went to the pasture-bars with him to get the pieded heifer. Seeing an
unwonted light in his handsome eyes, she inquired: "What's come to
you, Fulty--what's happened?"
"Oh, nothing," replied Fult, carelessly. "I found that air singer this
morning, down Troublesome, setting in Uncle Adam's wagon, stalled in a
quick, and brung her up behind me to the women."
"Is she an old maid, too?"
"No," answered Fult, indignantly.
"How old is she?"
"I never axed her; but she looks about sixteen."
"Is she a pretty looker?"
"Prettiest you ever seed," declared Fult with feeling.
"Prettier than Lethie?"
Fult flushed. "She's different," he said. "And sing! I never in life
heared the like?"
"I'll be bound she can't outsing me when I were young," said Aunt
Ailsie, jealously.
"Maybe not," replied Fult; "I never heared you then. I told her about
you, and she wants to hear you."
When Fult and Jeems were mounted, and ready to start with the heifer,
Aunt Ailsie gazed with pride upon her handiwork. Jeems made quite a
presentable appearance. True, a collar and tie would have improved the
effect; but such vanities were only for dashing young blades like Fult,
not for old, settled, married- or widow-men.
After they had started. Aunt Ailsie called Jeems back for a last
anxious word.
"Mind now," she said, "not to get your thoughts tangled up with no
young gals you may see there. One's jest come in this morning from the
level land. Ricollect, they hain't for sech as you. Keep your mind
fixed stiddy on what you're a-going atter, and don't get witched off by
no young face with naught behind hit."
* * * * *
When they arrived at the tents, the heifer was received with warm
appreciation by two of the women, whom Jeems judged to be the heads,
though they were astonishingly fair and rosy and young and neatly
dressed, to have reached the ancient age of twenty-eight. From a
safe distance in the background, Jeems inspected each, narrowly and
appraisingly. When the heifer had been anchored to a tree, one of the
women returned to a group of old people she appeared to be teaching,
near by, and the other settled down to letter-writing under a more
distant tree. Fult had hurried up-hill, and Jeems slowly followed,
gazing with solemn, owlish eyes upon all the strange things and people
he saw.
The lowest tents were deserted, but in the larger, gayly decorated one
farther up, two or three dozen mothers, with babies, were gathered, and
the nurse was giving a talk on the care of infants, using one in her
demonstration. She was giving it a warm bath when Jeems peered into the
tent. He was at once transfixed.
"That air woman knows how to handle a young-un," he said to himself,
after watching the proceedings for some time, "and is a good looker,
too."
No mother present could have been more appreciative of the deft ways of
the nurse than was Jeems, out of the fullness of his own experience.
After this was over, he went on to the top of the spur, where the young
folks of different ages were gathered, in several large groups and
circles, playing games. In the largest circle, where the young men and
maidens were playing "Old Bald Eagle," a game that was a combination
of quadrille and Virginia reel, with a song accompaniment, Fult was
leading, and his partner was a young and extremely pretty stranger,
at the sight of whom Jeems stopped stone-still and gazed with all his
eyes. Aunt Ailsie's warning came to him with a pang after a while:
"Ricollect, sech as that hain't for you." He sighed deeply, and felt a
dull anger with Fult's youth and beauty.
Still another very young and pretty one--the one with the "crow's-wing
hair and blue eyes"--sat on a bench not far away; but Darcy Kent was at
her side.
After a long while, the play-games stopped, and the merry crowd
trooped down the hill and home--all save Fult and a few of his cronies,
who stopped at the big tent, where Fult was soon picking a banjo and
singing ballads for the stranger. Jeems leaned against a tree-trunk
outside, and waited for the fateful hour of milking to arrive.
Finally, an anxious call came from below for Fult, and all in the tent
went down, Jeems following at a little distance. Fult joined the group
of women behind the cooking-tent. When Jeems arrived, he saw that they
were gathered anxiously about the heifer. One of them, Virginia, was
saying to Fult:--
"But how are we going to get her milked?"
Fult shook his head. "I allowed, and granny allowed, all you women
could milk--all the women-folks in this country can."
"Milk? Why, I never did such a thing in my life! Down in the Blue Grass
the women don't milk; the men do all the heavy work like that."
Jeems stopped in his tracks. His jaw dropped.
"I thought maybe you could milk her for us to-night, and until we could
hire somebody for the job," continued Virginia, a little impatiently.
Fult flushed. "Sorry I can't oblige you," he said; "I never in life
undertook to milk a cow. Up in this country hit's allus a woman's job."
