you're welcome to a ride.”
Paul was very glad to accept the invitation. He clambered into the cart,
and took a seat behind the pedler, while Boney, who took his recent
disappointment very good-naturedly, jogged on contentedly behind.
“How far are you goin'?” asked Paul's new acquaintance, as he whipped up
his horse.
Paul felt a little embarrassed. If he had been acquainted with the names
of any of the villages on the route he might easily have answered. As it
was, only one name occurred to him.
“I think,” said he, with some hesitation, “that I shall go to New York.”
“New York!” repeated the pedler, with a whistle expressive of his
astonishment.
“Well, you've a journey before you. Got any relations there?”
“No.”
“No uncles, aunts, cousins, nor nothing?”
Paul shook his head.
“Then what makes you go? Haven't run away from your father and mother,
hey?” asked the pedler, with a knowing look.
“I have no father nor mother,” said Paul, sadly enough.
“Well, you had somebody to take care of you, I calculate. Where did you
live?”
“If I tell you, you won't carry me back?” said Paul, anxiously.
“Not a bit of it. I've got too much business on hand for that.”
Relieved by this assurance, Paul told his story, encouraged thereto
by frequent questions from his companion, who seemed to take a lively
interest in the adventures of his young companion.
“That's a capital trick you played on old Mudge,” he said with a hearty
laugh which almost made the tins rattle. “I don't blame you a bit for
running away. I've got a story to tell you about Mrs. Mudge. She's a
regular skinflint.”
XI.
WAYSIDE GOSSIP.
This was the pedler's promised story about Mrs. Mudge.
“The last time I was round that way, I stopped, thinking maybe they
might have some rags to dispose of for tin-ware. The old lady seemed
glad to see me, and pretty soon she brought down a lot of white rags.
I thought they seemed quite heavy for their bulk,--howsomever, I wasn't
looking for any tricks, and I let it go. By-and-by, when I happened to
be ransacking one of the bags, I came across half a dozen pounds or more
of old iron tied up in a white cloth. That let the cat out of the bag. I
knew why they were so heavy, then, I reckon I shan't call on Mrs. Mudge
next time I go by.”
“So you've run off,” he continued, after a pause, “I like your
spunk,--just what I should have done myself. But tell me how you managed
to get off without the old chap's finding it out.”
Paul related such of his adventures as he had not before told, his
companion listening with marked approval.
“I wish I'd been there,” he said. “I'd have given fifty cents, right
out, to see how old Mudge looked, I calc'late he's pretty well tired
with his wild-goose chase by this time.”
It was now twelve o'clock, and both the travelers began to feel the
pangs of hunger.
“It's about time to bait, I calc'late,” remarked the pedler.
The unsophisticated reader is informed that the word “bait,” in New
England phraseology, is applied to taking lunch or dining.
At this point a green lane opened out of the public road, skirted on
either side by a row of trees. Carpeted with green, it made a very
pleasant dining-room. A red-and-white heifer browsing at a little
distance looked up from her meal and surveyed the intruders with mild
attention, but apparently satisfied that they contemplated no invasion
of her rights, resumed her agreeable employment. Over an irregular stone
wall our travelers looked into a thrifty apple-orchard laden with fruit.
They halted beneath a spreading chestnut-tree which towered above its
neighbors, and offered them a grateful shelter from the noonday sun.
From the box underneath the seat, the pedler took out a loaf of bread,
a slice of butter, and a tin pail full of doughnuts. Paul, on his side,
brought out his bread and gingerbread.
“I most generally carry round my own provisions,” remarked the pedler,
between two mouthfuls. “It's a good deal cheaper and more convenient,
too. Help yourself to the doughnuts. I always calc'late to have some
with me. I'd give more for 'em any day than for rich cake that ain't
fit for anybody. My mother used to beat everybody in the neighborhood on
making doughnuts. She made 'em so good that we never knew when to stop
eating. You wouldn't hardly believe it, but, when I was a little shaver,
I remember eating twenty-three doughnuts at one time. Pretty nigh killed
me.”
“I should think it might,” said Paul, laughing.
“Mother got so scared that she vowed she wouldn't fry another for three
months, but I guess she kinder lost the run of the almanac, for in less
than a week she turned out about a bushel more.”
