had once seen the little boy, and alighting upon the sill, she peered into
the room. In another moment she was back on the bush at Fido's side.
"He is asleep," said the yellow-bird.
"Asleep!" cried Fido.
"Yes," said the yellow-bird, "he is fast asleep. I think he must be
dreaming a beautiful dream, for I could see a smile on his face, and his
little hands were folded on his bosom. There were flowers all about him,
and but for their sweet voices the chamber would have been very still."
"Come, let us wake him," said Fido; "let us all call to him at once. Then
perhaps he will hear us and awaken and answer; perhaps he will come."
So they all called in chorus,--Fido and the other honest friends. They
called so loudly that the still air of that autumn morning was strangely
startled, and the old woodchuck in the pasture 'way off yonder heard the
echoes and wondered.
"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? Why are you
sleeping, little boy?"
Call on, dear voices! but the little boy will never hear. The dimpled
hands that caressed you are indeed folded upon his breast; the lips that
kissed your honest faces are sealed; the baby voice that sang your
playtime songs with you is hushed, and all about him are the fragrance and
the beauty of flowers. Call on, O honest friends! but he shall never hear
your calling; for, as if he were aweary of the love and play and sunshine
that were all he knew of earth, our darling is asleep forever.
1885.
+THE OLD MAN+
THE OLD MAN
I called him the Old Man, but he wuzn't an old man; he wuz a little
boy--our fust one; 'nd his gran'ma, who'd had a heap of experience in sich
matters, allowed that he wuz for looks as likely a child as she'd ever
clapped eyes on. Bein' our fust, we sot our hearts on him, and Lizzie
named him Willie, for that wuz the name she liked best, havin' had a
brother Willyum killed in the war. But I never called him anything but the
Old Man, and that name seemed to fit him, for he wuz one of your sollum
babies,--alwuz thinkin' 'nd thinkin' 'nd thinkin', like he wuz a jedge,
and when he laffed it wuzn't like other children's laffs, it wuz so
sad-like.
Lizzie 'nd I made it up between us that when the Old Man growed up we'd
send him to collige 'nd give him a lib'ril edication, no matter though we
had to sell the farm to do it. But we never c'u'd exactly agree as to what
we was goin' to make of him; Lizzie havin' her heart sot on his bein' a
preacher like his gran'pa Baker, and I wantin' him to be a lawyer 'nd git
rich out'n the corporations, like his uncle Wilson Barlow. So we never
come to no definite conclusion as to what the Old Man wuz goin' to be bime
by; but while we wuz thinkin' 'nd debatin' the Old Man kep' growin' 'nd
growin', and all the time he wuz as serious 'nd sollum as a jedge.
Lizzie got jest wrapped up in that boy; toted him round ever'where 'nd
never let on like it made her tired,--powerful big 'nd hearty child too,
but heft warn't nothin' 'longside of Lizzie's love for the Old Man. When
he caught the measles from Sairy Baxter's baby Lizzie sot up day 'nd night
till he wuz well, holdin' his hands 'nd singin' songs to him, 'nd cryin'
herse'f almost to death because she dassent give him cold water to drink
when he called f'r it. As for me, _my_ heart wuz wrapped up in the
Old Man, _too_, but, bein' a man, it wuzn't for me to show it like
Lizzie, bein' a woman; and now that the Old Man is--wall, now that he has
gone, it wouldn't do to let on how much I sot by him, for that would make
Lizzie feel all the wuss.
Sometimes, when I think of it, it makes me sorry that I didn't show the
Old Man some way how much I wuz wrapped up in him. Used to hold him in my
lap 'nd make faces for him 'nd alder whistles 'nd things; sometimes I'd
kiss him on his rosy cheek, when nobody wuz lookin'; oncet I tried to sing
him a song, but it made him cry, 'nd I never tried my hand at singin'
again. But, somehow, the Old Man didn't take to me like he took to his
mother: would climb down outern my lap to git where Lizzie wuz; would hang
on to her gownd, no matter what she wuz doin',--whether she wuz makin'
bread, or sewin', or puttin' up pickles, it wuz alwuz the same to the Old
Man; he wuzn't happy unless he wuz right there, clost beside his mother.
