The supper was soon dispatched; the huskers eating with awkward
embarrassment, as frontiermen always do in company,--even in the
company of each other. To eat with decency and composure is the
final triumph of civilization, and the shuckers of Hissawachee Bottom
got through with the disagreeable performance as hurriedly as
possible, the more so that their exciting strife had given them
vigorous relish for Mrs. Lumsden's "chicken fixin's," and
batter-cakes, and "punkin-pies." The quilters had taken their supper
an hour before, the table not affording room for both parties. When
supper was over the "things" were quickly put away, the table folded
up and removed to the kitchen--and the company were then ready to
enjoy themselves. There was much gawky timidity on the part of the
young men, and not a little shy dropping of the eyes on the part of
the young women; but the most courageous presently got some of the
rude, country plays a-going. The pawns were sold over the head of
the blindfold Mort Goodwin, who, as the wit of the company, devised
all manner of penalties for the owners. Susan Tomkins had to stand
up in the corner, and say,
"Here I stand all ragged and dirty,
Kiss me quick, or I'll run like a turkey."
These lines were supposed to rhyme. When Aleck Tilley essayed to
comply with her request, she tried to run like a turkey, but was
stopped in time.
The good taste of people who enjoy society novels will decide at once
that these boisterous, unrefined sports are not a promising
beginning. It is easy enough to imagine heroism, generosity and
courage in people who dance on velvet carpets; but the great heroes,
the world's demigods, grew in just such rough social states as that
of Ohio in the early part of this century. There is nothing more
important for an over-refined generation than to understand that it
has not a monopoly of the great qualities of humanity, and that it
must not only tolerate rude folk, but sometimes admire in them traits
that have grown scarce as refinement has increased. So that I may
not shrink from telling that one kissing-play took the place of
another until the excitement and merriment reached a pitch which
would be thought not consonant with propriety by the society that
loves round-dances with _roués_, and "the German"
untranslated--though, for that matter, there are people old-fashioned
enough to think that refined deviltry is not much better than rude
freedom, after all.
Goodwin entered with the hearty animal spirits of his time of life
into the boisterous sport; but there was one drawback to his
pleasure--Patty Lumsden would not play. He was glad, indeed, that
she did not; he could not bear to see her kissed by his companions.
But, then, did Patty like the part he was taking in the rustic revel?
He inly rejoiced that his position as the blindfold Justice, meting
out punishment to the owner of each forfeit, saved him, to some
extent, the necessity of going through the ordeal of kissing. True,
it was quite possible that the severest prescription he should make
might fall on his own head, if the pawn happened to be his; but he
was saved by his good luck and the penetration which enabled him to
guess, from the suppressed chuckle of the seller, when the offered
pawn was his own.
At last, "forfeits" in every shape became too dull for the growing
mirth of the company. They ranged themselves round the room on
benches and chairs, and began to sing the old song:
"Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow--
Oats, peas, beans, and barley grow--
You nor I, but the farmers, know
Where oats, peas, beans, and barley grow.
"Thus the farmer sows his seed,
Thus he stands and takes his ease,
Stamps his foot, and claps his hands,
And whirls around and views his lands.
"Sure as grass grows in the field,
Down on this carpet you must kneel,
Salute your true love, kiss her sweet,
And rise again upon your feet."
It is not very different from the little children's play--an old
rustic sport, I doubt not, that has existed in England from
immemorial time. McConkey took the handkerchief first, and, while
the company were singing, he pretended to be looking around and
puzzling himself to decide whom he would favor with his affection.
But the girls nudged one another, and looked significantly at Jemima
Huddlestone. Of course, everybody knew that Bill would take Jemima.
That was fore-ordained. Everybody knew it except Bill and Jemima!
Bill fancied that he was standing in entire indecision, and
Jemima--radiant peony!--turned her large, red-cheeked face away from
Bill, and studied meditatively a knot in a floor-board. But her
averted gaze only made her expectancy the more visible, and the
significant titter of the company deepened the hue and widened the
area of red in her cheeks. Attempts to seem unconscious generally
result disastrously. But the tittering, and nudging, and looking
toward Jemima, did not prevent the singing from moving on; and now
the singers have reached the line which prescribes the kneeling.
Bill shakes off his feigned indecision, and with a sudden effort
recovers from his vacant and wandering stare, wheels about, spreads
the "handkercher" at the feet of the backwoods Hebe, and diffidently
kneels upon the outer edge, while she, in compliance with the order
of the play, and with reluctance only apparent, also drops upon her
knees on the handkerchief, and, with downcast eyes, receives upon her
red cheek a kiss so hearty and unreserved that it awakens laughter
and applause. Bill now arises with the air of a man who has done his
whole duty under difficult circumstances. Jemima lifts the
handkerchief, and, while the song repeats itself, selects some
gentleman before whom she kneels, bestowing on him a kiss in the same
fashion, leaving him the handkerchief to spread before some new
divinity.
[Illustration: HOMELY S'MANTHY.]
This alternation had gone on for some time. Poor, sanguine, homely
Samantha Britton had looked smilingly and expectantly at each
successive gentleman who bore the handkerchief; but in vain.
