LITTLE Snow wuz always askin’ about the little girl who wuz a lyin’
under the white cross and the rose-trees down in the corner of the
garden at Belle Fanchon.
And she would ask me sights of questions about her. She would ask
“if Belle Fanchon used to walk about and run as she did through the
paths of the old garden, and pick the roses, and stand under the
orange-trees, and hear the birds sing, and the laugh of the brook as it
wound along amongst the flowers?”
And I would say, “Yes, I spoze so.”
And then she would say, “What made her leave it all and go and lie down
there under the grass?”
And I would say, “The Lord wanted her.”
And she would say, “Will He want me?”
And I would hold her clost to my heart, and say, “Oh, no, darlin’,
Grandma hopes not, not for a long, long time, not till these old eyes
are closed many and many a year,” I would say.
“But if He _should_ want me,” she would go on to say earnestly, “I
want to lie down by the little girl in the garden. She wouldn’t be so
lonesome then in dark nights, would she, if she had another little girl
close by her?”
And then she would go on and describe it to me in her own pretty
language: How when the moon shone silver bright and the shadows lay
long and white over the little girl’s grave like a big, lovin’ hand,
it would cover ’em both, and how on warm, sunshiny mornin’s the birds
would sing to both of ’em, and the roses and tall lilies bend down over
both, and the rivulet would talk to ’em as it went dancin’ by, and—
“Don’t talk so, darlin’,” I would say, “Grandma don’t love to hear you.”
And then mebby she would see the shadow on my face, and she would put
up her little hand in that tender caress that wuz better than kisses,
lay it on my cheek, and brush my hair back, and then touch my cheek
agin.
And mebby the very next minute she would be a askin’ me some deep
question about Jack the Giant Killer or the Sleepin’ Beauty.
She had a very active mind, very.
And she wuz a beautiful child. Josiah said, and said well, that she
went fur beyend anything on the globe for beauty, and smartness, and
goodness. And Josiah Allen is a excellent judge of children, excellent.
But, as I wuz a sayin’, Snow loved to talk about the little girl who
had been mistress of this pretty place so long ago. She talked about
her a sight. And if she had her way she would always go there to play,
by the little grave—carry her dollies down there—Samantha Maggie
Tirzah Ann, and the hull caboodle of ’em—she had as many as fourteen
of ’em, anyway—and her dolls’ cradles, and wagons, and everything.
And she wuz never so happy as when she wuz settled down there in that
corner.
Wall, it wuz pleasant as it could be. How clost the little rivulet did
seem to hold the child’s grave in its dimpled arm, and its song never
said to me:
“My arm is warm and faithful, and is reaching out and reaching out to
fold it round another of the nearest ones and dearest, and guard it,
hold it safely from danger and from trouble.”
No, I never heard this in its song, and I never heard any undertone of
pity for hearts that would break with a new grief.
No, I only heard low murmurs of compassion in its liquid tones for the
achin’ hearts that had bent over this one little grave long ago.
But the trees always did seem to cast greener, softer shadows here,
and the sunshine and moonlight to rest more lovingly on it than on any
other spot in the hull grounds. And I didn’t wonder at all at little
Snow’s fancy for it.
Oh, what a judgment that child showed in everything—it was a sight!
One mornin’ I wuz a settin’ out on the veranda, and I see her as usual
a settin’ out for that corner, Snow with her arms full of toys, and
Genieve wheelin’ Boy in his cart, and the front of that full of Snow’s
babies settin’ up stiff and straight, a starin’ back with their round,
blank eyes at Boy’s pretty, laughin’ face.
It wuz a lovely mornin’.
The dew sparkled on the grass, and the walks of white shinin’ shells
which had been washed clean by a brisk, short rain the night before,
shone white and silvery through the fresh, green grass borderin’ ’em on
each side.
And the trees tosted out their shinin’ green branches, and the
glossy-leaved shrubs shook out their sweet-scented flowers on the balmy
air.
The climbin’ roses bloomed out sweet and pink, the orange-trees gleamed
with the round globes of gold, and anon clusters of posys amongst the
shinin’ green leaves.
It wuz a fair seen, a fair seen.
And I sot enjoyin’ it to the full, and as is the depraved and curius
nater of men and wimmen, a enjoyin’ it still more as I turned to it
from the pages of a voluminous letter I had jest got and received from
Philury.