"Do you mean to say you let your mother and sisters do rough work like
milking all the time?"
Fult laughed. "Maw wouldn't let me get in ten foot of her cow," he
said. "Cows won't stand for hit in this country. They are used to
women-folks and their ways, and don't want a man to come a-nigh 'em."
"Hit's a fact," groaned Jeems inwardly, from the depths of experience.
"You women know there hain't nothing I wouldn't do to pleasure you,"
continued Fult, gallantly. "If I knowed how to milk, I'd try hit, man's
job or not. But a body can't learn all in a minute."
"They can't, neither," protested Jeems, under his breath.
"Can't a single one of you brought-on women milk a cow?" inquired Fult,
looking in astonishment around the circle.
One after another, Amy, the nurse, the kindergartner, the cooking
teacher, the singing gal, admitted her ignorance. None had ever in her
life tried to milk.
Jeems's jaw was now permanently dropped, his eyes stared with amazed
incredulity.
"And even if some of them could milk," said Virginia, with a note of
decision in her soft voice, "I shouldn't feel that I could permit them
to do it. It's setting too bad an example. The thought of the women of
this country doing all the milking shocks me inexpressibly, and one of
the principal things I hope to teach them is that milking is _not_ a
woman's job, and should be done always and entirely by the men."
Jeems's countenance registered complete horror.
At this instant, Isabel, the new arrival, spoke up. "The cow will have
to be milked to-night by somebody," she said; "and though I never
milked in my life, and do not approve of women milking, still I'd be
glad to try this time, if you say so, Cousin Amy, and Miss Virginia. Of
course, I live on a stock-farm,--papa has always raised thoroughbred
horses and cattle,--and I've seen cows milked by the negro men
thousands of times, and it does seem that I ought to be able to do it
myself. If you'll give me a bucket, I'll be glad to try."
Virginia shook her head. "I don't consider it wise," she said; "it's
setting too bad a precedent."
"I believe I'd let her do it just this once, as it's an emergency,"
suggested Amy, in her quiet way.
"Well, maybe for just this once," Virginia grudgingly consented.
A shining bucket was produced, and Isabel stepped toward the heifer.
Jeems's face was once more transformed, irradiated.
"Now you hold her," said Isabel to Fult. "Not that I'm a bit afraid. I
can ride any horse I ever saw; but I'm not so used to cows."
She approached carefully, spoke to the heifer, rubbed down her flank,
and at last gently grasped a teat. This she squeezed periodically and
persistently for a long while. Not a drop of milk appeared.
"Why, there's something the matter with this cow," she said at last. "I
believe she's a dry one."
"No, granny said she was giving three straight gallons a day right
along," said Fult; "and to not fail to milk her a single time."
Isabel tried another teat, then conscientiously made the rounds of all.
"Maybe she's just too excited to have any milk to-day," said Virginia.
"I've heard that cows are extremely nervous creatures."
"Yes, that must be it," said Isabel. At last she rose, reluctant to
give up, but forced to admit that she could do nothing.
Jeems's expression was now one of utter bewilderment. But he was ready
to accept the explanation offered--a cow-brute was equal to anything.
A small boy of eleven or twelve, who had been standing near all the
time, digging his toes into the earth, spoke up laconically.
"Anybody with eyes could see she's got milk."
"Well, how can you tell, Billy?" asked Virginia.
"Because I know cows. I've holp maw milk a many of a time, and Lethie,
too. I don't care if hit hain't a man's job, I've holp 'em when they
was sick or busy. Here, you fotched-on women don't know nothing; gimme
that air bucket, and a apern and sunbonnet, and I'll show you. Of
course, she wouldn't lemme come a-nigh her in breeches."
The nurse lent her large apron, Amy her white sunbonnet, and Billy,
retiring to the cooking-tent to put them on, soon emerged, hit the cow
a sharp lick on the hip, bawled "Saw!" half a dozen times, squatted
down, put out small dirty hands, and in an instant two large jets of
milk were foaming into the pail.
"I knowed hit," commented Billy, scornfully; "I got my opinion of a
passel of women that hain't able to milk a cow betwixt 'em!"
The women looked on in solemn relief.
And Jeems? He swept the six strange women with a slow glance, in which
indignation, disgust, and anguish struggled for supremacy; then,
turning on his heel, strode rapidly down the hill.
"Not nary one of 'em able to milk a cow!" he exclaimed to himself over
and over, as he descended; and later, as he rode down Troublesome:
"Not nary single one! Not even," with a groan, "that air youngest and
prettiest!"
