HOURS THAT WERE ALL-TOO-FEW AND ALL-TOO-SHORT.
THE girls heard their mother's happy scream and rushed out, dish towels
in hand. They at once realized what had happened, piped up their joyous
altos, and precipitated themselves upon Si. The good old Deacon came
trotting down the walk, fidgeting with his spectacles, but so enveloped
was his son with skirts and women's arms and happy, teary faces that he
could not get within arm's length of him. So he turned to Shorty:
"Great day, Shorty, but I'm glad to see you! Come right up on the steps
and set down. How'd you happen to come home. Either of you sick or
wounded?"
"Nope," answered Shorty sententiously. "Both sound as nuts and healthy
as mules."
"Well, come right up on the porch and set down. You must be awful tired.
Le'me carry your gun and things for you."
He took hold of the gun with such a desire to do something that Shorty
was fain to yield it, saying:
"Deacon, you are the first man in about a million betwixt here and the
Tennessee River that I'd let tech that gun. I don't know now of another
man in the United States that I'd trust it with. That 'ere gun is loaded
plum full of other folks's money."
"Goodness, is that so?" said the Deacon, handling the musket with
increased respect. "I've heard o' a bar'l o' money, but never supposed
that it was a gun bar'l."
"And more'n that," continued Shorty, "there's a full-grown cartridge
below that might shoot a war widow's new dress and shoes for the
children off into the moon."
"Goodness gracious!" ejaculated the Deacon, holding out the gun as he
did Si the first time that interesting infant was placed in his hands,
"handlin' other people's money's always ticklish business, but this's a
leetle the ticklishest I ever heard of."
"That's what bin wearin' me down to the bone," responded Shorty soberly,
and as they reached the porch he explained the situation to the Deacon,
who took the gun in the house, and laid it carefully on a bed in the
"spare room."
"Girls, you're smotherin' me! Let up, won't you? Mandy, you dabbed that
wet dishcloth right in my eye then. Maria, I can't talk or even breathe
with your arm over my windpipe. You, dear mother, I'll pick you up and
carry you into the house, if you'll let me," Si was trying to say. "I
can't answer all your questions at once, 'specially when you're shuttin'
off my breath an' dinnin' my ears till I can't hear myself think."
"Le's carry your things up, Si," said Maria, after Si had gotten them
calmed down a little. "You must be awful tired."
Si saw that this would be the best way to keep the girls off, while
he devoted his attention to his mother. He handed his gun and belt to
Maria, who marched on ahead, triumphantly waving her dish-towel as
a gonfalon of victory, while she cheered for the Union in her sweet
contralto. Mandy took possession of his blanket roll and haversack,
while Si almost carried his tearful mother on to the porch. There her
housewifely instinct at once asserted it self.
"I know you and your friend there must jest be starvin'," she said,
gathering herself up. "I never knowed when you wasn't, if you'd bin an
hour from the table."
"Shorty's worse'n me," said Si with a grin. "But I haven't interduced
him yit. Mother, girls, this is Shorty, my pardner, and the best pardner
a feller ever had."
"Glad to know you, Mr. Shorty," said they, shaking his hand. "We've
heard so much of you that we feel that we've knowed you all along."
"Drop the Mister, then," said Shorty. "I'm plain Shorty to everybody
until I'm out o' the army. I've heard so much of you that I feel, too,
that I've bin acquainted with you all my life."
"Girls," commanded the mother, "come on and let's git the boys something
to eat."
"No, mother," pleaded Si, holding fast to her hand. "Let the girls do
it. I want you to sit here and talk to me."
"No, Si," answered the mother, kissing him again, and releasing her
hand, "I must do it myself. I must cook your supper for you. The girls
won't do it half well enough."
She hustled away to the kitchen, and Si and Shorty explained to the
Deacon the circumstances of their visit, and that they must leave by
the next train going east, in order to keep their promise to Lieut.
Bowersox. The Deacon immediately started Abraham Lincoln and the boy
on saddle horses to bring in the neighbors to see the boys, and get the
money that had been sent them. They went into an inner room, carefully
blinded the windows, and began to draw out the money from various
pockets, cartridge-boxes, and other receptacles about their persons.
All drew a long breath of relief when, counting that in Shorty's gun,
every dollar was found to be safe.
