whole blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went
to meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and
Steve had ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do
it, and said somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher
prayed 'at the feller 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be
forgive; and that riled Bills so he got up and left, and hung around
till it broke up, so's he could git a chance at Steve to pick a fight.
And he did try it, and dared Steve and double-dared him far a fight,
but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him out of it. Steve said 'at
he'd a-told me all about it on the way to Ezry's, on'y he'd promised
Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me.
* * * * *
Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight,
appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was
a-makin' it, and he said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin'
splendid; said he'd got moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up far
him, and ever'thing was a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills
and the boys was on better terms 'n ever; and says he, "As far as you
and Steve 's concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's,
and says as far as he 's concerned the thing 's settled." "Well," says
I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I can't he'p but think ther 's somepin' at
the bottom of all this;" and says I, "I do n't think it's in Bills to
ever amount to anything good;" and says I, "It's my opinion ther 's a
dog in the well, and now you mark it!"
Well, he said he _wasn't_ jist easy, but maybe he 'd come out all
right; said he couldn't turn the feller off--he hadn't the heart to do
that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And
then he went on to tell what a smart sort o' woman Bills's wife
was,--one of the nicest little women he 'd ever laid eyes on, said she
was; said she was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and
all--and the handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and
cookin', and the like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the
childern, and all; and how they all got along so well; and how proud
she was of her baby, and allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over
it and a-carryin' on, and wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute.
And Ezry said 'at she could write so purty, and made sich purty
pictures far the childern; and how they all liked her better'n ther
own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he said it seemed so lonesome like
'thout _her_ about the house--like they'd lost one o' ther own fambly;
said they didn't git to see her much now, on'y sometimes, when her man
would be at work, she'd run over far awhile, and kiss all the childern
and women-folks about the place,--the greatest hand far the childern,
she was; tell 'em all sorts o'little stories, you know, and sing far
'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like,'at time and time agin
she'd break clean down in some song o'nuther, and her voice would
trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find yourse'f a-cryin' afore you
knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman to let her take the
childern home with her; and they used to allus want to go, 'tel Bills
come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to jawin' her
far a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and tuck it
away from her and whipped it far cryin', and she cried and told him to
whip her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he was
a-doin'. And the childern was allus afear'd to go there any more after
that--'fear'd he'd come home and whip little Annie agin. Ezry said he
jist done that to skeer 'em away--'cause he didn't want a passel o'
childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' 'round the house all
the time.
But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he 'd settled
down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well,
the neighbors begin to think he was all right after all, and railly
_some_ got to _likin'_ him. But far me, well, I was a leetle slow to
argy 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went
over to the mill--and Steve went with me--old Ezry come and met us,
and said 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef _we_ didn't, and
'at he wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us
'at he was sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him.
Well, I looked at Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuck
back--the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I,
"Ezry, what in the name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I
mean jist what I say; Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all
a-prayin' far him; and we all had _a glorious time_," says old Ezry;
"and his woman was there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and
tuck on to beat all; and Bills got up and spoke and give in his
experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, but, glory to God, them
times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of 'em to pray far
him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his inemies to
fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would fergive
him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was
a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was
so excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there
a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and rech out one hand to
Steve and one to me; and Steve shuck with him kind o' oneasy like, and
I--well, sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that
minute. The cold chills crep' over me, and I shuck as ef I had the
agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I looked that feller square
in the eye, and I tried to speak three or four times afore I could
make it, and when I did, my voice wasn't natchurl--sounded like a
feller a-whisperin' through a tin horn er somepin'.--and I says, says
I, "You're a liar," slow and delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a
minute, and drapped; and he turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And
Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never
a-tuck that!" And so he went on, tel finally Steve jined in, and
betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the wrong and the best thing
to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. And Bills said 'at
he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout _my_ friendship, far he'd
wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and Mother, too, and he
wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight agin.
Well, a-goin' home, I don't think Steve and me talked o' nothin' else
but Bills--how airnest the feller acted 'bout it, and how, ef he
_wasn't_ in airnest he'd a-never a-swallered that 'lie,' you see.
That's what walked my log, far he could a-jist as easy a-knocked me
higher 'n Kilgore's kite as he could to walk away 'thout a-doin' of
it.