'Most all boys, as I've heern tell, is proud to be round with their
father, doin' what _he_ does 'nd wearin' the kind of clothes
_he_ wears. But the Old Man wuz different; he allowed that his mother
was his best friend, 'nd the way he stuck to her--wall, it has alwuz been
a great comfort to Lizzie to recollect it.
The Old Man had a kind of confidin' way with his mother. Every oncet in a
while, when he'd be playin' by hisself in the front room, he'd call out,
"Mudder, mudder;" and no matter where Lizzie wuz,--in the kitchen, or in
the wood-shed, or in the yard, she'd answer: "What is it, darlin'?" Then
the Old Man 'u'd say: "Turn here, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin'."
Never could find out what the Old Man wanted to tell Lizzie; like 's not
he didn't wanter tell her nothin'; maybe he wuz lonesome 'nd jest wanted
to feel that Lizzie wuz round. But that didn't make no diff'rence; it wuz
all the same to Lizzie. No matter where she wuz or what she wuz a-doin',
jest as soon as the Old Man told her he wanted to tell her somethin' she
dropped ever'thing else 'nd went straight to him. Then the Old Man would
laff one of his sollum, sad-like laffs, 'nd put his arms round Lizzie's
neck 'nd whisper--or pertend to whisper--somethin' in her ear, 'nd Lizzie
would laff 'nd say, "Oh, what a nice secret we have atween us!" and then
she would kiss the Old Man 'nd go back to her work.
Time changes all things,--all things but memory, nothin' can change
_that_. Seems like it was only yesterday or the day before that I
heern the Old Man callin', "Mudder, mudder, I wanter tell you sumfin',"
and that I seen him put his arms around her neck 'nd whisper softly to
her.
It had been an open winter, 'nd there wuz fever all around us. The Baxters
lost their little girl, and Homer Thompson's children had all been taken
down. Ev'ry night 'nd mornin' we prayed God to save our darlin'; but one
evenin' when I come up from the wood-lot, the Old Man wuz restless 'nd his
face wuz hot 'nd he talked in his sleep. Maybe you've been through it
yourself,--maybe you've tended a child that's down with the fever; if so,
maybe you know what we went through, Lizzie 'nd me. The doctor shook his
head one night when he come to see the Old Man; we knew what that meant. I
went out-doors,--I couldn't stand it in the room there, with the Old Man
seein' 'nd talkin' about things that the fever made him see. I wuz too big
a coward to stay 'nd help his mother to bear up; so I went out-doors 'nd
brung in wood,--brung in wood enough to last all spring,--and then I sat
down alone by the kitchen fire 'nd heard the clock tick 'nd watched the
shadders flicker through the room.
I remember Lizzie's comin' to me and sayin': "He's breathin' strange-like,
'nd his little feet is cold as ice." Then I went into the front chamber
where he lay. The day wuz breakin'; the cattle wuz lowin' outside; a beam
of light come through the winder and fell on the Old Man's face,--perhaps
it wuz the summons for which he waited and which shall some time come to
me 'nd you. Leastwise the Old Man roused from his sleep 'nd opened up his
big blue eyes. It wuzn't me he wanted to see.
"Mudder! mudder!" cried the Old Man, but his voice warn't strong 'nd clear
like it used to be. "Mudder, where _be_ you, mudder?"
Then, breshin' by me, Lizzie caught the Old Man up 'nd held him in her
arms, like she had done a thousand times before.
"What is it, darlin'? _Here_ I be," says Lizzie.
"Tum here," says the Old Man,--"tum here; I wanter tell you sumfin'."
The Old Man went to reach his arms around her neck 'nd whisper in her ear.
But his arms fell limp and helpless-like, 'nd the Old Man's curly head
drooped on his mother's breast.
1889.
+BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR+
BILL, THE LOKIL EDITOR
Bill wuz alluz fond uv children 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Ain't it kind o'
curious how sometimes we find a great, big, awkward man who loves sech
things? Bill had the biggest feet in the township, but I'll bet my wallet
that he never trod on a violet in all his life. Bill never took no slack
from enny man that wuz sober, but the children made him play with 'em, and
he'd set for hours a-watchin' the yaller-hammer buildin' her nest in the
old cottonwood.
