"No."
The table was cleared by so many hands that they were in the way of one
another; then the quintet adjourned to the windward side of the house,
under the vine-clad arbor, and began to exchange questions. Suddenly
Grace said:--
"There's something new and strange about Caleb--something besides his
change of appearance and his happiness, and I can't discover what it
is."
"Perhaps," said Mary, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "'tis his
grammar."
Caleb's eyes expressed solicitude as they turned toward Grace, and
they indicated great sense of relief when Grace clapped her hands and
exclaimed:--
"That is it!"
"Well," said Caleb, "it does me good to know that the change is big
enough to see, for it's taken a powerful lot o' work. I used to be at
the head of the grammar class when I was a boy at school, but 'Evil
communications corrupt good manners,' as the Bible says, an' I've
been hearin' the language twisted ev'ry which way ever since I left
school. I never noticed that anythin' was wrong till I got into some
long talks with Mary, an' even then I didn't suppose that 'twas my
manner o' speech that once in a while made her twitch as if a skeeter
had suddenly made himself too familiar. One evenin'--I didn't know
till afterwards that she'd had an extra hard day at the store, an' had
brought a nervous headache home with her--she gave an awful twitch
while I was talkin', an' then she whispered 'Them!' to herself, an'
looked as disapprovin' as a minister at a street-fight. Then all of a
sudden my bad grammar came before my eyes, as awful as conviction to a
sinner. But I was tryin' to set my best foot forward, so I went on:--
"'I said "them" for "those" just now, perhaps you noticed?'
"'I believe I did,' said she.
"'Well,' said I, 'that word was pounded into me so hard at school one
day that I've never been able to get rid of it. You see, I was the
teacher's favorite, after a fashion, because it was known that I was
expectin' to study for the ministry, so the teacher kept remindin'
me that grammar was made to practise as well as recite, an' 'twasn't
of any use to use the language correctly in the class if I was goin'
to smash it an' trample on the pieces on the playground. I took the
warnin' an' one day, when four of us boys were havin' a game of
long-taw at recess I said somethin' about "those" marbles. One of the
boys jumped as if he had been shot, and when he came down he rolled
back his lips an' said "Those!" kind o' contemptuous-like, an' another
snickered "Those!" an' the other growled "Those!" an' then the first
one said, "Fellers, Preachy's puttin' on airs; let's knock 'em out of
him," an' then all of 'em jumped on me an' pounded me until the bell
rang us in from recess, an' from that time to this I've stuck to "them"
like a penitent to the precious promises.'
"Well, she had a laugh over that; she said afterward that it cured her
headache, but after quietin' down she said, lookin' out o' the side o'
her face kind o' teasin'-like, an' also mighty bewitchin':--
"'What did the boys do to make you say "ain't" for "haven't"?'
"Then I was stuck, an' laughed at myself as the best way of turnin'
it off, but for the rest of the evenin' I was chasin' the old grammar
back through about twenty years of army talk an' store talk, an' 'twas
harder than a dog nosin' a rabbit through a lot full o' blackberry
patches, an' I reckon I lost the scent a good many times. I stayed in
the city that night, so as to get into a bookstore an' a grammar book
early next mornin', an' I dived into that book ev'ry chance I got, in
the hoss-cars an' ev'rywhere else, an' when I was on the ocean an'
not sayin' my prayers, nor readin' the Bible, I was doin' only three
things, an' generally doin' all of 'em at once,--thinkin' of Mary,
keepin' my head an' shoulders up as my old soldier-chum Jim had made me
promise to do, an' puttin' Claybanks English into decent grammatical
shape. I tried to stop droppin' my 'g's' too, for she seemed to think
they deserved a fightin' chance o' life, even if they did come in only
on the tail-ends of words; I'd have got along fairly well at it, if it
hadn't been for the English people, but some of them seem to hate a
'g' at the end of a word as bad as if it was an 'h' at the beginnin',
which is sayin' a good deal. But see here, isn't it most church time? I
s'pose the sooner I take up my cross, the less I'll dread it."
"Caleb," exclaimed Grace, in genuine surprise, "it can't be possible
that you've been backsliding, and learning to dislike religious
services?"
"Oh, no," Caleb replied, looking quizzically at his wife; "but you're
the only old acquaintances I've met since I was married, an' at church
I'll meet two or three hundred, an' Claybanks people don't often have
any one new to look at an' talk about, an' any surprise of that kind is
likely to hit most of 'em powerful hard."
"Go very early," Grace suggested, "and sit as far front as possible.
Philip and I will break the news to the minister before he reaches the
church, and we'll stand outside and tell the people as they arrive, so
that they can collect their wits and manners by the time the service
ends."
"That'll be a great help," said Caleb. Then he drew Grace aside and
whispered with a look that was pathetic in its appeal: "Try to make her
understand, won't you, that our folks are a good deal nicer than they
look? You went through it alone, a few months ago. I saw your face, an'
my heart ached for you, but to-day I'm tremblin' for Mary. What do you
s'pose she'll think after she's looked around?"
"About what I myself did," Grace replied. "I thought, 'I've my
husband,' and from that moment Philip was far dearer to me than he had
been."
"Is that so? Glory! Mary, put on your bonnet. Let's be off for church."