Mother was awful tickled when she heerd about it, far she'd had an
idee 'at we'd have trouble afore we got back, and a-gitten home safe,
and a-bringin' the news 'bout Bills a-jinin' church and all, tickled
her so 'at she mighty nigh shouted far joy. You see, Mother was a' old
church-member all her life; and I don't think she ever missed a
sermont er a prayer-meetin' 'at she could possibly git to--rain er
shine, wet er dry. When ther was a meetin' of any kind a-goin' on, go
she would, and nothin' short o' sickness in the fambly, er knowin'
nothin' of it would stop _her_! And clean up to her dyin' day she was
a God-fearin' and consistent Christian ef ther ever was one. I mind
now when she was tuck with her last spell and laid bedfast far
eighteen months, she used to tell the preacher, when he 'd come to see
her and pray and go on, 'at she could die happy ef she could on'y be
with 'em all agin in their love-feasts and revivals. She was purty low
then, and had be'n a-failin' fast far a day er two; and that day
they'd be'n a-holdin' service at the house. It was her request, you
know, and the neighbers had congergated and was a-prayin' and
a-singin' her favorite hymns--one in p'tickler, "God moves in a
mysterous way his wunders to p'form," and 'bout his "Walkin' on the
sea and a-ridin' of the storm."--Well, anyway, they'd be'n a-singin'
that hymn far her--she used to sing that 'n so much, I ricollect as
far back as I kin remember; and I mind how it used to make me feel so
lonesome-like and solemn, don't you know,--when I'd be a-knockin'
round the place along of evenin's, and she'd be a-milkin', and I'd
hear her, at my feedin', way off by myse'f, and it allus somehow made
me feel like a feller'd ort o' try and live as nigh right as the law
allows, and that's about my doctern yit. Well, as I was a-goin' on to
say, they'd jist finished that old hymn, and Granny Lowry was jist
a-goin to lead in prayer, when I noticed mother kind o' tried to turn
herse'f in bed, and smiled so weak and faint-like, and looked at me,
with her lips a-kind o' movin'; and I thought maybe she wanted another
dos't of her syrup 'at Ezry's woman had fixed up far her, and I kind
o' stooped down over her and ast her if she wanted anything. "Yes,"
she says, and nodded, and her voice sounded so low and solemn and so
far away-like 'at I knowed she'd never take no more medicine on this
airth. And I tried to ast her what it was she wanted, but I couldn't
say nothin'; my throat hurt me, and I felt the warm tears a-boolgin'
up, and her kind old face a-glimmerin' a-way so pale-like afore my
eyes, and still a-smilin' up so lovin' and forgivin' and so good 'at
it made me think so far back in the past I seemed to be a little boy
agin; and seemed like her thin gray hair was brown, and a-shinin' in
the sun as it used to do when she helt me on her shoulder in the open
door, when Father was a-livin' and we used to go to meet him at the
bars; seemed like her face was young agin, and a-smilin' like it allus
used to be, and her eyes as full o' hope and happiness as afore they
ever looked on grief er ever shed a tear. And I thought of all the
trouble they had saw on my account, and of all the lovin' words her
lips had said, and of all the thousand things her pore old hands had
done far me 'at I never even thanked her far; and how I loved her
better 'n all the world besides, and would be so lonesome ef she went
away--Lord! I can't tell you what I didn't think and feel and see. And
I knelt down by her, and she whispered then far Steven, and he come,
and we kissed her--and she died--a smilin' like a child--jist like a
child.
Well--well! 'Pears like I'm allus a-runnin' into somepin' else. I
wisht I could tell a story 'thout driftin' off in matters 'at hain't
no livin' thing to do with what I started out with. I try to keep from
thinkin' of afflictions and the like, 'cause sich is bound to come to
the best of us; but a feller's ricollection will bring 'em up, and I
reckon it'd ort 'o be er it wouldn't be; and I've thought, sometimes,
it was done may be to kind o' admonish a feller, as the Good Book
says, of how good a world 'd be 'thout no sorrow in it.
Where was I? Oh, yes, I ricollect;--about Bills a-jinin' church. Well,
sir, ther' wasn't a better-actin' feller and more religious-like in
all the neighberhood. Spoke in meetin's, he did, and tuck a' active
part in all religious doin's, and, in fact, was jist as square a man,
appearantly, as the preacher hisse'f. And about six er eight weeks
after he'd jined, they got up another revival, and things run high.
