_Wednesday._
Sad news again from Trigger about the babe. "Nothing but a pitiful
little passel of bones," said the mail-boy; "purely dying for lack of
Blant."
Blant's refusal to use his gun last night has spread abroad, and creates
great excitement. "Trojan fotch him his revolver and he wouldn't tech it
or use it," is the talk flying about among the boys. "Aiming to let the
Cheevers keep his land." "Done give up the war." "Haint going to make no
effort to break prison." "Never heared tell of no hero doing such a
way!" "Achilles wouldn't," "Nor Hector, neither." Evidently they feel
bitter disappointment. They do not dare show it before Nucky, however,
or even broach the subject in his presence. I called them in to-night
and talked to them about the superiority of moral courage to
physical,--with, I fear, no great result. How terribly true are Paul's
words, "First the natural man, then"--after what awful birth-pangs,
sometimes as cruel as those Blant is experiencing!--"the spiritual".
_Saturday._
More and more distressing accounts of the babe. "Minervy Saxby says it
won't hold out till the trial." "Just lays and pines and moans." "You
can count every bone in its body". Poor Blant! When he hears this, as he
certainly will, will he regret that he did not use the revolver? The
trial is only ten days off; but if the two-years' penitentiary sentence
is to follow, as everybody says it will, there will be no chance
whatever for the babe--even a two-weeks' sentence would be too long. I
had hoped that Blant's refusal to use his gun on the keeper might turn
the tide of public sentiment in favor of an acquittal; but that seems
not to be so much as thought of. Nucky has apparently lost all hope and
courage, and goes about in miserable, despairing silence. Probably it is
as well for him that he is to leave school the end of next week and
shoulder the hard work and heavy responsibilities at home,--action may
relieve his suffering of mind. But it is harder than I can say for me to
let him go, and to know that I am giving him up for at least two
years,--probably forever. Indeed, when I think of the whole
situation,--the desperate condition of the Marrs family, the dying state
of the babe, the tragedy of a boy of Nucky's wonderful promise having to
give up schooling and bow his shoulders under a man's burden at twelve
years old, I am tempted to wish that in some way, not of bloodshed,
Blant could have managed to escape.
_Thursday._
Marbles is still in full sway,--I have never seen the boys so fascinated
by any game,--they spend at least three-fourths of their playtime
making money to buy marbles to play with the other fourth,--for they
continue to lose incredible numbers of them. I gave Jason a dime to buy
his tenth set to-day.
Geordie informed me as he started to bed a few minutes ago that he had
enough money laid by now to take that trip to Virginia this summer and
see his mother and the world and the railroad-train. In spite of his
talents, I wonder that he has managed to get that much together.
Vacation is just a little over a month distant now, and Keats and Hen
are already making great plans as to the work they will perform for
Nervesty during the summer, and all the others who have homes are
looking forward eagerly. A few,--all my motherless ones, I hope--will
remain here with me to attend to the gardening during the summer. I had
of course planned for Nucky to stay with me; but pain takes the place of
the pleasure I had anticipated.
_First Sunday in April._
To-day Philip was a living monument to the transforming power of love.
Very clean, very much combed and brushed and collared and tied, with a
large handkerchief, soaked in my cologne, held prominently in one hand,
and an expression as decorous and pious as any ever achieved by Geordie
Yonts, he sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction
of his thoughts being indicated by an occasional ardent glance across
the aisle, where Dilsey, fairer, more saint-like than ever, kept serious
eyes on the preacher. As I looked, I asked myself, Can this be the boy
who a few short months ago declined to perform the most rudimentary
rites of the toilet, gloried in tatters, declared that "when a man steps
in the door, looks flies up the chimley", denominated "polite" a
"lick-spittle", asserted that he would rather take off his hat to a cow
than a woman, and pronounced the story of his chivalric namesake a
"slander"?
[Illustration: "He sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real
direction of his thoughts indicated by an occasional ardent glance
across the aisle."]
This afternoon, however, came the grand climax. After the dish-washing,
the cottage boys and ten wash-girls came quietly over to the cottage
yard and seated themselves on back steps and walk. As Hen ran through to
join them I inquired, "What's going on?"
"Philip he's aiming to give a treat, and done axed all us boys and
wash-girls to it," he replied in an astonished voice, hurrying on. I,
too, remembering the consistent selfishness following upon the
declaration that "generous never put no bread in my belly", was
astonished. A few moments later I stepped to the open window and looked
out upon a surprising scene. Philip, as suave, knightly and beautiful as
his famous namesake could ever have been in the days when he sighed for
Stella and all other women for him, was passing around a large "poke" of
crackers, and another of brown sugar, and saying with graceful
flourishes and insistent politeness,
"Eat all you can, now, everybody,--I got more still when you git through
this. There, Jason, wait till the girls is helped,--ladies first,
son,--haint you got no manners? Take some, Nancy, eat a-plenty, Rosabel,
don't hold back, Narcissa, here's a good lump, Dilsey. Now, boys, pitch
in,--you little fellows, Iry, Hen, Jason, take your pick first,--the big
boys waits till after you,--I don't aim to see you run over. Don't be
afeared, take all you need! Now Taulbee, Killis, Hose, Keats,
everybody,--dive in! Just eat all you can hold, and fill up your
bel--stummicks. I love to see folks eat and enjoy theirselves. No thank
you, I wouldn't choose none myself,--'druther see the rest eat! I spent
thirty cents on them crackers, and thirty-five on that 'ere sugar,--dag
gone, I reckon a man't works hard for his money's got the right to spend
it to suit him! Some folks haint fitten to live,--wants to eat up all
they git theirselves; but I like to pass around mine, I do,--it makes
me happy. What's the use of livin' if you can't make folks see a good
time? Gee-oh, I aim to make me a big grain of money this summer, so's I
can give a treat onct a month come next school; and I want every
man-jack of you, and ladies too, to come every time. Dad burn ole Heck,
generous never ruint nobody!"
Almost unable to believe my eyes and ears, I stood, murmuring to myself,
"And they say the day of miracles is past!"
Nucky alone was absent from the feast, visiting Blant. On his return,
there was a surprising change in his demeanor. He appeared to have shed
several years of age and care, played boisterously about the yard, got
into two or three fights, and a short while after we began reading
to-night leaped from his chair to the table, where he executed a wild
war-dance. All of which distressed me not a little, and seemed perfectly
unaccountable. The thought that he was sitting beside me, and leaning
his head on my shoulder, for probably the last time, was eating into my
heart; and his carelessness of the fact hurt me deeply. But of course
parting means little to the very young.