All this time the pedler was engaged in practically refuting the saying,
that a man cannot do two things at once. With a little assistance from
Paul, the stock of doughnuts on which he had been lavishing encomiums,
diminished rapidly. It was evident that his attachment to this homely
article of diet was quite as strong as ever.
“Don't be afraid of them,” said he, seeing that Paul desisted from his
efforts, “I've got plenty more in the box.”
Paul signified that his appetite was already appeased.
“Then we might as well be jogging on. Hey, Goliah,” said he, addressing
the horse, who with an air of great content, had been browsing while his
master was engaged in a similar manner. “Queer name for a horse, isn't
it? I wanted something out of the common way, so I asked mother for a
name, and she gave me that. She's great on scripture names, mother
is. She gave one to every one of her children. It didn't make much
difference to her what they were as long as they were in the Bible. I
believe she used to open the Bible at random, and take the first name
she happened to come across. There are eight of us, and nary a decent
name in the lot. My oldest brother's name is Abimelech. Then there's
Pharaoh, and Ishmael, and Jonadab, for the boys, and Leah and Naomi, for
the girls; but my name beats all. You couldn't guess it?”
Paul shook his head.
“I don't believe you could,” said the pedler, shaking his head in comic
indignation. “It's Jehoshaphat. Ain't that a respectable name for the
son of Christian parents?”
Paul laughed.
“It wouldn't be so bad,” continued the pedler, “if my other name was
longer; but Jehoshaphat seems rather a long handle to put before Stubbs.
I can't say I feel particularly proud of the name, though for use it'll
do as well as any other. At any rate, it ain't quite so bad as the name
mother pitched on for my youngest sister, who was lucky enough to die
before she needed a name.”
“What was it?” inquired Paul, really curious to know what name could be
considered less desirable than Jehoshaphat.
“It was Jezebel,” responded the pedler.
“Everybody told mother 'twould never do; but she was kind of
superstitious about it, because that was the first name she came to
in the Bible, and so she thought it was the Lord's will that that name
should be given to the child.”
As Mr. Stubbs finished his disquisition upon names, there came in sight
a small house, dark and discolored with age and neglect. He pointed this
out to Paul with his whip-handle.
“That,” said he, “is where old Keziah Onthank lives. Ever heard of him?”
Paul had not.
“He's the oldest man in these parts,” pursued his loquacious companion.
“There's some folks that seem a dyin' all the time, and for all that
manage to outlive half the young folks in the neighborhood. Old Keziah
Onthank is a complete case in p'int. As long ago as when I was cutting
my teeth he was so old that nobody know'd how old he was. He was so
bowed over that he couldn't see himself in the looking-glass unless you
put it on the floor, and I guess even then what he saw wouldn't pay
him for his trouble. He was always ailin' some way or other. Now it was
rheumatism, now the palsy, and then again the asthma. He had THAT awful.
“He lived in the same tumble-down old shanty we have just passed,--so
poor that nobody'd take the gift of it. People said that he'd orter go
to the poorhouse, so that when he was sick--which was pretty much all
the time--he'd have somebody to take care of him. But he'd got kinder
attached to the old place, seein' he was born there, and never lived
anywhere else, and go he wouldn't.
“Everybody expected he was near his end, and nobody'd have been
surprised to hear of his death at any minute. But it's strange how some
folks are determined to live on, as I said before. So Keziah, though he
looked so old when I was a boy that it didn't seem as if he could look
any older, kept on livin,' and livin', and arter I got married to Betsy
Sprague, he was livin' still.
“One day, I remember I was passin' by the old man's shanty, when I heard
a dreadful groanin', and thinks I to myself, 'I shouldn't wonder if the
old man was on his last legs.' So in I bolted. There he was, to be sure,
a lyin', on the bed, all curled up into a heap, breathin' dreadful hard,
and lookin' as white and pale as any ghost. I didn't know exactly
what to do, so I went and got some water, but he motioned it away, and
wouldn't drink it, but kept on groanin'.
“'He mustn't be left here to die without any assistance,' thinks I, so I
ran off as fast I could to find the doctor.
“I found him eatin' dinner----
“Come quick,” says I, “to old Keziah Onthank's. He's dyin', as sure as
my name is Jehoshaphat.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “die or no die, I can't come till I've eaten my
dinner.”
“But he's dyin', doctor.”
“Oh, nonsense. Talk of old Keziah Onthank's dyin'. He'll live longer
than I shall.”
