KETTLE ACTS HIS OWN ILIAD
It was, on the whole, a happy, though solitary winter, and a very
comfortable one to others at Holly Lodge, besides Betty. The comfort
was to a great degree brought about by Kettle. The boy not only picked
up chips and made the fires, and churned, and milked the one cow, but
was helpful at every turn to Uncle Cesar and Aunt Tulip. The first
thing had been to provide him with some warm clothes, and by the
united efforts of Betty and Aunt Tulip this had been accomplished.
Then, one bitter day, when there was nobody to go for the mail to the
village post-office, two miles away, Kettle, without saying a word to
anybody, slipped off. He knew that Betty, whom he adored, was always
looking for letters, and Kettle, in his little heart, determined
that she should not look in vain that day. He was missed, and Aunt
Tulip resigned herself to the belief that the boy had run away again,
carrying with him a much better outfit than that with which he had
arrived. But Aunt Tulip's unjust suspicions were falsified when in an
hour or two Kettle turned up again with the Colonel's weekly newspaper
and a letter and a large box of sweets for Betty, from a source which
she knew very well. Aunt Tulip gave Kettle a wigging for "runnin' off
'thout tellin' nobody," but he was merely admonished not to go again
without giving notice. The expedition, however, turned out to be very
profitable for Kettle, as the keeper of the country store, who was also
the postmaster, had engaged Kettle in conversation, and had ended by
presenting him with two shirts of a gaudy pink, and a cap, which saved
Kettle's one hat for Sundays.
Aunt Tulip was a pessimist on the subject of boys, and was always
expecting an outbreak of depravity on Kettle's part. The form in which
this came was altogether unusual. Kettle loved music, and whatever he
might be doing, if he heard the strains of the Colonel's violin, or
especially Betty's touch upon the harp in the sitting-room, it would
have been necessary to chain him up to keep him away. He would sit on
a little cricket in a corner, his black, shiny eyes full of rapture,
and his mouth one vast grin. Kettle was in a heaven of delight when
the Colonel, of evenings, tuned up his violin, and, sending for Uncle
Cesar, "ole Marse" and his "boy" would make sweet, old-time music
between them. In a little while, however, Kettle began to long that he
too might call the soul of music forth from the strings. On the rare
occasions when the Colonel was able to go out for a walk, or when he
was taking his afternoon nap more soundly than usual, Kettle would
creep to the fiddle-case, and, opening it, would let his little black
hand wander among the strings, and, bending his ear down, he would
listen as if it were the music of the spheres. Uncle Cesar caught him
at this one day, and, seizing him by the collar, gave him a shaking
which made Kettle's teeth rattle. Kettle shrieked, and Betty came
running into the kitchen, expecting to find a tragedy in progress.
"Miss Betty," said Uncle Cesar, "this heah impident little black nigger
has been openin' ole Marse' fiddle-box an' mine, and pickin' at the
strings, an' I kinder believe he has been a-pickin' at the strings of
your harp, Miss Betty. Did you ever heah of such owdaciousness sence
Gord made you, Miss Betty?"
"No, I never did," answered Betty promptly. And then she said sternly,
with an accusing forefinger, to Kettle:
"Remember, Kettle, if ever I catch you meddling with the harp or with
the violin, I will certainly give you a good switching, myself. Do you
understand?"
"Yessum," answered Kettle, with solemn emphasis.
This engagement was reinforced by Uncle Cesar promising him an
additional switching in case he did not get his deserts in the first
one.
For a week or two, Kettle was able to keep his fingers off the
harp-strings and out of the fiddle-box, but one morning, when the
winter sun was shining, and Colonel Beverley had gone out for a little
turn on the lawn, Kettle fell from grace. Suspicious sounds were heard
in the sitting-room. Aunt Tulip softly opened the door, and there
was Kettle down on his knees before the fiddle-case, picking away in
rapture. Aunt Tulip grabbed him, and called wrathfully to Uncle Cesar
to go and get a switch. Uncle Cesar, full of vengeance, went out and
returned with what might better be described as a sapling, it was so
long and stout. Just then Betty entered the room, and Aunt Tulip told
her of Kettle's felonious acts.
"Of course, Aunt Tulip, you must give him a whipping," said Betty
positively.
The whole party then marched into the kitchen, and Kettle was ordered
to take off his jacket, which he did with much natural reluctance.
