’s blindness. The lines of demarkation between those of high
+character and those who lack the sterling virtues are strongly drawn
+and rigorously observed in the mountains. The stern and grim old Hiram
+himself was forced to recognize the incongruity of the situation and its
+utter irreconcilability with the popular estimation of himself and his
+household. But he maintained his ground as well as he might.
+
+“Yaas,” he would drawl, “Jerry’s a-puttin’ up with we-uns now. Dunno how
+long he’ll stay. Till the spring o’ the year, mebbe. Naw, him an’ Abner
+don’t clash none. Naw, he don’t pester me, nuther.”
+
+And with these baffling evasions he would ride away, leaving the gossips
+at the store or the mill drawing their chairs closer together, and
+knitting their brows, and shaking their heads.
+
+It was all most ominous and depressing to Ike, for he was proud and
+keenly sensitive to any decline in public esteem; sometimes he was fairly
+tempted to tell that the old folks at his house had fallen victims to the
+witching charms of a noisy little body three feet high, who made them
+like everything she did, and do things of which they would never have
+believed themselves capable. Thus they tolerated Jerry for her sake.
+And then he held his peace for fear the gossips would say they were all
+touched in the head.
+
+For certain severe elderly people who had visited the house—it had more
+visitors than usual—had observed in his hearing that they were sorry for
+his mother and his aunt Jemima;—“ter be cluttered up at thar time o’ life
+with a young child, special sech a one ez that, ez could no mo’ stan’
+still ’n a pea on a hot shovel, an’ war a-laffin’ an’ a-hollerin’ all the
+time till a-body couldn’t hear thar own ears.”
+
+Ike felt peculiar resentment against the propounders of these strictures,
+although he had not consciously fallen under the fascination of the
+little Rosamond. He could not however always disregard her hilarious
+challenges to play, but when he succumbed it was with a sort of surly
+surprise at his own relenting. He even consented to see-saw with her,—a
+pastime which she greatly affected,—although he was obliged to sit on
+a very short end of the plank thrust between the rails of the fence
+in order to balance her very small weight as she sat at the other
+extremity, on the inside of the fence. And there, as she swayed high
+and dropped low, beaming with smiles and pink with delight, she looked
+like a veritable rose, blown about in the playful wind. But Ike was less
+picturesque as he bobbed up and down very close indeed to the rails and
+the leaning cross-stakes. “I’ll butt my brains out ag’in these rails like
+a demented Billy-goat if I don’t mind,” he said to himself in dudgeon.
+
+One day, when he and Skimpy had been visiting certain traps that they
+had jointly set in the woods, their homeward way led them past the
+store. They had had good luck with their snares, and their fine spirits
+responded alertly to a robust chorusing laugh that suddenly rang out from
+the dark interior of the building.
+
+The boys quickened their steps; there was something unusual going on
+inside.
+
+The brown, unpainted walls within, the shadowy beams and dusky rafters
+above, the burly boxes and barrels in the background, were dimly
+illumined by the one fibrous slant of sunshine through the window, which
+served to show too the long gaunt figure of the storekeeper standing near
+the entrance. He was swaying backward, laughing as he smote his thigh,
+and he called out, “Do it ag’in, Shanks! Do it ag’in!”
+
+Then the boys observed that there was a large group of figures standing
+at one side, although not easily distinguishable since their brown jeans
+garb so assimilated with the mellow tint of the walls. The next minute
+Ike reached the door and the whole scene was distinct before him. In the
+midst of the circle stood Jerry Binwell, his coat lying on the floor,
+his hat hanging on the knob of a rickety chair. His thin, long face was
+flushed; he was laughing too and rubbing his hands, and walking to and
+fro a few steps each way. “Do it ag’in, Shanks,” once more called out
+Peter Sawyer.
+
+There were friendly enough glances bent upon him, and everybody was
+laughing pleasantly, despite the pipes held between strong discolored
+teeth. Even old Jake Corbin had a reluctant twinkle among the many
+wrinkles that encircled his eyes as he sat smoking, his rickety chair
+tilted back against the wall.
+
+“Pritty spry yit, fur a ole man,” declared Binwell, still rubbing his
+hands.
+
+“Do it ag’in, Shanks!” rang out from the bystanders.
+
+Binwell looked up for a moment, drawing back to the extreme end of
+the apartment. Suddenly he crouched and sprang into the air with an
+incredible lightness. It was a long oblique jump to the beam on which he
+caught; he did not wait a second but “skinned the cat” among the rafters
+with an admirable dexterity and dropped softly on his feet at the doorway.
+
+Once more there was a guffaw. “Go it, Shanks!” “He’s a servigrous jumper,
+sure!” “Spry as a deer!”
+
+It was a most pacific scene and the exhibition of agility seemed likely
+to promote only good fellowship and the pleasant passing of the hour
+until old Corbin remarked:
+
+“Yes, Jerry’s a good jumper, an’ a good runner, too, I hev hearn.”
+
+Binwell cast a quick glance over his shoulder; a light gleamed in his
+small, dark, defiant eye. Whether he did not pique himself on his speed,
+or whether he detected a sub-current of meaning in the comment, he was
+moved to demand abruptly:
+
+“Whar did ye ever see me run?”
+
+Old Corbin’s delight in the opportunity broadened his face by an inch or
+two. The display of intricate hieroglyphic wrinkles about his eyes was
+more than one might imagine possible to be described by age and fatness.
+His mouth distended to show the few teeth that had not yet forsaken his
+gums; his burly sides were shaking with laughter before he said, “I never
+_seen_ ye run, Jerry, but I hearn ez ye done some mighty tall runnin’ in
+the old war time.”
+
+There was a shout of derision from the crowd, most of the men having
+served in one army or the other. The object of this barbed ridicule
+looked as if he might sink through the floor. His face flushed, his
+abashed eyes dropped, he stood quivering and abject before them all.
+
+Ike had a quick pang of pity and resentment. And yet he was ashamed that
+this was the man who sat by his father’s hearth and shared their bread.
+
+It was only for a moment that he was sorry for Binwell. The recovery from
+all semblance of shame or wounded pride was instantaneous as he retorted:
+
+“That’s mighty easy ter say ’bout ennybody.” He whirled around on his
+light heel. “Naw, folks,” he cried out, “I ain’t much on the run; never
+footed it more’n jes’ fairly. But I tell ye—ef ye be tired o’ seein’ me
+jump—my jumpin’ ain’t nuthin’ ter my heftin’. I kin lift the heaviest man
+hyar an’ jump with him. Less see,” he affected to turn about and survey
+the burly, stalwart crowd. “Who pulls the beam at the highest figger?”
+
+He hesitated for a moment; then with a sudden dart that was like the
+movement of a fish, he seized on old Corbin.
+
+“Naw! naw!” wheezed the fat old fellow as the stringy, muscular arms
+encircled him. He strove to hold to his chair; it fell over in the
+fracas and eluded his grasp; he clutched at the window-sill—vainly; his
+hat dropped off; his face was scarlet, and he roared for help.
+
+It would doubtless have been extended had not the quick and agile Jerry
+forestalled the heavy mountaineers. He lifted Corbin with a mighty
+effort; he even carried out his boast of jumping—not high, after all, but
+high enough for the wildly clutching old man to catch the low beam with
+both hands.
+
+Binwell suddenly loosed his hold and left him swaying ponderously to and
+fro, two or three feet from the floor, in imminent danger of falling,
+sputtering and wheezing, and red in the face and with eyes starting out
+of his head. Then his tormentor, fearful doubtless of the recoil of
+public opinion, caught up his hat and coat and with a loud scornful laugh
+ran out of the store and disappeared up the leafy road.
+
+To a man of ordinary weight and agility it would have been easy enough
+to spring to the floor. But the cumbersome bulk and slow, clumsy habit
+of old Corbin lent the situation real danger. There was a rush to his
+assistance—some officious hand thrust an empty barrel beneath his feet,
+hoping to afford him support, but it toppled under his weight and down he
+came, amidst a great rending of staves, as the barrel collapsed beneath
+him.
+
+He was unhurt, although greatly shaken. He had been frightened at first;
+perhaps there was never so angry a man in the limits of the Cove as he
+was now. Again and again, as he was helped to his chair, he declared
+that he would revenge himself on Jerry Binwell, and the sympathetic
+crowd expressed their sense of the injury and the danger to which he had
+been subjected, as well as the indignity offered him. To Ike’s extreme
+amazement Binwell’s name was often coupled with that of his father, or
+the blind man, his uncle. Now, ordinarily, Ike would have felt that
+these two spirited and responsible people were amply able to answer
+for themselves; but he knew that it was only by an odd combination of
+circumstances that they were associated, almost with the intimacy of
+family relations, with such a person as Binwell. It implied a friendship
+for him which he knew they did not feel, and an indorsement of him which
+they were not prepared to give. Secure in their own sense of rectitude
+and good repute this possibility of a decline in public esteem had never,
+he was sure, occurred to them. Alas, Rosamondy, he heartily regretted
+that she had ever put her dimpled foot across their threshold, and yet he
+stipulated again within himself that it was not in his heart to wish any
+houseless creatures out of the shelter they had found.
+
+He had a vague terror of this false position in which the family was
+placed. He knew, with suddenly awakened forecast, that the antagonism to
+Jerry Binwell would not end here. Old Corbin’s spleen that might once
+have passed for naught was now rendered a valid and righteous anger
+in public opinion, and he would have the sympathy and aid of all the
+country-side. But how or why, in the name of justice, could it include
+his father and his blind uncle, who had done naught after all but feed
+the hungry, and forgive the enemy, and house the roofless vagrant.
+
+He lingered for a time after old Corbin had gone to Sawyer’s house to get
+“a bite an’ rest his bones,” listening to the younger men discuss the
+incident, and comment on Binwell’s strength.
+
+When Ike at last rose and started, Skimpy started too.
+
+“Skimp!” called the storekeeper after him, “yer mam’s got suthin’ fur ye
+to do at the house. Go thar!”
+
+Skimpy obediently turned from the road into the by-path and Ike went
+on, his heart swelling with indignation and his eyes hot with tears. He
+knew that his friend was to be withheld from his association after this,
+lest he might come under the influence of so worthless and injurious an
+example as Jerry Binwell. He trudged along home, wishing that his father
+might have beheld the scene and wondering if that would have urged him to
+take some decided action in the case.
+
+Ike had an odd indisposition to relate it all. He had been trained in a
+maxim,—good enough so far as it goes,—“If you can’t say anything kind
+of your neighbor, say nothing.” The only manifestation of his opinion
+was expressed in deeds, not in words. His mother had looked sharply at
+him from time to time during the past week, and this afternoon, as she
+opened suddenly the shed-room door and saw him casting down a great pile
+of bark, and chips, and sticks of wood, ready for the morning fires, she
+said unexpectedly:
+
+“Ike, ain’t ye ailin’ nowhar?”
+
+“Naw’m,” he replied, drawing himself up with stalwart pride, “I feel ez
+solid an’ sound ez a rock.”
+
+“I ’lowed ye mus’ be sick—ye ’pear so sober-faced, an’ occupy yerself no
+ways sca’cely, ’cept in workin’—tendin’ on the wood-pile, an’ packin’ the
+water, an’ drivin’ the cow-critter. I ain’t hed ez much wood hyar ter
+burn, nor water ter cook with, nor the cow ez constant at the bars, fur
+ten year.”
+
+Ike turned and glanced reflectively about him. The mountain, gorgeous
+in autumnal array, loomed above; a blue sky looked pensively down; some
+aerial craft had spread a cloud-sail, and the wind was fair.
+
+“I never ’lowed ter feel sech pleasure in a wood-pile,” he said,
+meditatively. “I hev made up my mind ez I ain’t a-goin’ ter ondertake to
+be a shirk in this world.”
+
+She understood him instantly. As the door swung a little ajar she looked
+back over her shoulder through the shed-room into the main room of the
+cabin. Binwell was not there; no one was visible in the ruddy glare of
+the fire illuminating the brown walls but the little Rosamond and the
+blind man. She had elected to consider herself some neighing, prancing
+steed, and Abner held her by one long, golden curl, that served as reins.
+A short tether, to be sure, but she curveted, and stamped, and laughed
+as few horses have ever done. The reflection of her merriment was in the
+smile on the blind man’s face. Her very shadow was glad, as it sported
+with the firelight on the floor.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+
+There is nothing so conducive to happiness as work—work done well and
+willingly. It is in itself happiness. Ike wondered to find, as he bent
+his mind and all his energy to his simple tasks—grown strangely light and
+seeming few—how little he suffered from his exclusion from his friend’s
+society and from the unjust discrimination made against him for no fault
+of his; how amply his duty filled his horizon, and presently arrayed
+itself in the glad garb of pleasure. He sang—he could but sing—as he
+wielded the axe, as he fed the stock, as he went back and forth on his
+errands through the lonely woods, sometimes hearing the voice of Keedon
+Bluffs singing too, in fitful and fugue-like response.
+
+Nevertheless, he was glad enough to be reassured of his friend’s loyalty
+in their enforced separation, for when they presently met by accident
+Skimpy seized upon him eagerly, “Ye ain’t holdin’ no gredge ag’in _me_,
+air ye, Ike? I couldn’t holp it; ye know I couldn’t.”
+
+This accidental meeting occurred one evening when all the boys of
+Tanglefoot Cove and the mountain slopes had gathered for a coon-hunt.
+The Sawyer lads were of the party, Skimpy and three brothers, all much
+alike, all long-legged, red-haired, freckled-faced fellows, and not
+fascinating to look upon, but they took a great deal of pleasure in
+themselves, and there was considerable boy-nature to the square inch in
+these four Sawyers. They were first-rate comrades too; could both take
+a joke and make one; all had bright, honest, steady brown eyes, and
+they were evidently destined to grow better looking as they grew older.
+With one exception they were clad in whole, stout homespun garments,
+well woven and well made, for their mother was a peculiarly precise,
+neat, and industrious woman. Skimpy was the exception; his elbows were
+out; his ankles could not wait for his trousers to grow, so they showed
+themselves, right nimble and sturdy members, although the garment, which
+was blue, had been encouraged lengthwise with a fresh contrasting piece
+of copper-colored jeans; his knees bulged against the threadbare cloth in
+a way that intimated they would not long be able to shelter themselves
+in their flimsy retirement. He and his mother found it difficult to
+reconcile their diverse theories of the uses and the care of clothes.
+Although serious enough when they climaxed, these differences had no
+depressing effect on Skimpy’s spirits, and did not suffice to save his
+wardrobe. He harbored no unfilial resentment, but he thought his mother a
+very queer and particular woman.
+
+The Sawyers had brought with them the dutiful clerk, who was also
+preëminent as a coon-dog. There he sat in his yellow hide, decorated
+with his slit ear, and his docked tail, and his half-closed eyelid. When
+away from the store his demeanor lacked the urbanity which characterized
+him there. He bore himself now with the surly air of a magnate whose
+affability has been swallowed up in the consciousness of importance.
+
+The Sawyers specially piqued themselves on being the proud possessors
+of Bose. Every now and then one would reverently glance at the animal,
+as he sat upright lolling out an indifferent tongue, and say to those
+unacquainted with him—“Mind how ye fool with Bose—he’s sharp” (with
+an excited eye and a wag of the red head); “he’s mighty fierce.” And
+the other Sawyers would nod their heads in confirmation of this report
+of Bose’s belligerent qualities. They had a sort of hero-worshiping
+reverence for this trait of dog-sharpness, but any one who did not think
+respectfully of Bose was some one who did not care to go coon-hunting. He
+was the central figure of the group that had collected in the woods by
+a sulphur spring, on a slope of one of the minor ridges at the base of
+the Great Smoky. The early dusk had not yet fallen, but the shadows were
+lengthening fast, and night was on the way. The boughs of the trees above
+their heads were drawn in fine distorted lines on a crimson sky; here and
+there a slant of sunshine fell amongst the brown shadows upon some red
+and yellow fantasy of foliage that so blazed with color and light in its
+dusky surroundings that it might seem some outburst of fire which had
+been slyly “set out” in the woods.
+
+The sulphur spring had sought to hide itself, it might seem. Across a
+narrow, rocky cleft lay a great flat slab, and a rill trickled away
+somewhere; no one would have imagined that beneath this slab was a
+spring with brown crystalline water, and a vibrant whisper, and some
+exquisite perfumed breath of freshness borrowed from the dawn of day.
+The dogs knew where it was, running to it with lolling tongues and with
+much affectation of thirst, yet wanting only a drop or two. For other
+dogs were there and they seemed to have heard and to have profited by
+the Sawyers’ account of Bose, or perhaps the dignity of his mien awed
+them, or experience admonished them, for none of them molested him,
+although they became involved in noisy fights with each other, or gambols
+as turbulent. The boys, ten or twelve in number, all had cow-horns to
+blow and torches to carry, and while they waited for certain cronies
+to arrive the talk was chiefly of the subject that had brought them
+together. The coon seemed a fascinating study apart from his great
+gifts of celerity. Mentally he is generously endowed. If Skimpy might
+be believed the coon can do anything short of reading, writing, and
+ciphering.
+
+“Even mam, she hev ter ’low ez coons ain’t lackin’ fur head-stuffin’,”
+he remarked, as he stood with his arms akimbo. “You-uns know the kind
+o’ ways mam hev gin herself over ter—a-sweepin’, an’ a-scourin’, an’
+a-cleanin’, till I actially looks ter see ef she won’t take ter washin’
+the chickens’ faces an’ curryin’ the cat. Waal, Cousin Eph Bates, he
+stopped thar one day with his pet coon. An’ mam she made him welcome an’
+set out the table. An’ mam, she ’lowed the coon mus’ be hongry, so she
+called it an’ gin it a nice piece o’ corn dodger. What’s that coon do?”
+he cried, his eyes widening with the interest of the recital. “Popped up
+on the aidge o’ the drinkin’ pail an’ ondertook ter wash that thar piece
+o’ dodger ’twixt his fore paws, ’fore he would eat it. I wish ye could
+hev seen mam’s face. I laffed till I like ter drapped in my tracks. An’
+Cousin Eph—he jes’ hollered. An’ mam, she hed furgot, ef she ever knowed,
+how coons do; she say, ‘Cousin Eph, ye needn’t bring no sech pertic’lar
+vis’tor ter my house ag’in—a-washin’ the clean vittles _I_ gin him.’
+Thar sot the coon, ez onconsarned, a-washin’ his hands an’ a-washin’ the
+dodger.” Skimpy suited the action to the words and teetered up and down,
+washing his paws and an imaginary piece of corn dodger. “I laffed an’
+laffed. That coon like ter been the death o’ me ’fore he got away from
+thar.”
+
+“I know that thar coon o’ Eph Bates’s,” cried Ike. “I stayed up ter his
+house one night along o’ his chill’n an’ ’twar bright moonlight whenst I
+went ter bed in the roof-room, but after a while I woke up an’ I ’lowed
+’twar a hailstorm goin’ on outside on the roof. Ye never hearn sech a
+skedaddlin’ up an’ down them clapboards. Kem ter find out, ’twar nuthin’
+but the coon a-playin’ tag with his shadder in the moonlight.”
+
+“Oh, he’s a powerful tricky, Mister Coon air,” Skimpy declared, his
+freckled face distended with relish of Mr. Coon’s smartness. “Mam an’
+Cousin Eph hed sot tharselfs down afore the fire an’ got ter talkin’
+’bout’n the folkses in the Cove, an’ how mighty few o’ ’em had enny sech
+religion ez they purtended ter hev, when mam she put her hand in her
+pocket fur ter git her knittin’. An’ there warn’t nuthin’ in her pocket
+but a ball o’ yarn. An’ she looked up, an’ thar war a great long e-end o’
+it a-stretchin’ ter the door. An’ thar on the steps sot Mister Coon with
+them knittin’ needles, an’ the sock, a-holdin’ ’em like he war knittin’,
+ez onconsarned—oh my! I laffed ag’in.”
+
+“I’ll bet yer mam didn’t laff,” said an intimate of the family.
+
+“Naw,” Skimpy admitted. “Mam, she’s mighty sober-sided. She’d like the
+coon better ef he wore spec’s an’ cut wood. Cousin Eph, he axed her how
+many rows that coon knit. An’ mam, she said—‘_None!_ He drug two needles
+bodaciously out an’ spiled fower rows.’ Mam ’lowed ez she thought she
+hed the mos’ mischievious created critter—meanin’ me—but she said she
+b’lieved Cousin Eph mought take the prem_ium_. An’ Cousin Eph, he said
+enny time she war minded ter swap he’d trade the coon fur me. An’ mam,
+she cut her eye round at me an’ tole me I hed better mend my manners;
+the mounting would talk mightily ’bout me ef I war traded off fur a coon
+’thout enny boot.”
+
+“That thar mus’ be the same coon ez Cousin Eph Bates fotched along o’
+him ter the store when he kem ter trade, las’ summer,” said Obadiah, the
+eldest Sawyer. “An’ dad, he tole Cousin Eph ter holp hisself. An’ nobody
+noticed the coon till Cousin Eph war ready ter go, an’ tuk ter huntin’
+fur him. I don’t reckon that coon could surely hev thunk ez dad meant it
+fur _him_ whenst he told Cousin Eph ter holp hisself. But leastwise the
+coon done it; he holped _his_-self. They fund him propped up on the aidge
+o’ the sugar bar’l, an’ they say the way his whiskers war gormed with
+sugar war a sight ter be seen. He hedn’t no expression ter his face, an’
+he looked plumb cross-eyed with pleasure. Sugar in his paws, too, and
+dad kerried on like he war mighty nigh demented. An’ he wanted Cousin Eph
+ter pay for that sugar the coon hed eat, an’ said he wanted that thar
+coon’s skin. But Cousin Eph, he snatched his coon up under his arm an’
+’lowed he mought ez well try ter trade fur one o’ his chill’n’s hides. I
+b’lieve he gin dad some money or suthin’, though. He sot out arter that
+with his coon fur home.”
+
+“Waal, he warn’t so ’fectionate with that thar coon las’ time I seen
+him,” Ike added his testimony. “’Twar over yander at the church-house in
+the gap. An’ whilst the folks war settin’ inside, a-listenin’ ter the
+preachin’, we-uns hearn the biggest rumpus outside ’mongst the teams, an’
+everybody looked plumb wretched, wonderin’ ef ’twar suthin’ hed happened
+ter thar steer or horse critter. An’ dad whispered ter me ter go out an’
+see. An’ thar, ’mongst all the wagins, an’ yokes o’ oxen, an’ saddle
+horses under the trees, war a young claybank horse ez b’long ter Eph
+Bates. An’ that thar coon he had slyed off an’ follered his master ter
+the church-house, an’ stiddier goin’ inside—it’s a mercy he didn’t—he
+seen Eph’s horse, an’ he clomb the tree, an’ drapped down on the pommel
+o’ the saddle. Waal, sir, sech kickin’! that horse war young an’ skeery;
+sech squealin’! An’ whenst I seen him he war tremblin’ like he hed a fit
+o’ the ague, an’ then he’d turn his head an’ git a glimge o’ that thar
+citizen in the saddle, an’ begin ter plunge an’ shy an’ snort ag’in. Jes’
+’fore I got ter him he bruk his halter, an’ he lit out; around an’ around
+that thar church-house he went a-cavortin’ an’ a-gallopin’, Mister Coon
+settin’ in the saddle, a-holdin’ on fur life, an’ a-smilin’ from ear to
+ear. An’ the folks in the church-house seen what war a-goin’ on, an’ Eph
+an’ some o’ them nigh the door run out an’ hollered, ‘Whoa! Whoa!’ at the
+horse. Didn’t do no good. Ez soon ez the critter seen he couldn’t shake
+the coon off he bolted an’ run through the woods. Eph, he walked home
+that Sunday, five mile, but Mister Coon, he rid.”
+
+“Oh, Mister Coon, oh, Mister Coon,” Skimpy was murmuring, and presently
+he broke into song:—
+
+    “Bob Snooks, he eat up all in his plate,
+    An’ he dreampt a dream that night right late.
+    A-settin’ on a cloud war a big raccoon,
+    A-eatin’ an’ a-washin’ his paws in the moon.
+    ’Twar brimmin’ full o’ clabber an’ whey.
+    His tail war ringed with black an’ gray;
+    It hung plumb down ter the poplar-tree,
+    An’ he wagged it up an’ down in glee.
+
+        CHORUS.
+
+        “Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,
+        Oh, take them dirty paws out’n the moon.
+
+    “He looked at Bob, ter wink an’ grin,
+    An’ then Bob say—‘Ez sure ez sin
+    I’ll yank ye off’n the aidge o’ that moon,
+    Though ye air a mos’ surprisin’ coon.’
+    Bob sicked on Towse—_Towse clomb the tree!_
+    An’ grabbed the coon right nat’rally.
+    An’ suddint Bob woke—thar war _no_ raccoon,
+    Bob wisht he hed lef’ him up thar on the moon.
+
+        CHORUS.
+
+        “Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,
+        Oh, why can’t ye once more balance on the moon.”
+
+It was quite dark before they were fairly started. The shadows gloomed
+thick about them. The stars were in the sky. The sound of the boyish
+voices whooping and calling, and singing snatches of the coon-song,
+echoed far and wide among the solemn woods and the listening rocks. The
+dogs answered to the eager urgency of their masters by wheezing and
+snuffing about the ground as they ran with their muzzles down, but the
+best among them, even the preëminent Bose, could conjure no coon where no
+coon was.
+
+“What ails ’em ter take ter sech a piece o’ briars,” Skimpy cried out
+suddenly with an accompaniment of a ripping sound. “Ef I tear up these
+hyar clothes o’ mine enny mo’ I’ll hev some rents ter mend in my skin,
+fur my mother hev sot it down ef I gin her so many repairs ter make
+she’ll gin me some.”
+
+This terrifying prospect did not unduly alarm Skimpy nor hinder his
+joyous pursuit of the coon. He was the first fellow to fall into the
+briars and to flounder into the branch. His nimble feet followed more
+closely than any others their canine precursors. It was he who cried
+out and encouraged the dogs and kept them together, and even the
+self-sufficient and experienced Bose hearkened to his counsel and lent
+himself to guidance. Skimpy was close upon the docked tail of this animal
+when suddenly the wheezing Bose emitted a short sharp cry and sprang off
+in the darkness with all the dogs after him.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+
+The moon was just beginning to rise. A vague red glow suffused the
+summit of the eastern mountains. It hardly revealed, but in some sort
+it suggested, the presence of the vast forests of the Cove, that still
+stood dusky and gloomily mysterious. The solemn silence, native to the
+solitudes, was for the nonce annihilated. The whole night seemed to
+ring with the shouting triumph of the boys. The cry of the dogs was
+unintermittent. Naught impeded the wild chase, save that now and then a
+projecting root caught an unwary foot, and a boy would go crashing to
+the ground, his companions jumping over his prostrate form, or perhaps
+falling upon him, then scrambling up together and away again hilariously.
+Sometimes a horn would sound, and if one had cared to listen he might
+have wondered to hear the countless blasts that the echoes wound, or
+laughed to fancy how that mimic chase in the air did fare. Sometimes,
+too, a voice would call out from the van of the line, “Oh, Mister Coon!”
+And anon Keedon Bluffs repeated the words in a solemn staccato, as if
+they were some uncomprehended incantation. “Oh, Mister Coon!”
+
+What that gentleman thought of it all nobody can say. Whether he resented
+the fact that his coat was considered too good for him, and just good
+enough for a cap for somebody else; or whether he felt complimented that
+he was esteemed so game that it was accounted a pleasure to see him
+fight, singly, a score of savage dogs, and die in the jaws of the enemies
+he crippled, nobody will ever know. The only certain thing is that he
+carried his fat and his fur, and his palpitating identity inside of
+them, as fast and as far as he could. And then in desperation he swiftly
+climbed a tree, and sat there panting, looking down with eyes whose
+dilated pupils defied the night, to mark how the fierce rout came at
+full cry over the rise. The boys knew what he had done, notwithstanding
+the dark forests that intervened, for the dogs announced in loud and
+joyful barks that the coon was treed as they besieged the oak, springing
+as high as they could about its trunk. There was a chorus, “Oh, Mister
+Coon!” from the hunters as they came pelting over the hill, almost dead
+beat with the run. For the coon had footed it bravely, and treeing him
+was long delayed.
+
+The torches, skimming swiftly about under the oak, which was close upon
+a precipice, flared in the darkness far along the slopes, and the coon
+hunt glimpsed from the distant cove was like an errant constellation,
+run away from the skies. Nearer, flame and smoke flaunted back in the
+wind, showing the colors of a limited section of the autumn woods close
+about, and thus conjuring an oasis of gorgeous brilliance in that
+desert of gloom. In the radiance of the fringed flaring lights might be
+distinguished, in high relief against the dusky background, Ike’s eager
+face, and Skimpy’s hatchet-like features,—as he bent to beseech Bose
+to calm himself instead of bounding futilely about the tree which he
+could not climb like the dream-dog,—and the muscular poses of Obadiah
+Sawyer, who wielded the axe about the trunk of the tree. How the echoes
+answered! How the rocks rang with the stalwart strokes! The chips flew
+with every cleavage. The dogs leaped, and barked on every shrill key of
+impatience. The coon, barely visible, crouched in the darkness, growled,
+and looked down on his boisterous enemies. “Keep out’n the way o’ this
+axe, I tell ye,” Obadiah Sawyer would cry as the backward motion would
+threaten one of the boys or their four-footed comrades, who pressed so
+close about the tree as to lose all sense of safety.
+
+Suddenly, without any warning, the trunk of the tree not half severed,
+the coon ran down almost over Obadiah into the midst of the dogs. There
+was a frantic plunge amongst them; a fierce growling and yelping and
+snapping; a crunching of teeth; and now and then as one suffered the
+sharp fangs of the coon, a hideous clamor that seemed to pierce the sky.
+
+The boys stood amazed at this innovation on the part of Mr. Coon, whose
+sense of etiquette does not usually permit him to tackle the dogs until
+the falling of the tree throws the hapless creature into their jaws. How
+he distinguished the sound in all that shrill tumult Skimpy could never
+say;—a low growl, exceeding in ferocity aught he had ever before heard,
+caught his attention. He moved back a pace and held the torch aloft.
+There, upon the bole of the tree, slowly descending from limb to limb,
+with lissome noiseless tread, with great yellow eyes, illuminated by the
+flare, was a full-grown female panther, made bold enough to face the
+light by the imminence of the danger, for the cutting down of the tree
+meant certain dislodgment amongst the dogs and the boys. This was the
+denizen of the oak, the discovery of whom had made the coon prefer the
+dogs.
+
+Skimpy needed but a single glance. He said afterward that it flashed upon
+him in a moment that the animal’s young were perhaps in a crevice of
+the great wall of rock close at hand, and that for this reason she had
+not fled from the noise and the lights. Skimpy dashed his torch to the
+ground, and crying “Painter! Painter!” he set out at a pace which has
+seldom been excelled. All the torches were flared upward. The creature
+glared down at the boys and growled. There was not a gun in the party.
+Obadiah in a sort of mental aberration flung his axe into the tree; it
+almost grazed the animal’s nose, then fell upon the back of a yelping dog.
+
+Each boy seemed to announce his flight by taking up the panic-stricken
+cry of “Painter!” The dogs had discovered that more had been treed
+than the coon, which at last had been killed. They would not heed the
+whistlings and the callings of their masters, and as the boys ran a
+tremendous yelping and growling announced that the panther had sprung
+from the tree amidst the pack. Presently something, with its tail between
+its legs, shot by the hindmost boy, and another, and yet another. The
+dogs had felt the panther’s teeth and claws and were leaving, but none of
+these fugitives was Bose.
+
+“Oh,” cried Skimpy, “le’s go back—le’s go back—Bose will be bodaciously
+eat up! Le’s go back an’ call Bose off!”
+
+“Call the painter on, ye mean!” exclaimed Ike. “Ye can’t do nuthin’ ter
+hurt a painter ’thout ye hed a gun!”
+
+“Oh Bose!” plained another of the Sawyers in a heart-wrung voice.
+“What’ll mam do ’thout Bose! Sech a shepherd! Sech a dog ter take keer
+o’ the baby, too! Sech a gyard dog!” For Bose’s virtues were not all
+belligerent, but shone resplendent in times of peace. “Oh _Bose_,” he
+shrieked down the wind, “let the painter be!”
+
+“Oh _Bose_!” cried Obadiah in a tone of obituary. “Sech a coon dog!
+_Bose!_ An’ a swimmer! _Bose!_ How he used ter drive up the cow! Oh,
+_Bose_!”
+
+“Ye talk like nobody in the mountings hed a dog but you-uns,” panted
+one of the fleeing hunters. “Ye ought ter be thankful ye air out’n the
+painter’s jaws—’thout no gun!”
+
+“Oh, Bose ain’t no common dog!” cried the bereaved Skimpy; “Bose is like
+folks! Bose _is_ folks!” rising to the apotheosis of grief.
+
+He did not run like folks. Deserted both by boys and dogs he had bravely
+encountered the panther. It required not only a broken rib and repeated
+grips of the creature’s teeth, but the stealthy approach of its mate to
+convince Bose how grievously he was overmatched. Then this gifted dog,
+whose prowess was only exceeded by his intelligence, saw that it was time
+to run. He passed the boys with the action of a canine meteor. He sought
+the seclusion beneath the house and he did not leave it for days.
+
+When Ike struck into the road that leads by Keedon Bluffs he was feeling
+considerably nettled by the result of the adventure, and resolved that
+hereafter he would always carry a gun for any presumable panther that
+might hang upon the outskirts of a coon-hunt. He walked on slowly for a
+time, sure that the panther would hardly follow so far, if indeed she had
+followed at all. He listened now and then, hearing no sound of the hunt
+or of the hunters. It was growing late, he knew as he glanced at the sky.
+The moon had risen high—a waning moon of a lustrous reddish tint, sending
+long shafts of yellow light down the dusky woods, and, despite its
+brightness, of grewsome and melancholy suggestions. As the road turned
+he came upon the great Bluffs towering above the river, and he noted the
+spherical amber reflection in the dark current below, with trailing
+lines of light and gilded ripples seeming to radiate from it. A vague
+purple nullity had blurred the familiar distances, but close at hand all
+was wonderfully distinct. The gloomy forest on one side of the road drew
+a sharp summit line along the sky. A blackberry bush, denuded of all
+but a few leaves, was not more definite than the brambly wands of its
+shadow on the sandy road. As he drew nearer he noted how dark the water
+was, how white in the slant of the yellow moonlight rose the great sheer
+sandstone Bluffs; how black, how distinct were the cavities in the rock.
+And the voiceless beams played about the old cannon-ball on the ledge.
+How silent! Only his crunching tread, half muffled in the soft sand;
+the almost imperceptible murmur of the deep waters; the shrilling of a
+cricket somewhere, miraculously escaped from the frost. Near midnight, it
+must have been. He realized how tired he was. He suddenly sat down on the
+verge of the Bluffs, his feet dangling over, and leaned his back against
+a bowlder behind him.
+
+He drew a long sigh of fatigue and gazed meditatively below. The next
+moment he gave a quick start. There along the ledges and niches of the
+great Bluffs, climbing down diagonally with the agility of a cat, was a
+dark figure, that at the instant he could hardly recognize as beast or
+man—or might it be some mysterious being that the cavities of the rock
+harbored! As he remembered the stories of the witches of Keedon Bluffs,
+which he had flouted and scorned, he felt a cold thrill quiver through
+every limb.
+
+A sharp exclamation escaped his lips. Instantly he saw the climbing
+creature give a great start and then stand still as if with responsive
+fright. He bent forward and strained his eyes.
+
+He had not yet recovered his normal pulse; his heart was still plunging
+with wild throbs; nevertheless he noted keenly every movement of the
+strange object, and as it turned in the direction whence came the
+intrusive voice, it looked up apprehensively. Ike said nothing, but gazed
+down into the pallid face lifted in the white moonlight.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+
+“Hello!” cried out the figure.
+
+“Hello!—hello!—hello!” the echoing voices of Keedon Bluffs sepulchrally
+hailed the boy.
+
+Now Ike would have been indignant had some one suspected him of being
+afraid of the witches of the Bluffs. But he was immensely relieved by
+this form of address. For although he had never held intimate converse
+with witches he felt sure they did not say “Hello!”
+
+He leaned over and responded in a sturdy tone “Hello, yerse’f!”
+
+“Hello yerse’f!” cried out the prompt echoes. Ike drew back a little.
+Although he had acquitted the climbing man of being a witch, he could not
+repulse an odd uncomfortable feeling that scores of mischievous invisible
+spirits of the rock were assisting at the conversation. He could imagine
+that they nudged each other as they repeated the words. Perhaps they all
+fell to silently laughing when a belated voice far down the river called
+in a doubtful and hesitant tone, “Hello yerse’f!”
+
+“Who’s that up thar?” demanded the man, still looking up.
+
+“Ike Guyther,” the boy replied.
+
+He could not accurately distinguish the sound, so confused was he by the
+iteration of the meddlesome echoes, but it seemed to him that the man
+uttered a sudden gruff imprecation at the revelation of his name, and
+surely the tell-tale rocks were presently grumbling in an uncertain and
+displeased undertone.
+
+Ike strained his eyes to recognize the features, but the man looked down
+suddenly and coughed dubiously.
+
+There was something vaguely familiar in his voice that might have served
+to establish his identity but for the repetitious sounds that followed
+every word.
+
+“What air ye doin’ up thar?” demanded the man, and all the echoes became
+inquisitorial.
+
+“Been a-coon-huntin’. What ye doin’ down thar?” said Ike, at last
+thinking it but fair that he should ask a few questions himself.
+
+The white face was once more turned downward, and the man coughed and
+seemed to try to spit out his doubt. It had evidently not occurred to him
+that he himself was unrecognized, for with a tone that indicated that he
+sought to make the best of an awkward situation he said, “Why, I hearn
+Ab talkin’ wunst in a while ’bout climbin’ down Keedon Bluffs, ter that
+old cannon-ball on that ledge, an’ I ’lowed I’d try ef the thing could be
+done—jes’ fur fun—ha! ha! Toler’ble tough fun, though.”
+
+The vain effort at jollity, the strained nervous tone, the merciless
+echoes exaggerated a thousand fold. But Ike Guyther sat unheeding, more
+perturbed than he could well have expressed.
+
+It was Jerry Binwell, his father’s guest. How had he escaped, Ike
+wondered, from the roof room where his host thought he lay sleeping? Had
+he stolen out from amongst the unconscious family, leaving the doors
+ajar that any marauder might enter? He could not. Old Hiram slept as
+lightly as a cat, and the blind man was often wakeful and restless. And
+what could be his object here in the stealthy midnight, risking life and
+limb—nay, neither! Ike Guyther, watching him climbing—with the frightful
+depths below into which a false step would instantly precipitate him—lost
+that morbid and nervous fascination which a feat of great danger induces
+in the spectator, and began suddenly to experience a sort of confidence,
+merging into certainty. He was amazed at the lightness, the strength,
+the marvelous elasticity, the fine precision of every movement. Strain
+credulity as he might, he could not believe Binwell when he said
+suddenly, “But I ain’t goin’ ter try it enny furder—break my neck! This
+hyar chicken is a-gittin’ old an’ stiff; couldn’t git down thar ter save
+my life.”
+
+He climbed up and up, his silent shadow climbing with him till he neared
+the spot where Ike sat, when he suddenly paused. “Git up, Ike,” he said;
+“that’s the only place whar thar’s purchase enough ter pull up by.”
+
+He evidently knew all the ground. Ike dragged himself out of the way,
+and, with his hands in his pockets, stood pensively watching him as he
+pulled himself to the verge, and then upon his knees, and so to his
+feet on the roadside. He paused for a moment, panting. He looked at his
+companion with an expression which had no relation to the words on his
+lips. Many a boy might not have detected this yawning gulf between what
+he meant and what he said, but Ike’s senses were sharpened by suspicion
+and anxiety.
+
+“Whew! Great Molly Har’!” Jerry mopped his brow with his red cotton
+handkerchief. “I’m too old fur sech didoes as this hyar—old man’s a-goin’
+fas’. Knees plumb bent. Don’t ye laff, Ike! Don’t ye laff.” Ike had shown
+no sign of merriment. “An’ ’fore everything don’t ye tell Ab ez I tried
+ter climb down Keedon Bluffs ter that old ball, an’ couldn’t. I wouldn’t
+hev the mounting ter git a-holt o’ that thar joke on me fur nuthin’!”
+
+He looked sharply at the boy, who said not a word, but simply stared at
+him as he stood on the verge of the Bluff in the slanting melancholy
+yellow light of the waning moon. There was a quiver in Binwell’s nostril,
+a nervous motion of the lips, a keen inimical gleam of the eyes under his
+hat brim. He was giving Ike more notice than he had ever before bestowed
+on him.
+
+“Hey!” he cried jocularly, clapping the boy on the shoulder, “don’t ye
+tell on me, Ike—ye won’t, will ye?”
+
+This direct appeal brought an answer. But Ike was on his guard.
+
+“Mebbe then uncle Ab would quit thinkin’ ez how _he_ could,” he said
+cautiously.
+
+Jerry Binwell suddenly changed his tactics.
+
+“Tell ennybody ye want ter, ye wide-mouthed shoat, ye! Ef I can’t climb
+down thar nobody else kin, an’ nobody air a-goin’ ter try. Got too tender
+feelin’s fur thar necks. I ain’t ashamed o’ gittin’ old nohow! Ye’ll be
+whar I am some day, Ike, ef ye don’t die fust.”
+
+He strode on ahead with a deft free step. Ike, doubtful and grievously
+ill at ease, followed. Come what might he felt that he would tell his
+father all, and let him solve the mystery about this strange guest. Then
+he began to reflect how slight this “all” was. There were the innuendoes
+of the men at the store; but his father knew as well as he how little
+Jerry Binwell had been liked in his early youth, how strong the prejudice
+remained. The affront to old Corbin was indeed reprehensible, but as to
+climbing about the rocks at night surely any one might do that who was
+foolish or idle or nimble enough.
+
+Ike was surprised that although he found in summing up there was no
+positive heinous wickedness involved, his aversion to the man remained
+and his resolution was strong. He would tell his father all that he had
+heard, that he had seen. He would shift the responsibility. His shoulders
+were not strong enough to carry it.
+
+Jerry’s long, lean figure, with the company of his longer and leaner
+shadow which dogged his steps like some pursuing phantom of sorrow or
+dismay that might materialize in the fullness of time, kept steadily down
+the road. He made no pretense of silence or concealment, but whistled
+blithely and loud—a sound to pierce the pensive hour with discordant
+interruption. Did it awaken the birds? A peevish, intermittent chirring
+rose drowsily from the woods, and then was still, and anon sounded again.
+Or was it that the dawn was coming hardily upon the slowly departing
+night, long lingering, loath to go? The moon showed no paling sign; belts
+of pearly vapors, catching its light, were rising from the furthest
+reaches of the purple mountains. And here the river was dark and deep;
+and there it flowed in translucent amber waves, with a silver flash of
+foam, all the brighter for the shadow of the rock hard by. And now it
+was out of sight and there were the long stretches of the familiar woods
+on either hand, with no suggestion of the vivid tints of autumn, only a
+dusky black alternating with a gleaming gold strewn like the largess of a
+dream fantasy all a-down the winding ways.
+
+Morning surely; the thrush sings a stave. And silence again.
+
+The shadows falter, though the pensive lunar light yet lingers. And again
+the thrush—fresh, thrilling, a quiver of ecstasies, a soaring wing,
+though it catches the yellow moonbeams. The sky reddens. Alas, for the
+waning moon! Oh, sorry ghost; how pale! how pale!
+
+For the prosaic day is in the awakening woods. The mountains rise above
+their encompassing mists and shadows. Beneath them, brown and gray, with
+closed batten shutters, Ike sees, slowly revealed, his father’s house,
+the sheep lying huddled at one side, barely astir—a head lifted now, and
+then dropped—the cow drowsing in a fence corner; the chickens beginning
+to jump down from the althea bushes, where, despite the autumnal chill,
+they still roost. And, as the first slanting sun ray shoots up over the
+mountains, the door opens, and there is thrust out the pink face of
+Rosamond, dimpling with glee at the sight of them, and her shout of glad
+recognition is loud enough to waken all the sluggards in the cabin, or
+for that matter in the Cove.
+
+The cabin, however, was already astir. Ike learned, with emotions not
+altogether relating to the recital, that his father’s aunt who had
+brought him up from infancy had been taken ill, and a runner having been
+sent to apprise him he had gone over to the Carolina side, and would not
+return until the old woman should be better or the worst over.
+
+Ike had postponed his disclosures too long. There was little good, he
+thought, as he swung his axe at the wood-pile—as wide awake as though
+he had participated in no coon-hunt—to tell his mother; she had cares
+enough—and what could she do? And truly he had nothing to tell except
+to put into words vague suspicions; nay, his thoughts were not so well
+defined; to canvass actions and accents and looks that displeased him.
+They all knew—at least they would not be surprised to learn that Jerry
+Binwell had not outlived the malice of his youth. Aunt Jemima would
+regard the slightest word against him as an effort to bereave her of
+this late-blooming pleasure and joy of her life, the little Rosamond.
+Ike hopefully considered for a time the blind man’s aversion to Binwell.
+Abner would never hear nor reply when he spoke—and since the first night,
+he had not spoken to Binwell, except indeed one day when he chanced to
+stumble against the sprawling loafer before the fire. Abner struck at him
+fiercely and called out imperiously—“Get out of my way—or I will kick you
+out!”
+
+Jerry had moved, but there was an odd glancing expression from his
+half-closed lids that alarmed Ike, so malignant it seemed. The little
+girl had run gayly up, caught Abner by the hand, and guided him to his
+place by the fire. For she it was who had superseded all the others,
+and had made the blind artillery-man her special charge. All day she
+was laughing beside him. Any time the oddly assorted couple could be
+met, she leading him carefully, holding two of his bronzed fingers, as
+they strolled down the sunset road, or they might be seen sitting on the
+wood-pile while he told her stories or sang. And she sang also, loud
+and clear—gayly too, whatever might have been the humble poet’s mood—in
+no wise dismayed or hindered by the infantile disability of not being
+able to carry a tune. She had a thousand quirks and conceits, incredibly
+entertaining to him in his enforced idleness. She had watched wide-eyed
+when Hiram Guyther read from an old and tattered Testament, for the
+accomplishment of reading was rare in the region, and had not before been
+brought to her observation. Often thereafter she equipped herself with a
+chip, held sturdily before her dancing eyes, and from this unique book
+she droned forth, in imitation of Hiram’s gruff voice, strange stories of
+beasts and birds, and the human beings about her, pausing only to scream
+with laughter at her own wit, and then gruffly droned on once more. She
+fell ill once for a day or so—a red and a swollen throat, and a flushing,
+dull-eyed fever. Aunt Jemima and Ike’s mother exhausted their skill and
+simple remedies, and went about haggard and nervous; and the blind man,
+breaking a long silence, said suddenly, “Ef ennything war ter happen ter
+that thar child I’d ’low the Lord hed fursook me.”
+
+A neighbor, who happened to be at the house, eyed him curiously. “Ef I
+war you-uns, Ab,” he said, “I’d ’low ez He hed fursook me whenst He let
+my eyes git put out.”
+
+The brave fellow had had no repinings, not even when the war was his
+daily thought. Now he seemed to have forgotten it, so full, and varied,
+and cheerful an interest had this little creature brought into his life.
+Often aunt Jemima would tell in gladsome superlatives what she looked
+like, and when she spoke he would turn an intent smiling face toward her
+as if he beheld some charming image.
+
+What was the use of talking, Ike thought, remembering all this. They
+would not jeopardize the loan of this treasure for all that Jerry Binwell
+could do or say.
+
+He cut away vehemently at the wood, making the chips fly and the mountain
+echoes ring. He responded curtly, but without discourtesy, when Jerry
+Binwell came out of the house, took a seat upon the wood-pile, and began
+to talk to him. Jerry had a confidential tone, and he slyly laughed at
+the folks in the Cove, and he took on a comrade-like manner—implying a
+certainty of appreciation and sympathy—that might once have flattered
+Ike, coming from one so much older than himself. Now, however, Ike merely
+swung the axe in silence, casting an occasional distrustful glance at
+the thin sharp face with its long grayish goatee. More than once he
+encountered a keen inquiring look that did not seem to agree with the
+careless, casual nature of the talk.
+
+“Old Jake Corbin—ye know him; oh yes, ye seen me h’ist him up on the beam
+thar at the store—waal, he be powerful keen ter get a chance ter torment
+other folks, but cut a joke on him, an’ I tell ye, old Jake’ll git his
+mad up, sure. I seen him the ’tother day, an’ he plumb looked wild-cats
+at me—fairly glared. Tell ye, Ike, ye an’ me’ll git round him some day,
+an’ hev some fun out’n him—git his dander up an’ see him hop.” He winked
+at Ike and chewed resolutely on his huge quid of tobacco.
+
+“Naw, I won’t,” said Ike suddenly. “I hev’ been raised ter respec’ my
+elders. An’ I’m a-goin’ ter do it now jes’ the same ez afore ye kem.”
+
+“Bless my bones!” cried Jerry Binwell, affecting contemptuous surprise
+and speaking in a jeering falsetto voice. “Jes’ listen how leetle Sally
+do talk—ye plumb perlite leetle gal!” He leered unpleasantly at the
+flushing boy. Then he suddenly resumed his natural tone and his former
+manner, as if he had borne no part in this interlude.
+
+“Ye oughter hear how he talks ’bout you-uns, Ike—’lows ye air plumb lazy.”
+
+“That war a true word whenst he said it,” interpolated Ike.
+
+“An’ never done yer work, an’ war onreliable, an’ onstiddy, an’ hedn’t no
+grit ter stan’ up ter yer word, an’ thar war no sech thing ez makin’ a
+man out’n ye. I hearn him say that an’ mo’, ’fore twenty other men.”
+
+Ike’s axe had dropped to the ground. He listened with a red cheek and a
+glowing eye. The other watched him intently.
+
+“Waal, that’s pretty tough talk,” said Ike.
+
+“’Tis _that_!” assented Binwell.
+
+“But I hev been shirking some an’ no mistake, an’ I reckon the old man
+’lowed that war jes’ the kind o’ stuff I be made out’n, totally. Now I be
+a-goin’ ter show him ’tain’t nuthin’ more ’n a streak.”
+
+And the steady strokes of the axe rang, and the chips flew, and the
+mountains echoed the industrial sound.
+
+Jerry Binwell looked unaccountably disappointed and disturbed. He changed
+the subject. “Why war ye axin’ Ab fur the loan o’ his gun this mornin’?”
+
+“Kase dad hev kerried his’n off, an’ I be a-goin’ ter git up the boys an’
+go arter that thar painter. It riles me powerful ter go a-huntin’ a coon
+an’ git run by a painter. So I ’lowed we-uns would go ter-night.”
+
+Again the man slouching on the wood-pile seemed unaccountably worried
+and ill at ease. This reminded Ike of that curious nocturnal climbing of
+the rocks, and when he went up to the roof-room for some lead to mould
+bullets for the gun, he stood looking about him and wondering how Jerry
+Binwell contrived to escape from his hospitable quarters without rousing
+the family who slept in the room and in the shed-room below. There was no
+window; the long tent-like place was illumined only by the many cracks in
+the wall and roof. They had a dazzling silvery glister when one looked
+steadily at the light pouring through them amongst the brown timbers, and
+the many garments, and bags, and herbs, and peltries, hanging from the
+ridge-pole. One of these rifts struck him as wider than he had thought
+any of them could be. He reached up and touched the clapboard. It was
+loose; it rose with the pressure. A man not half so active as Binwell
+could have sprung through and upon the roof, and thence swung himself to
+the ground.
+
+The panther was surprised and killed that night. Jerry Binwell, and
+several other men who heard of the adventure, joined the party. They
+were all in high feather going home, and Skimpy sang a number of his
+roundelays, as he had often done before without exciting any particular
+admiration. He sang from animal spirits, as the other boys, less
+musically endowed, shouted and grotesquely yelled. Nevertheless, with
+the musician’s susceptibility to plaudits, his ear was attuned to Jerry
+Binwell’s exclamation, addressed to one of the men in the rear, “Jes’
+listen how that thar young one kin sing! ’Pears plumb s’prisin’!”
+
+And the good-natured mountaineer returned, “That’s a fac’. Wouldn’t be
+s’prised none ef Skimp shows a reg’lar gift fur quirin’.”
+
+“He sings better now’n all the folkses in the church-house,” said the
+guileful Jerry.
+
+The flattered Skimpy!
+
+He knew that the society of Ike had been forbidden to him, lest he should
+come in contact with this elderly reprobate, but he felt a great flutter
+of delight when Binwell, coming up beside him, as he trotted along in the
+moonlight, said again that he could sing like all possessed, and declared
+that if he had a fiddle he could teach Skimpy many new tunes that he had
+heard when he lived down in Persimmon Cove. “Mighty fiddlin’ folks down
+thar,” he added, seductively.
+
+Now there was hanging on the wall at the Sawyer house—and it is barely
+possible that Jerry Binwell may have seen it there—a crazy old fiddle and
+bow. It was claimed as the property of Obadiah, the eldest of the boys,
+who had his share of such musical talent as blessed the Sawyer family. In
+him it expressed itself in fiddling to the exclusion of his brothers—for
+very intolerant was he of anybody who undertook to “play the fool with
+this fiddle,” as he phrased it. A critical person might have said that he
+played the fool with it himself, or perhaps that it played the fool with
+him. But such as the performance was, he esteemed the instrument as the
+apple of his eye, and was very solicitous of not breaking its “bredge.”
+Therefore Skimpy was a very bold boy, and preposterously hopeful, when
+he suggested to Binwell that he could borrow Obadiah’s fiddle, and thus
+the treasures of sound so rapturously fiddled forth by the dwellers in
+Persimmon Cove might rejoice the air in Tanglefoot.
+
+“Naw, naw, don’t ’sturb Obadiah,” said the considerate Jerry. “Jes’
+to-morrer evenin’, two hours by sun, whenst he ain’t needin’ it an’ ain’t
+studyin’ bout’n it, ye jes’ git it, an’ ye kem an’ meet me by the sulphur
+spring, an’ I kin l’arn ye them new chunes.”
+
+Skimpy’s ridiculous attenuated shadow thumped along in front of them;
+Jerry’s eyes were fixed upon it—he was too cautious to scan the boy
+himself. It stumped its toe presently on a stone which Skimpy was too
+much absorbed to see, and so it had to hop and limp for a while. Skimpy
+said nothing, for he was wondering how it would be easiest and safest to
+undertake to play the fool with that fiddle of Obadiah’s.
+
+They were a considerable distance in advance of the others and nearing
+Keedon Bluffs; the whoopings of their invisible companions, who were
+hidden by the frequent turns in the road, came now and again upon the
+air, arousing the latent voices of the rocks; occasionally there was only
+the sound of loud indistinguishable talking, as if the powers of the
+earth and the air had broken out in prosaic communion.
+
+“Pipe up, sonny,” said the paternal Jerry, seeing that the conversation
+was not likely to be resumed. “Gin us that one bout’n ‘Dig Taters;’ that
+thar one air new ter me.”
+
+To his surprise Skimpy refused. “I can’t ’pear ter git no purchase on it
+hyar. Them rocks keep up sech a hollerin’.”
+
+They trudged on in silence for a few minutes. Then said Skimpy, glancing
+back over his shoulder, “I wish them boys would stir thar stumps an’
+overhaul us. I hate ter be with sech a few folks arter night-fall ’roun
+Keedon Bluffs,”—he shrank apprehensively from the verge.
+
+“What fur?” demanded Jerry sharply.
+
+“Kase,” Skimpy lowered his voice and slipped nearer to his companion,
+“the folkses ’low ez thar be witches ’round hyar of a night arter it gits
+cleverly dark an’ lays by day in them hollows in the Bluffs, an’ kem out
+of a night ter strangle folkses.” He suddenly remembered from whom he had
+heard these fables. “Ye know ’twar _you-uns_ ez war a-tellin’ me an’ Ike
+’bout them witches fus’ evenin’ we ever seen ye—along this hyar road
+with yer kyart an’ yer leetle gal.”
+
+Binwell was silent for a moment. Then he began to laugh in a chuckling
+way, and the Bluffs responded in muffled and sinister merriment. “’Twar
+jes’ a pack o’ lies, Skimp!” he said jovially. “I jes’ done it ter skeer
+that thar boy ez war along o’ you-uns—Ike Guyther. He be powerful easy
+skeered, an’ I wanted ter see how he’d look! I tell ye of a night he
+jes’ gathers his bones tergether an’ sets close ter the ha’th. Ef enny
+witches take arter him, they’ll hev ter kem down the chimbly afore all
+the fambly. Ike, he puts them witches on thar mettle ter ketch him.”
+
+“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the candid Skimpy, “it skeered me a sight wuss’n
+it did Ike. I ’lowed I’d never git home; ef I hed hed ez many feet ez a
+thousand-legs I could hev fund a use fur ’em all. An’ them two I did hev
+mos’ weighed a ton. Ike never ’peared ter me ter skeer a speck.”
+
+There was no doubt in his tones. He was a friendly fellow himself, and he
+looked only for fair-dealing in others.
+
+“Waal, I never went ter skeer _you-uns_,” said Jerry in his companionable
+manner. “I seen from the fust jes’ what sort’n boy you-uns war—stiddy,
+an’ reliable, an’ the kind o’ feller ez a body kin put dependence in—know
+jes’ whar ter find ye.”
+
+Skimpy listened in tingling delight to this sketch—it would not have been
+recognized at home. His mother might have considered it ridicule.
+
+“I jes’ wanted ter skeer that thar t’other boy”—he was looking Skimpy
+over very closely as he spoke, his eyes narrowing, his lips pursed up
+in a sort of calculation—he might have seemed to be mentally measuring
+Skimpy’s attenuated frame. “I jes’ wanted ter skeer that thar t’other
+boy. He’s powerful mean, Ike is. He air always a-purtendin’ ter like
+ennybody, an’ then a-laffin’ at ’em ahint thar backs. I didn’t know him
+then, but I knowed his uncle Ab, an’ I seen the minit I clapped eyes on
+him ez they war jes’ alike. An’ ez I hed a reason fur it, I skeered him.
+He’s mighty cantankerous ahint ennybody’s back,” Jerry continued as he
+strode on, swinging his right arm. “I hev hearn him declar’ ez that
+thar old cur o’ yourn, Bose, air the bes’-lookin’ member o’ the Sawyer
+fambly.” He glanced sharply at Skimpy, steadily stamping along the sandy
+road.
+
+“Waal, ye know,” said Skimpy in a high excited voice, “Bose, ye know, is
+a plumb special coon-dog. An’ he’s sharp; mighty few gyard-dogs sech ez
+Bose. An’ he air a shepherd too. I’ll be bound none o’ our sheep air ever
+missin’ or kilt. An’ Bose sets ez much store by the baby ez enny o’ the
+fambly do; he jes’ gyards that cradle; he’ll snap at me if I so much ez
+kem nigh it—nobody but mam kin tech that baby arter Bose takes his stand.
+An’ Bose, he kin go out an’ find our cow out’n fifty an’ fetch her home.”
+
+Binwell had long ago perceived that he had touched the wrong chord.
+Skimpy was quite content to be rated as secondary in beauty to the
+all-accomplished and beloved Bose.
+
+“I know Bose,” he admitted. “Bose is hard to beat.”
+
+“_Yes_, sir! Yes, _sir_!” And Skimpy wagged his convinced head.
+
+“But Ike ’lows he be ugly.”
+
+“Shucks! I say ugly!” cried Skimpy scornfully; he was willing to be
+considered no beauty himself—but _Bose_!
+
+“An’ he ’lows he’d jes’ ez lief hear Bose howl ez you-uns sing.”
+
+Skimpy paused, turning his astonished face up to Binwell, the moonlight
+full upon its stung and indignant expression. Now Bose had never been
+considered musical—not even by Skimpy. He drew the line that bounds
+perfection at Bose’s dulcet utterances. He was almost incredulous at
+this, despite his confiding nature.
+
+“Why, I hev jes’ sot an’ sung fur Ike till I mighty nigh los’ my breath.”
+
+“Ye oughter hear him mock ye, arter ye gits gone. Oh, Mister Coon! Oh,
+e-aw, Mister Kyune!” mimicked Jerry in an insulting falsetto. “He ’lows
+it gin him the year-ache; ye ’members how bad he had it.”
+
+“Dellaw!” exclaimed the outdone and amazed Skimpy, stopping in the road,
+his breath short, his face scarlet.
+
+“Made me right up an’ down mad,” said Jerry. “Oh, I knowed that Ike,
+minit I set eyes on him! I knowed his deceivin’ natur’. I wanted ter
+skeer him away from Keedon Bluffs. I never minded you-uns. I’d jes’ ez
+lief tell you-uns ez not why I wanted ter keep him off’n ’em.”
+
+“What fur?” said Skimpy, once more trudging along.
+
+“Waal, hyar I be whar my road turns off from yer road,” said Jerry,
+pausing. He stood at the forks of the road, half in the light of the
+moon, half in the shadow of the thinning overhanging foliage. The mists
+were in the channel of the river, and the banks were brimming with the
+lustrous pearly floods; the blue sky was clear save that the moon was
+beset by purple broken clouds—all veined about with opalescent gleams.
+The shadows were black in the woods; the long shafts of light, yellow and
+slanting, penetrated far down the aisles, which seemed very lonely and
+silent; an acorn presently fell from the chestnut oak above Binwell’s
+head into the white sandy road, so unfrequented that the track of a
+wagon which had passed long before would hardly be soon displaced unless
+by the wind or the rain.
+
+“I tell ye,” said Jerry, looking down into the candid upturned face
+beneath the torn brim of the old white wool hat, “ye fetch Obadiah’s
+fiddle ter-morrer, an hour ’fore sundown, ter the sulphur spring, an’
+I’ll l’arn ye them new chunes. An’ I’ll tell ye all ’bout Ike, an’ what
+he said an’ why I wanter keep sech ez him off’n them Bluffs.”
+
+“Waal,” assented Skimpy, “I kin make out ter git the fiddle, I reckon.”
+
+But it was with little joyous anticipation that he turned away. Ike’s
+words, as reported by Binwell, rankled in his heart; it was hot and heavy
+within him. He even shed a forlorn tear or two—to thus make acquaintance
+with the specious delusions of friendship. It was not so much the sting
+of wounded vanity, although he was sensible too of this—but that Ike
+should affect to esteem him so dearly and ridicule him behind his back!
+He was generous enough, however, to seek to make excuses to himself
+for his friend. “I reckon,” he muttered, “it mus’ hev been arter dad
+wouldn’t lemme go with Ike no mo’ an’ it riled him, an’ so he tuk ter
+tongue-lashin’ me. I reckon he never thunk ez I couldn’t holp it.”
+
+And thus he disappeared down the woodland ways, leaving Jerry Binwell
+standing in the road and looking meditatively after him.
+
+“I reckon it’s better ennyhow,” Binwell soliloquized. “Ike’s a hundred
+times smarter’n him, but he air smart enuff. Bes’ not be too smart. An’
+though he be ez tall ez Ike he’s a deal stringier; he’s powerful slim.
+Ike ain’t much less’n me—an’ I be a deal too bulky—git stuck certain.
+Skimpy’s the boy.”
+
+He remained silent for a time, vacantly gazing down the woods. Then
+suddenly he turned and betook himself homeward.