Yes, as I read of the snow piles, and the dirty slosh of snow and mud
that the Jonesvillians had to wade through under gray skies and cotton
umberells, I sot with a deeper gratitude and a happier frame to my
mind under the clear blue skies of the balmy South land, amongst the
beauties and summer fragrance of Belle Fanchon.
There wuz another letter I hadn’t read yet a layin’ in my lap, and my
joyful meditation and my comparisons that I had drawed, and drawed so
fur, had took my mind from it.
[Illustration: THE JONESVILLIANS.]
But anon, as I turned back from the sight of Maggie and Thomas
Jefferson a ridin’ off through the sunshine towards the depot, I took
up the other letter, and as I opened it I involuntarily uttered them
words which have sounded out from my lips in so many crysisses of joy
or pain. I sez:
“Good land! good land!”
The letter wuz from John Richard Allen, writ for him by a friend. It
seems that he had seen in the village paper that we wuz in the South
and where we wuz; and he lay sick and a dyin’, as they said, in a
little hamlet not a dozen miles away.
I read the letter, and then went imegiatly—for to think and to act is
but a second or third nater to me—and waked up my pardner, who was
stretched out on a bamboo couch on the other end of the piazza fast
asleep, with the _World_ a layin’ outstretched and abject at his feet.
And I then told him the startlin’ truth that his own relation on his
own side lay sick unto death less than a dozen miles from us.
Wall, that noble man riz right up as I would have had him rozen to meet
the exigencies of the occasion.
He sez, “The minute our children get back we will take the pony and
drive over and see him.”
As I said, they had gone to the depot to meet visitors from Delaware—a
very distinguished cousin of Maggie’s on her own side, who had writ
that he wuz a goin’ to pass through here on his way further South, and
he would stop off a day or two with ’em—he and his little boy, if it
wuz agreeable to them.
I had hearn a sight about this rich Senator Coleman—Maggie’s father,
old Squire Snow, wuz dretful proud of him.
He had made himself mostly—or, that is, had finished himself off.
He went to Delaware as a teacher, and married a Miss Fairfax, a very
rich young woman down there, settled down in her home, went into
business, got independent rich, wuz sent to Congress and Senate, and
had a hand in makin’ all the laws of his State, so I hearn.
He wuz now takin’ a tower through the Southern States with his
motherless boy, little Raymond Fairfax Coleman, so he writ (he thought
his eyes on him, and jest worshipped the memory of his wife).
Maggie and Thomas J. had met him in Washington the winter before, and
they sort o’ took to each other. And so he wuz a goin’ to stop off a
few days with ’em.
Wall, that program of Josiah Allen’s wuz carried out to the very
letter. When Thomas J. and Maggie come back (the Senator didn’t come,
he wuz delayed, and sent a telegram he should be there in a week or
two), we sot off, a preparin’ to come back the next day if John Richard
wuz better, but a layin’ out to stay several days if necessary.
We took clothes and things, and I a not forgettin’, you may be sure, a
bottle full of my far-famed spignut syrup.
Maggie see that we had a early dinner but a good one, and we sot sail
about one o’clock—Snow a ridin’ with us as fur as we dasted to take
her, and a walkin’ back agin, watched by her Ma from the gate.
Thomas J. and Maggie told us to bring John Richard right back with us
if he wuz well enough to come, and they would help take care of him.
Wall, we got to the picturesque little place called Howletts Bridge
about four o’clock, and imegiatly made inquiries for the relation on
his side, and found out where he wuz stayin’.
He wuz boardin’ with a likely Methodist Episcopal couple, elderly, and
poor but well-principled.
And indeed we found him sick enough.
Miss Elderkin—that wuz the folkses name he wuz a boardin’ with, good
creeters as I ever see, if they wuz Southerners, and aristocratic
too, brung down by loss of property and etc.—she told me that Cousin
John Richard had been comin’ down with this lung difficulty for
years—overwork, and hard fare, and neglect of his own comfort makin’
his sickness harder and more difficult to manage.
Sez she, “He is one of the saints on earth, if there ever was one.”
And her husband said the same thing, which I felt that I could indeed
depend upon, for as a general thing men don’t get so diffuse a praisin’
up each other, and callin’ each other angels and saints, etc., and men
hain’t drawed away by their pities and their sympathies so easy as
wimmen be, nor drawed so fur.
