The young men were gone until the latter part of November. Several
persons longed for their return. Mr. Job Goodwin, for one, began to
feel a strong conviction that Mort had taken the fever and died in
the woods. He was also very sure that each succeeding day would
witness some act of hostility toward himself on the part of Captain
Lumsden; and as each day failed to see any evil result from the anger
of his powerful neighbor, or to bring any tidings of disaster to
Morton, Job Goodwin faithfully carried forward the dark foreboding
with compound interest to the next day. He abounded in quotations of
such Scripture texts as set forth the fact that man's days were few
and full of trouble. The book of Ecclesiastes was to him a perennial
fountain of misery--he delighted to found his despairing auguries
upon the superior wisdom of Solomon. He looked for Morton's return
with great anxiety, hoping to find that nothing worse had happened to
him than the shooting away of an arm. Mrs. Goodwin, for her part,
dreaded the evil influences of the excitements of hunting. She
feared lest Morton should fall into the bad habits that had carried
away from home an older brother, for whose untimely death in an
affray she had never ceased to mourn.
And Patty! When her father had on that angry afternoon discovered
the turkey that Morton had given her, and had sent it home with a
message in her name, Patty had borne herself like the proud girl that
she was. She held her head aloft; she neither indicated pleasure nor
displeasure at her father's course; she would not disclose any liking
for Morton, nor any complaisance toward her father. This air of
defiance about her Captain Lumsden admired. It showed her mettle, he
said to himself. Patty would almost have finished that two dozen
cuts of yarn if it had cost her life. She even managed to sing,
toward the last of her weary day of work; and when, at nine o'clock,
she reeled off her twenty-fourth cut,--drawing a sigh of relief when
the reel snapped,--and hung her twelve hanks up together, she seemed
as blithe as ever. Her sickly mother sitting, knitting in hand, with
wan face bordered by white cap-frill, looked approvingly on Patty's
achievement. Patty showed her good blood, was the mother's
reflection.
[Illustration: PATTY IN HER CHAMBER.]
But Patty? She did not hurry. She put everything away carefully.
She was rather slow about retiring. But when at last she went aloft
into her room in the old block-house part of the building, and shut
and latched her door, and set her candle-stick on the high,
old-fashioned, home-made dressing-stand, she looked at herself in the
little looking-glass and did not see there the face she had been able
to keep while the eyes of others were upon her. She saw weariness,
disappointment, and dejection. Her strong will held her up. She
undressed herself with habitual quietness. She even stopped to look
again in self-pity at her face as she stood by the glass to tie on
her night-cap. But when at last she had blown out the candle, and
carefully extinguished the wick, and had climbed into the great,
high, billowy feather-bed under the rafters, she buried her tired
head in the pillow and cried a long time, hardly once admitting to
herself what she was crying about.
And as the days wore on, and her father ceased to speak of Kike or
Morton, and she heard that they were out of the settlement, she found
in herself an ever-increasing desire to see Morton. The more she
tried to smother her feeling, and the more she denied to herself the
existence of the feeling, the more intense did it become. Whenever
hunters passed the gate, going after or returning laden with game,
she stopped involuntarily to gaze at them. But she never failed, a
moment later, to affect an indifferent expression of countenance and
to rebuke herself for curiosity so idle. What were hunters to her?
But one evening the travelers whom she looked for went by. They were
worse for wear; their buckskin pantaloons were torn by briers; their
tread was heavy, for they had traveled since daylight; but Patty,
peering through one of the port-holes of the blockhouse, did not fail
to recognize old Blaze, burdened as he was with venison, bear-meat
and skins, nor to note how Morton looked long and steadfastly at
Captain Lumsden's house as if hoping to catch a glimpse of herself.
That look of Morton's sent a blush of pleasure over her face, which
she could not quite conceal when she met the inquiring eyes of a
younger brother a minute later. But when she saw her father gallop
rapidly down the road as if in pursuit of the young men, her sense of
pleasure changed quickly to foreboding.
Morton and Kike had managed, for the most part, to throw off their
troubles in the excitement of hunting. But when at last they had
accumulated all the meat old Blaze could carry and all the furs they
could "pack," they had turned their steps toward home. And with the
turning of their steps toward home had come the inevitable turning of
their thoughts toward old perplexities. Morton then confided to Kike
his intention of leaving the settlement and leading the life of a
hermit in the wilderness in case it should prove to be "all off"
between him and Patty. And Kike said that his mind was made up. If
he found that his uncle Enoch had sold the land, he would be revenged
in some way and then run off and live with the Indians. It is not
uncommon for boys now-a-days to make stern resolutions in moments of
wretchedness which they never attempt to carry out. But the rude
life of the West developed deep feeling and a hardy persistence in a
purpose once formed. Many a young man crossed in love or incited to
revenge had already taken to the wilderness, becoming either a morose
hermit or a desperado among the savages. At the period of life when
the animal fights hard for supremacy in the soul of man, destiny
often hangs very perilously balanced. It was at that day a question
in many cases whether a young man of force would become a rowdy or a
class-leader.