+
+
+
+
+IX.
+
+
+Circumstances the next day seemed adverse to Skimpy’s scheme. Obadiah
+for some time past had not been musically disposed, and the violin had
+hung silent on the cabin wall in company with strings of red peppers, and
+bags of herbs, and sundry cooking utensils. That afternoon the spirit of
+melody within him was newly awakened.
+
+Skimpy, who had been lurking about the place, watching his opportunity,
+was dismayed to see Obadiah come briskly out of the cabin door with the
+instrument in his hand, and establish himself in a rickety chair on the
+porch. He tilted this back on its hind-legs until he could lean against
+the wall, stuck the violin under his chin, and with his long lean arm
+in a fascinating crook, he began to bow away rapturously. They were
+very merry tunes that Obadiah played—at least the tempo was lively and
+required a good many quick jerks and nods of the head, and much flirting
+and shaking of his long red mane to keep up with it. Occasionally his
+bow would glance off the strings with a very dashing effect, when he
+would hold it at arm’s-length, and grin with satisfaction, and wink
+triumphantly at Skimpy, who had come and seated himself on the steps
+of the porch hard by. He looked up from under the wide brim of his hat
+somewhat wistfully at Obadiah.
+
+The violinist was happier for an audience, although he could have sat
+alone till sunset, with one leg doubled up under the other, which swayed
+loosely from the tilted elevation of the chair, and played for his own
+appreciative ear, and found art sufficient unto itself. But applause is
+a pleasant concomitant of proficiency and he loved to astonish Skimpy.
+His hat had fallen on the floor, and the kitten, fond of queer places to
+sleep, had coiled herself in the crown, and now and then lifted her head
+and looked out dubiously at Skimpy. Just above Obadiah was a shelf on
+which stood a pail of water and a gourd. What else there was up there an
+inquisitive young rooster was trying to find out, having flown over the
+heedless musician, still blithely sawing away.
+
+“He oughter hev his wings cropped, so ez he couldn’t fly around that
+a-way,” said Skimpy suddenly. “Oughtn’t he, Oby?”
+
+Now one would imagine that when Obadiah was harmoniously disposed all
+the chords of his nature would be attuned to the fine consonance which
+so thrilled him. On the contrary the vibrations of his temper were most
+discordant when his mood was most melodic. He had one curt effective
+rejoinder for any remark that might seek to interrupt him.
+
+“Hesh up!” he said, tartly.
+
+His mother, a tall gaunt woman of an aggressively neat appearance, was
+hanging out the clothes to dry on the althea bushes in the sun. She was
+near enough to overhear the conversation, and she suddenly joined in it.
+
+“Nobody oughter want ter tie up other folkses tongues till they be right
+sure they hev got no call ter be tongue-tied tharself.”
+
+To this reproof Obadiah refrained from making any unfilial reply, but
+scraped away joyously till Skimpy, longing for silence and the fiddle,
+felt as if the mountains shimmering through the haze were beginning to
+clumsily dance, and experienced a serious difficulty in keeping his own
+feet still, so nervous had he become in his eagerness to lay hold of the
+bow himself.
+
+Sunset would be kindling presently—he gazed anxiously toward the western
+sky across the vast landscape, for the cabin was perched well up on the
+mountain slope, and the privilege of overlooking the long stretches of
+valley and range and winding river was curtailed only by the limits of
+vision. The sun was as yet a glittering focus of dazzling white rays, but
+they would be reddening soon, and doubtless his new friend was already
+waiting for him at the sulphur spring.
+
+“I wisht ye’d lemme hev that thar fiddle a leetle while, Oby,” he said
+suddenly, his manner at once beguiling for the sake of the favor he
+sought, and reproachful for the denial he foresaw.
+
+Obadiah’s arm seemed electrified—there was one terrific shriek from
+the cat-gut, and then his quivering hand held the bow silent above the
+strings.
+
+“Air ye turned a bodacious idjit, Skimp?” he cried, positively appalled
+by the audacity of the request. “I wouldn’t hev ye a-ondertakin’ ter play
+the fool with this hyar fiddle, fur”—he hesitated, but his manner swept
+away worlds of entreating bribes—“fur _nuthin’_.”
+
+The young rooster, finding that there was nothing upon the shelf except
+the water-pail and gourd, and hardly caring to appropriate them, had
+made up his mind to descend. After the manner of his kind, however,
+he teetered about on the edge of the shelf in some excitement, unable
+to determine just at what spot to attempt the leap. Twice or thrice
+he spread his bronzed red and yellow wings, stretched his neck, and
+bowed his body down—to rise up exactly where he was before. At last
+the adventurous fowl decided to trust himself to providence. With a
+squawk at his own temerity he fluttered awkwardly off the shelf, and
+almost alighted on the musician’s head, giving a convulsive clutch at
+it with his claws as he flopped past. There was a distressful whine
+from the fiddle-strings in Obadiah’s sudden perversion of the bow; he
+had forgotten all about the rooster on the shelf; he jumped back with a
+galvanic jerk, as he felt the fluttering wings about his head and the
+scrape of the yellow claws, and emitted a sharp cry of startled dismay.
+
+Bose, who had been lying close beside a clumsy wooden box on rockers,
+growled surlily, fixing a warning eye on the boy; then his voice rose
+into a gruff bark. There was no longer use in his keeping quiet and
+guarding the cradle. Beneath the quilts was a great commotion; the
+personage enveloped therein, although sleeping according to infantile
+etiquette with its head covered, had no mind to be thus eclipsed when
+broad awake. There presently emerged a pair of mottled fists, the red
+head of the Sawyer tribe, an indignant, frowning red face, and a howl so
+vigorous that it seemed almost visible. It had no accompaniment of tears,
+for the baby wept for rage rather than grief, and sorrow was the share
+of those who heard him.
+
+Mrs. Sawyer turned and looked reproachfully at the group on the porch.
+
+“’Twarn’t _me_, mam, ’twar the rooster ez woke the baby,” Obadiah
+exclaimed, seeking to exculpate himself.
+
+Bose was stretching himself to a surprising length, all his toe-nails
+elongated as he spread out his paws, and still half-growling and
+half-barking at Obadiah, the utterance complicated with a yawn.
+
+“’Twar the rooster,” reiterated Obadiah—“the rooster, an’—an’—Bose.”
+
+“’Twarn’t Bose!” exclaimed Skimpy, loyally.
+
+“Hesh up!” said the dulcet musician.
+
+“Needn’t tell me nuthin’ ag’in Bose—I know Bose!” said Mrs. Sawyer
+emphatically—thus a good name is ever proof against detraction. “Hang
+up that thar fiddle, Oby,” she continued. “I wonder the baby ain’t been
+woked up afore considerin’ the racket ye kep’ up. An’ go down yander
+ter the ’tater patch an’ see ef yer dad don’t need ye ter holp dig the
+’taters. I don’t need ye hyar—an’ that fiddle don’t need ye nuther. I
+be half crazed with that thar everlastin’ sawin’ an’ scrapin’ o’ yourn,
+keep-in’ on ez ef yer muscles war witched, an’ ye _couldn’t_ quit.”
+
+She sat down on a chair beside the cradle and began to rock it with her
+foot, readjusting the while the quilts over the head of the affronted
+infant, who straightway flung them off again that he might have more room
+for his vocalization.
+
+Obadiah went obediently and hung up the fiddle, and presently looking
+down the slope Skimpy saw him wending his way toward the potato patch.
+
+“I dunno how kem Oby ’lows that thar old fiddle b’longs to him, more’n
+it do ter the rest o’ we-uns,” Skimpy observed discontentedly, when the
+baby’s vociferations had subsided into a sort of soliloquy, keeping
+time with the rhythmic motions of the rockers. It was neither mutter
+nor wail nor indicative of unhappiness, but it expressed a firmly
+perverse resolution not to go to sleep again if he could help it, and
+rose instantly into a portentous howl if the monotonous rocking was
+intermitted for a moment.
+
+“’Twar yer gran’dad’s fiddle,” said Mrs. Sawyer. “That’s the only sure
+enough owner it ever hed—he never gin it ter nobody in partic’lar whenst
+he died. An’ it jes’ hung thar on the wall till Obadiah ’peared ter take
+a kink ter play it.”
+
+Obadiah doubtless considered himself entitled to the fiddle by the right
+of primogeniture—though Obadiah did not call it by this name. As Skimpy
+reflected upon the nature of his brother’s claim he felt that there was
+no reason why he should not insist on sharing the ownership. It was not
+Obadiah’s fiddle—it belonged to the family.
+
+The baby’s voice sank gradually to a jerky monotone, then to a murmur and
+so to silence. The rockers of the cradle jogged thumpingly up and down
+the floor for a few minutes longer. And then Mrs. Sawyer betook herself
+once more to her task of hanging out the clothes, while Bose guarded the
+cradle, and Skimpy still sat on the steps, his elbows on his knees, and
+his pondering head held between his hands.
+
+The lengthening yellow sunbeams poured through the cabin door, venturing
+gradually up the walls to where the silent instrument hung, filling it
+with a rich glow and playing many a fantasy though never stirring a
+string.
+
+
+
+
+X.
+
+
+When Jerry Binwell repaired to the sulphur spring that afternoon,
+there was no waiting figure amongst the rocks beside it. He paused at
+a little distance and glanced about with surprise. Then he slouched on
+toward the trysting place. In all the long avenues of the woods that
+seemed illumined by the clear amber tint of the dead leaves covering the
+ground, on which the dark boles of the trees stood out with startling
+distinctness, his roving eye encountered no living creature, except
+indeed a squirrel. It was perched upright upon the flat slab that almost
+hid the spring, eating a chestnut held between its deft paws; it scudded
+away, its curling tail waving as it ran up a tree hard by, and Binwell
+heard it chattering there afterward; more than once it dropped empty
+nutshells upon the man’s hat as he waited half-reclining among the rocks
+beside the spring. Time dawdled on; the sunshine adjusted itself to a
+new slant; it deepened to a richer tint; the shadows became pensive; the
+squirrel had fled long ago. Often Binwell lifted himself on his elbow
+and glanced about him, frowning surlily; but the vast woods were utterly
+solitary and very still this quiet day. Once a rustling sound caught
+his ear, and as he sprang up looking about hopefully for the boy, his
+motion alarmed some hogs that were roaming wild in the forest to fatten
+on the mast. They stood still, and fixed small sharp eyes intently upon
+him, then with an exclamatory and distrustful vociferation they ran off
+through the woods hardly less fleetly than deer. Jerry Binwell muttered
+his discontent, and glancing once more at the sky began to walk slowly
+about, keeping the spring in sight. Still no Skimpy came. The man’s face
+wore an expression both scornful and indignant as he paused at last.
+
+The forest was remarkably free from undergrowth just here; the fiery
+besoms of the annual conflagrations destroyed the young and tender
+shoots, and left to the wilderness something of the aspect of a vast
+park. Only on one side, and that was where the ground sloped suddenly
+to the depths of a rugged ravine, an almost impenetrable jungle of
+laurel reached from the earth into the branches of the trees. Its
+ever-green leaves had a summer suggestion as the sun glanced upon them;
+none had changed, none had fallen. And yet, as he looked, he noted a
+thinning aspect, a sort of gap at a certain point in the massive wall
+of interlacing boughs, made, he fancied, when some lumbering bear tore
+a breach in search of winter quarters in those bosky securities. He was
+an idle man, and trifles were wont to while away his time. His momentary
+curiosity served to mitigate the tedium of waiting for Skimpy. He slowly
+strolled toward the gap amidst the foliage, wondering whether the animal
+had only lately passed, whether it was possible to come upon it in its
+lair and surprise it. He was near enough to lay his hand on the laurel
+leaves when he noticed there was a distinctly marked path threading its
+way through the tangle. He could not see the ground, but a furrow amongst
+the boughs indicated continual passing and repassing. For a few yards
+this was visible as he stood looking through the gap of bent and broken
+branches; then the rift among the leaves seemed to curve and he saw no
+further. Still meditating on the bear, he experienced some surprise when
+he observed in the marshy earth in the open space near where he stood the
+print of a man’s boot; not his own, as he was half-inclined to think at
+first. For as he held his foot above the track, he saw that the print in
+the moist earth was much broader, and that the man walked with a short
+pace, far different from his own long stride. The steps had not only gone
+into the laurel but had come thence; often, too, judging from the number
+and direction of the footprints.
+
+“I wonder whar this path leads,” he said. “Somebody must be moonshinin’
+hyar-abouts.”
+
+He stood gazing down meditatively. The broad footprint was always the
+same, the step always the short measure indicating a slow and heavy man.
+
+This suggested the idea of old Corbin. The retort, in the nature of
+a practical joke, played on the old codger at the store, had not
+altogether satisfied Binwell’s enmity; this, in fact, was, in a measure,
+reinforced by the surly silence and looks of aversion which had since
+been meted out to him throughout the community. It was more than
+curiosity which he now felt; it was a certain joy in secretly spying
+upon his enemy, and there was a merry sneer in his eyes as he began to
+push his way through the laurel. As the path curved, he saw the groove
+among the leaves anew before him, and he had but to follow its twists
+and turns. A long way it led him down the rugged descent, the laurel
+leaves almost closing over his head, the great forest trees rising high
+above the thicket, flinging their darkling shadows into the midst. He
+was chuckling to think what a time of it old Corbin must have had to get
+down. “An’ how in Kingdom Come did he ever git up ag’in?” he laughed.
+
+The words had hardly escaped his lips before he emitted a husky cry of
+surprise: he had come suddenly to his journey’s end. In the midst of a
+clear patch of rocky ground, where even the sturdy laurel could not
+strike root, were scattered shavings and bits of wood, and stretching
+into the dense growth, so long they were, lay two staunch but slender
+poles upon the ground. They were joined by rungs, well fitted in a
+workman-like manner. It was in fact a great ladder, the like of which
+had never been seen in Tanglefoot Cove, and, indeed, rarely elsewhere.
+It might have reached from the river bank to the hollows of Keedon
+Bluffs! As Binwell gazed with starting eyes he noted that it was nearly
+completed—only a few rungs remained to be set in.
+
+A sudden vibrating sound set all the stillness to jarring; he turned
+abruptly, his nerves tense, an oath between his teeth. It was too late
+for him to hide, to flee. He could only gaze in despair at Skimpy’s red
+head, his white wool hat set on the back of it, bobbing along through the
+laurel; his freckled, grinning face was bowed on Obadiah’s fiddle that
+wailed and complained beneath his sawing arm.
+
+Perhaps it was the urgency of the moment that made Binwell bold and
+rallied his quick expedients. He did not even wonder how the boy had
+happened to discover him. Skimpy had descried him from a distance in
+the open woods, and had followed, bringing the fiddle according to
+their agreement. Binwell looked gravely at the boy and motioned to him
+to advance. The fiddle ceased to shiver beneath Skimpy’s inharmonious
+touch, and with his eyes stretched, and his mouth too, for that matter,
+he pressed on down to the spot. He could not restrain a wondering “Waal,
+sir!” when Binwell pointed to the ladder.
+
+“Don’t say nuthin’, Skimp,” said Binwell. “Lay the fiddle an’ bow thar
+in the laurel; level em’ so ez they won’t fall; thar! Ye kin find ’em
+ag’in by that thar rock. Now take a-holt of that thar ladder, ’bout hyar;
+that’s the dinctum—an’ jes’ foller me.”
+
+Skimpy recognized this as an odd proceeding, and yet he hardly felt
+warranted in questioning Jerry Binwell. He could not refuse his
+assistance in a mere matter of “toting”; he began to think that this
+service was the reason his friend had appointed this place of meeting
+on pretext of playing the fiddle. He did not definitely suspect anything
+worse than a scheme to get a little unrequited work from him. More
+especially were his doubts annulled by the quiet glance with which Jerry
+Binwell met his eager inquiring look.
+
+“Yes, take a-holt right thar”—as if this was an answer to all that the
+boy was about to ask. Binwell himself had run swiftly ahead and had
+caught up the other extremity of the ladder. He went straight forward,
+breaking a path through the jungle by the aid of the ladder that he
+allowed to precede him by ten or twelve feet. He did not hesitate,
+although there was no rift here amongst the leaves to guide him. His
+manner was as assured as if he were following a definite route that he
+had traveled often. Skimpy had no doubt that he knew whither he was
+going through that trackless desert. Nevertheless Binwell now and then
+looked back over his shoulder at the sun, as if to make sure of the
+direction which he was taking. He did not care to notice the anxious
+freckled face, down the vista of the leaves, from which all jocundity had
+vanished. For Skimpy, although the best-natured of boys, began to rebel
+inwardly. He had a troublous consciousness that Jerry Binwell would not
+be safe to trust, and wondered that he could have so disregarded his
+father’s wish that he should not be brought into this association. It
+seemed odd to Skimpy that the danger should have manifested itself so
+close upon the heels of the warning. In common with many boys, he was apt
+to regard the elders as too cautious, too slow. He had not learned as yet
+that it is experience which has made them so. It was not merely mentally
+that he was ill at ease. His bare feet were beginning to burn, for they
+had now climbed long distances up the mountain slope amidst the laurel.
+The weight of the ladder asserted itself in every straining muscle, and
+yet he realized that his callow strength would hardly have enabled him
+to carry one end, were it not for the aid of the upholding boughs of the
+laurel, that would not suffer it to touch the ground, even when his
+grasp sometimes relaxed in spite of himself. He dreaded to think how he
+would fare when they should emerge into the open woods. “I won’t tote my
+e-end no furder,” he said to himself, still striving to look upon himself
+as a free agent.
+
+He called once or twice to Binwell, who feigned not to hear. His deafness
+suddenly vanished when Skimpy stopped and the ladder lay upon the
+interlacing laurel-boughs. “Whar be we-uns a-goin’ ter tote this hyar
+contrivance, ennyways?” the boy demanded.
+
+“Jes’ a leetle furder, sonny,” said Jerry Binwell paternally, turning
+upon him a quiet face, immovable save for the industriously ruminant
+jaws, subduing a great quid of tobacco; he was apparently so unaware
+of any cause for suspicions that they were erased from Skimpy’s mind.
+He took up his end of the ladder again, thinking it probably belonged
+to Binwell, and thankful that he had put into words no intimation of
+his vague but uneasy doubts. He even hummed a song as he stumped along,
+willing enough to be cheerful if the adventure only signified a little
+work for no pay. “But I’d hev ruther not l’arn them chunes folks fiddle
+down in Persimmon Cove ef I hed knowed I hed ter skitter up the mounting
+this-a-way.”
+
+For they were in truth near the summit, not ascending the great bald,
+but in a gap between two peaks. The laurel had given way to open woods,
+and Skimpy’s end of the ladder almost dragged. The trees, instead of the
+great forest kings on the mountain slopes below, were the stunted growths
+peculiar to the summit. They heard no call of herder, no tinkle of bell,
+for the cattle that found summer pasturage here had been rounded up and
+driven home to the farms in the “flat-woods.” The silence was intense;
+they saw no living creature save a buzzard circling high in the red skies
+of the sunset. Skimpy thought for a moment they were going down on the
+North Carolina side; he was about to protest; the way was indescribably
+rocky and tortuous; the night was coming on. Suddenly Binwell paused.
+
+“Kem along, sonny; take the ladder in the middle an’ feed it out ter me.”
+
+Skimpy, wondering, took the ladder in the middle, giving it a series of
+shoves toward Binwell, who suddenly lifted the end, and with one effort
+flung it from him—and out of the world, as it seemed to Skimpy.
+
+He listened for a moment, hearing it crash among the tree-tops as it
+went falling down the precipice whence Binwell had thrown it. A moment
+after there was silence as intense as before. Then Binwell knelt on the
+verge and looked down the abyss. He raised a triumphant grinning face,
+and silently beckoned to Skimpy. The boy went forward and knelt too,
+to look over. At first he could see nothing but the shelving side of
+the mountain; the deep abyss gloomed with shadows, the richness of the
+autumnal colors sombre and tempered beneath the purple dusk. And then
+he discovered one end of the ladder, barely perceptible in the top of a
+pine-tree.
+
+“It lodged ’mongst them pines,” said the jubilant Binwell. “It’s safe,
+summer or winter; nobody’ll find it but the birds or the squir’ls.”
+
+Skimpy could no longer resist. “Air—air—it yourn?” he faltered,
+struggling with his instinct of politeness.
+
+Binwell had risen to his feet; he was rubbing the earth off his
+hands—recklessly bedaubed when he had knelt down—and also from his
+trousers, nimbly raising first one knee, then the other, for the purpose.
+He was chuckling unpleasantly as he looked at the boy.
+
+“Ever see folks fling thar own ladders off’n the bluffs, an’ land ’em
+’mongst the tree-tops fur the birds ter roost in?”
+
+Skimpy stared, and ruefully shook his head.
+
+“Waal then! what ye talkin’ ’bout?” Binwell’s tone was cheerful,
+triumphant; a sinister triumph.
+
+The dumfounded Skimpy faltered,—
+
+“Whose war it, then?”
+
+“Dunno edzac’ly,” cried the blithe Binwell.
+
+“Waal, now, that ain’t fair!” protested Skimpy, indignantly. “I’m goin’
+right down ter the Cove, and tell.”
+
+“Naw, ye won’t! Naw, ye won’t!” exclaimed the undismayed Binwell. “Ef ye
+do, ye’ll git jailed quick’n never war seen.”
+
+“I ain’t done nothin’,” cried Skimpy, recoiling.
+
+“Ain’t ye! Tote a man’s ladder up the mounting, over ter the Carliny
+side, an’ tumble it down ’mongst the pine tops, whar he’d hev ter make
+another ter reach it. Mebbe the constable an’ old Greeps, ez be jestice
+o’ the peace, don’t ’low ez that’s suthin’, but I reckon they will!”
+
+Skimpy was silent in acute dismay. Into what danger, what wrong-doing,
+had he not thrust himself by his disobedience! He looked at the grinning
+face, flushed by the fading remnant of the roseate sunset, feeling that
+he was in Binwell’s power, wondering what he should do, how he should be
+liberated from the toils spread for him.
+
+“See now, Skimp,” said Binwell beguilingly, and the poor boy’s heart
+leaped up at the kindly tone, for he sought to put the best construction
+on Jerry Binwell’s intentions, if only to calm his own despair and
+distress. “I could jes’ take ye under my arm—so,” he tucked Skimpy’s
+head under his arm and lightly lifted him high off his feet—“an’ strong
+ez I be I could fling ye off’n that bluff half down that thar gorge; thar
+wouldn’t be enough o’ ye lef’ ter pick up on a shovel; an’ that would
+keep ye from tellin’ tales on me, I reckon.” He swung the boy perilously
+close to the edge of the precipice, then set him gently on his feet. “But
+I don’t want ter hurt ye, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter do it. I know ye air a
+plumb honer’ble, good sorter boy, an’ ain’t goin’ ter make a tale-tell o’
+yerse’f, even if ye wouldn’t git jailed. I wouldn’t trest no boy I ever
+see but you-uns. I wouldn’t trest Ike Guyther fur nuthin’. I war goin’
+ter tell you-uns all ’bout’n it ennyways, even ’fore I fund that thar
+ladder. An’ then ye kin jedge whether I be right or wrong.”
+
+Skimpy, eager to be reassured, felt his heart lighten with the words. He
+strained his credulity to believe in Jerry Binwell. Surely he had not
+done so very wrong; there might be no harm in the man, after all. He drew
+a deep breath of relief, and then picked up his hat which had fallen
+from his head when Jerry Binwell was illustrating the terrible fate he
+might decree for the lad if he chose. The man was closely studying his
+face when their eyes met once more, but Binwell said simply that they had
+better go after Obadiah’s fiddle or night would overtake them before they
+found it.
+
+He talked as they went.
+
+“Ye see, Skimpy,” he said, “my tongue don’t lay holt nat’rally ter the
+words, kase I hev got some things ter tell ez I ain’t right proud on.”
+
+He glanced down at the wondering, upturned face, with its eyes wide
+with anticipation, and its mouth opening as if to swallow, without the
+customary grain of salt, any big tale which might be told.
+
+“Ye hearn old Corbin say, yander at the store that day, ez I run durin’
+the War. An’ I h’isted him up on the beam fur shamin’ me ’fore all them
+folks. Waal, I oughtn’t ter done it, kase ’twar true—_jes’ one time_! I
+felt powerful ’shamed ter hear ’bout it ag’in—plumb bowed down.”
+
+The crafty eyes scanning Skimpy’s ingenuous face saw that he was
+sympathetic.
+
+“War ain’t a healthy bizness, nohow,” continued Jerry. “But thar air lots
+o’ men, ez run heap more’n me, ez don’t hev it fetched up ag’in ’em every
+day. Lots o’ runnin’ war done in the War—but folks nowadays ginerally
+talks ’bout thar fightin’. Some nimble fellers showed their heels in them
+times—folks ez live right hyar in the Cove. But I be the only one ez hev
+got ter hear ’bout it in these days. It’s kase I’m pore, Skimp. Ef I hed
+a good cabin an’ right smart cornfield, an’ consider’ble head o’ stock,
+ye wouldn’t hear ’bout my runnin’ that time.”
+
+Cynicism is eminently infectious. Skimpy wagged his head significantly.
+“You wouldn’t indeed!” the gesture seemed to say.
+
+“They don’t like me jes’ kase I’m pore. An’ kase I’m pore they call
+me shif’less. I hev hed a heap o’ trouble; sech truck ez I hed I war
+obleeged ter spen’ fur doctors’ ’tendance on my wife, ez war ailin’
+always, an’ arter all she died at last.”
+
+The unromantic Skimpy, meditating on the case, felt that at least the
+doctors’ bills were at an end.
+
+“An’ now I be homeless, an’ a wanderer, an’ hev my leetle gal ter feed.
+Folks actially want ter take her away from me. Ef ’twarn’t fur her, them
+Guythers wouldn’t let me stay thar a day.”
+
+Skimpy knew that this was true. Ike had confided so much to him of the
+family feeling on the matter.
+
+“An’ now folks in the Cove air a-fixin’ ter drive me out’n it—me an’
+little Rosamondy. They can’t set the law onto me, fur I never done
+nothin’ ag’in it—so they be a-goin’ ter laff me out’n it. Ye wanter know
+whose ladder that is?” he broke off with apparent irrelevance.
+
+Skimpy nodded an eager assent.
+
+“It’s old Corbin’s, I’ll be bound, an’ I’ll tell ye why I ’low sech; no
+man but him kin do sech a job. Waal, ye know what he wants it fur? He
+wants somebody ez be light an’ handy ter climb up Keedon Bluffs by it ter
+them hollows. An’ ye wanter know what fur? Ter git suthin’ ez air hid in
+one o’ ’em. An’ ye wanter know what that be?”
+
+Skimpy’s face in the closing dusk might have been cut out of stone, so
+white and set it was—such a petrified expectancy upon it. The man’s eyes
+glittered as he held his own face nearer and spoke in a hissing whisper,
+albeit in the lonely wilderness none could hear his words.
+
+“Some war maps, an’ orders in a box what a courier—thinkin’ he war
+a-goin’ ter be captured—hid thar; an’ he war killed afore ever he got
+’em ag’in. An’ long o’ ’em air a letter a-tellin’ ’bout me a-runnin’
+an’ a-orderin’ me ter be shot fur a deserter. An’ old Corbin, bearin’ a
+gredge ag’in me, air a-goin’ ter perduce ’em an’ fairly laff me out’n the
+Cove. An’ I ain’t got nowhar ter go.”
+
+“He’s mighty mean!” cried Skimpy, his heart swelling with indignation.
+
+“Waal, I wanter scotch his wheel!” exclaimed Binwell. “I don’t want him
+ter do it.”
+
+“How kin ye purvent it?” said Skimpy, briskly. Surely there was no
+malice, no mischief on Binwell’s part in this. His spirits had risen to
+their normal high pitch.
+
+“Waal, Skimp, I hev been a-studyin’ bout’n it. But till I fund that
+ladder—it air too long fur enny mortal place but Keedon Bluffs—an’ made
+sure o’ what he war a-doin’ of, I warn’t sati’fied in my mind. Ef ye’ll
+holp me—kase I be too bulky nowadays ter creep in one o’ them hollows—ef
+I’ll kerry ye down thar will ye snake in an’ git the box? Ye ’feared?”
+
+For Skimpy had drawn back at this proposition. “Naw,” he faltered, but
+with an affirmative tendency. He saw Binwell’s teeth and eyes gleam
+through the dusk. This man _who ran_ was laughing at him for being afraid
+of the great heights of Keedon Bluffs, of the black abysses below!
+
+“We hed better hev tuk the ladder ter climb by,” suggested Skimpy.
+
+“An’ hev old Corbin come along the river bank an’ take it down whilst we
+war on it? I’m better’n enny ladder ye ever see, bein’ so strong. Feel
+my arm,” he held it out. “Shucks, boy! Fust time I ever see ye, ye war
+talkin’ ter Ike ’bout climbin’ down thar ’thout enny holp. But mebbe ef
+ye don’t want ter go, Ike will. I hain’t axed him yit. I’d ruther hev
+you-uns. But I reckon he ain’t _afeard_.”
+
+In addition to Skimpy’s sympathy for the ostracized Binwell his terror of
+being considered a coward was very great. “Naw—I’ll go—I ain’t ’feared;
+but I be powerful oneasy an’ troubled bout’n that thar ladder.”
+
+“Waal, arter we git the box—the papers air in it—we’ll go over to yon
+side o’ the mounting with a axe, an’ cut down the tree ez cotched the
+ladder, an’ tote it back whar we fund it.”
+
+Skimpy’s objections vanished at the prospect of being able to undo soon
+the harm he had done. He hoped fervently that old Corbin would not miss
+his ladder before it was replaced.
+
+“Hyar’s Obadiah’s fiddle!” exclaimed Binwell, who led the way while the
+boy followed through the laurel, grown quite dark now; and when they
+emerged into the open woods they beheld the stars glistening in the
+shallows of the branch, and many a pensive glimmer came through the bare
+boughs, and through the thinning leaves.
+
+
+
+
+XI.
+
+
+The ladder was early missed; indeed it was the next morning that old
+Corbin puffed and pushed through the laurel to the bare space where his
+handiwork had been wont to lie and to grow apace, rung by rung. He did
+not at first notice its absence. He put his box of tools on the ground.
+Then he sat down on a rock and mopped his brow with his red bandana
+handkerchief and gazed meditatively down the vistas of the woods. The
+Indian summer was abroad in the land, suffusing it with languor and
+light—a subtly tempered radiance; with embellishments of color, soft and
+brilliant; with fine illusions of purpling haze; with a pensive joy in
+sheer existence. How gracious it was to breathe such air, such aromatic
+perfumes; to hear such melodic sounds faintly piped with the wind among
+the boughs. Ah, summer, not going, surely! for despite the sere leaf one
+must believe it had barely come.
+
+They were not poetic lungs which Mr. Corbin wore, encased in much fat,
+but they expanded to the exquisite aroma of the morning as amply as if
+they differentiated and definitely appreciated it. He drew several long
+luxurious sighs, and then it seemed as if he would breathe no more. He
+gasped; turned red; his eyes started from his head. He had taken notice
+at last that the ladder had been removed. He arose tremulously and
+approached the spot where it usually lay. There was no trace of it. He
+staggered a few steps backward in dismayed recoil. His spectacles fell to
+the ground, the lenses shattering on the stones.
+
+“Witches!” he spluttered. “Witches!” He cast one terrified appealing look
+at the solitudes about him, half-fearing to see the mystic beings that
+his superstition deemed lurking there; then he began to waddle—for he
+could hardly be said to run—as fast as he could go along the path through
+the laurel.
+
+Tremulous alike with his years and the shock of surprise, his condition
+was pitiable by the time he reached the store—for he at once sought his
+friend and crony the storekeeper. And some time elapsed before he could
+be restored to his normal calmness and make intelligible the detail of
+what had befallen him. Peter Sawyer was a man of considerable acumen. He
+was far more disposed to believe that the ladder had been found by some
+freakish boys who had mischievously hidden it in the laurel hard by, than
+that it had been spirited away by witches. He considered, however, that
+his old friend had been victimized beyond the limits of fun, and before
+setting out for the spot he summoned the constable of the district to
+their aid, for he felt that arrests for malicious mischief were in order.
+Both he and the officer were prepared to beat the laurel and patrol the
+neighborhood and ferret out the miscreants. They arranged their plans as
+they trudged on together, now and then pausing to wait for old Corbin as
+he pounded along behind them. The storekeeper was detailing, too, to the
+constable the reasons for the manufacture of the long ladder—for he was
+the confidential friend of Jake Corbin, and in fact had suggested the
+scheme.
+
+“We mought ez well let ye inter the secret fus’ ez las’, kase this hyar
+case air one fur the strong arm o’ the law.” He threw back his narrow
+lizard-like head and laughed, showing his closely-set tobacco-stained
+teeth.
+
+“Strong ez it air ’tain’t plumb long enough!” he added.
+
+The constable, a thick-set, slow man, cocked his head inquiringly askew.
+
+“’Tain’t long enough,” continued Sawyer, enjoying the involutions of
+the method of disclosure he had adopted. “The arm o’ the law ain’t long
+enough ter reach up ter them hollows in Keedon Bluffs!”
+
+“In Keedon Bluffs!” echoed the amazed officer.
+
+“Jes’ so,” said Sawyer, laughing and nodding. “So we hev lengthened its
+reach by the loan of a ladder.” He strode on silently for a few moments
+beside the constable, their two shadows following them down the red clay
+road, in advance of old Corbin, who was lumbering on behind attended by
+a portly, swaying, lunging image of himself, impudently magnified and
+nearly twice as big.
+
+“Ye see,” resumed Sawyer, “Jake Corbin b’lieves ez some o’ old Squair
+Torbett’s money an’ sech, what he hid in the war times, air right up
+_yander_ in one o’ them holes—’twar this hyar Jerry Binwell, ez war
+a slim boy then, an’ Ab Guyther ez holped ter hide it. Waal, ye know
+how things turned out. The Squair died ’fore many months were over an’
+them boys had run away to the Wars. Waal, ye know how cur’ous the heirs
+acted—looked sorter sideways when questioned, an’ swore they never hed
+hed no money out’n Keedon Bluffs.”
+
+“I ’member,” said the constable, “Ed declared out he never b’lieved thar
+war no money thar.”
+
+“Waal, Ed’s dead, an’ the tother heir moved ter Arkansas, an’ the
+kentry-side ginerally b’lieved like them—that thar warn’t no money
+thar—big fool tale. Waal, hyar kems back Jerry Binwell, arter twenty
+year, bein’ pore ez Job’s tur-r-key, an’ takes ter a-loafin’ roun’
+them Bluffs; I seen him thar twict myself. An’ Ab Guyther hev tuk ter
+declarin’ he wants ter climb down Keedon Bluffs an’ lay his hand on that
+thar old cannon-ball.”
+
+“Wants ter lay his hand on Squair’s old money-box, ye better say,”
+exclaimed Corbin.
+
+“Waal now, I ain’t goin’ ter b’lieve nuthin’ ag’in Ab!” exclaimed the
+constable excitedly.
+
+“Ennyhow,” wheezed old man Corbin, “we-uns ’lowed we’d git a ladder an’
+summons a officer an’ take down that box, ef we could git a boy ter climb
+in, an’ turn it over ter the law. Jerry Binwell ain’t done nuthin’ ez yit
+ter warrant arrestin’ him, but we jes’ ’lowed we-uns warn’t a-goin ter
+set by an’ let him put folks on beams an’ steal money, an’ loaf around ef
+thar war enny way ter pervent it.”
+
+The constable seemed to approve of the plan, and only muttered a
+stipulation that he did not believe Ab had anything to do with any
+rascality.
+
+Little was said as they pushed through the tangle of the laurel. The
+storekeeper was ahead, leading the way, for he knew it well, having
+often come to consult his crony. “Waal, sir!” he exclaimed in indignant
+ruefulness when the bare rocky space was revealed along which the great
+ladder was wont to stretch. He glanced around excitedly at the constable,
+directing his attention to the spot, then called aloud, “Why, Jake,” in a
+voice of exasperated compassion.
+
+A cold chill was upon old Corbin as he waddled through the last of the
+tangled bushes; it required no slight nerve for him to again approach the
+place. He quivered from head to foot and wailed forth tumultuously, “I
+hev been snared by the witches. Le’s git out’n these hyar witched woods!
+Don’t ye reckon ’twar the witches? It mus’ hev been the witches!”
+
+A new idea suddenly struck Peter Sawyer. “’Twarn’t no witches,” he
+declared abruptly. “An’ ’twarn’t no mischievous boys! ’Twar Jerry
+Binwell; that’s who hev got that ladder. Ef we-uns could ketch him a-nigh
+hyar I’d git him ’rested sure. He hev fund out what we air wantin’ ter
+do.”
+
+“Better find the ladder an’ git the box fust. We-uns don’t want him—a
+rascal—ez much ez the law wants the Squair’s money-box ter gin it back
+ter the heirs,” said the cautious constable. “Go slow an’ sure. Besides
+I don’t wanter make no foolish arrests. The jestice would jes’ discharge
+him on sech evidence ag’in him ez we kin show—kase we can’t tell all we
+know,—fur the word would git all over the Cove, an’ some limber-legged
+fellow mought climb up thar, an’ ef he didn’t break his neck he mought
+git the box. I tell ye—I’m a-goin’ ter set a watch on them Bluffs from
+day-dawn till it’s cleverly dark. An’ ef that thar ladder be in these
+hyar woods I’ll find it.”
+
+These wise counsels were heeded. Old Corbin started back to the store
+with his friend after one more apprehensive, tremulous, and searching
+glance for the witches’ lair in the laurel which he dreaded to discover,
+and the constable took his way cautiously through the woods toward the
+river.
+
+The morning wore on to the vertical noontide when the breeze died, and
+the shadows collapsed, and the slumberous purple haze could neither
+shift nor shimmer, but brooded motionless over the ravines and along the
+mountain slopes; the midday glowed, and burned with color more richly
+still, until the vermilion climax of the sunset made splendid the west,
+and tinged the east with gold and pink reflections. And all day the
+constable himself, hidden in a clump of crimson sour-wood, knelt on the
+summit of the Bluffs, watching the deep silent gliding of the river and
+the great sand-stone cliffs—with here a tuft of grass or a hardy bush in
+a niche, with sheer reaches and anon crevices, and on a ledge the ball
+from the deadly gun, lying silent and motionless in the sun.
+
+Nothing came except a bird that perched on the cannon-ball; a
+mocking-bird, all newly plumed. He trimmed his jaunty wing, and turned
+his brilliant eye and his delicately poised head upward. Then, with his
+white wing-feathers catching the light, away he went to where the echoes
+awaited him. A star was in the river—its silver glitter striking through
+the roseate reflections of the clouds; and presently the darkness slipped
+down.
+
+And the constable’s joints were very stiff when he clambered out of the
+clump of sour-wood shoots.
+
+
+
+
+XII.
+
+
+It was a very dark night. The wind freshened; leaves were set adrift in
+the black void spaces; the jarring of bare boughs, continually clashing
+together, pervaded the gloom: the water was ruffled, and the reflection
+of the stars was distorted or annulled amongst the vacillating ripples as
+the faint beams fell. No other sound near Keedon Bluffs, no other stir.
+
+By the fireside of Hiram Guyther’s house one could hardly be unconscious
+of the tumult of the mountain forest, or of the swirl of the wind in the
+funnel-like depths of the Cove, however deep the reverie, however the
+fire might crackle as the big blazes sprang up the chimney, however the
+little Rosamondy might laugh or might sing.
+
+“How the wind blows!” the blind man said from time to time, lifting his
+gray head and his young face. And aunt Jemima would remark on “the
+powerful clatter” of the orchard boughs and the rustling swish of the
+Indian corn standing dead and stark in the fields.
+
+As the trumpeting blast came down the chimney once more Ab roused himself
+anew and exclaimed, “’Minds me o’ the night Rosamondy kem.”
+
+“Did the wind blow me hyar?” cried Rosamondy, as she sat in her little
+chair.
+
+“The bes’ wind that ever blew!” declared aunt Jemima, her gleaming
+spectacles intercepting her caressing glance.
+
+Jerry Binwell turned a trifle aside in his chair to hide the scornful
+curve of his lips. There was no need to shift his posture. Aunt Jemima’s
+eyes were bent once more upon her knitting, and Abner was blind alike to
+sneers and smiles. Rosamond’s attention was fixed upon a big red apple
+roasting and sputtering between two stones that served as fire-dogs.
+Now and then, with the aid of a stick, she turned the other side of the
+apple to the heat. Only the blinking cat saw the jeer on his face, and
+this animal was too frequently ridiculed to care to cultivate any fine
+distinctions in the nature of laughs. Curiously enough, the cat wore a
+queer gown of blue-checked homespun and a ruffled cap that was often
+awry, for she sometimes put up a disaffected paw to scrape it off, or it
+became disarranged in hasty or too energetic washings of her face. She
+had been thus accoutered by aunt Jemima to appease Rosamondy’s craving
+for a live doll. The cat was very much alive, and seated before the fire
+she had an antique and dame-like look, which was highly appreciated by
+her owner, but which was totally destroyed when she walked on all-fours.
+The live doll was eminently satisfactory to Rosamond, and except for the
+tyranny of her garments was in danger of being killed by kindness.
+
+The laugh on Jerry Binwell’s face was only a transient gleam. He relapsed
+into brooding gravity and meditatively eyed the fire.
+
+“Ab,” he said suddenly, when aunt Jemima had left the room to join Mrs.
+Guyther, who was “sizin’” yarn in the shed-room, and he could hear their
+voices in animated controversy as to the best methods. “Ab, I’ll tell ye
+what this windy night in the fall of the year ’minds me of.”
+
+His voice had the most agreeable inflections of which it was capable,
+but it elicited no response, for Abner had not relented toward his old
+comrade, and seldom would seem aware of his existence. Binwell’s face
+contorted into a disagreeable grimace. This secret taunt the blind man
+was spared. Then Binwell’s smooth tones went on as if he had not expected
+a rejoinder.
+
+“’Minds me o’ that night in the old War time whenst me an’ you-uns holped
+old Squair Torbett ter hide his plunder from g’rillas an’ sech—ye ’member
+how the wind blowed?”
+
+Abner’s fire-lit face glowed with more than the reflection of the flames.
+His lip curled; the reminiscence seemed to afford him some occult
+amusement.
+
+“I ’member! I ’member!” he said slowly; then he chuckled softly to
+himself.
+
+Binwell’s eyes were fixed upon him with an antagonistic intentness, as
+if he would fain seize upon his withheld thought in some unconscious
+betrayal of face. But the blind man could only hear his voice, languid
+and reminiscent, drawling on, aimlessly, it seemed. “Waal, I ’members
+it too, mighty well. How flustry the old man war! Wonder if we’ll be
+that-a-way when we-uns git ez old ez him? He gin us the box, an’ we-uns
+kerried it ter the top o’ the Bluffs, an’ ye clomb down whilst I watched.
+An’ wunst in a while the old man would nudge me,” then with a quick
+change of voice—“‘Ain’t that a horse a-lopin’, Jerry? hear it? hear it?’
+An’ I’d say, ‘It’s the wind, Squair—the wind, a-wallopin’ up the gorge.’
+An’ then he’d rest fur a minit an’ say, ‘Air sign o’ Ab? That thar boy’ll
+break his neck, I’m ’feared.’ An’ I’d say, ‘I hear the clods in the
+niches a-fallin’ whilst he climbs, Squair; he’s a-goin’ it.’ An’ then
+he’d clutch me by the arm, an’ say, whispery an’ husky, ‘Jerry! Jerry!
+what’s that down the road—the jingle o’ spurs, the clank o’ a sabre?’ An’
+I’d say—‘It’s jes’ the dead leaves, Squair, a-rustlin’ as they fly in the
+wind.’ An’ he warn’t easy one minit till ye clomb up the Bluffs ag’in,
+empty-handed an’ the box hid.”
+
+As he talked, Rosamond’s hands had fallen still in her lap while she
+listened with the wide-eyed wonder of childhood. Her curling yellow hair,
+ruddily gleaming in the firelight, hung down over her shoulders, her
+cheek was flushed, her great gray eyes, full of starry lights and yet
+pensively shadowed by her long black lashes, were fixed upon his face.
+When the tension slackened she sighed deeply and stirred, and then lapsed
+into intent interest again.
+
+The blind man had bent forward, his elbows on his knees. “I ’members,” he
+said again.
+
+“I never did know, Ab, whether ye fund them hollows in the Bluffs a
+toler’ble tight fit, nor how fur back they run in them rocks; but ye war
+a mighty slim boy in them days.”
+
+“Warn’t slim enough ter git inter the fust nor the second,” spoke up the
+blind soldier briskly, with awakened interest.
+
+“So ye put it inter the thurd?” demanded Jerry.
+
+If he could have seen himself how well he would have thought it that his
+old comrade could not see him! His head was thrust forward till all the
+ligaments in his long thin neck were visible, strained and stretched. His
+eyes were starting. His breath was quick, and his under jaw had dropped.
+Rosamond had a half affrighted look as she sat in her chair on the hearth
+beside the sleeping dogs and the grotesquely attired cat that was gravely
+washing its face.
+
+The blind man nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, “I put it in the thurd, an’
+pritty far back, too.”
+
+The chimney was resounding with the burden of the blast as it sang
+without; its tumultuous staves echoed far up the mountain slopes. Abner
+lifted his head to listen, hearing perhaps the faint din of the winds of
+memory blowing as they listed about Keedon Bluffs. The next instant his
+attention was recalled. In the momentary absorption the sharpened hearing
+of the blind had failed him. He subtly knew that there was a change in
+the room, but what it was he could not say. He stretched out his hand
+with a groping gesture. “Jerry,” he called out in a friendly voice. There
+was no answer.
+
+The puzzled expression deepened on his face. He heard the stirring of the
+child. “Rosamondy,” he said, “who’s hyar?”
+
+“Nobody,” the vibrant, sweet voice answered, “nobody but me—an’ Mis’ Cat.”
+
+“Whar’s Jerry?” he demanded.
+
+“Gone out,” she said promptly. “Sech walkin’ on tiptoes I never see.”
+
+There sounded instantly a queer thumping on the puncheon floor, a
+tumble, a great gush of treble laughter; then the eccentric thumping was
+renewed and Abner knew that Rosamondy was imitating the deft celerity of
+Binwell’s exit on tiptoes. He did not laugh. He leaned back in his chair
+with doubt and perplexity corrugating his brow.
+
+A step was upon the ladder, descending from the roof-room—not Ike’s usual
+light step, but he it was, slowly appearing from the shadows. Even after
+he had emerged into the genial firelight their gloom seemed still to
+rest upon his face, and his eyes were at once anxious and mournful. He
+withstood as well as he could the shock of welcome with which Rosamond
+rushed upon him, seizing him round the knees till he almost toppled
+over, and was constrained to wildly wave his arms in order to regain his
+equilibrium. She fell into ecstasies of delight because of the awkward
+insecurity he exhibited, and as with outstretched arms, and flying hair,
+and tangled feet, and rippling, gurgling cries, she mimicked him, he
+found himself at liberty to sink into a chair. And then while Rosamond,
+always long in exhausting her jokes, still toppled about the floor, he
+silently brooded over the fire.
+
+Once or twice he raised his eyes and looked toward his uncle who seemed
+too lost in reverie. Sometimes Abner lifted his head to listen to the
+rioting winds and again bent it to his dreams. The white firelight
+flickered, and now the brown shadow wavered. He was presently subtly
+aware of a new presence by the hearth, unseen by others as all must be by
+him.
+
+“Ye hev got trouble alongside o’ ye, Ike,” he remarked. “Ye’re mighty
+foolish. It’s a great thing ter be young, an’ strong, an’ hev all yer
+senses. The beastises hev got mo’ gumption than ye. Ever see a young
+strong critter, free an’ fat, that war mournful? Naw; an’ ye ain’t goin’
+ter. Ye hev got the worl’ in a sling. An’ ye set an’ mope.”
+
+Ike made an effort to rouse himself. “I know I oughtn’t,” he said in a
+strained voice, “but I be mighty—mighty troubled.”
+
+“Jes’ so,” said the blind man.
+
+Ike looked at the flickering white flames for a moment, at the pulsing
+red coals, at the vacillating brown shadows. Rosamondy had rushed into
+the shed-room to exhibit her imitation of Ike to his mother and aunt
+Jemima. He listened to the chorus of voices for a moment, then he said,
+“I dunno but what I’m foolish, uncle Ab, but I hearn what ye tole Jerry
+Binwell jes’ now ’bout whar ye hid the Squair’s money-box, an’—an’ I
+wisht ye hedn’t done it.”
+
+“What fur?” the blind man lifted his face lighted with sudden interest,
+“ye be ’feared ez he mought ’low it’s thar yit an’ go arter it an’ git
+his neck bruk.”
+
+Ike moved uneasily.
+
+“That’s jes’ the reason he tried to keep me an’ Skimpy Sawyer from
+climbin’ down thar one evenin’—fust time I ever seen him; tried ter skeer
+we-uns with witches an’ sech. The Squair’s money-box air what he war
+arter, I be bound, the night o’ the coon hunt whenst I cotch him thar.
+I’m feared he’ll git it. I dunno what to do! I s’picioned suthin’, but I
+never ’lowed ’twar money. He’ll git arrested ef he don’t mind.”
+
+“I wisht he would,” said Abner; he chuckled fiercely and fell to
+revolving his old grudges.
+
+“Waal, I’d hate that mightily,” said Ike dolorously, “arrested out’n
+we-uns’s house. I war goin’ ter tell dad nex’ day, but he war gone ’fore
+I got home. I wisht Jerry Binwell bed never kem hyar!”
+
+“Why, Ike,” Abner retorted cogently, “then leetle Rosamondy would never
+hev kem!”
+
+“I seen old Corbin an’ the constable with thar heads mighty close
+tergether ter-day,” Ike went on drearily, “an’ arterward I passed down
+the river-bank on the opposite side ter Keedon Bluffs, an’ I see the
+constable a-hidin’ hisself in a clump o’ sour-wood. I dunno what ter
+do. I feel ’sponsible, somehows. I don’t want him ter git the money—a
+thievin’ scamp—and yit I don’t want him ter git arrested.” He paused in
+astonishment.
+
+Abner Guyther was laughing in sardonic delight. “He ain’t goin’ ter git
+the money!” he cried. “An’ I dunno nobody ez needs arrestin’ ez bad ez he
+do—somebody oughter scotch his wheel, sartain! G’long, Ike; g’long ter
+bed. An’ quit addlin’ yer brains ’bout’n yer elders.”
+
+Ike was not reassured by the reception of his disclosure. And he had not
+told the worst of his troubles. More than once of late he had seen Skimpy
+and Binwell together. He had felt no resentment that his friend had
+been forbidden association with him, to avoid contact with this elderly
+villain. It seemed wise in Skimpy’s father, and he only wished that his
+own had been sufficiently uninfluenced and firm to have determined upon
+a similar course. Noting the constable in the clump of sour-wood, and
+with his own recollection of Binwell climbing down Keedon Bluffs, he had
+been smitten with terror for Skimpy’s sake. He knew that Binwell had some
+reason of his own for affecting the lad’s society. In cudgeling his mind
+for the man’s motive he had brought to light the true one which might not
+have been so readily presented were not Keedon Bluffs so continually in
+his thoughts of late. He was sure that Binwell wished Skimpy, being light
+and slim, to explore the hollows of the Bluffs—with what end in view he
+had not definitely known until to-night. Nevertheless the conviction that
+his simple-hearted friend had become involved in serious danger had been
+strong enough that afternoon to induce him to go to Skimpy’s home. Old
+man Sawyer sat on the porch morosely smoking his pipe, and Ike paused at
+the fence and whistled for Skimpy—a shrill, preconcerted signal; it was
+in the deepest confidence that he was about to impart his suspicions and
+his warnings and he did not feel justified in including the elder Sawyer
+in the colloquy. It might be a slander on Jerry Binwell, after all. “An’
+I don’t wanter be a backbiter like him,” said Ike to himself.
+
+The whistle brought Skimpy promptly out from the barn. To Ike’s surprise,
+however, he did not approach the fence, which was at some distance from
+the house. He simply stood near the porch with his old hat on the back of
+his red head, his long arms crooked, his hands thrust into his pockets,
+and upon his face a sardonic grin that seemed broader than anything in
+his whole physical economy.
+
+“Kem down hyar. I hev a word ter say ter ye,” called Ike.
+
+He felt as if he were dreaming when instead of replying Skimpy swayed
+himself grotesquely and mockingly about, and began to sing with
+outrageous fluctuations from the key “Oh-aw-e-Mister Coon! Oh-aw-i-Mister
+Ky-une.”
+
+It seemed a frenzied imitation of himself, and Ike was about to speak
+when Skimpy, putting his fingers in his ears that he might not hear Ike,
+although to the casual observer it might well seem that he had good
+reasons for not wanting to hear himself, bellowed and piped mockingly,
+“Oh-aw-i-Mister Kyune! That’s the way he ’lows I sing,” he observed in
+an aside to his father, who might have been carved from a corn-cob, for
+all the animation he showed, except to silently smoke his corn-cob pipe.
+
+“I never!” cried Ike indignantly; “somebody hev been settin’ ye ag’in
+me—a backbitin’ scamp! An’ I’ll be bound I know who ’twar.”
+
+But Skimpy’s fingers were in his ears, and he was still swaying back and
+forth and making the air shudder with his mock vocalizations. At last Ike
+turned away in sheer futility, angered and smarting, but as anxious and
+troubled as before.
+
+Now he was sorry he had not persisted for he had not realized how
+immediate and terrible was the danger to Skimpy. He sat still for a
+moment, afraid to say aught of the perplexities that racked him, lest
+being mistaken he might needlessly implicate Skimpy in any crime that
+Binwell might commit. Presently he rose with a look of determination
+on his face. The sound of the lifting latch, the cold in-rushing of
+the air, the light touch of the flakes of ashes set a-flying from the
+hearth, notified Abner that he was solitary by the fire. He heard the
+cat purring, the low murmuring of the flames in the chimney, the wind
+outside, the voices of the two women busy in the shed-room.
+
+Another stir of a latch and a presence entered bright even to the blind
+man. “All alone-y by hisself-y!” Rosamondy cried as she pattered across
+the floor and flung herself into his arms. He shared much baby talk with
+Mrs. Cat, but he was not jealous of that esteemed friend, for he was
+Rosamondy’s preferred crony. Through her, life had come to mean for him
+a present as well as a past, and to hold for him a future and a vista.
+He planned for her with the two old women. He had let it be known to all
+his relatives that all he had in the world—his horse, his cows, his share
+of the cabin, his gun, a captured sabre—was to be hers at his death.
+Always in his simple dreams for enriching her, and for her fair fate,
+Jerry Binwell’s image would be intruded like some ugly blight upon it
+all. He had heretofore thrust away the thought of him, and dreamed on
+resolutely. Somehow he could not do this to-night. As he patted her on
+the head and heard the silken rustle of her hair beneath his hand, he
+could but remember that it was her father risking his life on the rocks,
+his liberty, the lurking officer and everlasting ignominy, which must
+surely rebound upon her.
+
+“She wouldn’t know nuthin’ ’bout it now, ef he war branded ez a thief,
+but she air a-goin’ ter be a gal ez will keer mightily fur a good name
+an’ sech. Jerry Binwell hain’t never hed a good name wuth talkin’ ’bout,
+but he ain’t never yit been branded ez a thief.”
+
+Mrs. Cat was brought and perched upon his knee, and he was required to
+shake hands and inquire after her health and that of her family, which
+ceremony both he and the poor animal performed lugubriously enough,
+although with a certain dexterity, having been trained to it by frequent
+repetitions. Rosamondy, however, found herself a better improvisor than
+he of conversation for Mrs. Cat, and as she prattled on his anxious
+thoughts reverted to the subject.
+
+“He air her dad, an’ he’ll be disgraced fur life, an’ I could hev
+purvented it. Too late! Too late!” he groaned aloud.
+
+He felt like a traitor as she passed her soft little arm around his neck
+and kissed his cheek—pale now, although it had never blanched for shot or
+shell. He had both her and Mrs. Cat to hold, and although both were of
+squirming tendencies his mind could still steadily pursue its troublous
+regrets.
+
+“But I oughtn’t ter hev done it jes’ fur Rosamondy, nuther. I oughter
+hev done it fur the sake of—_folks_! A man oughter keep another man
+from doing wrong, ef he kin, same ez ter keep his own score clear—them
+ez kin stan’ ter thar guns oughter keer ter keep the whole line from
+waverin’, stiddier a-pridin’ tharse’fs on the aim o’ thar one battery.
+Laws-a-massy; I wish I hed tole him. I wish I hed gin him a word. He mus’
+be nigh thar now. Ef I jes’ could ketch him! Ef I jes’ could find my way!
+I ain’t been nigh thar fur twenty year. Fur one hour o’ sight ter save a
+man from crime! Fur one hour o’ sight to hold the battle-line! Fur one
+hour o’ sight to do the Lord’s kind will!”
+
+He was speaking aloud. He had risen from his chair, the little girl and
+her cat slipping softly down upon the floor. He took a step forward, both
+groping hands outstretched. “Fur one hour o’ sight!”
+
+“I’ll lead ye, unky Ab,” the child compassionately exclaimed, putting up
+her soft, warm hand to his cold trembling fingers.
+
+“Lead me! yes! Lead me ter Keedon Bluffs,” he cried eagerly. “She kin do
+it! She kin save him! Stop,” he caught himself. “Look out, Rosamondy. Air
+the night dark?”
+
+She opened the door; a mild current of air flowed in above her yellow
+head, for the wind now was laid. She saw the dark woods gloom around;
+the stars glimmer in the vast spaces of the sky; but about the mountain
+summit shone an aureola of burnished gold.
+
+“The moon’s a-risin’,” she said.
+
+He placed his hand in hers; she stepped sturdily upon the ground. The
+door closed, and the hearth was vacant behind them but for the flicker of
+the flames, the drowsing dogs, and the purring Mrs. Cat.
+
+
+
+
+XIII.
+
+
+That night as Skimpy sat with the family group by the fireside in
+his father’s cabin, he had much ado to maintain a fictitious flow of
+spirits, for at heart he was far from cheerful. Often he would pause, the
+laugh fading from his face, and he would lift his head as if listening
+intently. Surely the wind had no message for him as it came blaring down
+the mountain side! What significance could he detect in the clatter of
+the bare boughs of the tree by the door-step that he should turn pale at
+their slightest touch on the roof? Then recognizing the sound he would
+draw a deep breath of relief, and glance covertly about the circle to
+make sure that he had been unobserved. So expert in feigning had poor
+Skimpy become that he might have eluded all but the vigilance of a
+mother’s eye.
+
+“Air ye ailin’, Skimpy?” she demanded anxiously. “Ye ’pear ter feel the
+wind. Ye shiver every time it blows brief. Be thar enny draught thar in
+the chinkin’?”
+
+“Naw’m!” said Skimpy hastily. “I war jes’ studyin’ ’bout that thar song—
+
+    “‘The sperits o’ the woods ride by on the blast,
+    An’ a witch they say lives up in the moon.
+    Heigh! Ho! Jine in the chune!
+    Jine in, neighbor, jine in the chune!’
+
+“It jes’ makes my marrer freeze in my bones ter sing that song,” Skimpy
+said when his round fresh voice had quavered away into silence—somehow he
+could not sing to-night.
+
+“Waal, I never set no store by sech,” said his mother. She looked
+reassuringly at him over the head of the baby, who slept so much during
+the day that he kept late hours, and did his utmost to force the family
+to follow his example. He sat on her knee, sturdily upright, although
+she held her hand to his back under the mistaken impression that his
+youthful spine might be weak; but he had more backbone—literally and
+metaphorically—than many much bigger people. He was munching his whole
+fist, for his mouth seemed not only large but flexible, and as he gazed
+into the fire he soliloquized after an inarticulate fashion. His face
+was red; his head was bald except for a slight furze, which was very red,
+along the crown; notwithstanding his youth he looked both aged and crusty.
+
+Bose was at his mistress’s feet. He too sat upright, meditatively
+watching the fire with his one eye, and now and then lifting the remnants
+of his slit ears with redoubled attention as the wind took a fiercer
+twirl about the chimney. Occasionally as the baby’s monologue grew loud
+and vivacious, Bose wagged the stump of his tail in joy and pride, and it
+thwacked up and down on the floor.
+
+It was a very cheerful hearth—the grinding tidiness of Mrs. Sawyer showed
+its value when one glanced about the well-ordered room; at the clean pots
+and pans and yellow and blue ware on the shelves; at the bright tints of
+the quilts on the bed and of the hanks of yarn and strings of peppers
+hanging from the rafters that harbored no cobwebs; at the clear blazes
+unhindered by ashes.
+
+Obadiah with his fiddle under his chin was directly in front of the
+fire. He was tightening and twanging the strings; now and then cocking
+the instrument close to his ear to better distinguish the vibrations.
+There are few musicians who have a more capable and discerning air than
+Obadiah affected in those impressive moments of preparation. His three
+brothers sat on a bench, drawn across the hearth in the chimney corner,
+its equilibrium often endangered, for the two at one end now and again
+engaged in jocose scuffling, and Skimpy in the corner was barely heavy
+enough to keep it from upsetting. Sometimes their father, solemnly
+smoking his corn-cob pipe, would, with a sober sidelong glance and a deep
+half-articulate voice, admonish them to be quiet, and their efforts in
+this direction would last for a few moments at least. In one of these
+intervals their father spoke suddenly to Skimpy.
+
+“I war downright glad ye tuk Ike up ez short ez ye done this evenin’,
+Skimp,” he said. “Though,” he added, with an afterthought, “I don’t want
+ye to gin yerse’f up ter makin’ game o’ folks.”
+
+“’Twar him ez fust made game o’ me,” said Skimpy, ruefully, the taunt
+devised by the ingenious Binwell still rankling deep in his simple heart.
+
+The twanging fiddle-strings were suddenly silent. Obadiah looked up with
+a fiery glance. “What gin the critter the insurance ter make game o’
+you-uns, Skimp?” he demanded angrily.
+
+Until today Skimpy had never mentioned his grievance, so deeply cut down
+was his self-esteem, and so reduced his pride in his “gift in quirin’.”
+He had hardly understood it himself, but he dreaded to have the family
+know how low his powers were rated lest they too think poorly of them.
+For Skimpy himself had come to doubt his gift—the insidious jeer had
+roused the first self-distrust that had ever gnawed him. His voice no
+longer sounded to him so full, so sweet, and loud, and buoyant. He sang
+only to quaver away, forlorn and incredulous after the first few tones.
+No more soaring melodies for him. He could only fitfully chirp by the
+wayside.
+
+“He ’lowed,” said Skimpy, turning red, “ez I couldn’t sing—ez Bose,
+thar, could sing better’n _me_—hed a better voice; Bose, yander, mind ye.”
+
+Bose at the sound of his name looked up with a sleepy inquiry in his
+single eye. Skimpy did not notice, but began to wheeze and rasp forth,—
+
+“‘Oh-aw-ee-ye, Mister Kyune, Oh, Mister Kyune!’ That’s the way he ’lowed
+I sing.”
+
+“Dell-law!” Obadiah’s flexible lips distended in a wide and comprehensive
+sneer that displayed many large irregular teeth, and was in more ways
+than one far from beautiful. But to Skimpy no expression had ever seemed
+so benignant, indicating as it did the strength of fraternal partisanship.