Ther' was a big excitement, and ever'body was a'tendin' from far and
near. Bills and Ezry got the mill-hands to go, and didn't talk o'
nothin' but religion. People thought awhile 'at old Ezry 'd turn
preacher, he got so interested 'bout church matters. He was easy
excited 'bout anything; and when he went into a thing it was in dead
earnest, shore!--"jist flew off the handle," as I heerd a comical
feller git off onct. And him and Bills was up and at it ever'
night--prayin' and shoutin' at the top o' the'r voice. Them railly did
seem like good times--when ever'body jined together, and prayed and
shouted ho-sanner, and danced around together, and hugged each other
like they was so full o' glory they jist couldn't he'p
theirse'v's--that's the reason I jined; it looked so kind o'
whole-souled-like and good, you understand. But la! I didn't hold out
on'y far a little while, and no wunder!
Well, about them times Bills was tuck down with the agur; first got to
chillin' ever'-other-day, then ever' day, and harder and harder, tel
sometimes he 'd be obleeged to stay away from meetin' on account of
it. And one't I was at meetin' when he told about it, and how when he
couldn't be with 'em he allus prayed at home, and he said 'at he
believed his prayers was answered, far onc't he'd prayed far a new
outpourin' of the Holy Sperit, and that very night ther' was three new
jiners. And another time he said 'at he 'd prayed 'at Wesley Morris
would jine, and lo and behold you! he _did_ jine, and the very night
'at he prayed he would.
Well, the night I'm a-speakin' of he'd had a chill the day afore and
couldn't go that night, and was in bed when Ezry druv past far him;
said he'd like to go, but had a high fever and couldn't. And then
Ezry's woman ast him ef he was too sick to spare Annie; and he said
no, they could take her and the baby: and told her to fix his medicine
so's he could reach it 'thout gittin' out o' bed, and he'd git along
'thout her. And so she tuck the baby and went along with Ezry and his
folks.
I was at meetin' that night and ricollect 'em comin' in. Annie got a
seat jist behind me--Steve give her his'n and stood up; and I
ricollect a-astin' her how Bills was a-gittin' along with the agur;
and little Annie, the baby, kep' a-pullin' my hair and a-crowin' tel
finally she went to sleep; and Steve ast her mother to let _him_ hold
her--cutest little thing you ever laid eyes on, and the very pictur'
_of_ her mother.
Old Daddy Barker preached that night, and a mighty good sermont. His
text, ef I ricollect right, was "workin' out your own salvation;" and
when I listen to preachers nowadays in ther big churches and ther fine
pulpits, I allus think o' Daddy Barker, and kind o' some way wisht the
old times could come agin, with the old log meetin'-house with its
puncheon floor and the chinkin' in the walls, and old Daddy Barker in
the pulpit. He'd make you feel 'at the Lord could make hissef at home
there, and find jist as abundant comfort in the old log house as he
could in any of your fine-furnished churches 'at you can't set down in
'thout payin' far the privilege, like it was a theater.
Ezry had his two little girls jine that night, and I ricollect the
preacher made sich a purty prayer about the Savior a-cotin' from the
Bible 'bout "Suffer little childern to come unto me" and all; and
talked so purty about the jedgment day, and mothers a-meetin' the'r
little ones there and all; and went on tel ther wasn't a dry eye in
the house--and jist as he was a-windin' up, Abe Riggers stuck his head
in at the door and hollered "fire" loud as he could yell. We all
rushed out, a-thinkin' it was the meetin'-house; but he hollered it
was the mill; and shore enough, away off to the southards we could see
the light acrost the woods, and see the blaze a-lickin' up above the
trees. I seed old Ezry as he come a-scufflin' through the crowd; and
we put out together far it. Well, it was two mild to the mill, but by
the time we'd half way got there, we could tell it wasn't the mill
a-burnin', 'at the fire was furder to the left, and that was Ezry's
house; and by the time we got there it wasn't much use. We pitched
into the household goods, and got out the beddin', and the furnitur'
and cheers and the like o' that; saved the clock and a bedstid, and
got the bureau purt' nigh out when they hollered to us 'at the roof
was a cavin' in, and we had to leave it; well, we'd tuck the drawers
out, all but the big one, and that was locked; and it and all in it
went with the buildin', and that was a big loss: All the money 'at
Ezry was a-layin' by was in that-air drawer, and a lot o' keepsakes
and trinkets 'at Ezry's woman said she wouldn't a-parted with far the
world and all.