Wall, Mr. Elderkin put our pony in the barn, and she made us
comfortable with a cup of tea and some toast with a poached egg on top
of it. And then we went in to see the patient.
He wuz layin’ in a front room, ruther bare-lookin’, for the Elderkins
wuz poor enough so fur as this world’s goods go, but rich in the spirit.
And the bare floor, and whitewashed walls, and green paper curtains
looked anything but luxurious, but everything wuz clean.
And on a clean, poor bed lay the relation on his side.
He looked wan—wanner fur than I expected to see him look, though I wuz
prepared for wanness. His cheeks wuz fell in, and his eyes wuz holler,
but bright still with that glowin’ fire that always seemed to be built
up in ’em. But the light of that fire seemed to be a burnin’ down
pretty low now. And he looked up and see us and smiled.
It wuz the smile of a homesick child fur away to school, when he sees
his own folks a comin’ towards him in the school-room.
Poor John Richard! His school wuz hard, his lessons had been severe,
but he had tried to learn ’em all jest as perfect as he could, and the
Master wuz pleased with his work.
But now he wuz sick. He wuz a sick man.
As I said, he smiled as he see Josiah and me advancin’ onto him, and he
held out his weak hands, and took holt of ourn, and kep’ ’em in hisen
for some time, and sez he:
“I am glad—_glad_ to see you.”
He wuz interrupted anon, and even oftener, by his awful cough and
short, painful breathin’. But he gin us to understand that he wuz
dretful glad to see us once more before he passed away.
He wuzn’t afraid to die—no, indeed! There wuz a deep, sweet smile in
his eyes, and his lips seemed to hold some happy and divine secret as
he sez:
“I am glad to go home; I am glad to rest.”
But I sez in a cheerful axent, “Cousin John Richard, you hain’t a goin’
to die;” sez I, “By the help of God and my good spignut syrup I believe
you will be brung up agin.”
But he shet up his eyes. And I see plain, by the look of his face, that
though he wuz willin’ to live and work if it wuz God’s will, he wuz
still more ready to depart and be with Christ, which he felt would be
fur better.
But it wuzn’t my way to stand and argue with a sick man back and forth
as to whether he wuz a goin’ to die or not.
[Illustration: “BOY LAUGHED.”]
No, I laid to, helped by my trusty Josiah. And in an hour’s time we see
a difference in his breathin’, and anon he fell into a sweet sleep.
And when he waked up that man looked and acted better. And three days
and nights did we stay by him, a doctorin’ him up and a gettin’ him
nourishin’ things to eat, and a talkin’ encouragin’ and pleasant
things to him (good land! the soul and mind has got to be fed as well
as the body if you don’t want to starve to death inwardly). And lo and
behold! when we left Howletts Bridge and returned to Belle Fanchon, who
should accompany us thither but Cousin John Richard Allen!
He had consented, after a deep parley, to go there and rest off for a
few weeks.
Maggie and Thomas J. took to him from the very first, and give him
a hearty welcome and the best bedroom. They appreciated the noble,
martyrous life he had led, and honored him for it.
And the children acted dretful tickled to see him. You needn’t tell me
but what Boy knew all about it when I introduced Cousin John Richard to
him. To be sure, he wuzn’t only six months old.
But if he didn’t know him, and if he wuzn’t glad to see the relation on
his grandmother’s side, what made him laugh all over his face, eyes and
all?
I presume the Doctor would have called it “wind.” But I called it
perfect courtesy and good manners towards a honored and onexpected
guest. That is what I called it. He acted like a perfect little
gentleman, and I wuz proud of him.
Snow, the sweet darlin’, went right up to him, with her little
snowflake of a hand held out in a warm welcome, and kissed him jest as
she did her Grandpa. Oh, what a child—what a child for behavior! I
never see her equal, and don’t expect to—nor Josiah don’t either.
Wall, Cousin John Richard jest settled down in that sweet, lovin’ home
into a perfect, happy rest—to all appearances—and gained every day.
Victor and Genieve thought everything of him from the first time they
laid eyes on him. And they couldn’t do enough for him seemingly. They
had heard about his life and labor amongst their own people, and they
tried in every way to show their gratitude and affection.
Victor and he talked together for hours, and so did he and Genieve
about the plans for the colony. And first I knew, Cousin John Richard
told Josiah and me that he had made up his mind to go with them to
Africa.