+
+“He’s jes’ gredgin’ ye, Skimp,” cried Obadiah. “Else he be turned a
+bodacious idjit! He air a idjit fur the lack o’ sense! Shucks!”—his
+manner was the triumph of lofty contempt as he again lifted his violin to
+his ear—“don’t ye ’sturb me ag’in ’bout Ike Guyther. Don’t ye, now.”
+
+The two boys who sat at the end of the bench talked together, so eager
+were they to express their scorn. “The whole Smoky Mountings knows
+better’n that!” cried one belligerently.
+
+“Nobody kin sing like Skimpy—sings like a plumb red-headed mocking-bird,
+an’ Ike knows that fac’ ez well ez road ter mill,” said the other.
+
+His mother had almost dropped the baby, who made a great lunge toward
+Bose. “Why,” she cried, “Skimpy gits his singin’ ways right straight from
+his gran-dad Grisham—_my_ dad—ez war knowed ter be the mos’ servigrous
+singer they hed ennywhar roun’ in this kentry fifty year ago. I hev hearn
+all the old folks tell ’bout’n his singin’ an’ his fiddlin’ when he war
+young, an’ I ’members he sung fune’l chunes whenst he war a old man;
+he hed gin up the ways o’ the worl’ an’ he wouldn’t sing none ’ceptin’
+’round the buryin’ groun’ whenst they war c’mittin’ some old friend ter
+the yearth. An’ his voice would sound strange—strange, an’ sweet an’
+wild, like the water on the rocks in a lonesome place, or the voice of a
+sperit out’n the sky. Oh my!—oh my!”—she was rocking herself to and fro
+with the baby in her arms, her distended eyes looking far down the vistas
+of the past. “How I ’members it—how I ’members it!”
+
+Hark! Skimpy starts with a sudden shock. Was that the beating of the
+boughs on the roof, drum-like, or a rub-a-dub measure played with two
+pea-sticks on the rail fence of the garden—the signal by which Jerry
+Binwell was to summon him should he conclude to try the hazardous
+enterprise this night? The wind—only the wind; wild weather without!
+Thankful he was to be left to this cheerful fireside, and the warm
+partisan hearts so near akin to him.
+
+“I wonder ye didn’t larrup Ike, Skimpy,” said Obadiah. “Ye could do it.
+He’s heavy, but mighty clumsy. Ye could run aroun’ him fifty times whilst
+he war a-turnin’ his fat sides roun’.”
+
+Obadiah knitted his brows and nodded confidently at Skimpy.
+
+“I never thunk ’bout fightin’,” responded Skimpy. “My feelin’s war jes’
+so scrabbled up I never keered fur nuthin’ else! Arter Ike an’ me hed
+been so frien’ly too!”
+
+“That’s like my dad. Skimpy’s like his gran-dad,” said Mrs. Sawyer,
+dreamily. “He war tender an’ easy hurt in his feelin’s.”
+
+Like that saintly old man! How _could_ she think it. Skimpy was ready to
+burst into tears. And yet, he argued, there was nothing wicked about what
+he was to do. He wished only to help Jerry Binwell to secure the box of
+papers that could do naught but harm now—to help a man who could have no
+other aid. Why did the enterprise terrify him as a crime might? he asked
+himself in exasperation. Certainly as far as he could see there was no
+mischief in it. As far as he could see! Alas, Skimpy! How shortsighted
+a boy is apt to be! He began to say to himself that it was because
+everybody was down on Binwell, being poor and therefore unpopular, that
+he too was influenced by the prevalent feelings, even when he sought
+to be friendly. Yet this reasoning was specious. If it had involved no
+disobedience, his heart would have been light enough. He could have gone
+along gayly with his father, whom he trusted, and explored every chasm
+and cavity in Keedon Bluffs, or, for the matter of that, in the Great
+Smoky Mountains. But as he listened for the summons—a faint travesty of
+a drum-beat on the rail fence—he would grow rigid and pale, and when
+the boughs swaying in the blast touched with quick, tremulous twigs the
+clapboards of the roof with a tapping sound, he shivered, and started
+from his seat, and fell back again, hot and cold by turns.
+
+“I be glad fur ye ter hev no mo’ ter do with them Guythers, ennyhow,”
+said his father gravely. “They hev acted mighty strange bout’n Jerry
+Binwell—an’ ef they consorts with sech ez him me an’ mine can’t keep
+in sech comp’ny. Folks hev tuk ter specla’tin’ powerful bout’n Ab an’
+him hevin’ been sech enemies—Ab war blinded through his treachery—an’
+now livin’ peaceable together under one roof. Some folks ’low ez Ab hev
+got his reasons fur it, an’ they ain’t honest ones. I ain’t a-goin’ ter
+pernounce on that; I ain’t a-goin ter jedge, kase I don’t want ter be
+jedged. I reckon I’d show up powerful small—though honest—thar ain’t no
+two ways ’bout that, I thank the mercy. But ye done mighty well, Skimpy,
+ter gin up yer frien’ like I tole yer ter do thout no questions, kase
+this Binwell war thar. Ye’ll l’arn one day ez I hed a reason—a mighty
+good one, too.”
+
+He sucked his pipe sibilantly. “Ye done mighty well, Skimpy,” he repeated
+with an earnest sidelong glance at his son.
+
+Skimpy listened, half choking with the confession that crowded to his
+lips. And yet how could he divulge that he had given up Ike indeed for
+Binwell himself; how could he confide Binwell’s secret of the Bluffs, the
+story of the courier and his hidden box and the order to be shot as a
+deserter; and above all, how could he admit having assisted in throwing
+away old Corbin’s ladder—the malice and the mischief of it frightened him
+even yet.
+
+“I’ll tell ez soon ez I kin put it back. I’ll tell dad ennyhows; I hev
+got ter holp Jerry Binwell this time, but arter that I’ll never go along
+o’ him ag’in,” he thought, as he stared pale and abstractedly at his
+father, who was tilted back in his chair contentedly smoking his pipe.
+
+Obadiah twanged gleefully on his fiddle while the firelight and shadows
+danced to the measure; the other two boys scuffled merrily with one
+another, sometimes leaving the bench to “wrastle” about the floor,
+falling heavily from time to time. The baby sputtered and crowed and
+grabbed Bose’s ear in a strong mottled fist until that amiable animal
+showed the white of his eye in gazing pleadingly upward at the infantile
+tyrant. The wind whirled about the house, the door shook, and the
+branches of the tree close by thrashed the roof.
+
+“Why, Skimpy, how mournful ye look!” exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer.
+
+“Shucks!” said Obadiah fraternally, “ye needn’t be mournin’ over Ike an’
+his comp’ny. I wouldn’t gin a pig-tail, nor a twist of one, fur Ike!”
+
+“Ye hev got comp’ny a plenty at home,” exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer, “with yer
+three big brothers”—
+
+“An’ the baby,” cried one of the wrestlers pausing for breath.
+
+“An’ Bose,” added the other, red-faced and panting.
+
+“Laws-a-massy, Skimp,” exclaimed Obadiah, rising to the heights of
+heroism, “I’ll gin ye the loan o’ my fiddle. Thar!”
+
+He placed the instrument in Skimpy’s trembling hand, and laid the bow
+across his knee. And this from Obadiah, who had always seemed without
+feeling except for his own music!
+
+Their kindness melted Skimpy, who held the instrument up to his agitated
+face as if to shield it from observation, and burst into tears.
+
+“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the wrestlers in chorus.
+
+“Tut—tut—Skimpy boy!” said his father in remonstrance.
+
+Obadiah’s face was anxious. “Jes’ lean a leetle furder ter the right,
+Skimp,” he said, “don’t drap no tears inter the insides o’ that thar
+fiddle—might sp’ile it tee-totally.”
+
+Skimpy held the violin well to one side, and wept as harmlessly as
+he might. He found a great relief in his sobs, a relaxation of the
+nervous tension—he might have told them all then had it not been for the
+inopportune solicitude of his mother.
+
+“Ye hed better go ter bed, sonny. I know it’s early yit, but ye look
+sorter raveled out. Ye better go ter bed an’ git a good sleep, an’ ye
+won’t keer nuthin’ ’bout Ike an’ his aggervations in the mornin’.”
+
+Skimpy, still carefully holding the precious violin, sat on the bench
+for a moment longer, struggling with that extreme reluctance to retire
+which is characteristic of callow humanity. But he felt that it would be
+better to be out of the sight of them all; he might be tempted to say or
+do something that he would regret afterward; he rose slowly, and with
+an averted face, held the fiddle and bow out toward Obadiah who grasped
+them with alacrity, glad enough that his generosity had not resulted in
+the total destruction of the instrument in which his heart was bound up.
+Skimpy with slow tread and a downcast look which greatly impressed the
+two sympathetic wrestlers, who were standing still now and gravely gazing
+after him, took his way up the ladder in the corner which ascended into
+the roof-room of the cabin. He paused when he had almost reached the top,
+turned and glanced down doubtfully at the group below.
+
+The flames, yellow and red, filled all the chimney, and the little
+room was brave in the golden glow. Already the two wrestlers were
+again matching strength in friendly rivalry, seizing each other by the
+waist, and swaying hither and thither with sudden jerks to compass a
+downfall—their combined shadow on the wall reeling after them seemed some
+big, frightful two-headed monster. Obadiah’s cheek was tenderly bent upon
+the violin; a broad smile was on his face as the whisking bow in his deft
+handling drew out the tones. The baby’s stalwart grip on Bose’s ear had
+begun to elicit a long, lingering, wheezing whine for mercy, not unlike
+the violin’s utterance; it ended in a squeak before Mrs. Sawyer noticed
+how the youngster was enjoying himself.
+
+“Pore Bose!” she cried as she unloosed the mottled pink and purple fist,
+and then with a twirl she whisked the baby around on her lap with his
+back to his victim. A forgiving creature was Bose, for as the baby’s
+bald head turned slowly on its neck and the staring round eyes looked
+after the dog, Skimpy could hear his stump of a tail wagging in cheerful
+fealty to the infant, and thwacking the floor—although the wrestlers were
+unusually noisy, although the violin droned and droned, and although the
+winds sang wildly without and the sibilant leaves whirled.
+
+Skimpy hesitated even then for a moment as he stood on the ladder;
+finally he mounted the remaining rungs, his story untold.
+
+It was not very dark in the roof-room; through the aperture in the floor,
+where the ladder came up, rose the light from the fire below, and there
+were many cracks which served the same purpose of illumination. Skimpy
+could see well enough the two beds where he and his brothers were wont to
+sleep. Garments hung from the rafters, familiar some of them and often
+worn, and others were antique and belonged to elders in the family long
+ago dead; these had never been taken down since placed there by their
+owners; several were falling to pieces, shred by shred, others were
+still fresh and filled out, and bore a familiar air of humanity.
+
+Skimpy did not approach the beds, he quietly crossed the room to the
+gable end, paused to listen, then opened the batten shutter of a little
+glassless window beside the chimney. Dark—how dark it was as he thrust
+out his head; he started to hear a dull swaying of the garments, among
+the rafters, as if they clothed again life and motion. Only the illusion
+of the wind, he remembered, as he strove to calm the tumultuous throbbing
+of his heart, his head instinctively turning toward the fluttering
+vestments that he could barely see.
+
+The wind still piped—not so sonorous a note, however; failing cadences
+it had and dying falls, as of a song that is sung to the end. Once again
+the boughs beat upon the eaves—and, what was that! Skimpy’s heart gave a
+great plunge, and he felt the blood rush to his head. A faint clatter—a
+ra-ta-ta, beaten drum-like on the rail fence of the “garden spot”—or was
+it his fancy?
+
+The wind comes again down the gorge. The althea bushes and the holly
+shiver together. The dead Indian corn, standing writhen and bent in the
+fields, sighs and sighs for the sere season. And the boughs of the tree
+lash the roof. An interval. And once more—ra-ta-ta! from the garden
+fence! And ra-ta-ta, again.
+
+
+
+
+XIV.
+
+
+The group below took no heed how the time passed. Thinking of it
+afterward, they said it seemed only a few moments before they heard
+amongst the fitful gusts of the wind, wearing away now, and the dull
+stirring of the tree without, a hurried, irregular footstep suddenly
+falling on the porch, a groping, nervous hand fumbling at the latch.
+
+“Hev ye los’ yer manners ez ye can’t knock at the door,” said Peter
+Sawyer sardonically, speaking through his teeth, for he still held his
+pipe-stem in his mouth.
+
+Ike had burst in without ceremony and stood upon the threshold, holding
+the door in one hand and gazing about with wild eyes, half blinded by the
+light, uncertain whether Skimpy was really absent or overlooked among the
+rest.
+
+“I—I—kem ter see Skimpy,” he faltered.
+
+Mrs. Sawyer had set the baby on the floor beside Bose, and had folded her
+arms stiffly. She looked at Ike with heightened color and a flashing eye.
+
+“Waal, I ain’t keerin’ ef ye never see Skimpy ag’in,” she said
+indignantly, “considerin’ the way ye treat him. That thar boy air tender
+in his feelin’s, an’ he hev been settin’ hyar an’ cryin’ his eyes out
+’count o’ you-uns. Ye want ter torment him some mo’, I s’pose.”
+
+Ike stared bewildered. “I ain’t never tormented Skimp none ez I knows on.”
+
+“Ye ain’t!” exclaimed Obadiah, scornfully. Then grotesquely
+distorting his face he careened to one side and began to wheeze
+distractingly—“Oh—aw—yi-i, Mister Ky-une, Oh—aw—ee-ee, Mister Ky-une.”
+
+As Ike still stood holding the door open, the flames bowed fantastically
+before the wind, sending puffs of smoke into the room and scurrying ashes
+about the hearth.
+
+“Kem in, ef ye air a-comin’, an’ go out ef ye air a-goin’,” said Mrs.
+Sawyer tartly. “Ennyhow we-uns will feel obligated ef ye’ll shet that
+door.”
+
+The invitation was none too cordial, but Ike availed himself of the
+opportunity to speak, since the matter was so important.
+
+He closed the door and sat down on the end of the bench where Skimpy had
+been sitting so short a time before.
+
+“Skimp ’lows that’s the way ye mocked him,” said Obadiah. “An’ ye wants
+ter see him ag’in, do ye? Ef I war Skimp I’d gin ye sech a dressin’ ez
+ye wouldn’t want ter see _me_ ag’in soon.” He winked fiercely at Ike and
+nodded his head. Then he stuck his violin under his chin and began to saw
+away once more as if nothing had happened.
+
+Ike gave a great gulp as if he literally swallowed a bitter dose in
+taking Obadiah’s defiance; the strain on his temper was severe, but he
+succeeded in controlling himself. It was in a calm and convincing voice
+that he said:—
+
+“Oby, ye an’ me, an’ Skimp, and the t’others”—pointing to the tangled-up
+wrestlers—“hev been too good frien’s ter be parted by folks tattlin’
+lies an’ tales from one ter ’nother. I never said sech. I never mocked
+Skimpy’s singin’ sence I been born. I hev sot too much store by Skimp
+fur that, an’ he oughter know it.”
+
+Mrs. Sawyer’s expression softened. “Ye only would hev proved yerse’f a
+idjit ef ye hed faulted Skimpy’s singin’,” she said. Then, still more
+genially—“Set up closer ter the fire. It mus’ be airish out’n doors. Who
+d’ye reckon tole Skimp sech a wicked, mean story on ye?”
+
+Ike trembled in his eagerness to tell. “I dunno fur true, Mis’ Sawyer,
+and mebbe I oughtn’t ter say, but I b’lieves it be Jerry Binwell, kase
+Skimpy hev been goin’ a powerful deal with him lately, an’”—
+
+Peter Sawyer turned suddenly upon the boy. “The truth ain’t in ye, Ike
+Guyther. Ye knows ez yer dad an’ yer uncle, an’ yerse’f an’ yer folks
+ginerally, air the only critters in the Cove ez would ’sociate with Jerry
+Binwell, an’ live in fellowship with him under the same roof. I ’low they
+air crazy—plumb bereft. It’s yer folks ez hev harbored him hyar, an’ ye
+can’t tar Skimpy with sayin’ he consorts with sech. I forbid Skimp ever
+ter go with you-uns enny mo’, so’s ter keep him out’n Binwell’s way.
+Now, sir; ye can’t shoulder him off on Skimpy!”
+
+Ike’s face turned scarlet. “I hev glimpsed Skimp with him ag’in an’
+ag’in. An’ I b’lieves he be a-goin’ ter git Skimp inter mischief.”
+
+Obadiah laid his fiddle down on his knee, pursed up his lips, and looked
+aggravatingly cross-eyed at Ike, up from his toes to the crown of his
+head.
+
+“’Twouldn’t take much mo’, Ike, ter make _me_ settle you-uns,” he
+observed.
+
+“I ain’t keerin’ fur you-uns, Obadiah!” cried Ike. “I hev kem ter say
+my say—an’ I’m a-goin’ ter do it. I b’lieve Jerry Binwell air arter old
+Squair Torbett’s money what folks ’low he hid in a box in a hollow o’
+Keedon Bluffs.”
+
+Peter Sawyer’s pipe had fallen from his hand, and the fire and tobacco
+and ashes rolled out upon the hearth. He gave it no heed. He sat
+motionless, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his surprised,
+intent eyes fixed upon the boy’s face.
+
+“I never s’picioned at fust what he war arter, though I seen him foolin’
+roun’ them Bluffs an’ a-climbin’ on the ledges. But I knowed ’twar
+suthin’ cur’us. An’ whenst I seen Skimp along o’ him so much I kem hyar
+this evenin’ an’ tried ter warn him. But ter-night I hearn Jerry Binwell
+ax uncle Ab—him it war ez holped the Squair hide the box whilst Jerry
+Binwell watched—what hollow he hid it in.”
+
+“An’—an’—did Ab tell him?” demanded Peter Sawyer, leaning down,
+his excited face close to Ike’s, his eyes full of curiosity and
+more—intention, suspicion.
+
+Once again Ike recognized the false position into which his uncle was
+thrust. How could any man’s honest repute survive a misunderstanding like
+this? He realized that in his eager desire to save his friend his tongue
+had outstripped his prudence.
+
+“I jes’ wanter tell Skimp what I hearn,” he said, declining to answer
+categorically, “an’ then let him go on with Binwell ef he wants ter. I
+war feared he’d purvail on Skimp, by foolin’ him somehows, ter snake
+inter them hollows an’ git that box fur him. Whar be Skimp?”
+
+“Asleep in bed, whar he oughter be, Ike,” said Skimpy’s mother
+contentedly rocking by the fire.
+
+Peter Sawyer hesitated for a moment. Then he slowly rose. “’Twon’t hurt
+Skimp ter wake him up. He mought ez well hear this ez not.”
+
+He winked at his wife. He thought that if Skimpy were present he himself
+would hear more of the whereabouts of the box, which might prove of
+service in the constable’s search for it, when the ladder could be found
+or a substitute provided. He walked toward the primitive stairway,
+feeling very clever and a trifle surprised at the promptitude and acumen
+of his decision. He himself would wake Skimpy in order to give him a
+quiet caution not to become involved in any quarrel that might restrain
+or prevent Ike’s disclosure. He tramped slowly and heavily up the ladder
+as if he were not used to it, and indeed he seldom ascended into the
+roof-room, its chief use being that of a dormitory for the boys. As he
+left the bright scene below, suffused with mellow light, the shadows
+began to gloom about him as if they came down a rung or two to meet
+him or to lend him a helping hand; he raised his eyebrows and peered
+curiously about. His head was hardly above the level of the floor of the
+loft before he became aware that the roof-room was full of motion. He
+gave a sudden start, and stood still to stare, to collect his senses that
+surely had played him false. No,—solemnly wavering to and fro, a pace
+here, a measure there, was the gaunt company of old clothes, visible in
+the glimmer through the crevices of the floor, and bearing the semblance
+of life in the illusions of the faint light and the failing shadow, as
+if they had outwitted fate somehow, despite their owners’ mounds in the
+little mountain graveyard. Peter Sawyer gasped—then he shivered. And it
+was, perhaps, this involuntary expression of physical discomfort which
+led his mind to judge of cause and effect. “The winder mus’ be open,” he
+said through his chattering teeth.
+
+The next moment he saw it—he saw the purplish square amidst the darkness
+of the walls; the naked boughs of the tree without; and high, high—for he
+was looking upward—the massive looming mountain, and the moon, the yellow
+waning moon, rising through the gap in the range.
+
+“The wind’s laid,” he muttered, “or the flappin’ o’ that thar shutter
+would hev woke the boy afore this time.”
+
+He clumsily ascended the remaining rungs and strode across the floor to
+Skimpy’s bed, looking now with curious half-averted eyes at the lifelike
+figures of the old clothes, and then at the yellow moon shining through
+the little window into the dusky place, and drawing the shadow of the
+neighboring tree upon the floor.
+
+Sawyer’s hand touched the pillow.
+
+“Skimpy!” he said. And again, “Skimpy!”
+
+It was a louder tone. A penetrating quality it had, charged as it was
+with a sudden, keen fear.
+
+“Fetch a light!” he cried, running to the top of the ladder, dashing away
+the spectral garments. “Fetch the lantern, Oby, or a tallow dip.”
+
+Below they heard his quick footsteps returning to the bed as they sprang
+up, affrighted, yet hardly knowing what had happened.
+
+“Skimpy!” his voice sounded strong again—reassured; he could not, would
+not believe this thing. “Quit foolin’, sonny; whar hev ye hid?”
+
+Skimpy’s mother had waited for neither the candle nor the lantern; she
+mounted the ladder by the light of the fire, and she understood what had
+happened almost as soon as Ike did, as pale and dismayed he looked over
+her shoulder into the dusky garret. The golden moonlight fell through the
+little window upon the slowly-pacing clothes, and drew the image of the
+bare tree upon the floor, and slanted upon the empty bed by which Peter
+Sawyer stood crying aloud—“He hev gone, wife; he hev gone!”
+
+
+
+
+XV.
+
+
+The great gray sandstone heights of Keedon Bluffs began to glimmer in
+the midst of the black night when the yellow moon, slow and pensive,
+showed its waning disk, half veiled with a fibrous mist, in the gap of
+the eastern mountain. The woods were still densely dark on the other side
+of the road. A slender beech, white and spectral, was dimly suggested at
+their verge, shuddering and shivering in the last vagrant gust of the
+wind. Skimpy glanced fearfully at it for a moment as he came softly down
+the road and then he stood shivering too, with his hands in his pockets.
+
+A swift, dark figure, as noiseless as if unhampered with substance,
+appeared at his side, and a husky, wheezing voice murmured suddenly—“Hyar
+we air, Skimp!”
+
+Even so bated a tone did not elude the alert echo. “S-Skimp-imp-mp,” the
+Bluffs were sibilantly multiplying the tones. It seemed to Skimpy that
+some vague spy of the earth or of the air was repeating the sound to
+charge its memory with the word. He could ill trust even Keedon Bluffs
+with the secret of his name now, and he looked with futile deprecation
+over his shoulder at every whisper of the familiar word.
+
+“Don’t talk!” he said nervously.
+
+“Shucks!” exclaimed Binwell; “I’d sing ef I war minded ter—an’ ef I hed
+a pipe like yourn. What ails ye ter be so trembly? ’Tain’t no s’prisin’
+job—it’s fun, boy! An’ ter-morrer ye and me will go an’ cut down them
+pines an’ git old Fat-sides’ ladder out’n ’em.”
+
+Skimpy plucked up a little. The prospect of retrieving his folly
+reassured him. It was the hour, the secrecy of his escape from the
+roof-room window at home, the atmosphere of mystery that surrounded the
+adventure, he endeavored to think, rather than any distrust of Jerry
+Binwell, which shook his nerves. He lent himself with docile acquiescence
+to a sort of harness of rope which the man slipped over his head and
+secured beneath his armpits, one end fastened to Binwell’s arm. Its
+ostensible use was to aid the boy while climbing, in case he should slip
+among the ledges. A mind prone to suspicion might have deemed its utility
+most pronounced in preventing Skimpy from hiding anew or making off with
+anything of value which he might find hidden in the hollows.
+
+There were no shadows on the brow of the precipice when the golden
+rays from the moon rested broadly upon the road or journeyed in long
+stately files down the sylvan vistas. Both man and boy had slipped from
+the verge, and were clambering along the jagged, oblique ledges of the
+Bluffs, Skimpy often stayed and helped by the strong hand of the other.
+The moon was higher now in the sky. A white radiant presence suddenly
+began to walk upon the water. Down between the banks it came, upon the
+lustrous darkness of the current and the mirrored shadows, diffusing
+softest splendor, most benignant and serene. Skimpy, pausing to rest,
+hearing the stir of the pines on the opposite bank and the musical
+monotone of the river, stood mopping his brow and clinging to the strong
+arm held out to him; he abruptly pointed out the reflection of the moon
+to his companion, and asked if it did not remind him of that night on a
+distant sea when Christ came walking along the troubled waves.
+
+A sudden great lurch! It was not Skimpy, but Binwell—the athlete—who
+started abruptly, and almost fell from the Bluff into the water far
+below. He recovered himself with an oath.
+
+“Ain’t ye got no better sense, ye weasel! ’n ter set out with sech
+senseless, onexpected gabble in sech a job ez this? Naw, it don’t look
+like nuthin’—nuthin’ but a powerful onlucky wanin’ moon, a-showin’ how
+the time’s a-wastin’. Ye hustle yer bones else I’ll drap ye down thar an’
+then ye’ll find out what’s walked on the water.”
+
+Skimpy said nothing; he heartily wished he was on the top of Keedon
+Bluffs once more. Their steps dislodged now and then a bit of stone from
+the rock that fell with a ringing sound against the face of the Bluffs
+into the river. Sometimes clods dropped with a muffled thud; every
+moment the moon grew brighter. There were no more stoppages on the way.
+Binwell urged the boy on whenever he would pause for breath, and it was
+not long before they were near the gaping cavities that looked grewsome
+and uninviting enough as Skimpy approached. He cast one despairing glance
+up at the face of the cliffs—it seemed that he could never again stand
+on the summit, so long, so toilsome was the way. He might have thought
+it short enough with some hearty comrade. For Binwell’s grasp was savage
+now on the boy’s arm; he cursed Skimpy under his breath whenever a step
+faltered. He no longer cared to be smooth, to propitiate. “He’d take me
+by the scruff o’ the neck, an’ pitch me into the ruver ef I didn’t do his
+bid now, bein’ ez I can’t holp myself,” thought Skimpy, appalled.
+
+A pity that a boy cannot inherit his father’s experience—but must learn
+wisdom as it were under the lash!
+
+Very black indeed the first of the cavities was as he passed; he hardly
+dared look within the embrasure-like place; no grim muzzle of a gun
+he beheld, no bursting shell flung forth; only a bat’s soft, noiseless
+wings striking him in the face as he climbed by on the ledge below. The
+second hollow was passed too, and now for the third. Binwell stopped
+the boy, and began to rearrange the cords beneath his arms. “Confound
+ye,” he said, his fingers trembling over the knots as he lifted his eyes
+reproachfully to the boy’s face, “ye hev got me plumb upset with yer fool
+talk—I ’lowed jes’ now I hearn leetle Rosamondy a-callin’ me.”
+
+The rocks were vibrating softly—but could the echoes of Keedon Bluffs
+repeat the fancy of a sound!
+
+Skimpy stretched his arm into the cavity as far as it might go, half
+expecting it to be snatched by the claw of a witch; but no—his empty palm
+closed only on the clammy air.
+
+“Up with ye!” said Jerry impatiently.
+
+One moment—and there were the duskily purple mountains, the gray
+obscurity of the misty intervals, the lustrous darkness of the river,
+the fair sky, and the reigning moon; then the vault-like blackness of the
+hollow.
+
+The boy scuffled along it for a few moments, “snakin’ it,” he called the
+process, and feeling like so much pith in the bark. Binwell still paid
+out the cord as Skimpy crept further and further, and then—
+
+What was the matter with the rocks! Endowed with Rosamond’s voice they
+called him again and again, with dulcet treble iteration that was like
+the fine vibrations of a stringed instrument all in tune. He listened,
+paling a little; it was no fancy; he was discovered. He stood his ground
+for the nonce. What affinity for harm and wrong! The coward might be
+brave for a space.
+
+Another voice; he jerked nervously at the cord on Skimpy’s arm. It was
+Abner’s voice; he was on the summit of the Bluffs. He too was calling
+aloud:
+
+“Kem up, Jerry, ’tain’t no use. Kem up.”
+
+Jerry made no answer; he muttered only to himself, “Ye’ll fall off’n the
+aidge o’ that Bluff unbeknown ter yerse’f, ole mole!”
+
+Abner began anew and all the echoes were pleading and insistent. “Kem
+up, Jerry! Ye’ll be deesgraced fur life, and hyar’s leetle Rosamondy
+a-waitin’ fur ye!”
+
+Jerry was standing breathless, for Skimpy within was suddenly motionless.
+Then the cord grew slack in his hand, for the boy was coming out backward.
+
+Binwell gave no heed to the commotion on the summit. A heavy, clanking
+metallic sound had caught his ear—it was the money-box of the Squire
+which the boy was dragging out, every moment coming nearer to that
+clutching, quivering hand.
+
+Ah, Rosamond, calling in vain! Give it up, old soldier! No battle-cry of
+honor can rally comrades like this. But they pressed perilously close to
+the edge of the cliff—the blind man and the little child—beginning to
+sob together with dreary helplessness and futility, and casting their
+hopeless entreaties upon the night air, the echoes joining their pleas
+with wild insistence, and the forest silence holding its breath that no
+wistful word might be lost.
+
+And thus others found them, shadowy figures as stealthily approaching as
+if the blind man could see, and the confiding little child wonder;—two,
+three, four, five figures pausing on the summit of the cliff, watching in
+intensest excitement the man on the ledge, and, slowly emerging from the
+cavity, dragging after him an iron box twelve inches square perhaps and
+weighty to handle, a boy, slight, agile, unmistakable.
+
+Skimpy, covered with dust, choking, out of breath, confused by the sound
+of voices on the summit and the clamor of the echoes, hardly knew how it
+was that he should hear in the medley the familiar tones of his father
+calling on Heaven to pity him, for his son was a thief! He heard too the
+voice of the child and the blind soldier’s entreaties. And then the sharp
+tones of the constable rang out—“Surrender thar—or I fire!” His senses
+reeled as Binwell, catching the box from his hands, turned and with quick
+leaps like a fox’s clambered on down the ledges. The cord was still
+about Skimpy’s shoulders; with a sharp twist he came to his knees in
+great pain; then the end of the rope swung slack below, and he knew that
+Binwell had just cut it to liberate himself—a great splash in the river
+told that he had taken to the water and the constable’s bullet whizzed by
+the Bluffs a second too late.
+
+“He’ll hev ter gin up the box time I light out arter him,” cried the
+constable; “I’ll meet up with him by the ruver-bank. He can’t run fur
+with a heavy box full o’ gold an’ silver.”
+
+There was no use in keeping the secret longer.
+
+“It’s full o’ sand!” cried the blind man with dreary contempt in the
+fact. “The Squair kerried it full o’ sand whenst he buried it—jes’ fur
+a blind. He knowed Jerry s’picioned he hed money an’ he never trested
+him. Jerry kep’ watch, an’ I clomb the Bluffs, an’ hid the box. Whar the
+Squair an’ me actially hid the money war in a hollow o’ one o’ the logs
+o’ his house, an’ thar’s whar the money war kep’ till the e-end o’ the
+war. The heirs knowed it all the time. Write ter Arkansas an’ ax the one
+ez be livin’ thar.”
+
+A relish was added to the excitement which the events produced
+throughout the Cove next day by the gossips’ speculations on Binwell’s
+disappointment—how he must have looked, what he must have said, when he
+felt sufficiently safe to open the box and found it full of sand. For
+he made good his escape, the pursuit being given over instantly upon
+the discovery that he had stolen nothing worth having. The constable
+contented himself with declaring that he should never again come within
+the district save to be ushered into the county jail. The neighborhood
+cronies congregated at the store and talked the matter over, each having
+some instance of Binwell’s duplicity to relate. All were willing enough
+to credit Peter Sawyer’s account of how Skimpy had been deluded into
+assisting Binwell’s scheme by the pretense that there were only papers
+hidden in the box which he had a right to destroy. Notwithstanding the
+fact that no suspicion rested upon him, Skimpy was not for a long time
+so blithe a lad as before he climbed down Keedon Bluffs. And he is ready
+now to believe that his father learned a good many things in those years
+of seniority which are still unknown to him, and he has some respect for
+experience. It is not necessary to scald him now in order to convince him
+that boiling water is—as it is said to be—hot.
+
+The blind man’s story was amply confirmed by a letter from the surviving
+heir who had been told by his father of the hoax of the hidden box, and
+who had always relished its mystery, since it had served its purpose and
+had diverted plunder and search from the hoard concealed in the wall.
+
+At Hiram Guyther’s cabin, however, the gossip had no zest. For the first
+time a deep gloom had fallen on the blind soldier’s face as he sat in his
+enforced inactivity, a-wasting his life away in the chimney corner. His
+gray hair hardly seemed so incongruous now, for an ashen furrowed pallid
+anxiety had replaced the florid tints of cheek and brow. Sometimes he
+would rise from his chair and stride back and forth the length of the
+room; now and again a deep sigh would burst from him.
+
+“I wouldn’t mind it, Ab,” Mrs. Guyther would say in her comforting soft
+drawl. “Ye done all ye could—more ’n enny other man would, ’flicted with
+blindness. Fairly makes me shiver whenst I ’member ye an’ Rosamondy
+walkin’ along them cliffs in the dead o’ night like ye done.”
+
+“She’ll never be able ter live through it when she finds out ’bout her
+dad; she’s a gal ez be a-goin’ ter hev a heap o’ feelin’s,” he would
+groan, with prescient grief for the gay Rosamond’s future woes. “It’ll
+plumb kill her ter know she don’t kem o’ honest folks. Ef it don’t—it’s
+wuss yit; fur it’ll break her sperit, an’ that’s like livin’ along ’thout
+a soul; sorter like walkin’ in yer sleep.”
+
+And even Ike’s mother could say naught to this.
+
+Only on aunt Jemima’s countenance a grim satisfaction began to dawn. She
+was not an optimist; nevertheless she contrived to extract a drop of
+honey from all this wormwood.
+
+“It’s all fur the bes’—I’ve hearn that preached all my days. Ev’y body
+knowed ennyhow ez he war mean enough fur ennything—ter steal, ef ’casion
+riz. An’ he war her dad; couldn’t git roun’ that! All’s fur the bes’! Ef
+he hed hev stayed he mought hev tuk a notion ter kerry Rosamondy away
+from hyar. _Now_ he don’t dare ter show his nose hyar ag’in. An’ we hev
+got Rosamondy safe an’ sure fur good an’ all.”
+
+So she knitted on with a stern endorsement of the course of events
+expressed in her firmly-set lips and the decisive click of her needles.
+
+Even this view did not mitigate Abner’s grief, and he sorrowed on for
+Rosamondy’s sake.
+
+The secret of Keedon Bluffs once discovered was spread far and wide.
+The news, crossing the ranges, penetrated other coves, and was talked
+of round many a stranger’s hearth. Even to Persimmon Cove, where Jerry
+Binwell had married, the story came, albeit tardily. It was told first
+there by the sheriff, who had chanced to be called to that remote and
+secluded spot in pursuit of some evil doer hiding in the mountains,
+and he gave to the constable, as he passed through Tanglefoot Cove
+on his way to the county town, sundry items, gathered during his stay
+in Persimmon Cove, which that functionary felt it was his duty to
+communicate to the Guythers.
+
+It was a widow whom Jerry Binwell had married in Persimmon Cove—a young
+woman with one child; and when he left the place after her death, he
+took his stepdaughter with him; some people said his motive was to spite
+her grandmother, with whom he had quarreled, and who had sought to claim
+her; others said that it was because the little Rosamond contrived to
+keep a strong hold on the heart of every creature that came near her, and
+had even won upon Jerry Binwell. Certain it was that old Mrs. Peters,
+her grandmother, had heard with great delight the tidings of Rosamond’s
+whereabouts, and the sheriff had promised her to acquaint with the facts
+the family with whom the child lived.
+
+Every member of the household felt stunned as by a blow when the
+constable had left them to their meditations. Even Rosamond, with all
+her merry arts, could not win a smile from the grave and troubled faces
+grouped about the fire, and she desisted at last; she leaned her head,
+with its floating lengths of golden hair, against the brown logs of the
+wall, and looked wistfully at them all with a contemplative finger in her
+pink mouth.
+
+“She hev ter go!” said the upright Hiram Guyther with a sigh, “she ain’t
+ourn ter keep.”
+
+“We hev ter gin her up,” groaned the blind man.
+
+Mrs. Guyther looked wistfully at her with moist eyes, and dropped a
+half-dozen stitches in her knitting.
+
+And aunt Jemima suddenly threw her blue-checked cotton apron over her
+head, and burst into a tumult of passionate tears. “I wisht,” she
+exclaimed—wicked old soul!—“thar warn’t no sech thing ez right an’ wrong!
+But I don’t keer fur right. An’ I don’t keer fur wrong. They shan’t take
+my child away from hyar.”
+
+Although it wrung their hearts they decided to relinquish their household
+treasure. But they temporized as well as their scanty tact would enable
+them. A message was sent to old Mrs. Peters, coupled with an invitation
+to come and make them a visit. And thus they eked out the weeks.
+
+One day—a day of doom it seemed to them—there rode up to the door a small
+wizened old woman, sharp-eyed, with a high voice and a keen tongue; she
+was riding a white mare with a colt at her heels. She scarcely seemed
+perturbed by Rosamond’s reluctance to recognize her. The alert eyes took
+in first with an amazed stare the child’s cleanly and whole attire,
+her delicately tended flowing hair, her fine, full, glowing look of
+health; then with more furtive glances she expended what capacity for
+astonishment remained to her on the scoured puncheon floor, the neat
+women and men, the loom, with a great roll of woven cloth of many yards
+hanging to it; the evidences of a carefully adjusted domestic routine, of
+thrift and decorum and moral worth; the cooking and quality of the meal
+presently set forth on the table. She had not lived so long in this world
+to be unable to recognize sterling people when she met them.
+
+They all talked on indifferent topics for a time. But presently she broke
+forth.
+
+“I dunno ez I oughter up an’ remark it so flat-footed—but I never
+expected ter find Jerry Binwell’s friends sech ez you-uns. I wouldn’t hev
+rid my mare’s back sore ef I hed. I dunno ez I’d hev kem at all.”
+
+“Waal,” said Hiram Guyther, “I reckon ’twar leetle Rosamondy ez jes’
+tangled herself up in our heart-strings—an’ that made us put up with
+Jerry. We ’lowed he war her dad.”
+
+“I’m powerful glad he ain’t!” said Abner.
+
+“I say!” cried the sharp little woman scornfully. “_Her dad_ war a
+mighty solid, ’sponsible, ’spectable young man, an’ good-lookin’ till
+you couldn’t rest! He’d hev lived till he war eighty ef his gun hedn’t
+bust an’ killed him. I dunno what ailed Em’line ter marry sech ez Jerry
+arterward. He made way with everything her fust husband lef’ her, an’
+mighty nigh all I hed, ’mongst his evil frien’s an’ drinkin’. But he
+always war mighty good ter Rosamondy. I’ll gin him that credit.”
+
+“Ennybody would be good ter sech a child ez Rosamondy!” cried aunt Jemima.
+
+“Waal, we war all frien’s ter Jerry, ez fur ez he’d let us be, an’ ter
+the leetle gal,” said Hiram, solidly, “an’ I hope, mum, ye’ll let her
+spen’ cornsider’ble of her time with us.”
+
+This was the cautious way it began, although it fired aunt Jemima’s blood
+to hear the permission humbly craved instead of claimed as a right.
+
+But Mrs. Peters smilingly accorded it. She herself had entered upon
+a long visit; whenever she made a motion to return, the family so
+vehemently demurred that she relented, only stipulating that when she
+should depart aunt Jemima should accompany her. She took a sad pleasure
+in the talk of the blind artillery-man, her own son, who was killed in
+battle, having been in the same command. Abner remembered him after a
+time, and told her many things of his army life which she had not before
+known. She had a sort of maternal tenderness for his comrade, and loved
+to see how Rosamond had blossomed in the waste places of his life.
+
+“I don’t think ’twould be right ter take her away from Ab,” she said,
+when the visit was at last at an end. And so only the two old women went
+to Persimmon Cove; together they came back after a time. And thus for
+years, the old cronies, cherishing so strong a bond of friendship, have
+vibrated on visits to and fro. But whoever comes or goes Rosamond has
+never yet left the hearthstone made brighter by her presence.
+
+And when she and the blind artillery-man walk hand in hand down the shady
+road to Keedon Bluffs, she always cries out gleefully when she sees the
+great cannon-ball arrested midway on the ledge, and he tells her again
+how it must have burst forth from the muzzle of the gun far away, and,
+sounding its shrill battle cry, whirled through the air, describing a
+great arc against the sky, dropping at last, spent and futile, on the
+ledge there above the river.
+
+“Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes, Rosamondy, I feels ez ef I’d like ter
+lay my hand on that ball ef I could git nigh it—’minds me so o’ the war
+times; ’twould bring ’em nigher; they seems a-slippin’ away now.”
+
+“I hate that cannon-ball; it kem so nigh a-killin’ somebody,” says
+Rosamondy, “an’ I hate war times. An’ I don’t want folks ter be hurted no
+mo’.”
+
+And in the deep peace of the silent mountain fastnesses and the sheltered
+depths of the Cove, they leave the old ball, spent and mute and harmless,
+lying on the ledges of Keedon Bluffs, above the reddening river, and take
+their way homeward through the sunset glow.
+
+
+
+
+Standard and Popular Library Books
+
+SELECTED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF
+
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.
+
+
+=A Club of One.= An Anonymous Volume, $1.25.
+
+=Brooks Adams.= The Emancipation of Massachusetts, crown 8vo, $1.50.
+
+=John Adams and Abigail Adams.= Familiar Letters of, during the
+Revolution, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Oscar Fay Adams.= Handbook of English Authors, 16mo, 75 cents; Handbook
+of American Authors, 16mo, 75 cents.
+
+=Louis Agassiz.= Methods of Study in Natural History, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.50; Geological Sketches, Series I. and II., 12mo, each, $1.50; A
+Journey in Brazil, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.50; Life and Letters, edited by
+his wife, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00; Life and Works, 6 vols. $10.00.
+
+=Anne A. Agge and Mary M. Brooks.= Marblehead Sketches. 4to, $3.00.
+
+=Elizabeth Akers.= The Silver Bridge and other Poems, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Thomas Bailey Aldrich.= Story of a Bad Boy, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50;
+Marjorie Daw and Other People, 12mo, $1.50; Prudence Palfrey, 12mo,
+$1.50; The Queen of Sheba, 12mo, $1.50; The Stillwater Tragedy, 12mo,
+$1.50; Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt,
+$2.25; The above six vols. 12mo, uniform, $9.00; From Ponkapog to Pesth,
+16mo, $1.25; Poems, Complete, Illustrated, 8vo, $3.50; Mercedes, and
+Later Lyrics, cr. 8vo, $1.25.
+
+=Rev. A. V. G. Allen.= Continuity of Christian Thought, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=American Commonwealths.= Per volume, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+    Virginia. By John Esten Cooke.
+    Oregon. By William Barrows.
+    Maryland. By Wm. Hand Browne.
+    Kentucky. By N. S. Shaler.
+    Michigan. By Hon. T. M. Cooley.
+    Kansas. By Leverett W. Spring.
+    California. By Josiah Royce.
+    New York. By Ellis H. Roberts. 2 vols.
+    Connecticut. By Alexander Johnston.
+
+                            (_In Preparation._)
+
+    Tennessee. By James Phelan.
+    Pennsylvania. By Hon. Wayne MacVeagh.
+    Missouri. By Lucien Carr.
+    Ohio. By Rufus King.
+    New Jersey. By Austin Scott.
+
+=American Men of Letters.= Per vol., with Portrait, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+    Washington Irving. By Charles Dudley Warner.
+    Noah Webster. By Horace E. Scudder.
+    Henry D. Thoreau. By Frank B. Sanborn.
+    George Ripley. By O. B. Frothingham.
+    J. Fenimore Cooper. By Prof. T. R. Lounsbury.
+    Margaret Fuller Ossoli. By T. W. Higginson.
+    Ralph Waldo Emerson. By Oliver Wendell Holmes.
+    Edgar Allan Poe. By George E. Woodberry.
+    Nathaniel Parker Willis. By H. A. Beers.
+
+                            (_In Preparation._)
+
+    Benjamin Franklin. By John Bach McMaster.
+    Nathaniel Hawthorne. By James Russell Lowell.
+    William Cullen Bryant. By John Bigelow.
+    Bayard Taylor. By J. R. G. Hassard.
+    William Gilmore Simms. By George W. Cable.
+
+=American Statesmen.= Per vol., 16mo, $1.25.
+
+    John Quincy Adams. By John T. Morse, Jr.
+    Alexander Hamilton. By Henry Cabot Lodge.
+    John C. Calhoun. By Dr. H. von Holst.
+    Andrew Jackson. By Prof. W. G. Sumner.
+    John Randolph. By Henry Adams.
+    James Monroe. By Pres. D. C. Gilman.
+    Thomas Jefferson. By John T. Morse, Jr.
+    Daniel Webster. By Henry Cabot Lodge.
+    Albert Gallatin. By John Austin Stevens.
+    James Madison. By Sydney Howard Gay.
+    John Adams. By John T. Morse, Jr.
+    John Marshall. By Allan B. Magruder.
+    Samuel Adams. By J. K. Hosmer.
+    Thomas H. Benton. By Theodore Roosevelt.
+    Henry Clay. By Hon. Carl Schurz. 2 vols.
+
+                            (_In Preparation._)
+
+    Martin Van Buren. By Edward M. Shepard.
+    George Washington. By Henry Cabot Lodge. 2 vols.
+    Patrick Henry. By Moses Coit Tyler.
+
+=Martha Babcock Amory.= Life of Copley, 8vo, $3.00.
+
+=Hans Christian Andersen.= Complete Works, 10 vols. 12mo, each $1.00. New
+Edition, 10 vols. 12mo, $10.00.
+
+=Francis, Lord Bacon.= Works, 15 vols. cr. 8vo, $33.75; _Popular
+Edition_, with Portraits, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, $5.00; Promus of Formularies
+and Elegancies, 8vo, $5.00; Life and Times of Bacon, 2 vols. cr. 8vo,
+$5.00.
+
+=L. H. Bailey, Jr.= Talks Afield, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=M. M. Ballou.= Due West, cr. 8vo, $1.50; Due South, $1.50.
+
+=Henry A. Beers.= The Thankless Muse. Poems. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=E. D. R. Bianciardi.= At Home in Italy, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=William Henry Bishop.= The House of a Merchant Prince, a Novel, 12mo,
+$1.50; Detmold, a Novel, 18mo, $1.25; Choy Susan and other Stories, 16mo,
+$1.25; The Golden Justice, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Bjornstjerne Bjornson.= Complete Works. New Edition, 3 vols. 12mo, the
+set, $4.50; Synnove Solbakken, Bridal March, Captain Mansana, Magnhild,
+16mo, each $1.00.
+
+=Anne C. Lynch Botta.= Handbook of Universal Literature, New Edition,
+12mo, $2.00.
+
+=British Poets.= _Riverside Edition_, cr. 8vo, each $1.50; the set, 68
+vols. $100.00.
+
+=John Brown, A. B.= John Bunyan. Illustrated. 8vo, $4.50.
+
+=John Brown, M. D.= Spare Hours, 3 vols. 16mo, each $1.50.
+
+=Robert Browning.= Poems and Dramas, etc., 15 vols. 16mo, $22.00; Works,
+8 vols. cr. 8vo, $13.00; Ferishtah’s Fancies, cr. 8vo, $1.00; Jocoseria,
+16mo, $1.00; cr. 8vo, $1.00; Parleyings with Certain People of Importance
+in their Day, 16mo or cr. 8vo, $1.25. Works, _New Edition_, 6 vols. cr.
+8vo. $10.00.
+
+=William Cullen Bryant.= Translation of Homer, The Iliad cr. 8vo, $2.50;
+2 vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; cr. 8vo, $4.00. The Odyssey, cr. 8vo, $2.50; 2
+vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; cr. 8vo, $4.00.
+
+=Sara C. Bull.= Life of Ole Bull. _Popular Edition._ 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=John Burroughs.= Works, 7 vols. 16mo, each $1.50.
+
+=Thomas Carlyle.= Essays, with Portrait and Index, 4 vols. 12mo, $7.50;
+_Popular Edition_, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.50.
+
+=Alice and Phœbe Cary.= Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; _Library Edition_, including Memorial
+by Mary Clemmer, Portraits and 24 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50.
+
+=Wm. Ellery Channing.= Selections from His Note-Books, $1.00.
+
+=Francis J. Child= (Editor). English and Scottish Popular Ballads. Eight
+Parts. (Parts I.-IV. now ready). 4to, each $5.00. Poems of Religious
+Sorrow, Comfort, Counsel, and Aspiration. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Lydia Maria Child.= Looking Toward Sunset, 12mo, $2.50; Letters, with
+Biography by Whittier, 16mo, $1.50.
+
+=James Freeman Clarke.= Ten Great Religions, Parts I. and II., 12mo, each
+$2.00; Common Sense in Religion, 12mo, $2.00; Memorial and Biographical
+Sketches, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=John Esten Cooke.= My Lady Pokahontas, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=James Fenimore Cooper.= Works, new _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 32
+vols. 16mo, each $1.00; the set, $32.00; _Fireside Edition_, Illustrated,
+16 vols. 12mo, $20.00.
+
+=Susan Fenimore Cooper.= Rural Hours. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Charles Egbert Craddock.= In the Tennessee Mountains, 16mo, $1.25; Down
+the Ravine, Illustrated, $1.00; The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains,
+16mo, $1.25; In The Clouds, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=C. P. Cranch.= Ariel and Caliban. 16mo, $1.25; The Æneid of Virgil.
+Translated by Cranch. 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=T. F. Crane.= Italian Popular Tales, 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=F. Marion Crawford.= To Leeward, 16mo, $1.25; A Roman Singer, 16mo,
+$1.25; An American Politician, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=M. Creighton.= The Papacy during the Reformation, 4 vols. 8vo, $17.50.
+
+=Richard H. Dana.= To Cuba and Back, 16mo, $1.25; Two Years Before the
+Mast, 12mo, $1.00.
+
+=G. W. and Emma De Long.= Voyage of the Jeannette. 2 vols. 8vo, $7.50;
+New One-Volume Edition, 8vo, $4.50.
+
+=Thomas De Quincey.= Works, 12 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the set, $18.00.
+
+=Madame De Stael.= Germany, 12mo, $2.50.
+
+=Charles Dickens.= Works, _Illustrated Library Edition_, with Dickens
+Dictionary, 30 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the set, $45.00.
+
+=J. Lewis Diman.= The Theistic Argument, etc., cr. 8vo, $2.00; Orations
+and Essays, cr. 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=Theodore A. Dodge.= Patroclus and Penelope, Illustrated, 8vo, $3.00. The
+Same. Outline Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, $1.25.
+
+=E. P. Dole.= Talks about Law. Cr. 8vo, $2.00; sheep, $2.50.
+
+=Eight Studies of the Lord’s Day.= 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=George Eliot.= The Spanish Gypsy, a Poem, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Ralph Waldo Emerson.= Works, _Riverside Edition_, 11 vols. each $1.75;
+the set, $19.25; _“Little Classic” Edition_, 11 vols. 18mo, each, $1.50;
+Parnassus, _Household Edition_, 12mo, $1.75; _Library Edition_, 8vo,
+$4.00; Poems, _Household Edition_, Portrait, 12mo, $1.75; Memoir, by J.
+Elliot Cabot, 2 vols. $3.50.
+
+=English Dramatists.= Vols. 1-3, Marlowe’s Works; Vols. 4-11, Middleton’s
+Works; Vols. 12-14, Marston’s Works; each vol. $3.00; _Large-Paper
+Edition_, each vol. $4.00.
+
+=Edgar Fawcett.= A Hopeless Case, 18mo, $1.25; A Gentleman of Leisure,
+18mo, $1.00; An Ambitious Woman, 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=Fénelon.= Adventures of Telemachus, 12mo, $2.25.
+
+=James T. Fields.= Yesterdays with Authors, 12mo, $2.00; 8vo,
+Illustrated, $3.00; Underbrush, 18mo, $1.25; Ballads and other Verses,
+16mo, $1.00; The Family Library of British Poetry, royal 8vo, $5.00;
+Memoirs and Correspondence, cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=John Fiske.= Myths and Mythmakers, 12mo, $2.00; Outlines of Cosmic
+Philosophy, 2 vols. 8vo, $6.00; The Unseen World, and other Essays, 12mo,
+$2.00; Excursions of an Evolutionist, 12mo, $2.00; The Destiny of Man,
+16mo, $1.00; The Idea of God, 16mo, $1.00; Darwinism, and Other Essays,
+New Edition, enlarged, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Edward Fitzgerald.= Works. 2 vols. 8vo, $10.00.
+
+=O. B. Frothingham.= Life of W. H. Channing. Cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=William H. Furness.= Verses, 16mo, vellum, $1.25.
+
+=Gentleman’s Magazine Library.= 14 vols. 8vo, each $2.50; Roxburgh,
+$3.50; _Large-Paper Edition_, $6.00. I. Manners and Customs. II. Dialect,
+Proverbs, and Word-Lore. III. Popular Superstitions and Traditions.
+IV. English Traditions and Foreign Customs. V., VI. Archæology. VII.
+Romano-British Remains: Part I. (_Last two styles sold only in sets._)
+
+=John F. Genung.= Tennyson’s In Memoriam, cr. 8vo, $1.25.
+
+=Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.= Faust, Part First, Translated by C. T.
+Brooks, 16mo, $1.25; Faust, Translated by Bayard Taylor, cr. 8vo, $2.50;
+2 vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00; Correspondence with a
+Child, 12mo, $1.50; Wilhelm Meister, Translated by Carlyle, 2 vols. 12mo,
+$3.00. Life, by Lewes, together with the above five 12mo vols., the set,
+$9.00.
+
+=Oliver Goldsmith.= The Vicar of Wakefield, 32mo, $1.00.
+
+=Charles George Gordon.= Diaries and Letters, 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=George H. Gordon.= Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain, 1861-2. 8vo, $3.00.
+Campaign of Army of Virginia, 1862. 8vo, $4.00. A War Diary, 1863-5. 8vo,
+$3.00.
+
+=George Zabriskie Gray.= The Children’s Crusade, 12mo, $1.50; Husband and
+Wife, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=F. W. Gunsaulus.= The Transfiguration of Christ. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Anna Davis Hallowell.= James and Lucretia Mott, $2.00.
+
+=R. P. Hallowell.= Quaker Invasion of Massachusetts, revised, $1.25. The
+Pioneer Quakers, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Arthur Sherburne Hardy.= But Yet a Woman, 16mo, $1.25; The Wind of
+Destiny, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Bret Harte.= Works, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, each $2.00; Poems, _Household
+Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; _Red-Line
+Edition_, small 4to, $2.50; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; In the Carquinez
+Woods, 18mo, $1.00; Flip, and Found at Blazing Star, 18mo, $1.00; On the
+Frontier, 18mo, $1.00; By Shore and Sedge, 18mo, $1.00; Maruja, 18mo,
+$1.00; Snow-Bound at Eagle’s, 18mo, $1.00; The Queen of the Pirate Isle,
+Illustrated, small 4to, $1.50; A Millionaire, etc., 18mo, $1.00; The
+Crusade of the Excelsior, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Nathaniel Hawthorne.= Works, _“Little Classic” Edition_, Illustrated,
+25 vols. 18mo, each $1.00; the set $25.00; _New Riverside Edition_,
+Introductions by G. P. Lathrop, 11 Etchings and Portrait, 12 vols. cr.
+8vo, each $2.00; _Wayside Edition_, with Introductions, Etchings, etc.,
+24 vols. 12mo, $36.00; _Fireside Edition_, 6 vols. 12mo, $10.00; The
+Scarlet Letter, 12mo, $1.00.
+
+=John Hay.= Pike County Ballads, 12mo, $1.50; Castilian Days, 16mo, $2.00.
+
+=Caroline Hazard.= Memoir of J. L. Diman. Cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=Franklin H. Head.= Shakespeare’s Insomnia. 16mo, parchment paper, 75
+cents.
+
+=The Heart of the Weed.= Anonymous Poems. 16mo, parchment paper, $1.00.
+
+=S. E. Herrick.= Some Heretics of Yesterday. Cr. 8vo, $1.50.
+
+=George S. Hillard.= Six Months in Italy. 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Oliver Wendell Holmes.= Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; _Illustrated Library Edition_, 8vo,
+$3.50; _Handy-Volume Edition_, 2 vols. 32mo, $2.50; The Autocrat of the
+Breakfast-Table, cr. 8vo, $2.00; _Handy-Volume Edition_, 32mo, $1.25;
+The Professor at the Breakfast-Table, cr. 8vo, $2.00; The Poet at the
+Breakfast-Table, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Elsie Venner, cr. 8vo, $2.00; The
+Guardian Angel, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Medical Essays, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Pages
+from an Old Volume of Life, cr. 8vo, $2.00; John Lothrop Motley, A
+Memoir, 16mo, $1.50; Illustrated Poems, 8vo, $4.00; A Mortal Antipathy,
+cr. 8vo, $1.50; The Last Leaf, Illustrated, 4to, $10.00.
+
+=Nathaniel Holmes.= The Authorship of Shakespeare. New Edition. 2 vols.
+$4.00.
+
+=Blanche Willis Howard.= One Summer, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.25; One Year
+Abroad, 18mo, $1.25.
+
+=William D. Howells.= Venetian Life, 12mo, $1.50; Italian Journeys, 12mo,
+$1.50; Their Wedding Journey, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50; 18mo, $1.25;
+Suburban Sketches, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50; A Chance Acquaintance,
+Illustrated, 12mo, $1.50; 18mo, $1.25; A Foregone Conclusion, 12mo,
+$1.50; The Lady of the Aroostook, 12mo, $1.50; The Undiscovered Country,
+12mo, $1.50.
+
+=Thomas Hughes.= Tom Brown’s School-Days at Rugby, 16mo, $1.00; Tom Brown
+at Oxford, 16mo, $1.25; The Manliness of Christ, 16mo, $1.00; paper, 25
+cents.
+
+=William Morris Hunt.= Talks on Art, 2 Series, each $1.00.
+
+=Henry James.= A Passionate Pilgrim and other Tales, 12mo, $2.00;
+Transatlantic Sketches, 12mo, $2.00; Roderick Hudson, 12mo, $2.00; The
+American, 12mo, $2.00; Watch and Ward, 18mo, $1.25; The Europeans, 12mo,
+$1.50; Confidence, 12mo, $1.50; The Portrait of a Lady, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Anna Jameson.= Writings upon Art Subjects. New Edition, 10 vols. 16mo,
+the set, $12.50.
+
+=Sarah Orne Jewett.= Deephaven, 18mo, $1.25; Old Friends and New, 18mo,
+$1.25; Country By-Ways, 18mo, $1.25; Play-Days, Stories for Children,
+square 16mo, $1.50; The Mate of the Daylight, 18mo, $1.25; A Country
+Doctor, 16mo, $1.25; A Marsh Island, 16mo, $1.25; A White Heron, 18mo,
+$1.25.
+
+=Rossiter Johnson.= Little Classics, 18 vols. 18mo, each $1.00; the set,
+$18.00.
+
+=Samuel Johnson.= Oriental Religions: India, 8vo, $5.00; China, 8vo,
+$5.00; Persia, 8vo, $5.00; Lectures, Essays, and Sermons, cr. 8vo, $1.75.
+
+=Charles C. Jones, Jr.= History of Georgia, 2 vols. 8vo, $10.00.
+
+=Malcolm Kerr.= The Far Interior. 2 vols. 8vo, $9.00.
+
+=Omar Khayyám.= Rubáiyát, _Red-Line Edition_, square 16mo., $1.00;
+the same, with 56 Illustrations by Vedder, folio, $25.00; The Same,
+_Phototype Edition_, 4to, $12.50.
+
+=T. Starr King.= Christianity and Humanity, with Portrait, 12mo, $1.50;
+Substance and Show, 16mo, $2.00.
+
+=Charles and Mary Lamb.= Tales from Shakespeare. _Handy-Volume Edition_,
+32mo, $1.00.
+
+=Henry Lansdell.= Russian Central Asia. 2 vols. $10.00.
+
+=Lucy Larcom.= Poems, 16mo, $1.25; An Idyl of Work, 16mo, $1.25; Wild
+Roses of Cape Ann and other Poems, 16mo, $1.25; Breathings of the Better
+Life, 18mo, $1.25; Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75;
+full gilt, $2.25; Beckonings for Every Day, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=George Parsons Lathrop.= A Study of Hawthorne 18mo, $1.25.
+
+=Henry C. Lea.= Sacerdotal Celibacy, 8vo, $4.50.
+
+=Sophia and Harriet Lee.= Canterbury Tales. New Edition, 3 vols. 12mo,
+$3.75.
+
+=Charles G. Leland.= The Gypsies, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Algonquin Legends of
+New England, cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=George Henry Lewes.= The Story of Goethe’s Life, Portrait, 12mo, $1.50;
+Problems of Life and Mind, 5 vols. 8vo, $14.00.
+
+=A. Parlett Lloyd.= The Law of Divorce, cloth, $2.00; sheep, $2.50.
+
+=J. G. Lockhart.= Life of Sir W. Scott, 3 vols. 12mo, $4.50.
+
+=Henry Cabot Lodge.= Studies in History, cr. 8vo, $1.50.
+
+=Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.= Complete Poetical and Prose Works,
+_Riverside Edition_, 11 vols. cr. 8vo, $16.50; Poetical Works, _Riverside
+Edition_, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, $9.00; _Cambridge Edition_, 4 vols. 12mo,
+$7.00; Poems, _Octavo Edition_, Portrait and 300 Illustrations, $7.50;
+_Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt,
+$2.25; _Red-Line Edition_, Portrait and 12 Illustrations, small 4to,
+$2.50; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; _Library Edition_, Portrait and 32
+Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Christus, _Household Edition_, $1.75; cr.
+8vo, full gilt, $2.25; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; Prose Works, _Riverside
+Edition_, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, $3.00; Hyperion, 16mo, $1.50; Kavanagh, 16mo,
+$1.50; Outre-Mer, 16mo, $1.50; In the Harbor, 16mo, $1.00; Michael
+Angelo: a Drama, Illustrated, folio, $5.00; Twenty Poems, Illustrated,
+small 4to, $2.50; Translation of the Divina Commedia of Dante, _Riverside
+Edition_, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, $4.50; 1 vol. cr. 8vo, $2.50; 3 vols. royal
+8vo, $13.50; cr. 8vo, $4.50; Poets and Poetry of Europe, royal 8vo,
+$5.00; Poems of Places, 31 vols. each $1.00; the set, $25.00.
+
+=James Russell Lowell.= Poems, _Red-Line Edition_, Portrait, Illustrated,
+small 4to, $2.50; _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo,
+full gilt, $2.25; _Library Edition_, Portrait and 32 Illustrations, 8vo,
+$3.50; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; Fireside Travels, 12mo, $1.50; Among my
+Books, Series I. and II. 12mo, each $2.00; My Study Windows, 12mo, $2.00;
+Democracy and other Addresses, 16mo, $1.25; Uncollected Poems.