It was supper-time when he arrived, and Uncle Lot being present,
there was no chance for Aunt Ailsie to ask the reason of his profound
melancholy, which, however, was so noticeable that, when she started to
milk after supper, she called to him to go with her.
"What in creation's the matter with you, Jeems?" she demanded. "You
look like you had seed a hant!"
"I've seed worse'n a hant, Aunt Ailsie," he said, with awful solemnity:
"I've seed six able-bodied women, not nary one of which is able to milk
a cow-brute!"
Aunt Ailsie dropped her bucket. "Jeems!" she said, "you know hit hain't
the truth!"
"Hit's the truth, too," he replied, sternly. "When milking-time come,
not nary one of 'em would even try but one,--that air newest and
youngest,--and she couldn't squeeze out a drap! And then a leetle chap
that was hanging around, he sot down and milked out a bucketful easy as
scat!"
Aunt Ailsie picked the bucket up, and stood by the bars, speechless.
"I never once thought but what every woman on that hill was a able
milker," she said at last. "But look-a-here, Jeems, all hope hain't yet
gone; they would any or all larn to milk if needcessity come--say if
any of 'em was to marry a widow-man!"
Jeems shook his head most emphatically. "They wouldn't, neither," he
said. "Them women all allowed hit was a man's job, not a woman's,
to milk a cow-brute; and one of them head-women said she was aiming
to teach all the women-folks in this here country not to milk nary
'nother time theirselves, but to make the men-folks do hit allus."
Jeems's voice broke on the utterance of this frightful heresy, and Aunt
Ailsie herself was entirely beyond speech.
After a long while she recovered herself, and laid down the bars.
"Well, hit jest wa'n't to be, Jeems," she said; "hit just wa'n't
predestyned for you to get you a fotched-on woman. I don't know but
what, if I was you, I'd court that air widow-woman, Cindy Swope. Her
six and your nine, with maybe seven or eight more to foller, will
be kindly a stumbling-block; but if she can quell both young-uns
and cow-brutes, like you say, numbers won't make no p'ticlar
difference--you'll still have peace in your home. I reckon hit's the
best all round, Jeems; though I feel mighty onreconciled, atter all the
big plans I laid for you. You hain't the first man to look furder and
fare worse."
She threw half a dozen nubbins to Old Pied, sat down on the small
three-legged stool, and began to milk, vigorously but pensively.
Jeems gazed down upon her, with healing and comfort stealing over every
torn and jangled nerve.
"Man's job, indeed!" he said to himself, scornfully; "Cindy hain't got
no sech crazy notions!"
VI
DEVIL'S DITTIES
The day following the widow-man's disastrous visit to the women on the
hill, Aunt Ailsie came in, as she had planned, to get her first taste
of learning. She had also planned, of course, to bring Jeems in and
engineer his courting; and her disappointment was keen as she rode
along on old Darb, meditating pensively upon the tragedy of the day
before.
"They throwed away as good a chanct as ary old maid could look to have,
and all because not a single one of 'em was able to milk a cow. I'm
clean out of heart, and hain't aiming to trouble my mind to hunt up
nary 'nother husband for 'em. Hit wouldn't be no use if I did, there
not being a living man in this country would marry a woman that can't
milk. May be that's the reason they hain't kotched 'em a man down in
the level land."
Before Aunt Ailsie reached the tents on the hill, she saw her "pieded"
heifer picking around up near the timber line, and sighed deeply.
"Pore creetur, I'd never a-lent you to 'em if I had knowed; hit'll be
your ruination having that air little Billy Lee feisting round you."
When she reached the tents, the cooking class was over, as was also the
sewing lesson, and the singing was just beginning in the largest tent,
where even more young folks than usual were gathered.
Amy was playing the baby organ, but Virginia, who stood near her,
straightening up the book-shelves, saw Aunt Ailsie and beckoned for
her. As she approached the two, she sighed deeply again.
"Pore gals, they don't know what they missed yesterday; they don't know
how nigh they come to being tuck off the cull-list!"
Her attention was immediately drawn from them to the newcomer of
whom Fult had spoken the day before--a lovely young girl who led the
singing, and sang as spontaneously and joyously as a mocking-bird, and
whose example was contagious, for the more timid young people, who had
sung haltingly before, now poured their whole souls into the delight
of it. Fult's voice was the best among the young men, and blended well
with that of the new singer.
Aunt Ailsie sat down on a bench and listened, somewhat critically, for
half an hour. "Fulty was right," she said to herself then, "she can
outsing me when I was a young gal. But I misdoubt if she knows as many
song-ballats as I knowed."