The Doctor had told him that a long sea voyage would be the best of
anything for his lungs. And so, as he wuz bound to spend his life for
this people, I couldn’t see, and Josiah couldn’t, why it shouldn’t be
in Africa as well as America, specially as he had a better chance to
live by goin’ there.
And so we gin our consents in our own minds, and showed our two
willingnesses to him, and the matter wuz settled.
He had only two children left now, and they wuz married and settled
down in homes of their own, and in a good business. So he had no
hamperin’ ties to bind him to this land. And he felt that the Lord wuz
a pintin’ out to him the path of Duty over the sea.
And I wuzn’t the one to dispute him—no, indeed! And I felt that his
calm good sense and undaunted Christian spirit and Gospel teachings
would be a perfect boon to the colony.
So it wuz settled. And I imegiatly went to work, Maggie and I, to make
him a full dozen of shirts, twelve day ones and six nights.
And we prepared him a better assortment of socks and handkerchiefs, and
collars, and cuffs, and such than he had ever dremp of, I’ll venture to
say, sence he lost his companion, anyway.
Wall, it wuzn’t more’n several days after this that the relation of
Maggie’s—Senator Coleman—bein’ sot free from hampers, writ agin, and
also telegrafted, that he would be at the station that day at five
o’clock.
[Illustration: RAYMOND FAIRFAX COLEMAN.]
So, Maggie and Thomas J. rid over agin, and bein’ luckier this time,
they come a ridin’ back in due time with her relation a settin’ up by
her side, big as life, and the boy, Raymond Fairfax Coleman, a settin’
on the front seat by Thomas Jefferson.
The boy’s name seemed bigger than he wuz, bein’ a little, pale runt of
a child with long, silky hair and a black velvet suit—dretful small
for his age, about seven years old. But I spoze his long curls of
light hair and his lace collar made him seem younger, and his childish
way of talkin’—he had been babied a good deal I could see. And when
he would fix his big blue eyes on you with that sort of a confidin’,
perplexed, childish look in ’em, I declare for’t he didn’t look so old
as Boy.
But he wuz seven years old, so his Pa told me.
His Pa wuz as big and important-lookin’ as Raymond wuz insignificant.
And I sez to Josiah the first chance I got, out to one side, sez I:
“I’ve hearn a sight from old Judge Snow about this relation of hisen
bein’ a self-made man;” and sez I, “If he did make himself, he did up
the job in quite a good shape, didn’t he?”
Josiah can’t bear to have me praise up any man, married or single, bond
or free, only jest himself, and he sez:
“If I had made him I would have put in some improvements on him. I
wouldn’t have had him so cussed big feelin’ for one thing.”
I wuz deeply mortified to hear him use that wicked word, and told him
so.
But I couldn’t help seein’ that Josiah wuz right in thinkin’ Senator
Coleman wuz proud and high-headed, for truly he wuz. His head wuz right
up in the air, and he sort o’ leaned back when he walked, and over his
portly stomach hung a glitterin’ watch-chain that he sort o’ fingered
and played with as he walked about, and he had some diamonds a flashin’
on his little finger, and his shirt-front, and cuffs.
His eyes wuz a bright blue and as bold and piercin’ looking as
Raymond’s wuz gentle and helpless, and his mustache and short hair wuz
a sort of a iron gray; and his face bein’ florid and his features good,
he made a handsome appearance; and Maggie, I could see, wuz quite proud
of the relation on her side.
[Illustration: “WITH A JUMPIN’ TOOTHACHE.”]
Wall, we had a good warm supper all ready for ’em, Maggie’s cook bein’
sort o’ helpless that day with a jumpin’ toothache (it jumped worse
after Maggie went away and she see in me a willingness to help her get
supper).
I laid holt and got the most of the supper myself, and it wuz a good
one, if I hadn’t ort to say it.
Two plump spring fowls roasted to a delicate brown, some sliced
potatoes warmed up in cream, some hot cream biscuit; and I had splendid
luck with ’em—they wuz jest as light and flaky and tender as they
could be. And some perfectly delicious coffee. I thought the fragrance
of that coffee would steam up invitingly into Senator Coleman’s
nostrils, after a hard day’s journey.
And if the relation had been on Thomas Jefferson’s side I couldn’t have
set out to do better by him; I am good to my daughter-in-law—anybody
will tell you so that has seen me behave to her.
