THE LAST WORD
"Come back, have they?" said Seth Weaver. Seth was painting the outside
of Miss Penny Pardon's shop, and Miss Penny was hopping in and out,
hovering about the door like a lame robin, dividing her attention
between Seth and the birds.
"Wal, have 'em a good time, did they?"
"Elegant!" replied Miss Penny, joyously. "They had them an elegant time,
Seth. Miss Wax--There! look at me! and I said 'Mis' Hollopeter' just as
slick when she come in! She was in this mornin', to tell Sister about
the latest styles. I thought 'twas real kind of her, with all she had
to think of in her golden joy. Folks _is_ so kind, I don't see how it
comes to be such a wicked world as some calls it. Well, she told us all
about it. They went to Niag'ry Falls first. He was wishful to take her
to Washin'ton, but she said Nature come first in her eyes, even before
Gov'ment; she has fine thoughts, and an elegant way of expressin' 'em, I
always think. There! she said the Falls was handsome! 'twas beyond the
power of thought, she said. Ain't you gettin' jest a dite too much red
in that trimmin', Seth?"
"I guess not!" said Seth. "You don't want it to look like you was
advertisin' a new brand of mustard, do ye? Where else did they go?"
"They went to New York," said Miss Penny. "It was there she see the
styles. Went to the theatre, and to Central Park, and walked down Fifth
Avenue; and his friends give them a testimonial dinner, and--oh, it was
lovely to hear her tell about it. I declare, I should like to go to New
York some day myself. Big sleeves is comin' in again; not that you care
about that, Seth, but Sister was real pleased to know it. And Mr. Pindar
has commenced to flesh up some already, Mis' Hollopeter says. He was as
poor as a split flounder, you know: hadn't ben nourished good for years,
she thinks. There! Men-folks don't know how to feed themselves, seems
though, no more nor birds doos. Take that parrot there; you'd think he'd
know by this time that fresh paint don't agree with him real well, yet
he'll get at it and chaw it every chance he gets, and then has to come
to me for doctorin'; it's the same with men-folks, the best of 'em. But
Mr. Pindar'll get the best of victuals from now on!" Miss Penny
concluded with an emphatic nod.
"She don't want to feed him too high all of a suddin," said Seth,
drawing his brush carefully round a window-casing. "He might go the way
of Job Joralemon's hoss."
"What way was that?" asked Miss Penny, pausing with a cage in her hand.
"Who is Job Joralemon? I don't know as I ever heard of him."
"He was a man over to Tinkham Corners," said Seth. "Meanest man in them
parts, where they get the gold medal for meanness every year, some say.
Come along a man one day, travellin' man, lookin' for a hoss to buy. His
hoss had died, or run away, or ben stole, or somethin', I dono what.
Anyways, he heard Job had a hoss to sell, and come to look at him. He
warn't much of a one to look at,--the hoss, I mean, though Job warn't no
Venus, neither; but this man, he thought likely he could fat him up and
drive him a spell, till he got through his business, and then sell him
for a mite more than he give for him. Wal, he took the hoss--he was
stayin' at Rowe's Tavern over there--and give him a good solid feed, hay
and grain, and then started out to drive on to the next town. Wal,
sir,--ma'am, I should say,--quick as he got out the yard, that hoss
started on the dead run; man couldn't hold him any more than you could a
yearlin' steer. He run like wild-fire a little ways, and then he clum
over a fence, buggy and all,--stump-fence it was,--and then he fell
down, and rolled over, and died, then and there. The man collected
himself out of the kindlin's, and looked round, and see old Rowe, the
tavern-keeper, comin' up, grinnin' all over.
"'What does this mean?' the man hollers out, mad as hops. 'What kind of
a hoss do you call this?' he says.
"Old Rowe kinder grunts. 'I call that a sawdust hoss,' he says.
"'Sawdust Granny!' says the man. 'What d'ye mean by that?'
"'Wal!' says old Rowe. 'Fact is, Job's ben in the habit of feedin'
sawdust to that hoss, and keepin' green goggles on him so's he'd think
'twas grass. Come to give him a good feed, ye see, and 'twas too much
for him, and car'd him off.'