Then, Aunt Tulip, flourishing the long switch around, proceeded to
harangue Kettle indignantly:
"Ain't you 'shamed yourself, you good-for-nothin' little nigger,
after all ole Marse an' Miss Betty done for you, ter sneak in the
settin'-room, an' be ruinin' ole Marse' fiddle-strings, an' meddlin'
with Miss Betty's harp? I tell you what, boys has got ter git switched
sometimes, an' I'm a-gwine ter give you a switchin' this day you will
remember to the Day of Judgment."
With this awful preamble, Aunt Tulip raised the switch, and Kettle,
before a single stroke had descended, burst into howls. Aunt Tulip's
hand faltered.
"I declar, Miss Betty," she said apologetically, pausing with the
uplifted switch in the air, "it's mighty hard ter give a switchin' ter
a chile as ain't got no father nor mother; but Kettle cert'n'y ought
to have it, an' I think Cesar kin give it ter him better'n I kin."
With this, the switch was handed over to Uncle Cesar. Kettle redoubled
his yells. The prospect of the switch in Uncle Cesar's stalwart arm was
indeed terrifying. Uncle Cesar, to make the ceremony more impressive,
took off his coat and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and lifted the
switch on high. But it did not come down on Kettle's back when it was
expected. Uncle Cesar's hand began to tremble.
"It's mighty cur'rus, Miss Betty," said Uncle Cesar, hesitating and
rubbing his arm, "but I kinder got my hand out with switchin' boys, an'
the rheumatiz is right bad this mornin'. Anyhow, I reckon I better put
off this heah switchin' 'twell the rheumatiz gits better."
"It can't be put off, Uncle Cesar," answered Betty decisively. "The
truth is, Aunt Tulip and you are squarmish about giving Kettle what
he deserves. Now, I believe in discipline, and if you promise a boy a
switching, you ought to give it to him. So give me the switch."
The instrument of torture was duly handed over to Betty. Kettle
suddenly stopped his wailings, and his mouth came wide open as if it
were on hinges. Betty, too, by way of nerving herself for the task,
began to give Kettle a lecture.
"Now, Kettle," she said sternly, "your conduct has been perfectly
outrageous. You were told not to touch my harp or the violins."
"I know it, Miss Betty," whimpered Kettle, his arm to his eyes, "but
them fiddles, they jes' seem a-callin' an' a-callin' ter me fur ter
come an' play on 'em an' that air harp--Miss Betty, ef I could play a
chune on one of them fiddles, I'd ruther do it--I'd ruther do it----"
Kettle's imagery failed him in finding a simile strong enough.
"But you were told not to touch them, and you disobeyed. Now you are
going to get a whipping for it," replied Betty, catching her under lip
in her little white teeth, and raising once more the five-foot and
inch-thick switch. When it had been lifted above him before, Kettle had
bawled loudly, but at the sight of Betty standing on tiptoe with the
switch grasped in both hands, Kettle's open mouth suddenly extended
in a huge grin, and he burst into a subdued guffaw. In vain, Betty
held the switch aloft and tried to screw up courage to bring it down
on Kettle. It was quite impossible with Kettle grinning before her
and chuckling openly. Betty herself suddenly burst out laughing, and
dropped the switch.
"The only thing I can think of to do with you, Kettle," she said, "is
to teach you to play the fiddle."
At that, Kettle's mouth, if possible, came wider open than ever.
"Lord, Miss Betty!" he cried, "does you mean you is a-gwine to put the
bow in my han' and lemme scrape them strings with it?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Betty. "I will teach you your notes, and Uncle
Cesar will show you how to handle the bow."
From that day began Kettle's musical education. The Colonel sitting in
his great chair, would smile at Betty with the music-book, instructing
Kettle in the notes which she knew. Kettle was extremely stupid at
learning his notes, and Betty frequently promised him the long delayed
switching for his negligence. But as soon as Uncle Cesar took charge of
him and put the bow in his hand, Kettle learned with amazing rapidity.
"I am afraid, my dear," the Colonel would say to Betty on these
occasions, "that Kettle can master the concrete better than the
abstract. However, he must learn his notes."
Kettle progressed so fast that in the course of a couple of months he
enjoyed the privilege of playing a second to the Colonel's fiddle. The
boy's arms were barely long enough to use a grown-up fiddle. As he
played, he shuffled about in rapture, and Betty taught him to do the
back-step and double shuffle while he played. It was a new amusement in
the Colonel's quiet life to have Kettle come in the sitting-room in the
evening after supper, and play and dance for him, while Kettle enjoyed
the performance beyond words.