Aunt Mela, the cook, by bendin’ all her energies onto ’em, had made a
tomato salad and some veal croquettes. I hain’t partial to ’em, but
want everybody to be suited in the line of vittles, and Maggie loves
’em.
And then on the sideboard wuz cake, and jellies, and fresh berries
heaped up in crimson beauty on some china plates, and the table had
posys on it and looked well.
The cook’s teeth stopped achin’ about the time the supper wuz all
ready—it seemed to give its last hard jump about the time I made the
biscuit. I had proposed to have her make ’em, but I see it wouldn’t do.
Wall, Maggie wuz delighted with the supper, and her relation eat more
than wuz good for him, I wuz afraid—five wuz the number of the
biscuit he consumed (they wuzn’t so very large), and three cups of
coffee kep’ ’em company.
Maggie told him who made ’em, and he complimented me so warmly (though
still high-headed) that Josiah looked cross as a bear.
Wall, the Senator seemed to like it at Belle Fanchon first rate; and
as for Raymond Fairfax Coleman, he jest revelled in the warm home
atmosphere and the lovin’ attentions that wuz showered down onto him.
Poor little motherless creeter! He played with Snow, lugged her dolls
round for her, and dragged Boy in his little covered carriage, and
seemed to be jest about as much of a baby as our Boy.
If you think our boy didn’t have any other name than Boy, there
is where you are mistaken. His name wuz Robert Josiah from his
birth—after his two grandpas; but Thomas Jefferson wuz so pleased to
think he wuz a boy that he got in the habit of callin’ him Boy, and
we all joined in and followed on after him, as is the habit of human
bein’s or sheep. You know how the him reads:
“First a daughter and then a son,
Then the world is well begun.”
I spoze Thomas J. had this in mind when he wuz so tickled at the birth
of Boy.
But howsomever and tenny rate, we all called him Boy. And he knew the
name, and would laugh and dimple all over in his pretty glee when we
would call him.
Wall, I would take little Raymond up on my lap, and tell him stories,
and pet him, and Maggie would mother him jest as she would Snow, and we
wuz both on us sorry for him as sorry could be to think of his forlorn
little state.
Riches, and fame, and even his big name couldn’t make up for the loss
of the tender counsels and broodin’ love of a mother.
His father jest thought his eyes on him. But he couldn’t seem to stop
fumblin’ that watch-chain of hisen, and stop a talkin’ them big words,
and descend from his ambitious plans of self-advancement to come down
to his little boy’s level and talk to him in a lovin’ way.
Little Raymond looked up to his Pa with a sort of a admirin’ awe, jest
about as the Jonesville children would to the President.
I believe Senator Coleman had ambitions to be one. I believe my soul
he did. Anyway, his ambitions wuz all personal. Havin’ made himself so
fur, he wuz bound to put all the adornin’s and embellishin’s onto his
work that he could.
I see that he wanted to be made President to once, and the thought that
the nation wouldn’t do it rankled in him.
And the fear that somebody else wuz a goin’ to get higher than he wuz
in political life wore on him.
His sharp, piercin’ eyes wuz a watchin’ the ever-shiftin’ horizon of
our national affairs, the ever-changin’ winds of public favor, hopin’
they would blow him up into greater prominence, fearin’ they would dash
him down into a lower place.
The feverishness of perpetual onrest seemed to be a burnin’ him all
the time, and the fear that he should do or say sunthin’ to incur the
displeasure of the multitude.
What a time, what a time he wuz a havin’!
You could see it all in his linement; yes, ambition and selfishness had
ploughed lots of lines in his handsome face, and ploughed ’em deep.
I used to look at him and then at Cousin John Richard Allen, and
contrast the two men in my own mind, and the contrast wuz a big and
hefty one.
Now, Cousin John Richard’s face wuz peaceful and serene, though
considerable worn-lookin’. He had gin his hull life for the True and
Right, had gone right on, no matter how much he wuz misunderstood and
despised of men, and labored in season and out of season for the poor
and down-trodden of earth, without any hope of earthly reward—nay,
with the certainty of the world’s contempt and criticism.
But the blame or praise of the multitude seemed so fur off to him that
he could scarcely hear it; the confusin’ babble seemed to him only like
a distant murmurous background for the close voice of the Master, who
walked with him, and told him what to do from day to day and from hour
to hour.