I never seed a troubleder fambly than they was. It jist 'peared like
old Ezry give clean down, and the women and childern a-cryin' and
a-takin' on. It looked jist awful--shore's you're born!--Losin'
ever'thing they'd worked so hard far--and there it was, purt' nigh
midnight, and a fambly, jist a little while ago all so happy, and now
with no home to go to ner nothin'!
It was arranged far Ezry's to move in with Bills--that was about the
on'y chance--on'y one room and a loft; but Bills said they could
manage _some_ way, far a while anyhow.
Bills said he seed the fire when it first started, and could a-put it
out ef he'd on'y be'n strong enough to git there; said he started
twic't to go, but was too weak and had to go back to bed agin; said it
was a-blazin' in the kitchen roof when he first seed it. So the
gineral conclusion 'at we all come to was--it must a-ketched from the
flue.
It was too late in the Fall then to think o' buildin' even the onryest
kind o' shanty, and so Ezry moved in with Bills. And Bills used to say
ef it had n't a-be'n far Ezry _he'd_ a-never a-had no house, ner
nuthin' to put in it, nuther. You see, all the household goods 'at
Bills had in the world he'd got of Ezry, and he 'lowed he'd be a
triflin' whelp ef he didn't do all in his power to make Ezry perfeckly
at home 's long as he wanted to stay there. And together they managed
to make room far 'em all, by a-buildin' a kind o' shed-like to the
main house, intendin' to build when Spring come. And ever'thing went
along first-rate, I guess; never heerd no complaints--that is,
p'ticular.
Ezry was kind o' down far a long time, though; didn't like to talk
about his trouble much, and didn't 'tend meetin' much, like he used
to; said it made him think 'bout his house burnin', and he didn't feel
safe to lose sight o' the mill. And the meetin's kind o' broke up
altogether that winter. Almost broke up religious doin's, it did. 'S
long as I've lived here I never seed jist sich a slack in religion as
ther' was that winter; and 'fore then, I kin mind the time when ther'
wasn't a night the whole endurin' winter when they didn't have
preachin' er prayer-meetin' o' some kind a-goin' on. W'y, I ricollect
one night in p'ticular--_the coldest_ night, _whooh!_ And somebody had
stold the meetin'-house door, and they was obleeged to preach 'thout
it. And the wind blowed in so they had to hold the'r hats afore the
candles, and then one't-in-a-while they'd git sluffed out. And the
snow drifted in so it was jist like settin' out doors; and they had to
stand up when they prayed--yessir! stood up to pray. I noticed that
night they was a' oncommon lot o' jiners, and I believe to this day
'at most of 'em jined jist to git up wher' the stove was. Lots o'
folks had the'r feet froze right in meetin'; and Steve come home with
his ears froze like they was whittled out o' bone; and he said 'at
Mary Madaline Wells's feet was froze, and she had two pair o' socks on
over her shoes. Oh, it was cold, now I tell you!
They run the mill part o' that winter--part they couldn't. And they
didn't work to say stiddy tel along in Aprile, and then ther' was snow
on the ground yit--in the shadders--and the ground froze, so you
couldn't hardly dig a grave. But at last they got to kind o' jiggin'
along agin. Plenty to do ther' was; and old Ezry was mighty tickled,
too; 'peared to recruit right up like. Ezry was allus best tickled
when things was a-stirrin', and then he was a-gittin' ready far
buildin', you know, wanted a house of his own, he said--and of course
it wasn't adzackly like home, all cluttered up as they was there at
Bills's. They got along mighty well, though, together; and the
women-folks and childern got along the best in the world. Ezry's woman
used to say she never laid eyes on jist sich another woman as Annie
was. Said it was jist as good as a winter's schoolin' far the
childern; said her two little girls had learnt to read, and didn't
know the'r a-b abs afore Annie learnt 'em; well, the oldest one, Mary
Patience, she did know her letters, I guess--fourteen year old, she
was; but Mandy, the youngest, had never seed inside a book afore that
winter; and the way she learnt was jist su'prisin'. She was puny-like
and frail-lookin' allus, but ever'body 'lowed she was a heap smarter
'n Mary Patience, and she was; and in my opinion she railly had more
sense 'n all the rest o' the childern put together, 'bout books and
cipherin' and arethmetic, and the like; and John Wesley, the oldest of
'em, he got to teachin' at last, when he growed up,--but, la! he
couldn't write his own name so 's you could read it. I allus thought
ther was a good 'eal of old Ezry in John Wesley. Liked to romance
'round with the youngsters 'most too well.--Spiled him far teachin', I
allus thought; far instance, ef a scholard said somepin' funny in
school, John-Wes he'd jist have to have his laugh out with the rest,
and it was jist fun far the boys, you know, to go to school to him.