+
+=Thomas Babington Macaulay.= Works, 16 vols. 12mo, $20.00.
+
+=Mrs. Madison.= Memoirs and Letters of Dolly Madison, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Harriet Martineau.= Autobiography, New Edition, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00;
+Household Education, 18mo, $1.25.
+
+=H. B. McClellan.= The Life and Campaigns of Maj.-Gen. J. E. B. Stuart.
+With Portrait and Maps, 8vo, $3.00.
+
+=G. W. Melville.= In the Lena Delta, Maps and Illustrations, 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=T. C. Mendenhall.= A Century of Electricity. 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Owen Meredith.= Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; _Library Edition_, Portrait and 32
+Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Lucile, _Red-Line Edition_, 8 Illustrations,
+small 4to, $2.50; _Cabinet Edition_, 8 Illustrations, $1.00.
+
+=Olive Thorne Miller.= Bird-Ways, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=John Milton.= Paradise Lost. _Handy-Volume Edition_, 32mo, $1.00.
+_Riverside Classic Edition_, 16mo, Illustrated, $1.00.
+
+=S. Weir Mitchell.= In War Time, 16mo, $1.25; Roland Blake, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=J. W. Mollett.= Illustrated Dictionary of Words used in Art and
+Archæology, small 4to, $5.00.
+
+=Montaigne.= Complete Works, Portrait, 4 vols. 12mo, $7.50.
+
+=William Mountford.= Euthanasy, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=T. Mozley.= Reminiscences of Oriel College, etc., 2 vols. 16mo, $3.00.
+
+=Elisha Mulford.= The Nation, 8vo, $2.50; The Republic of God, 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=T. T. Munger.= On the Threshold, 16mo, $1.00; The Freedom of Faith,
+16mo, $1.50; Lamps and Paths, 16mo, $1.00; The Appeal to Life, 16mo,
+$1.50.
+
+=J. A. W. Neander.= History of the Christian Religion and Church, with
+Index volume, 6 vols. 8vo, $20.00; Index, $3.00.
+
+=Joseph Neilson.= Memories of Rufus Choate, 8vo, $5.00.
+
+=Charles Eliot Norton.= Notes of Travel in Italy, 16mo, $1.25;
+Translation of Dante’s New Life, royal 8vo, $3.00.
+
+=Wm. D. O’Connor.= Hamlet’s Note-Book, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=G. H. Palmer.= Trans. of Homer’s Odyssey, 1-12, 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=Leighton Parks.= His Star in the East. Cr. 8vo, $1.50.
+
+=James Parton.= Life of Benjamin Franklin, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; Life of
+Thomas Jefferson, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Aaron Burr, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00;
+Life of Andrew Jackson, 3 vols. 8vo, $7.50; Life of Horace Greeley, 8vo,
+$2.50; General Butler in New Orleans, 8vo, $2.50; Humorous Poetry of
+the English Language, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25; Famous Americans
+of Recent Times, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Voltaire, 2 vols. 8vo, $6.00; The
+French Parnassus, 12mo, $1.75; crown 8vo, $3.50; Captains of Industry,
+16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Blaise Pascal.= Thoughts, 12mo, $2.25; Letters, 12mo, $2.25.
+
+=Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.= The Gates Ajar, 16mo, $1.50; Beyond the
+Gates, 16mo, $1.25; Men, Women, and Ghosts, 16mo, $1.50; Hedged In,
+16mo, $1.50; The Silent Partner, 16mo, $1.50; The Story of Avis, 16mo,
+$1.50; Sealed Orders, and other Stories, 16mo, $1.50; Friends: A Duet,
+16mo, $1.25; Doctor Zay, 16mo, $1.25; Songs of the Silent World, 16mo,
+gilt top, $1.25; An Old Maid’s Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50 cents; Burglars
+in Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50 cents; Madonna of the Tubs, cr. 8vo,
+Illustrated, $1.50.
+
+=Phillips Exeter Lectures=: Delivered before the Students of Phillips
+Exeter Academy, 1885-6. By E. E. HALE, PHILLIPS BROOKS, Presidents
+MCCOSH, PORTER, and others. 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt.= Selected Poems, 16mo, $1.50.
+
+=Carl Ploetz.= Epitome of Universal History, 12mo, $3.00.
+
+=Antonin Lefevre Pontalis.= The Life of John DeWitt, Grand Pensionary of
+Holland, 2 vols. 8vo, $9.00.
+
+=Margaret J. Preston.= Colonial Ballads, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Adelaide A. Procter.= Poems, _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; _Red-Line
+Edition_, small 4to, $2.50.
+
+=Progressive Orthodoxy.= 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Sampson Reed.= Growth of the Mind, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=C. F. Richardson.= Primer of American Literature, 18mo, $.30.
+
+=Riverside Aldine Series.= Each volume, 16mo, $1.00. First edition,
+$1.50. 1. Marjorie Daw, etc., by T. B. ALDRICH; 2. My Summer in a Garden,
+by C. D. WARNER; 3. Fireside Travels, by J. R. LOWELL; 4. The Luck of
+Roaring Camp, etc., by BRET HARTE; 5, 6. Venetian Life, 2 vols., by W.
+D. HOWELLS; 7. Wake Robin, by JOHN BURROUGHS; 8, 9. The Biglow Papers, 2
+vols., by J. R. LOWELL; 10. Backlog Studies, by C. D. WARNER.
+
+=Henry Crabb Robinson.= Diary, Reminiscences, etc. cr. 8vo, $2.50.
+
+=John C. Ropes.= The First Napoleon, with Maps, cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=Josiah Royce.= Religious Aspect of Philosophy, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Edgar Evertson Saltus.= Balzac, cr. 8vo, $1.25; The Philosophy of
+Disenchantment, cr. 8vo, $1.25.
+
+=John Godfrey Saxe.= Poems, _Red-Line Edition_, Illustrated, small 4to,
+$2.50; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25.
+
+=Sir Walter Scott.= Waverley Novels, _Illustrated Library Edition_, 25
+vols. 12mo, each $1.00; the set, $25.00; Tales of a Grandfather, 3 vols.
+12mo, $4.50; Poems, _Red-Line Edition_. Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50;
+_Cabinet Edition_, $1.00.
+
+=W. H. Seward.= Works, 5 vols. 8vo, $15.00; Diplomatic History of the
+War, 8vo, $3.00.
+
+=John Campbell Shairp.= Culture and Religion, 16mo, $1.25; Poetic
+Interpretation of Nature, 16mo, $1.25; Studies in Poetry and Philosophy,
+16mo, $1.50; Aspects of Poetry, 16mo, $1.50.
+
+=William Shakespeare.= Works, edited by R. G. White, _Riverside Edition_,
+3 vols. cr. 8vo, $7.50; The Same, 6 vols., cr. 8vo, uncut, $10.00; The
+Blackfriars Shakespeare, per vol. $2.50, _net._ (_In Press._)
+
+=A. P. Sinnett.= Esoteric Buddhism, 16mo, $1.25; The Occult World, 16mo,
+$1.25.
+
+=M. C. D. Silsbee.= A Half Century in Salem. 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Dr. William Smith.= Bible Dictionary, _American Edition_, 4 vols. 8vo,
+$20.00.
+
+=Edmund Clarence Stedman.= Poems, _Farringford Edition_, Portrait, 16mo,
+$2.00; _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo,
+$2.25; Victorian Poets, 12mo, $2.00; Poets of America, 12mo, $2.25. The
+set, 3 vols., uniform, 12mo, $6.00; Edgar Allan Poe, an Essay, vellum,
+18mo, $1.00.
+
+=W. W. Story.= Poems, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50; Fiammetta: A Novel, 16mo,
+$1.25. Roba di Roma, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.
+
+=Harriet Beecher Stowe.= Novels and Stories, 10 vols. 12mo, uniform,
+each $1.50; A Dog’s Mission, Little Pussy Willow, Queer Little People,
+Illustrated, small 4to, each $1.25; Uncle Tom’s Cabin, 100 Illustrations,
+8vo, $3.00; _Library Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; _Popular
+Edition_, 12mo, $1.00.
+
+=Jonathan Swift.= Works, _Edition de Luxe_, 19 vols. 8vo, the set, $76.00.
+
+=T. P. Taswell-Langmead.= English Constitutional History. New Edition,
+revised, 8vo, $7.50.
+
+=Bayard Taylor.= Poetical Works, _Household Edition_, 12mo, $1.75; cr.
+8vo. full gilt, $2.25; Melodies of Verse, 18mo, vellum, $1.00; Life and
+Letters, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00; Dramatic Poems, 12mo, $2.25; _Household
+Edition_, 12mo, $1.75; Life and Poetical Works, 6 vols. uniform.
+Including Life, 2 vols.; Faust, 2 vols.; Poems, 1 vol.; Dramatic Poems, 1
+vol. The set, cr. 8vo, $12.00.
+
+=Alfred Tennyson.= Poems, _Household Edition_, Portrait and
+Illustrations, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; _Illustrated
+Crown Edition_, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; _Library Edition_, Portrait
+and 60 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; _Red-Line Edition_, Portrait and
+Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; _Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; Complete
+Works, _Riverside Edition_, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, $6.00.
+
+=Celia Thaxter.= Among the Isles of Shoals, 18mo, $1.25; Poems, small
+4to, $1.50; Drift-Weed, 18mo, $1.50; Poems for Children, Illustrated,
+small 4to, $1.50; Cruise of the Mystery, Poems, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Edith M. Thomas.= A New Year’s Masque and other Poems, 16mo, $1.50; The
+Round Year, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Joseph P. Thompson.= American Comments on European Questions, 8vo, $3.00.
+
+=Henry D. Thoreau.= Works, 9 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the set, $13.50.
+
+=George Ticknor.= History of Spanish Literature, 3 vols. 8vo, $10.00;
+Life, Letters, and Journals, Portraits, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00.
+
+=Bradford Torrey.= Birds in the Bush, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=Sophus Tromholt.= Under the Rays of the Aurora Borealis, Illustrated, 2
+vols. $7.50.
+
+=Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer.= H. H. Richardson and his Works.
+
+=Jones Very.= Essays and Poems, cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=Annie Wall.= Story of Sordello, told in Prose, 16mo, $1.00.
+
+=Charles Dudley Warner.= My Summer in a Garden, _Riverside Aldine
+Edition_, 16mo, $1.00; _Illustrated Edition_, square 16mo, $1.50;
+Saunterings, 18mo, $1.25; Backlog Studies, Illustrated, square 16mo,
+$1.50; _Riverside Aldine Edition_, 16mo, $1.00; Baddeck, and that Sort of
+Thing, 18mo, $1.00; My Winter on the Nile, cr. 8vo, $2.00; In the Levant,
+cr. 8vo, $2.00; Being a Boy, Illustrated, square 16mo, $1.50; In the
+Wilderness, 18mo, 75 cents; A Roundabout Journey, 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=William F. Warren, LL.D.= Paradise Found, cr. 8vo, $2.00.
+
+=William A. Wheeler.= Dictionary of Noted Names of Fiction, 12mo, $2.00.
+
+=Edwin P. Whipple.= Essays, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, each $1.50.
+
+=Richard Grant White.= Every-Day English, 12mo, $2.00; Words and their
+Uses, 12mo, $2.00; England Without and Within, 12mo, $2.00; The Fate of
+Mansfield Humphreys, 16mo, $1.25; Studies in Shakespeare, 12mo, $1.75.
+
+=Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney.= Stories, 12 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; Mother Goose
+for Grown Folks, 12mo, $1.50; Pansies, 16mo, $1.25; Daffodils, 16mo,
+$1.25; Just How, 16mo, $1.00; Bonnyborough, 12mo, $1.50; Holy Tides,
+16mo, 75 cents; Homespun Yarns, 12mo, $1.50.
+
+=John Greenleaf Whittier.= Poems, _Household Edition_, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; _Cambridge Edition_, Portrait, 3 vols.
+12mo, $5.25; _Red-Line Edition_, Portrait, Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50;
+_Cabinet Edition_, $1.00; _Library Edition_, Portrait, 32 Illustrations,
+8vo, $3.50; Prose Works, _Cambridge Edition_, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.50; The
+Bay of Seven Islands, Portrait, 16mo, $1.00; John Woolman’s Journal,
+Introduction by Whittier, $1.50; Child Life in Poetry, selected by
+Whittier, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; Child Life in Prose, 12mo, $2.00;
+Songs of Three Centuries, selected by Whittier: _Household Edition_,
+Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; _Library Edition_,
+32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Text and Verse, 18mo, 75 cents; Poems of
+Nature, 4to, Illustrated, $6.00; St. Gregory’s Guest, etc., 16mo, vellum,
+$1.00.
+
+=Woodrow Wilson.= Congressional Government, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=J. A. Wilstach.= Translation of Virgil’s Works, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, $5.00.
+
+=Justin Winsor.= Reader’s Handbook of American Revolution, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+=W. B. Wright.= Ancient Cities from the Dawn to the Daylight, 16mo, $1.25.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***
diff --git a/76600-h/76600-h.htm b/76600-h/76600-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..284823e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/76600-h/76600-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,8332 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html>
+<html lang="en">
+<head>
+    <meta charset="UTF-8">
+    <title>
+      The story of Keedon Bluffs | Project Gutenberg
+    </title>
+    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
+    <style>
+
+a {
+    text-decoration: none;
+}
+
+body {
+    margin-left: 10%;
+    margin-right: 10%;
+}
+
+h1,h2 {
+    text-align: center;
+    clear: both;
+}
+
+h2.nobreak {
+    page-break-before: avoid;
+}
+
+hr.chap {
+    margin-top: 2em;
+    margin-bottom: 2em;
+    clear: both;
+    width: 65%;
+    margin-left: 17.5%;
+    margin-right: 17.5%;
+}
+
+img.w100 {
+    width: 100%;
+}
+
+div.chapter {
+    page-break-before: always;
+}
+
+ul {
+    margin: 0 0 0 2em;
+    padding: 0;
+    list-style-type: none;
+}
+
+li {
+    margin-top: .25em;
+    padding-left: 2em;
+    text-indent: -2em;
+}
+
+li.prep {
+    padding-left: 8em;
+    text-indent: -2em;
+}
+
+p {
+    margin-top: 0.5em;
+    text-align: justify;
+    margin-bottom: 0.5em;
+    text-indent: 1em;
+}
+
+.box {
+    margin: auto;
+    max-width: 25em;
+    border: thin solid black;
+    padding: 1em;
+}
+
+.center {
+    text-align: center;
+    text-indent: 0;
+}
+
+.figcenter {
+    margin: auto;
+    text-align: center;
+}
+
+.gothic {
+    font-family: 'Old English Text MT', 'Old English', serif;
+}
+
+p.hanging, div.hanging p {
+    padding-left: 2em;
+    text-indent: -2em;
+}
+
+.larger {
+    font-size: 150%;
+}
+
+.pagenum {
+    position: absolute;
+    right: 4%;
+    font-size: smaller;
+    text-align: right;
+    font-style: normal;
+}
+
+.poetry-container {
+    text-align: center;
+}
+
+.poetry {
+    display: inline-block;
+    text-align: left;
+}
+
+.poetry .stanza {
+    margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;
+}
+
+.poetry .verse {
+    padding-left: 3em;
+}
+
+.poetry .indent0 {
+    text-indent: -3em;
+}
+
+.sans {
+    font-family: sans-serif;
+}
+
+.smaller {
+    font-size: 80%;
+}
+
+.smcap {
+    font-variant: small-caps;
+    font-style: normal;
+}
+
+.titlepage {
+    text-align: center;
+    margin-top: 3em;
+    text-indent: 0;
+}
+
+.x-ebookmaker img {
+    max-width: 100%;
+    width: auto;
+    height: auto;
+}
+
+.x-ebookmaker .poetry {
+    display: block;
+    margin-left: 1.5em;
+}
+
+/* Illustration classes */
+.illowp60 {width: 60%;}
+.x-ebookmaker .illowp60 {width: 100%;}
+    </style>
+  </head>
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***</div>
+
+<div class="box">
+
+<p class="center"><span class="larger"><i>BOOKS BY</i><br>
+<span class="gothic">“Charles Egbert Craddock.”</span></span><br>
+<span class="smaller">(<span class="smcap">Mary N. Murfree</span>)</span></p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">IN THE TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS.</span>
+Short Stories. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">DOWN THE RAVINE.</span>
+Illustrated. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">THE PROPHET OF THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS.</span>
+A Novel 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">IN THE CLOUDS.</span>
+A Novel 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p class="hanging"><span class="sans">THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS.</span>
+16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p class="center">HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN &amp; CO.<br>
+<span class="smcap">Boston and New York.</span></p>
+
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<p class="titlepage larger"><span class="smaller">THE</span><br>
+STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br>
+CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK<br>
+<span class="smaller">AUTHOR OF “IN THE CLOUDS,” “DOWN THE RAVINE,” “IN THE<br>
+TENNESSEE MOUNTAINS,” “THE PROPHET OF THE<br>
+GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS,” ETC.</span></p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp60" style="max-width: 12.5em;">
+  <img class="w100" src="images/riverside-press.jpg" alt="">
+</figure>
+
+<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br>
+HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY<br>
+<span class="gothic">The Riverside Press, Cambridge</span><br>
+1888</p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright, 1887,<br>
+<span class="smcap">By MARY N. MURFREE.</span></p>
+
+<p class="center smaller"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p>
+
+<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>The Riverside Press, Cambridge</i>:<br>
+Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton &amp; Co.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+
+<h1>THE STORY OF KEEDON BLUFFS.</h1>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="I">
+    I.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Towering into the air, reflected deep in
+the river, the great height of Keedon Bluffs
+is doubled to the casual glance and augmented
+in popular rumor. Nevertheless a vast mass
+of rock it is, splintered and creviced, and with
+rugged, beetling ledges, all atilt, and here
+and there a niche which holds a hardy shrub,
+subsisting surely on the bounty of the air or
+the smile of the sun, for scant sustenance can
+be coaxed from the solid sandstone.</p>
+
+<p>Here bats and lizards colonize, and amongst
+the trailing vines winged songsters find a
+home, and sometimes stealthy, four-footed,
+marauding shadows, famous climbers, creep
+in and out of the hollows of the rocks, for it
+is in the very heart of the wilderness on a
+slope of the Great Smoky Range. Naught
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>was likely to behold them—save their own
+bright-eyed images in the swift current below,
+or perhaps a wayfaring cloud above, journeying
+adown the sky from the zenith—until
+one day a boy chanced to come this way in
+driving home the cow; he paused on one side
+of the horseshoe bend, which the river describes
+just here, and gazed fixedly across the
+bight at the bluffs.</p>
+
+<p>If at this moment one of the shy dwellers
+of the cliff had thrust forth an unwary head
+there was no need to hastily withdraw it.
+The boy’s attention was concentrated on a
+motionless object lying on a ledge; he looked
+at it in doubting surprise. It was a cannon-ball,
+precariously lodged where it had fallen,
+spent and harmless, years ago.</p>
+
+<p>For Keedon Bluffs had not always been so
+silent. They had echoed the clamors of artillery.
+Not that a battle was ever fought in
+these fastnesses, but once from a distant point
+the woods in the cove were shelled, and, ranging
+further than the bursting bombs, this
+solid round shot cleared the river at the
+mountain’s base, and dropped at last on the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>ledge, remaining the only memento of the
+day. Covered with rust, half draped by a
+vine, peaceful and motionless and mute, it
+lay. And Ike Guyther, looking at it, wished
+that he had lived in those times of riding and
+raiding, when the batteries roared their sulphurous
+thunder, and flung their shells, hurtling
+along these quiet woodland ways, with
+fuses all a-flaring.</p>
+
+<p>“Folks in them days hed a chance ter
+show thar grit, an’ ride, an’ fight, an’ fire off
+them big guns,” he grumbled, when he had
+gone back to his father’s cabin, in Tanglefoot
+Cove, three miles away, and had detailed his
+discovery to the fireside group. “They war
+mos’ly boys, no older sca’cely ’n me. An’
+hyar <i>I</i> be—<i>a-drivin’ up the cow</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, now,” exclaimed his mother in her
+consolatory drawl, “ye oughter be powerful
+thankful ye hev got a cow ter drive. The
+gu’rillas made beef o’ yer aunt Jemimy’s
+cow.”</p>
+
+<p>“An’ fur goodness’ sake look at yer uncle
+Abner ef ye hanker so ter go a-fightin’,” his
+aunt Jemima tartly admonished him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p>
+
+<p>There sat all day beside the wood-fire a
+man of middle age, but with a face strangely
+young. It was like the face of a faded painting,
+changing only in the loss of color. The
+hair, growing off a broad forehead, was
+bleaching fast; the tints had become dim on
+cheek and lip, but time and care had drawn
+no lines, and an expression of childlike tranquillity
+hovered about the downcast eyes, forever
+shielded by the drooping lids. Life
+seemed to have ended for him twenty years
+before, on a day surcharged with disaster,
+when the great gun, which had been a sort of
+Thor to him, and which he had served with
+an admiring affection and reverent care, was
+spiked by its own cannoneers that it might
+fall useless into the hands of the enemy. It
+was the last thing he ever saw—this great
+silenced god of thunder—as he stood beside
+it with the sponge-staff in his hand. For
+among the shells shrieking through the
+smoky air, one was laden with his doom. A
+hiss close at hand, the din of an abrupt explosion,
+and he fell unconscious under the carriage
+of the piece, and there he was captured.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p>
+
+<p>And when the war was over and he came
+forth alike from the prison and the hospital,
+blinded and helpless, naught remained to him
+but to vaguely ponder on what had been in
+the days that had gone forever, for he hardly
+seemed to look to the future, and the present
+was empty-handed.</p>
+
+<p>He had met his grief and the darkness with
+a stoicism difficult to comprehend. He spent
+his days in calm unimbittered meditation, not
+gentle, but with flashes of his old spirit to
+attest his unchanged identity. Acclimated
+to sorrow, without hope, or fear, or anxiety,
+or participation in life, time could but pass
+him by, and youth seemed to abide with
+him.</p>
+
+<p>The old martial interest flared up when
+Ike told of his discovery on the ledge of Keedon
+Bluffs.</p>
+
+<p>“What kind o’ ball, Ike?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>But Ike had been born too late to be discerning
+as to warlike projectiles.</p>
+
+<p>“I wisht I could lay my hand on it!” said
+the blind artillery-man. “I’ll be bound I’d
+know, ef I jes’ could heft it wunst! Whar
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>did it lodge, Ike? Could I make out ter git
+a-nigh it? Could ye an’ me git thar tergether?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye ’pear b’reft, Abner!” aunt Jemima
+cried out angrily. “Ye mus’ hev los’ more ’n
+yer sight. Hev ye furgot how Keedon Bluffs
+look? Thar ain’t nobody sca’cely ez could
+keep foot-hold ’mongst them sheer cliffs.
+An’ ye oughtn’t ter be aggin’ on Ike ter
+climb sech places—git his neck bruk. Ye
+hain’t got no call, sure, ter set store on no
+mo’ cannon-balls, an’ artillery, an’ sech. I
+’low ez ye’d hev hed enough o’ guns, an’ I
+wish ye’d never hed nuthin’ ter do with no
+rebels.”</p>
+
+<p>For this was one of the divided families so
+usual in East Tennessee, and while the elders
+had clung to the traditions of their fathers—the
+men fighting staunchly for the Union—the
+youngest had as a mere boy fled from his
+home to join the Confederate forces, and had
+stood by his gun through many a fiery hail
+of battle storms. But the bitterness of these
+differences was fast dying out.</p>
+
+<p>“I hev gin the word,” said Ike’s father,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>and grizzled, and stern, and gigantic, he
+looked eminently fitted to maintain his behests,
+“ez no mo’ politics air ter be talked
+roun’ this ha’th-stone, Jemimy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t talkin’ no politics,” retorted aunt
+Jemima, sharply. “But I ain’t goin’ ter
+hold my jaw tee-totally. I never kin git over
+hevin’ Ab settin’ up hyar plumb benighted!
+plumb benighted!—ez blind ez a mole!”
+She shook her head with a sort of acrimonious
+melancholy.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” drawlingly admitted the blind artillery-man,
+all unmoved by this uncheerful
+discourse. “Yes, that’s a true word.” He
+lifted his head suddenly and tossed back the
+gray hair from his boyish face. “But I <i>hev</i>
+seen—sights!”</p>
+
+<p>Even less tolerated than politics were Ike’s
+repinings and longings for some flaunting
+military exploit. “Take yer axe,” his soldier-father
+said sternly, “an’ show what
+sort’n grit ye hev got at the wood-pile.”</p>
+
+<p>The blind man with a laugh more leniently
+suggested, “Ye wouldn’t hev been much use
+ter we-uns in our battery, Ike, throwin’ up
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>a yearth-work ter pertect the guns an’ sech,
+seein’ the way ye fairly <i>de</i>-spise a spade.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike had yet to learn that it is the spirit in
+which a deed is done that dignifies and magnifies
+it.</p>
+
+<p>He found the stories of the military glories
+he would have achieved, had the opportunity
+fallen to his lot, much more gently treated
+by a certain young neighbor, who had indeed
+a good and willing pair of ears, and much
+readiness and adaptability of assent. Very
+pliable, withal, was “Skimpy” Sawyer—by
+the nickname “Skimpy” he was familiarly
+known, a tribute to his extreme spareness.
+He was peculiarly thin, and wiry, and loose-jointed.
+He had a good-natured freckled
+face, paler for the contrast with a crop of red
+hair; a twinkling and beguiling brown eye;
+great nimbleness of limb; and many comical
+twists of countenance at command.</p>
+
+<p>He accompanied Ike blithely enough to
+Keedon Bluffs, one afternoon, to look at the
+cannon-ball on the ledge. A bridle-path,
+almost a road it might have seemed—for the
+woods, bereft of undergrowth by the annual
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>conflagrations, gave it space—wound along
+the side of the mountain near the verge of
+the cliffs. The river, all scarlet, and silver,
+and glinting blue, was swirling far down in
+the chasm beneath them; the sheer sandstone
+bank rose opposite, solid as a wall; and beyond,
+the cove—its woods, and cabins, and
+roads, and fences, bounded by the interlacing
+mountains—lay spread out like an open
+map.</p>
+
+<p>Peaceful enough it was to-day, as the boys
+stood on the Bluffs. There were wings,
+homeward bound, hurrying through the air,
+instead of shells with fuses burning bright
+against the sunset sky. No bugle sang. The
+river was murmuring low a plaintive minor
+lay that one might hear forever and never
+tire. Scanty shrubs of dogwood and sour-wood
+flaunted, red and orange, from the rifts
+of the great crags; here and there were fissures,
+irregularly shaped, and dark, save that
+upon the upper arch of each a ceaseless silvery
+light shimmered, reflected from the water.
+On one of the many ledges the cannon-ball
+lay unstirred.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Skimpy, I b’lieve I could actially climb
+down this hyar bluff an’ coon it roun’ that
+thar ledge an’ git that ball,” said Ike, balancing
+himself dangerously over the precipice.</p>
+
+<p>So far did it overhang the river at this
+point that he was startled by seeing a hat and
+face suddenly looking up at him from the
+depths below, and it was a moment before he
+realized that the hat and face were his own,
+mirrored in a dark pool.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye couldn’t climb up ag’in with it in yer
+paw,” retorted Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw,” Ike admitted. “But ennyhow
+I’d like ter climb down thar an’ see what’s
+in them hollows. I b’lieve I could git inter
+one o’ ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy had taken a handful of pebbles
+and was skipping them down the river. He
+turned so suddenly that the one in his hand
+flew wide of the mark and nearly tipped his
+friend’s hat off his head.</p>
+
+<p>“What air ye a-hankerin’ ter git in one o’
+them holes fur?” he demanded, surprised,
+“so ez ye can’t git out ag’in? ’Pears-like ter
+me they’d be a mighty tight fit on sech a big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>corn-fed shoat ez ye air. An’ then I’d hev
+ter climb down thar an’ break my neck, I
+reckon, ter pull ye out by the heels.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t git in ’thout thar ’peared ter
+be plenty o’ elbow room,” Ike qualified.</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s that?” said Skimpy, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>So absorbed had they been that until this
+moment they were not aware of a slow approach
+along the road behind them. The
+sight of a stranger was unusual, but so little
+curiosity do the mountaineers manifest in
+unknown passers-by that if the man’s manner
+had had no appeal to the boys, they would
+hardly have lifted their eyes; they would not
+even have stared after his back was turned.</p>
+
+<p>But the stranger was about to hail them.
+He had already lifted his hand with an awkward
+wave of salutation. Still he fixed his
+eyes upon them and did not speak as he
+slouched toward them, and the two boys were
+impressed with the conviction that he had
+heard every word that they had been saying.</p>
+
+<p>He was a tall, dawdling fellow of forty,
+perhaps, carrying a rifle on his shoulder, and
+dressed in an old brown jeans suit, ill-mended
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>and patched here and there, and with some
+rents not patched at all. His hair, long and
+brown, streaked with gray, hung down to his
+collar beneath his old broad-brimmed wool
+hat. His face was lined and cadaverous, his
+features were sharp and shrewd. His eyes,
+bright, small, dark, and somehow not reassuring,
+expressed a sort of anxiety and anger
+that the boys could not comprehend.</p>
+
+<p>There came along the road after him,
+plainly defined on the summit of the great
+bluffs, between the woods and the sunset
+sky, with the river in the abyss beneath and
+a gleaming star in the haze above, a grotesque
+little cart, the wheels creaking dismally
+with every revolution and filling the
+air with the odor of tar and wagon grease.
+A lean scraggy ox was between the shafts;
+a cow shambled along at the tail-board; a
+calf and two or three dogs trotted further in
+the rear. The man was moving, evidently,
+for the poverty-stricken aspect of the vehicle
+was accented by the meagre show of
+household utensils—frying-pan, oven, skillet,
+spinning-wheel—and the bedding, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>two or three chairs with which it was laden.
+On top of it all, sitting in a snug nest of
+quilts, with a wealth of long yellow hair,
+tousled and curling upon her shoulders, was a
+little girl, four or five years old. Her infantile
+beauty had naught in common with his
+down-looking, doubtful, careworn face, but
+she fixed the two boys with a pair of grave,
+urgent, warning gray eyes, which intimated
+that whatever the man might do or say he
+had a small but earnest backer. And though
+the autumn leaves were red and yellow above
+her head, the roses of spring bloomed on her
+cheek, and its sunshine was tangled in her
+hair; all its buoyant joys were in her laugh
+when she chose to be merry, and her smile
+brightened the world for him and for her.
+She was at the threshold of her life—likely
+to be a poor thing enough and hedged with
+limitations, but it had space for all the throbs
+of living, for all there is of bliss and woe.</p>
+
+<p>The man glanced back at her as he spoke.</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ set a-top thar, Rosamondy; set right
+still an’ stiddy, leetle darter. I hev got a
+word or two ter pass with these folkses.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>Howdy! Howdy! Strangers! Do you-uns
+know whar old man Binwell hev moved ter
+hyar-abouts? I stopped at his house a piece
+back, an’ thar warn’t nobody thar, ’pears like;
+chimbly tore down; nare door in the cabin;
+empty.”</p>
+
+<p>He had a strained rasping voice; his tone
+was not far from tears.</p>
+
+<p>The two boys looked at one another.
+“Old man Binwell” was Ancient History to
+them—like Cæsar or Hannibal to boys of
+wider culture.</p>
+
+<p>“Him? he’s dead,” they said together,
+slowly producing the recollection.</p>
+
+<p>“I war ’feared so,” said the stranger.
+“An’ whar’s ’Liza Binwell, an’ Aleck?”</p>
+
+<p>These were more modern. “Waal—her,”
+said Ike, “I hev hearn tell ez how she merried
+a man ez kem hyar in the war-times
+along o’ the Texas Rangers; an’ he seen her
+then, an’ kem arter her when the fightin’ war
+over. I disremember his name. An’ he persuaded
+Aleck an’ his fambly ter move with
+them ter Texas.”</p>
+
+<p>The man nodded his head in melancholy
+reception of the facts.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p>
+
+<p>“They be my brother an’ sister,” he said
+drearily. “I hain’t hearn nothin’ ’bout’n ’em
+fur a long time. But when we-uns lef’ cousin
+Zeke Tynes’s this mornin’—we bided thar
+las’ night—an’ started fur Tanglefoot Cove,
+he ’lowed they war hyar yit. I counted on
+stayin’ with ’em this winter. Who’s a-livin’
+hyar-abouts now ez mought be minded ter let
+us bide with ’em fur ter-night?”</p>
+
+<p>The boys prompting each other, mentioned
+the names of the few families in the cove.
+The stranger’s face fell as he listened. There
+was no house nearer than three or four miles,
+and the gaunt and forlorn old ox was not a
+beast of unrivaled speed. The man looked
+up doubtfully at the ragged edges of a black
+cloud, barely showing above the mountain
+summits, but definitely in motion before a
+wind that was beginning to surge in the upper
+regions of the air, although it hardly
+swayed the tops of the trees on Keedon
+Bluffs. The evening had stormy premonitions,
+despite the exquisite clearness of the
+western sky.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m ’feared I’ll hev ter feed an’ water
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>the beastis, else he won’t hold out so fur,” he
+half soliloquized, looking at the ox, drowsing
+between the shafts.</p>
+
+<p>Then his attention reverted to the boys.</p>
+
+<p>“Thanky, strangers, thanky fur tellin’ me.
+I dunno ye, ye see, but I war born an’ bred
+hyar-abouts. Thanky. If thar’s enny favior
+I kin do fur you-uns lemme know. Fish-in’?”
+he inquired suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy colored. To be asked if he were
+fishing from the great heights of Keedon
+Bluffs savored of ridicule.</p>
+
+<p>“How could we fish from sech a place ez
+this?” he said a trifle gruffly.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure enough! Sure enough! I hed furgot
+how high ’twar,” and the stranger came
+up and peered with them over the river. “I
+ain’t seen this spot fur a good many seasons,
+folkses,” he said, his eyes fixed upon the cavities
+of the great cliffs across the bend. The
+cow was munching the half-withered grass
+by the roadside; the dogs laid their tired
+bones down among the fallen leaves and went
+to sleep; Rosamond on her throne among the
+household goods sat in the red after-glow of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>the sunset, all flushed and gilded, and swung
+one plump bare foot, protruding its pink dimples
+from beneath her blue checked homespun
+dress, and planted the other foot recklessly
+upon her discarded dappled calico sunbonnet
+which she suffered to lie among the
+quilts.</p>
+
+<p>“I tell ye what,” he added, still looking
+about at the darkling forests, at the swift
+current below the stern grim cliffs, at the
+continuous shifting shimmer reflected upon
+the upper arch of the hollows, “you-uns hev
+got mo’ resky ’n ever I be, ter bide ’roun’
+this hyar spot when it begins ter be cleverly
+dark.”</p>
+
+<p>Both boys looked quickly at him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hain’t ye hearn what the old folks tells
+’bout them hollows in the rock?”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw!” they exclaimed together.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s eyes were distended. He felt a
+sudden chilly thrill. Ike, although as superstitious
+as Skimpy, experienced an incredulity
+before he even heard what this man had
+to say.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal,” resumed the stranger, and he lowered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>his voice, “the old folks ’low ez the
+witches lie thar in the daytime—ye know
+they never die—an’ the yearth grants ’em
+no other place in the day, so they takes ter
+the hollows in the rock. An’ thar they keeps
+comp’ny with sech harnts ez air minded fur
+harm ter humans—folks ez hev been hung
+an’ sech. An’ then in the evenin’-time they
+all swarms out tergether.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy glanced over his shoulder. It was
+doubtless his fancy, but the foolish boy
+thought he saw a black head thrust suddenly
+out of one of the hollows and as suddenly
+withdrawn.</p>
+
+<p>Now Skimpy was afraid of nothing that
+went about in the daytime, and indeed of
+nothing human and mortal. Witches, however,
+were, he felt, of doubtful destiny and
+origin, malevolent in character, and he had a
+vaguely frightful idea concerning their physiognomy
+and form. He revolted at the prospect
+of a closer acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>“Kem on, Ike,” he said hastily, clutching
+his friend’s sleeve, “let’s go home.” And
+he peered fearfully about in the closing dusk.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p>
+
+<p>But Ike was steadily studying the stranger’s
+face, and the man looked at him though
+he addressed Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes; it’s better ter be away from hyar
+betimes. They air special active in the full
+o’ the moon.”</p>
+
+<p>It had risen before the sun had set, and
+ever and again, from fleecy spaces amongst
+the ranks of the dark clouds, its yellow lustre
+streamed forth in myriads of fine fibrous
+lines slanting upon the tumultuous palpitating
+purple vapors massed about it. Sometimes
+a rift disclosed its full splendor as it
+rode supreme in the midst of the legions of
+the storm.</p>
+
+<p>“But them witches an’ sech air in them
+holes all day an’ ef ennybody war sech a fool ez
+ter go meddlin’ with ’em, ef so be they could
+git down thar ennywise—<i>they’d ketch it</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head in a way that promised
+horrors.</p>
+
+<p>“What would they do ter ’em?” asked
+the morbidly fascinated Skimpy. He dared
+not look over his shoulder now.</p>
+
+<p>The narrator was forced to specify, “Strangle
+’em.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span></p>
+
+<p>Skimpy shuddered, but Ike was ready to
+laugh outright. He stared at the speaker as
+if he found him far more queer than his
+story.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye ’member old man Hobbs?” said the
+stranger suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>“I hearn my dad tell ’bout’n him,” returned
+Ike. “Old man Hobbs said he
+walked off’n the Bluffs through bein’ drunk
+an’ fell inter the river—though ez he war
+picked up alive folks b’lieved he never fell
+off’n the Bluffs, but jes’ said so, bein’ drunk
+an’ foolish.”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw, it’s a fac’,” said the stranger, as if
+he knew all about it. “The witches got ter
+clawin’ an’ draggin’ of him, an’ they drug
+him in the water, bein’ ez he war a-foolin’
+roun’ them hollows an’ this hyar spot ginerally.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I’m goin’,” cried Skimpy; then as
+he started off, the idea of being alone in the
+great woods, with the night settling down,
+came upon him with overwhelming terror,
+and he renewed his pleas to Ike. “Kem on,
+Ike. We-uns hev been hyar long enough.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, shet up,” cried Ike roughly. “The
+witches ain’t goin’ ter strangle ye ez long ez
+ye hev got me alongside ter pertect ye.”</p>
+
+<p>He wanted to hear more of what this man
+had to say, for he placed a different interpretation
+upon his words. But Rosamond had
+lifted her voice, and seeing that her father
+was preparing to start anew on their forlorn
+journeying was insisting on a change in the
+arrangement.</p>
+
+<p>“I wants ye ter let the calf ride!” she
+cried in her vibrating musical treble. “I
+wants the calf ter ri-ride!”</p>
+
+<p>The calf added its voice to hers, and
+bleated as it ran along behind. It had evidently
+come far and was travel-worn.</p>
+
+<p>“I wants the calf ter ride wif <i>me</i>!” she
+cried again, with an imperious squeal upon
+the last syllable.</p>
+
+<p>“The calf can’t ride, Rosamondy,” the man
+said, in gentlest expostulation. “He’s too
+heavy fur the steer—pore steer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw, pore calf!” cried Rosamondy, and
+burst into tearful rage.</p>
+
+<p>“Ah, Rosamondy, ain’t ye ’shamed ter be
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>sech a bad leetle gal? Ain’t ye ’feared them
+boys’ll go off an’ tell ev’ybody what a bad
+leetle gal ye be!”</p>
+
+<p>But Rosamond evidently did not care how
+far and wide they published her “badness,”
+and after the boys had turned off into the
+woods, leaving the wagon creaking along the
+road with the ox between the shafts, and the
+man driving the cow in advance, they still
+heard the piteous bleats of the little calf
+trotting behind, and Rosamondy’s insistent
+squeal, “I wants the calf ter ride wif <i>me</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>In the dense woods the darkness was
+deeper; indeed they might only know that
+as yet it was not night by seeing vaguely the
+burly forms of the great boles close at hand.
+The shadowy interlacing boughs above their
+heads merged indistinguishably into the mass
+of foliage. Every sound was startlingly loud
+and in the nature of an interruption of some
+sylvan meditation. The rustle of their feet
+in the crisp fallen leaves seemed peculiarly
+sibilant, and more than once suggested a pursuer.
+Skimpy looked hastily over his shoulder,—only
+the closing obscurity that baffled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>his vision. A gust of wind swept through
+the woods rousing a thousand weird utterances
+of bough, and leaf, and rock, and hollow,
+and died away again into the solemn
+silence.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy quickened his pace. “Kem on,
+Ike,” he muttered, and started at the sound
+of his own voice.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly Ike Guyther, without a word of
+warning, turned about and began to retrace
+his way.</p>
+
+<p>“Whar ye bound fur?” cried Skimpy, laying
+hold on his arm and striving to keep him
+back.</p>
+
+<p>“Bound fur the Bluffs,” said Ike.
+“’Twon’t take we-uns long. I jes’ wanter
+sati’fy myself whether that thar man air too
+’feard o’ witches ter water an’ feed his steer
+at that thar spring ’mongst the rocks nigh
+Keedon Bluffs.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>We-uns!</i>” cried Skimpy. “I tell ye
+now, I’d be palsied in every toe an’ toe-nail
+too ’fore I’d go a inch.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I’ll ketch up with ye,” said Ike.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy made an effort to hold him, but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>the stronger boy pulled easily away from
+him and ran. A whirl of the dry leaves, a
+whisking sound, and he was lost among the
+trees.</p>
+
+<p>He did not keep this speed. He had slackened
+his pace to a walk before he emerged
+upon the road that ran between the verge of
+the bluffs and the woods. It seemed much
+earlier now, for here was presented the definite
+aspect of the evening instead of the uncertain
+twilight of the forest. In the faint
+blue regions of the zenith still loitered gauzy
+roseate reflections of the gorgeous sunset, not
+yet overspread by the black cloud gradually
+advancing up the vast spaces of the heavens.
+The river, in its cliff-bound channel, caught
+here and there a glittering moonbeam on its
+lustrous dark current. The amber tints of
+the western sky shaded into a pallid green
+above the duskily purple mountains. A
+pearl-colored mist, most vaguely visible,
+lurked in the depths of the cove.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly the rocks by the roadside stood
+distinct and ruddy in a broad flickering red
+flare; there were moving figures, grotesque
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>elongated shadows, among the trees. Ike
+Guyther stopped short, with a sudden dread
+of the witches of Keedon Bluffs trembling
+within him. Then, for he was stout-hearted,
+he ventured to creep along a few steps further.
+There under the boughs of the pines
+and the scarlet oaks and the yellow hickory
+trees a fire of pine knots flamed, throwing
+hilarious sparks and frisking smoke high into
+the melancholy white mists gathering in the
+woods; and grouped about it—not witches
+nor harnts—but the humble travelers eating
+their supper by the wayside. Ike recognized
+the clumsy cart in the shadowy background;
+the ox, out of the shafts, now
+munching his well-earned feed; the cow
+lying on the ground licking the head of her
+calf. And sitting by the fire with her yellow
+hair glittering, her face illumined by the
+blaze, her pink feet presented to the warmth,
+was Rosamondy, commenting gravely as her
+father broiled a bit of bacon on the coals and
+deftly constructed an ash-cake. The dogs
+too sat beside the fire, all upright and wide
+awake, and with an alert interest in the proceedings.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>Now and then as the man turned
+the meat and the savory odor would rise, one
+of them would twist his head admiringly
+askew and lick his chops in anticipation.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl talked continuously, her
+babyish voice clear on the still air, and the
+man listened and affected amazement when
+she thought she was astonishing him, and
+laughed mightily when she laughed, and
+agreed punctiliously with whatever she might
+say. But indeed she seemed a person who
+would tolerate little contradiction.</p>
+
+<p>The picture vanished suddenly as Ike Guyther
+turned back into the sombre depths of
+the woods.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, sir!” said the shrewd young fellow
+to himself, “whoever b’lieves ez witches
+an’ harnts swarm out’n them hollows in the
+night times ter strangle folks ez be nigh by,
+the man ez stops ter cook his supper a-top
+o’ the Bluffs—don’t. An’ that air a true
+word.”</p>
+
+<p>The more he reflected upon the circumstance,
+as he took his way through the woods
+to rejoin Skimpy, the more he felt sure that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>this stranger had overheard his proposal to
+climb down to those hollows, and had some
+purpose to serve in frightening him away
+from the cavities in the cliffs.</p>
+
+<p>Still pondering upon this mystery he looked
+back once after he and Skimpy had reached
+the levels of Tanglefoot Cove. The advancing
+cloud still surged over the summit of the
+range, throwing its darkling shadows far
+down the steeps. In the mingled light of the
+dying day and the fitful gleam of the moon
+he could yet distinguish the stern grim crags,
+and below, on the slope where the grassy
+road wound in serpentine convolutions, he
+saw the cart with the little girl once more
+perched high, the ox between the shafts, the
+man driving the cow, the dogs and the calf
+trotting in the rear—all the little procession
+on the way again to seek shelter in some hospitable
+farmer’s cabin. And thus they fared
+down the rugged mountain ways into the
+future of Tanglefoot Cove.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="II">
+    II.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>When clouds gather over Tanglefoot Cove,
+and storms burst on the mountain slopes, the
+sounds of the tempest are redoubled by the
+echoes of the crags, trumpeting anew the
+challenge of the wind and reiterating the slogan
+of the thunder. For begirt on every
+side by clifty ranges the secluded valley lies.
+Ike’s mother, listening to the turmoil of the
+powers of the air and the sinister response of
+the powers of the earth, as the surly night
+closed in, waited with anxiety for the boy’s
+return, and welcomed him with a brightening
+face as he entered.</p>
+
+<p>A great fire flared on the hearth, illumining
+the ill-laid puncheon floor; the high bed
+with its gayly tinted quilts; the warping
+bars; the spinning-wheel; the guns upon
+their racks of deer-antlers; the strings of red
+peppers, swaying overhead; the ladder leading
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>up to the shadowy regions of the roof-room
+through a black hole in the ceiling.
+The fire-light even revealed in a dusky nook
+a rude box on rockers—which had cradled
+in turn these stalwart soldiers, and later Ike,
+himself—and, under a low shelf in the corner,
+a tiny empty chair.</p>
+
+<p>The wind rushed down the chimney, and
+every cranny piped a shrill fife-like note, and
+the thunder rolled.</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno when I ever hev seen sech a onexpected
+storm,” said Ike’s father as he hung
+up the ox-yoke on the wall, having turned out
+the team from his wagon.</p>
+
+<p>“T’wouldn’t s’prise me none,” said aunt
+Jemima, “ef ’twar jes’ a big blow ez tore
+down the fodder-stack an’ rooted up yer orcherd’
+an’ never gin ye nare drop o’ rain fur
+the drought;” she cast an almost reprehensive
+glance upon him, as if it were through
+his neglect that he was threatened with these
+elemental disasters.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal,” he retorted, “I ain’t settin’ myself
+ter fault the Lord’s weather. An’ my
+immortal hopes ain’t anchored in a fodder-stack,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>nuther in the orcherd. An’ thar’s no
+dispensation ez kin happen ez I ain’t in an’
+about able ter stan’.”</p>
+
+<p>Even aunt Jemima was rather taken aback
+by this sturdy defiance of fate. She had nothing
+to say, which was rather rare, for she
+had given most of her declining years to argument,
+and much practice had developed
+her natural resources of contradiction, which
+were originally great. As Ike’s father was
+himself testy and dogmatic, and the blind
+man often proclaimed that he took “nuthin’
+off’n nobody,” the family might have been
+divided by dissension were it not for the placid
+temperament of Ike’s mother. She received
+no credit, however, for—as people often
+observed—she was not born a Guyther
+and had “no call to be high-strung an’ sperited.”
+She had been a great beauty in her
+girlhood and had had lovers by the score, but
+care and age and poverty had bereft her of
+her personal charms, and she had neither culture
+nor grace of manner to fill the breach.
+Her hard experience of life, however, had
+failed to sour her temper, and her placidity
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>had something of the buoyancy of youth, as
+she often declared, “It’ll be all the same a
+hundred year from now.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Pears like ter me ’twon’t blow that hard,”
+she remarked as she stirred the corn-meal
+batter in a wooden bowl, “the wind don’t
+fool much with our orcherd nohow.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d ruther hev the wind ’n, no rain,” said
+aunt Jemima, plaintively.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m a-thinkin’ we’ll git rain too, jes’ ’bout
+enough. Yellimints don’t neglec’ us noways
+ez I kin see. Seedtime an’ harvest shell never
+fail”—</p>
+
+<p>“Kems mighty nigh it, wunst in a while,”
+said aunt Jemima, shaking her head. “Ef
+ye hed enny jedgment an’ forecast, M’ria, ye’d
+look fur troubles ahead like them ye hev
+seen.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a shadow on the wasted placid
+face under Mrs. Guyther’s sunbonnet as she
+knelt to put the potatoes with their jackets
+on in the ashes to roast.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal—let troubles go down the road. I
+wouldn’t hev liked thar looks no better
+through viewin’ ’em ’fore I got ter ’em. I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>ain’t a-goin’ ter turn roun’ now ter see ag’in
+how awful they war whenst they war a-facin’
+me. Let troubles go down the road.”</p>
+
+<p>And so she covered the potatoes while aunt
+Jemima knit off another row.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment both were besprinkled
+with ashes; the chimney-place seemed full of
+a vivid white light never kindled on a hearthstone;
+there was a frightful crack of thunder,
+then it seemed to roll upon the roof, and the
+cabin rocked with the fierce assaults of the
+wind.</p>
+
+<p>“That thar shot war aimed p’int blank,”
+said the blind artillery-man, thrusting his
+hands deeper in his pockets, and stretching
+out his long legs, booted to the knee. His
+gray hair had flakes of the white ashes scattered
+upon it.</p>
+
+<p>“Suthin’ mus’ hev been struck right hyar
+in the door-yard,” said aunt Jemima. She
+had laid down her knitting with a sort of
+affronted and expostulatory air. “I’ll be
+bound it’s the martin-house.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be bound it’s nuthin’ we want,” said
+Mrs. Guyther.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span></p>
+
+<p>There was a hesitating drop, another, upon
+the clap-boards that roofed the house; then
+came the heavy down-pour of the rain, the renewed
+gusts of the wind, and amidst it all a
+husky cry.</p>
+
+<p>They turned and looked at one another.
+Then Hiram Guyther lifted the latch. The
+opening door let in the moist, melancholy air
+of the stormy evening that seemed to saturate
+the room in pervading it. A crouching figure,
+the sombre clouds, the slanting lines of rain,
+the tossing dark woods, were barely visible
+without, until a sudden, blue forked flash, of
+lightning played through this dusky landscape
+of grays and browns. As it broadened into a
+diffusive red flare, it showed an ox with low-hanging
+horns between the shafts of a queer
+little cart, piled high with household goods.
+Among them half smothered in the quilts—wound
+tightly about her shoulders—appeared
+the yellow head, and pink face, and big, startled
+gray eyes of a little girl. It was only for
+a moment that this picture was presented,
+then it faded away to the dark monotony of
+the shapeless shadows of the woods; and as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>Ike went to the door he heard the drawling
+voice of the man he had seen at Keedon Bluffs
+asking Hiram Guyther for shelter for the
+night.</p>
+
+<p>“We-uns hev been travelin’ an’ hoped ter
+git settled fur the winter ’fore enny sech
+weather ez this lit onto us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Kem in, traveler! Ye air hearty welcome
+ef ye kin put up with sech ez we-uns
+kin gin ye,” the hospitable mountaineer
+drawled sonorously, raising his voice that it
+might be heard above the blast.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll all hev pleurisy, though, ef ye don’t
+shet that thar door, an’ keep it shet,” muttered
+aunt Jemima, in her half articulate undertone.</p>
+
+<p>She was silent the next moment, for there
+was slowly coming into the room—nay, into
+the grim heart of aunt Jemima—a new
+power in her life. A yellow-topped, cylindrical
+bundle, much like a silking ear of corn,
+was set on end in the middle of the puncheon
+floor, and as the strange man unwrapped the
+parti-colored quilts from about it, there
+stepped forth, golden-haired, ragged, smiling,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>with one finger between her small and jagged
+teeth, with dimples that graced the poverty
+and atoned for the dirt, a little girl, looking
+quaintly askance at the group about the fire,
+and making straight for the little chair under
+the shelf. She did not move it. She sat
+there, under the shelf, smiling and pink and
+affectedly shy.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima stared over her spectacles.
+She too smiled as her eyes met the child’s—a
+grim demonstration. Her features adapted
+themselves to it reluctantly as if they were
+not used to it.</p>
+
+<p>“Kem up by the fire, child,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>But the little girl sat still under the shelf.</p>
+
+<p>“Warm yer feet!” aunt Jemima further
+sought to beguile her.</p>
+
+<p>The little guest’s pleased smile took on the
+proportions of an ecstatic grin, but she only
+settled herself more comfortably in the small
+chair under the shelf.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima, tall, bent, raw-boned, rose
+and approached the little girl with a seriousness
+that might have seemed formidable. She
+looked up with her big gray eyes all shining
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>in the firelight, but did not offer to retreat.
+She only clutched fast the arms of the little
+chair that had taken her delighted fancy, and
+since she evidently would not leave it for a
+moment, the old woman pulled the chair, child
+and all, in front of the fire, into the full genial
+radiance of the blazing hickory logs. Ike and
+his mother and the hounds looked on at this
+proceeding, and one of the dogs, following
+close after the chair when it was dragged over
+the floor, squeaked in a low-spirited key and
+wheezed and licked aunt Jemima’s hand, as it
+grasped the knob, seeking to call attention to
+himself. “Now ain’t ye a nice one, a-goin’
+on four legs an’ switchin’ a tail a-hint ye, an’
+yit ondertakin’ ter be ez jealous ez folks,”
+she admonished him, and he frisked a little,
+glad to be spoken to on any terms, and sat
+down between her and the little girl, who still
+clutched the arms of the tiny chair.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal now, it air a plumb shame fur her
+ter be bar’foot this weather,” said aunt Jemima,
+contemplating the little guest.</p>
+
+<p>The old woman was abashed when she
+glanced up and saw the child’s companion,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>who, with Hiram Guyther, had just returned
+from the task of stabling the ox and sheltering
+the wagon, for she had not intended that
+the stranger should overhear this reflection.</p>
+
+<p>“I know that,” he drawled in a desolate
+low-spirited cadence, his eyes blinking in the
+light of a tallow dip that Mrs. Guyther had
+set on the mantel-piece, and seeking with
+covert curiosity to distinguish the members
+of the group. He paused suddenly, for at the
+sound of his voice the blind man abruptly
+rose to his feet and stretched out his arms
+gropingly. “Who—who?” he stuttered, as
+if his speech were failing him—“who be
+this ez hev kem hyar ter-night?” He passed
+his hands angrily across his eyes—“Ain’t it
+Jerry Binwell?”</p>
+
+<p>Blind as he was, he was the first to recognize
+the newcomer with that sharpening of the
+remaining senses which seeks to compensate
+for the loss of one. But indeed Jerry Binwell
+had outwardly changed beyond recognition in
+the twenty years since they had last seen him,
+when he and Abner were mere boys in the
+Cove, and had run off together to join the
+Southern army.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span></p>
+
+<p>Binwell took a step toward the door as if
+he regretted his entrance and wished that he
+still might go.</p>
+
+<p>“What hev gin ye the insurance ter kem
+a-nigh me!” Abner cried angrily, still reaching
+out with hands that were far enough from
+what they sought to clutch. The child, in
+her little chair at his feet, gazed up with awe.
+“Arter all ye done in camp, a-lyin’ an’ a-deludin’
+me; an’ then slanderin’ an’ backbitin’
+me ter the off’cers, an’ men; an’ every leetle
+caper I cut, gittin’ me laid by the heels fur it;
+an’ ev’ry time ye got in a scrape, puttin’ the
+blame on me. An’ at last—at last”—he
+cried, raising his voice and smiting his hands
+together as if overborne anew by the despair
+and scorn of it, “whenst we war flanked by
+the Feds ye deserted! An’ ye gin ’em the
+word how ter surround our battery! An’
+cannon, an’ cannoneers, an’ horses, an’ caissons,
+an’ battery-wagon, all war captured!
+That war yer sheer o’ the fight.”</p>
+
+<p>He paused for a moment. Then he took
+a step forward, his stalwart, soldierly figure
+erect, his face flushed, his hand pointing toward
+the door.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span></p>
+
+<p>“G ’long!” he said roughly. “Go out.
+Haffen o’ this house is mine. An’ ye sha’n’t
+bide in it one minute. I hev hed enough of
+ye an’ yer ways. Go out!”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a plumb harricane out’n doors, Ab,”
+Mrs. Guyther pleaded timidly. “Won’t ye—won’t
+ye jes’ let him bide till the storm’s
+over?”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="III">
+    III.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The lightning flashed; the thunder pealed.
+The blind man lifted his head, listening. He
+hesitated between his righteous scorn, his
+sense of injury, and the hospitality that was
+the instinct of his nature. He yielded at last,
+shamefacedly, as to a weakness.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, waal,” he said, in an off-hand cavalier
+fashion, “keep Jerry dry; he’s mighty
+val’y’ble. Good men air sca’ce, Jerry; take
+keer o’ yerse’f!”</p>
+
+<p>He laughed sarcastically and resumed his
+chair. As he did so his booted knee struck
+against the little girl, still staring at him
+with eyes full of wonder.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s this?” he cried sharply, his
+nerves jarring yet with the excitement. He
+had not before noticed her. “I can’t see!”
+with a shrill rising inflection, as if the affliction
+were newly realized.</p>
+
+<p>A propitiatory smile broke upon her face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ Rosamondy.” Her voice vibrated
+through the room—the high quavering treble
+of childhood that might have been shrill were
+it not so sweet.</p>
+
+<p>“Jerry’s leetle gal,” said aunt Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks!” he exclaimed, contemptuously,
+and turned aside.</p>
+
+<p>“Set down, Rosamondy,” said aunt Jemima,
+assuming a grandmotherly authority.
+“Set down like a good leetle gal.”</p>
+
+<p>But Rosamond was not amenable to bidding
+and paid no heed. She had risen from
+her chair and stood by the side of the blind
+artillery-man.</p>
+
+<p>“Set down,” aunt Jemima admonished her
+again. “<i>He</i> can’t see.”</p>
+
+<p>“Kin ye feel?” she said, suddenly laying
+her dimpled pink hand upon his. She gazed
+up at him, her eyes bright and soft, her lips
+parted, her cheek flushed. “Kin ye feel my
+hand?”</p>
+
+<p>He looked surly, affronted for a moment.
+He shook the light hand from his own. It
+fell upon his knee where Rosamond leaned
+her weight upon it. There was a subtle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>change on his face. In his old debonair
+way he drawled, “Yes, I kin feel. What’s
+this?”—he laid his hand upon her hair—“Flax,
+I reckon. Hyar, Sis’ Jemimy, hyar’s
+that flax ye war goin’ ter hackle. Mus’ I
+han’ it over ter ye?”</p>
+
+<p>He made a feint of lifting her by her hair,
+and she sank down beside him, screaming
+with laughter till the rafters rang.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima had taken the sock from her
+knitting needles and was swiftly putting on
+the stitches for newly projected work.</p>
+
+<p>“Lemme medjure ye fur a stockin’,” she
+said, reaching out for the little girl. “Look
+at the stitches this child’s stockin’ will take!
+The fatness of her is s’prisin’. An’ ef Ab
+air willin’,” she continued, “I want Rosamondy
+ter bide hyar till I can knit her a
+couple o’ pair o’ stockin’s an’ mend up her
+clothes.”</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno ’bout’n that,” said Jerry Binwell.
+He had seated himself in a chair, his
+garments dripping with rain, and small puddles
+forming from them on the floor. “I
+dunno ez we-uns kin bide enny arter the
+rain’s over.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span></p>
+
+<p>The capable aunt Jemima cast upon him a
+glance which seemed to contrast his limp, forlorn,
+and ineffective personality with her own
+stalwart moral value.</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t talkin’ ter you-uns, Jerry, nor
+thinkin’ ’bout ye, nuther,” she remarked
+slightingly. “I done said my say,” she continued
+after the manner of a proclamation.
+“That thar child air goin’ ter bide hyar till I
+fix her clothes comfortable—ef it takes me
+a year.” Then with a recollection of her
+brother’s grievance she again added, “Ef
+Ab’s willin’.”</p>
+
+<p>The stocking was already showing a ribbed
+top of an admirable circumference. Aunt
+Jemima evidently felt a pride in its proportions
+which was hardly decorous.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry made no reply. He looked disconsolately
+at the fire from under the brim of his
+rain-soaked hat, that now and then contributed
+a drop to his cheek, which thus bore a
+tearful aspect. Presently he broke the silence,
+speaking in a strained rasping voice.</p>
+
+<p>“Ef I hed knowed ez Ab held sech a pack
+o’ old gredges ag’in me I wouldn’t kem nigh
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>hyar,”—he glanced at the stalwart soldierly
+form bending to the little laughing maiden.
+“Ab dunno what I tole the en’my—he
+warn’t thar. I never tole the en’my nuthin’.
+An’ ennybody ez be captured kin be accused
+o’ desertin’—ef folks air so minded. I never
+deserted, nuther. An’ sech gredges ez Ab
+hev got,” he continued, complainingly, “air
+fur what I done, an’ what I ain’t done whenst
+I war nuthin’ but a boy.”</p>
+
+<p>Ab turned his imperious youthful face toward
+him. “Ye hesh up!” he said. “Thar
+ain’t no truce hyar fur you-uns.”</p>
+
+<p>His attention reverted instantly to the
+babyish sorceress at his knee, who with an
+untiring repetition and an unfailing delight in
+the exercises would rise from her chair and
+gently touch his hand or brow crying out,
+with a joyous voice full of laughter, “Kin
+you-uns feel my hand!” Then he would
+pinch her rosy cheeks and retort in a gruff
+undertone, “Kin you-uns feel my hand!”</p>
+
+<p>They all behaved, Ike thought, as if they
+had found something choice and of rare value.
+And if the truth must be known, he watched
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>the scene with somewhat the same sentiments
+which animated the old dogs. He shared
+their sense of supersedure, and he noticed how
+they whined and could take comfort in no
+spot about the hearth; how they would walk
+around three times and lie down with a sigh
+of renunciation, to get up suddenly with an
+afflicted wheeze, and hunt about for another
+place where the distemper of their jealous
+hearts might let them find rest for their lazy
+bones. They all sought to intrude themselves
+upon notice. One of them crept to
+aunt Jemima and humbly licked her foot, only
+to have that stout and decided member deal
+him a prompt rebuke upon the nose, eliciting
+a yelp altogether out of proportion to the
+twinge inflicted; for the dog, since he was not
+going to be petted, was glad to have some
+grievance to howl about, as he might thus
+more potently appeal to her sympathy. The
+hound that was accustomed to lead the blind
+man was even more insistent in his manifestations.