“Blessed are ye if ye hear my voice.”
“Ye that are strong, bear the burdens of the weak.”
“If ye love me feed my lambs.”
“And lo, I am with you to the end of the world.”
These wuz some of the words Cousin John Richard heard, and his face
shone as he listened to ’em.
He had not sent out his ships on earthly waters; and so, let the
winds blow high or the winds blow low, he did not fear any tempestuous
waves and storms reachin’ their sails.
[Illustration: “THE RELATION ON MAGGIE’S SIDE.”]
No, he had sent his ships into a safer harbor; they wuz anchored in
that divine sea where no storms can ever come.
And his face wuz calm with the heavenly calmness and peace of that sure
harbor, that waveless sea.
Wall, the relation on Maggie’s side seemed to take a good deal of
comfort a walkin’ round with his head up and his hand a playin’ with
that heavy gold chain.
Good land! I should have thought he would have wore it out—he would if
it hadn’t been made of good stuff.
And he would converse with Thomas Jefferson about political matters,
and talk some with my Josiah and Cousin John—not much with the latter,
because they wuzn’t congenial, as I have hinted at; and Cousin John
Richard seemed to take as much agin comfort a bein’ off with the
children, or a layin’ in the green grass a watchin’ the butterflies, or
a talkin’ with Genieve and Victor.
And the Senator would compliment Maggie up to the skies. He wuz more’n
polite to females, as is the way with such men; and he would write
letters by the bushel, and get as many of ’em or more, and telegrams,
and such. And little Raymond, poor little creeter, I believe took more
comfort than he had before for some time.
He wuzn’t very deep, as I could see, he didn’t act over and above
smart; but then, I sez to myself real ironikle, mebby this dulness is
caused by lookin’ at the sun so much (his Pa used as a metafor).
And then what could you expect of a child of seven? he wuzn’t much
more’n a baby. Good land! I used to hold Thomas Jefferson in my lap and
baby him till he wuz nine or ten years old, and his legs dragged on the
floor, he wuz so tall.
I thought like as not Raymond Fairfax Coleman would take a turn after a
while and live up to the privileges of his name and be quite smart.
He took a great fancy to Rosy’s baby, and it was as cunnin’ a little
black image as I ever see, jest a beginnin’ to be playful and full of
laugh.
Raymond would carry it down candy and oranges, and give him nickels and
little silver pieces to put into his savings-bank.
I gin that bank myself to little Thomas Jefferson Washington, for that
wuz the name his Pa and Ma had gin him—we called him Tommy. They gin
him the name of Thomas Jefferson, I spoze, to honor the name of my son,
and then put on the Washington to kinder prop up the memory of the
Father of our Country, or so I spoze.
I gin him that bank to try to give his Pa and Ma some idee of savin’
for a rainy day, and days when it didn’t rain.
It wuz very nice, in the form of a meetin’ house—you put the money
down through the steeple.
I thought mebby, bein’ it wuz in this shape, it would sort o’ turn
their minds onto meetin’ houses and such moral idees.
Well, finally, one mornin’ early we heard, clear up in our room,
Senator Coleman makin’ a great hue and cry.
We hearn his voice lifted up high in agitation and exhortation, and I
sez to my pardner:
“What under the sun is the matter with the relation on Maggie’s side?”
And Josiah said, and it pains me to record it:
“He didn’t know, and he didn’t care a dumb.”
He never liked Senator Coleman for a minute.
But as we descended down to breakfast we soon found out and discovered
what wuz the matter. Little Raymond (poor little babyish creeter!), a
not mistrustin’ its real value, had took a valuable diamond locket and
gin it to little Tommy.
It wuz a very valuable locket, with seven great diamonds in it. It
wuz one that the Senator’s dead wife had gin him when they wuz first
married, and had their two names writ on it, and inside a lock of their
two hairs.
It wuz one of the most precious things in the Senator’s hull
possessions; and thinkin’ so much of it, he couldn’t make up his mind
to leave it to his banker’s with the rest of his jewelry and plate,
but he kept it with him, with a little ivory miniature of sweet Kate
Fairfax when she first become his girlish bride.
The relation on Maggie’s side did have one or two soft spots in his
nater, and one of ’em wuz his adoration of his dead wife, and his
clingin’ love for anything that had belonged to her, and the other wuz
his love for his child—more because it wuz her child, I do believe,
than because it wuz his own.