There was so much enthusiasm that the usual half-hour of singing
lengthened into an hour, and was ended only by the ringing of the
dinner-bell below.
"We're so glad you came," said Amy, as the two started down the hill;
"we want to tell you how very grateful we are for the cow."
"Yes," said Virginia, joining them; "nothing could be a greater
blessing to us."
"I heared not nary one of you was able to milk her," said Aunt Ailsie;
and she could not keep all reproach out of her voice.
"No, but Billy Lee can, and we've hired him to do it regularly, and the
milk is delicious, and we've bought us a churn this morning."
"She's a right cow," said Aunt Ailsie; "but"--solemnly--"hit takes a
woman-person to get the best out of a cow." She sighed deeply. "But,
women, that's neither here nor yander now; what I come for to-day was
to tell you my man has give his consent for me to get larning--enough,
anyhow, to read Scripter, though no more."
"Oh, we're so glad for you--you must have your first lesson right after
dinner."
"That's what I aim to; 'pears like I can't hardly wait to begin."
Just then Fult came up behind and laid a detaining hand on Aunt
Ailsie's arm. "Stop a minute, granny--here's somebody craves to meet
you."
Aunt Ailsie fell back behind the others. "Oh, the singing gal!" she
exclaimed, looking for a long minute into Isabel's face, then turning
her around for a rear view, and summing up the inventory with "Now,
hain't she pretty as a poppet!"
Fult's eyes expressed concurrence.
"What's your name, daughtie?"
"Isabel Gwynne."
"How old air you?"
"Twenty."
"You don't look hit. You hain't got ary man yet, I allow?"
"No."
"Well, praise the Lord there's one amongst the quare women hain't a old
maid! You got a whole year to go on yet, and, judging by your looks,
you'll likely land a man before hit's over. I heared you sing this
morning, and hit was fine. I follered singing myself when I were young."
"Yes, Mr. Fallon told me about it; he said you used to be able to sing
ballads the night through, and never repeat yourself."
"Eh law, yes."
"And that you taught him those he knows. He has sung two or three for
me, and I'm crazy about them, and can hardly wait to hear more. I hoped
maybe you might sing for me this afternoon."
Aunt Ailsie drew back, with a frightened expression. "My fathers!" she
said; "hit would be as much as my life is worth to sing song-ballats
in public this way; my man can't abide 'em sence he j'ined; he allows
they are devil's ditties, and won't have one raised under his roof."
"But this isn't his roof," laughed Isabel, glancing up at the sky.
"Eh law, when Lot says roof, he means anybody belongs under his roof.
If I was to sing on this here hill, the news would travel over the
county in less time than hit takes to tell hit, and Lot would be everly
scandalized amongst the Old Primitives, and the sky would nigh fall.
Now, though I hain't the songster I used to be, I _feel_ to sing for
you. I love hit better'n life, seems like. But a woman don't dairst to
fly right pine-blank in the face of Scripter and disobey her husband!"
"No, I suppose not," admitted Isabel; "but how did you teach Mr.
Fallon?"
Aunt Ailsie leaned forward and spoke in Isabel's ear. "I done hit
unbeknownst!" she said: "I tuck Fulty up on top the ridge, and a leetle
yan side, where no human couldn't hear, and my man couldn't noway be
scandalized!"
"Well, why not take me up sometime, too?"
Aunt Ailsie gazed at the singing gal with dilating eyes. "I'll
do hit, I shorely will," she declared. Then she continued, in a
conspirator's voice: "We'll have to bide our time till Lot goes to a
far funeral occasion, and can't get back afore night. Funeral meetings
is setting in, now the crap's laid by; I heared Lot say several was
denounced a-Sunday at a nigh one he went to. He'd ruther die as to
miss one,--funeral meetings is his delight, same as song-ballats is
mine,--and I'll listen round and find out when a far one is aiming to
be, and get the word to Fulty, and Fulty can fetch you down to take the
day, and then we'll have a singing time, up on the ridge."
Fult and Isabel entered joyfully into the conspiracy, and then all
three went down, Isabel and Aunt Ailsie to the women's dinner-table,
Fult to the hotel below.
After dinner, Aunt Ailsie received from Amy a brand-new primer, with
her name written large on the front page, and thereupon attacked the
alphabet with trembling enthusiasm, and the remark, "I feel like I'm
jest starting in to live."
Soon afterward, several other old people came up the hill with their
primers, and Amy heard them all recite the alphabet, and spell a number
of words. Uncle Ephraim could even read a few sentences--evidently he
was giving all his time and strength to the acquisition of knowledge.