"S'manthy" could never understand why her seductive smiles were so
unavailing. Presently, Betty Harsha was chosen by somebody--Betty
had a pretty, round face, and pink cheeks, and was sure to be chosen,
sooner or later. Everybody knew whom she would choose. Morton
Goodwin was the desire of her heart. She dressed to win him; she
fixed her eyes on him in church; she put herself adroitly in his way;
she compelled him to escort her home against his will; and now that
she held the handkerchief, everybody looked at Goodwin. Morton, for
his part, was too young to be insensible to the charms of the little
round, impulsive face, the twinkling eyes, the red, pouting lips; and
he was not averse to having the pretty girl, in her new, bright,
linsey frock, single him but for her admiration. But just at this
moment he wished she might choose some one else. For Patty Lumsden,
now that all her guests were interested in the play, was relieved
from her cares as hostess, and was watching the progress of the
exciting amusement. She stood behind Jemima Huddleston, and never
was there finer contrast than between the large, healthful,
high-colored Jemima, a typical country belle, and the slight,
intelligent, fair-skinned Patty, whose black hair and eyes made her
complexion seem whiter, and whose resolute lips and proud carriage
heightened the refinement of her face. Patty, as folks said,
"favored" her mother, a woman of considerable pride and much
refinement, who, by her unwillingness to accept the rude customs of
the neighborhood, had about as bad a reputation as one can have in a
frontier community. She was regarded as excessively "stuck up."
This stigma of aristocracy was very pleasing to the Captain. His
family was part of himself, and he liked to believe them better than
anybody's else. But he heartily wished that Patty would sacrifice
her dignity, at this juncture, to further his political aspirations.
[Illustration: PATTY AND JEMIMA.]
Seeing the vision of Patty standing there in her bright new
calico--an extraordinary bit of finery in those days--Goodwin wished
that Betty would attack somebody else, for once. But Betty Harsha
bore down on the perplexed Morton, and, in her eagerness, did not
wait for the appropriate line to come--she did not give the farmer
time to "stomp" his foot, and clap his hands, much less to whirl
around and view his lands--but plumped down upon the handkerchief
before Morton, who took his own time to kneel. But draw it out as he
would, he presently found himself, after having been kissed by Betty,
standing foolishly, handkerchief in hand, while the verses intended
for Betty were not yet finished. Betty's precipitancy, and her
inevitable gravitation toward Morton, had set all the players
laughing, and the laugh seemed to Goodwin to be partly at himself.
For, indeed, he was perplexed. To choose any other woman for his
"true love" even in play, with Patty standing by, was more than he
could do; to offer to kneel before her was more than he dared to do.
He hesitated a moment; he feared to offend Patty; he must select some
one. Just at the instant he caught sight of the eager face of
S'manthy Britton stretched up to him, as it had been to the others,
with an anxious smile. Morton saw a way out. Patty could not be
jealous of S'manthy. He spread the handkerchief before the delighted
girl, and a moment later she held in her hand the right to choose a
partner.
The fop of the party was "Little Gabe," that is to say, Gabriel
Powers, junior. His father was "Old Gabe," the most miserly farmer
of the neighborhood. But Little Gabe had run away in boyhood, and
had been over the mountains, had made some money, nobody could tell
how, and had invested his entire capital in "store clothes." He wore
a mustache, too, which, being an unheard-of innovation in those
primitive times, marked him as a man who had seen the world.
Everybody laughed at him for a fop, and yet everybody admired him.
None of the girls had yet dared to select Little Gabe. To bring
their linsey near to store-cloth--to venture to salute his divine
mustache--who could be guilty of such profanity? But S'manthy was
morally certain that she would not soon again have a chance to select
a "true love," and she determined to strike high. The players did
not laugh when she spread her handkerchief at the feet of Little
Gabe. They were appalled. But Gabe dropped on one knee,
condescended to receive her salute, and lifted the handkerchief with
a delicate flourish of the hand which wore a ring with a large jewel,
avouched by Little Gabe to be a diamond--a jewel that was at least
transparent.
Whom would Little Gabe choose? became at once a question of solemn
import to every young woman of the company; for even girls in linsey
are not free from that liking for a fop, so often seen in ladies
better dressed. In her heart nearly every young woman wished that
Gabe would choose herself. But Gabe was one of those men who, having
done many things by the magic of effrontery, imagine that any thing
can be obtained by impudence, if only the impudence be sufficiently
transcendent. He knew that Miss Lumsden held herself aloof from the
kissing-plays, and he knew equally that she looked favorably on
Morton Goodwin; he had divined Morton's struggle, and he had already
marked out his own line of action. He stood in quiet repose while
the first two stanzas were sung. As the third began, he stepped
quickly round the chair on which Jemima Huddleston sat, and stood
before Patty Lumsden, while everybody held breath. Patty's cheeks
did not grow red, but pale, she turned suddenly and called out toward
the kitchen:
"What do you want? I am coming," and then walked quietly out, as if
unconscious of Little Gabe's presence or purpose. But poor Little
Gabe had already begun to kneel; he had gone too far to recover
himself; he dropped upon one knee, and got up immediately, but not in
time to escape the general chorus of laughter and jeers. He sneered
at the departing figure of Patty, and said, "I knew I could make her
run." But he could not conceal his discomfiture.
[Illustration: LITTLE GABE'S DISCOMFITURE.]
When, at last, the party broke up, Morton essayed to have a word with
Patty. He found her standing in the deserted kitchen, and his heart
beat quick with the thought that she might be waiting for him. The
ruddy glow of the hickory coals in the wide fire-place made the logs
of the kitchen walls bright, and gave a tint to Patty's white face.
But just as Morton was about to speak, Captain Lumsden's quick, jerky
tread sounded in the entry, and he came in, laughing his aggravating
metallic little laugh, and saying, "Morton, where's your manners?
There's nobody to go home with Betty Harsha."
"Dog on Betty Harsha!" muttered Morton, but not loud enough for the
Captain to hear. And he escorted Betty home.
_CHAPTER III._