“I recollect I thought the doctor very unfeelin' to talk so of a fellow
creetur, just stepping into eternity, as a body may say. However, it's
no use drivin' a horse that's made up his mind he won't go, so although
I did think the doctor dreadful deliberate about eatin' his dinner (he
always would take half an hour for it), I didn't dare to say a word
for fear he wouldn't come at all. You see the doctor was dreadful
independent, and was bent on havin' his own way, pretty much, though for
that matter I think it's the case with most folks. However, to come back
to my story, I didn't feel particularly comfortable while I was waitin'
his motions.
“After a long while the doctor got ready. I was in such a hurry that I
actilly pulled him along, he walked so slow; but he only laughed, and
I couldn't help thinkin' that doctorin' had a hardinin' effect on the
heart. I was determined if ever I fell sick I wouldn't send for him.
“At last we got there. I went in all of a tremble, and crept to the bed,
thinkin' I should see his dead body. But he wasn't there at all. I felt
a little bothered you'd better believe.”
“Well,” said the doctor, turning to me with a smile, “what do you think
now?”
“I don't know what to think,” said I.
“Then I'll help you,” said he.
“So sayin', he took me to the winder, and what do you think I see? As
sure as I'm alive, there was the old man in the back yard, a squattin'
down and pickin' up chips.”
“And is he still living?”
“Yes, or he was when I come along last. The doctor's been dead these
ten years. He told me old Keziah would outlive him, but I didn't believe
him. I shouldn't be surprised if he lived forever.”
Paul listened with amused interest to this and other stories with which
his companion beguiled the way. They served to divert his mind from
the realities of his condition, and the uncertainty which hung over his
worldly prospects.
XII.
ON THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY.
“If you're in no great hurry to go to New York,” said the pedler, “I
should like to have you stay with me for a day or two. I live about
twenty-five miles from here, straight ahead, so it will be on your way.
I always manage to get home by Saturday night if it is any way possible.
It doesn't seem comfortable to be away Sunday. As to-day is Friday, I
shall get there to-morrow. So you can lie over a day and rest yourself.”
Paul felt grateful for this unexpected invitation. It lifted quite a
load from his mind, since, as the day declined, certain anxious thoughts
as to where he should find shelter, had obtruded themselves. Even now,
the same trouble would be experienced on Monday night, but it is the
characteristic of youth to pay little regard to anticipated difficulties
as long as the present is provided for.
It must not be supposed that the pedler neglected his business on
account of his companion. On the road he had been traveling the houses
were few and far between. He had, therefore, but few calls to make.
Paul remarked, however, that when he did call he seldom failed to sell
something.
“Yes,” said Mr. Stubbs, on being interrogated, “I make it a p'int to
sell something, if it's no more than a tin dipper. I find some hard
cases sometimes, and sometimes I have to give it up altogether. I can't
quite come up to a friend of mine, Daniel Watson, who used to be in
the same line of business. I never knew him to stop at a place without
selling something. He had a good deal of judgment, Daniel had, and knew
just when to use 'soft sodder,' and when not to. On the road that he
traveled there lived a widow woman, who had the reputation of being as
ugly, cross-grained a critter as ever lived. People used to say that
it was enough to turn milk sour for her even to look at it. Well, it so
happened that Daniel had never called there. One night he was boasting
that he never called at a house without driving a bargain, when one
of the company asked him, with a laugh, if he had ever sold the widow
anything.
“Why, no,” said Daniel, “I never called there; but I've no doubt I
could.”
“What'll you bet of it?”
“I'm not a betting man,” said Daniel, “but I feel so sure of it that I
don't mind risking five dollars.”
“Agreed.”
“The next morning Daniel drove leisurely up to the widow's door and
knocked. She had a great aversion to pedlers, and declared they were
cheats, every one of them. She was busy sweeping when Daniel knocked.
She came to the door in a dreadful hurry, hoping it might be an old
widower in the neighborhood that she was trying to catch. When she saw
how much she was mistaken she looked as black as a thundercloud.
“Want any tin ware to-day, ma'am?” inquired Daniel, noways discomposed.
“No, sir,” snapped she.
“Got all kinds,--warranted the best in the market. Couldn't I sell you
something?”
“Not a single thing,” said she, preparing to shut the door; but Daniel,
knowing all would then be lost, stepped in before she could shut it
quite to, and began to name over some of the articles he had in his
wagon.