Allus in far spellin'-matches and the like, and learnin' songs and
sich. I ricollect he give a' exhibition onc't, one winter, and I'll
never fergit it, I reckon.
The school-house would on'y hold 'bout forty, comfortable, and that
night ther' was up'ards of a hunderd er more--jist crammed and jammed!
And the benches was piled back so's to make room far the flatform
they'd built to make the'r speeches and dialogues on; and fellers
a-settin' up on them back seats, the'r heads was clean aginst the
j'ist. It was a low ceilin', anyhow, and o' course them 'at tuck a
part in the doin's was way up, too. Janey Thompson had to give up her
part in a dialogue, 'cause she looked so tall she was afeard the
congergation would laugh at her; and they couldn't git her to come out
and sing in the openin' song 'thout lettin' her set down first and git
ready 'fore they pulled the curtain. You see, they had sheets sewed
together, and fixed on a string some way, to slide back'ards and
for'ards, don't you know. But they was a big bother to 'em--couldn't
git 'em to work like. Ever' time they'd git 'em slid 'bout half way
acrost, somepin' would ketch, and they'd have to stop and fool with
'em awhile 'fore they could git 'em the balance o' the way acrost.
Well, finally, t'ords the last, they jist kep' 'em drawed back all the
time. It was a pore affair, and spiled purt nigh ever' piece; but the
scholards all wanted it fixed thataway, the teacher said, in a few
appropert remarks he made when the thing was over. Well, I was a
settin' in the back part o' the house on them high benches, and my
head was jist even with them on the flatform, and the lights was pore,
wher' the string was stretched far the curtain to slide on it looked
like the p'formers was strung on it. And when Lige Boyer's boy was
a-speakin'--kind o' mumbled it, you know, and you couldn't half
hear--it looked far the world like he was a-chawin' on that-air
string; and some devilish feller 'lowed ef he'd chaw it clean in two
it'd be a good thing far the balance. After that they all sung a
sleigh-ridin' song, and it was right purty, the way they got it off.
Had a passel o' sleigh-bells they'd ring ever' onc't-in-a-while, and
it sounded purty--shore!
Then Hunicut's girl, Marindy, read a letter 'bout winter, and what fun
the youngsters allus had in winter-time, a-sleighin' and the like, and
spellin'-matches, and huskin'-bees, and all. Purty good, it was, and
made a feller think o' old times. Well, that was about the best thing
ther' was done that night; but ever'body said the teacher wrote it far
her; and I wouldn't be su'prised much, far they was married not long
afterwards. I expect he wrote it far her.--Wouldn't put it past Wes!
They had a dialogue, too, 'at was purty good. Little Bob Arnold was
all fixed up--had on his pap's old bell-crowned hat, the one he was
married in. Well, I jist thought die I would when I seed that old hat
and called to mind the night his pap was married, and we all got him a
little how-come-you-so on some left-handed cider 'at had be'n a-layin'
in a whisky-bar'l tel it was strong enough to bear up a' egg. I kin
ricollect now jist how he looked in that hat, when it was all new, you
know, and a-settin on the back of his head, and his hair in his eyes;
and sich hair!--as red as git-out--and his little black eyes a-shinin'
like beads. Well sir, you'd a-died to a-seed him a-dancin'. We danced
all night that night, and would a-be'n a-dancin' yit, I reckon, ef the
fiddler hadn't a-give out. Wash Lowry was a-fiddlin' far us; and along
to'rds three or four in the mornin' Wash was purty well fagged out.
You see, Wash could never play far a dance er nothin' 'thout
a-drinkin' more er less, and when he got to a certain pitch you
couldn't git nothin' out o' him but "Barbary Allan;" so at last he
struck up on that, and jist kep' it up and _kep_' it up, and nobody
couldn't git nothin' else out of him!