_Saturday Bed-time._
This evening, while we were popping corn in the "fotch-on" poppers,
Killis said he could recollect "capping" corn in a skillet under the
still while he and his father made liquor.
"You made liquor?" I exclaimed.
"Can't remember when I didn't," he replied; "I holp paw from the time I
could walk. I would go with him up the hollow, and gather wood for the
fire, and then set and watch the singlings whilst he kep' a lookout for
officers. And sometimes he would let me mix the doublings, too. And when
the liquor was made, and folks would come to buy it, I would circle
round up in the field where it was hid, to show 'em the place, and they
would come up with their jugs and leave the money under a stump. Gee, I
knowed so much about the business I could run it myself!"
"I hope and pray you never will," I said, earnestly.
"What you got again' it,--you haint no officer," he said.
"No," I said, "but I think it is wrong." And I gave my reasons, which,
however, failed to carry much conviction.
"The marshal that kilt your paw," inquired Nucky, at last, "how long you
aim to let him live?"
"Till I'm good and ready for him," replied Killis; "I got a dead tree up
the hollow I practice on all the time,--there's a band breast-high
around it black with bullet-holes. Sometimes I shoot walking, and
sometimes running, and sometimes I fetch a nag up and gallop around and
shoot. When I get so I never miss, I'll ride over where he lives at and
tell him 'I'm Steve Blair's boy,' and shoot him down like a dog, and
revenge my paw, and do my duty."
[Illustration: "'I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the
time.'"]
A murmur of quiet approval began with Nucky and passed around the
circle.
After the other boys went to bed, I finally extracted from Killis a
solemn promise not to perform this "duty" before he was eighteen. It was
the utmost I could accomplish,--long years of training must do the rest.
_Monday._
The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence. On our
walk up Perilous, they found drifts in which they dived and wallowed.
Coming back I noticed that Jason was quite hoarse; and in the middle of
the night I was awakened by strange and painful sounds, as if someone
were choking to death. The night was cold, the bed warm; I lay and
listened a moment longer. Then flinging on wrapper and slippers, I ran
across the sitting-room to the upper bedroom. Jason was sitting up in
bed, gasping for breath.
[Illustration: "The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in
consequence."]
"What is the matter with you?" I asked.
"Croup," he croaked, between gasps.
"Did you ever have it before?"
"I follow havin' it."
"Why didn't you tell me it was coming on?"
"Afeared you'd whup me."
I wrung my hands. "Cleo," I called back, "what in the world should be
done for croup?"
But for once her resources failed. "Some ties grease around their
necks," she said.
I have a maxim, "when in doubt try a hot-water-bag". Desperately
stirring the fire in my grate, I put on water, and while it was heating
spread vaseline on a handkerchief. Then flying back to Jason, I slapped
first the handkerchief, then the hot bag, upon his chest. Apparently the
child was choking to death,--I was terribly frightened,--the water may
have been a little over-hot. At any rate, between chokes, my "little
pet" raised the most roof-splitting yells. "Take it off! Take it off!
Paw he gits me pole-cat-grease!" All the boys jumped out of their beds
and came running. Jason fought me like a little tiger; but grabbing him
by the hair, I held the bag on with all my might. His yells increased.
"Oh, God, she's a-killing me! Oh, God, she's a-burning me up! Oh, God,
gimme pole-cat-grease, pole-cat-grease, po--_ole_-cat-grease!" It was an
awful moment; but I held my ground and the bag. In a few seconds, which
seemed ages, the cries and chokes lessened, the breathing became
quieter, the tense little frame relaxed, and danger was past.
Half an hour later, when, weak but safe, my angel child lay quiet on his
pillow, Philip, standing over him, remarked philosophically,
"Son, you'd a-waited a right smart spell for pole-cat-grease,--better to
lose a patch of your hide than die waiting for that!"