Now I ain't defendin' Bill; I'm jest tellin' the truth about him. Nothink
I kin say one way or t'other is goin' to make enny difference now; Bill's
dead 'nd buried, 'nd the folks is discussin' him 'nd wond'rin' whether his
immortal soul is all right. Sometimes I _hev_ worried 'bout Bill, but
I don't worry 'bout him no more. Uv course Bill had his faults,--I never
liked that drinkin' business uv his'n, yet I allow that Bill got more good
out'n likker, and likker got more good out'n Bill, than I ever see before
or sence. It warn't when the likker wuz in Bill that Bill wuz at his best,
but when he hed been on to one uv his bats 'nd had drunk himself sick 'nd
wuz comin' out uv the other end of the bat, then Bill wuz one uv the
meekest 'nd properest critters you ever seen. An' po'try? Some uv the most
beautiful po'try I ever read wuz writ by Bill when he wuz recoverin'
himself out'n one uv them bats. Seemed like it kind uv exalted an'
purified Bill's nachur to git drunk an' git over it. Bill c'u'd drink more
likker 'nd be sorrier for it than any other man in seven States. There
never wuz a more penitent feller than he wuz when he wuz soberin'. The
trubble with Bill seemed to be that his conscience didn't come on watch
quite of'n enuff.
It'll be ten years come nex' spring sence Bill showed up here. I don't
know whar he come from; seemed like he didn't want to talk about his past.
I allers suspicioned that he had seen trubble--maybe, sorrer. I reecollect
that one time he got a telegraph,--Mr. Ivins told me 'bout it
afterwards,--and when he read it he put his hands up to his face 'nd
groaned, like. That day he got full uv likker 'nd he kep' full uv likker
for a week; but when he come round all right he wrote a pome for the
paper, 'nd the name uv the pome wuz "Mary," but whether Mary wuz his
sister or his wife or an old sweetheart uv his'n I never knew. But it
looked from the pome like she wuz dead 'nd that he loved her.
Bill wuz the best lokil the paper ever had. He didn't hustle around much,
but he had a kind er pleasin' way uv dishin' things up. He c'u'd be mighty
comical when he sot out to be, but his best holt was serious pieces.
Nobody could beat Bill writing obituaries. When old Mose Holbrook wuz
dyin' the minister sez to him: "Mr. Holbrook, you seem to be sorry that
you're passin' away to a better land?"
"Wall, no; not exactly _that_," sez Mose, "but to be frank with you,
I _hev_ jest one regret in connection with this affair."
"What's that?" asked the minister.
"I can't help feelin' sorry," sez Mose, "that I ain't goin' to hev the
pleasure uv readin' what Bill Newton sez about me in the paper. I know
it'll be sumthin' uncommon fine; I loant him two dollars a year ago last
fall."
The Higginses lost a darned good friend when Bill died. Bill wrote a pome
'bout their old dog Towze when he wuz run over by Watkins's hay-wagon
seven years ago. I'll bet that pome is in every scrap-book in the county.
You couldn't read that pome without cryin',--why, that pome w'u'd hev
brought a dew out on the desert uv Sary. Old Tim Hubbard, the meanest man
in the State, borrered a paper to read the pome, and he wuz so 'fected by
it that he never borrered anuther paper as long as he lived. I don't
more'n half reckon, though, that the Higginses appreciated what Bill had
done for 'em. I never heerd uv their givin' him anythink more'n a basket
uv greenin' apples, and Bill wrote a piece 'bout the apples nex' day.
But Bill wuz at his best when he wrote things about the children,--about
the little ones that died, I mean. Seemed like Bill had a way of his own
of sayin' things that wuz beautiful 'nd tender; he said he loved the
children because they wuz innocent, and I reckon--yes, I know he did, for
the pomes he writ about 'em showed he did.