Them two soft places wuz oasis’es, as you may say, in his nater. All
the desert round ’em wuz full of the rocky, sandy soil of ambition,
feverish expectations, and aims and plans for political advancement.
Wall, Raymond had took this locket and gin it to Rosy’s baby. His Pa
had told him it would be hisen some time, and he thought it wuz hisen
now.
Poor little creeter! he didn’t have no more idee of the value on’t than
a Hottentot has of snow ploughs, or than we have as to what the folks
up in Jupiter are a havin’ for dinner.
And he sot by the winder a cryin’ as if his poor little childish heart
would break, and the Senator wuz hoppin’ mad.
But neither the tears nor the anger could bring back the jewel—it
wuz lost. Thomas J. of course had gone down to the coachman’s cottage
to make inquiries about it, accompanied by the distracted statesman.
But of course Rosy had lied about it; she said little Tom, three days
before, jest after Raymond had gin it to him, had dropped it into the
river.
But nobody believed it. How could that infant have dropped it into the
river more’n a mile off?
No; we all spozed that Rosy, a naterel thief and liar, had passed it on
to some other thief, and it wuz all broke to pieces and the diamonds
hid away and passed on out of reach.
The strictest search hadn’t amounted to nuthin’. Wall, I didn’t say
much about it till after breakfast—my manners wuz too perfect for
that, and then I wuz hungry myself. And I felt that I had some things
I wanted to say, and I didn’t want to say ’em on a empty stomach, and
didn’t want ’em hearn on one.
After breakfast the Senator begun agin on the subject, and kep’ it
up. And I did feel sorry for him from the bottom of my heart, for, if
you’ll believe it, as we sot there alone in the settin’ room after
breakfast, that man cried—or, that is, the tears come fast into his
eyes when he talked about it.
And I gin the man credit where credit wuz due; it wuzn’t the money
worth of the gem that he cared for, though it wuz very valuable.
No; it wuz the memory of lovely Kate Fairfax, and the blendin’ of their
two names on it, and a part of their two selves, as you may say—the
curl of her golden hair twisted in with his dark locks. And all the
tender memories of the happy time when she gin him this jewel with her
first true love, and he gin her his hull heart. Memories bitter-sweet
now as he mourned his losses.
Wall, I see the Senator wuz all melted down and broke up; and as is my
way, havin’ the good of the human race on my mind and heart, and havin’
to do for ’em all the while, I see that now wuz the very time for me to
tackle the relation from Delaware about a matter that I had long wanted
to tackle him on, concernin’ a law of his own State—
A statute so full of burnin’ injustice, and shame, and disgrace that
it wuz a wonder to me, and had been for some time, that the very stuns
along the banks of the Delaware didn’t cry out to its Senators as they
passed along to and from their law-makin’ expeditions.
And when he wuz a goin’ on the very worst about Raymond’s doin’ such a
dretful thing, and what a irreparable loss it wuz, I spoke up, and sez
I, “Why, Raymond had a right to it, didn’t he?”
“A right?” he thundered out in his agitation, “a right to throw away
this priceless jewel? What do you mean, madam?”
“Why,” sez I calmly (for I wuz a workin’ for Duty and Right; and they
always brace me up and keep me calm), “Raymond has passed the age of
consent, hasn’t he?” He wuz a few days over seven years old.
“What!!!” cries the Senator, “_what_ do you mean?”
“Why, children in your State can consent to their own ruin if they are
over seven.”
“It is girls that can do this,” hollered the Senator from Delaware, “it
hain’t boys.”
But I went on calm as I could:
“What are a few diamonds, that can be bought and sold, to be compared
to the downfall of all hope and happiness, the contempt and derision
of the world, the ruin of a life, and the loss of a immortal soul? And
your laws grant this privilege to children if they are a day or two
over seven.”
“That law was made for girls,” cried the Senator agin in stentorian
axents.
“Yes,” sez I, “men made that law, and girls and wimmen have to stand
it. But,” sez I, lookin’ and actin’ considerable fierce, as the mighty
shame and disgrace of that law come over me, “it is a law so infamus
that I should think the old Atlantic herself (bein’ a female, as is
spozed) would jest rare herself up and wash over the hull land, to try
to wipe out or bury the horrible disgrace that has been put upon her
sect—would swash up and cover your little State completely up—it ort
to, and hide it forever from the heavens and the eye of females.”