+He went and rested his head on his
+master’s knee, while the little girl sat close in
+her chair on the opposite side, and he wagged
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>his tail and looked imploringly up in the
+sightless face. But Rosamondy leaned across
+and patted the dog on the head, and let him
+take her hand between his teeth, and jovially
+pulled his ears, and finally caught him by
+both, when they lost their balance and went
+over on the hearth together in a wild scramble,
+about to be “scorched an’ scarified ter
+death,” as aunt Jemima said snappishly when
+she rescued the little girl, who was a very red
+rose now, and with a tender shake deposited
+her once more in her chair. Then the old
+dog left his master, and ran and sat by her
+and sought to incite more gambols.</p>
+
+<p>But Ike was not so easily reconciled. He
+did not appreciate the gratulation in this acquisition
+that pervaded the fireside. She was
+nothing but a girl, and a little one at that.
+Girls were not uncommon; in fact they
+abounded. They were nothing to brag on—Ike
+was young as yet. They couldn’t do anything
+that was worth while. To be sure the
+miller’s daughter <i>was</i> tolerably limber, and
+could walk on the timbers of the race, which
+were high above the stream. But how she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>worked her arms above her head to balance
+herself! And she pretended to shoot once in
+a while; he would rather be the mark than
+stand forty yards from it. That was the best
+he could say for her shooting. And she was
+the most valuable and desirable specimen of
+girlhood in his acquaintance. He noted with
+a sort of wonder that his mother, through
+sheer absorption, let the hoe-cake burn to a
+cinder, and had to make up and bake one
+anew. And when it was at last done, and
+placed on the table with the platter of venison
+and corn dodgers, he did not admire particularly
+the simple but vivid delight with
+which Rosamond greeted the prospect of supper.
+But even the saturnine Hiram Guyther
+looked at her with a smile as she ran glibly
+around the table, and with her hands on the
+edge stood on her tiptoes to see what they
+were to have, and he turned and said to Jerry
+Binwell, “She air a powerful bouncin’ leetle
+gal. I reckon we-uns’ll hev ter borry her,
+Jerry—ef,” recollecting in his turn that this
+was the child of his blind brother’s enemy,
+“ef Ab’s willin’.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p>
+
+<p>The dawdling Jerry, still staring disconsolately
+at the fire, drawled non-committally,
+“I dunno ’bout’n that.”</p>
+
+<p>Despite all her fervor of anticipation, Rosamondy
+was not hungry. She knelt in her
+chair at the table to be tall enough to participate
+in the exercises, and her beaming pink
+face, and her tossing yellow hair, and her
+glittering rows of squirrel teeth—she showed
+a great many of them when she laughed—irradiated
+the space between aunt Jemima
+and Ab. Her conduct was what Ike mentally
+designated as “robustious.” She bounced up
+and down; she fed her supper to the dogs;
+she let the cat climb up the back of her chair
+and put two paws on her shoulder among her
+tangled yellow curls and lap milk out of her
+saucer. She shrieked and bobbed about till
+Ike did not know whether he was eating hoe-cake
+or sawdust. She looked as if she were
+out in a high wind. Aunt Jemima vainly
+sought to make her eat her supper, but the
+displeasure on her face was a feigned rebuke
+for which Rosamond cared as little as might
+be. When she concluded her defiance of all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>those observances, which Ike had been taught
+to respect, by taking her empty saucer, inverting
+it and perching it on her tousled yellow
+pate after the manner of a cap, Hiram Guyther,
+the meal being ended, caught her up delightedly
+and rode her to the fireplace on his
+shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>“I declar’, Jerry,” he exclaimed cordially,
+his big bass voice booming amidst the trilling
+treble laughter, “we-uns’ll hev ter steal this
+hyar leetle gal from ye.”</p>
+
+<p>And Jerry, demurely disconsolate, replied,
+“I reckon I couldn’t spare her, right handy.”</p>
+
+<p>Presently Ike began to notice that it was
+very difficult for Rosamondy to get enough of
+a joke. She refused to descend from the
+gigantic mountaineer’s shoulder, and when he
+tried to put her down clung to his collar,
+around his neck, indeed she did not scruple
+to clutch his hair. Hiram Guyther had not
+for a long time taken such active exercise—for
+in this region men of his age assume all
+the privileges and ailments of advanced years—as
+during the time that he trotted up and
+down the floor with the little girl on his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>shoulder, playing he was a horse. A hard
+driver he had, to be sure, and he was obliged
+to stamp, and shy, and jump, and spurt,
+smartly. He did not look quite sensible Ike
+thought in unfilial surprise.</p>
+
+<p>The whole domestic routine was upset. His
+mother and aunt Jemima had left the clearing
+away of the dishes and applied themselves to
+pulling out the old trundle-bed—long ago
+too short for any of the family—and they
+arranged it with loving care and much precaution
+against the cold and draughts.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m fairly feared she mought roll out, an’
+git her spine bruk, or her neck,” said aunt
+Jemima, knitting her wrinkled brows in affectionate
+alarm as she looked at the trundle-bed
+that was about two feet from the floor.</p>
+
+<p>“I reckon not,” said Jerry meekly as he
+inoffensively watched the arrangement of the
+cosy nest. “She never fell off ’n the top o’
+the kyart—an’ sometimes she napped ef the
+sun war hot.”</p>
+
+<p>“An’ ye air the only man in Tennessee ez
+would hev sot the leetle critter up thar—an’
+her tender bones so easy ter break,” said aunt
+Jemima, tartly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I done the bes’ I could fur her,”
+drawled Jerry in his tearful voice, looking
+harried and woeful.</p>
+
+<p>And remembering how kind and gentle he
+had seemed to his little daughter, Ike wondered
+that he did not feel sorry for Jerry
+when aunt Jemima intimated that he was
+heedless of her safety and neglected her. But
+watching the man Ike was even more disapproving
+of the wholesale adoration which the
+family seemed disposed to lay at the feet of
+the little girl and of her adoption into a solicitude
+and love that was almost parental. He
+believed that Jerry had an inimical appreciation
+of all the slighting consideration of him,
+but offered no objection to the authority they
+had assumed over Rosamondy, thinking it well
+that she should get all she could out of them.</p>
+
+<p>Her hilarity seemed to increase as the hour
+waxed later, and when aunt Jemima finally
+took her, squirming and wriggling and shouting
+with laughter, from Hiram Guyther’s
+shoulder and tucked her into the trundle-bed
+with a red quilt drawn up close under her
+dimpled white chin and her long yellow hair,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>Ike expected to see the whole bed paraphernalia
+rise up while she resurrected herself.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye lie still, now,” said aunt Jemima
+sternly, laying a hand upon each shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>A vague squirm, a sleepy chuckle, and Rosamond
+was eclipsed for the night.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, that beats my time,” said the grim
+aunt Jemima softly. “Asleep a’ready!”</p>
+
+<p>She sat down and resumed her knitting.
+Hiram Guyther was mopping his brow with
+his handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p>“I feel like ez ef I’d los’ ten pound o’ flesh,”
+he said. And Ike thought it not unlikely.
+His mother was washing the dishes; the blind
+man was reflectively smoking his pipe; the
+dogs came and disposed themselves with reproachful
+sighs prominently about the hearth.
+Jerry Binwell did not share their relief. He
+stirred uneasily in his chair, the legs grating
+on the puncheon floor, as if he feared that with
+this distraction removed the more unfriendly
+attention of the family might be directed to
+him. No one spoke for a moment, all listening
+to the tumult of the rain on the roof; they
+had not before noticed that the violence of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>storm had subsided into a steady downpour.
+Then, after a glance at the sleeping face, pensive
+now and ethereal and sensitive, framed
+in the yellow hair that streamed over the red
+quilt, aunt Jemima turned a long calculating
+gaze on Jerry Binwell.</p>
+
+<p>As its result she observed bluntly, “Her
+mother mus’ hev been a mighty pritty woman.”</p>
+
+<p>If the inference that Rosamond inherited
+none of her beauty from her father was apprehended
+by Jerry, he did not resent it. His
+eyes filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, she war,” he said, dropping his voice
+to a husky undertone. “She war a plumb
+beauty whenst she war young, afore she tuk
+ter ailin’.”</p>
+
+<p>Another pause ensued. The rain beat monotonously;
+the eaves dripped and dripped;
+the trees on the mountain slopes swayed, and
+creaked, and crashed together.</p>
+
+<p>“It hev been mighty hard on me,” Jerry
+again lifted up his dreary voice, “ter know
+how bes’ ter keer fur Rosamondy—not bein’
+a ’oman myself an’ sech. I know she’s ragged,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>but I can’t mend her clothes so they’ll
+stay; she jumps so onexpected. I can’t sew
+fitten fur much, though I hev tried ter l’arn.
+I ’pear ter be slow an’ don’t get much purchase
+on it. I can’t keep no stiddy aim with
+a needle, nuther. An’ all the wimmen ez ever
+hed a chance at Rosamondy tuk ter quar’lin
+over her, like them done ez Sol’mon hed ter
+jedge a-twixt, till I war actially afeared she
+be tore in two. Ever since the war I hev been
+livin’ down in Persimmon Cove an’ thar it
+war I merried. ’Bout a year ago Em’line
+she died o’ the lung complaint. An’ then the
+’tother wimmen, her sister an’ mother, they
+quar’led so over Rosamondy, an’ set tharse’fs
+so ter spite me every which-a-way, ez I jes’
+’lowed I’d fetch her up hyar fur this winter
+ter bide with my folks awhile. An’ I fund
+’em all dead or moved away—jes’ my luck!
+Rosamondy an’ me hev hed a mighty hard
+time. I hev been mighty poor, never could
+git no good holt on nuthin’. I ain’t felt much
+like tryin’ noways sence Em’line lef’; ’pears
+mighty hard she couldn’t hev been let ter
+bide awhile longer.” And once more his eyes
+filled with tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Waal, mournin’ the dead is grudgin’ ’em
+the glory,” said Mrs. Guyther in her comforting
+tones.</p>
+
+<p>“I know that,” said Jerry, “I hev tried ter
+bow my mind;” his eyes were still full of
+tears. And Ike, looking at them, was disposed
+to wonder where he got them, so little did
+they seem genuine.</p>
+
+<p>The tallow dip on the mantel-piece went
+out in a splutter and left them all sitting in
+the red glow of the fire, which was a mass of
+coals where the white flames had been. It
+was far later than the usual bed-time of the
+family, and thus they were reminded of it.
+Mrs. Guyther, kneeling on the hearth, began
+to cover the coals with the plentiful ashes that
+lay in great heaps on either side. The dogs,
+summoned by Hiram Guyther to leave the
+house, pulled themselves into various efforts
+at an upright posture, and sat gazing blinkingly
+at the fire with a determination to misunderstand
+the tenor of his discourse. One
+of them glanced over his shoulder at the door
+and shivered at the thought of the bleak
+dampness outside. Another yawned shrilly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>and was adjured by aunt Jemima to hesh his
+mouth—didn’t he know he’d wake the baby
+up if he kep’ yappin’ that-a-way.</p>
+
+<p>“Let the dogs alone, Hiram,” said Mrs.
+Guyther, “they count on bein’ allowed ter
+stay till the las’ minit. Ye show Jerry whar
+he hev ter sleep whilst I fix the fire.”</p>
+
+<p>After the host had shown Jerry up the ladder
+to the shadowy roof-room, Abner, who had
+not again spoken to the visitor, and seeming
+as if he were gazing ponderingly into the fire,
+said suddenly to the two women:—</p>
+
+<p>“What do that leetle gal look like?”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Guyther paused with the shovel in her
+hand, as she still knelt on the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Jemima dropped her knitting in her
+lap.</p>
+
+<p>They replied in a breath:—</p>
+
+<p>“The pritties’ yearthly human ever you
+see!”</p>
+
+<p>“Bigges’ gray eyes!” cried Mrs. Guyther,
+“an’ black lashes!”</p>
+
+<p>“An’ yaller hair—yaller ez gold an’ haffen
+a yard long,” exclaimed aunt Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>“Fine bleached skin, white ez milk,” said
+Mrs. Guyther.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span></p>
+
+<p>“An’ yit she’s all pink—special when
+she laughs,” cried aunt Jemima, “jes’ like
+these hyar wild roses—ye ’member ’em, don’t
+ye, Ab, growin’ in the fence corner in the
+June weather”—</p>
+
+<p>—“Sech a many of ’em over yander by
+Keedon Bluffs,” put in Mrs. Guyther.</p>
+
+<p>“I ’member ’em,” said Ab.</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ the color of ’em when she laughs—jes’
+like they be, a-blowin’ about in the
+wind,” declared aunt Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s named right—Rosy; she’s like
+’em,” said Mrs. Guyther.</p>
+
+<p>The red glow of the embers was full on
+the blind man’s face, encircled by shadows.
+It seemed half smiling, or perhaps that was
+some illusion of the fire-light, for it was pensive
+too, and wistful. He pondered for a
+while; then—“I’d like ter see her,” he
+said, simply. “I would.”</p>
+
+<p>Every word was distinctly audible in the
+roof-room. Jerry Binwell sat in a rickety
+chair amongst the shadows, his head attentively
+bent down, his hands on his knees, his
+hat drooping half over his face. The rifts
+between the puncheons of the flooring admitted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>a red glow from the fire-lit room below,
+and illumined the dusky loft with longitudinal
+shafts of light. A triumphant smile
+played over his face as the women talked of
+the beauty of the little Rosamond—a smile
+that might have expressed only paternal pride
+and satisfaction in the comfortable results of
+the evening. But when the blind man’s rich
+low voice sounded, “I’d like ter see her—I
+would,” the listener’s face changed. The
+narrow gleam of light from the cracks in the
+floor played upon the mocking animosity in
+his eyes, the sneer on his lips as they parted.
+He stood suddenly erect, in a tense soldierly
+position—among the shadows, and the bags
+of “yerbs,” and the old clothes, and the
+peltry hanging from the ridge-pole—brought
+his heels together with a swift precision, and
+then the deserter mockingly carried his hand
+to his hat in a military salute.</p>
+
+<p>“I would,” dreamily reiterated the blind
+soldier in the room below.</p>
+
+<p>The deserter, relaxing his martial attitude
+to his normal slouch, noiselessly smote his
+thigh with his right hand, and burst into
+silent laughter.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">
+    IV.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The next morning Ike woke with an odd,
+heavy sense of having sustained some serious
+misfortune, and it was several moments before
+he could identify it; when he did, he was
+amazed to find it only his intuitive distrust of
+the stranger’s presence here, and an aversion
+to its continuance. He upbraided himself in
+the same instant for the inhospitable thought.
+“Hyar I be, actially a-grudgin’ the houseless
+ones a shelter from the yellimints,” he said
+in shame.</p>
+
+<p>He was disappointed, however, to observe
+that after breakfast there was no sign of an
+impending departure; Jerry Binwell easily
+adapted himself to the domestic routine and
+smoked and lounged before the fire, or strolled
+lazily about the yard. Ike thought, for all he
+so readily made himself at home, that his
+sordid, weak, sly face looked strangely alien
+and out of place among the sterling, honest,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>candid countenances of the family circle. So
+ill at ease did Ike feel with this vague anxiety
+that he was glad enough when his mother
+bethought herself that she needed logwood
+from the store. Mounted on the old gray
+mare he set out on this errand, feeling liberated
+in a measure, riding against the fresh
+wind that seemed to blow away the vexing
+distemper of his thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>The rain had revivified the world; everything
+seemed made anew. The colors were
+so luminously clear; how splendidly the maples
+deployed down the mountain side, with
+red and amber and purple gleams; every
+needle of the pines was tipped with a rain-drop,
+prismatically glittering. Mists rose from
+the intermediate valleys between the ranges,
+and folded their wings for a space, dallying
+on the summit, and then, drawn sunwards,
+lifted with silent ethereal grace into the soft
+blue sky. How lofty the mountains seemed
+to-day—how purple! Even the red mud
+beneath his mare’s hoofs had depths of rich
+ocherous tints, restful to the eye. It splashed
+monotonously under the steady jogging tread,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>so muffled that a squirrel, nimbly speeding
+along the topmost rail of the wayside fence,
+had no thought of an approach, and seemed
+a fellow-traveler; a swift one!—the old
+mare is soon far behind. And now the river
+is crossed, swollen by the rain and of a clay-color,
+instead of its wonted limpid silvery tint,
+and deep enough in the middle to make the
+old mare flounder to the girth and then unwillingly
+swim, while Ike gathers himself on
+his knees on the saddle to keep out of the
+cold water. And now up the rocky bank in
+the deep shadowy woods,—where there is no
+fence on either side of the road, which seems
+merely a vagrant wheel-track here and there
+in the mud, covered with the yellow and red
+and brown fallen leaves—and all the bosky
+vistas are full of richest color. Everywhere
+the giant trees close thickly in—no sign of
+mountains now, save the tonic balsamic air
+in proof of the altitudes. Only the pines
+and cedars and the jungles of the laurel are
+green, and green they will be all winter.
+Hear that! a fox barks in that dense tangle—are
+the frost grapes ripe, old Crafty? And
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>suddenly between a scarlet oak and a yellow
+hickory a section of purple mountain shows,
+a floating capricious sprite-like mist slips in
+and out of sight, and there at the base of the
+range is the little store—a low white-washed
+shanty of one room; further up the slope in
+the clearing a gray log-cabin stands where
+Skimpy Sawyer lives.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s father kept the store, in a leisurely
+and unexcited fashion—indeed many
+people might have considered that the store
+kept itself. As Ike dismounted and hitched
+the mare to the fence, he gave a peculiar
+whistle, a preconcerted signal, loud and shrill
+enough to summon his friend if he had been
+anywhere in the vicinity. No one responded,
+and Ike took his way to the open door of the
+store.</p>
+
+<p>He had a certain pleasant anticipation;
+here congregated the mountain cronies, and
+he loved to listen to their talk enriched with
+warlike reminiscences, through which vibrated,
+as it were, some faint and far-off echo
+of the strain of the bugle and the roll of
+the drum.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span></p>
+
+<p>His hopes were suddenly destroyed. As he
+ascended the three or four unhewn rocks that
+formed the steps to the door, he heard the
+long, expressionless drawl of the storekeeper
+within, and then a fat man’s husky laugh.
+Ike started guiltily at the sound. But the
+broad sunshine had thrown a squatty shadow
+of him upon the floor within, and he knew that
+this caricature was recognized, for the voice
+sang out suddenly—“Ai—yi Ike; I see ye!
+Needn’t be hidin’! I’ll kem arter ye!”</p>
+
+<p>Then as the boy, shamefaced and a little
+lowering, appeared in the doorway, he continued,
+“Whar’s that buckeye tree ye war
+a-goin’ ter cut down fur me so brash?”</p>
+
+<p>“I plumb furgot it,” mumbled Ike, as if
+his contrition were more acceptable when half
+articulate. “I furgot it, Mr. Corbin.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll be bound ye did!” said the fat man
+vivaciously.</p>
+
+<p>He was seated in one of the rickety chairs
+which hardly seemed adequate to his weight.
+He wore an unbleached cotton shirt, a suit
+of blue jeans much creased and crumpled,
+and a broad-brimmed hat, beneath which was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>a face also creased and crumpled. He was
+slow and inactive rather than old, and a man
+of his age who had lived a different life
+would hardly have such gray hair as his, or
+so many wrinkles. Nevertheless he had not
+entirely subsided into the chimney corner as
+is the habit of the elderly mountaineer. He
+still plied his trade which was that of making
+spinning-wheels and chairs, bread troughs
+and bowls, which require mechanical dexterity
+rather than agility; thus it was that he had
+hired Ike to find and cut down a sound and
+stalwart buckeye suitable for his purposes, his
+own unwieldy bulk and sedentary habits making
+him averse to undertaking the job himself.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Sawyer, the storekeeper, was tall
+and lank. He had a long head, an attenuated
+face, and a habit of basking in the sun, which
+was not incongruous with a certain lizard-like
+aspect. He sat now with his chair tilted
+against the frame of the doorway, and the
+sunshine poured through upon him. He too
+wore his hat, and did not move while one of
+his customers counted some pelts that he had
+brought to exchange and announced the result.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>“Want some sugar an’ salt fur ’em?”
+demanded the merchant lazily. “He’p yerse’f,
+neighbor; he’p yerse’f.”</p>
+
+<p>The neighbor, who lived on the other side
+of the mountain, pottered around among the
+merchandise in search of the sugar and salt,
+attended only by the storekeeper’s dog, an
+earnest-minded and grave-mannered brute,
+that guarded the store by night and seemed
+to clerk there by day, following the customers
+about with sedulous politeness, and apparently
+only hindered from waiting upon them
+by the lack of adaptability in his paws. His
+urbanity did not extend to their followers.
+He measured strength with all the dogs that
+came to the store. It was useless for any
+pacifically disposed hound to sit under the
+wagon bed at a safe distance. The clerk
+would rush out with a celerity that implied a
+hundred feet, and the fracas under the wagon
+would be long and loud and bloody. But
+he had not all the canine pluck in the Big
+Smoky, and thus it was that one of his ears
+was slit, and he preferred to shut one eye,
+and his tail was but a stump. He turned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>wagging it vivaciously as Ike came in, and
+the storekeeper, regardless of old Corbin’s
+reproofs, said benignantly, “Howdy, Ike,
+howdy? Make yerse’f at home. How’s the
+fambly, Ike, how’s the fambly?”</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ toler’ble,” said Ike, taking a rickety
+chair near the door.</p>
+
+<p>“Uncle Ab ez well ez common?” demanded
+the customer, still hunting about for
+the salt. He was a tall, straight, soldierly
+fellow, and though he had fought on the
+opposite side he felt a comrade-like sympathy
+for the blinded artillery-man.</p>
+
+<p>“He be jes’ ez peart ez ever—jes’ a-settin’-back,”
+said Ike, with responsive interest.
+He had great love for his uncle and a special
+veneration for a man so learned as he fancied
+Abner Guyther to be in the science of gunnery.
+“He air jes’ ez lively ez a three-year-old
+colt.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t he a heap o’ trouble ter lead about
+an’ sech?” demanded old Corbin, turning his
+crow’s-feet—one could hardly have said his
+glance, for it was so deeply enveloped among
+the folds of wrinkles—upon Ike.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Naw sir!” the boy repudiated the idea
+with a glowing cheek and a flashing eye.
+“Uncle Ab air sech good comp’ny everybody
+in the fambly jes’ hankers ter bide nigh him;
+the identical dogs fight one another fur which
+one air ter be ’lowed ter lead him—sometimes
+ef we-uns air busy he walks with a
+string ter the dog’s neck. Shucks! the main
+thing air to <i>git</i> ter lead him—jes’ ez apt ez
+not uncle Ab will set out by his lone self.
+An’ he don’t often run over ennything—he
+’pears ter hev a heap o’ sense in his hands,
+an’ he knows whenst he air a-comin’ towards
+ennything like a door or post, though he’ll
+walk ag’in cheers or tubs or sech. ’Tother
+day—ye mought hev knocked me down I
+war so surprised—I kem along the road
+’bout a quarter o’ a mile from home, an’ thar
+sot uncle Ab a-top o’ the rail fence—jes’
+a-settin’ thar in the sun all alone an’ a-whistlin’
+the bugle calls.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the customer, “he
+always hed spunk,—Abner hed; an’ he
+air a-showin’ it now, jes’ ez true ez when he
+sarved in his battery.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Ike, gratified by
+this sign of appreciation. Then warming to
+the subject he continued, “Uncle Ab ain’t
+’feared o’ nuthin’—not even now, in the
+everlastin’ dark ez he be. Why, ’tother day I
+see a old cannon-ball a-layin’ on a ledge over
+yander at Keedon Bluffs, an’ when he learn
+’bout’n it he war plumb trembly, he war so
+excited, an’ he ’lowed he’d go ef I’d holp
+him a leetle, an’ climb down them tremenjious
+cluffs, jes’ ter lay his hand on that cannon-ball,
+ter remind hisself o’ that thar old
+gun o’ his’n, what he doted on so. It fairly
+bruk his heart ter spike it. I hev heard him
+tell ’bout’n it a-many-a-time.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hey!” exclaimed Peter Sawyer, turning
+about in amaze, “a blind man climb down
+Keedon Bluffs! ’Twould take a mighty spry
+feller with all his senses fur that. I misdoubts
+ef ennybody hev ever done sech ez
+that—thout ’twar Ab whenst he war young
+an’ limber, an’ wild ez a buck.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike had become suddenly conscious that
+old Corbin was watching him curiously.</p>
+
+<p>“He don’t ’pear ter know he air blind, do
+he?” demanded the fat man, slowly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span></p>
+
+<p>Ike detected some covert meaning in the
+tones. “Waal,” he said, vaguely embarrassed
+and swinging his foot against the rung of the
+chair, “Uncle Ab—he jes’ sets an’ laffs, an’
+talks ’bout whar he hev been an’ what him
+an’ his comrades done, an’ he don’t notice
+much what’s goin’ on now, nor look out fur
+nuthin’ ez is ter kem.”</p>
+
+<p>“He ain’t soured noways,” put in the customer,
+still intent on his purchase.</p>
+
+<p>There was a momentary silence. The flies
+buzzed about the sorghum barrel. You might
+have heard the cat purring on the shelf.</p>
+
+<p>“This hyar ’bout fair medjure, Pete?” the
+customer demanded lifting his grave eyes as
+he helped himself to salt.</p>
+
+<p>“I reckon so; I reckon so,” said the storekeeper
+casually.</p>
+
+<p>Ike rose abruptly in awkward and eager
+haste; in a constrained and nervous way he
+asked for the logwood he wanted. His quick
+instincts had detected fault in something that
+he had said or the meaning that he had conveyed.
+But his penetration was not so subtle
+as to descry wherein the fault consisted. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>was eager to get away. “’Fore I let my jaw
+git ter wabblin’ ag’in. An’ then I hed better
+cut off the e-end o’ my tongue with a hatchet
+an’ mebbe it wouldn’t be so powerful nimble.”</p>
+
+<p>He expected old Corbin to say more, but
+the fat man sat solemnly puffing his pipe,
+his face more than usually wrinkled, as he
+watched Ike with his small twinkling eyes
+while Peter Sawyer procured the logwood
+and gave it to the boy.</p>
+
+<p>With some indefinite intention of propitiation
+Ike turned toward him at the door. “I
+hev been toler’ble busy lately, but I’m a-goin’
+ter cut down that thar tree this evening,
+sure.”</p>
+
+<p>“So do! So do!” assented old Corbin
+unreservedly. “Then I’ll gin ye that thar
+rooster I war a-tellin’ ye ’bout. Powerful
+spry Dominicky.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike looked back over his shoulder once as
+he trotted off on the old white mare. The
+storekeeper and his clerk were standing in the
+doorway; the ex-soldier had completed his
+purchases, and was riding off toward the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>mountain; old Corbin was visible sitting
+within the door, a hand on either knee, his
+eyes meditatively downcast. He solemnly
+shook his head as he cogitated, and Ike was
+moved to wonder what he meant by it. “I
+wisht I hedn’t tole what uncle Ab say ’bout
+climbin’ down them bluffs. They ’pear ter
+think it be so cur’ous.”</p>
+
+<p>And it was of Abner Guyther that the
+two gossips were talking as Ike rode away
+out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>“That be a powerful strange thing fur
+Abner ter be a-sayin’,” remarked the storekeeper
+presently.</p>
+
+<p>Old Corbin shook his head with a wise
+look; a wise smile wrinkled about the corners
+of his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“In my opinion <i>he</i> ain’t no blind man.
+He kin see <i>some</i>, mebbe more, mebbe less.
+He air jes’ purtendin’. Set up thar an’ laff
+an’ joke ez spry ez a boy o’ twenty, an’ talk
+’bout climbin’ down the bluffs—an’ tell me
+he ain’t hed his vision for all these years! I
+know Abner!”</p>
+
+<p>“What makes ye ’low sech ez that, Jake?”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>demanded his crony, fairly startled out of his
+composure by this proposition.</p>
+
+<p>“Kase Abner always war a ’sateful an’ a
+plottin’ boy—look at the way he fooled his
+folks when he run off ter jine the Secesh! I
+ain’t furgittin’ that. An sure’s ye air born
+thar’s suthin’ behind all them thar shet eyeballs.
+Abner, he hain’t quit his plannin’ an’
+sech. He hev got his reason fur it. It’s
+slow a-showin’. But it’ll be made plain.”</p>
+
+<p>The storekeeper puffed his cob-pipe, and silently
+watched the blue wreaths curl from it.
+He did not enter readily into this opinion,
+for he was a man of the practical views natural
+to those who associate much with their
+fellows. Despite the sparse population of the
+district he had a pivotal participation in such
+life as there was on the slopes and in the
+cove, for it revolved about the store. But
+Corbin spent his days in mere mechanical labor
+that left his mind free to wander. Thus
+speculation and vague fancies were his companions,
+and there was scant wonder that he
+should presently treat them as conclusions and
+facts.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span></p>
+
+<p>In silent anticipation of the elucidation of
+the singular theory advanced, Peter Sawyer
+drew from his pocket a strong clasp knife
+and began to whittle a bit of wood which he
+picked up from the doorstep. But old Corbin’s
+next remark seemed to have no relation
+to the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“Who d’ye reckon I seen yestiddy up yander
+by that thar big vine-grown spot what
+they calls Old Scratch’s vineyard?”</p>
+
+<p>Pete Sawyer looked inquiringly doubtful,
+but silently puffed his pipe.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Jerry Binwell!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Old Corbin paused after he said this, smiling
+broadly and fixedly—all the wrinkles
+about his mouth and eyes seemed to come out
+as if to enjoy the sensation that this announcement
+occasioned.</p>
+
+<p>The storekeeper stared blankly for a moment,
+then dropped his pipe upon the ground.
+The fire rolled out.</p>
+
+<p>“Laws-a-massy!” he exclaimed, unheeding.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir! same old Jerry; the wuss fur
+wear; some <i>de</i>-lapidated; but—same old
+Jerry!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I ’lowed he war in Texas; folks said he
+went thar arter the war.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hailed him; he purtended not ter know
+me a-fust, an’ he stopped, an’ we talked
+awhile. He ’lowed he had never been ter
+Texas. Jes’ down the kentry a piece in Persimmon
+Cove. I dunno whether he war tellin’
+the truth.”</p>
+
+<p>“I reckon he war,” said the storekeeper.
+“It air a mighty out-o’-the-way place—Persimmon
+Cove; Satan hisself mought hid out
+in Persimmon an’ folks in gineral never be
+the wiser ez the Enemy war enny nigher.”</p>
+
+<p>“He ’lowed he married thar,” continued
+Corbin. “An’ what d’ye reckon he hed
+along o’ him?”</p>
+
+<p>He looked at his crony with a broad grin.</p>
+
+<p>“A—leetle gal! Thar they war a-travelin’
+along the slope. Hed a leetle ox-cart an’
+a steer geared up in it; he hed a cow critter
+too; calf followed; an’ sech cheers an’ house-stuff
+ez he owned piled in the cart, an’ settin’
+a-top o’ it all this hyar leetle gal—’bout ez
+big ez a shingle. She rid, bein’ ez she hain’t
+got no weight sca’cely.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span></p>
+
+<p>“An’ whar’s the ’oman?” asked the storekeeper,
+missing an important factor in the
+family circle.</p>
+
+<p>Corbin lowered his voice and his humorous
+wrinkles strove to retire themselves.</p>
+
+<p>“Dead,” he said gravely.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Sawyer, bethinking himself of his
+pipe, filled it anew with a crumpled leaf of
+tobacco, relighted it, and with the pipe-stem
+between his teeth resumed the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ what sorter welcome do he reckon he
+air goin’ ter find ’mongst the mountings hyar.
+Do he ’low we hev furgot his sheer in the
+war, kase it hev been right smart time since?
+Naw sir. I ’members like yestiddy whenst
+old Jeemes Guyther—Abner’s dad, ye know—kem
+ter my store, lookin’ ez ef he hed
+buried all his kin on yearth, an’ tole ez Abner
+hed run off ter jine the Secesh along o’ Jerry
+Binwell. An’ the old man said he hoped Ab
+mought die afore he reached the Rebel lines,
+kase he’d ruther mourn him dead ’n know
+he hed raised his hand ag’in the Nunion.”</p>
+
+<p>“But he wouldn’t, though,” said Corbin
+prosaically. “Them war days when men
+talked mighty big.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p>
+
+<p>“An’ they acted mighty big too, sometimes,”
+retorted Sawyer.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, Abner war the apple o’ the old
+man’s eye,” said Corbin; “I b’lieve he’d
+turn in his grave ef he could know how Ab
+war hurt. The whole fambly jes’ the same,
+too. Look how Ab air pompered now. Ef
+Abner war blind sure enough he couldn’t be
+better treated. His dad always put the
+blame o’ Ab’s goin’ on Jerry. An’ Jerry
+war a wuthless chance! He kem back inside
+o’ a year—deserted! But Ab never kem
+back till arter the s’render.”</p>
+
+<p>“What makes ye ’low ez Abner hev got
+his vision same ez common?” Sawyer demanded
+again. “That notion ’pears powerful
+cur’ous ter me—seein’ him led about hyar
+fur nigh on ter twenty year, now by Ike, an’
+now by his brother, an’ then ag’in by a dog
+an’ sech.”</p>
+
+<p>Old Corbin looked cautiously over his
+shoulder through the open door as if he feared
+some lurking eaves-dropper. The cabin on
+the slope stood silent and motionless in the
+motionless yellow radiance of the autumnal
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>sun. But the winds were astir, and as they
+swayed the woods they revealed bizarre sunbeams
+rioting hither and thither in glittering
+fantasies among the leaves. No one sauntered
+down the curves of the winding road nor
+along the banks of the shining river. The
+only creature visible was the old dog asleep,
+but sitting upright, in a dislocated posture,
+his head nodding spasmodically, and his
+lower jaw dropped.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye hearn,” said Corbin softly, “that thar
+nevy o’ his, Ike Guyther, ’low Ab want ter
+climb down Keedon Bluffs ter whar that old
+ball’s a-lyin’. Now do ye reckon a <i>blind</i> man
+ez hev got good sense air goin’ ter trest his
+bones a-gittin’ down that jagged bluff ez sheer
+ez a wall with sech holp ez that thar skitter-brained
+Ike kin gin?”</p>
+
+<p>Sawyer, holding his pipe in one hand and
+his grizzled chin in the other, meditatively
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw sir,” said Corbin, putting the gesture
+into the more stalwart negation of words.
+“A man, though, ez hed his vision, though
+his j’ints be stiff some with age and laziness,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>mought do it, special ef he hed the holp o’ some
+strong spry boy like Ike, ez be astonishin’
+grown fur his age, but ain’t got no mo’ sense
+an’ scrimination than a boy naterally hev.”</p>
+
+<p>Once more Peter Sawyer nodded his head—this
+time the action was vertical, for the
+gesture intimated affirmation.</p>
+
+<p>“What in the name o’ reason do Abner
+want ter go down whar the old ball be
+lodged?” he asked in a speculative voice, as
+if he hardly expected an answer.</p>
+
+<p>But the ready Corbin, primed with surmises,
+first looked cautiously up and down the
+road and then ventured a suggestion.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, sir; seein’ Jerry Binwell minded
+me o’ Abner Guyther, an’ how they used ter
+consort together, an’ thinkin’ o’ Ab ’minded
+me o’ the store old Squair Torbett used ter
+set on him. Ab war mighty nigh always at
+the Squair’s house a-doin’ some leetle job or
+other, special arter the Squair tuk ter agein’
+so through worryin’ ’bout the war an’ his sons
+ez war in the army. An’ Jerry Binwell war
+at the Squair’s too, bein’ Ab’s shadder.
+Waal, ye know the Squair hed a power o’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>money, an’ he hed drawed it out’n the banks
+in the valley towns, ’count o’ the raidin’ soldiers
+an’ sech. An’ he hid it somehows.
+Some ’lowed he buried it, but most folks said
+he let these hyar two boys inter the secret, an’
+Ab clomb down an’ hid the money in a strong
+box in a hole in Keedon Bluffs, whilst Jerry
+watched. Ye hev hearn that word? Waal,
+sir, the Bluffs air like a honeycomb; so full
+o’ holes ef a body didn’t know which one
+they hid it in they couldn’t find it.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hev hearn folks a-talkin’ ’bout it myself,”
+put in Pete Sawyer, “though o’ late
+years they hev gin that up, mos’ly.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yessir,” assented Corbin. “An’ the
+g’rillas they s’arched the Squair’s house ag’in
+an’ ag’in, an’ couldn’t find nuthin’. These
+two boys hed run off ter the Secesh army, by
+that time, else they’d hev been made ter tell
+whar the plunder war hid. An’ though Jerry
+deserted an’ kem back, the Southern sympathizers
+wouldn’t let him bide one single night
+in the cove, but druv him off, an’ he ain’t
+dared ter show his face hyar sence, else I
+reckon he’d hev stole the money, ef he hed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>knowed whar it war—the Squair being dead
+mighty onexpected.”</p>
+
+<p>The storekeeper’s eyes widened. “Ye—’low—the—money’s—thar—yit—hid
+in Keedon Bluffs?” he panted.</p>
+
+<p>“I know this,” said old Corbin. “’Twar
+hid thar, an’ I hearn with my own ears the
+heirs say they never got no money out’n Keedon
+Bluffs—they fairly scouted the idee. An’
+now,” he pursued, “one of the heirs is dead;
+an’ the t’ other’s moved ter Arkansas. An’
+hyar kems one o’ the men ez watched whilst
+the money war hid; an’ the t’ other ez hid it—a
+<i>blind</i> man—be in a mighty hurry an’
+disturbament ter climb down Keedon Bluffs.
+I dunno why they hain’t got it afore. I can’t
+foller percisely the serpient trail of the evil
+men. But ye mark my words—them two
+fellers will hev a powerful big row—or”—his
+eyes twinkled—“they’ll divide the plunder
+an’ ye’ll hear o’ them consortin’ tergether
+like frien’s.”</p>
+
+<p>He met with a triumphant leer the distended
+astonished gaze of the storekeeper.</p>
+
+<p>“Ho! ho! Keedon Bluffs don’t speak ’less
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>they be spoke to fust,” he continued, “but
+thar secrets git noised abroad. Thar’s suthin’
+thar wuth layin’ hands on ’thout foolin’
+along of a old spent cannon-ball.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="V">
+    V.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The arrival of Jerry Binwell and his little
+girl at Hiram Guyther’s cabin soon became
+known throughout the Cove, and the fact,
+which Ike shortly discovered, that the newcomers
+were regarded with disfavor by others
+did not tend to further commend them to him.
+He felt an odd sinking of the heart and a
+grotesque sort of mortification whenever he
+went to the mill or the store and encountered
+questions and comments concerning his father’s
+guests. Sometimes he was taken aside
+by a conservative old codger, and the queries
+were propounded in a mysterious and husky
+whisper which imparted additional urgency.</p>
+
+<p>“They tell me ez <i>Jerry Binwell</i> air a-visitin’
+yer dad—air that a true word?”</p>
+
+<p>And Ike would sulkily nod.</p>
+
+<p>“What did he kem fur?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ter get out’n the storm.”</p>
+
+<p>“Storm’s been over a week an’ better”—with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>an implacable logic. Then, dredging
+with new energy for information—“When’s
+he goin’ away?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whar’s he goin’ ter?” persistently.</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s he doin’ of?” changing the base
+of attack.</p>
+
+<p>“Nuthin’.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s he say?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ennything.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal sir!” in a tone of disappointment,
+the whole examination resulting in the total
+amount of nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Out of Ike’s presence public opinion expressed
+itself more freely and it was unanimous.
+No one denied that it was a strange
+thing that Hiram Guyther, one of the most
+solid, respectable, and reliable men of the
+whole country-side, whose very name was a
+guarantee of good faith, should be harboring
+a graceless, worthless, neer-do-weel like Jerry
+Binwell, who was, moreover, suspected of
+treachery which had resulted in Abner’s blindness.
+The lines of demarkation between those
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>of high character and those who lack the
+sterling virtues are strongly drawn and rigorously
+observed in the mountains. The stern
+and grim old Hiram himself was forced to recognize
+the incongruity of the situation and its
+utter irreconcilability with the popular estimation
+of himself and his household. But he
+maintained his ground as well as he might.</p>
+
+<p>“Yaas,” he would drawl, “Jerry’s a-puttin’
+up with we-uns now. Dunno how long he’ll
+stay. Till the spring o’ the year, mebbe.
+Naw, him an’ Abner don’t clash none. Naw,
+he don’t pester me, nuther.”</p>
+
+<p>And with these baffling evasions he would
+ride away, leaving the gossips at the store
+or the mill drawing their chairs closer together,
+and knitting their brows, and shaking
+their heads.</p>
+
+<p>It was all most ominous and depressing to
+Ike, for he was proud and keenly sensitive to
+any decline in public esteem; sometimes he
+was fairly tempted to tell that the old folks
+at his house had fallen victims to the witching
+charms of a noisy little body three feet
+high, who made them like everything she did,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>and do things of which they would never
+have believed themselves capable. Thus they
+tolerated Jerry for her sake. And then he
+held his peace for fear the gossips would say
+they were all touched in the head.</p>
+
+<p>For certain severe elderly people who had
+visited the house—it had more visitors than
+usual—had observed in his hearing that they
+were sorry for his mother and his aunt Jemima;—“ter
+be cluttered up at thar time o’
+life with a young child, special sech a one ez
+that, ez could no mo’ stan’ still ’n a pea on a
+hot shovel, an’ war a-laffin’ an’ a-hollerin’ all
+the time till a-body couldn’t hear thar own
+ears.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike felt peculiar resentment against the
+propounders of these strictures, although he
+had not consciously fallen under the fascination
+of the little Rosamond. He could not
+however always disregard her hilarious challenges
+to play, but when he succumbed it was
+with a sort of surly surprise at his own relenting.
+He even consented to see-saw with her,—a
+pastime which she greatly affected,—although
+he was obliged to sit on a very short
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>end of the plank thrust between the rails of
+the fence in order to balance her very small
+weight as she sat at the other extremity, on
+the inside of the fence. And there, as she
+swayed high and dropped low, beaming with
+smiles and pink with delight, she looked like
+a veritable rose, blown about in the playful
+wind. But Ike was less picturesque as he
+bobbed up and down very close indeed to the
+rails and the leaning cross-stakes. “I’ll butt
+my brains out ag’in these rails like a demented
+Billy-goat if I don’t mind,” he said
+to himself in dudgeon.</p>
+
+<p>One day, when he and Skimpy had been
+visiting certain traps that they had jointly set
+in the woods, their homeward way led them
+past the store. They had had good luck with
+their snares, and their fine spirits responded
+alertly to a robust chorusing laugh that suddenly
+rang out from the dark interior of the
+building.</p>
+
+<p>The boys quickened their steps; there was
+something unusual going on inside.</p>
+
+<p>The brown, unpainted walls within, the
+shadowy beams and dusky rafters above, the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>burly boxes and barrels in the background,
+were dimly illumined by the one fibrous slant
+of sunshine through the window, which served
+to show too the long gaunt figure of the storekeeper
+standing near the entrance. He was
+swaying backward, laughing as he smote his
+thigh, and he called out, “Do it ag’in,
+Shanks! Do it ag’in!”</p>
+
+<p>Then the boys observed that there was a
+large group of figures standing at one side,
+although not easily distinguishable since their
+brown jeans garb so assimilated with the mellow
+tint of the walls. The next minute Ike
+reached the door and the whole scene was distinct
+before him. In the midst of the circle
+stood Jerry Binwell, his coat lying on the
+floor, his hat hanging on the knob of a rickety
+chair. His thin, long face was flushed;
+he was laughing too and rubbing his hands,
+and walking to and fro a few steps each way.
+“Do it ag’in, Shanks,” once more called out
+Peter Sawyer.</p>
+
+<p>There were friendly enough glances bent
+upon him, and everybody was laughing pleasantly,
+despite the pipes held between strong
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>discolored teeth. Even old Jake Corbin had
+a reluctant twinkle among the many wrinkles
+that encircled his eyes as he sat smoking, his
+rickety chair tilted back against the wall.</p>
+
+<p>“Pritty spry yit, fur a ole man,” declared
+Binwell, still rubbing his hands.</p>
+
+<p>“Do it ag’in, Shanks!” rang out from the
+bystanders.</p>
+
+<p>Binwell looked up for a moment, drawing
+back to the extreme end of the apartment.
+Suddenly he crouched and sprang into the air
+with an incredible lightness. It was a long
+oblique jump to the beam on which he caught;
+he did not wait a second but “skinned the
+cat” among the rafters with an admirable
+dexterity and dropped softly on his feet at
+the doorway.</p>
+
+<p>Once more there was a guffaw. “Go it,
+Shanks!” “He’s a servigrous jumper, sure!”
+“Spry as a deer!”</p>
+
+<p>It was a most pacific scene and the exhibition
+of agility seemed likely to promote only
+good fellowship and the pleasant passing of
+the hour until old Corbin remarked:</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, Jerry’s a good jumper, an’ a good
+runner, too, I hev hearn.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span></p>
+
+<p>Binwell cast a quick glance over his shoulder;
+a light gleamed in his small, dark, defiant
+eye. Whether he did not pique himself
+on his speed, or whether he detected a
+sub-current of meaning in the comment, he
+was moved to demand abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>“Whar did ye ever see me run?”</p>
+
+<p>Old Corbin’s delight in the opportunity
+broadened his face by an inch or two. The
+display of intricate hieroglyphic wrinkles
+about his eyes was more than one might imagine
+possible to be described by age and fatness.
+His mouth distended to show the few
+teeth that had not yet forsaken his gums; his
+burly sides were shaking with laughter before
+he said, “I never <i>seen</i> ye run, Jerry, but I
+hearn ez ye done some mighty tall runnin’ in
+the old war time.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a shout of derision from the
+crowd, most of the men having served in one
+army or the other. The object of this barbed
+ridicule looked as if he might sink through
+the floor. His face flushed, his abashed eyes
+dropped, he stood quivering and abject before
+them all.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span></p>
+
+<p>Ike had a quick pang of pity and resentment.
+And yet he was ashamed that this was
+the man who sat by his father’s hearth and
+shared their bread.</p>
+
+<p>It was only for a moment that he was
+sorry for Binwell. The recovery from all
+semblance of shame or wounded pride was
+instantaneous as he retorted:</p>
+
+<p>“That’s mighty easy ter say ’bout ennybody.”
+He whirled around on his light heel.
+“Naw, folks,” he cried out, “I ain’t much on
+the run; never footed it more’n jes’ fairly.
+But I tell ye—ef ye be tired o’ seein’ me
+jump—my jumpin’ ain’t nuthin’ ter my
+heftin’. I kin lift the heaviest man hyar an’
+jump with him. Less see,” he affected to
+turn about and survey the burly, stalwart
+crowd. “Who pulls the beam at the highest
+figger?”</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated for a moment; then with a
+sudden dart that was like the movement of a
+fish, he seized on old Corbin.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw! naw!” wheezed the fat old fellow
+as the stringy, muscular arms encircled
+him. He strove to hold to his chair; it fell
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>over in the fracas and eluded his grasp; he
+clutched at the window-sill—vainly; his hat
+dropped off; his face was scarlet, and he
+roared for help.</p>
+
+<p>It would doubtless have been extended had
+not the quick and agile Jerry forestalled the
+heavy mountaineers. He lifted Corbin with
+a mighty effort; he even carried out his
+boast of jumping—not high, after all, but
+high enough for the wildly clutching old man
+to catch the low beam with both hands.</p>
+
+<p>Binwell suddenly loosed his hold and left
+him swaying ponderously to and fro, two or
+three feet from the floor, in imminent danger
+of falling, sputtering and wheezing, and red
+in the face and with eyes starting out of his
+head. Then his tormentor, fearful doubtless
+of the recoil of public opinion, caught up his
+hat and coat and with a loud scornful laugh
+ran out of the store and disappeared up the
+leafy road.</p>
+
+<p>To a man of ordinary weight and agility it
+would have been easy enough to spring to the
+floor. But the cumbersome bulk and slow,
+clumsy habit of old Corbin lent the situation
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>real danger. There was a rush to his assistance—some
+officious hand thrust an empty
+barrel beneath his feet, hoping to afford him
+support, but it toppled under his weight and
+down he came, amidst a great rending of
+staves, as the barrel collapsed beneath him.</p>
+
+<p>He was unhurt, although greatly shaken.
+He had been frightened at first; perhaps
+there was never so angry a man in the limits
+of the Cove as he was now. Again and
+again, as he was helped to his chair, he
+declared that he would revenge himself on
+Jerry Binwell, and the sympathetic crowd
+expressed their sense of the injury and the
+danger to which he had been subjected, as
+well as the indignity offered him. To Ike’s
+extreme amazement Binwell’s name was often
+coupled with that of his father, or the blind
+man, his uncle. Now, ordinarily, Ike would
+have felt that these two spirited and responsible
+people were amply able to answer for
+themselves; but he knew that it was only by
+an odd combination of circumstances that
+they were associated, almost with the intimacy
+of family relations, with such a person
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>as Binwell. It implied a friendship for him
+which he knew they did not feel, and an indorsement
+of him which they were not prepared
+to give. Secure in their own sense of
+rectitude and good repute this possibility of
+a decline in public esteem had never, he was
+sure, occurred to them. Alas, Rosamondy,
+he heartily regretted that she had ever put
+her dimpled foot across their threshold, and
+yet he stipulated again within himself that
+it was not in his heart to wish any houseless
+creatures out of the shelter they had found.</p>
+
+<p>He had a vague terror of this false position
+in which the family was placed. He knew,
+with suddenly awakened forecast, that the
+antagonism to Jerry Binwell would not end
+here. Old Corbin’s spleen that might once
+have passed for naught was now rendered a
+valid and righteous anger in public opinion,
+and he would have the sympathy and aid of
+all the country-side. But how or why, in the
+name of justice, could it include his father
+and his blind uncle, who had done naught
+after all but feed the hungry, and forgive the
+enemy, and house the roofless vagrant.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p>
+
+<p>He lingered for a time after old Corbin had
+gone to Sawyer’s house to get “a bite an’ rest
+his bones,” listening to the younger men discuss
+the incident, and comment on Binwell’s
+strength.</p>
+
+<p>When Ike at last rose and started, Skimpy
+started too.</p>
+
+<p>“Skimp!” called the storekeeper after him,
+“yer mam’s got suthin’ fur ye to do at the
+house. Go thar!”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy obediently turned from the road
+into the by-path and Ike went on, his heart
+swelling with indignation and his eyes hot
+with tears. He knew that his friend was to
+be withheld from his association after this,
+lest he might come under the influence of so
+worthless and injurious an example as Jerry
+Binwell. He trudged along home, wishing
+that his father might have beheld the scene
+and wondering if that would have urged him
+to take some decided action in the case.</p>
+
+<p>Ike had an odd indisposition to relate it all.
+He had been trained in a maxim,—good
+enough so far as it goes,—“If you can’t say
+anything kind of your neighbor, say nothing.”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>The only manifestation of his opinion
+was expressed in deeds, not in words. His
+mother had looked sharply at him from time
+to time during the past week, and this afternoon,
+as she opened suddenly the shed-room
+door and saw him casting down a great pile of
+bark, and chips, and sticks of wood, ready for
+the morning fires, she said unexpectedly:</p>
+
+<p>“Ike, ain’t ye ailin’ nowhar?”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw’m,” he replied, drawing himself up
+with stalwart pride, “I feel ez solid an’ sound
+ez a rock.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ’lowed ye mus’ be sick—ye ’pear so
+sober-faced, an’ occupy yerself no ways
+sca’cely, ’cept in workin’—tendin’ on the
+wood-pile, an’ packin’ the water, an’ drivin’
+the cow-critter. I ain’t hed ez much wood
+hyar ter burn, nor water ter cook with, nor
+the cow ez constant at the bars, fur ten year.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike turned and glanced reflectively about
+him. The mountain, gorgeous in autumnal
+array, loomed above; a blue sky looked pensively
+down; some aerial craft had spread a
+cloud-sail, and the wind was fair.</p>
+
+<p>“I never ’lowed ter feel sech pleasure in a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>wood-pile,” he said, meditatively. “I hev
+made up my mind ez I ain’t a-goin’ ter ondertake
+to be a shirk in this world.”</p>
+
+<p>She understood him instantly. As the door
+swung a little ajar she looked back over her
+shoulder through the shed-room into the main
+room of the cabin. Binwell was not there;
+no one was visible in the ruddy glare of the
+fire illuminating the brown walls but the little
+Rosamond and the blind man. She had
+elected to consider herself some neighing,
+prancing steed, and Abner held her by one
+long, golden curl, that served as reins. A
+short tether, to be sure, but she curveted, and
+stamped, and laughed as few horses have ever
+done. The reflection of her merriment was
+in the smile on the blind man’s face. Her
+very shadow was glad, as it sported with the
+firelight on the floor.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">
+    VI.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>There is nothing so conducive to happiness
+as work—work done well and willingly.
+It is in itself happiness. Ike wondered to
+find, as he bent his mind and all his energy to
+his simple tasks—grown strangely light and
+seeming few—how little he suffered from his
+exclusion from his friend’s society and from
+the unjust discrimination made against him for
+no fault of his; how amply his duty filled his
+horizon, and presently arrayed itself in the
+glad garb of pleasure. He sang—he could
+but sing—as he wielded the axe, as he fed
+the stock, as he went back and forth on his
+errands through the lonely woods, sometimes
+hearing the voice of Keedon Bluffs singing
+too, in fitful and fugue-like response.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, he was glad enough to be reassured
+of his friend’s loyalty in their enforced
+separation, for when they presently met by
+accident Skimpy seized upon him eagerly,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>“Ye ain’t holdin’ no gredge ag’in <i>me</i>, air
+ye, Ike? I couldn’t holp it; ye know I
+couldn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>This accidental meeting occurred one evening
+when all the boys of Tanglefoot Cove
+and the mountain slopes had gathered for a
+coon-hunt. The Sawyer lads were of the
+party, Skimpy and three brothers, all much
+alike, all long-legged, red-haired, freckled-faced
+fellows, and not fascinating to look
+upon, but they took a great deal of pleasure
+in themselves, and there was considerable
+boy-nature to the square inch in these four
+Sawyers. They were first-rate comrades too;
+could both take a joke and make one; all had
+bright, honest, steady brown eyes, and they
+were evidently destined to grow better looking
+as they grew older. With one exception
+they were clad in whole, stout homespun garments,
+well woven and well made, for their
+mother was a peculiarly precise, neat, and industrious
+woman. Skimpy was the exception;
+his elbows were out; his ankles could
+not wait for his trousers to grow, so they
+showed themselves, right nimble and sturdy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>members, although the garment, which was
+blue, had been encouraged lengthwise with
+a fresh contrasting piece of copper-colored
+jeans; his knees bulged against the threadbare
+cloth in a way that intimated they would
+not long be able to shelter themselves in their
+flimsy retirement. He and his mother found
+it difficult to reconcile their diverse theories
+of the uses and the care of clothes. Although
+serious enough when they climaxed, these
+differences had no depressing effect on Skimpy’s
+spirits, and did not suffice to save his
+wardrobe. He harbored no unfilial resentment,
+but he thought his mother a very queer
+and particular woman.</p>
+
+<p>The Sawyers had brought with them the
+dutiful clerk, who was also preëminent as a
+coon-dog. There he sat in his yellow hide,
+decorated with his slit ear, and his docked
+tail, and his half-closed eyelid. When away
+from the store his demeanor lacked the urbanity
+which characterized him there. He bore
+himself now with the surly air of a magnate
+whose affability has been swallowed up in the
+consciousness of importance.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p>
+
+<p>The Sawyers specially piqued themselves
+on being the proud possessors of Bose. Every
+now and then one would reverently glance at
+the animal, as he sat upright lolling out an
+indifferent tongue, and say to those unacquainted
+with him—“Mind how ye fool
+with Bose—he’s sharp” (with an excited eye
+and a wag of the red head); “he’s mighty
+fierce.” And the other Sawyers would nod
+their heads in confirmation of this report of
+Bose’s belligerent qualities. They had a sort
+of hero-worshiping reverence for this trait of
+dog-sharpness, but any one who did not think
+respectfully of Bose was some one who did
+not care to go coon-hunting. He was the
+central figure of the group that had collected
+in the woods by a sulphur spring, on a slope
+of one of the minor ridges at the base of the
+Great Smoky. The early dusk had not yet
+fallen, but the shadows were lengthening fast,
+and night was on the way. The boughs of
+the trees above their heads were drawn in
+fine distorted lines on a crimson sky; here
+and there a slant of sunshine fell amongst
+the brown shadows upon some red and yellow
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>fantasy of foliage that so blazed with
+color and light in its dusky surroundings
+that it might seem some outburst of fire
+which had been slyly “set out” in the
+woods.</p>
+
+<p>The sulphur spring had sought to hide itself,
+it might seem. Across a narrow, rocky cleft
+lay a great flat slab, and a rill trickled away
+somewhere; no one would have imagined that
+beneath this slab was a spring with brown
+crystalline water, and a vibrant whisper, and
+some exquisite perfumed breath of freshness
+borrowed from the dawn of day. The dogs
+knew where it was, running to it with lolling
+tongues and with much affectation of thirst,
+yet wanting only a drop or two. For other
+dogs were there and they seemed to have heard
+and to have profited by the Sawyers’ account
+of Bose, or perhaps the dignity of his mien
+awed them, or experience admonished them,
+for none of them molested him, although they
+became involved in noisy fights with each
+other, or gambols as turbulent. The boys,
+ten or twelve in number, all had cow-horns
+to blow and torches to carry, and while they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>waited for certain cronies to arrive the talk
+was chiefly of the subject that had brought
+them together. The coon seemed a fascinating
+study apart from his great gifts of celerity.
+Mentally he is generously endowed.
+If Skimpy might be believed the coon can
+do anything short of reading, writing, and ciphering.</p>
+
+<p>“Even mam, she hev ter ’low ez coons
+ain’t lackin’ fur head-stuffin’,” he remarked,
+as he stood with his arms akimbo. “You-uns
+know the kind o’ ways mam hev gin herself
+over ter—a-sweepin’, an’ a-scourin’, an’
+a-cleanin’, till I actially looks ter see ef she
+won’t take ter washin’ the chickens’ faces an’
+curryin’ the cat. Waal, Cousin Eph Bates,
+he stopped thar one day with his pet coon.
+An’ mam she made him welcome an’ set out
+the table. An’ mam, she ’lowed the coon
+mus’ be hongry, so she called it an’ gin it a
+nice piece o’ corn dodger. What’s that coon
+do?” he cried, his eyes widening with the interest
+of the recital. “Popped up on the
+aidge o’ the drinkin’ pail an’ ondertook ter
+wash that thar piece o’ dodger ’twixt his fore
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>paws, ’fore he would eat it. I wish ye could
+hev seen mam’s face. I laffed till I like ter
+drapped in my tracks. An’ Cousin Eph—he
+jes’ hollered. An’ mam, she hed furgot,
+ef she ever knowed, how coons do; she say,
+‘Cousin Eph, ye needn’t bring no sech pertic’lar
+vis’tor ter my house ag’in—a-washin’
+the clean vittles <i>I</i> gin him.’ Thar sot the
+coon, ez onconsarned, a-washin’ his hands an’
+a-washin’ the dodger.” Skimpy suited the action
+to the words and teetered up and down,
+washing his paws and an imaginary piece of
+corn dodger. “I laffed an’ laffed. That
+coon like ter been the death o’ me ’fore he got
+away from thar.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know that thar coon o’ Eph Bates’s,”
+cried Ike. “I stayed up ter his house one
+night along o’ his chill’n an’ ’twar bright
+moonlight whenst I went ter bed in the roof-room,
+but after a while I woke up an’ I ’lowed
+’twar a hailstorm goin’ on outside on the roof.
+Ye never hearn sech a skedaddlin’ up an’
+down them clapboards. Kem ter find out,
+’twar nuthin’ but the coon a-playin’ tag with
+his shadder in the moonlight.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, he’s a powerful tricky, Mister Coon
+air,” Skimpy declared, his freckled face distended
+with relish of Mr. Coon’s smartness.
+“Mam an’ Cousin Eph hed sot tharselfs down
+afore the fire an’ got ter talkin’ ’bout’n the
+folkses in the Cove, an’ how mighty few o’
+’em had enny sech religion ez they purtended
+ter hev, when mam she put her hand in her
+pocket fur ter git her knittin’. An’ there
+warn’t nuthin’ in her pocket but a ball o’
+yarn. An’ she looked up, an’ thar war a
+great long e-end o’ it a-stretchin’ ter the door.
+An’ thar on the steps sot Mister Coon with
+them knittin’ needles, an’ the sock, a-holdin’
+’em like he war knittin’, ez onconsarned—oh
+my! I laffed ag’in.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet yer mam didn’t laff,” said an intimate
+of the family.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw,” Skimpy admitted. “Mam, she’s
+mighty sober-sided. She’d like the coon better
+ef he wore spec’s an’ cut wood. Cousin
+Eph, he axed her how many rows that coon
+knit. An’ mam, she said—‘<i>None!</i> He
+drug two needles bodaciously out an’ spiled
+fower rows.’ Mam ’lowed ez she thought she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>hed the mos’ mischievious created critter—meanin’
+me—but she said she b’lieved Cousin
+Eph mought take the prem<i>ium</i>. An’ Cousin
+Eph, he said enny time she war minded ter
+swap he’d trade the coon fur me. An’ mam,
+she cut her eye round at me an’ tole me I hed
+better mend my manners; the mounting would
+talk mightily ’bout me ef I war traded off fur
+a coon ’thout enny boot.”</p>
+
+<p>“That thar mus’ be the same coon ez Cousin
+Eph Bates fotched along o’ him ter the
+store when he kem ter trade, las’ summer,”
+said Obadiah, the eldest Sawyer. “An’ dad,
+he tole Cousin Eph ter holp hisself. An’ nobody
+noticed the coon till Cousin Eph war
+ready ter go, an’ tuk ter huntin’ fur him. I
+don’t reckon that coon could surely hev thunk
+ez dad meant it fur <i>him</i> whenst he told Cousin
+Eph ter holp hisself. But leastwise the coon
+done it; he holped <i>his</i>-self. They fund him
+propped up on the aidge o’ the sugar bar’l,
+an’ they say the way his whiskers war gormed
+with sugar war a sight ter be seen. He hedn’t
+no expression ter his face, an’ he looked
+plumb cross-eyed with pleasure. Sugar in his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>paws, too, and dad kerried on like he war
+mighty nigh demented. An’ he wanted
+Cousin Eph ter pay for that sugar the coon
+hed eat, an’ said he wanted that thar coon’s
+skin. But Cousin Eph, he snatched his coon
+up under his arm an’ ’lowed he mought ez well
+try ter trade fur one o’ his chill’n’s hides. I
+b’lieve he gin dad some money or suthin’,
+though. He sot out arter that with his coon
+fur home.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, he warn’t so ’fectionate with that
+thar coon las’ time I seen him,” Ike added his
+testimony. “’Twar over yander at the church-house
+in the gap. An’ whilst the folks war
+settin’ inside, a-listenin’ ter the preachin’,
+we-uns hearn the biggest rumpus outside
+’mongst the teams, an’ everybody looked
+plumb wretched, wonderin’ ef ’twar suthin’
+hed happened ter thar steer or horse critter.
+An’ dad whispered ter me ter go out an’ see.
+An’ thar, ’mongst all the wagins, an’ yokes o’
+oxen, an’ saddle horses under the trees, war a
+young claybank horse ez b’long ter Eph Bates.
+An’ that thar coon he had slyed off an’ follered
+his master ter the church-house, an’ stiddier
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>goin’ inside—it’s a mercy he didn’t—he
+seen Eph’s horse, an’ he clomb the tree, an’
+drapped down on the pommel o’ the saddle.