“You may talk till doomsday,” said the widow, as mad as could be, “and
it won't do a particle of good. Now, you've got your answer, and you'd
better leave the house before you are driven out.”
“Brooms, brushes, lamps----”
“Here the widow, who had been trying to keep in her anger, couldn't hold
out any longer. She seized the broom she had been sweeping with, and
brought it down with a tremendous whack upon Daniel's back. You can
imagine how hard it was, when I tell you that the force of the blow
snapped the broom in the middle. You might have thought Daniel would
resent it, but he didn't appear to notice it, though it must have hurt
him awful. He picked up the pieces, and handing them, with a polite bow,
to the widow, said, 'Now, ma'am, I'm sure you need a new broom. I've got
some capital ones out in the cart.'”
“The widow seemed kind of overpowered by his coolness. She hardly knew
what to say or what to think. However, she had broken her old broom,
that was certain, and must have a new one; so when Daniel ran out and
brought in a bundle of them, she picked out one and paid for it without
saying a word; only, when Daniel asked if he might have the pleasure
of calling again, she looked a little queer, and told him that if he
considered it a pleasure, she had no objection.”
“And did he call again?”
“Yes, whenever he went that way. The widow was always very polite to him
after that, and, though she had a mortal dislike to pedlers in general,
she was always ready to trade with him. Daniel used to say that he
gained his bet and the widow's custom at ONE BLOW.”
They were now descending a little hill at the foot of which stood a
country tavern. Here Mr. Stubbs declared his intention of spending the
night. He drove into the barn, the large door of which stood invitingly
open, and unharnessed his horse, taking especial care to rub him down
and set before him an ample supply of provender.
“I always take care of Goliah myself,” said he. “He's a good friend to
me, and it's no more than right that I should take good care of him.
Now, we'll go into the house, and see what we can get for supper.”
He was surprised to see that Paul hung back, and seemed disinclined to
follow.
“What's the matter?” asked Mr. Stubbs, in surprise. “Why don't you
come?”
“Because,” said Paul, looking embarrassed, “I've got no money.”
“Well, I have,” said Mr. Stubbs, “and that will answer just as well, so
come along, and don't be bashful. I'm about as hungry as a bear, and I
guess you are too.”
Before many minutes, Paul sat down to a more bountiful repast than
he had partaken of for many a day. There were warm biscuits and fresh
butter, such as might please the palate of an epicure, while at the
other end of the table was a plate of cake, flanked on one side by an
apple-pie, on the other by one of pumpkin, with its rich golden hue,
such as is to be found in its perfection, only in New England. It will
scarcely be doubted that our hungry travellers did full justice to the
fare set before them.
When they had finished, they went into the public room, where were
engaged some of the village worthies, intent on discussing the news
and the political questions of the day. It was a time of considerable
political excitement, and this naturally supplied the topic of
conversation. In this the pedler joined, for his frequent travel on this
route had made him familiarly acquainted with many of those present.
Paul sat in a corner, trying to feel interested in the conversation; but
the day had been a long one, and he had undergone an unusual amount of
fatigue. Gradually, his drowsiness increased. The many voices fell upon
his ears like a lullaby, and in a few minutes he was fast asleep.
Early next morning they were up and on their way. It was the second
morning since Paul's departure. Already a sense of freedom gave his
spirits unwonted elasticity, and encouraged him to hope for the best.
Had his knowledge of the future been greater, his confidence might have
been less. But would he have been any happier?
So many miles separated him from his late home, that he supposed himself
quite safe from detection. A slight circumstance warned him that he must
still be watchful and cautious.
As they were jogging easily along, they heard the noise of wheels at a
little distance. Paul looked up. To his great alarms he recognized
in the driver of the approaching vehicle, one of the selectmen of
Wrenville.
“What's the matter?” asked his companion, noticing his sudden look of
apprehension.
Paul quickly communicated the ground of his alarm.
“And you are afraid he will want to carry you back, are you?”
“Yes.”
“Not a bit of it. We'll circumvent the old fellow, unless he's sharper
than I think he is. You've only got to do as I tell you.”
To this Paul quickly agreed.
The selectman was already within a hundred rods. He had not yet
apparently noticed the pedler's cart, so that this was in our hero's
favor. Mr. Stubbs had already arranged his plan of operations.