[Illustration: BABE.]
That man begun to quail, I see he did. But the thought of Snow, the
darlin’, and our dear Babe at Jonesville nerved me up agin—the thought
of them, our own treasures, and the hosts of pretty children all over
our land, beloved by some hearts jest as dearly as our children wuz.
And I went on more fiery than I had went, as I thought, why Babe is
old enough now, and Snow will be in a little while, to lay their sweet
little lives down under this Jugernut built up by the vile passions of
men, and goin’ ahead of Isaac, lay themselves on the altar, take their
own lives, and build up the fire to consume ’em.
“The idee of law-makers who call themselves wise makin’ such laws as
these!”
He stopped a handlin’ that watch-chain of hisen, his head drooped,
his hands dropped demutely into his lap. He murmured sunthin’ almost
mechanically about “the law being on the statute-book.”
“I know it is,” sez I. “I know the law is there. But let wimmen have
a chance to vote; let a few mothers and grandmothers get holt of that
statute-book, and see where that law would be.”
Sez I eloquently, “No spring cleanin’ and scourin’ wuz ever done by
females so thorough as they would cleanse out them old law books and
let a little of God’s purity and justice shine into their musty old
pages.”
Sez I, “You made a great ado about Raymond losin’ that locket because
it wuz precious with the memories of your lost wife—you treasured
it as your most dear possession because it held a lock of her hair,
because she gin it to you, and her love and tenderness seemed shinin’
out of every jewel in it.
“But how would it be with a child that a mother left as a souvenir of
her deathless love, a part of her own life left to a broken-hearted
husband? Would a man who held such a child, such a little daughter to
his achin’ heart, do and make a law by which the child could be lost
and ruined forever?
“No; the men that make these laws make ’em for other folks’es children,
not their own. It is other fathers’ girls that they doom to ruin. When
they license shameful houses it hain’t their own pretty daughters that
they picture under the infamus ruffs, despised playthings for brutality
and lust. No; it is some other parents’ daughters.”
[Illustration: “MY TONE RIZ UP.”]
My tone had been awful eloquent and riz up, for nobody but the Lord
knew how deeply I felt all I had said, and more than I ever could say
on the subject.
And I spoze I looked lofty and noble in my mean—I spoze so.
Anyway, Senator Coleman quailed to a extent that I hardly ever see
quailed in my hull life, and I have seen lots of quailin’ in my day.
And I pressed home the charge.
Sez I, “You say this law wuz made for girls; but what if this boy that
your sweet Kate Fairfax left you had happened to be a girl, and had gin
away all that makes life worth living, how would you have felt then,
Senator Coleman?
“How would you feel a thinkin’ that you had got to meet her lovin’,
questionin’ eyes up in heaven, and when she asked you what you had done
with her child you would have to say that you had spent all your life
a tryin’ to pass laws that wuz the ruination of her darlin’; that you
had done your best to frame laws so that them that prey upon innocence
and childish ignorance could go unpunished, and that the blood of these
souls, the agony of breakin’ hearts wuz a layin’ at your door?
“How could you meet them sweet, lovin’ eyes and have to tell her this?”
He jest crumpled right down, and almost buried his face in his white
linen handkerchief, and give vent to some low groans that wuz damp with
tears.
That man had never had the truth brung right home to him before, and he
trembled and he shrunk before it.
And he promised me then and there that he would turn right round and
do his very best to make laws to protect innocence and ignorance and
to purify the hull statute-book all he could; and I felt that he had
tackled a hard job, but I believed he would try his best. I guess he
means to tell the truth.
And I wuz almost overpolite to him after this, not wantin’ to do or say
a thing to break up his good intentions; and when he went away he gin
me a dretful meanin’, earnest look, and sez he:
“You can depend upon me to keep my word.”
And I believed he would.
Poor little Raymond cried when he went away, cried and wept.
But the Senator promised to let him come back before a great while
for a good long visit—that comforted him a little. And we all kissed
him and made much of him; and Snow, with the tears a standin’ in her
sweet eyes, offered to gin him the doll she loves best—Samantha Maggie
Tirzah Ann—if it would be any help to him. But he said he had ruther
have her keep it. And I believe he told the truth.
He is a good child.
[Illustration: “I HAD BEEN OUT A WALKIN’.”]