When once our hunters had entered the settlement they became more
depressed than ever. Morton's eyes searched Captain Lumsden's house
and yard in vain for a sight of Patty. Kike looked sternly ahead of
him, full of rage that he should have to be reminded of his uncle's
existence. And when, five minutes later, they heard horse-hoofs
behind them, and, looking back, saw Captain Lumsden himself galloping
after them on his sleek, "clay-bank" saddle-horse, their hearts beat
fast with excitement. Morton wondered what the Captain could want
with them, seeing it was not his way to carry on his conflicts by
direct attack; and Kike contented himself with looking carefully to
the priming of his flintlock, compressing his lips and walking
straight forward.
"Hello, boys! Howdy? Got a nice passel of furs, eh? Had a good
time?"
"Pretty good, thank you, sir!" said Morton, astonished at the
greeting, but eager enough to be on good terms again with Patty's
father. Kike said not a word, but grew white with speechless anger.
"Nice saddle of ven'son that!" and the Captain tapped it with his
cow-hide whip. "Killed a bar, too; who killed it?"
"Kike," said Morton.
"Purty good fer you, Kike! Got over your pout about that land yet?"
Kike did not speak, for the reason that he could not.
"What a little fool you was to make sich a fuss about nothing! I
didn't sell it, of course, when you didn't want me to, but you ought
to have a little manners in your way of speaking. Come to me next
time, and don't go running to the judge and old Wheeler. If you
won't be a fool, you'll find your own kin your best friends. Come
over and see me to-morry, Mort. I've got some business with you.
Good-by!" and the Captain galloped home.
Nor did he fail to observe how inquiringly Patty looked at his face
to see what had been the nature of his interview with the boys. With
a characteristic love of exerting power over the moods of another, he
said, in Patty's hearing: "That Kike is the sulkiest little brute I
ever did see."
And Patty spent most of her time during the night in trying to guess
what this saying indicated. It was what Captain Lumsden had wished.
Neither Morton nor Kike could guess what the Captain's cordiality
might signify. Kike was pleased that his land had not been sold, but
he was not in the least mollified by that fact. He was glad of his
victory and hated his uncle all the more.
After the weary weeks of camping, Morton greatly enjoyed the warm
hoe-cakes, the sassafras tea, the milk and butter, that he got at his
mother's table. His father was pleased to have his boy back safe and
sound, but reckoned the fever was shore to ketch them all before
Christmas or Noo Years. Morton told of his meeting with the Captain
in some elation, but Job Goodwin shook his head. He "knowed what
that meant," he said. "The Cap'n always wuz sorter deep. He'd hit
sometime when you didn't know whar the lick come from. And he'd hit
powerful hard when he _did_ hit, you be shore."
Before the supper was over, who should come in but Brady. He had
heard, he said, that Morton had come home, and he was dayloighted to
say him agin. Full of quaint fun and queer anecdotes, knowing all
the gossip of the settlement, and having a most miscellaneous and
disordered lot of information besides, Brady was always welcome; he
filled the place of a local newspaper. He was a man of much reading,
but with no mental discipline. He had treasured all the strange and
delightful things he had ever heard or read--the bloody murders, the
sudden deaths, the wonderful accidents and incidents of life, the ups
and downs of noted people, and especially a rare fund of humorous
stories. He had so many of these at command that it was often
surmised that he manufactured them. He "boarded 'round" during
school-time, and sponged 'round the rest of the year, if, indeed, a
man can be said to sponge who paid for his board so amply in
amusement, information, flattery, and a thousand other good offices.
Good company is scarcer and higher in price in the back settlements
than in civilization; and many a backwoods housewife, perishing of
_ennui_, has declared that the genial Brady's "company wuz worth his
keep,"--an opinion in which husbands and children always coincided.
For welcome belongs primarily to woman; no man makes another's
reception sure until he is pretty certain of his wife's disposition
toward the guest.
Mrs. Goodwin set a place for the "master" with right good will, and
Brady catechised "Moirton" about his adventures. The story of Kike's
first bear roused the good Irishman's enthusiasm, and when Morton
told of his encounter with the circuit-rider, Brady laughed merrily.
Nothing was too bad in his eyes for "a man that undertook to prache
afore hay could parse." Brady's own grammatical knowledge, indeed,
had more influence on his parsing than on his speech.
At last, when supper was ended, Morton came to the strangest of all
his adventures--the meeting with Captain Lumsden; and while he told
it, the schoolmaster's eyes were brimming full of fun. By the time
the story was finished, Morton began to suspect that Brady knew more
about it than he affected to.