+Waal, sir, sech kickin’! that horse war young
+an’ skeery; sech squealin’! An’ whenst I
+seen him he war tremblin’ like he hed a fit o’
+the ague, an’ then he’d turn his head an’ git
+a glimge o’ that thar citizen in the saddle, an’
+begin ter plunge an’ shy an’ snort ag’in. Jes’
+’fore I got ter him he bruk his halter, an’ he
+lit out; around an’ around that thar church-house
+he went a-cavortin’ an’ a-gallopin’, Mister
+Coon settin’ in the saddle, a-holdin’ on fur
+life, an’ a-smilin’ from ear to ear. An’ the
+folks in the church-house seen what war
+a-goin’ on, an’ Eph an’ some o’ them nigh the
+door run out an’ hollered, ‘Whoa! Whoa!’
+at the horse. Didn’t do no good. Ez soon
+ez the critter seen he couldn’t shake the coon
+off he bolted an’ run through the woods. Eph,
+he walked home that Sunday, five mile, but
+Mister Coon, he rid.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Mister Coon, oh, Mister Coon,”
+Skimpy was murmuring, and presently he
+broke into song:—</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span></p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Bob Snooks, he eat up all in his plate,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ he dreampt a dream that night right late.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A-settin’ on a cloud war a big raccoon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">A-eatin’ an’ a-washin’ his paws in the moon.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">’Twar brimmin’ full o’ clabber an’ whey.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">His tail war ringed with black an’ gray;</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">It hung plumb down ter the poplar-tree,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ he wagged it up an’ down in glee.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="center">CHORUS.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, take them dirty paws out’n the moon.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“He looked at Bob, ter wink an’ grin,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ then Bob say—‘Ez sure ez sin</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">I’ll yank ye off’n the aidge o’ that moon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Though ye air a mos’ surprisin’ coon.’</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Bob sicked on Towse—<i>Towse clomb the tree!</i></div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ grabbed the coon right nat’rally.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ suddint Bob woke—thar war <i>no</i> raccoon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Bob wisht he hed lef’ him up thar on the moon.</div>
+    </div>
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="center">CHORUS.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, Mister Coon! oh, Mister Coon,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Oh, why can’t ye once more balance on the moon.”</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>It was quite dark before they were fairly
+started. The shadows gloomed thick about
+them. The stars were in the sky. The
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>sound of the boyish voices whooping and calling,
+and singing snatches of the coon-song,
+echoed far and wide among the solemn woods
+and the listening rocks. The dogs answered
+to the eager urgency of their masters by
+wheezing and snuffing about the ground as
+they ran with their muzzles down, but the
+best among them, even the preëminent Bose,
+could conjure no coon where no coon was.</p>
+
+<p>“What ails ’em ter take ter sech a piece o’
+briars,” Skimpy cried out suddenly with an
+accompaniment of a ripping sound. “Ef I
+tear up these hyar clothes o’ mine enny mo’
+I’ll hev some rents ter mend in my skin, fur
+my mother hev sot it down ef I gin her so
+many repairs ter make she’ll gin me some.”</p>
+
+<p>This terrifying prospect did not unduly
+alarm Skimpy nor hinder his joyous pursuit
+of the coon. He was the first fellow to fall
+into the briars and to flounder into the branch.
+His nimble feet followed more closely than
+any others their canine precursors. It was
+he who cried out and encouraged the dogs
+and kept them together, and even the self-sufficient
+and experienced Bose hearkened to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>his counsel and lent himself to guidance.
+Skimpy was close upon the docked tail of this
+animal when suddenly the wheezing Bose
+emitted a short sharp cry and sprang off in
+the darkness with all the dogs after him.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">
+    VII.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The moon was just beginning to rise. A
+vague red glow suffused the summit of the
+eastern mountains. It hardly revealed, but in
+some sort it suggested, the presence of the
+vast forests of the Cove, that still stood dusky
+and gloomily mysterious. The solemn silence,
+native to the solitudes, was for the nonce annihilated.
+The whole night seemed to ring
+with the shouting triumph of the boys. The
+cry of the dogs was unintermittent. Naught
+impeded the wild chase, save that now and
+then a projecting root caught an unwary foot,
+and a boy would go crashing to the ground,
+his companions jumping over his prostrate
+form, or perhaps falling upon him, then
+scrambling up together and away again hilariously.
+Sometimes a horn would sound, and
+if one had cared to listen he might have wondered
+to hear the countless blasts that the
+echoes wound, or laughed to fancy how that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>mimic chase in the air did fare. Sometimes,
+too, a voice would call out from the van of
+the line, “Oh, Mister Coon!” And anon
+Keedon Bluffs repeated the words in a solemn
+staccato, as if they were some uncomprehended
+incantation. “Oh, Mister Coon!”</p>
+
+<p>What that gentleman thought of it all nobody
+can say. Whether he resented the fact
+that his coat was considered too good for him,
+and just good enough for a cap for somebody
+else; or whether he felt complimented that he
+was esteemed so game that it was accounted a
+pleasure to see him fight, singly, a score of savage
+dogs, and die in the jaws of the enemies he
+crippled, nobody will ever know. The only certain
+thing is that he carried his fat and his fur,
+and his palpitating identity inside of them, as
+fast and as far as he could. And then in desperation
+he swiftly climbed a tree, and sat
+there panting, looking down with eyes whose
+dilated pupils defied the night, to mark how
+the fierce rout came at full cry over the rise.
+The boys knew what he had done, notwithstanding
+the dark forests that intervened, for
+the dogs announced in loud and joyful barks
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>that the coon was treed as they besieged the
+oak, springing as high as they could about its
+trunk. There was a chorus, “Oh, Mister
+Coon!” from the hunters as they came pelting
+over the hill, almost dead beat with the
+run. For the coon had footed it bravely, and
+treeing him was long delayed.</p>
+
+<p>The torches, skimming swiftly about under
+the oak, which was close upon a precipice,
+flared in the darkness far along the slopes, and
+the coon hunt glimpsed from the distant cove
+was like an errant constellation, run away
+from the skies. Nearer, flame and smoke
+flaunted back in the wind, showing the colors
+of a limited section of the autumn woods close
+about, and thus conjuring an oasis of gorgeous
+brilliance in that desert of gloom. In the radiance
+of the fringed flaring lights might be
+distinguished, in high relief against the dusky
+background, Ike’s eager face, and Skimpy’s
+hatchet-like features,—as he bent to beseech
+Bose to calm himself instead of bounding
+futilely about the tree which he could not
+climb like the dream-dog,—and the muscular
+poses of Obadiah Sawyer, who wielded the axe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>about the trunk of the tree. How the echoes
+answered! How the rocks rang with the stalwart
+strokes! The chips flew with every cleavage.
+The dogs leaped, and barked on every
+shrill key of impatience. The coon, barely
+visible, crouched in the darkness, growled,
+and looked down on his boisterous enemies.
+“Keep out’n the way o’ this axe, I tell ye,”
+Obadiah Sawyer would cry as the backward
+motion would threaten one of the boys or their
+four-footed comrades, who pressed so close
+about the tree as to lose all sense of safety.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, without any warning, the trunk
+of the tree not half severed, the coon ran down
+almost over Obadiah into the midst of the
+dogs. There was a frantic plunge amongst
+them; a fierce growling and yelping and snapping;
+a crunching of teeth; and now and
+then as one suffered the sharp fangs of the
+coon, a hideous clamor that seemed to pierce
+the sky.</p>
+
+<p>The boys stood amazed at this innovation
+on the part of Mr. Coon, whose sense of etiquette
+does not usually permit him to tackle
+the dogs until the falling of the tree throws
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>the hapless creature into their jaws. How he
+distinguished the sound in all that shrill tumult
+Skimpy could never say;—a low growl,
+exceeding in ferocity aught he had ever before
+heard, caught his attention. He moved back
+a pace and held the torch aloft. There, upon
+the bole of the tree, slowly descending from
+limb to limb, with lissome noiseless tread,
+with great yellow eyes, illuminated by the
+flare, was a full-grown female panther, made
+bold enough to face the light by the imminence
+of the danger, for the cutting down of
+the tree meant certain dislodgment amongst
+the dogs and the boys. This was the denizen
+of the oak, the discovery of whom had made
+the coon prefer the dogs.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy needed but a single glance. He
+said afterward that it flashed upon him in a
+moment that the animal’s young were perhaps
+in a crevice of the great wall of rock close at
+hand, and that for this reason she had not fled
+from the noise and the lights. Skimpy dashed
+his torch to the ground, and crying “Painter!
+Painter!” he set out at a pace which has seldom
+been excelled. All the torches were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>flared upward. The creature glared down at
+the boys and growled. There was not a gun
+in the party. Obadiah in a sort of mental
+aberration flung his axe into the tree; it almost
+grazed the animal’s nose, then fell upon
+the back of a yelping dog.</p>
+
+<p>Each boy seemed to announce his flight by
+taking up the panic-stricken cry of “Painter!”
+The dogs had discovered that more had been
+treed than the coon, which at last had been
+killed. They would not heed the whistlings
+and the callings of their masters, and as the
+boys ran a tremendous yelping and growling
+announced that the panther had sprung from
+the tree amidst the pack. Presently something,
+with its tail between its legs, shot by
+the hindmost boy, and another, and yet another.
+The dogs had felt the panther’s teeth
+and claws and were leaving, but none of these
+fugitives was Bose.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh,” cried Skimpy, “le’s go back—le’s
+go back—Bose will be bodaciously eat up!
+Le’s go back an’ call Bose off!”</p>
+
+<p>“Call the painter on, ye mean!” exclaimed
+Ike. “Ye can’t do nuthin’ ter hurt a painter
+’thout ye hed a gun!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh Bose!” plained another of the Sawyers
+in a heart-wrung voice. “What’ll mam
+do ’thout Bose! Sech a shepherd! Sech a
+dog ter take keer o’ the baby, too! Sech a
+gyard dog!” For Bose’s virtues were not
+all belligerent, but shone resplendent in times
+of peace. “Oh <i>Bose</i>,” he shrieked down the
+wind, “let the painter be!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh <i>Bose</i>!” cried Obadiah in a tone of
+obituary. “Sech a coon dog! <i>Bose!</i> An’ a
+swimmer! <i>Bose!</i> How he used ter drive up
+the cow! Oh, <i>Bose</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye talk like nobody in the mountings hed
+a dog but you-uns,” panted one of the fleeing
+hunters. “Ye ought ter be thankful ye air
+out’n the painter’s jaws—’thout no gun!”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, Bose ain’t no common dog!” cried
+the bereaved Skimpy; “Bose is like folks!
+Bose <i>is</i> folks!” rising to the apotheosis of
+grief.</p>
+
+<p>He did not run like folks. Deserted both
+by boys and dogs he had bravely encountered
+the panther. It required not only a broken
+rib and repeated grips of the creature’s teeth,
+but the stealthy approach of its mate to convince
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Bose how grievously he was overmatched.
+Then this gifted dog, whose prowess
+was only exceeded by his intelligence, saw
+that it was time to run. He passed the boys
+with the action of a canine meteor. He sought
+the seclusion beneath the house and he did
+not leave it for days.</p>
+
+<p>When Ike struck into the road that leads
+by Keedon Bluffs he was feeling considerably
+nettled by the result of the adventure, and
+resolved that hereafter he would always carry
+a gun for any presumable panther that might
+hang upon the outskirts of a coon-hunt. He
+walked on slowly for a time, sure that the
+panther would hardly follow so far, if indeed
+she had followed at all. He listened now and
+then, hearing no sound of the hunt or of the
+hunters. It was growing late, he knew as he
+glanced at the sky. The moon had risen high—a
+waning moon of a lustrous reddish tint,
+sending long shafts of yellow light down the
+dusky woods, and, despite its brightness, of
+grewsome and melancholy suggestions. As
+the road turned he came upon the great Bluffs
+towering above the river, and he noted the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>spherical amber reflection in the dark current
+below, with trailing lines of light and gilded
+ripples seeming to radiate from it. A vague
+purple nullity had blurred the familiar distances,
+but close at hand all was wonderfully
+distinct. The gloomy forest on one side of the
+road drew a sharp summit line along the sky.
+A blackberry bush, denuded of all but a few
+leaves, was not more definite than the brambly
+wands of its shadow on the sandy road.
+As he drew nearer he noted how dark the
+water was, how white in the slant of the yellow
+moonlight rose the great sheer sandstone
+Bluffs; how black, how distinct were the cavities
+in the rock. And the voiceless beams
+played about the old cannon-ball on the ledge.
+How silent! Only his crunching tread, half
+muffled in the soft sand; the almost imperceptible
+murmur of the deep waters; the
+shrilling of a cricket somewhere, miraculously
+escaped from the frost. Near midnight, it
+must have been. He realized how tired he
+was. He suddenly sat down on the verge of
+the Bluffs, his feet dangling over, and leaned
+his back against a bowlder behind him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span></p>
+
+<p>He drew a long sigh of fatigue and gazed
+meditatively below. The next moment he
+gave a quick start. There along the ledges
+and niches of the great Bluffs, climbing down
+diagonally with the agility of a cat, was a
+dark figure, that at the instant he could hardly
+recognize as beast or man—or might it be
+some mysterious being that the cavities of the
+rock harbored! As he remembered the stories
+of the witches of Keedon Bluffs, which he
+had flouted and scorned, he felt a cold thrill
+quiver through every limb.</p>
+
+<p>A sharp exclamation escaped his lips. Instantly
+he saw the climbing creature give a
+great start and then stand still as if with responsive
+fright. He bent forward and strained
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>He had not yet recovered his normal pulse;
+his heart was still plunging with wild throbs;
+nevertheless he noted keenly every movement
+of the strange object, and as it turned in the
+direction whence came the intrusive voice, it
+looked up apprehensively. Ike said nothing,
+but gazed down into the pallid face lifted in
+the white moonlight.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">
+    VIII.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>“Hello!” cried out the figure.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello!—hello!—hello!” the echoing
+voices of Keedon Bluffs sepulchrally hailed
+the boy.</p>
+
+<p>Now Ike would have been indignant had
+some one suspected him of being afraid of the
+witches of the Bluffs. But he was immensely
+relieved by this form of address. For although
+he had never held intimate converse with
+witches he felt sure they did not say “Hello!”</p>
+
+<p>He leaned over and responded in a sturdy
+tone “Hello, yerse’f!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello yerse’f!” cried out the prompt
+echoes. Ike drew back a little. Although he
+had acquitted the climbing man of being a
+witch, he could not repulse an odd uncomfortable
+feeling that scores of mischievous invisible
+spirits of the rock were assisting at the
+conversation. He could imagine that they
+nudged each other as they repeated the words.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>Perhaps they all fell to silently laughing when
+a belated voice far down the river called in
+a doubtful and hesitant tone, “Hello yerse’f!”</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s that up thar?” demanded the
+man, still looking up.</p>
+
+<p>“Ike Guyther,” the boy replied.</p>
+
+<p>He could not accurately distinguish the
+sound, so confused was he by the iteration
+of the meddlesome echoes, but it seemed to
+him that the man uttered a sudden gruff
+imprecation at the revelation of his name,
+and surely the tell-tale rocks were presently
+grumbling in an uncertain and displeased
+undertone.</p>
+
+<p>Ike strained his eyes to recognize the features,
+but the man looked down suddenly and
+coughed dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>There was something vaguely familiar in
+his voice that might have served to establish
+his identity but for the repetitious sounds
+that followed every word.</p>
+
+<p>“What air ye doin’ up thar?” demanded
+the man, and all the echoes became inquisitorial.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Been a-coon-huntin’. What ye doin’
+down thar?” said Ike, at last thinking it
+but fair that he should ask a few questions
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>The white face was once more turned
+downward, and the man coughed and seemed
+to try to spit out his doubt. It had evidently
+not occurred to him that he himself was
+unrecognized, for with a tone that indicated
+that he sought to make the best of an awkward
+situation he said, “Why, I hearn Ab
+talkin’ wunst in a while ’bout climbin’ down
+Keedon Bluffs, ter that old cannon-ball on
+that ledge, an’ I ’lowed I’d try ef the thing
+could be done—jes’ fur fun—ha! ha!
+Toler’ble tough fun, though.”</p>
+
+<p>The vain effort at jollity, the strained
+nervous tone, the merciless echoes exaggerated
+a thousand fold. But Ike Guyther sat
+unheeding, more perturbed than he could
+well have expressed.</p>
+
+<p>It was Jerry Binwell, his father’s guest.
+How had he escaped, Ike wondered, from
+the roof room where his host thought he lay
+sleeping? Had he stolen out from amongst
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>the unconscious family, leaving the doors ajar
+that any marauder might enter? He could not.
+Old Hiram slept as lightly as a cat, and the
+blind man was often wakeful and restless.
+And what could be his object here in the
+stealthy midnight, risking life and limb—nay,
+neither! Ike Guyther, watching him
+climbing—with the frightful depths below
+into which a false step would instantly precipitate
+him—lost that morbid and nervous
+fascination which a feat of great danger
+induces in the spectator, and began suddenly
+to experience a sort of confidence,
+merging into certainty. He was amazed at
+the lightness, the strength, the marvelous
+elasticity, the fine precision of every movement.
+Strain credulity as he might, he could
+not believe Binwell when he said suddenly,
+“But I ain’t goin’ ter try it enny furder—break
+my neck! This hyar chicken is a-gittin’
+old an’ stiff; couldn’t git down thar ter
+save my life.”</p>
+
+<p>He climbed up and up, his silent shadow
+climbing with him till he neared the spot
+where Ike sat, when he suddenly paused.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>“Git up, Ike,” he said; “that’s the only
+place whar thar’s purchase enough ter pull
+up by.”</p>
+
+<p>He evidently knew all the ground. Ike
+dragged himself out of the way, and, with
+his hands in his pockets, stood pensively
+watching him as he pulled himself to the
+verge, and then upon his knees, and so to his
+feet on the roadside. He paused for a moment,
+panting. He looked at his companion
+with an expression which had no relation to
+the words on his lips. Many a boy might
+not have detected this yawning gulf between
+what he meant and what he said, but Ike’s
+senses were sharpened by suspicion and anxiety.</p>
+
+<p>“Whew! Great Molly Har’!” Jerry
+mopped his brow with his red cotton handkerchief.
+“I’m too old fur sech didoes as
+this hyar—old man’s a-goin’ fas’. Knees
+plumb bent. Don’t ye laff, Ike! Don’t ye
+laff.” Ike had shown no sign of merriment.
+“An’ ’fore everything don’t ye tell Ab ez I
+tried ter climb down Keedon Bluffs ter that
+old ball, an’ couldn’t. I wouldn’t hev the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>mounting ter git a-holt o’ that thar joke on
+me fur nuthin’!”</p>
+
+<p>He looked sharply at the boy, who said not
+a word, but simply stared at him as he stood
+on the verge of the Bluff in the slanting
+melancholy yellow light of the waning moon.
+There was a quiver in Binwell’s nostril, a
+nervous motion of the lips, a keen inimical
+gleam of the eyes under his hat brim. He
+was giving Ike more notice than he had ever
+before bestowed on him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hey!” he cried jocularly, clapping the
+boy on the shoulder, “don’t ye tell on me,
+Ike—ye won’t, will ye?”</p>
+
+<p>This direct appeal brought an answer.
+But Ike was on his guard.</p>
+
+<p>“Mebbe then uncle Ab would quit thinkin’
+ez how <i>he</i> could,” he said cautiously.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry Binwell suddenly changed his tactics.</p>
+
+<p>“Tell ennybody ye want ter, ye wide-mouthed
+shoat, ye! Ef I can’t climb down
+thar nobody else kin, an’ nobody air a-goin’
+ter try. Got too tender feelin’s fur thar necks.
+I ain’t ashamed o’ gittin’ old nohow! Ye’ll
+be whar I am some day, Ike, ef ye don’t die
+fust.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p>
+
+<p>He strode on ahead with a deft free step.
+Ike, doubtful and grievously ill at ease, followed.
+Come what might he felt that he
+would tell his father all, and let him solve
+the mystery about this strange guest. Then
+he began to reflect how slight this “all”
+was. There were the innuendoes of the
+men at the store; but his father knew as
+well as he how little Jerry Binwell had been
+liked in his early youth, how strong the prejudice
+remained. The affront to old Corbin
+was indeed reprehensible, but as to climbing
+about the rocks at night surely any one might
+do that who was foolish or idle or nimble
+enough.</p>
+
+<p>Ike was surprised that although he found
+in summing up there was no positive heinous
+wickedness involved, his aversion to the
+man remained and his resolution was strong.
+He would tell his father all that he had
+heard, that he had seen. He would shift
+the responsibility. His shoulders were not
+strong enough to carry it.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry’s long, lean figure, with the company
+of his longer and leaner shadow which dogged
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>his steps like some pursuing phantom of sorrow
+or dismay that might materialize in the
+fullness of time, kept steadily down the road.
+He made no pretense of silence or concealment,
+but whistled blithely and loud—a
+sound to pierce the pensive hour with discordant
+interruption. Did it awaken the
+birds? A peevish, intermittent chirring rose
+drowsily from the woods, and then was still,
+and anon sounded again. Or was it that the
+dawn was coming hardily upon the slowly
+departing night, long lingering, loath to
+go? The moon showed no paling sign; belts
+of pearly vapors, catching its light, were
+rising from the furthest reaches of the purple
+mountains. And here the river was
+dark and deep; and there it flowed in translucent
+amber waves, with a silver flash of
+foam, all the brighter for the shadow of the
+rock hard by. And now it was out of sight
+and there were the long stretches of the familiar
+woods on either hand, with no suggestion
+of the vivid tints of autumn, only a
+dusky black alternating with a gleaming gold
+strewn like the largess of a dream fantasy all
+a-down the winding ways.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span></p>
+
+<p>Morning surely; the thrush sings a stave.
+And silence again.</p>
+
+<p>The shadows falter, though the pensive
+lunar light yet lingers. And again the thrush—fresh,
+thrilling, a quiver of ecstasies, a
+soaring wing, though it catches the yellow
+moonbeams. The sky reddens. Alas, for
+the waning moon! Oh, sorry ghost; how
+pale! how pale!</p>
+
+<p>For the prosaic day is in the awakening
+woods. The mountains rise above their encompassing
+mists and shadows. Beneath
+them, brown and gray, with closed batten
+shutters, Ike sees, slowly revealed, his father’s
+house, the sheep lying huddled at one side,
+barely astir—a head lifted now, and then
+dropped—the cow drowsing in a fence corner;
+the chickens beginning to jump down
+from the althea bushes, where, despite the
+autumnal chill, they still roost. And, as the
+first slanting sun ray shoots up over the mountains,
+the door opens, and there is thrust out
+the pink face of Rosamond, dimpling with
+glee at the sight of them, and her shout of
+glad recognition is loud enough to waken all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>the sluggards in the cabin, or for that matter
+in the Cove.</p>
+
+<p>The cabin, however, was already astir. Ike
+learned, with emotions not altogether relating
+to the recital, that his father’s aunt who had
+brought him up from infancy had been taken
+ill, and a runner having been sent to apprise
+him he had gone over to the Carolina side,
+and would not return until the old woman
+should be better or the worst over.</p>
+
+<p>Ike had postponed his disclosures too long.
+There was little good, he thought, as he
+swung his axe at the wood-pile—as wide
+awake as though he had participated in no
+coon-hunt—to tell his mother; she had cares
+enough—and what could she do? And truly
+he had nothing to tell except to put into words
+vague suspicions; nay, his thoughts were not
+so well defined; to canvass actions and accents
+and looks that displeased him. They
+all knew—at least they would not be surprised
+to learn that Jerry Binwell had not
+outlived the malice of his youth. Aunt Jemima
+would regard the slightest word against
+him as an effort to bereave her of this late-blooming
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>pleasure and joy of her life, the little
+Rosamond. Ike hopefully considered for a
+time the blind man’s aversion to Binwell.
+Abner would never hear nor reply when he
+spoke—and since the first night, he had not
+spoken to Binwell, except indeed one day
+when he chanced to stumble against the
+sprawling loafer before the fire. Abner struck
+at him fiercely and called out imperiously—“Get
+out of my way—or I will kick you
+out!”</p>
+
+<p>Jerry had moved, but there was an odd
+glancing expression from his half-closed lids
+that alarmed Ike, so malignant it seemed.
+The little girl had run gayly up, caught
+Abner by the hand, and guided him to his
+place by the fire. For she it was who had
+superseded all the others, and had made the
+blind artillery-man her special charge. All
+day she was laughing beside him. Any time
+the oddly assorted couple could be met, she
+leading him carefully, holding two of his
+bronzed fingers, as they strolled down the
+sunset road, or they might be seen sitting
+on the wood-pile while he told her stories
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>or sang. And she sang also, loud and clear—gayly
+too, whatever might have been the
+humble poet’s mood—in no wise dismayed
+or hindered by the infantile disability of
+not being able to carry a tune. She had a
+thousand quirks and conceits, incredibly entertaining
+to him in his enforced idleness.
+She had watched wide-eyed when Hiram
+Guyther read from an old and tattered Testament,
+for the accomplishment of reading was
+rare in the region, and had not before been
+brought to her observation. Often thereafter
+she equipped herself with a chip, held sturdily
+before her dancing eyes, and from this
+unique book she droned forth, in imitation of
+Hiram’s gruff voice, strange stories of beasts
+and birds, and the human beings about her,
+pausing only to scream with laughter at her
+own wit, and then gruffly droned on once
+more. She fell ill once for a day or so—a
+red and a swollen throat, and a flushing, dull-eyed
+fever. Aunt Jemima and Ike’s mother
+exhausted their skill and simple remedies, and
+went about haggard and nervous; and the
+blind man, breaking a long silence, said suddenly,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>“Ef ennything war ter happen ter
+that thar child I’d ’low the Lord hed fursook
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>A neighbor, who happened to be at the
+house, eyed him curiously. “Ef I war you-uns,
+Ab,” he said, “I’d ’low ez He hed
+fursook me whenst He let my eyes git put
+out.”</p>
+
+<p>The brave fellow had had no repinings, not
+even when the war was his daily thought.
+Now he seemed to have forgotten it, so full,
+and varied, and cheerful an interest had this
+little creature brought into his life. Often
+aunt Jemima would tell in gladsome superlatives
+what she looked like, and when she
+spoke he would turn an intent smiling face
+toward her as if he beheld some charming
+image.</p>
+
+<p>What was the use of talking, Ike thought,
+remembering all this. They would not jeopardize
+the loan of this treasure for all that
+Jerry Binwell could do or say.</p>
+
+<p>He cut away vehemently at the wood, making
+the chips fly and the mountain echoes
+ring. He responded curtly, but without discourtesy,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>when Jerry Binwell came out of the
+house, took a seat upon the wood-pile, and
+began to talk to him. Jerry had a confidential
+tone, and he slyly laughed at the folks in
+the Cove, and he took on a comrade-like manner—implying
+a certainty of appreciation
+and sympathy—that might once have flattered
+Ike, coming from one so much older
+than himself. Now, however, Ike merely
+swung the axe in silence, casting an occasional
+distrustful glance at the thin sharp
+face with its long grayish goatee. More than
+once he encountered a keen inquiring look
+that did not seem to agree with the careless,
+casual nature of the talk.</p>
+
+<p>“Old Jake Corbin—ye know him; oh yes,
+ye seen me h’ist him up on the beam thar at
+the store—waal, he be powerful keen ter get
+a chance ter torment other folks, but cut a
+joke on him, an’ I tell ye, old Jake’ll git his
+mad up, sure. I seen him the ’tother day, an’
+he plumb looked wild-cats at me—fairly
+glared. Tell ye, Ike, ye an’ me’ll git round
+him some day, an’ hev some fun out’n him—git
+his dander up an’ see him hop.” He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>winked at Ike and chewed resolutely on his
+huge quid of tobacco.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw, I won’t,” said Ike suddenly. “I
+hev’ been raised ter respec’ my elders. An’
+I’m a-goin’ ter do it now jes’ the same ez
+afore ye kem.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bless my bones!” cried Jerry Binwell,
+affecting contemptuous surprise and speaking
+in a jeering falsetto voice. “Jes’ listen how
+leetle Sally do talk—ye plumb perlite leetle
+gal!” He leered unpleasantly at the flushing
+boy. Then he suddenly resumed his natural
+tone and his former manner, as if he had
+borne no part in this interlude.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye oughter hear how he talks ’bout you-uns,
+Ike—’lows ye air plumb lazy.”</p>
+
+<p>“That war a true word whenst he said it,”
+interpolated Ike.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ never done yer work, an’ war onreliable,
+an’ onstiddy, an’ hedn’t no grit ter stan’
+up ter yer word, an’ thar war no sech thing
+ez makin’ a man out’n ye. I hearn him say
+that an’ mo’, ’fore twenty other men.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike’s axe had dropped to the ground. He
+listened with a red cheek and a glowing eye.
+The other watched him intently.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Waal, that’s pretty tough talk,” said
+Ike.</p>
+
+<p>“’Tis <i>that</i>!” assented Binwell.</p>
+
+<p>“But I hev been shirking some an’ no mistake,
+an’ I reckon the old man ’lowed that
+war jes’ the kind o’ stuff I be made out’n, totally.
+Now I be a-goin’ ter show him ’tain’t
+nuthin’ more ’n a streak.”</p>
+
+<p>And the steady strokes of the axe rang, and
+the chips flew, and the mountains echoed the
+industrial sound.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry Binwell looked unaccountably disappointed
+and disturbed. He changed the subject.
+“Why war ye axin’ Ab fur the loan o’
+his gun this mornin’?”</p>
+
+<p>“Kase dad hev kerried his’n off, an’ I be
+a-goin’ ter git up the boys an’ go arter that
+thar painter. It riles me powerful ter go
+a-huntin’ a coon an’ git run by a painter.
+So I ’lowed we-uns would go ter-night.”</p>
+
+<p>Again the man slouching on the wood-pile
+seemed unaccountably worried and ill at ease.
+This reminded Ike of that curious nocturnal
+climbing of the rocks, and when he went up
+to the roof-room for some lead to mould bullets
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>for the gun, he stood looking about him
+and wondering how Jerry Binwell contrived
+to escape from his hospitable quarters without
+rousing the family who slept in the room and
+in the shed-room below. There was no window;
+the long tent-like place was illumined
+only by the many cracks in the wall and roof.
+They had a dazzling silvery glister when one
+looked steadily at the light pouring through
+them amongst the brown timbers, and the
+many garments, and bags, and herbs, and peltries,
+hanging from the ridge-pole. One of
+these rifts struck him as wider than he had
+thought any of them could be. He reached
+up and touched the clapboard. It was loose;
+it rose with the pressure. A man not half so
+active as Binwell could have sprung through
+and upon the roof, and thence swung himself
+to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>The panther was surprised and killed that
+night. Jerry Binwell, and several other men
+who heard of the adventure, joined the party.
+They were all in high feather going home,
+and Skimpy sang a number of his roundelays,
+as he had often done before without
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>exciting any particular admiration. He sang
+from animal spirits, as the other boys, less
+musically endowed, shouted and grotesquely
+yelled. Nevertheless, with the musician’s
+susceptibility to plaudits, his ear was attuned
+to Jerry Binwell’s exclamation, addressed to
+one of the men in the rear, “Jes’ listen how
+that thar young one kin sing! ’Pears plumb
+s’prisin’!”</p>
+
+<p>And the good-natured mountaineer returned,
+“That’s a fac’. Wouldn’t be
+s’prised none ef Skimp shows a reg’lar gift
+fur quirin’.”</p>
+
+<p>“He sings better now’n all the folkses in
+the church-house,” said the guileful Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>The flattered Skimpy!</p>
+
+<p>He knew that the society of Ike had been
+forbidden to him, lest he should come in contact
+with this elderly reprobate, but he felt a
+great flutter of delight when Binwell, coming
+up beside him, as he trotted along in the
+moonlight, said again that he could sing like
+all possessed, and declared that if he had a
+fiddle he could teach Skimpy many new tunes
+that he had heard when he lived down in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>Persimmon Cove. “Mighty fiddlin’ folks
+down thar,” he added, seductively.</p>
+
+<p>Now there was hanging on the wall at the
+Sawyer house—and it is barely possible that
+Jerry Binwell may have seen it there—a
+crazy old fiddle and bow. It was claimed as
+the property of Obadiah, the eldest of the
+boys, who had his share of such musical
+talent as blessed the Sawyer family. In him
+it expressed itself in fiddling to the exclusion
+of his brothers—for very intolerant
+was he of anybody who undertook to “play
+the fool with this fiddle,” as he phrased it.
+A critical person might have said that he
+played the fool with it himself, or perhaps
+that it played the fool with him. But such
+as the performance was, he esteemed the instrument
+as the apple of his eye, and was
+very solicitous of not breaking its “bredge.”
+Therefore Skimpy was a very bold boy, and
+preposterously hopeful, when he suggested
+to Binwell that he could borrow Obadiah’s
+fiddle, and thus the treasures of sound so
+rapturously fiddled forth by the dwellers in
+Persimmon Cove might rejoice the air in
+Tanglefoot.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Naw, naw, don’t ’sturb Obadiah,” said
+the considerate Jerry. “Jes’ to-morrer evenin’,
+two hours by sun, whenst he ain’t needin’
+it an’ ain’t studyin’ bout’n it, ye jes’ git
+it, an’ ye kem an’ meet me by the sulphur
+spring, an’ I kin l’arn ye them new chunes.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s ridiculous attenuated shadow
+thumped along in front of them; Jerry’s eyes
+were fixed upon it—he was too cautious to
+scan the boy himself. It stumped its toe
+presently on a stone which Skimpy was too
+much absorbed to see, and so it had to hop
+and limp for a while. Skimpy said nothing,
+for he was wondering how it would be easiest
+and safest to undertake to play the fool with
+that fiddle of Obadiah’s.</p>
+
+<p>They were a considerable distance in advance
+of the others and nearing Keedon
+Bluffs; the whoopings of their invisible companions,
+who were hidden by the frequent
+turns in the road, came now and again upon
+the air, arousing the latent voices of the
+rocks; occasionally there was only the sound
+of loud indistinguishable talking, as if the
+powers of the earth and the air had broken
+out in prosaic communion.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Pipe up, sonny,” said the paternal Jerry,
+seeing that the conversation was not likely
+to be resumed. “Gin us that one bout’n
+‘Dig Taters;’ that thar one air new ter
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>To his surprise Skimpy refused. “I can’t
+’pear ter git no purchase on it hyar. Them
+rocks keep up sech a hollerin’.”</p>
+
+<p>They trudged on in silence for a few
+minutes. Then said Skimpy, glancing back
+over his shoulder, “I wish them boys would
+stir thar stumps an’ overhaul us. I hate ter
+be with sech a few folks arter night-fall ’roun
+Keedon Bluffs,”—he shrank apprehensively
+from the verge.</p>
+
+<p>“What fur?” demanded Jerry sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“Kase,” Skimpy lowered his voice and
+slipped nearer to his companion, “the folkses
+’low ez thar be witches ’round hyar of a
+night arter it gits cleverly dark an’ lays by
+day in them hollows in the Bluffs, an’ kem
+out of a night ter strangle folkses.” He suddenly
+remembered from whom he had heard
+these fables. “Ye know ’twar <i>you-uns</i> ez
+war a-tellin’ me an’ Ike ’bout them witches
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>fus’ evenin’ we ever seen ye—along this
+hyar road with yer kyart an’ yer leetle gal.”</p>
+
+<p>Binwell was silent for a moment. Then
+he began to laugh in a chuckling way, and
+the Bluffs responded in muffled and sinister
+merriment. “’Twar jes’ a pack o’ lies,
+Skimp!” he said jovially. “I jes’ done it
+ter skeer that thar boy ez war along o’ you-uns—Ike
+Guyther. He be powerful easy
+skeered, an’ I wanted ter see how he’d look!
+I tell ye of a night he jes’ gathers his bones
+tergether an’ sets close ter the ha’th. Ef
+enny witches take arter him, they’ll hev ter
+kem down the chimbly afore all the fambly.
+Ike, he puts them witches on thar mettle ter
+ketch him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the candid Skimpy,
+“it skeered me a sight wuss’n it did Ike.
+I ’lowed I’d never git home; ef I hed hed
+ez many feet ez a thousand-legs I could hev
+fund a use fur ’em all. An’ them two I did
+hev mos’ weighed a ton. Ike never ’peared
+ter me ter skeer a speck.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no doubt in his tones. He was
+a friendly fellow himself, and he looked only
+for fair-dealing in others.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I never went ter skeer <i>you-uns</i>,”
+said Jerry in his companionable manner. “I
+seen from the fust jes’ what sort’n boy you-uns
+war—stiddy, an’ reliable, an’ the kind o’
+feller ez a body kin put dependence in—know
+jes’ whar ter find ye.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy listened in tingling delight to this
+sketch—it would not have been recognized
+at home. His mother might have considered
+it ridicule.</p>
+
+<p>“I jes’ wanted ter skeer that thar t’other
+boy”—he was looking Skimpy over very
+closely as he spoke, his eyes narrowing, his
+lips pursed up in a sort of calculation—he
+might have seemed to be mentally measuring
+Skimpy’s attenuated frame. “I jes’ wanted
+ter skeer that thar t’other boy. He’s powerful
+mean, Ike is. He air always a-purtendin’
+ter like ennybody, an’ then a-laffin’ at ’em
+ahint thar backs. I didn’t know him then,
+but I knowed his uncle Ab, an’ I seen the
+minit I clapped eyes on him ez they war jes’
+alike. An’ ez I hed a reason fur it, I skeered
+him. He’s mighty cantankerous ahint ennybody’s
+back,” Jerry continued as he strode
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>on, swinging his right arm. “I hev hearn
+him declar’ ez that thar old cur o’ yourn, Bose,
+air the bes’-lookin’ member o’ the Sawyer
+fambly.” He glanced sharply at Skimpy,
+steadily stamping along the sandy road.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, ye know,” said Skimpy in a high
+excited voice, “Bose, ye know, is a plumb
+special coon-dog. An’ he’s sharp; mighty
+few gyard-dogs sech ez Bose. An’ he air a
+shepherd too. I’ll be bound none o’ our
+sheep air ever missin’ or kilt. An’ Bose sets
+ez much store by the baby ez enny o’ the
+fambly do; he jes’ gyards that cradle; he’ll
+snap at me if I so much ez kem nigh it—nobody
+but mam kin tech that baby arter
+Bose takes his stand. An’ Bose, he kin go
+out an’ find our cow out’n fifty an’ fetch
+her home.”</p>
+
+<p>Binwell had long ago perceived that he
+had touched the wrong chord. Skimpy was
+quite content to be rated as secondary in
+beauty to the all-accomplished and beloved
+Bose.</p>
+
+<p>“I know Bose,” he admitted. “Bose is
+hard to beat.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span></p>
+
+<p>“<i>Yes</i>, sir! Yes, <i>sir</i>!” And Skimpy wagged
+his convinced head.</p>
+
+<p>“But Ike ’lows he be ugly.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks! I say ugly!” cried Skimpy
+scornfully; he was willing to be considered
+no beauty himself—but <i>Bose</i>!</p>
+
+<p>“An’ he ’lows he’d jes’ ez lief hear Bose
+howl ez you-uns sing.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy paused, turning his astonished face
+up to Binwell, the moonlight full upon its
+stung and indignant expression. Now Bose
+had never been considered musical—not even
+by Skimpy. He drew the line that bounds
+perfection at Bose’s dulcet utterances. He
+was almost incredulous at this, despite his
+confiding nature.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, I hev jes’ sot an’ sung fur Ike till
+I mighty nigh los’ my breath.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye oughter hear him mock ye, arter ye
+gits gone. Oh, Mister Coon! Oh, e-aw,
+Mister Kyune!” mimicked Jerry in an insulting
+falsetto. “He ’lows it gin him the
+year-ache; ye ’members how bad he had it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dellaw!” exclaimed the outdone and
+amazed Skimpy, stopping in the road, his
+breath short, his face scarlet.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Made me right up an’ down mad,” said
+Jerry. “Oh, I knowed that Ike, minit I set
+eyes on him! I knowed his deceivin’ natur’.
+I wanted ter skeer him away from Keedon
+Bluffs. I never minded you-uns. I’d jes’ ez
+lief tell you-uns ez not why I wanted ter
+keep him off’n ’em.”</p>
+
+<p>“What fur?” said Skimpy, once more
+trudging along.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, hyar I be whar my road turns off
+from yer road,” said Jerry, pausing. He
+stood at the forks of the road, half in the
+light of the moon, half in the shadow of the
+thinning overhanging foliage. The mists
+were in the channel of the river, and the
+banks were brimming with the lustrous
+pearly floods; the blue sky was clear save
+that the moon was beset by purple broken
+clouds—all veined about with opalescent
+gleams. The shadows were black in the
+woods; the long shafts of light, yellow and
+slanting, penetrated far down the aisles, which
+seemed very lonely and silent; an acorn
+presently fell from the chestnut oak above
+Binwell’s head into the white sandy road, so
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>unfrequented that the track of a wagon which
+had passed long before would hardly be soon
+displaced unless by the wind or the rain.</p>
+
+<p>“I tell ye,” said Jerry, looking down into
+the candid upturned face beneath the torn
+brim of the old white wool hat, “ye fetch
+Obadiah’s fiddle ter-morrer, an hour ’fore
+sundown, ter the sulphur spring, an’ I’ll l’arn
+ye them new chunes. An’ I’ll tell ye all
+’bout Ike, an’ what he said an’ why I wanter
+keep sech ez him off’n them Bluffs.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal,” assented Skimpy, “I kin make
+out ter git the fiddle, I reckon.”</p>
+
+<p>But it was with little joyous anticipation
+that he turned away. Ike’s words, as reported
+by Binwell, rankled in his heart; it
+was hot and heavy within him. He even
+shed a forlorn tear or two—to thus make
+acquaintance with the specious delusions of
+friendship. It was not so much the sting of
+wounded vanity, although he was sensible too
+of this—but that Ike should affect to esteem
+him so dearly and ridicule him behind
+his back! He was generous enough, however,
+to seek to make excuses to himself for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>his friend. “I reckon,” he muttered, “it
+mus’ hev been arter dad wouldn’t lemme go
+with Ike no mo’ an’ it riled him, an’ so he
+tuk ter tongue-lashin’ me. I reckon he never
+thunk ez I couldn’t holp it.”</p>
+
+<p>And thus he disappeared down the woodland
+ways, leaving Jerry Binwell standing in
+the road and looking meditatively after him.</p>
+
+<p>“I reckon it’s better ennyhow,” Binwell
+soliloquized. “Ike’s a hundred times smarter’n
+him, but he air smart enuff. Bes’ not be
+too smart. An’ though he be ez tall ez Ike
+he’s a deal stringier; he’s powerful slim.
+Ike ain’t much less’n me—an’ I be a deal
+too bulky—git stuck certain. Skimpy’s the
+boy.”</p>
+
+<p>He remained silent for a time, vacantly gazing
+down the woods. Then suddenly he
+turned and betook himself homeward.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">
+    IX.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>Circumstances the next day seemed adverse
+to Skimpy’s scheme. Obadiah for some
+time past had not been musically disposed, and
+the violin had hung silent on the cabin wall
+in company with strings of red peppers, and
+bags of herbs, and sundry cooking utensils.
+That afternoon the spirit of melody within
+him was newly awakened.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy, who had been lurking about the
+place, watching his opportunity, was dismayed
+to see Obadiah come briskly out of
+the cabin door with the instrument in his
+hand, and establish himself in a rickety
+chair on the porch. He tilted this back on
+its hind-legs until he could lean against the
+wall, stuck the violin under his chin, and
+with his long lean arm in a fascinating crook,
+he began to bow away rapturously. They
+were very merry tunes that Obadiah played—at
+least the tempo was lively and required
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>a good many quick jerks and nods of the
+head, and much flirting and shaking of his
+long red mane to keep up with it. Occasionally
+his bow would glance off the strings with
+a very dashing effect, when he would hold it
+at arm’s-length, and grin with satisfaction,
+and wink triumphantly at Skimpy, who had
+come and seated himself on the steps of the
+porch hard by. He looked up from under
+the wide brim of his hat somewhat wistfully
+at Obadiah.</p>
+
+<p>The violinist was happier for an audience,
+although he could have sat alone till sunset,
+with one leg doubled up under the other, which
+swayed loosely from the tilted elevation of
+the chair, and played for his own appreciative
+ear, and found art sufficient unto itself. But
+applause is a pleasant concomitant of proficiency
+and he loved to astonish Skimpy. His
+hat had fallen on the floor, and the kitten,
+fond of queer places to sleep, had coiled herself
+in the crown, and now and then lifted
+her head and looked out dubiously at Skimpy.
+Just above Obadiah was a shelf on which
+stood a pail of water and a gourd. What
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>else there was up there an inquisitive young
+rooster was trying to find out, having flown
+over the heedless musician, still blithely
+sawing away.</p>
+
+<p>“He oughter hev his wings cropped, so ez
+he couldn’t fly around that a-way,” said
+Skimpy suddenly. “Oughtn’t he, Oby?”</p>
+
+<p>Now one would imagine that when Obadiah
+was harmoniously disposed all the chords of
+his nature would be attuned to the fine
+consonance which so thrilled him. On the
+contrary the vibrations of his temper were
+most discordant when his mood was most
+melodic. He had one curt effective rejoinder
+for any remark that might seek to interrupt
+him.</p>
+
+<p>“Hesh up!” he said, tartly.</p>
+
+<p>His mother, a tall gaunt woman of an aggressively
+neat appearance, was hanging out
+the clothes to dry on the althea bushes in the
+sun. She was near enough to overhear the
+conversation, and she suddenly joined in it.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody oughter want ter tie up other
+folkses tongues till they be right sure they
+hev got no call ter be tongue-tied tharself.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span></p>
+
+<p>To this reproof Obadiah refrained from
+making any unfilial reply, but scraped away
+joyously till Skimpy, longing for silence and
+the fiddle, felt as if the mountains shimmering
+through the haze were beginning to
+clumsily dance, and experienced a serious
+difficulty in keeping his own feet still, so
+nervous had he become in his eagerness to
+lay hold of the bow himself.</p>
+
+<p>Sunset would be kindling presently—he
+gazed anxiously toward the western sky across
+the vast landscape, for the cabin was perched
+well up on the mountain slope, and the privilege
+of overlooking the long stretches of
+valley and range and winding river was curtailed
+only by the limits of vision. The sun
+was as yet a glittering focus of dazzling
+white rays, but they would be reddening
+soon, and doubtless his new friend was already
+waiting for him at the sulphur spring.</p>
+
+<p>“I wisht ye’d lemme hev that thar fiddle
+a leetle while, Oby,” he said suddenly, his
+manner at once beguiling for the sake of the
+favor he sought, and reproachful for the denial
+he foresaw.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span></p>
+
+<p>Obadiah’s arm seemed electrified—there
+was one terrific shriek from the cat-gut, and
+then his quivering hand held the bow silent
+above the strings.</p>
+
+<p>“Air ye turned a bodacious idjit, Skimp?”
+he cried, positively appalled by the audacity
+of the request. “I wouldn’t hev ye a-ondertakin’
+ter play the fool with this hyar fiddle,
+fur”—he hesitated, but his manner swept
+away worlds of entreating bribes—“fur
+<i>nuthin’</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>The young rooster, finding that there was
+nothing upon the shelf except the water-pail
+and gourd, and hardly caring to appropriate
+them, had made up his mind to descend.
+After the manner of his kind, however, he
+teetered about on the edge of the shelf in
+some excitement, unable to determine just at
+what spot to attempt the leap. Twice or
+thrice he spread his bronzed red and yellow
+wings, stretched his neck, and bowed his
+body down—to rise up exactly where he was
+before. At last the adventurous fowl decided
+to trust himself to providence. With a squawk
+at his own temerity he fluttered awkwardly
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>off the shelf, and almost alighted on the musician’s
+head, giving a convulsive clutch at
+it with his claws as he flopped past. There
+was a distressful whine from the fiddle-strings
+in Obadiah’s sudden perversion of the bow;
+he had forgotten all about the rooster on the
+shelf; he jumped back with a galvanic jerk,
+as he felt the fluttering wings about his head
+and the scrape of the yellow claws, and
+emitted a sharp cry of startled dismay.</p>
+
+<p>Bose, who had been lying close beside a
+clumsy wooden box on rockers, growled surlily,
+fixing a warning eye on the boy; then his
+voice rose into a gruff bark. There was no
+longer use in his keeping quiet and guarding
+the cradle. Beneath the quilts was a great
+commotion; the personage enveloped therein,
+although sleeping according to infantile etiquette
+with its head covered, had no mind to
+be thus eclipsed when broad awake. There
+presently emerged a pair of mottled fists, the
+red head of the Sawyer tribe, an indignant,
+frowning red face, and a howl so vigorous
+that it seemed almost visible. It had no accompaniment
+of tears, for the baby wept for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>rage rather than grief, and sorrow was the
+share of those who heard him.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sawyer turned and looked reproachfully
+at the group on the porch.</p>
+
+<p>“’Twarn’t <i>me</i>, mam, ’twar the rooster ez
+woke the baby,” Obadiah exclaimed, seeking
+to exculpate himself.</p>
+
+<p>Bose was stretching himself to a surprising
+length, all his toe-nails elongated as he spread
+out his paws, and still half-growling and half-barking
+at Obadiah, the utterance complicated
+with a yawn.</p>
+
+<p>“’Twar the rooster,” reiterated Obadiah—“the
+rooster, an’—an’—Bose.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Twarn’t Bose!” exclaimed Skimpy,
+loyally.</p>
+
+<p>“Hesh up!” said the dulcet musician.</p>
+
+<p>“Needn’t tell me nuthin’ ag’in Bose—I
+know Bose!” said Mrs. Sawyer emphatically—thus
+a good name is ever proof
+against detraction. “Hang up that thar
+fiddle, Oby,” she continued. “I wonder the
+baby ain’t been woked up afore considerin’
+the racket ye kep’ up. An’ go down yander
+ter the ’tater patch an’ see ef yer dad don’t
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>need ye ter holp dig the ’taters. I don’t
+need ye hyar—an’ that fiddle don’t need ye
+nuther. I be half crazed with that thar
+everlastin’ sawin’ an’ scrapin’ o’ yourn, keep-in’
+on ez ef yer muscles war witched, an’ ye
+<i>couldn’t</i> quit.”</p>
+
+<p>She sat down on a chair beside the cradle
+and began to rock it with her foot, readjusting
+the while the quilts over the head of the
+affronted infant, who straightway flung them
+off again that he might have more room for
+his vocalization.</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah went obediently and hung up the
+fiddle, and presently looking down the slope
+Skimpy saw him wending his way toward the
+potato patch.</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno how kem Oby ’lows that thar old
+fiddle b’longs to him, more’n it do ter the
+rest o’ we-uns,” Skimpy observed discontentedly,
+when the baby’s vociferations had subsided
+into a sort of soliloquy, keeping time
+with the rhythmic motions of the rockers. It
+was neither mutter nor wail nor indicative of
+unhappiness, but it expressed a firmly perverse
+resolution not to go to sleep again if he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>could help it, and rose instantly into a portentous
+howl if the monotonous rocking was
+intermitted for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>“’Twar yer gran’dad’s fiddle,” said Mrs.
+Sawyer. “That’s the only sure enough owner
+it ever hed—he never gin it ter nobody in
+partic’lar whenst he died. An’ it jes’ hung
+thar on the wall till Obadiah ’peared ter take
+a kink ter play it.”</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah doubtless considered himself entitled
+to the fiddle by the right of primogeniture—though
+Obadiah did not call it by this
+name. As Skimpy reflected upon the nature
+of his brother’s claim he felt that there was
+no reason why he should not insist on sharing
+the ownership. It was not Obadiah’s
+fiddle—it belonged to the family.</p>
+
+<p>The baby’s voice sank gradually to a jerky
+monotone, then to a murmur and so to silence.
+The rockers of the cradle jogged thumpingly
+up and down the floor for a few minutes
+longer. And then Mrs. Sawyer betook herself
+once more to her task of hanging out the
+clothes, while Bose guarded the cradle, and
+Skimpy still sat on the steps, his elbows on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>his knees, and his pondering head held between
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p>The lengthening yellow sunbeams poured
+through the cabin door, venturing gradually
+up the walls to where the silent instrument
+hung, filling it with a rich glow and playing
+many a fantasy though never stirring a
+string.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="X">
+    X.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>When Jerry Binwell repaired to the sulphur
+spring that afternoon, there was no waiting
+figure amongst the rocks beside it. He
+paused at a little distance and glanced about
+with surprise. Then he slouched on toward
+the trysting place. In all the long avenues
+of the woods that seemed illumined by the
+clear amber tint of the dead leaves covering
+the ground, on which the dark boles of the
+trees stood out with startling distinctness, his
+roving eye encountered no living creature, except
+indeed a squirrel. It was perched upright
+upon the flat slab that almost hid the
+spring, eating a chestnut held between its
+deft paws; it scudded away, its curling tail
+waving as it ran up a tree hard by, and Binwell
+heard it chattering there afterward;
+more than once it dropped empty nutshells
+upon the man’s hat as he waited half-reclining
+among the rocks beside the spring.
+Time dawdled on; the sunshine adjusted itself
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>to a new slant; it deepened to a richer
+tint; the shadows became pensive; the squirrel
+had fled long ago. Often Binwell lifted
+himself on his elbow and glanced about him,
+frowning surlily; but the vast woods were
+utterly solitary and very still this quiet day.
+Once a rustling sound caught his ear, and
+as he sprang up looking about hopefully for
+the boy, his motion alarmed some hogs that
+were roaming wild in the forest to fatten on
+the mast. They stood still, and fixed small
+sharp eyes intently upon him, then with an
+exclamatory and distrustful vociferation they
+ran off through the woods hardly less fleetly
+than deer. Jerry Binwell muttered his discontent,
+and glancing once more at the sky
+began to walk slowly about, keeping the
+spring in sight. Still no Skimpy came. The
+man’s face wore an expression both scornful
+and indignant as he paused at last.</p>
+
+<p>The forest was remarkably free from undergrowth
+just here; the fiery besoms of the annual
+conflagrations destroyed the young and
+tender shoots, and left to the wilderness something
+of the aspect of a vast park. Only on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>one side, and that was where the ground sloped
+suddenly to the depths of a rugged ravine, an
+almost impenetrable jungle of laurel reached
+from the earth into the branches of the trees.
+Its ever-green leaves had a summer suggestion
+as the sun glanced upon them; none had
+changed, none had fallen. And yet, as he
+looked, he noted a thinning aspect, a sort of
+gap at a certain point in the massive wall of
+interlacing boughs, made, he fancied, when
+some lumbering bear tore a breach in search
+of winter quarters in those bosky securities.
+He was an idle man, and trifles were wont to
+while away his time. His momentary curiosity
+served to mitigate the tedium of waiting
+for Skimpy. He slowly strolled toward the
+gap amidst the foliage, wondering whether the
+animal had only lately passed, whether it was
+possible to come upon it in its lair and surprise
+it. He was near enough to lay his hand
+on the laurel leaves when he noticed there
+was a distinctly marked path threading its
+way through the tangle. He could not see
+the ground, but a furrow amongst the boughs
+indicated continual passing and repassing.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>For a few yards this was visible as he stood
+looking through the gap of bent and broken
+branches; then the rift among the leaves
+seemed to curve and he saw no further. Still
+meditating on the bear, he experienced some
+surprise when he observed in the marshy
+earth in the open space near where he stood
+the print of a man’s boot; not his own, as he
+was half-inclined to think at first. For as he
+held his foot above the track, he saw that the
+print in the moist earth was much broader,
+and that the man walked with a short pace,
+far different from his own long stride. The
+steps had not only gone into the laurel but
+had come thence; often, too, judging from
+the number and direction of the footprints.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder whar this path leads,” he
+said. “Somebody must be moonshinin’ hyar-abouts.”</p>
+
+<p>He stood gazing down meditatively. The
+broad footprint was always the same, the
+step always the short measure indicating a
+slow and heavy man.</p>
+
+<p>This suggested the idea of old Corbin.
+The retort, in the nature of a practical joke,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>played on the old codger at the store, had not
+altogether satisfied Binwell’s enmity; this,
+in fact, was, in a measure, reinforced by the
+surly silence and looks of aversion which had
+since been meted out to him throughout the
+community. It was more than curiosity which
+he now felt; it was a certain joy in secretly
+spying upon his enemy, and there was a
+merry sneer in his eyes as he began to push
+his way through the laurel. As the path
+curved, he saw the groove among the leaves
+anew before him, and he had but to follow
+its twists and turns. A long way it led him
+down the rugged descent, the laurel leaves
+almost closing over his head, the great forest
+trees rising high above the thicket, flinging
+their darkling shadows into the midst. He
+was chuckling to think what a time of it old
+Corbin must have had to get down. “An’
+how in Kingdom Come did he ever git up
+ag’in?” he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>The words had hardly escaped his lips before
+he emitted a husky cry of surprise: he
+had come suddenly to his journey’s end. In
+the midst of a clear patch of rocky ground,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>where even the sturdy laurel could not strike
+root, were scattered shavings and bits of
+wood, and stretching into the dense growth,
+so long they were, lay two staunch but slender
+poles upon the ground. They were joined
+by rungs, well fitted in a workman-like manner.
+It was in fact a great ladder, the like
+of which had never been seen in Tanglefoot
+Cove, and, indeed, rarely elsewhere. It
+might have reached from the river bank to
+the hollows of Keedon Bluffs! As Binwell
+gazed with starting eyes he noted that it was
+nearly completed—only a few rungs remained
+to be set in.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden vibrating sound set all the stillness
+to jarring; he turned abruptly, his
+nerves tense, an oath between his teeth. It
+was too late for him to hide, to flee. He
+could only gaze in despair at Skimpy’s red
+head, his white wool hat set on the back of
+it, bobbing along through the laurel; his
+freckled, grinning face was bowed on Obadiah’s
+fiddle that wailed and complained beneath
+his sawing arm.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was the urgency of the moment
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>that made Binwell bold and rallied his quick
+expedients. He did not even wonder how
+the boy had happened to discover him.
+Skimpy had descried him from a distance in
+the open woods, and had followed, bringing
+the fiddle according to their agreement. Binwell
+looked gravely at the boy and motioned
+to him to advance. The fiddle ceased to
+shiver beneath Skimpy’s inharmonious touch,
+and with his eyes stretched, and his mouth
+too, for that matter, he pressed on down to
+the spot. He could not restrain a wondering
+“Waal, sir!” when Binwell pointed to the
+ladder.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t say nuthin’, Skimp,” said Binwell.
+“Lay the fiddle an’ bow thar in the laurel;
+level em’ so ez they won’t fall; thar! Ye
+kin find ’em ag’in by that thar rock. Now
+take a-holt of that thar ladder, ’bout hyar;
+that’s the dinctum—an’ jes’ foller me.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy recognized this as an odd proceeding,
+and yet he hardly felt warranted in
+questioning Jerry Binwell. He could not
+refuse his assistance in a mere matter of
+“toting”; he began to think that this service
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>was the reason his friend had appointed
+this place of meeting on pretext of playing
+the fiddle. He did not definitely suspect
+anything worse than a scheme to get a little
+unrequited work from him. More especially
+were his doubts annulled by the quiet glance
+with which Jerry Binwell met his eager inquiring
+look.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, take a-holt right thar”—as if this
+was an answer to all that the boy was about
+to ask. Binwell himself had run swiftly
+ahead and had caught up the other extremity
+of the ladder. He went straight forward,
+breaking a path through the jungle by the
+aid of the ladder that he allowed to precede
+him by ten or twelve feet. He did not hesitate,
+although there was no rift here amongst
+the leaves to guide him. His manner was as
+assured as if he were following a definite
+route that he had traveled often. Skimpy
+had no doubt that he knew whither he was
+going through that trackless desert. Nevertheless
+Binwell now and then looked back
+over his shoulder at the sun, as if to make
+sure of the direction which he was taking. He
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>did not care to notice the anxious freckled
+face, down the vista of the leaves, from which
+all jocundity had vanished. For Skimpy, although
+the best-natured of boys, began to
+rebel inwardly. He had a troublous consciousness
+that Jerry Binwell would not be
+safe to trust, and wondered that he could
+have so disregarded his father’s wish that
+he should not be brought into this association.
+It seemed odd to Skimpy that the
+danger should have manifested itself so close
+upon the heels of the warning. In common
+with many boys, he was apt to regard the
+elders as too cautious, too slow. He had not
+learned as yet that it is experience which has
+made them so. It was not merely mentally
+that he was ill at ease. His bare feet were
+beginning to burn, for they had now climbed
+long distances up the mountain slope amidst
+the laurel. The weight of the ladder asserted
+itself in every straining muscle, and yet he
+realized that his callow strength would hardly
+have enabled him to carry one end, were it
+not for the aid of the upholding boughs of
+the laurel, that would not suffer it to touch
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>the ground, even when his grasp sometimes
+relaxed in spite of himself. He dreaded to
+think how he would fare when they should
+emerge into the open woods. “I won’t tote
+my e-end no furder,” he said to himself, still
+striving to look upon himself as a free agent.</p>
+
+<p>He called once or twice to Binwell, who
+feigned not to hear. His deafness suddenly
+vanished when Skimpy stopped and the ladder
+lay upon the interlacing laurel-boughs.
+“Whar be we-uns a-goin’ ter tote this hyar
+contrivance, ennyways?” the boy demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ a leetle furder, sonny,” said Jerry
+Binwell paternally, turning upon him a quiet
+face, immovable save for the industriously
+ruminant jaws, subduing a great quid of tobacco;
+he was apparently so unaware of any
+cause for suspicions that they were erased
+from Skimpy’s mind. He took up his end of
+the ladder again, thinking it probably belonged
+to Binwell, and thankful that he had
+put into words no intimation of his vague but
+uneasy doubts. He even hummed a song as
+he stumped along, willing enough to be cheerful
+if the adventure only signified a little
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>work for no pay. “But I’d hev ruther not
+l’arn them chunes folks fiddle down in Persimmon
+Cove ef I hed knowed I hed ter skitter
+up the mounting this-a-way.”</p>
+
+<p>For they were in truth near the summit,
+not ascending the great bald, but in a gap
+between two peaks. The laurel had given
+way to open woods, and Skimpy’s end of the
+ladder almost dragged. The trees, instead of
+the great forest kings on the mountain slopes
+below, were the stunted growths peculiar to
+the summit. They heard no call of herder,
+no tinkle of bell, for the cattle that found
+summer pasturage here had been rounded up
+and driven home to the farms in the “flat-woods.”
+The silence was intense; they saw
+no living creature save a buzzard circling high
+in the red skies of the sunset. Skimpy
+thought for a moment they were going down
+on the North Carolina side; he was about to
+protest; the way was indescribably rocky
+and tortuous; the night was coming on. Suddenly
+Binwell paused.</p>
+
+<p>“Kem along, sonny; take the ladder in the
+middle an’ feed it out ter me.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span></p>
+
+<p>Skimpy, wondering, took the ladder in the
+middle, giving it a series of shoves toward
+Binwell, who suddenly lifted the end, and
+with one effort flung it from him—and out
+of the world, as it seemed to Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>He listened for a moment, hearing it crash
+among the tree-tops as it went falling down
+the precipice whence Binwell had thrown it.