When our little Alice died I started out for Mr. Miller's; he wuz the
undertaker. The night wuz powerful dark, 'nd it wuz all the darker to me,
because seemed like all the light hed gone out in my life. Down near the
bridge I met Bill; he weaved round in the road, for he wuz in likker.
"Hello, Mr. Baker," sez he, "whar be you goin' this time o' night?"
"Bill," sez I, "I'm goin' on the saddest errand uv my life."
"What d' ye mean?" sez he, comin' up to me as straight as he c'u'd.
"Why, Bill," sez I, "our little girl--my little girl--Allie, you
know--she's dead."
I hoarsed up so I couldn't say much more. And Bill didn't say nothink at
all; he jest reached me his hand, and he took my hand and seemed like in
that grasp his heart spoke many words of comfort to mine. And nex' day he
had a piece in the paper about our little girl; we cut it out and put it
in the big Bible in the front room. Sometimes when we get to fussin',
Martha goes 'nd gets that bit of paper 'nd reads it to me; then us two
kind uv cry to ourselves, 'nd we make it up between us for the dead
child's sake.
Well, you kin see how it wuz that so many uv us liked Bill; he had soothed
our hearts,--there's nothin' like sympathy after all. Bill's po'try hed
heart in it; it didn't surprise you or scare you; it jest got down in
under your vest, 'nd before you knew it you wuz all choked up. I know all
about your fashionable po'try and your famous potes,--Martha took Godey's
for a year. Folks that live in the city can't write po'try,--not the real,
genuine article. To write po'try, as I figure it, the heart must have
somethin' to feed on; you can't get that somethin' whar there ain't trees
'nd grass 'nd birds 'nd flowers. Bill loved these things, and he fed his
heart on 'em, and that's why his po'try wuz so much better than anybody
else's.
I ain't worryin' much about Bill now; I take it that everythink is for the
best. When they told me that Bill died in a drunken fit I felt that his
end oughter have come some other way,--he wuz too good a man for that. But
maybe, after all, it was ordered for the best. Jist imagine Bill
a-standin' up for jedgment; jist imagine that poor, sorrowful, shiverin'
critter waitin' for his turn to come. Pictur', if you can, how full of
penitence he is, 'nd how full uv po'try 'nd gentleness 'nd misery. The
Lord ain't a-goin' to be too hard on that poor wretch. Of course we can't
comprehend Divine mercy; we only know that it is full of compassion,--a
compassion infinitely tenderer and sweeter than ours. And the more I think
on 't, the more I reckon that Bill will plead to win that mercy, for, like
as not, the little ones--my Allie with the rest--will run to him when they
see him in his trubble and will hold his tremblin' hands 'nd twine their
arms about him, and plead, with him, for compassion.
You've seen an old sycamore that the lightnin' has struck; the ivy has
reached up its vines 'nd spread 'em all around it 'nd over it, coverin'
its scars 'nd splintered branches with a velvet green 'nd fillin' the air
with fragrance. You've seen this thing and you know that it is beautiful.
That's Bill, perhaps, as he stands up f'r jedgment,--a miserable,
tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over, with
singin' and pleadin' little children--and that is pleasin' in God's sight,
I know.
What would you--what would _I_--say, if we wuz settin' in jedgment
then?
Why, we'd jest kind uv bresh the moisture from our eyes 'nd say: "Mister
recordin' angel, you may nolly pros this case 'nd perseed with the
docket."
1888.
+THE LITTLE YALLER BABY+
THE LITTLE YALLER BABY
I hev allus hed a good opinion uv the wimmin folks. I don't look at 'em as
some people do; uv course they're a necessity--just as men are. Uv course
if there warn't no wimmin folks there wouldn't be no men folks--leastwise
that's what the medikil books say. But I never wuz much on discussin'
humin economy; what I hev allus thought 'nd said wuz that wimmin folks wuz
a kind uv luxury, 'nd the best kind, too. Maybe it's because I hain't hed
much to do with 'em that I'm sot on 'em. Never did get real well
acquainted with more'n three or four uv 'em in all my life; seemed like it
wuz meant that I shouldn't hev 'em round me as most men hev. Mother died
when I wuz a little tyke, an' Aunt Mary raised me till I wuz big enuff to
make my own livin'. Down here in the Southwest, you see, most uv the girls
is boys; there ain't none uv them civilizin' influences folks talk
uv,--nothin' but flowers 'nd birds 'nd such things as poetry tells about.