"Looky here, Mr. Brady," he said, "I believe you could tell something
about this thing. What made the coon come down so easy?"
"Tut! tut! and ye shouldn't call yer own dair father-in-law (that is
to bay) a coun. Ye ought to have larn't some manners agin this
toime, with all the batins I've gin ye for disrespect to yer
supayriors. An' ispicially to thim as is closte akin to ye."
Little Henry, who sat squat upon the hearth, tickling the ears of a
sleepy dog with a straw, saw an infinite deal of fun in this rig on
Morton.
"Well, but you didn't answer my question, Mr. Brady. How did you
fetch the Captain round? For I think you did it."
"Be gorra I did!" and Brady looked up from under his eyebrows with
his face all a-twinkle with fun. "I jist parsed the sintince in sich
a way as to put the Captin in the nominative case. He loikes to be
put in the nominative case, does the Captin. If iver yer goin' to
win the devoine craycher that calls him father ye'll hev to larn to
parse with Captin Lumsden for the nominative." Here Brady gave the
whole party a look of triumphant mystery, and dropped his head
reflectively upon his bosom.
"Well, but you'll have to teach me that way of parsing. You left
that rule of syntax out last winter." said Morton, seeking to draw
out the master by humoring his fancy. "How did you parse the
sentence with him, while Kike and I were gone?"
"Aisy enough! don't you say? the nominative governs the varb, and
thin the varb governs 'most all the rist of the sintince."
"Give an instance," said Morton, mimicking at the same time the
pompous air and authoritative voice with which Brady was accustomed
to make such a demand of a pupil.
"Will, thin, I'll till ye, Moirton. But ye must all be quiet about
it. I wint to say the Captin soon afther yerself and Koike carried
yer two impty skulls into the woods. An' I looked koind of
confidintial-loike at the Captin, an' I siz, 'Captin, ye ought to
riprisint this county in the ligislater,' siz I."
"'Do you think so, Brady?' siz he.
"'It's fwat I've been a-sayin' down at the Forks,' siz I, 'till the
folks is all a-gittin' of me opinion,' siz I; 'ye've got more
interest in the county,' siz I, 'than the rist,' siz I, 'an' ye've
got the brains to exart an anfluence whin ye git thar,' siz I. Will,
ye see, Moirton, the Captin loiked that, and he siz, 'Will, Brady,'
siz he, 'I'm obleeged fer yer anfluence,' siz he. An' I saw I had
'im. I'd jist put 'im in the nominative case governin' the varb.
And I was the varb. An' I mint to govern, the rist." Here Brady
stopped to smile complacently and enjoy the mystification of the rest.
"Will, I said to 'im afther that: 'Captain' siz I, 'ye must be
moighty keerful not to give the inimy any handle onto ye,' siz I.
An' he siz 'Will, Brady, I'll be keerful,' siz he. An' I siz,
'Captin, be pertik'ler keerful about that matter of Koike, if I may
make so bowld,' siz I. 'Fer they'll use that ivery fwere. They're
a-talkin' about it now.' An' the Captin siz, 'Will, Brady, I say I
kin thrust ye,' siz he. An' I siz, 'That ye kin, Captain Lumsden: ye
kin thrust the honor of an Oirish gintleman,' siz I. 'Brady,' siz
he, 'this mess of Koike's is a bad one fer me, since the little
brat's gone and brought ole Whayler into it,' siz he. 'Ye bitter
belave it is, Captin,' siz I. 'Fwat shill I do, Brady?' siz he.
'Spoike the guns, Captin,' siz I. 'How?' siz he. 'Make it all
roight with Koike and Moirton,' siz I. 'As fer Moirton,' siz I,
'he's the smartest _young_ man,' siz I (puttin' imphasis on
'_young_,' you say), he's the smartest young man,' siz I, 'in the
bottoms; and if ye kin make an alloiance with him,' siz I, 'ye've got
the smartest old man managin' the smartest young man. An' if ye kin
make a matrimonial alloiance,' siz I, a-winkin' me oi at 'im, 'atwixt
that devoine young craycher, yer charmin' dauther Patty,' siz I, 'and
Moirton, ye've got him tethered for loife, and the guns is spoiked,'
siz I. An' he siz, 'Brady, yer Oirish head is good, afther all.
I'll think about it,' siz he. An' that's how I made Captin Lumsden
the nominative case governin' the varb--that's myself--and thin the
varb rigilates the rist. But I must go and say Koike, or the little
black-hidded fool'll spoil all me conthrivin' and parsin' wid the
captin. Betwixt Moirton and Koike and the captin, it's meself as has
got a hard sum in the rule of thray. This toime I hope the answer'll
come out all roight, Moirton, me b'y!" and Brady slapped him on the
shoulder and went out. Then he put his head into the door again to
say that the answer set down in the book was: "Misthress Patty
Goodwin."
_CHAPTER IX._