"But how in time you're ever goin' to git that money out o' that gun
beats me," said the Deacon, picking up the musket, and gazing dubiously
into the muzzle. "It was a mighty smart thing to do down at the front,
but what are you going to do now, when you want to give the money to the
people it belongs to?"
"It certainly don't seem as smart as it did that night on the banks o'
the Tennessee," Shorty admitted as he fixed his bullet screw on the
end of his rammer, "but I'm goin' to trust to my own smartness and the
Providence that provides for war widows and orphans to git out every
dollar in good shape for them it was intended for."
The bullet-screw brought out the first "wad" easily and all right.
[Illustration: THE FIRST WAD CAME OUT EASILY AND ALL RIGHT. 165]
"Well, Providence is lookin' out for Jim Irvin's wife and children
all right," said Shorty, as they smoothed out the bills and found them
intact.
The next attempt was equally successful, and as Shorty unrolled the
bills he remarked:
"Providence is again overlookin'. There's Jim Beardslee's $50 for his
widowed mother."
"And she needs it, poor woman," said the Deacon. "I've seen that she
had all the meat and wood she's needed since Jim enlisted, and Deacon
Flagler keeps her in flour."
The next offered more difficulty. The rammings on those above had
compacted it pretty solidly. The bullet screw cut off bits of it, and
when finally it was gotten out the $10 bill was in pieces.
"That's Alf Ellerby's gift to his lame sister," said Shorty, as he
ruefully surveyed the fragments. "I'm afraid Providence wasn't mindin'
just then, but I'll give her a good bill out o' my own pocket."
"No, you needn't," said Maria, who had slipped in, fork in hand, to
pinch Si, kiss him, and ask him a question which she did not want Mandy
to hear; "I kin paste that all together with white of egg so's it'll
look as good as ever. I done that with a bill that Towser snatched out
o' my hand and chawed before I could git it away from him. The store
keeper took it and said it was just as good as any. Sophy Ellerby 'd
rather have it that way than a new bill, so long's it comes direct from
Alf."
Again Shorty sent down the bullet screw, and again there was more
tearing off of bits, and finally a mangled $20 bill was dragged forth
and laid aside for Mandy to repair. "Ike Englehardt sent that to his
mother to help take his sister through the Normal School, so's she kin
become a teacher. She'll git that all right. But I've broken my bullet
screw in that wrastle. It snapped clean off, and I've got the worst
job of all now to get out $100 in two 50's that Abe Trelawney sent his
mother to meet that mortgage on her little house. Abe's bin savin' it up
for months, and I was more anxious about it than any other, and so I put
it down first. Si, let me have your bullet-screw."
"Hain't got none. Lost mine weeks ago, while we was on the Tullahomy
march."
"Great Jehosephat! what am I goin' to do?" groaned Shorty, the sweat
starting out on his fore head. "Now's the time for Providence to help
out, if He's goin' to. I'm at the end o' my string."
"Supper's ready, boys; come on in," announced the sweet, motherly voice
of Mrs. Klegg. She seconded her invitation with her arm around Si and a
kiss on his cheek. "Father, bring Shorty, unless he'd rather walk with
the girls."
Shorty was altogether too bashful to take advantage of the direct
hint. Si's lively sisters filled him with a nervous dread of his social
shortcomings. He grew very red in the face, hung back from them, and
caught hold of the Deacon's arm.
"Go slow with him, girls," whispered the Deacon to his daughters, after
they were seated at the table. "He's a mighty good boy, but he ain't
used to girls."
"He's rather good looking, if he does act sheepish," returned Mandy.
"Well, he ain't a mite sheepish when there's serious business on hand,"
returned the father. "And next to ourselves, he's the best friend your
brother has."
It had been many years since the wandering, rough-living Shorty had sat
down to such an inviting, well-ordered table. Probably he never had.
No people in the whole world live better than the prosperous Indiana
farmers, and Mrs. Klegg was known far and wide for her housewifely
talents. The snowy table linen, the spotless dishes, the
tastefully-prepared food would have done credit to a royal banquet.
Hungry as he was, the abashed Shorty fidgeted in his chair, and watched
Si begin before he ventured to make an attack. The mother and girls were
too busy plying Si with questions and anticipating his wants to notice
Shorty's embarrassment.