+A moment after there was silence as intense
+as before. Then Binwell knelt on the verge
+and looked down the abyss. He raised a
+triumphant grinning face, and silently beckoned
+to Skimpy. The boy went forward and
+knelt too, to look over. At first he could see
+nothing but the shelving side of the mountain;
+the deep abyss gloomed with shadows,
+the richness of the autumnal colors sombre
+and tempered beneath the purple dusk. And
+then he discovered one end of the ladder,
+barely perceptible in the top of a pine-tree.</p>
+
+<p>“It lodged ’mongst them pines,” said the
+jubilant Binwell. “It’s safe, summer or
+winter; nobody’ll find it but the birds or the
+squir’ls.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy could no longer resist. “Air—air—it
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>yourn?” he faltered, struggling with
+his instinct of politeness.</p>
+
+<p>Binwell had risen to his feet; he was rubbing
+the earth off his hands—recklessly bedaubed
+when he had knelt down—and also
+from his trousers, nimbly raising first one
+knee, then the other, for the purpose. He
+was chuckling unpleasantly as he looked at
+the boy.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever see folks fling thar own ladders off’n
+the bluffs, an’ land ’em ’mongst the tree-tops
+fur the birds ter roost in?”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy stared, and ruefully shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal then! what ye talkin’ ’bout?”
+Binwell’s tone was cheerful, triumphant; a
+sinister triumph.</p>
+
+<p>The dumfounded Skimpy faltered,—</p>
+
+<p>“Whose war it, then?”</p>
+
+<p>“Dunno edzac’ly,” cried the blithe Binwell.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, now, that ain’t fair!” protested
+Skimpy, indignantly. “I’m goin’ right
+down ter the Cove, and tell.”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw, ye won’t! Naw, ye won’t!”
+exclaimed the undismayed Binwell. “Ef
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>ye do, ye’ll git jailed quick’n never war
+seen.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t done nothin’,” cried Skimpy, recoiling.</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t ye! Tote a man’s ladder up the
+mounting, over ter the Carliny side, an’ tumble
+it down ’mongst the pine tops, whar he’d
+hev ter make another ter reach it. Mebbe
+the constable an’ old Greeps, ez be jestice o’
+the peace, don’t ’low ez that’s suthin’, but
+I reckon they will!”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy was silent in acute dismay. Into
+what danger, what wrong-doing, had he not
+thrust himself by his disobedience! He
+looked at the grinning face, flushed by the
+fading remnant of the roseate sunset, feeling
+that he was in Binwell’s power, wondering
+what he should do, how he should be liberated
+from the toils spread for him.</p>
+
+<p>“See now, Skimp,” said Binwell beguilingly,
+and the poor boy’s heart leaped up at
+the kindly tone, for he sought to put the best
+construction on Jerry Binwell’s intentions, if
+only to calm his own despair and distress.
+“I could jes’ take ye under my arm—so,”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>he tucked Skimpy’s head under his arm and
+lightly lifted him high off his feet—“an’
+strong ez I be I could fling ye off’n that bluff
+half down that thar gorge; thar wouldn’t be
+enough o’ ye lef’ ter pick up on a shovel;
+an’ that would keep ye from tellin’ tales on
+me, I reckon.” He swung the boy perilously
+close to the edge of the precipice, then set
+him gently on his feet. “But I don’t want
+ter hurt ye, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter do it. I
+know ye air a plumb honer’ble, good sorter
+boy, an’ ain’t goin’ ter make a tale-tell o’
+yerse’f, even if ye wouldn’t git jailed. I
+wouldn’t trest no boy I ever see but you-uns.
+I wouldn’t trest Ike Guyther fur nuthin’. I
+war goin’ ter tell you-uns all ’bout’n it ennyways,
+even ’fore I fund that thar ladder.
+An’ then ye kin jedge whether I be right or
+wrong.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy, eager to be reassured, felt his
+heart lighten with the words. He strained
+his credulity to believe in Jerry Binwell.
+Surely he had not done so very wrong; there
+might be no harm in the man, after all. He
+drew a deep breath of relief, and then picked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>up his hat which had fallen from his head
+when Jerry Binwell was illustrating the terrible
+fate he might decree for the lad if he
+chose. The man was closely studying his
+face when their eyes met once more, but Binwell
+said simply that they had better go after
+Obadiah’s fiddle or night would overtake
+them before they found it.</p>
+
+<p>He talked as they went.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye see, Skimpy,” he said, “my tongue
+don’t lay holt nat’rally ter the words, kase I
+hev got some things ter tell ez I ain’t right
+proud on.”</p>
+
+<p>He glanced down at the wondering, upturned
+face, with its eyes wide with anticipation,
+and its mouth opening as if to swallow,
+without the customary grain of salt, any big
+tale which might be told.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye hearn old Corbin say, yander at the
+store that day, ez I run durin’ the War. An’
+I h’isted him up on the beam fur shamin’ me
+’fore all them folks. Waal, I oughtn’t ter
+done it, kase ’twar true—<i>jes’ one time</i>! I
+felt powerful ’shamed ter hear ’bout it ag’in—plumb
+bowed down.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span></p>
+
+<p>The crafty eyes scanning Skimpy’s ingenuous
+face saw that he was sympathetic.</p>
+
+<p>“War ain’t a healthy bizness, nohow,”
+continued Jerry. “But thar air lots o’ men,
+ez run heap more’n me, ez don’t hev it
+fetched up ag’in ’em every day. Lots o’
+runnin’ war done in the War—but folks
+nowadays ginerally talks ’bout thar fightin’.
+Some nimble fellers showed their heels in
+them times—folks ez live right hyar in the
+Cove. But I be the only one ez hev got ter
+hear ’bout it in these days. It’s kase I’m
+pore, Skimp. Ef I hed a good cabin an’
+right smart cornfield, an’ consider’ble head o’
+stock, ye wouldn’t hear ’bout my runnin’ that
+time.”</p>
+
+<p>Cynicism is eminently infectious. Skimpy
+wagged his head significantly. “You wouldn’t
+indeed!” the gesture seemed to say.</p>
+
+<p>“They don’t like me jes’ kase I’m pore.
+An’ kase I’m pore they call me shif’less. I
+hev hed a heap o’ trouble; sech truck ez I
+hed I war obleeged ter spen’ fur doctors’
+’tendance on my wife, ez war ailin’ always,
+an’ arter all she died at last.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p>
+
+<p>The unromantic Skimpy, meditating on the
+case, felt that at least the doctors’ bills were
+at an end.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ now I be homeless, an’ a wanderer,
+an’ hev my leetle gal ter feed. Folks actially
+want ter take her away from me. Ef
+’twarn’t fur her, them Guythers wouldn’t
+let me stay thar a day.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy knew that this was true. Ike had
+confided so much to him of the family feeling
+on the matter.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ now folks in the Cove air a-fixin’ ter
+drive me out’n it—me an’ little Rosamondy.
+They can’t set the law onto me, fur I never
+done nothin’ ag’in it—so they be a-goin’ ter
+laff me out’n it. Ye wanter know whose
+ladder that is?” he broke off with apparent
+irrelevance.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy nodded an eager assent.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s old Corbin’s, I’ll be bound, an’ I’ll
+tell ye why I ’low sech; no man but him kin
+do sech a job. Waal, ye know what he wants
+it fur? He wants somebody ez be light an’
+handy ter climb up Keedon Bluffs by it ter
+them hollows. An’ ye wanter know what
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>fur? Ter git suthin’ ez air hid in one o’ ’em.
+An’ ye wanter know what that be?”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s face in the closing dusk might
+have been cut out of stone, so white and set
+it was—such a petrified expectancy upon it.
+The man’s eyes glittered as he held his own
+face nearer and spoke in a hissing whisper,
+albeit in the lonely wilderness none could
+hear his words.</p>
+
+<p>“Some war maps, an’ orders in a box what
+a courier—thinkin’ he war a-goin’ ter be captured—hid
+thar; an’ he war killed afore
+ever he got ’em ag’in. An’ long o’ ’em air
+a letter a-tellin’ ’bout me a-runnin’ an’
+a-orderin’ me ter be shot fur a deserter. An’
+old Corbin, bearin’ a gredge ag’in me, air
+a-goin’ ter perduce ’em an’ fairly laff me out’n
+the Cove. An’ I ain’t got nowhar ter go.”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s mighty mean!” cried Skimpy, his
+heart swelling with indignation.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I wanter scotch his wheel!” exclaimed
+Binwell. “I don’t want him ter
+do it.”</p>
+
+<p>“How kin ye purvent it?” said Skimpy,
+briskly. Surely there was no malice, no mischief
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>on Binwell’s part in this. His spirits
+had risen to their normal high pitch.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, Skimp, I hev been a-studyin’
+bout’n it. But till I fund that ladder—it
+air too long fur enny mortal place but Keedon
+Bluffs—an’ made sure o’ what he war
+a-doin’ of, I warn’t sati’fied in my mind. Ef
+ye’ll holp me—kase I be too bulky nowadays
+ter creep in one o’ them hollows—ef
+I’ll kerry ye down thar will ye snake in an’
+git the box? Ye ’feared?”</p>
+
+<p>For Skimpy had drawn back at this proposition.
+“Naw,” he faltered, but with an affirmative
+tendency. He saw Binwell’s teeth
+and eyes gleam through the dusk. This man
+<i>who ran</i> was laughing at him for being afraid
+of the great heights of Keedon Bluffs, of the
+black abysses below!</p>
+
+<p>“We hed better hev tuk the ladder ter
+climb by,” suggested Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ hev old Corbin come along the river
+bank an’ take it down whilst we war on it?
+I’m better’n enny ladder ye ever see, bein’
+so strong. Feel my arm,” he held it out.
+“Shucks, boy! Fust time I ever see ye, ye
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>war talkin’ ter Ike ’bout climbin’ down thar
+’thout enny holp. But mebbe ef ye don’t
+want ter go, Ike will. I hain’t axed him yit.
+I’d ruther hev you-uns. But I reckon he
+ain’t <i>afeard</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>In addition to Skimpy’s sympathy for
+the ostracized Binwell his terror of being
+considered a coward was very great. “Naw—I’ll
+go—I ain’t ’feared; but I be powerful
+oneasy an’ troubled bout’n that thar ladder.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, arter we git the box—the papers
+air in it—we’ll go over to yon side o’ the
+mounting with a axe, an’ cut down the tree ez
+cotched the ladder, an’ tote it back whar we
+fund it.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s objections vanished at the prospect
+of being able to undo soon the harm he
+had done. He hoped fervently that old Corbin
+would not miss his ladder before it was
+replaced.</p>
+
+<p>“Hyar’s Obadiah’s fiddle!” exclaimed Binwell,
+who led the way while the boy followed
+through the laurel, grown quite dark now;
+and when they emerged into the open woods
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>they beheld the stars glistening in the shallows
+of the branch, and many a pensive
+glimmer came through the bare boughs, and
+through the thinning leaves.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">
+    XI.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The ladder was early missed; indeed it was
+the next morning that old Corbin puffed and
+pushed through the laurel to the bare space
+where his handiwork had been wont to lie and
+to grow apace, rung by rung. He did not at
+first notice its absence. He put his box of
+tools on the ground. Then he sat down on a
+rock and mopped his brow with his red bandana
+handkerchief and gazed meditatively
+down the vistas of the woods. The Indian
+summer was abroad in the land, suffusing it
+with languor and light—a subtly tempered
+radiance; with embellishments of color, soft
+and brilliant; with fine illusions of purpling
+haze; with a pensive joy in sheer existence.
+How gracious it was to breathe such air, such
+aromatic perfumes; to hear such melodic
+sounds faintly piped with the wind among the
+boughs. Ah, summer, not going, surely! for
+despite the sere leaf one must believe it had
+barely come.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span></p>
+
+<p>They were not poetic lungs which Mr. Corbin
+wore, encased in much fat, but they expanded
+to the exquisite aroma of the morning
+as amply as if they differentiated and
+definitely appreciated it. He drew several
+long luxurious sighs, and then it seemed as
+if he would breathe no more. He gasped;
+turned red; his eyes started from his head.
+He had taken notice at last that the ladder
+had been removed. He arose tremulously
+and approached the spot where it usually lay.
+There was no trace of it. He staggered a few
+steps backward in dismayed recoil. His spectacles
+fell to the ground, the lenses shattering
+on the stones.</p>
+
+<p>“Witches!” he spluttered. “Witches!”
+He cast one terrified appealing look at the
+solitudes about him, half-fearing to see the
+mystic beings that his superstition deemed
+lurking there; then he began to waddle—for
+he could hardly be said to run—as fast as he
+could go along the path through the laurel.</p>
+
+<p>Tremulous alike with his years and the
+shock of surprise, his condition was pitiable
+by the time he reached the store—for he at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>once sought his friend and crony the storekeeper.
+And some time elapsed before he
+could be restored to his normal calmness and
+make intelligible the detail of what had befallen
+him. Peter Sawyer was a man of considerable
+acumen. He was far more disposed
+to believe that the ladder had been found by
+some freakish boys who had mischievously
+hidden it in the laurel hard by, than that it
+had been spirited away by witches. He considered,
+however, that his old friend had been
+victimized beyond the limits of fun, and before
+setting out for the spot he summoned the
+constable of the district to their aid, for he
+felt that arrests for malicious mischief were
+in order. Both he and the officer were prepared
+to beat the laurel and patrol the neighborhood
+and ferret out the miscreants. They
+arranged their plans as they trudged on together,
+now and then pausing to wait for old
+Corbin as he pounded along behind them.
+The storekeeper was detailing, too, to the
+constable the reasons for the manufacture of
+the long ladder—for he was the confidential
+friend of Jake Corbin, and in fact had suggested
+the scheme.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span></p>
+
+<p>“We mought ez well let ye inter the secret
+fus’ ez las’, kase this hyar case air one
+fur the strong arm o’ the law.” He threw
+back his narrow lizard-like head and laughed,
+showing his closely-set tobacco-stained teeth.</p>
+
+<p>“Strong ez it air ’tain’t plumb long
+enough!” he added.</p>
+
+<p>The constable, a thick-set, slow man, cocked
+his head inquiringly askew.</p>
+
+<p>“’Tain’t long enough,” continued Sawyer,
+enjoying the involutions of the method of disclosure
+he had adopted. “The arm o’ the
+law ain’t long enough ter reach up ter them
+hollows in Keedon Bluffs!”</p>
+
+<p>“In Keedon Bluffs!” echoed the amazed
+officer.</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ so,” said Sawyer, laughing and nodding.
+“So we hev lengthened its reach by
+the loan of a ladder.” He strode on silently
+for a few moments beside the constable, their
+two shadows following them down the red
+clay road, in advance of old Corbin, who was
+lumbering on behind attended by a portly,
+swaying, lunging image of himself, impudently
+magnified and nearly twice as big.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ye see,” resumed Sawyer, “Jake Corbin
+b’lieves ez some o’ old Squair Torbett’s money
+an’ sech, what he hid in the war times, air
+right up <i>yander</i> in one o’ them holes—’twar
+this hyar Jerry Binwell, ez war a slim boy
+then, an’ Ab Guyther ez holped ter hide it.
+Waal, ye know how things turned out. The
+Squair died ’fore many months were over an’
+them boys had run away to the Wars. Waal,
+ye know how cur’ous the heirs acted—looked
+sorter sideways when questioned, an’ swore
+they never hed hed no money out’n Keedon
+Bluffs.”</p>
+
+<p>“I ’member,” said the constable, “Ed declared
+out he never b’lieved thar war no
+money thar.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, Ed’s dead, an’ the tother heir
+moved ter Arkansas, an’ the kentry-side ginerally
+b’lieved like them—that thar warn’t
+no money thar—big fool tale. Waal, hyar
+kems back Jerry Binwell, arter twenty year,
+bein’ pore ez Job’s tur-r-key, an’ takes ter
+a-loafin’ roun’ them Bluffs; I seen him thar
+twict myself. An’ Ab Guyther hev tuk ter
+declarin’ he wants ter climb down Keedon
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>Bluffs an’ lay his hand on that thar old cannon-ball.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wants ter lay his hand on Squair’s old
+money-box, ye better say,” exclaimed Corbin.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal now, I ain’t goin’ ter b’lieve nuthin’
+ag’in Ab!” exclaimed the constable excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Ennyhow,” wheezed old man Corbin,
+“we-uns ’lowed we’d git a ladder an’ summons
+a officer an’ take down that box, ef we could
+git a boy ter climb in, an’ turn it over ter the
+law. Jerry Binwell ain’t done nuthin’ ez yit
+ter warrant arrestin’ him, but we jes’ ’lowed
+we-uns warn’t a-goin ter set by an’ let him
+put folks on beams an’ steal money, an’ loaf
+around ef thar war enny way ter pervent it.”</p>
+
+<p>The constable seemed to approve of the
+plan, and only muttered a stipulation that he
+did not believe Ab had anything to do with
+any rascality.</p>
+
+<p>Little was said as they pushed through the
+tangle of the laurel. The storekeeper was
+ahead, leading the way, for he knew it well,
+having often come to consult his crony.
+“Waal, sir!” he exclaimed in indignant ruefulness
+when the bare rocky space was revealed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>along which the great ladder was wont
+to stretch. He glanced around excitedly at
+the constable, directing his attention to the
+spot, then called aloud, “Why, Jake,” in a
+voice of exasperated compassion.</p>
+
+<p>A cold chill was upon old Corbin as he
+waddled through the last of the tangled
+bushes; it required no slight nerve for him to
+again approach the place. He quivered from
+head to foot and wailed forth tumultuously,
+“I hev been snared by the witches. Le’s git
+out’n these hyar witched woods! Don’t ye
+reckon ’twar the witches? It mus’ hev been
+the witches!”</p>
+
+<p>A new idea suddenly struck Peter Sawyer.
+“’Twarn’t no witches,” he declared abruptly.
+“An’ ’twarn’t no mischievous boys! ’Twar
+Jerry Binwell; that’s who hev got that ladder.
+Ef we-uns could ketch him a-nigh hyar
+I’d git him ’rested sure. He hev fund out
+what we air wantin’ ter do.”</p>
+
+<p>“Better find the ladder an’ git the box fust.
+We-uns don’t want him—a rascal—ez much
+ez the law wants the Squair’s money-box ter
+gin it back ter the heirs,” said the cautious
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>constable. “Go slow an’ sure. Besides I
+don’t wanter make no foolish arrests. The
+jestice would jes’ discharge him on sech evidence
+ag’in him ez we kin show—kase we
+can’t tell all we know,—fur the word would
+git all over the Cove, an’ some limber-legged
+fellow mought climb up thar, an’ ef he didn’t
+break his neck he mought git the box. I tell
+ye—I’m a-goin’ ter set a watch on them
+Bluffs from day-dawn till it’s cleverly dark.
+An’ ef that thar ladder be in these hyar
+woods I’ll find it.”</p>
+
+<p>These wise counsels were heeded. Old Corbin
+started back to the store with his friend
+after one more apprehensive, tremulous, and
+searching glance for the witches’ lair in the
+laurel which he dreaded to discover, and the
+constable took his way cautiously through the
+woods toward the river.</p>
+
+<p>The morning wore on to the vertical noontide
+when the breeze died, and the shadows
+collapsed, and the slumberous purple haze
+could neither shift nor shimmer, but brooded
+motionless over the ravines and along the
+mountain slopes; the midday glowed, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>burned with color more richly still, until the
+vermilion climax of the sunset made splendid
+the west, and tinged the east with gold
+and pink reflections. And all day the constable
+himself, hidden in a clump of crimson
+sour-wood, knelt on the summit of the Bluffs,
+watching the deep silent gliding of the river
+and the great sand-stone cliffs—with here a
+tuft of grass or a hardy bush in a niche, with
+sheer reaches and anon crevices, and on a
+ledge the ball from the deadly gun, lying silent
+and motionless in the sun.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing came except a bird that perched
+on the cannon-ball; a mocking-bird, all newly
+plumed. He trimmed his jaunty wing, and
+turned his brilliant eye and his delicately
+poised head upward. Then, with his white
+wing-feathers catching the light, away he
+went to where the echoes awaited him. A
+star was in the river—its silver glitter striking
+through the roseate reflections of the
+clouds; and presently the darkness slipped
+down.</p>
+
+<p>And the constable’s joints were very stiff
+when he clambered out of the clump of sour-wood
+shoots.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">
+    XII.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>It was a very dark night. The wind freshened;
+leaves were set adrift in the black void
+spaces; the jarring of bare boughs, continually
+clashing together, pervaded the gloom:
+the water was ruffled, and the reflection of
+the stars was distorted or annulled amongst
+the vacillating ripples as the faint beams fell.
+No other sound near Keedon Bluffs, no other
+stir.</p>
+
+<p>By the fireside of Hiram Guyther’s house
+one could hardly be unconscious of the tumult
+of the mountain forest, or of the swirl of the
+wind in the funnel-like depths of the Cove,
+however deep the reverie, however the fire
+might crackle as the big blazes sprang up the
+chimney, however the little Rosamondy might
+laugh or might sing.</p>
+
+<p>“How the wind blows!” the blind man
+said from time to time, lifting his gray head
+and his young face. And aunt Jemima would
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>remark on “the powerful clatter” of the orchard
+boughs and the rustling swish of the
+Indian corn standing dead and stark in the
+fields.</p>
+
+<p>As the trumpeting blast came down the
+chimney once more Ab roused himself anew
+and exclaimed, “’Minds me o’ the night Rosamondy
+kem.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did the wind blow me hyar?” cried
+Rosamondy, as she sat in her little chair.</p>
+
+<p>“The bes’ wind that ever blew!” declared
+aunt Jemima, her gleaming spectacles intercepting
+her caressing glance.</p>
+
+<p>Jerry Binwell turned a trifle aside in his
+chair to hide the scornful curve of his lips.
+There was no need to shift his posture. Aunt
+Jemima’s eyes were bent once more upon her
+knitting, and Abner was blind alike to sneers
+and smiles. Rosamond’s attention was fixed
+upon a big red apple roasting and sputtering
+between two stones that served as fire-dogs.
+Now and then, with the aid of a stick, she
+turned the other side of the apple to the heat.
+Only the blinking cat saw the jeer on his face,
+and this animal was too frequently ridiculed to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>care to cultivate any fine distinctions in the
+nature of laughs. Curiously enough, the cat
+wore a queer gown of blue-checked homespun
+and a ruffled cap that was often awry, for she
+sometimes put up a disaffected paw to scrape
+it off, or it became disarranged in hasty or too
+energetic washings of her face. She had been
+thus accoutered by aunt Jemima to appease
+Rosamondy’s craving for a live doll. The cat
+was very much alive, and seated before the
+fire she had an antique and dame-like look,
+which was highly appreciated by her owner,
+but which was totally destroyed when she
+walked on all-fours. The live doll was eminently
+satisfactory to Rosamond, and except
+for the tyranny of her garments was in danger
+of being killed by kindness.</p>
+
+<p>The laugh on Jerry Binwell’s face was only
+a transient gleam. He relapsed into brooding
+gravity and meditatively eyed the fire.</p>
+
+<p>“Ab,” he said suddenly, when aunt Jemima
+had left the room to join Mrs. Guyther,
+who was “sizin’” yarn in the shed-room,
+and he could hear their voices in animated
+controversy as to the best methods. “Ab,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>I’ll tell ye what this windy night in the fall
+of the year ’minds me of.”</p>
+
+<p>His voice had the most agreeable inflections
+of which it was capable, but it elicited
+no response, for Abner had not relented toward
+his old comrade, and seldom would
+seem aware of his existence. Binwell’s face
+contorted into a disagreeable grimace. This
+secret taunt the blind man was spared. Then
+Binwell’s smooth tones went on as if he had
+not expected a rejoinder.</p>
+
+<p>“’Minds me o’ that night in the old War
+time whenst me an’ you-uns holped old Squair
+Torbett ter hide his plunder from g’rillas an’
+sech—ye ’member how the wind blowed?”</p>
+
+<p>Abner’s fire-lit face glowed with more than
+the reflection of the flames. His lip curled;
+the reminiscence seemed to afford him some
+occult amusement.</p>
+
+<p>“I ’member! I ’member!” he said slowly;
+then he chuckled softly to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Binwell’s eyes were fixed upon him with
+an antagonistic intentness, as if he would fain
+seize upon his withheld thought in some unconscious
+betrayal of face. But the blind man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>could only hear his voice, languid and reminiscent,
+drawling on, aimlessly, it seemed.
+“Waal, I ’members it too, mighty well. How
+flustry the old man war! Wonder if we’ll be
+that-a-way when we-uns git ez old ez him?
+He gin us the box, an’ we-uns kerried it ter
+the top o’ the Bluffs, an’ ye clomb down
+whilst I watched. An’ wunst in a while the
+old man would nudge me,” then with a quick
+change of voice—“‘Ain’t that a horse a-lopin’,
+Jerry? hear it? hear it?’ An’ I’d say,
+‘It’s the wind, Squair—the wind, a-wallopin’
+up the gorge.’ An’ then he’d rest fur a minit
+an’ say, ‘Air sign o’ Ab? That thar boy’ll
+break his neck, I’m ’feared.’ An’ I’d say, ‘I
+hear the clods in the niches a-fallin’ whilst he
+climbs, Squair; he’s a-goin’ it.’ An’ then he’d
+clutch me by the arm, an’ say, whispery an’
+husky, ‘Jerry! Jerry! what’s that down the
+road—the jingle o’ spurs, the clank o’ a sabre?’
+An’ I’d say—‘It’s jes’ the dead
+leaves, Squair, a-rustlin’ as they fly in the
+wind.’ An’ he warn’t easy one minit till ye
+clomb up the Bluffs ag’in, empty-handed an’
+the box hid.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span></p>
+
+<p>As he talked, Rosamond’s hands had fallen
+still in her lap while she listened with the
+wide-eyed wonder of childhood. Her curling
+yellow hair, ruddily gleaming in the firelight,
+hung down over her shoulders, her cheek was
+flushed, her great gray eyes, full of starry
+lights and yet pensively shadowed by her
+long black lashes, were fixed upon his face.
+When the tension slackened she sighed deeply
+and stirred, and then lapsed into intent interest
+again.</p>
+
+<p>The blind man had bent forward, his
+elbows on his knees. “I ’members,” he said
+again.</p>
+
+<p>“I never did know, Ab, whether ye fund
+them hollows in the Bluffs a toler’ble tight fit,
+nor how fur back they run in them rocks;
+but ye war a mighty slim boy in them days.”</p>
+
+<p>“Warn’t slim enough ter git inter the fust
+nor the second,” spoke up the blind soldier
+briskly, with awakened interest.</p>
+
+<p>“So ye put it inter the thurd?” demanded
+Jerry.</p>
+
+<p>If he could have seen himself how well he
+would have thought it that his old comrade
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>could not see him! His head was thrust forward
+till all the ligaments in his long thin
+neck were visible, strained and stretched.
+His eyes were starting. His breath was
+quick, and his under jaw had dropped.
+Rosamond had a half affrighted look as she
+sat in her chair on the hearth beside the
+sleeping dogs and the grotesquely attired cat
+that was gravely washing its face.</p>
+
+<p>The blind man nodded. “Yes,” he said
+simply, “I put it in the thurd, an’ pritty far
+back, too.”</p>
+
+<p>The chimney was resounding with the burden
+of the blast as it sang without; its tumultuous
+staves echoed far up the mountain
+slopes. Abner lifted his head to listen, hearing
+perhaps the faint din of the winds of
+memory blowing as they listed about Keedon
+Bluffs. The next instant his attention was
+recalled. In the momentary absorption the
+sharpened hearing of the blind had failed
+him. He subtly knew that there was a
+change in the room, but what it was he could
+not say. He stretched out his hand with a
+groping gesture. “Jerry,” he called out in a
+friendly voice. There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span></p>
+
+<p>The puzzled expression deepened on his
+face. He heard the stirring of the child.
+“Rosamondy,” he said, “who’s hyar?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody,” the vibrant, sweet voice answered,
+“nobody but me—an’ Mis’ Cat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Whar’s Jerry?” he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Gone out,” she said promptly. “Sech
+walkin’ on tiptoes I never see.”</p>
+
+<p>There sounded instantly a queer thumping
+on the puncheon floor, a tumble, a great
+gush of treble laughter; then the eccentric
+thumping was renewed and Abner knew that
+Rosamondy was imitating the deft celerity of
+Binwell’s exit on tiptoes. He did not laugh.
+He leaned back in his chair with doubt and
+perplexity corrugating his brow.</p>
+
+<p>A step was upon the ladder, descending
+from the roof-room—not Ike’s usual light
+step, but he it was, slowly appearing from
+the shadows. Even after he had emerged
+into the genial firelight their gloom seemed
+still to rest upon his face, and his eyes were
+at once anxious and mournful. He withstood
+as well as he could the shock of welcome with
+which Rosamond rushed upon him, seizing
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>him round the knees till he almost toppled
+over, and was constrained to wildly wave his
+arms in order to regain his equilibrium. She
+fell into ecstasies of delight because of the
+awkward insecurity he exhibited, and as with
+outstretched arms, and flying hair, and tangled
+feet, and rippling, gurgling cries, she
+mimicked him, he found himself at liberty
+to sink into a chair. And then while Rosamond,
+always long in exhausting her jokes,
+still toppled about the floor, he silently brooded
+over the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Once or twice he raised his eyes and
+looked toward his uncle who seemed too lost
+in reverie. Sometimes Abner lifted his head
+to listen to the rioting winds and again bent
+it to his dreams. The white firelight flickered,
+and now the brown shadow wavered.
+He was presently subtly aware of a new presence
+by the hearth, unseen by others as all
+must be by him.</p>
+
+<p>“Ye hev got trouble alongside o’ ye, Ike,”
+he remarked. “Ye’re mighty foolish. It’s a
+great thing ter be young, an’ strong, an’ hev
+all yer senses. The beastises hev got mo’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>gumption than ye. Ever see a young strong
+critter, free an’ fat, that war mournful? Naw;
+an’ ye ain’t goin’ ter. Ye hev got the worl’
+in a sling. An’ ye set an’ mope.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike made an effort to rouse himself. “I
+know I oughtn’t,” he said in a strained voice,
+“but I be mighty—mighty troubled.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jes’ so,” said the blind man.</p>
+
+<p>Ike looked at the flickering white flames
+for a moment, at the pulsing red coals, at the
+vacillating brown shadows. Rosamondy had
+rushed into the shed-room to exhibit her imitation
+of Ike to his mother and aunt Jemima.
+He listened to the chorus of voices for a moment,
+then he said, “I dunno but what I’m
+foolish, uncle Ab, but I hearn what ye tole
+Jerry Binwell jes’ now ’bout whar ye hid
+the Squair’s money-box, an’—an’ I wisht
+ye hedn’t done it.”</p>
+
+<p>“What fur?” the blind man lifted his face
+lighted with sudden interest, “ye be ’feared
+ez he mought ’low it’s thar yit an’ go arter it
+an’ git his neck bruk.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike moved uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s jes’ the reason he tried to keep me
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>an’ Skimpy Sawyer from climbin’ down thar
+one evenin’—fust time I ever seen him;
+tried ter skeer we-uns with witches an’ sech.
+The Squair’s money-box air what he war arter,
+I be bound, the night o’ the coon hunt
+whenst I cotch him thar. I’m feared he’ll
+git it. I dunno what to do! I s’picioned
+suthin’, but I never ’lowed ’twar money.
+He’ll git arrested ef he don’t mind.”</p>
+
+<p>“I wisht he would,” said Abner; he
+chuckled fiercely and fell to revolving his
+old grudges.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I’d hate that mightily,” said Ike
+dolorously, “arrested out’n we-uns’s house.
+I war goin’ ter tell dad nex’ day, but he war
+gone ’fore I got home. I wisht Jerry Binwell
+bed never kem hyar!”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Ike,” Abner retorted cogently,
+“then leetle Rosamondy would never hev
+kem!”</p>
+
+<p>“I seen old Corbin an’ the constable with
+thar heads mighty close tergether ter-day,”
+Ike went on drearily, “an’ arterward I passed
+down the river-bank on the opposite side ter
+Keedon Bluffs, an’ I see the constable a-hidin’
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>hisself in a clump o’ sour-wood. I dunno
+what ter do. I feel ’sponsible, somehows.
+I don’t want him ter git the money—a thievin’
+scamp—and yit I don’t want him ter git
+arrested.” He paused in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>Abner Guyther was laughing in sardonic
+delight. “He ain’t goin’ ter git the money!”
+he cried. “An’ I dunno nobody ez needs arrestin’
+ez bad ez he do—somebody oughter
+scotch his wheel, sartain! G’long, Ike;
+g’long ter bed. An’ quit addlin’ yer brains
+’bout’n yer elders.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike was not reassured by the reception of
+his disclosure. And he had not told the
+worst of his troubles. More than once of late
+he had seen Skimpy and Binwell together.
+He had felt no resentment that his friend
+had been forbidden association with him,
+to avoid contact with this elderly villain. It
+seemed wise in Skimpy’s father, and he only
+wished that his own had been sufficiently uninfluenced
+and firm to have determined upon
+a similar course. Noting the constable in the
+clump of sour-wood, and with his own recollection
+of Binwell climbing down Keedon
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>Bluffs, he had been smitten with terror for
+Skimpy’s sake. He knew that Binwell had
+some reason of his own for affecting the lad’s
+society. In cudgeling his mind for the man’s
+motive he had brought to light the true one
+which might not have been so readily presented
+were not Keedon Bluffs so continually
+in his thoughts of late. He was sure that
+Binwell wished Skimpy, being light and slim,
+to explore the hollows of the Bluffs—with
+what end in view he had not definitely known
+until to-night. Nevertheless the conviction
+that his simple-hearted friend had become
+involved in serious danger had been strong
+enough that afternoon to induce him to go to
+Skimpy’s home. Old man Sawyer sat on the
+porch morosely smoking his pipe, and Ike
+paused at the fence and whistled for Skimpy—a
+shrill, preconcerted signal; it was in the
+deepest confidence that he was about to impart
+his suspicions and his warnings and he
+did not feel justified in including the elder
+Sawyer in the colloquy. It might be a slander
+on Jerry Binwell, after all. “An’ I don’t
+wanter be a backbiter like him,” said Ike to
+himself.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p>
+
+<p>The whistle brought Skimpy promptly out
+from the barn. To Ike’s surprise, however,
+he did not approach the fence, which was at
+some distance from the house. He simply
+stood near the porch with his old hat on the
+back of his red head, his long arms crooked,
+his hands thrust into his pockets, and upon
+his face a sardonic grin that seemed broader
+than anything in his whole physical economy.</p>
+
+<p>“Kem down hyar. I hev a word ter say
+ter ye,” called Ike.</p>
+
+<p>He felt as if he were dreaming when instead
+of replying Skimpy swayed himself grotesquely
+and mockingly about, and began to
+sing with outrageous fluctuations from the key
+“Oh-aw-e-Mister Coon! Oh-aw-i-Mister
+Ky-une.”</p>
+
+<p>It seemed a frenzied imitation of himself,
+and Ike was about to speak when Skimpy,
+putting his fingers in his ears that he might
+not hear Ike, although to the casual observer
+it might well seem that he had good reasons
+for not wanting to hear himself, bellowed
+and piped mockingly, “Oh-aw-i-Mister
+Kyune! That’s the way he ’lows I sing,” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>observed in an aside to his father, who might
+have been carved from a corn-cob, for all
+the animation he showed, except to silently
+smoke his corn-cob pipe.</p>
+
+<p>“I never!” cried Ike indignantly; “somebody
+hev been settin’ ye ag’in me—a backbitin’
+scamp! An’ I’ll be bound I know who
+’twar.”</p>
+
+<p>But Skimpy’s fingers were in his ears, and
+he was still swaying back and forth and making
+the air shudder with his mock vocalizations.
+At last Ike turned away in sheer futility,
+angered and smarting, but as anxious
+and troubled as before.</p>
+
+<p>Now he was sorry he had not persisted for
+he had not realized how immediate and terrible
+was the danger to Skimpy. He sat still
+for a moment, afraid to say aught of the perplexities
+that racked him, lest being mistaken
+he might needlessly implicate Skimpy in any
+crime that Binwell might commit. Presently
+he rose with a look of determination on his
+face. The sound of the lifting latch, the
+cold in-rushing of the air, the light touch of
+the flakes of ashes set a-flying from the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>hearth, notified Abner that he was solitary
+by the fire. He heard the cat purring, the
+low murmuring of the flames in the chimney,
+the wind outside, the voices of the two women
+busy in the shed-room.</p>
+
+<p>Another stir of a latch and a presence entered
+bright even to the blind man. “All
+alone-y by hisself-y!” Rosamondy cried as
+she pattered across the floor and flung herself
+into his arms. He shared much baby talk
+with Mrs. Cat, but he was not jealous of
+that esteemed friend, for he was Rosamondy’s
+preferred crony. Through her, life had come
+to mean for him a present as well as a past,
+and to hold for him a future and a vista.
+He planned for her with the two old women.
+He had let it be known to all his relatives
+that all he had in the world—his horse,
+his cows, his share of the cabin, his gun,
+a captured sabre—was to be hers at his
+death. Always in his simple dreams for enriching
+her, and for her fair fate, Jerry Binwell’s
+image would be intruded like some
+ugly blight upon it all. He had heretofore
+thrust away the thought of him, and dreamed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>on resolutely. Somehow he could not do this
+to-night. As he patted her on the head and
+heard the silken rustle of her hair beneath
+his hand, he could but remember that it was
+her father risking his life on the rocks, his
+liberty, the lurking officer and everlasting ignominy,
+which must surely rebound upon her.</p>
+
+<p>“She wouldn’t know nuthin’ ’bout it now,
+ef he war branded ez a thief, but she air a-goin’
+ter be a gal ez will keer mightily fur a good
+name an’ sech. Jerry Binwell hain’t never
+hed a good name wuth talkin’ ’bout, but he
+ain’t never yit been branded ez a thief.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Cat was brought and perched upon his
+knee, and he was required to shake hands and
+inquire after her health and that of her family,
+which ceremony both he and the poor
+animal performed lugubriously enough, although
+with a certain dexterity, having been
+trained to it by frequent repetitions. Rosamondy,
+however, found herself a better improvisor
+than he of conversation for Mrs. Cat,
+and as she prattled on his anxious thoughts
+reverted to the subject.</p>
+
+<p>“He air her dad, an’ he’ll be disgraced fur
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>life, an’ I could hev purvented it. Too late!
+Too late!” he groaned aloud.</p>
+
+<p>He felt like a traitor as she passed her soft
+little arm around his neck and kissed his
+cheek—pale now, although it had never
+blanched for shot or shell. He had both her
+and Mrs. Cat to hold, and although both were
+of squirming tendencies his mind could still
+steadily pursue its troublous regrets.</p>
+
+<p>“But I oughtn’t ter hev done it jes’ fur
+Rosamondy, nuther. I oughter hev done it
+fur the sake of—<i>folks</i>! A man oughter keep
+another man from doing wrong, ef he kin,
+same ez ter keep his own score clear—them
+ez kin stan’ ter thar guns oughter keer ter
+keep the whole line from waverin’, stiddier
+a-pridin’ tharse’fs on the aim o’ thar one battery.
+Laws-a-massy; I wish I hed tole him.
+I wish I hed gin him a word. He mus’ be
+nigh thar now. Ef I jes’ could ketch him!
+Ef I jes’ could find my way! I ain’t been
+nigh thar fur twenty year. Fur one hour o’
+sight ter save a man from crime! Fur one
+hour o’ sight to hold the battle-line! Fur
+one hour o’ sight to do the Lord’s kind will!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p>
+
+<p>He was speaking aloud. He had risen
+from his chair, the little girl and her cat slipping
+softly down upon the floor. He took
+a step forward, both groping hands outstretched.
+“Fur one hour o’ sight!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll lead ye, unky Ab,” the child compassionately
+exclaimed, putting up her soft, warm
+hand to his cold trembling fingers.</p>
+
+<p>“Lead me! yes! Lead me ter Keedon
+Bluffs,” he cried eagerly. “She kin do it!
+She kin save him! Stop,” he caught himself.
+“Look out, Rosamondy. Air the night
+dark?”</p>
+
+<p>She opened the door; a mild current of
+air flowed in above her yellow head, for the
+wind now was laid. She saw the dark woods
+gloom around; the stars glimmer in the vast
+spaces of the sky; but about the mountain
+summit shone an aureola of burnished gold.</p>
+
+<p>“The moon’s a-risin’,” she said.</p>
+
+<p>He placed his hand in hers; she stepped
+sturdily upon the ground. The door closed,
+and the hearth was vacant behind them but
+for the flicker of the flames, the drowsing
+dogs, and the purring Mrs. Cat.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">
+    XIII.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>That night as Skimpy sat with the family
+group by the fireside in his father’s cabin, he
+had much ado to maintain a fictitious flow of
+spirits, for at heart he was far from cheerful.
+Often he would pause, the laugh fading from
+his face, and he would lift his head as if listening
+intently. Surely the wind had no message
+for him as it came blaring down the
+mountain side! What significance could he
+detect in the clatter of the bare boughs of the
+tree by the door-step that he should turn pale
+at their slightest touch on the roof? Then
+recognizing the sound he would draw a deep
+breath of relief, and glance covertly about the
+circle to make sure that he had been unobserved.
+So expert in feigning had poor Skimpy
+become that he might have eluded all but
+the vigilance of a mother’s eye.</p>
+
+<p>“Air ye ailin’, Skimpy?” she demanded
+anxiously. “Ye ’pear ter feel the wind. Ye
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>shiver every time it blows brief. Be thar
+enny draught thar in the chinkin’?”</p>
+
+<p>“Naw’m!” said Skimpy hastily. “I war
+jes’ studyin’ ’bout that thar song—</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+  <div class="poetry">
+    <div class="stanza">
+      <div class="verse indent0">“‘The sperits o’ the woods ride by on the blast,</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">An’ a witch they say lives up in the moon.</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Heigh! Ho! Jine in the chune!</div>
+      <div class="verse indent0">Jine in, neighbor, jine in the chune!’</div>
+    </div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“It jes’ makes my marrer freeze in my
+bones ter sing that song,” Skimpy said when
+his round fresh voice had quavered away into
+silence—somehow he could not sing to-night.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I never set no store by sech,” said
+his mother. She looked reassuringly at him
+over the head of the baby, who slept so much
+during the day that he kept late hours, and
+did his utmost to force the family to follow
+his example. He sat on her knee, sturdily
+upright, although she held her hand to his
+back under the mistaken impression that his
+youthful spine might be weak; but he had
+more backbone—literally and metaphorically—than
+many much bigger people. He was
+munching his whole fist, for his mouth seemed
+not only large but flexible, and as he gazed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>into the fire he soliloquized after an inarticulate
+fashion. His face was red; his head was
+bald except for a slight furze, which was very
+red, along the crown; notwithstanding his
+youth he looked both aged and crusty.</p>
+
+<p>Bose was at his mistress’s feet. He too sat
+upright, meditatively watching the fire with
+his one eye, and now and then lifting the remnants
+of his slit ears with redoubled attention
+as the wind took a fiercer twirl about the
+chimney. Occasionally as the baby’s monologue
+grew loud and vivacious, Bose wagged
+the stump of his tail in joy and pride, and it
+thwacked up and down on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>It was a very cheerful hearth—the grinding
+tidiness of Mrs. Sawyer showed its value
+when one glanced about the well-ordered
+room; at the clean pots and pans and yellow
+and blue ware on the shelves; at the
+bright tints of the quilts on the bed and of
+the hanks of yarn and strings of peppers
+hanging from the rafters that harbored no
+cobwebs; at the clear blazes unhindered by
+ashes.</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah with his fiddle under his chin was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>directly in front of the fire. He was tightening
+and twanging the strings; now and then
+cocking the instrument close to his ear to better
+distinguish the vibrations. There are few
+musicians who have a more capable and discerning
+air than Obadiah affected in those
+impressive moments of preparation. His
+three brothers sat on a bench, drawn across
+the hearth in the chimney corner, its equilibrium
+often endangered, for the two at one
+end now and again engaged in jocose scuffling,
+and Skimpy in the corner was barely heavy
+enough to keep it from upsetting. Sometimes
+their father, solemnly smoking his corn-cob
+pipe, would, with a sober sidelong glance and
+a deep half-articulate voice, admonish them to
+be quiet, and their efforts in this direction
+would last for a few moments at least. In
+one of these intervals their father spoke suddenly
+to Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>“I war downright glad ye tuk Ike up ez
+short ez ye done this evenin’, Skimp,” he
+said. “Though,” he added, with an afterthought,
+“I don’t want ye to gin yerse’f up
+ter makin’ game o’ folks.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span></p>
+
+<p>“’Twar him ez fust made game o’ me,”
+said Skimpy, ruefully, the taunt devised by
+the ingenious Binwell still rankling deep in
+his simple heart.</p>
+
+<p>The twanging fiddle-strings were suddenly
+silent. Obadiah looked up with a fiery glance.
+“What gin the critter the insurance ter make
+game o’ you-uns, Skimp?” he demanded angrily.</p>
+
+<p>Until today Skimpy had never mentioned
+his grievance, so deeply cut down was his self-esteem,
+and so reduced his pride in his “gift
+in quirin’.” He had hardly understood it
+himself, but he dreaded to have the family
+know how low his powers were rated lest
+they too think poorly of them. For Skimpy
+himself had come to doubt his gift—the insidious
+jeer had roused the first self-distrust
+that had ever gnawed him. His voice no
+longer sounded to him so full, so sweet, and
+loud, and buoyant. He sang only to quaver
+away, forlorn and incredulous after the first
+few tones. No more soaring melodies for him.
+He could only fitfully chirp by the wayside.</p>
+
+<p>“He ’lowed,” said Skimpy, turning red,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>“ez I couldn’t sing—ez Bose, thar, could
+sing better’n <i>me</i>—hed a better voice; Bose,
+yander, mind ye.”</p>
+
+<p>Bose at the sound of his name looked up
+with a sleepy inquiry in his single eye.
+Skimpy did not notice, but began to wheeze
+and rasp forth,—</p>
+
+<p>“‘Oh-aw-ee-ye, Mister Kyune, Oh, Mister
+Kyune!’ That’s the way he ’lowed I sing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Dell-law!” Obadiah’s flexible lips distended
+in a wide and comprehensive sneer
+that displayed many large irregular teeth, and
+was in more ways than one far from beautiful.
+But to Skimpy no expression had ever
+seemed so benignant, indicating as it did the
+strength of fraternal partisanship.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s jes’ gredgin’ ye, Skimp,” cried Obadiah.
+“Else he be turned a bodacious idjit!
+He air a idjit fur the lack o’ sense! Shucks!”—his
+manner was the triumph of lofty contempt
+as he again lifted his violin to his ear—“don’t
+ye ’sturb me ag’in ’bout Ike Guyther.
+Don’t ye, now.”</p>
+
+<p>The two boys who sat at the end of the
+bench talked together, so eager were they to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>express their scorn. “The whole Smoky
+Mountings knows better’n that!” cried one
+belligerently.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody kin sing like Skimpy—sings like
+a plumb red-headed mocking-bird, an’ Ike
+knows that fac’ ez well ez road ter mill,” said
+the other.</p>
+
+<p>His mother had almost dropped the baby,
+who made a great lunge toward Bose.
+“Why,” she cried, “Skimpy gits his singin’
+ways right straight from his gran-dad Grisham—<i>my</i>
+dad—ez war knowed ter be the
+mos’ servigrous singer they hed ennywhar
+roun’ in this kentry fifty year ago. I hev
+hearn all the old folks tell ’bout’n his singin’
+an’ his fiddlin’ when he war young, an’ I
+’members he sung fune’l chunes whenst he
+war a old man; he hed gin up the ways o’
+the worl’ an’ he wouldn’t sing none ’ceptin’
+’round the buryin’ groun’ whenst they war
+c’mittin’ some old friend ter the yearth. An’
+his voice would sound strange—strange, an’
+sweet an’ wild, like the water on the rocks in
+a lonesome place, or the voice of a sperit
+out’n the sky. Oh my!—oh my!”—she
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>was rocking herself to and fro with the baby
+in her arms, her distended eyes looking far
+down the vistas of the past. “How I ’members
+it—how I ’members it!”</p>
+
+<p>Hark! Skimpy starts with a sudden shock.
+Was that the beating of the boughs on the
+roof, drum-like, or a rub-a-dub measure played
+with two pea-sticks on the rail fence of the
+garden—the signal by which Jerry Binwell
+was to summon him should he conclude to
+try the hazardous enterprise this night? The
+wind—only the wind; wild weather without!
+Thankful he was to be left to this cheerful
+fireside, and the warm partisan hearts so near
+akin to him.</p>
+
+<p>“I wonder ye didn’t larrup Ike, Skimpy,”
+said Obadiah. “Ye could do it. He’s heavy,
+but mighty clumsy. Ye could run aroun’
+him fifty times whilst he war a-turnin’ his fat
+sides roun’.”</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah knitted his brows and nodded confidently
+at Skimpy.</p>
+
+<p>“I never thunk ’bout fightin’,” responded
+Skimpy. “My feelin’s war jes’ so scrabbled
+up I never keered fur nuthin’ else! Arter
+Ike an’ me hed been so frien’ly too!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s like my dad. Skimpy’s like his
+gran-dad,” said Mrs. Sawyer, dreamily. “He
+war tender an’ easy hurt in his feelin’s.”</p>
+
+<p>Like that saintly old man! How <i>could</i>
+she think it. Skimpy was ready to burst
+into tears. And yet, he argued, there was
+nothing wicked about what he was to do. He
+wished only to help Jerry Binwell to secure
+the box of papers that could do naught but
+harm now—to help a man who could have
+no other aid. Why did the enterprise terrify
+him as a crime might? he asked himself in
+exasperation. Certainly as far as he could
+see there was no mischief in it. As far as
+he could see! Alas, Skimpy! How shortsighted
+a boy is apt to be! He began to say
+to himself that it was because everybody was
+down on Binwell, being poor and therefore
+unpopular, that he too was influenced by the
+prevalent feelings, even when he sought to be
+friendly. Yet this reasoning was specious. If
+it had involved no disobedience, his heart
+would have been light enough. He could
+have gone along gayly with his father, whom
+he trusted, and explored every chasm and cavity
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>in Keedon Bluffs, or, for the matter of
+that, in the Great Smoky Mountains. But
+as he listened for the summons—a faint travesty
+of a drum-beat on the rail fence—he
+would grow rigid and pale, and when the
+boughs swaying in the blast touched with
+quick, tremulous twigs the clapboards of the
+roof with a tapping sound, he shivered, and
+started from his seat, and fell back again, hot
+and cold by turns.</p>
+
+<p>“I be glad fur ye ter hev no mo’ ter do
+with them Guythers, ennyhow,” said his father
+gravely. “They hev acted mighty
+strange bout’n Jerry Binwell—an’ ef they
+consorts with sech ez him me an’ mine can’t
+keep in sech comp’ny. Folks hev tuk ter specla’tin’
+powerful bout’n Ab an’ him hevin’ been
+sech enemies—Ab war blinded through his
+treachery—an’ now livin’ peaceable together
+under one roof. Some folks ’low ez Ab hev
+got his reasons fur it, an’ they ain’t honest
+ones. I ain’t a-goin’ ter pernounce on that; I
+ain’t a-goin ter jedge, kase I don’t want ter be
+jedged. I reckon I’d show up powerful small—though
+honest—thar ain’t no two ways
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>’bout that, I thank the mercy. But ye done
+mighty well, Skimpy, ter gin up yer frien’
+like I tole yer ter do thout no questions, kase
+this Binwell war thar. Ye’ll l’arn one day ez
+I hed a reason—a mighty good one, too.”</p>
+
+<p>He sucked his pipe sibilantly. “Ye done
+mighty well, Skimpy,” he repeated with an
+earnest sidelong glance at his son.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy listened, half choking with the confession
+that crowded to his lips. And yet
+how could he divulge that he had given up
+Ike indeed for Binwell himself; how could
+he confide Binwell’s secret of the Bluffs, the
+story of the courier and his hidden box and
+the order to be shot as a deserter; and above
+all, how could he admit having assisted in
+throwing away old Corbin’s ladder—the
+malice and the mischief of it frightened him
+even yet.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll tell ez soon ez I kin put it back. I’ll
+tell dad ennyhows; I hev got ter holp Jerry
+Binwell this time, but arter that I’ll never go
+along o’ him ag’in,” he thought, as he stared
+pale and abstractedly at his father, who was
+tilted back in his chair contentedly smoking
+his pipe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span></p>
+
+<p>Obadiah twanged gleefully on his fiddle
+while the firelight and shadows danced to the
+measure; the other two boys scuffled merrily
+with one another, sometimes leaving the
+bench to “wrastle” about the floor, falling
+heavily from time to time. The baby sputtered
+and crowed and grabbed Bose’s ear in
+a strong mottled fist until that amiable animal
+showed the white of his eye in gazing
+pleadingly upward at the infantile tyrant.
+The wind whirled about the house, the door
+shook, and the branches of the tree close by
+thrashed the roof.</p>
+
+<p>“Why, Skimpy, how mournful ye look!”
+exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks!” said Obadiah fraternally, “ye
+needn’t be mournin’ over Ike an’ his comp’ny.
+I wouldn’t gin a pig-tail, nor a twist of one,
+fur Ike!”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye hev got comp’ny a plenty at home,”
+exclaimed Mrs. Sawyer, “with yer three big
+brothers”—</p>
+
+<p>“An’ the baby,” cried one of the wrestlers
+pausing for breath.</p>
+
+<p>“An’ Bose,” added the other, red-faced and
+panting.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Laws-a-massy, Skimp,” exclaimed Obadiah,
+rising to the heights of heroism, “I’ll
+gin ye the loan o’ my fiddle. Thar!”</p>
+
+<p>He placed the instrument in Skimpy’s
+trembling hand, and laid the bow across his
+knee. And this from Obadiah, who had always
+seemed without feeling except for his
+own music!</p>
+
+<p>Their kindness melted Skimpy, who held
+the instrument up to his agitated face as if
+to shield it from observation, and burst into
+tears.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, sir!” exclaimed the wrestlers in
+chorus.</p>
+
+<p>“Tut—tut—Skimpy boy!” said his father
+in remonstrance.</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah’s face was anxious. “Jes’ lean a
+leetle furder ter the right, Skimp,” he said,
+“don’t drap no tears inter the insides o’ that
+thar fiddle—might sp’ile it tee-totally.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy held the violin well to one side,
+and wept as harmlessly as he might. He
+found a great relief in his sobs, a relaxation
+of the nervous tension—he might have told
+them all then had it not been for the inopportune
+solicitude of his mother.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ye hed better go ter bed, sonny. I know
+it’s early yit, but ye look sorter raveled
+out. Ye better go ter bed an’ git a good
+sleep, an’ ye won’t keer nuthin’ ’bout Ike an’
+his aggervations in the mornin’.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy, still carefully holding the precious
+violin, sat on the bench for a moment longer,
+struggling with that extreme reluctance to
+retire which is characteristic of callow humanity.
+But he felt that it would be better
+to be out of the sight of them all; he might
+be tempted to say or do something that he
+would regret afterward; he rose slowly, and
+with an averted face, held the fiddle and bow
+out toward Obadiah who grasped them with
+alacrity, glad enough that his generosity had
+not resulted in the total destruction of the
+instrument in which his heart was bound up.
+Skimpy with slow tread and a downcast look
+which greatly impressed the two sympathetic
+wrestlers, who were standing still now and
+gravely gazing after him, took his way up the
+ladder in the corner which ascended into the
+roof-room of the cabin. He paused when
+he had almost reached the top, turned and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>glanced down doubtfully at the group below.</p>
+
+<p>The flames, yellow and red, filled all the
+chimney, and the little room was brave in the
+golden glow. Already the two wrestlers were
+again matching strength in friendly rivalry,
+seizing each other by the waist, and swaying
+hither and thither with sudden jerks to compass
+a downfall—their combined shadow on
+the wall reeling after them seemed some
+big, frightful two-headed monster. Obadiah’s
+cheek was tenderly bent upon the violin; a
+broad smile was on his face as the whisking
+bow in his deft handling drew out the tones.
+The baby’s stalwart grip on Bose’s ear had
+begun to elicit a long, lingering, wheezing
+whine for mercy, not unlike the violin’s utterance;
+it ended in a squeak before Mrs. Sawyer
+noticed how the youngster was enjoying
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>“Pore Bose!” she cried as she unloosed
+the mottled pink and purple fist, and then
+with a twirl she whisked the baby around on
+her lap with his back to his victim. A forgiving
+creature was Bose, for as the baby’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>bald head turned slowly on its neck and the
+staring round eyes looked after the dog,
+Skimpy could hear his stump of a tail wagging
+in cheerful fealty to the infant, and
+thwacking the floor—although the wrestlers
+were unusually noisy, although the violin
+droned and droned, and although the winds
+sang wildly without and the sibilant leaves
+whirled.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy hesitated even then for a moment
+as he stood on the ladder; finally he mounted
+the remaining rungs, his story untold.</p>
+
+<p>It was not very dark in the roof-room;
+through the aperture in the floor, where the
+ladder came up, rose the light from the fire
+below, and there were many cracks which
+served the same purpose of illumination.
+Skimpy could see well enough the two beds
+where he and his brothers were wont to
+sleep. Garments hung from the rafters,
+familiar some of them and often worn, and
+others were antique and belonged to elders
+in the family long ago dead; these had never
+been taken down since placed there by their
+owners; several were falling to pieces, shred
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>by shred, others were still fresh and filled
+out, and bore a familiar air of humanity.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy did not approach the beds, he
+quietly crossed the room to the gable end,
+paused to listen, then opened the batten shutter
+of a little glassless window beside the
+chimney. Dark—how dark it was as he
+thrust out his head; he started to hear a dull
+swaying of the garments, among the rafters,
+as if they clothed again life and motion.
+Only the illusion of the wind, he remembered,
+as he strove to calm the tumultuous
+throbbing of his heart, his head instinctively
+turning toward the fluttering vestments that
+he could barely see.</p>
+
+<p>The wind still piped—not so sonorous a
+note, however; failing cadences it had and
+dying falls, as of a song that is sung to the
+end. Once again the boughs beat upon the
+eaves—and, what was that! Skimpy’s heart
+gave a great plunge, and he felt the blood
+rush to his head. A faint clatter—a ra-ta-ta,
+beaten drum-like on the rail fence of the
+“garden spot”—or was it his fancy?</p>
+
+<p>The wind comes again down the gorge.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>The althea bushes and the holly shiver together.
+The dead Indian corn, standing
+writhen and bent in the fields, sighs and
+sighs for the sere season. And the boughs
+of the tree lash the roof. An interval. And
+once more—ra-ta-ta! from the garden fence!
+And ra-ta-ta, again.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">
+    XIV.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The group below took no heed how the
+time passed. Thinking of it afterward, they
+said it seemed only a few moments before
+they heard amongst the fitful gusts of the
+wind, wearing away now, and the dull stirring
+of the tree without, a hurried, irregular
+footstep suddenly falling on the porch, a
+groping, nervous hand fumbling at the latch.</p>
+
+<p>“Hev ye los’ yer manners ez ye can’t knock
+at the door,” said Peter Sawyer sardonically,
+speaking through his teeth, for he still held
+his pipe-stem in his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>Ike had burst in without ceremony and
+stood upon the threshold, holding the door in
+one hand and gazing about with wild eyes,
+half blinded by the light, uncertain whether
+Skimpy was really absent or overlooked
+among the rest.</p>
+
+<p>“I—I—kem ter see Skimpy,” he faltered.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span></p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sawyer had set the baby on the floor
+beside Bose, and had folded her arms stiffly.
+She looked at Ike with heightened color and
+a flashing eye.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, I ain’t keerin’ ef ye never see
+Skimpy ag’in,” she said indignantly, “considerin’
+the way ye treat him. That thar
+boy air tender in his feelin’s, an’ he hev been
+settin’ hyar an’ cryin’ his eyes out ’count o’
+you-uns. Ye want ter torment him some mo’,
+I s’pose.”</p>
+
+<p>Ike stared bewildered. “I ain’t never
+tormented Skimp none ez I knows on.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ye ain’t!” exclaimed Obadiah, scornfully.
+Then grotesquely distorting his face
+he careened to one side and began to wheeze
+distractingly—“Oh—aw—yi-i, Mister Ky-une,
+Oh—aw—ee-ee, Mister Ky-une.”</p>
+
+<p>As Ike still stood holding the door open, the
+flames bowed fantastically before the wind,
+sending puffs of smoke into the room and
+scurrying ashes about the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>“Kem in, ef ye air a-comin’, an’ go out ef
+ye air a-goin’,” said Mrs. Sawyer tartly.
+“Ennyhow we-uns will feel obligated ef ye’ll
+shet that door.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span></p>
+
+<p>The invitation was none too cordial, but
+Ike availed himself of the opportunity to
+speak, since the matter was so important.</p>
+
+<p>He closed the door and sat down on the end
+of the bench where Skimpy had been sitting
+so short a time before.</p>
+
+<p>“Skimp ’lows that’s the way ye mocked
+him,” said Obadiah. “An’ ye wants ter see
+him ag’in, do ye? Ef I war Skimp I’d gin
+ye sech a dressin’ ez ye wouldn’t want ter
+see <i>me</i> ag’in soon.” He winked fiercely at
+Ike and nodded his head. Then he stuck his
+violin under his chin and began to saw away
+once more as if nothing had happened.</p>
+
+<p>Ike gave a great gulp as if he literally
+swallowed a bitter dose in taking Obadiah’s
+defiance; the strain on his temper was severe,
+but he succeeded in controlling himself.
+It was in a calm and convincing voice that
+he said:—</p>
+
+<p>“Oby, ye an’ me, an’ Skimp, and the
+t’others”—pointing to the tangled-up wrestlers—“hev
+been too good frien’s ter be parted
+by folks tattlin’ lies an’ tales from one ter
+’nother. I never said sech. I never mocked
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>Skimpy’s singin’ sence I been born. I hev
+sot too much store by Skimp fur that, an’ he
+oughter know it.”</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Sawyer’s expression softened. “Ye
+only would hev proved yerse’f a idjit ef ye
+hed faulted Skimpy’s singin’,” she said.
+Then, still more genially—“Set up closer
+ter the fire. It mus’ be airish out’n doors.
+Who d’ye reckon tole Skimp sech a wicked,
+mean story on ye?”</p>
+
+<p>Ike trembled in his eagerness to tell. “I
+dunno fur true, Mis’ Sawyer, and mebbe I
+oughtn’t ter say, but I b’lieves it be Jerry
+Binwell, kase Skimpy hev been goin’ a powerful
+deal with him lately, an’”—</p>
+
+<p>Peter Sawyer turned suddenly upon the
+boy. “The truth ain’t in ye, Ike Guyther.
+Ye knows ez yer dad an’ yer uncle, an’ yerse’f
+an’ yer folks ginerally, air the only critters in
+the Cove ez would ’sociate with Jerry Binwell,
+an’ live in fellowship with him under the same
+roof. I ’low they air crazy—plumb bereft.