“This is what you are to do, Paul,” said he, quickly. “Cock your hat on
the side of your head, considerably forward, so that he can't see much
of your face. Then here's a cigar to stick in your mouth. You can make
believe that you are smoking. If you are the sort of boy I reckon you
are, he'll never think it's you.”
Paul instantly adopted this suggestion.
Slipping his hat to one side in the jaunty manner characteristic of
young America, he began to puff very gravely at a cigar the pedler
handed him, frequently taking it from his mouth, as he had seen older
persons do, to knock away the ashes. Nothwithstanding his alarm, his
love of fun made him enjoy this little stratagem, in which he bore his
part successfully.
The selectman eyed him intently. Paul began to tremble from fear of
discovery, but his apprehensions were speedily dissipated by a remark of
the new-comer, “My boy, you are forming a very bad habit.”
Paul did not dare to answer lest his voice should betray him. To his
relief, the pedler spoke----
“Just what I tell him, sir, but I suppose he thinks he must do as his
father does.”
By this time the vehicles had passed each other, and the immediate peril
was over.
“Now, Paul,” said his companion, laughing, “I'll trouble you for that
cigar, if you have done with it. The old gentleman's advice was good. If
I'd never learned to smoke, I wouldn't begin now.”
Our hero was glad to take the cigar from his mouth. The brief time he
had held it was sufficient to make him slightly dizzy.
XIII.
PAUL REACHES THE CITY.
Towards evening they drew up before a small house with a neat yard in
front.
“I guess we'll get out here,” said Mr. Stubbs. “There's a gentleman
lives here that I feel pretty well acquainted with. Shouldn't wonder if
he'd let us stop over Sunday. Whoa, Goliah, glad to get home, hey?” as
the horse pricked up his ears and showed manifest signs of satisfaction.
“Now, youngster, follow me, and I guess I can promise you some supper,
if Mrs. Stubbs hasn't forgotten her old tricks.”
They passed through the entry into the kitchen, where Mrs. Stubbs was
discovered before the fire toasting slices of bread.
“Lor, Jehoshaphat,” said she, “I didn't expect you so soon,” and she
looked inquiringly at his companion.
“A young friend who is going to stay with us till Monday,” explained the
pedler. “His name is Paul Prescott.”
“I'm glad to see you, Paul,” said Mrs. Stubbs with a friendly smile.
“You must be tired if you've been traveling far. Take a seat. Here's a
rocking-chair for you.”
This friendly greeting made Paul feel quite at home. Having no children,
the pedler and his wife exerted themselves to make the time pass
pleasantly to their young acquaintance. Paul could not help contrasting
them with Mr. and Mrs. Mudge, not very much to the advantage of
the latter. On Sunday he went to church with them, and the peculiar
circumstances in which he was placed, made him listen to the sermon with
unusual attention. It was an exposition of the text, “My help cometh
from the Lord,” and Paul could not help feeling that it was particularly
applicable to his own case. It encouraged him to hope, that, however
uncertain his prospects appeared, God would help him if he put his trust
in Him.
On Monday morning Paul resumed his journey, with an ample stock of
provisions supplied by Mrs. Stubbs, in the list of which doughnuts
occupied a prominent place; this being at the particular suggestion of
Mr. Stubbs.
Forty or fifty miles remained to be traversed before his destination
would be reached. The road was not a difficult one to find, and he made
it out without much questioning. The first night, he sought permission
to sleep in a barn.
He met with a decided refusal.
He was about to turn away in disappointment, when he was called back.
“You are a little too fast, youngster. I said I wouldn't let you sleep
in my barn, and I won't; but I've got a spare bed in the house, and if
you choose you shall occupy it.”
Under the guise of roughness, this man had a kind heart. He inquired
into the particulars of Paul's story, and at the conclusion terrified
him by saying that he had been very foolish and ought to be sent back.
Nevertheless, when Paul took leave of him the next morning, he did not
go away empty-handed.
“If you must be so foolish as to set up for yourself, take this,” said
the farmer, placing half a dollar in his hand. “You may reach the city
after the banks are closed for the day, you know,” he added, jocularly.
But it was in the morning that Paul came in sight of the city. He
climbed up into a high tree, which, having the benefit of an elevated
situation, afforded him an extensive prospect. Before him lay the great
city of which he had so often heard, teeming with life and activity.
Half in eager anticipation, half in awe and wonder at its vastness, our
young pilgrim stood upon the threshold of this great Babel.