So I kind uv growed up with the curi's notion that wimmin folks wuz too
good for our part uv the country, 'nd I hevn't quite got that notion out'n
my head yet.
One time--wall, I reckon 't wuz about four years ago--I got a letter frum
ol' Col. Sibley to come up to Saint Louey 'nd consult with him 'bout some
stock int'rests we hed together. Railroad travellin' wuz no new thing to
me. I hed been prutty prosperous,--hed got past hevin' to ride in a
caboose 'nd git out at every stop to punch up the steers. Hed money in the
Hoost'n bank 'nd used to go to Tchicargo oncet a year; hed met Fill Armer
'nd shook hands with him, 'nd oncet the city papers hed a colume article
about my bein' a millionnaire; uv course 't warn't so, but a feller kind
uv likes that sort uv thing, you know.
The mornin' after I got that letter from Col. Sibley I started for Saint
Louey. I took a bunk in the Pullman car, like I hed been doin' for six
years past; 'nd I reckon the other folks must hev thought I wuz a heap uv
a man, for every haff-hour I give the nigger ha'f a dollar to bresh me
off. The car wuz full uv people,--rich people, too, I reckon, for they
wore good clo'es 'nd criticized the scenery. Jest across frum me there wuz
a lady with a big, fat baby,--the pruttiest woman I hed seen in a month uv
Sundays; and the baby! why, doggone my skin, when I wuzn't payin' money to
the nigger, darned if I didn't set there watchin' the big, fat little
cuss, like he wuz the only baby I ever seen. I ain't much of a hand at
babies, 'cause I hain't seen many uv 'em, 'nd when it comes to handlin'
'em--why, that would break me all up, 'nd like 's not 't would break the
baby all up too. But it has allus been my notion that nex' to the wimmin
folks babies wuz jest about the nicest things on earth. So the more I
looked at that big, fat little baby settin' in its mother's lap 'cross the
way, the more I wanted to look; seemed like I wuz hoodooed by the little
tyke; 'nd the first thing I knew there wuz water in my eyes; don't know
why it is, but it allus makes me kind ur slop over to set 'nd watch a baby
cooin' 'nd playin' in its mother's lap.
"Look a' hyar, Sam," says I to the nigger, "come hyar 'nd bresh me off
ag'in! Why ain't you 'tendin' to bizness?"
But it didn't do no good 't all; pertendin' to be cross with the nigger
might fool the other folks in the car, but it didn't fool me. I wuz dead
stuck on that baby--gol durn his pictur'! And there the little tyke set in
its mother's lap, doublin' up its fists 'nd tryin' to swaller 'em, 'nd
talkin' like to its mother in a lingo I couldn't understan', but which the
mother could, for she talked back to the baby in a soothin' lingo which I
couldn't understand, but which I liked to hear, 'nd she kissed the baby
'nd stroked its hair 'nd petted it like wimmin do.
It made me mad to hear them other folks in the car criticizin' the scenery
'nd things. A man's in mighty poor bizness, anyhow, to be lookin' at
scenery when there's a woman in sight,--a woman _and_ a baby!
Prutty soon--oh, maybe in a hour or two--the baby began to fret 'nd
worrit. Seemed to me like the little critter wuz hungry. Knowin' that
there wuz no eatin'-house this side of Bowieville, I jest called the
train-boy, 'nd says I to him: "Hev you got any victuals that will do for a
baby?"
"How is oranges 'nd bananas?" says he.
"That ought to do," says I. "Jist do up a dozen uv your best oranges 'nd a
dozen uv your best bananas 'nd take 'em over to that baby with my
complerments."
But before he could do it, the lady hed laid the baby on one uv her arms
'nd hed spread a shawl over its head 'nd over her shoulder, 'nd all uv a
suddint the baby quit worritin' and seemed like he hed gone to sleep.