"So what I say is, you tell Mis' Hollopeter she wants to be careful how
she feeds Pindar up, that's all."
"Seth Weaver, if you ain't the beat!" exclaimed Miss Penny. "I believe
you made that up right here and now. Ain't you ashamed to tell such
stories?"
"Not a mite! not a mite!" said Seth, comfortably. "Take more'n that to
shame me. Ask Annie Lizzie if it don't. Here she comes along now. Ain't
she a pictur'?"
Annie Lizzie came blossoming along the street in her pink calico dress;
her pink sunbonnet was hanging on her shoulders, and her soft dark hair
curled round her face just for the pleasure of it. She was swinging a
bright tin pail in her hand; altogether the street seemed to lighten as
she came along it.
"Hello, Annie Lizzie!" said Seth, as she came up to the shop. "Comin' to
see me, ain't ye?"
"I guess not!" said Miss Penny. "I expect she's come to see me, ain't
you, Annie Lizzie? I've got a new piece of ribbin in, jest matches your
dress, and your cheeks, too."
Annie Lizzie dimpled and smiled shyly. "I'd love to see it, Miss Penny,"
she said; "but first I come with a message for Mr. Weaver."
"Then I'll go and feed the rest of them birds," said Miss Penny.
"There! hear 'em hollerin' the minute I say 'feed'? They are the
cutest!"
She vanished into the shop, and Seth looked up at the young girl with a
friendly twinkle. "Back stairs again, Annie Liz?" he asked. "I expect to
get at 'em to-morrow, honest I do."
"No, sir, 'twasn't the stairs this time," said Annie Lizzie, looking
down. "Ma didn't know I was comin', or she might have said something. I
come with a message from Tommy, Mr. Weaver. He wanted to know could you
spare him some white paint."
"What does he want of white paint?" asked Seth.
"Wants to paint the front gate," replied Annie Lizzie.
"Sho!" said Seth. "The front gate was painted only last fall. There
ain't no need to paint it ag'in for three years."
"I know!" said the girl, patiently. "But all the same he's goin' to
paint it, and he wants you should put somethin' in it so's it won't
dry."
"So's it _will_ dry, you mean!" corrected Seth. "Tell him I won't do it.
Hastenin' white paint's like hastenin' a mud-turtle; it's bad for his
constitution, and _then_ he don't get anywheres. White paint has to dry
slow, or it's no good. You tell Tommy that, and tell him he'd oughter
know it, much as he's hung round my shop."
"He doos know it!" said Annie Lizzie, in her cooing voice. "He don't
want it to dry, Mr. Weaver."
"Don't want it to dry!" repeated Seth.
"No, sir. He said I might tell you, so's you'd understand; he knew you
wouldn't let it go no further, Mr. Weaver. Fact is, he wants to keep
folks away for a spell, so's Mr. Homer can get rested up. He's real
wore out with all these celebrations and goin's on, and he has so many
callers he don't have no chance to live hardly. So Tommy thought if he
could paint the gate, and keep on paintin' it, with a good paint that
lasted wet, you see, it would--Well, what he means is,--there couldn't
anybody get in but what had pants on. It's a narrow gate, you know."
"I know," said Seth, with a grim twinkle. "I see. That's Tommy Candy all
over. Tell him I'll fix him up an article will do the business; he
needn't have no fears. But how about them little pink petticuts of
yourn, Annie Lizzie? I dono as Tommy is so special anxious to keep them
out, is he?"
The pink of Annie Lizzie's dress was surely not a fast color, for it
seemed to spread in a rosy cloud over her soft cheeks, up, up, to the
soft rings of hair against her forehead.
"Direxia's real good to me," she said, simply. "She lets me come in the
back gate."
THE END.
* * * * *
By LAURA E. RICHARDS
MRS. TREE'S WILL
MRS. TREE
GEOFFREY STRONG
FOR TOMMY
LOVE AND ROCKS
CAPTAIN JANUARY