+It’s yer folks ez hev harbored him hyar, an’
+ye can’t tar Skimpy with sayin’ he consorts
+with sech. I forbid Skimp ever ter go with
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>you-uns enny mo’, so’s ter keep him out’n
+Binwell’s way. Now, sir; ye can’t shoulder
+him off on Skimpy!”</p>
+
+<p>Ike’s face turned scarlet. “I hev glimpsed
+Skimp with him ag’in an’ ag’in. An’ I
+b’lieves he be a-goin’ ter git Skimp inter
+mischief.”</p>
+
+<p>Obadiah laid his fiddle down on his knee,
+pursed up his lips, and looked aggravatingly
+cross-eyed at Ike, up from his toes to the
+crown of his head.</p>
+
+<p>“’Twouldn’t take much mo’, Ike, ter make
+<i>me</i> settle you-uns,” he observed.</p>
+
+<p>“I ain’t keerin’ fur you-uns, Obadiah!”
+cried Ike. “I hev kem ter say my say—an’
+I’m a-goin’ ter do it. I b’lieve Jerry Binwell
+air arter old Squair Torbett’s money
+what folks ’low he hid in a box in a hollow o’
+Keedon Bluffs.”</p>
+
+<p>Peter Sawyer’s pipe had fallen from his
+hand, and the fire and tobacco and ashes
+rolled out upon the hearth. He gave it no
+heed. He sat motionless, leaning forward,
+his elbows on his knees, his surprised, intent
+eyes fixed upon the boy’s face.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I never s’picioned at fust what he war arter,
+though I seen him foolin’ roun’ them
+Bluffs an’ a-climbin’ on the ledges. But I
+knowed ’twar suthin’ cur’us. An’ whenst I
+seen Skimp along o’ him so much I kem hyar
+this evenin’ an’ tried ter warn him. But ter-night
+I hearn Jerry Binwell ax uncle Ab—him
+it war ez holped the Squair hide the box
+whilst Jerry Binwell watched—what hollow
+he hid it in.”</p>
+
+<p>“An’—an’—did Ab tell him?” demanded
+Peter Sawyer, leaning down, his excited face
+close to Ike’s, his eyes full of curiosity and
+more—intention, suspicion.</p>
+
+<p>Once again Ike recognized the false position
+into which his uncle was thrust. How could
+any man’s honest repute survive a misunderstanding
+like this? He realized that in his
+eager desire to save his friend his tongue had
+outstripped his prudence.</p>
+
+<p>“I jes’ wanter tell Skimp what I hearn,”
+he said, declining to answer categorically,
+“an’ then let him go on with Binwell ef he
+wants ter. I war feared he’d purvail on
+Skimp, by foolin’ him somehows, ter snake
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>inter them hollows an’ git that box fur him.
+Whar be Skimp?”</p>
+
+<p>“Asleep in bed, whar he oughter be, Ike,”
+said Skimpy’s mother contentedly rocking by
+the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Peter Sawyer hesitated for a moment.
+Then he slowly rose. “’Twon’t hurt Skimp
+ter wake him up. He mought ez well hear
+this ez not.”</p>
+
+<p>He winked at his wife. He thought that
+if Skimpy were present he himself would hear
+more of the whereabouts of the box, which
+might prove of service in the constable’s
+search for it, when the ladder could be found
+or a substitute provided. He walked toward
+the primitive stairway, feeling very clever
+and a trifle surprised at the promptitude and
+acumen of his decision. He himself would
+wake Skimpy in order to give him a quiet
+caution not to become involved in any quarrel
+that might restrain or prevent Ike’s disclosure.
+He tramped slowly and heavily up
+the ladder as if he were not used to it, and
+indeed he seldom ascended into the roof-room,
+its chief use being that of a dormitory for the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>boys. As he left the bright scene below, suffused
+with mellow light, the shadows began
+to gloom about him as if they came down a
+rung or two to meet him or to lend him a
+helping hand; he raised his eyebrows and
+peered curiously about. His head was hardly
+above the level of the floor of the loft before
+he became aware that the roof-room was full
+of motion. He gave a sudden start, and stood
+still to stare, to collect his senses that surely
+had played him false. No,—solemnly wavering
+to and fro, a pace here, a measure there,
+was the gaunt company of old clothes, visible
+in the glimmer through the crevices of
+the floor, and bearing the semblance of life in
+the illusions of the faint light and the failing
+shadow, as if they had outwitted fate somehow,
+despite their owners’ mounds in the little
+mountain graveyard. Peter Sawyer gasped—then
+he shivered. And it was, perhaps,
+this involuntary expression of physical discomfort
+which led his mind to judge of cause
+and effect. “The winder mus’ be open,” he
+said through his chattering teeth.</p>
+
+<p>The next moment he saw it—he saw the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>purplish square amidst the darkness of the
+walls; the naked boughs of the tree without;
+and high, high—for he was looking upward—the
+massive looming mountain, and the
+moon, the yellow waning moon, rising through
+the gap in the range.</p>
+
+<p>“The wind’s laid,” he muttered, “or the
+flappin’ o’ that thar shutter would hev woke
+the boy afore this time.”</p>
+
+<p>He clumsily ascended the remaining rungs
+and strode across the floor to Skimpy’s bed,
+looking now with curious half-averted eyes
+at the lifelike figures of the old clothes, and
+then at the yellow moon shining through the
+little window into the dusky place, and drawing
+the shadow of the neighboring tree upon
+the floor.</p>
+
+<p>Sawyer’s hand touched the pillow.</p>
+
+<p>“Skimpy!” he said. And again, “Skimpy!”</p>
+
+<p>It was a louder tone. A penetrating quality
+it had, charged as it was with a sudden,
+keen fear.</p>
+
+<p>“Fetch a light!” he cried, running to the
+top of the ladder, dashing away the spectral
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>garments. “Fetch the lantern, Oby, or a tallow
+dip.”</p>
+
+<p>Below they heard his quick footsteps returning
+to the bed as they sprang up, affrighted,
+yet hardly knowing what had happened.</p>
+
+<p>“Skimpy!” his voice sounded strong again—reassured;
+he could not, would not believe
+this thing. “Quit foolin’, sonny; whar hev
+ye hid?”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy’s mother had waited for neither
+the candle nor the lantern; she mounted the
+ladder by the light of the fire, and she understood
+what had happened almost as soon as
+Ike did, as pale and dismayed he looked over
+her shoulder into the dusky garret. The
+golden moonlight fell through the little window
+upon the slowly-pacing clothes, and drew
+the image of the bare tree upon the floor, and
+slanted upon the empty bed by which Peter
+Sawyer stood crying aloud—“He hev gone,
+wife; he hev gone!”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">
+    XV.
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<p>The great gray sandstone heights of Keedon
+Bluffs began to glimmer in the midst of
+the black night when the yellow moon, slow
+and pensive, showed its waning disk, half
+veiled with a fibrous mist, in the gap of the
+eastern mountain. The woods were still
+densely dark on the other side of the road.
+A slender beech, white and spectral, was
+dimly suggested at their verge, shuddering
+and shivering in the last vagrant gust of the
+wind. Skimpy glanced fearfully at it for a
+moment as he came softly down the road and
+then he stood shivering too, with his hands in
+his pockets.</p>
+
+<p>A swift, dark figure, as noiseless as if unhampered
+with substance, appeared at his side,
+and a husky, wheezing voice murmured suddenly—“Hyar
+we air, Skimp!”</p>
+
+<p>Even so bated a tone did not elude the
+alert echo. “S-Skimp-imp-mp,” the Bluffs
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>were sibilantly multiplying the tones. It
+seemed to Skimpy that some vague spy of the
+earth or of the air was repeating the sound to
+charge its memory with the word. He could
+ill trust even Keedon Bluffs with the secret
+of his name now, and he looked with futile
+deprecation over his shoulder at every whisper
+of the familiar word.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t talk!” he said nervously.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks!” exclaimed Binwell; “I’d sing
+ef I war minded ter—an’ ef I hed a pipe
+like yourn. What ails ye ter be so trembly?
+’Tain’t no s’prisin’ job—it’s fun, boy! An’
+ter-morrer ye and me will go an’ cut down
+them pines an’ git old Fat-sides’ ladder out’n
+’em.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy plucked up a little. The prospect
+of retrieving his folly reassured him. It was
+the hour, the secrecy of his escape from the
+roof-room window at home, the atmosphere of
+mystery that surrounded the adventure, he
+endeavored to think, rather than any distrust
+of Jerry Binwell, which shook his nerves. He
+lent himself with docile acquiescence to a sort
+of harness of rope which the man slipped over
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>his head and secured beneath his armpits, one
+end fastened to Binwell’s arm. Its ostensible
+use was to aid the boy while climbing, in
+case he should slip among the ledges. A
+mind prone to suspicion might have deemed
+its utility most pronounced in preventing
+Skimpy from hiding anew or making off with
+anything of value which he might find hidden
+in the hollows.</p>
+
+<p>There were no shadows on the brow of
+the precipice when the golden rays from the
+moon rested broadly upon the road or journeyed
+in long stately files down the sylvan
+vistas. Both man and boy had slipped from
+the verge, and were clambering along the
+jagged, oblique ledges of the Bluffs, Skimpy
+often stayed and helped by the strong hand
+of the other. The moon was higher now in
+the sky. A white radiant presence suddenly
+began to walk upon the water. Down between
+the banks it came, upon the lustrous
+darkness of the current and the mirrored
+shadows, diffusing softest splendor, most benignant
+and serene. Skimpy, pausing to rest,
+hearing the stir of the pines on the opposite
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>bank and the musical monotone of the river,
+stood mopping his brow and clinging to the
+strong arm held out to him; he abruptly
+pointed out the reflection of the moon to his
+companion, and asked if it did not remind
+him of that night on a distant sea when Christ
+came walking along the troubled waves.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden great lurch! It was not Skimpy,
+but Binwell—the athlete—who started abruptly,
+and almost fell from the Bluff into the
+water far below. He recovered himself with
+an oath.</p>
+
+<p>“Ain’t ye got no better sense, ye weasel!
+’n ter set out with sech senseless, onexpected
+gabble in sech a job ez this? Naw, it don’t
+look like nuthin’—nuthin’ but a powerful onlucky
+wanin’ moon, a-showin’ how the time’s
+a-wastin’. Ye hustle yer bones else I’ll drap
+ye down thar an’ then ye’ll find out what’s
+walked on the water.”</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy said nothing; he heartily wished
+he was on the top of Keedon Bluffs once more.
+Their steps dislodged now and then a bit of
+stone from the rock that fell with a ringing
+sound against the face of the Bluffs into the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>river. Sometimes clods dropped with a muffled
+thud; every moment the moon grew
+brighter. There were no more stoppages on
+the way. Binwell urged the boy on whenever
+he would pause for breath, and it was
+not long before they were near the gaping
+cavities that looked grewsome and uninviting
+enough as Skimpy approached. He cast one
+despairing glance up at the face of the cliffs—it
+seemed that he could never again stand on
+the summit, so long, so toilsome was the way.
+He might have thought it short enough with
+some hearty comrade. For Binwell’s grasp
+was savage now on the boy’s arm; he cursed
+Skimpy under his breath whenever a step faltered.
+He no longer cared to be smooth, to
+propitiate. “He’d take me by the scruff o’
+the neck, an’ pitch me into the ruver ef I didn’t
+do his bid now, bein’ ez I can’t holp myself,”
+thought Skimpy, appalled.</p>
+
+<p>A pity that a boy cannot inherit his father’s
+experience—but must learn wisdom as it
+were under the lash!</p>
+
+<p>Very black indeed the first of the cavities
+was as he passed; he hardly dared look within
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>the embrasure-like place; no grim muzzle of a
+gun he beheld, no bursting shell flung forth;
+only a bat’s soft, noiseless wings striking him
+in the face as he climbed by on the ledge below.
+The second hollow was passed too, and
+now for the third. Binwell stopped the boy,
+and began to rearrange the cords beneath his
+arms. “Confound ye,” he said, his fingers
+trembling over the knots as he lifted his eyes
+reproachfully to the boy’s face, “ye hev got
+me plumb upset with yer fool talk—I ’lowed
+jes’ now I hearn leetle Rosamondy a-callin’
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>The rocks were vibrating softly—but could
+the echoes of Keedon Bluffs repeat the fancy
+of a sound!</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy stretched his arm into the cavity
+as far as it might go, half expecting it to be
+snatched by the claw of a witch; but no—his
+empty palm closed only on the clammy
+air.</p>
+
+<p>“Up with ye!” said Jerry impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>One moment—and there were the duskily
+purple mountains, the gray obscurity of the
+misty intervals, the lustrous darkness of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>river, the fair sky, and the reigning moon;
+then the vault-like blackness of the hollow.</p>
+
+<p>The boy scuffled along it for a few moments,
+“snakin’ it,” he called the process,
+and feeling like so much pith in the bark.
+Binwell still paid out the cord as Skimpy
+crept further and further, and then—</p>
+
+<p>What was the matter with the rocks! Endowed
+with Rosamond’s voice they called him
+again and again, with dulcet treble iteration
+that was like the fine vibrations of a stringed
+instrument all in tune. He listened, paling a
+little; it was no fancy; he was discovered.
+He stood his ground for the nonce. What
+affinity for harm and wrong! The coward
+might be brave for a space.</p>
+
+<p>Another voice; he jerked nervously at the
+cord on Skimpy’s arm. It was Abner’s voice;
+he was on the summit of the Bluffs. He too
+was calling aloud:</p>
+
+<p>“Kem up, Jerry, ’tain’t no use. Kem
+up.”</p>
+
+<p>Jerry made no answer; he muttered only
+to himself, “Ye’ll fall off’n the aidge o’ that
+Bluff unbeknown ter yerse’f, ole mole!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p>
+
+<p>Abner began anew and all the echoes were
+pleading and insistent. “Kem up, Jerry!
+Ye’ll be deesgraced fur life, and hyar’s leetle
+Rosamondy a-waitin’ fur ye!”</p>
+
+<p>Jerry was standing breathless, for Skimpy
+within was suddenly motionless. Then the
+cord grew slack in his hand, for the boy was
+coming out backward.</p>
+
+<p>Binwell gave no heed to the commotion on
+the summit. A heavy, clanking metallic
+sound had caught his ear—it was the money-box
+of the Squire which the boy was dragging
+out, every moment coming nearer to
+that clutching, quivering hand.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, Rosamond, calling in vain! Give it
+up, old soldier! No battle-cry of honor can
+rally comrades like this. But they pressed
+perilously close to the edge of the cliff—the
+blind man and the little child—beginning
+to sob together with dreary helplessness and
+futility, and casting their hopeless entreaties
+upon the night air, the echoes joining their
+pleas with wild insistence, and the forest
+silence holding its breath that no wistful
+word might be lost.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span></p>
+
+<p>And thus others found them, shadowy figures
+as stealthily approaching as if the blind
+man could see, and the confiding little child
+wonder;—two, three, four, five figures pausing
+on the summit of the cliff, watching in
+intensest excitement the man on the ledge,
+and, slowly emerging from the cavity, dragging
+after him an iron box twelve inches
+square perhaps and weighty to handle, a boy,
+slight, agile, unmistakable.</p>
+
+<p>Skimpy, covered with dust, choking, out
+of breath, confused by the sound of voices on
+the summit and the clamor of the echoes,
+hardly knew how it was that he should hear
+in the medley the familiar tones of his father
+calling on Heaven to pity him, for his son
+was a thief! He heard too the voice of the
+child and the blind soldier’s entreaties. And
+then the sharp tones of the constable rang
+out—“Surrender thar—or I fire!” His
+senses reeled as Binwell, catching the box
+from his hands, turned and with quick leaps
+like a fox’s clambered on down the ledges.
+The cord was still about Skimpy’s shoulders;
+with a sharp twist he came to his knees in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>great pain; then the end of the rope swung
+slack below, and he knew that Binwell had
+just cut it to liberate himself—a great splash
+in the river told that he had taken to the
+water and the constable’s bullet whizzed by
+the Bluffs a second too late.</p>
+
+<p>“He’ll hev ter gin up the box time I light
+out arter him,” cried the constable; “I’ll
+meet up with him by the ruver-bank. He
+can’t run fur with a heavy box full o’ gold
+an’ silver.”</p>
+
+<p>There was no use in keeping the secret
+longer.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s full o’ sand!” cried the blind man
+with dreary contempt in the fact. “The
+Squair kerried it full o’ sand whenst he buried
+it—jes’ fur a blind. He knowed Jerry
+s’picioned he hed money an’ he never trested
+him. Jerry kep’ watch, an’ I clomb the
+Bluffs, an’ hid the box. Whar the Squair an’
+me actially hid the money war in a hollow o’
+one o’ the logs o’ his house, an’ thar’s whar
+the money war kep’ till the e-end o’ the war.
+The heirs knowed it all the time. Write ter
+Arkansas an’ ax the one ez be livin’ thar.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span></p>
+
+<p>A relish was added to the excitement
+which the events produced throughout the
+Cove next day by the gossips’ speculations
+on Binwell’s disappointment—how he must
+have looked, what he must have said, when he
+felt sufficiently safe to open the box and found
+it full of sand. For he made good his escape,
+the pursuit being given over instantly upon
+the discovery that he had stolen nothing worth
+having. The constable contented himself with
+declaring that he should never again come
+within the district save to be ushered into the
+county jail. The neighborhood cronies congregated
+at the store and talked the matter
+over, each having some instance of Binwell’s
+duplicity to relate. All were willing enough
+to credit Peter Sawyer’s account of how
+Skimpy had been deluded into assisting Binwell’s
+scheme by the pretense that there were
+only papers hidden in the box which he had a
+right to destroy. Notwithstanding the fact
+that no suspicion rested upon him, Skimpy
+was not for a long time so blithe a lad as before
+he climbed down Keedon Bluffs. And
+he is ready now to believe that his father
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>learned a good many things in those years of
+seniority which are still unknown to him, and
+he has some respect for experience. It is not
+necessary to scald him now in order to convince
+him that boiling water is—as it is said
+to be—hot.</p>
+
+<p>The blind man’s story was amply confirmed
+by a letter from the surviving heir who had
+been told by his father of the hoax of the
+hidden box, and who had always relished its
+mystery, since it had served its purpose and
+had diverted plunder and search from the
+hoard concealed in the wall.</p>
+
+<p>At Hiram Guyther’s cabin, however, the
+gossip had no zest. For the first time a deep
+gloom had fallen on the blind soldier’s face as
+he sat in his enforced inactivity, a-wasting his
+life away in the chimney corner. His gray
+hair hardly seemed so incongruous now, for
+an ashen furrowed pallid anxiety had replaced
+the florid tints of cheek and brow. Sometimes
+he would rise from his chair and stride
+back and forth the length of the room; now
+and again a deep sigh would burst from him.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t mind it, Ab,” Mrs. Guyther
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>would say in her comforting soft drawl. “Ye
+done all ye could—more ’n enny other man
+would, ’flicted with blindness. Fairly makes
+me shiver whenst I ’member ye an’ Rosamondy
+walkin’ along them cliffs in the dead
+o’ night like ye done.”</p>
+
+<p>“She’ll never be able ter live through it
+when she finds out ’bout her dad; she’s a gal
+ez be a-goin’ ter hev a heap o’ feelin’s,” he
+would groan, with prescient grief for the gay
+Rosamond’s future woes. “It’ll plumb kill
+her ter know she don’t kem o’ honest folks.
+Ef it don’t—it’s wuss yit; fur it’ll break
+her sperit, an’ that’s like livin’ along ’thout
+a soul; sorter like walkin’ in yer sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>And even Ike’s mother could say naught
+to this.</p>
+
+<p>Only on aunt Jemima’s countenance a grim
+satisfaction began to dawn. She was not an
+optimist; nevertheless she contrived to extract
+a drop of honey from all this wormwood.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s all fur the bes’—I’ve hearn that
+preached all my days. Ev’y body knowed
+ennyhow ez he war mean enough fur ennything—ter
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>steal, ef ’casion riz. An’ he war
+her dad; couldn’t git roun’ that! All’s fur
+the bes’! Ef he hed hev stayed he mought
+hev tuk a notion ter kerry Rosamondy away
+from hyar. <i>Now</i> he don’t dare ter show his
+nose hyar ag’in. An’ we hev got Rosamondy
+safe an’ sure fur good an’ all.”</p>
+
+<p>So she knitted on with a stern endorsement
+of the course of events expressed in her
+firmly-set lips and the decisive click of her
+needles.</p>
+
+<p>Even this view did not mitigate Abner’s
+grief, and he sorrowed on for Rosamondy’s
+sake.</p>
+
+<p>The secret of Keedon Bluffs once discovered
+was spread far and wide. The news, crossing
+the ranges, penetrated other coves, and was
+talked of round many a stranger’s hearth.
+Even to Persimmon Cove, where Jerry Binwell
+had married, the story came, albeit
+tardily. It was told first there by the sheriff,
+who had chanced to be called to that remote
+and secluded spot in pursuit of some evil doer
+hiding in the mountains, and he gave to the
+constable, as he passed through Tanglefoot
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>Cove on his way to the county town, sundry
+items, gathered during his stay in Persimmon
+Cove, which that functionary felt it was his
+duty to communicate to the Guythers.</p>
+
+<p>It was a widow whom Jerry Binwell had
+married in Persimmon Cove—a young woman
+with one child; and when he left the
+place after her death, he took his stepdaughter
+with him; some people said his
+motive was to spite her grandmother, with
+whom he had quarreled, and who had sought
+to claim her; others said that it was because
+the little Rosamond contrived to keep a strong
+hold on the heart of every creature that came
+near her, and had even won upon Jerry Binwell.
+Certain it was that old Mrs. Peters,
+her grandmother, had heard with great delight
+the tidings of Rosamond’s whereabouts,
+and the sheriff had promised her to acquaint
+with the facts the family with whom the child
+lived.</p>
+
+<p>Every member of the household felt stunned
+as by a blow when the constable had left them
+to their meditations. Even Rosamond, with
+all her merry arts, could not win a smile from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>the grave and troubled faces grouped about
+the fire, and she desisted at last; she leaned
+her head, with its floating lengths of golden
+hair, against the brown logs of the wall, and
+looked wistfully at them all with a contemplative
+finger in her pink mouth.</p>
+
+<p>“She hev ter go!” said the upright Hiram
+Guyther with a sigh, “she ain’t ourn ter
+keep.”</p>
+
+<p>“We hev ter gin her up,” groaned the
+blind man.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Guyther looked wistfully at her with
+moist eyes, and dropped a half-dozen stitches
+in her knitting.</p>
+
+<p>And aunt Jemima suddenly threw her blue-checked
+cotton apron over her head, and burst
+into a tumult of passionate tears. “I wisht,”
+she exclaimed—wicked old soul!—“thar
+warn’t no sech thing ez right an’ wrong!
+But I don’t keer fur right. An’ I don’t keer
+fur wrong. They shan’t take my child away
+from hyar.”</p>
+
+<p>Although it wrung their hearts they decided
+to relinquish their household treasure. But
+they temporized as well as their scanty tact
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>would enable them. A message was sent to
+old Mrs. Peters, coupled with an invitation to
+come and make them a visit. And thus they
+eked out the weeks.</p>
+
+<p>One day—a day of doom it seemed to
+them—there rode up to the door a small
+wizened old woman, sharp-eyed, with a high
+voice and a keen tongue; she was riding a
+white mare with a colt at her heels. She
+scarcely seemed perturbed by Rosamond’s reluctance
+to recognize her. The alert eyes
+took in first with an amazed stare the child’s
+cleanly and whole attire, her delicately tended
+flowing hair, her fine, full, glowing look of
+health; then with more furtive glances she
+expended what capacity for astonishment remained
+to her on the scoured puncheon floor,
+the neat women and men, the loom, with a
+great roll of woven cloth of many yards hanging
+to it; the evidences of a carefully adjusted
+domestic routine, of thrift and decorum
+and moral worth; the cooking and quality
+of the meal presently set forth on the table.
+She had not lived so long in this world to be
+unable to recognize sterling people when she
+met them.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span></p>
+
+<p>They all talked on indifferent topics for a
+time. But presently she broke forth.</p>
+
+<p>“I dunno ez I oughter up an’ remark it
+so flat-footed—but I never expected ter find
+Jerry Binwell’s friends sech ez you-uns. I
+wouldn’t hev rid my mare’s back sore ef I
+hed. I dunno ez I’d hev kem at all.”</p>
+
+<p>“Waal,” said Hiram Guyther, “I reckon
+’twar leetle Rosamondy ez jes’ tangled herself
+up in our heart-strings—an’ that made us
+put up with Jerry. We ’lowed he war her
+dad.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m powerful glad he ain’t!” said Abner.</p>
+
+<p>“I say!” cried the sharp little woman
+scornfully. “<i>Her dad</i> war a mighty solid,
+’sponsible, ’spectable young man, an’ good-lookin’
+till you couldn’t rest! He’d hev
+lived till he war eighty ef his gun hedn’t
+bust an’ killed him. I dunno what ailed
+Em’line ter marry sech ez Jerry arterward.
+He made way with everything her fust husband
+lef’ her, an’ mighty nigh all I hed,
+’mongst his evil frien’s an’ drinkin’. But he
+always war mighty good ter Rosamondy. I’ll
+gin him that credit.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ennybody would be good ter sech a child
+ez Rosamondy!” cried aunt Jemima.</p>
+
+<p>“Waal, we war all frien’s ter Jerry, ez fur
+ez he’d let us be, an’ ter the leetle gal,” said
+Hiram, solidly, “an’ I hope, mum, ye’ll let
+her spen’ cornsider’ble of her time with us.”</p>
+
+<p>This was the cautious way it began, although
+it fired aunt Jemima’s blood to hear
+the permission humbly craved instead of
+claimed as a right.</p>
+
+<p>But Mrs. Peters smilingly accorded it. She
+herself had entered upon a long visit; whenever
+she made a motion to return, the family
+so vehemently demurred that she relented,
+only stipulating that when she should depart
+aunt Jemima should accompany her. She
+took a sad pleasure in the talk of the blind
+artillery-man, her own son, who was killed in
+battle, having been in the same command.
+Abner remembered him after a time, and told
+her many things of his army life which she
+had not before known. She had a sort of
+maternal tenderness for his comrade, and
+loved to see how Rosamond had blossomed
+in the waste places of his life.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I don’t think ’twould be right ter take
+her away from Ab,” she said, when the visit
+was at last at an end. And so only the two
+old women went to Persimmon Cove; together
+they came back after a time. And thus for
+years, the old cronies, cherishing so strong a
+bond of friendship, have vibrated on visits to
+and fro. But whoever comes or goes Rosamond
+has never yet left the hearthstone made
+brighter by her presence.</p>
+
+<p>And when she and the blind artillery-man
+walk hand in hand down the shady road to
+Keedon Bluffs, she always cries out gleefully
+when she sees the great cannon-ball arrested
+midway on the ledge, and he tells her again
+how it must have burst forth from the muzzle
+of the gun far away, and, sounding its shrill
+battle cry, whirled through the air, describing
+a great arc against the sky, dropping at last,
+spent and futile, on the ledge there above the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes,” he says, “sometimes, Rosamondy,
+I feels ez ef I’d like ter lay my hand
+on that ball ef I could git nigh it—’minds
+me so o’ the war times; ’twould bring ’em
+nigher; they seems a-slippin’ away now.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hate that cannon-ball; it kem so nigh
+a-killin’ somebody,” says Rosamondy, “an’ I
+hate war times. An’ I don’t want folks ter
+be hurted no mo’.”</p>
+
+<p>And in the deep peace of the silent mountain
+fastnesses and the sheltered depths of the
+Cove, they leave the old ball, spent and mute
+and harmless, lying on the ledges of Keedon
+Bluffs, above the reddening river, and take
+their way homeward through the sunset glow.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="Standard_and_Popular_Library_Books">
+    <span class="gothic">Standard and Popular Library Books</span><br>
+    <span class="smaller"><span class="smaller">SELECTED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF</span><br>
+    HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY.</span>
+  </h2>
+
+</div>
+
+<div class="hanging">
+
+<p><b>A Club of One.</b> An Anonymous Volume, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Brooks Adams.</b> The Emancipation of Massachusetts, crown
+8vo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Adams and Abigail Adams.</b> Familiar Letters of,
+during the Revolution, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Oscar Fay Adams.</b> Handbook of English Authors, 16mo,
+75 cents; Handbook of American Authors, 16mo, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p><b>Louis Agassiz.</b> Methods of Study in Natural History, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.50; Geological Sketches, Series I. and II.,
+12mo, each, $1.50; A Journey in Brazil, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$2.50; Life and Letters, edited by his wife, 2 vols. 12mo,
+$4.00; Life and Works, 6 vols. $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Anne A. Agge and Mary M. Brooks.</b> Marblehead
+Sketches. 4to, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Elizabeth Akers.</b> The Silver Bridge and other Poems, 16mo,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Thomas Bailey Aldrich.</b> Story of a Bad Boy, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.50; Marjorie Daw and Other People, 12mo, $1.50;
+Prudence Palfrey, 12mo, $1.50; The Queen of Sheba, 12mo,
+$1.50; The Stillwater Tragedy, 12mo, $1.50; Poems, <i>Household
+Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25; The
+above six vols. 12mo, uniform, $9.00; From Ponkapog to
+Pesth, 16mo, $1.25; Poems, Complete, Illustrated, 8vo, $3.50;
+Mercedes, and Later Lyrics, cr. 8vo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Rev. A. V. G. Allen.</b> Continuity of Christian Thought, 12mo,
+$2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>American Commonwealths.</b> Per volume, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>Virginia. By John Esten Cooke.</li>
+  <li>Oregon. By William Barrows.</li>
+  <li>Maryland. By Wm. Hand Browne.</li>
+  <li>Kentucky. By N. S. Shaler.</li>
+  <li>Michigan. By Hon. T. M. Cooley.<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_2">[2]</span></li>
+  <li>Kansas. By Leverett W. Spring.</li>
+  <li>California. By Josiah Royce.</li>
+  <li>New York. By Ellis H. Roberts. 2 vols.</li>
+  <li>Connecticut. By Alexander Johnston.</li>
+  <li class="prep">(<i>In Preparation.</i>)</li>
+  <li>Tennessee. By James Phelan.</li>
+  <li>Pennsylvania. By Hon. Wayne MacVeagh.</li>
+  <li>Missouri. By Lucien Carr.</li>
+  <li>Ohio. By Rufus King.</li>
+  <li>New Jersey. By Austin Scott.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><b>American Men of Letters.</b> Per vol., with Portrait, 16mo,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>Washington Irving. By Charles Dudley Warner.</li>
+  <li>Noah Webster. By Horace E. Scudder.</li>
+  <li>Henry D. Thoreau. By Frank B. Sanborn.</li>
+  <li>George Ripley. By O. B. Frothingham.</li>
+  <li>J. Fenimore Cooper. By Prof. T. R. Lounsbury.</li>
+  <li>Margaret Fuller Ossoli. By T. W. Higginson.</li>
+  <li>Ralph Waldo Emerson. By Oliver Wendell Holmes.</li>
+  <li>Edgar Allan Poe. By George E. Woodberry.</li>
+  <li>Nathaniel Parker Willis. By H. A. Beers.</li>
+  <li class="prep">(<i>In Preparation.</i>)</li>
+  <li>Benjamin Franklin. By John Bach McMaster.</li>
+  <li>Nathaniel Hawthorne. By James Russell Lowell.</li>
+  <li>William Cullen Bryant. By John Bigelow.</li>
+  <li>Bayard Taylor. By J. R. G. Hassard.</li>
+  <li>William Gilmore Simms. By George W. Cable.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><b>American Statesmen.</b> Per vol., 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<ul>
+  <li>John Quincy Adams. By John T. Morse, Jr.</li>
+  <li>Alexander Hamilton. By Henry Cabot Lodge.</li>
+  <li>John C. Calhoun. By Dr. H. von Holst.</li>
+  <li>Andrew Jackson. By Prof. W. G. Sumner.</li>
+  <li>John Randolph. By Henry Adams.</li>
+  <li>James Monroe. By Pres. D. C. Gilman.</li>
+  <li>Thomas Jefferson. By John T. Morse, Jr.</li>
+  <li>Daniel Webster. By Henry Cabot Lodge.</li>
+  <li>Albert Gallatin. By John Austin Stevens.</li>
+  <li>James Madison. By Sydney Howard Gay.</li>
+  <li>John Adams. By John T. Morse, Jr.<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_3">[3]</span></li>
+  <li>John Marshall. By Allan B. Magruder.</li>
+  <li>Samuel Adams. By J. K. Hosmer.</li>
+  <li>Thomas H. Benton. By Theodore Roosevelt.</li>
+  <li>Henry Clay. By Hon. Carl Schurz. 2 vols.</li>
+  <li class="prep">(<i>In Preparation.</i>)</li>
+  <li>Martin Van Buren. By Edward M. Shepard.</li>
+  <li>George Washington. By Henry Cabot Lodge. 2 vols.</li>
+  <li>Patrick Henry. By Moses Coit Tyler.</li>
+</ul>
+
+<p><b>Martha Babcock Amory.</b> Life of Copley, 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Hans Christian Andersen.</b> Complete Works, 10 vols. 12mo,
+each $1.00. New Edition, 10 vols. 12mo, $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Francis, Lord Bacon.</b> Works, 15 vols. cr. 8vo, $33.75; <i>Popular
+Edition</i>, with Portraits, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, $5.00; Promus of
+Formularies and Elegancies, 8vo, $5.00; Life and Times of
+Bacon, 2 vols. cr. 8vo, $5.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>L. H. Bailey, Jr.</b> Talks Afield, Illustrated, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>M. M. Ballou.</b> Due West, cr. 8vo, $1.50; Due South, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry A. Beers.</b> The Thankless Muse. Poems. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>E. D. R. Bianciardi.</b> At Home in Italy, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>William Henry Bishop.</b> The House of a Merchant Prince,
+a Novel, 12mo, $1.50; Detmold, a Novel, 18mo, $1.25; Choy
+Susan and other Stories, 16mo, $1.25; The Golden Justice,
+16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Bjornstjerne Bjornson.</b> Complete Works. New Edition,
+3 vols. 12mo, the set, $4.50; Synnove Solbakken, Bridal
+March, Captain Mansana, Magnhild, 16mo, each $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Anne C. Lynch Botta.</b> Handbook of Universal Literature,
+New Edition, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>British Poets.</b> <i>Riverside Edition</i>, cr. 8vo, each $1.50; the
+set, 68 vols. $100.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Brown, A. B.</b> John Bunyan. Illustrated. 8vo, $4.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Brown, M. D.</b> Spare Hours, 3 vols. 16mo, each $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Robert Browning.</b> Poems and Dramas, etc., 15 vols. 16mo,
+$22.00; Works, 8 vols. cr. 8vo, $13.00; Ferishtah’s Fancies,
+cr. 8vo, $1.00; Jocoseria, 16mo, $1.00; cr. 8vo, $1.00; Parleyings
+with Certain People of Importance in their Day, 16mo
+or cr. 8vo, $1.25. Works, <i>New Edition</i>, 6 vols. cr. 8vo.
+$10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>William Cullen Bryant.</b> Translation of Homer, The Iliad
+<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_4">[4]</span>cr. 8vo, $2.50; 2 vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; cr. 8vo, $4.00. The
+Odyssey, cr. 8vo, $2.50; 2 vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; cr. 8vo, $4.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sara C. Bull.</b> Life of Ole Bull. <i>Popular Edition.</i> 12mo,
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Burroughs.</b> Works, 7 vols. 16mo, each $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Thomas Carlyle.</b> Essays, with Portrait and Index, 4 vols.
+12mo, $7.50; <i>Popular Edition</i>, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Alice and Phœbe Cary.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>,
+including Memorial by Mary Clemmer, Portraits and 24 Illustrations,
+8vo, $3.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Wm. Ellery Channing.</b> Selections from His Note-Books,
+$1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Francis J. Child</b> (Editor). English and Scottish Popular
+Ballads. Eight Parts. (Parts I.-IV. now ready). 4to, each
+$5.00. Poems of Religious Sorrow, Comfort, Counsel, and
+Aspiration. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Lydia Maria Child.</b> Looking Toward Sunset, 12mo, $2.50;
+Letters, with Biography by Whittier, 16mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>James Freeman Clarke.</b> Ten Great Religions, Parts I. and
+II., 12mo, each $2.00; Common Sense in Religion, 12mo, $2.00;
+Memorial and Biographical Sketches, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Esten Cooke.</b> My Lady Pokahontas, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>James Fenimore Cooper.</b> Works, new <i>Household Edition</i>,
+Illustrated, 32 vols. 16mo, each $1.00; the set, $32.00; <i>Fireside
+Edition</i>, Illustrated, 16 vols. 12mo, $20.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Susan Fenimore Cooper.</b> Rural Hours. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles Egbert Craddock.</b> In the Tennessee Mountains,
+16mo, $1.25; Down the Ravine, Illustrated, $1.00; The
+Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, 16mo, $1.25; In The
+Clouds, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>C. P. Cranch.</b> Ariel and Caliban. 16mo, $1.25; The Æneid
+of Virgil. Translated by Cranch. 8vo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>T. F. Crane.</b> Italian Popular Tales, 8vo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>F. Marion Crawford.</b> To Leeward, 16mo, $1.25; A Roman
+Singer, 16mo, $1.25; An American Politician, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>M. Creighton.</b> The Papacy during the Reformation, 4 vols.
+8vo, $17.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Richard H. Dana.</b> To Cuba and Back, 16mo, $1.25; Two
+Years Before the Mast, 12mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_5">[5]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>G. W. and Emma De Long.</b> Voyage of the Jeannette. 2
+vols. 8vo, $7.50; New One-Volume Edition, 8vo, $4.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Thomas De Quincey.</b> Works, 12 vols. 12mo, each $1.50;
+the set, $18.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Madame De Stael.</b> Germany, 12mo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles Dickens.</b> Works, <i>Illustrated Library Edition</i>, with
+Dickens Dictionary, 30 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the set, $45.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>J. Lewis Diman.</b> The Theistic Argument, etc., cr. 8vo, $2.00;
+Orations and Essays, cr. 8vo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Theodore A. Dodge.</b> Patroclus and Penelope, Illustrated,
+8vo, $3.00. The Same. Outline Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>E. P. Dole.</b> Talks about Law. Cr. 8vo, $2.00; sheep, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Eight Studies of the Lord’s Day.</b> 12mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>George Eliot.</b> The Spanish Gypsy, a Poem, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Ralph Waldo Emerson.</b> Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 11 vols.
+each $1.75; the set, $19.25; <i>“Little Classic” Edition</i>, 11 vols.
+18mo, each, $1.50; Parnassus, <i>Household Edition</i>, 12mo, $1.75;
+<i>Library Edition</i>, 8vo, $4.00; Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Portrait,
+12mo, $1.75; Memoir, by J. Elliot Cabot, 2 vols. $3.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>English Dramatists.</b> Vols. 1-3, Marlowe’s Works; Vols.
+4-11, Middleton’s Works; Vols. 12-14, Marston’s Works;
+each vol. $3.00; <i>Large-Paper Edition</i>, each vol. $4.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edgar Fawcett.</b> A Hopeless Case, 18mo, $1.25; A Gentleman
+of Leisure, 18mo, $1.00; An Ambitious Woman, 12mo,
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Fénelon.</b> Adventures of Telemachus, 12mo, $2.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>James T. Fields.</b> Yesterdays with Authors, 12mo, $2.00; 8vo,
+Illustrated, $3.00; Underbrush, 18mo, $1.25; Ballads and other
+Verses, 16mo, $1.00; The Family Library of British Poetry,
+royal 8vo, $5.00; Memoirs and Correspondence, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Fiske.</b> Myths and Mythmakers, 12mo, $2.00; Outlines
+of Cosmic Philosophy, 2 vols. 8vo, $6.00; The Unseen World,
+and other Essays, 12mo, $2.00; Excursions of an Evolutionist,
+12mo, $2.00; The Destiny of Man, 16mo, $1.00; The Idea of
+God, 16mo, $1.00; Darwinism, and Other Essays, New Edition,
+enlarged, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edward Fitzgerald.</b> Works. 2 vols. 8vo, $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>O. B. Frothingham.</b> Life of W. H. Channing. Cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>William H. Furness.</b> Verses, 16mo, vellum, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_6">[6]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>Gentleman’s Magazine Library.</b> 14 vols. 8vo, each $2.50;
+Roxburgh, $3.50; <i>Large-Paper Edition</i>, $6.00. I. Manners and
+Customs. II. Dialect, Proverbs, and Word-Lore. III. Popular
+Superstitions and Traditions. IV. English Traditions
+and Foreign Customs. V., VI. Archæology. VII. Romano-British
+Remains: Part I. (<i>Last two styles sold only in sets.</i>)</p>
+
+<p><b>John F. Genung.</b> Tennyson’s In Memoriam, cr. 8vo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.</b> Faust, Part First, Translated
+by C. T. Brooks, 16mo, $1.25; Faust, Translated by Bayard
+Taylor, cr. 8vo, $2.50; 2 vols. royal 8vo, $9.00; 2 vols. 12mo,
+$4.00; Correspondence with a Child, 12mo, $1.50; Wilhelm
+Meister, Translated by Carlyle, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.00. Life, by
+Lewes, together with the above five 12mo vols., the set, $9.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Oliver Goldsmith.</b> The Vicar of Wakefield, 32mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles George Gordon.</b> Diaries and Letters, 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>George H. Gordon.</b> Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain, 1861-2.
+8vo, $3.00. Campaign of Army of Virginia, 1862. 8vo, $4.00.
+A War Diary, 1863-5. 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>George Zabriskie Gray.</b> The Children’s Crusade, 12mo,
+$1.50; Husband and Wife, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>F. W. Gunsaulus.</b> The Transfiguration of Christ. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Anna Davis Hallowell.</b> James and Lucretia Mott, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>R. P. Hallowell.</b> Quaker Invasion of Massachusetts, revised,
+$1.25. The Pioneer Quakers, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Arthur Sherburne Hardy.</b> But Yet a Woman, 16mo, $1.25;
+The Wind of Destiny, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Bret Harte.</b> Works, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, each $2.00; Poems,
+<i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt,
+$2.25; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>,
+$1.00; In the Carquinez Woods, 18mo, $1.00; Flip, and Found
+at Blazing Star, 18mo, $1.00; On the Frontier, 18mo, $1.00;
+By Shore and Sedge, 18mo, $1.00; Maruja, 18mo, $1.00;
+Snow-Bound at Eagle’s, 18mo, $1.00; The Queen of the Pirate
+Isle, Illustrated, small 4to, $1.50; A Millionaire, etc., 18mo,
+$1.00; The Crusade of the Excelsior, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Nathaniel Hawthorne.</b> Works, <i>“Little Classic” Edition</i>,
+Illustrated, 25 vols. 18mo, each $1.00; the set $25.00; <i>New
+Riverside Edition</i>, Introductions by G. P. Lathrop, 11 Etchings
+and Portrait, 12 vols. cr. 8vo, each $2.00; <i>Wayside Edition</i>,
+with Introductions, Etchings, etc., 24 vols. 12mo, $36.00;
+<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_7">[7]</span><i>Fireside Edition</i>, 6 vols. 12mo, $10.00; The Scarlet Letter,
+12mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Hay.</b> Pike County Ballads, 12mo, $1.50; Castilian
+Days, 16mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Caroline Hazard.</b> Memoir of J. L. Diman. Cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Franklin H. Head.</b> Shakespeare’s Insomnia. 16mo, parchment
+paper, 75 cents.</p>
+
+<p><b>The Heart of the Weed.</b> Anonymous Poems. 16mo, parchment
+paper, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>S. E. Herrick.</b> Some Heretics of Yesterday. Cr. 8vo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>George S. Hillard.</b> Six Months in Italy. 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Oliver Wendell Holmes.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Illustrated Library
+Edition</i>, 8vo, $3.50; <i>Handy-Volume Edition</i>, 2 vols. 32mo,
+$2.50; The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, cr. 8vo, $2.00;
+<i>Handy-Volume Edition</i>, 32mo, $1.25; The Professor at the
+Breakfast-Table, cr. 8vo, $2.00; The Poet at the Breakfast-Table,
+cr. 8vo, $2.00; Elsie Venner, cr. 8vo, $2.00; The Guardian
+Angel, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Medical Essays, cr. 8vo, $2.00;
+Pages from an Old Volume of Life, cr. 8vo, $2.00; John Lothrop
+Motley, A Memoir, 16mo, $1.50; Illustrated Poems,
+8vo, $4.00; A Mortal Antipathy, cr. 8vo, $1.50; The Last
+Leaf, Illustrated, 4to, $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Nathaniel Holmes.</b> The Authorship of Shakespeare. New
+Edition. 2 vols. $4.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Blanche Willis Howard.</b> One Summer, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.25; One Year Abroad, 18mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>William D. Howells.</b> Venetian Life, 12mo, $1.50; Italian
+Journeys, 12mo, $1.50; Their Wedding Journey, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.50; 18mo, $1.25; Suburban Sketches, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.50; A Chance Acquaintance, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.50; 18mo, $1.25; A Foregone Conclusion, 12mo, $1.50;
+The Lady of the Aroostook, 12mo, $1.50; The Undiscovered
+Country, 12mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Thomas Hughes.</b> Tom Brown’s School-Days at Rugby,
+16mo, $1.00; Tom Brown at Oxford, 16mo, $1.25; The Manliness
+of Christ, 16mo, $1.00; paper, 25 cents.</p>
+
+<p><b>William Morris Hunt.</b> Talks on Art, 2 Series, each $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_8">[8]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>Henry James.</b> A Passionate Pilgrim and other Tales, 12mo,
+$2.00; Transatlantic Sketches, 12mo, $2.00; Roderick Hudson,
+12mo, $2.00; The American, 12mo, $2.00; Watch and
+Ward, 18mo, $1.25; The Europeans, 12mo, $1.50; Confidence,
+12mo, $1.50; The Portrait of a Lady, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Anna Jameson.</b> Writings upon Art Subjects. New Edition,
+10 vols. 16mo, the set, $12.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sarah Orne Jewett.</b> Deephaven, 18mo, $1.25; Old Friends
+and New, 18mo, $1.25; Country By-Ways, 18mo, $1.25; Play-Days,
+Stories for Children, square 16mo, $1.50; The Mate of
+the Daylight, 18mo, $1.25; A Country Doctor, 16mo, $1.25;
+A Marsh Island, 16mo, $1.25; A White Heron, 18mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Rossiter Johnson.</b> Little Classics, 18 vols. 18mo, each $1.00;
+the set, $18.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Samuel Johnson.</b> Oriental Religions: India, 8vo, $5.00;
+China, 8vo, $5.00; Persia, 8vo, $5.00; Lectures, Essays, and
+Sermons, cr. 8vo, $1.75.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles C. Jones, Jr.</b> History of Georgia, 2 vols. 8vo, $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Malcolm Kerr.</b> The Far Interior. 2 vols. 8vo, $9.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Omar Khayyám.</b> Rubáiyát, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, square 16mo.,
+$1.00; the same, with 56 Illustrations by Vedder, folio, $25.00;
+The Same, <i>Phototype Edition</i>, 4to, $12.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>T. Starr King.</b> Christianity and Humanity, with Portrait,
+12mo, $1.50; Substance and Show, 16mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles and Mary Lamb.</b> Tales from Shakespeare. <i>Handy-Volume
+Edition</i>, 32mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry Lansdell.</b> Russian Central Asia. 2 vols. $10.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Lucy Larcom.</b> Poems, 16mo, $1.25; An Idyl of Work, 16mo,
+$1.25; Wild Roses of Cape Ann and other Poems, 16mo,
+$1.25; Breathings of the Better Life, 18mo, $1.25; Poems,
+<i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25;
+Beckonings for Every Day, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>George Parsons Lathrop.</b> A Study of Hawthorne 18mo,
+$1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry C. Lea.</b> Sacerdotal Celibacy, 8vo, $4.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sophia and Harriet Lee.</b> Canterbury Tales. New Edition,
+3 vols. 12mo, $3.75.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles G. Leland.</b> The Gypsies, cr. 8vo, $2.00; Algonquin
+Legends of New England, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_9">[9]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>George Henry Lewes.</b> The Story of Goethe’s Life, Portrait,
+12mo, $1.50; Problems of Life and Mind, 5 vols. 8vo, $14.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>A. Parlett Lloyd.</b> The Law of Divorce, cloth, $2.00; sheep,
+$2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>J. G. Lockhart.</b> Life of Sir W. Scott, 3 vols. 12mo, $4.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry Cabot Lodge.</b> Studies in History, cr. 8vo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.</b> Complete Poetical and
+Prose Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 11 vols. cr. 8vo, $16.50; Poetical
+Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, $9.00; <i>Cambridge
+Edition</i>, 4 vols. 12mo, $7.00; Poems, <i>Octavo Edition</i>,
+Portrait and 300 Illustrations, $7.50; <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>,
+Portrait and 12 Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>,
+$1.00; <i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait and 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50;
+Christus, <i>Household Edition</i>, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25;
+<i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; Prose Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 2
+vols. cr. 8vo, $3.00; Hyperion, 16mo, $1.50; Kavanagh, 16mo,
+$1.50; Outre-Mer, 16mo, $1.50; In the Harbor, 16mo, $1.00;
+Michael Angelo: a Drama, Illustrated, folio, $5.00; Twenty
+Poems, Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; Translation of the Divina
+Commedia of Dante, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, $4.50;
+1 vol. cr. 8vo, $2.50; 3 vols. royal 8vo, $13.50; cr. 8vo, $4.50;
+Poets and Poetry of Europe, royal 8vo, $5.00; Poems of
+Places, 31 vols. each $1.00; the set, $25.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>James Russell Lowell.</b> Poems, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, Portrait,
+Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait
+and 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; Fireside
+Travels, 12mo, $1.50; Among my Books, Series I. and II.
+12mo, each $2.00; My Study Windows, 12mo, $2.00; Democracy
+and other Addresses, 16mo, $1.25; Uncollected Poems.</p>
+
+<p><b>Thomas Babington Macaulay.</b> Works, 16 vols. 12mo,
+$20.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Mrs. Madison.</b> Memoirs and Letters of Dolly Madison,
+16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Harriet Martineau.</b> Autobiography, New Edition, 2 vols.
+12mo, $4.00; Household Education, 18mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>H. B. McClellan.</b> The Life and Campaigns of Maj.-Gen.
+J. E. B. Stuart. With Portrait and Maps, 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>G. W. Melville.</b> In the Lena Delta, Maps and Illustrations,
+8vo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_10">[10]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>T. C. Mendenhall.</b> A Century of Electricity. 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Owen Meredith.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; cr. 8vo, full gilt, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait
+and 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Lucile, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>,
+8 Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, 8 Illustrations,
+$1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Olive Thorne Miller.</b> Bird-Ways, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Milton.</b> Paradise Lost. <i>Handy-Volume Edition</i>, 32mo,
+$1.00. <i>Riverside Classic Edition</i>, 16mo, Illustrated, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>S. Weir Mitchell.</b> In War Time, 16mo, $1.25; Roland
+Blake, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>J. W. Mollett.</b> Illustrated Dictionary of Words used in Art
+and Archæology, small 4to, $5.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Montaigne.</b> Complete Works, Portrait, 4 vols. 12mo, $7.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>William Mountford.</b> Euthanasy, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>T. Mozley.</b> Reminiscences of Oriel College, etc., 2 vols. 16mo,
+$3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Elisha Mulford.</b> The Nation, 8vo, $2.50; The Republic of
+God, 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>T. T. Munger.</b> On the Threshold, 16mo, $1.00; The Freedom
+of Faith, 16mo, $1.50; Lamps and Paths, 16mo, $1.00; The
+Appeal to Life, 16mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>J. A. W. Neander.</b> History of the Christian Religion and
+Church, with Index volume, 6 vols. 8vo, $20.00; Index, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Joseph Neilson.</b> Memories of Rufus Choate, 8vo, $5.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles Eliot Norton.</b> Notes of Travel in Italy, 16mo, $1.25;
+Translation of Dante’s New Life, royal 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Wm. D. O’Connor.</b> Hamlet’s Note-Book, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>G. H. Palmer.</b> Trans. of Homer’s Odyssey, 1-12, 8vo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Leighton Parks.</b> His Star in the East. Cr. 8vo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>James Parton.</b> Life of Benjamin Franklin, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00;
+Life of Thomas Jefferson, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Aaron Burr,
+2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; Life of Andrew Jackson, 3 vols. 8vo, $7.50;
+Life of Horace Greeley, 8vo, $2.50; General Butler in New
+Orleans, 8vo, $2.50; Humorous Poetry of the English Language,
+12mo, $1.75; full gilt, $2.25; Famous Americans of
+Recent Times, 8vo, $2.50; Life of Voltaire, 2 vols. 8vo, $6.00;
+The French Parnassus, 12mo, $1.75; crown 8vo, $3.50; Captains
+of Industry, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_11">[11]</span></p>
+
+<p><b>Blaise Pascal.</b> Thoughts, 12mo, $2.25; Letters, 12mo, $2.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.</b> The Gates Ajar, 16mo, $1.50;
+Beyond the Gates, 16mo, $1.25; Men, Women, and Ghosts,
+16mo, $1.50; Hedged In, 16mo, $1.50; The Silent Partner,
+16mo, $1.50; The Story of Avis, 16mo, $1.50; Sealed Orders,
+and other Stories, 16mo, $1.50; Friends: A Duet, 16mo,
+$1.25; Doctor Zay, 16mo, $1.25; Songs of the Silent World,
+16mo, gilt top, $1.25; An Old Maid’s Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50
+cents; Burglars in Paradise, 16mo, paper, 50 cents; Madonna
+of the Tubs, cr. 8vo, Illustrated, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Phillips Exeter Lectures</b>: Delivered before the Students of
+Phillips Exeter Academy, 1885-6. By <span class="smcap">E. E. Hale</span>, <span class="smcap">Phillips
+Brooks</span>, Presidents <span class="smcap">McCosh</span>, <span class="smcap">Porter</span>, and others. 12mo,
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt.</b> Selected Poems, 16mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Carl Ploetz.</b> Epitome of Universal History, 12mo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Antonin Lefevre Pontalis.</b> The Life of John DeWitt,
+Grand Pensionary of Holland, 2 vols. 8vo, $9.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Margaret J. Preston.</b> Colonial Ballads, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Adelaide A. Procter.</b> Poems, <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; <i>Red-Line
+Edition</i>, small 4to, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Progressive Orthodoxy.</b> 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sampson Reed.</b> Growth of the Mind, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>C. F. Richardson.</b> Primer of American Literature, 18mo, $.30.</p>
+
+<p><b>Riverside Aldine Series.</b> Each volume, 16mo, $1.00. First
+edition, $1.50. 1. Marjorie Daw, etc., by <span class="smcap">T. B. Aldrich</span>;
+2. My Summer in a Garden, by <span class="smcap">C. D. Warner</span>; 3. Fireside
+Travels, by <span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span>; 4. The Luck of Roaring Camp, etc.,
+by <span class="smcap">Bret Harte</span>; 5, 6. Venetian Life, 2 vols., by <span class="smcap">W. D. Howells</span>;
+7. Wake Robin, by <span class="smcap">John Burroughs</span>; 8, 9. The Biglow
+Papers, 2 vols., by <span class="smcap">J. R. Lowell</span>; 10. Backlog Studies, by <span class="smcap">C.
+D. Warner</span>.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry Crabb Robinson.</b> Diary, Reminiscences, etc. cr. 8vo,
+$2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>John C. Ropes.</b> The First Napoleon, with Maps, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Josiah Royce.</b> Religious Aspect of Philosophy, 12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edgar Evertson Saltus.</b> Balzac, cr. 8vo, $1.25; The Philosophy
+of Disenchantment, cr. 8vo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Godfrey Saxe.</b> Poems, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_12">[12]</span>small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00; <i>Household Edition</i>,
+Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sir Walter Scott.</b> Waverley Novels, <i>Illustrated Library
+Edition</i>, 25 vols. 12mo, each $1.00; the set, $25.00; Tales of a
+Grandfather, 3 vols. 12mo, $4.50; Poems, <i>Red-Line Edition</i>.
+Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>W. H. Seward.</b> Works, 5 vols. 8vo, $15.00; Diplomatic History
+of the War, 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Campbell Shairp.</b> Culture and Religion, 16mo, $1.25;
+Poetic Interpretation of Nature, 16mo, $1.25; Studies in Poetry
+and Philosophy, 16mo, $1.50; Aspects of Poetry, 16mo,
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>William Shakespeare.</b> Works, edited by R. G. White, <i>Riverside
+Edition</i>, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, $7.50; The Same, 6 vols., cr.
+8vo, uncut, $10.00; The Blackfriars Shakespeare, per vol.
+$2.50, <i>net.</i> (<i>In Press.</i>)</p>
+
+<p><b>A. P. Sinnett.</b> Esoteric Buddhism, 16mo, $1.25; The Occult
+World, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>M. C. D. Silsbee.</b> A Half Century in Salem. 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Dr. William Smith.</b> Bible Dictionary, <i>American Edition</i>, 4
+vols. 8vo, $20.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edmund Clarence Stedman.</b> Poems, <i>Farringford Edition</i>,
+Portrait, 16mo, $2.00; <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo,
+$1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; Victorian Poets, 12mo, $2.00;
+Poets of America, 12mo, $2.25. The set, 3 vols., uniform,
+12mo, $6.00; Edgar Allan Poe, an Essay, vellum, 18mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>W. W. Story.</b> Poems, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50; Fiammetta: A
+Novel, 16mo, $1.25. Roba di Roma, 2 vols. 16mo, $2.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Harriet Beecher Stowe.</b> Novels and Stories, 10 vols. 12mo,
+uniform, each $1.50; A Dog’s Mission, Little Pussy Willow,
+Queer Little People, Illustrated, small 4to, each $1.25; Uncle
+Tom’s Cabin, 100 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.00; <i>Library Edition</i>,
+Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; <i>Popular Edition</i>, 12mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Jonathan Swift.</b> Works, <i>Edition de Luxe</i>, 19 vols. 8vo, the
+set, $76.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>T. P. Taswell-Langmead.</b> English Constitutional History.
+New Edition, revised, 8vo, $7.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Bayard Taylor.</b> Poetical Works, <i>Household Edition</i>, 12mo,
+$1.75; cr. 8vo. full gilt, $2.25; Melodies of Verse, 18mo, vellum,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_13">[13]</span>$1.00; Life and Letters, 2 vols. 12mo, $4.00; Dramatic Poems,
+12mo, $2.25; <i>Household Edition</i>, 12mo, $1.75; Life and
+Poetical Works, 6 vols. uniform. Including Life, 2 vols.; Faust,
+2 vols.; Poems, 1 vol.; Dramatic Poems, 1 vol. The set, cr.
+8vo, $12.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Alfred Tennyson.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Portrait and
+Illustrations, 12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Illustrated
+Crown Edition</i>, 2 vols. 8vo, $5.00; <i>Library Edition</i>,
+Portrait and 60 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>,
+Portrait and Illustrations, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>,
+$1.00; Complete Works, <i>Riverside Edition</i>, 6 vols. cr. 8vo,
+$6.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Celia Thaxter.</b> Among the Isles of Shoals, 18mo, $1.25;
+Poems, small 4to, $1.50; Drift-Weed, 18mo, $1.50; Poems
+for Children, Illustrated, small 4to, $1.50; Cruise of the Mystery,
+Poems, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edith M. Thomas.</b> A New Year’s Masque and other Poems,
+16mo, $1.50; The Round Year, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Joseph P. Thompson.</b> American Comments on European
+Questions, 8vo, $3.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Henry D. Thoreau.</b> Works, 9 vols. 12mo, each $1.50; the
+set, $13.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>George Ticknor.</b> History of Spanish Literature, 3 vols. 8vo,
+$10.00; Life, Letters, and Journals, Portraits, 2 vols. 12mo,
+$4.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Bradford Torrey.</b> Birds in the Bush, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>Sophus Tromholt.</b> Under the Rays of the Aurora Borealis,
+Illustrated, 2 vols. $7.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer.</b> H. H. Richardson and
+his Works.</p>
+
+<p><b>Jones Very.</b> Essays and Poems, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Annie Wall.</b> Story of Sordello, told in Prose, 16mo, $1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Charles Dudley Warner.</b> My Summer in a Garden, <i>Riverside
+Aldine Edition</i>, 16mo, $1.00; <i>Illustrated Edition</i>, square
+16mo, $1.50; Saunterings, 18mo, $1.25; Backlog Studies,
+Illustrated, square 16mo, $1.50; <i>Riverside Aldine Edition</i>,
+16mo, $1.00; Baddeck, and that Sort of Thing, 18mo, $1.00;
+My Winter on the Nile, cr. 8vo, $2.00; In the Levant, cr. 8vo,
+$2.00; Being a Boy, Illustrated, square 16mo, $1.50; In the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Ad_Page_14">[14]</span>Wilderness, 18mo, 75 cents; A Roundabout Journey, 12mo,
+$1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>William F. Warren, LL.D.</b> Paradise Found, cr. 8vo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>William A. Wheeler.</b> Dictionary of Noted Names of Fiction,
+12mo, $2.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Edwin P. Whipple.</b> Essays, 6 vols. cr. 8vo, each $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>Richard Grant White.</b> Every-Day English, 12mo, $2.00;
+Words and their Uses, 12mo, $2.00; England Without and
+Within, 12mo, $2.00; The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys,
+16mo, $1.25; Studies in Shakespeare, 12mo, $1.75.</p>
+
+<p><b>Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney.</b> Stories, 12 vols. 12mo, each $1.50;
+Mother Goose for Grown Folks, 12mo, $1.50; Pansies, 16mo,
+$1.25; Daffodils, 16mo, $1.25; Just How, 16mo, $1.00; Bonnyborough,
+12mo, $1.50; Holy Tides, 16mo, 75 cents; Homespun
+Yarns, 12mo, $1.50.</p>
+
+<p><b>John Greenleaf Whittier.</b> Poems, <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated,
+12mo, $1.75; full gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Cambridge Edition</i>,
+Portrait, 3 vols. 12mo, $5.25; <i>Red-Line Edition</i>, Portrait,
+Illustrated, small 4to, $2.50; <i>Cabinet Edition</i>, $1.00;
+<i>Library Edition</i>, Portrait, 32 Illustrations, 8vo, $3.50; Prose
+Works, <i>Cambridge Edition</i>, 2 vols. 12mo, $3.50; The Bay of
+Seven Islands, Portrait, 16mo, $1.00; John Woolman’s Journal,
+Introduction by Whittier, $1.50; Child Life in Poetry,
+selected by Whittier, Illustrated, 12mo, $2.00; Child Life in
+Prose, 12mo, $2.00; Songs of Three Centuries, selected by
+Whittier: <i>Household Edition</i>, Illustrated, 12mo, $1.75; full
+gilt, cr. 8vo, $2.25; <i>Library Edition</i>, 32 Illustrations, 8vo,
+$3.50; Text and Verse, 18mo, 75 cents; Poems of Nature, 4to,
+Illustrated, $6.00; St. Gregory’s Guest, etc., 16mo, vellum,
+$1.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Woodrow Wilson.</b> Congressional Government, 16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>J. A. Wilstach.</b> Translation of Virgil’s Works, 2 vols. cr. 8vo,
+$5.00.</p>
+
+<p><b>Justin Winsor.</b> Reader’s Handbook of American Revolution,
+16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+<p><b>W. B. Wright.</b> Ancient Cities from the Dawn to the Daylight,
+16mo, $1.25.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76600 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/76600-h/images/cover.jpg b/76600-h/images/cover.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..17870c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/76600-h/images/cover.jpg
diff --git a/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg b/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e4f7f67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/76600-h/images/riverside-press.jpg
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..58451b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #76600
+(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76600)