When we got to York Crossin' I looked out'n the winder 'nd seen some men
carryin' a long pine box up towards the baggage-car. Seein' their hats
off, I knew there wuz a dead body in the box, 'nd I couldn't help feelin'
sorry for the poor creetur that hed died in that lonely place uv York
Crossin'; but I mought hev felt a heap sorrier for the creeters that hed
to live there, for I'll allow that York Crossin' is a _leetle_ the
durnedest lonesomest place I ever seen.
Well, just afore the train started ag'in, who should come into the car but
Bill Woodson, and he wuz lookin' powerful tough. Bill herded cattle for me
three winters, but hed moved away when he married one uv the waiter-girls
at Spooner's Hotel at Hoost'n.
"Hello, Bill," says I; "what air you totin' so kind uv keerful-like in
your arms there?"
"Why, I've got the baby," says he; 'nd as he said it the tears come up
into his eyes.
"Your own baby, Bill?" says I.
"Yes," says he. "Nellie took sick uv the janders a fortnight ago, 'nd--'nd
she died, 'nd I'm takin' her body up to Texarkany to bury. She lived
there, you know, 'nd I'm goin' to leave the baby there with its gran'ma."
Poor Bill! it wuz his wife that the men were carryin' in that pine box to
the baggage-car.
"Likely-lookin'baby, Bill," says I, cheerful like. "Perfect pictur' uv its
mother; kind uv favors you round the lower part uv the face, tho'."
I said this to make Bill feel happier. If I'd told the truth, I'd 've said
the baby wuz a sickly, yaller-lookin' little thing, for so it wuz; looked
haff-starved, too. Couldn't help comparin' it with that big, fat baby in
its mother's arms over the way.
"Bill," says I, "here's a ten-dollar note for the baby, 'nd God bless
you!"
"Thank ye, Mr. Goodhue," says he, 'nd he choked all up as he moved off
with that yaller little baby in his arms. It warn't very fur up the road
he wuz goin', 'nd he found a seat in one uv the front cars.
But along about an hour after that back come Bill, moseyin' through the
car like he wuz huntin' for somebody. Seemed like he wuz in trubble and
wuz huntin' for a friend.
"Anything I kin do for you, Bill?" says I, but he didn't make no answer.
All uv a suddint he sot his eyes on the prutty lady that had the fat baby
sleepin' in her arms, 'nd he made a break for her like he wuz crazy. He
took off his hat 'nd bent down over her 'nd said somethin' none uv the
rest uv us could hear. The lady kind uv started like she wuz frightened,
'nd then she looked up at Bill 'nd looked him right square in the
countenance. She saw a tall, ganglin', awkward man, with long yaller hair
'nd frowzy beard, 'nd she saw that he wuz tremblin' 'nd hed tears in his
eyes. She looked down at the fat baby in her arms, 'nd then she looked
out'n the winder at the great stretch uv prairie land, 'nd seemed like she
wuz lookin' off further 'n the rest uv us could see. Then at last she
turnt around 'nd said, "Yes," to Bill, 'nd Bill went off into the front
car ag'in.
None uv the rest uv us knew what all this meant, but in a minnit Bill come
back with his little yaller baby in his arms, 'nd you never heerd a baby
squall 'nd carry on like that baby wuz squallin' 'nd carryin' on. Fact is,
the little yaller baby wuz hungry, hungrier 'n a wolf, 'nd there wuz its
mother dead in the car up ahead 'nd its gran'ma a good piece up the road.
What did the lady over the way do but lay her own sleepin' baby down on
the seat beside her 'nd take Bill's little yaller baby 'nd hold it on one
arm 'nd cover up its head 'nd her shoulder with a shawl, jist like she had
done with the fat baby not long afore. Bill never looked at her; he took
off his hat and held it in his hand, 'nd turnt around 'nd stood guard over
that mother, 'nd I reckon that ef any man bed darst to look that way jist
then Bill would 've cut his heart out.
The little yaller baby didn't cry very long. Seemed like it knowed there
wuz a mother holdin' it,--not its own mother, but a woman whose life hed
been hallowed by God's blessin' with the love 'nd the purity 'nd the
sanctity uv motherhood.