Si was making a heroic effort to eat everything in sight, to properly
appreciate all the toothsome things that loving hands were pressing upon
him, and to answer the myriad of questions that were showered upon him,
and to get in a few questions of his own at the same time. He just found
time to ask Shorty:
"Say, this is great this 's like livin', ain't it?"
And Shorty replied with deep feeling: "Just out o' sight. How in the
world'd you ever come to enlist and leave all this?"
The neighbors began gathering in fathers, mothers and sisters of members
of Co. Q, all full of eager questions as to their kindred, and this
relieved Shorty, for he could tell them quite as well as Si.
The supper ended, the problem of the money in the gun again loomed up.
Everyone had an opinion as to how to extricate the valuable charge.
The women, of course, suggested hair-pins, but these were tried without
success. A gimlet taken from its handle and secured to the ramrod,
refused to take hold.
Somebody suggested shooting the gun across a pond of water, and getting
the money that way, but it was decided that the force of the Springfield
seemed too great for any body of water in the neighborhood. Then Jabe
Clemmons, the "speculative" genius of the neighborhood, spoke up:
"Gentlemen, I've an idee. Deacon, how much is in that small haystack of
your'n?"
"'Bout 10 tons," answered the Deacon.
"Jest about. Well, I'll pay you the regular market price for it, and
give $100 to Miss Trelawney. Now, let this gentleman stand 50 feet from
it and shoot his gun at it. He mustn't tell none of us where he aims at.
I'll sell you, gentlemen, that hay in 40 quarter-ton lots, commencing at
the top, each man to pay $2 besides the regular price for a quarter ton
o' hay, an' we'll draw numbers as to our turns in takin' the fodder."
"Looks somethin' like gamblin'," demurred the Deacon.
"No more'n church lotteries," answered Jabe, "since it's for a good
purpose. Now, gentlemen, who wants to buy a quarter ton of Deacon
Klegg's first-class hay?"
At once he had replies enough to take the whole stack, but while he was
writing down the names Deacon Klegg had another idea.
"I can't quite git my mind reconciled to gamblin', even for a good
purpose," he said. "And I ain't sure about how the two 50's 'll strike
the haystack. It'd be a sin if they were destroyed, as they are likely
to be. I've another idee. My well there is 25 foot deep. Let's take the
bucket out, and let Shorty shoot his gun straight down into the well.
I believe the money'll come out all right. If it don't I'll make it up
myself, rather than be a party to a gamble."
"May blow the bottom o' your old well out," muttered Jabe Clemmons, who
dearly loved anything in the shape of a game of hazard.
"I'll resk that," said the Deacon. "I kin dig an other well, if
necessary."
The Deacon's proposal was carried. Shorty, holding the butt of his gun
carefully upright, fired down into the well. A boy was lowered in the
bucket, and soon announced by a joyful cry that he had gotten the bills.
Upon being brought up and examined they were found to be uninjured, ex
cept by a slight singeing at the edges.
"Providence's agin managin' things," murmured Shorty gratefully; "but
the Deacon's gumption helped out."
All the money for those not present to receive it in person was turned
over to the Deacon, and then for the first time the boys felt relieved
of a great responsibility.
"There are two trains goin' east," said the Deacon, in response to
their inquiries as to the facilities for returning. "The through express
passes here at 3:15, and it'll git you to Jeffersonville early in the
morning. The accommodation passes about day break, and it'll git you
there in the evenin', if it makes connections, which it often doesn't."
"We must go on the through express," said Si firmly. There was a loud
outcry by the mother and sisters, but the father recognized the demands
of military discipline.
Si began to fidget to get away from the crowd of eager inquirers, which
Mandy noticing, she found opportunity to whisper:
"Don't fret. She'll be here presently."
Si's face burned. He had thought his secret well-kept, but here his
sisters read his thoughts like an open book. He had wanted to go to
Annabel, and have a few golden minutes alone with her. Just what for
just what he would say or do he did not in the least know he could not
imagine. Only he felt that in some way the main interest of his life
depended on seeing her somewhere remote from curious eyes and listening
ears. He wanted to go to her, not to have her come to him, and meet him
in such a throng as was gathered at his home.
While these thoughts were coursing through his mind he heard Maria call:
"Si, come here into my room. I want to show you the purtiest thing you
ever saw."