He congratulated Aunt Ailsie on her start. "Hit's the best day's work
you ever done," he said; "I wouldn't take the riches of the world for
what I have larned these two weeks."
Later, Aunt Ailsie went up to see the play-games of the young folks on
the spur. In the largest ring she saw Fult leading the song and play,
with Isabel as his partner. Lethie, who had led with him hitherto, sat
near by on a log, with little Madison, her baby brother, in her lap.
Aunt Ailsie dropped down beside her.
"How's all the young-uns, Lethie?" she inquired.
"Oh, fine," replied Lethie; "that nurse woman, she cyored up the rash
little Maddy was broke out with so bad; and t'others is seeing the time
of their lives a-larning and playing on the hill, and don't never give
me ary grain of trouble."
"Why hain't you playing yourself to-day?"
"I just didn't feel like hit."
"But that hain't right, Lethie; you air young, and ought to take your
pleasure. Hit hain't right for a young gal to get old afore her time."
Lethie's under lip trembled a little. "Aunt Ailsie," she said, "the
reason I hain't a-playing is, my clothes looks so quare."
She looked down at her dark, heavy linsey skirt, coarse little shoes,
and ill-fitting pink-calico waist.
"What's the matter with 'em?" inquired Aunt Ailsie.
"I don't know; I allowed they was all right till yesterday. But sence
Miss Isabel come in, they look so quare, and I hain't aiming to shame
Fulty by playing with him. He axed me, but I wouldn't."
Aunt Ailsie scrutinized Isabel's simple white linen dress.
"Why, she hain't dressed no finer than you," she said.
"No, but she's different--her clothes sets so good on her. I think
she's the prettiest woman ever I seed."
Aunt Ailsie looked at the lovely, wistful little face turned up to
hers--the skin of milky whiteness, the big, heavily lashed gray eyes,
the brave little mouth, the mass of pale golden hair drawn tightly back
from forehead and temples, and twisted in a hard knot at the back.
"I don't see as she's any ahead of you on looks," she decided.
"Oh, I never did have no _looks_," said Lethie, deprecatingly; "but,"
earnestly, "I wisht I did have some clothes!"
"Pore child, you hain't got ary grain of chance to be young and gayly,
like you ought, with your maw dead and gone, and your paw's house and
all that mess of young-uns on your hands. Hit's a pure shame for a
young gal to be burdened down that way."
"Oh, no, Aunt Ailsie," cried Lethie, in warm protest; "hit is my
heart's delight to do for the young-uns sence maw died; I love them so
good, and they love me so good, and little Maddy here is the sweetest
babe ever was borned, and I can't stand to have him out of my sight."
Aunt Ailsie shook her head. "Hit hain't right," she insisted; "your
paw ought to get him a good woman, that would treat the young-uns kind,
and give you a chance to be young and happy."
"But I'm happy now," declared Lethie; "seems like I hain't had nothing
but happiness sence these women come in--just all manner of good
times. And paw says I am larning to cook so fine; and Charlie hain't
been drunk nary time sence the Fourth of July, and Fulty behaving so
civil--why, hit seems very near like heaven, and I just love all them
women to death for coming, and this here new one most of all, because
she's the smilingest and prettiest."
"You're a mighty good little gal; the Lord'll bless you for hit!"
Here the game broke up, and Fult came over to get Lethie for the next
one.
"You go right on now, and don't be so back'ard," insisted Aunt Ailsie.
"I'll tend the least one for you."
At her urging, Lethie went. But Isabel was playing just opposite, with
Charlie as her partner; and every minute Lethie realized how much
longer her own skirt was in the back than in the front, how clumsy her
shoes were, how much too big and baggy her waist, and before long she
said to Fult: "I hain't feeling good; you'll have to get you another
pardner,"--and slipped out of the ring, shortly afterward going down
the hill, with little Madison in arms, as Aunt Ailsie went.
Next morning, when Fult came across the street as usual to take her to
the women's Sunday School, Lethie made an excuse not to go; and, after
starting off all the children but little Madison, she went downstairs
into her father's store and hunted among the shelves for some white
goods like Isabel's dress. But, though there were several bolts of
calicoes and ginghams, there was nothing in the way of white stuff
save a piece of "bleached factory" (white domestic). From this she
cut enough for a dress for herself and one for little Madison; then,
hastening back upstairs, went to work with awkward little hands to try
to cut and fit them, attempting to make her own as much like Isabel's
as possible.