While Mandy was a most correct young woman, she could not withstand
giving a significant wink to those around, to which they responded with
knowing smiles. These, fortunately, Si did not see. He arose at once,
the people made way, and he was led by Maria to her room. She opened the
door and said:
"There, now, kiss me for a loving sister."
It was a fervent kiss that Si rewarded her with, for, there, rising from
her chair as the door opened, dressed in her best, and her face wreathed
with smiles and blushes, stood Annabel.
"Since you are so mean about goin' away so soon, you can only have 10
minutes together; make the most of it," laughed Maria, and she scudded
back to the sitting-room.
Si stood for an instant dazed. How beautiful she was far more so than
his recollections had painted her. She had blossomed out from the
school-girl into the mature woman, and every feature ripened. Fair as
his home seemed in contrast with the country he had left, she seemed
still fairer in contrast with any woman he had ever seen. Where were the
thousand things that, brooding by the campfire and lying in his tent, he
thought over to say to her when they met? All forgotten or dismissed as
inappropriate. He simply stood and gazed at her. She re covered herself
first, and said teasingly:
"Well, how do you do? Ain't you going to speak? Ain't you glad to see
me?"
Si could only step forward and take her hand, and murmur:
[Illustration: 'ANNABEL, HOW PURTY YOU LOOK.' 173]
"Annabel, how purty you look. How you've growed, and all purtier. I'm
awfully glad to see you. That's what I most wanted to come home for."
Then his face burned with new blushes to think how much he had said.
They sat down, he still holding her hand, with his eyes fixed upon her
face. Somehow, in the mysterious telegraphy of first love, they so fully
understood one another that words were unnecessary.
Speechless, but fuller of happiness than they ever dreamed was possible
in the world, they sat with clasped hands until Maria came back, calling
out:
"Time's up. The folks say that they can't let Annabel have you any
longer. Come into the sitting-room, both of you. Come along, Si. Come
along, Annabel."
Si rose obediently, but Annabel declined to go. She did not say why,
but Maria, with a woman's instincts, knew that she wanted to be alone to
think it all over. Maria therefore hurried back.
"Good-by, Annabel," he said, pressing her hand again. "I'll write to you
first thing when I git back."
"Good-by, Si. God keep you for me, safe through battles and dangers."
She turned away to hide her bursting tears.
It was astonishing how quick midnight came. When the clock striking 12
smote the ears of the family, nobody had said, heard or asked one tithe
of what he or she was burning eager to, yet the parting was but a little
more than two brief hours away.
With a heart heavier even than when she parted from her boy for the
first time, Mrs. Klegg arose, and sought to distract her thoughts
by collecting as big a package as they could carry of the choicest
eatables. How often she stopped to cry softly into her apron not
even the girls knew, for she was resolved to keep up a brave front,
especially before Si, and would carefully wash all traces of tears from
her face, and clear the sobs from her throat before re-entering the room
where he was.
Shorty had at once been taken to the hearts of everyone, and all the
older men urged him to "come back here as soon as the war's over, marry
a nice girl, and settle down among us."
Si received many compliments upon his development into such a fine,
stalwart man.
One after another said:
"Si, what a fine, big man you've growed into. I declare, you're a credit
to your father and mother and the settlement. We all expect you to come
back a Captain or a Colonel, and we'll run you for Sheriff or County
Commissioner, or something as big."
"O, anything but Treasurer," Si would laughingly reply. "I've had enough
handling other folks' money to last me my life."
Presently Abraham Lincoln brought the spring wagon around. Even in
the moonlight Si could see that freedom and the Deacon's tuition had
developed the ex-slave into a much better man than the wretched runaway
whom his father had protected. He wanted to know more of him, but there
were too many demands upon his attention. They all mounted into the
wagon, the bundles were piled in, one last embrace from his mother, and
they drove away, reaching the station just in time to catch the train.
As he kissed Maria good-by she shoved a letter into his hand, saying:
"This is from Annabel. Read it after you git on."
As the train whirled away Si made an excuse to go away from Shorty, and
standing up under the lamp in the next car he read on a tear-stained
sheet:
"Deer Si: I wanted so much to tel you, but the words
wooddent come to my lips, that Ime yours til deth, no matter
what happens, and Ime shure you feel the saim way. Annabel."
Coming back with his heart in a tumult of rapture, he found his partner
fast asleep and even snoring.