LUTE CRADLEBOW GIVES THE TEACHER A NEW CHAIR.
One morning, early in my convalescence, I was startled by a mighty
rumbling and scraping sound on the narrow stairway, as of some unwieldy
object pushed steadily upward. The summit reached, I heard the retreat of
manly feet, and this leviathan presented itself with Grandma Keeler as an
animating force, breathless and smiling, in the rear.
"He didn't have time to paint it, teacher," she began joyfully; "but
it'll be jest as comf'table to set in. He's been explainin' of it to
me--Lute has--ye see, it's a cheer. He made it for ye, himself. And all
you've got to do is to turn this 'ere crank, here--" Grandma's
countenance was radiant with wonder and approval--"and up it'll go--so--as
high as ye want it! and this 'ere can be shoved in and out for ye to put
yer feet on, and this 'ere back can be let anyways ye want it. He seen a
picture o' one in a paper, once, and he went and made this by his own
eye, and all the hinges and cranks, and everythin' as slick as a pin! He
didn't say anythin'," Grandma continued, in a slightly lowered,
insinuating tone of voice; "about likin' to come up and see ye, when ye
was able to set up, and you know, teacher, as I don't believe in meddlin'
in young folks' affairs; but it appeared to me, havin' had so much
experience with the men folks as I have, that may be he was kind o'
hangin' around waitin' for an invitation--for ye see, they're goin' to
sail now in a vary few days."
So, a little later, I sat up in my new chair and received the Cradlebow,
in a loose, trailing gown of rich material, daintily embroidered. In the
midst of my narrow and humble surroundings I had an exiled-princess sort
of consciousness, and recognized with a new pleasure the Cradlebow's
lordly face and bearing, as he stooped on entering the little red door.
Living in a reverie, still,--a fancy, a day-dream, strangely vivid and
life-like, but not real,--not real, I was so far softened by my illness
that, with the delicious sense of returning health and strength, I was
content, for a time, to live simply in the present, to dismiss the stern
warden, Duty, from my thoughts, and that ever-grave necessity for
maintaining a mental and moral superiority which had so oppressed me.
"It had been weary work living on the heights, and what had it all
amounted to?" I asked myself, with a recklessness too tranquil, now, to
be converted into bitterness. "It was so much easier and safer, lower
down." But while I doubted and almost gave up the struggle, the
Cradlebow aspired ever to greater faith and hope in life, and enthusiasm
for life's work.
And with all this, it was evident that there had been with him an inward
struggle and preparation, a silent conquering of self. With a vain
discontent for my own failure, I marvelled at the glory which had crowned
his humble efforts. "This, too," I thought, "is a sort of heroism:" and
my spirit of condescension towards the youth took on something new, like
reverence.
It was even with pride that I reflected, "Here is a strength I may rely
upon by and by;" and I was proud that my lover's kiss was so pure upon my
lips, his breath on my cheek--ah, foolish sleeping heart! It was well
that the dream should grow passionate, even intense, for the awakening
was near.
In the bewildered and feverish condition of mind in which I had last left
the Wallencamp school-house, I had been consciously impressed, at least,
with the idea that I should probably never enter those familiar walls
again, never again as the teacher. And now, I had no intention of
resuming my labors there.
But I did not wish to flaunt my boasted independence before the family
circle at Newtown, until my eyes should have assumed a little more nearly
their usual proportions, and my manner of going up and down stairs
should have become less strikingly feeble.
I decided to remain in Wallencamp a few days to recuperate. I was not
impatient nor especially chagrined on account of this necessity. Secretly
willing to await the departure of the Cradlebow's ship, to have a brief
season of rest from all care and responsibility among the scenes of my
past labors--a little breathing space in which to study these people
quietly, to exchange unhurried kindly words with them before I should go
away from them forever--I was glad to have it so.
Such welcomings and congratulations as I received from the Wallencampers
when I was able to get down the stairs once more! I felt very happy,
almost humble, sitting where the sunlight poured in at the open door
of Grandma's living-room.
That picture is still before my mind: the bare, shining floor, the
unpainted table, the chimney-shelf, and a clock, the successful working
of whose machinery demanded a crazily tilted attitude; a Bible on the
shelf, too, and Grandma's spectacles lying askew. Then, a commodious
lounge of exceedingly simple construction set up straight against the
wall and extending the whole length of the room. The original framework
of this lounge, by the way, disclosed itself in many bold and striking
instances, under a unique method of upholstery. It was stuffed
sectionally. There was the "old paper corner," within whose rustling
precincts Lovell was reputed once to have endured agonies, during a
religious meeting held at the Ark. There was the "sawdust" section,
substantial, but by no means billowy to the touch; and the "dried yarb"
section, of a nature similar to the sawdust; and, omitting the "old
clothes section" with its insidious buttons, and the "corn-cob" section,
and the "cotton-wood bark" section, there was the "feather corner," at
the other end, generally conceded to be luxurious, but silently avoided,
as having given, on more than one occasion, a sharp suggestion of quills.
Over the whole, depressions and excrescences, was stretched a faded
chintz cover. But woe to the luckless wight who thought to find repose
by throwing himself carelessly down on this hitherto untried structure!
It was reserved only to the knowing few to find a comfortable seat on the
lounge.
The cat, without having subjected herself to those trials which some of
us endured, had discovered, with true feline instinct, wherein the
deepest rest lay, and had established herself on a suspended bridge of
chintz between two overhanging systems.
There were a few chairs in the room besides, but the doorsteps were wide.
Grandpa sat always in the south door, Grandma on the steps looking
towards the lane, and it was at this latter inviting spot that the
neighbors, the "passers by," paused most frequently and disposed
themselves, with a grateful air.
I listened to their talk, while the birds struggled to make noisy
interruptions and cast their fleeting shadows in the sunlight on the
floor, and the peach-blossoms outside were falling noiselessly.
Grandma Keeler had been telling me in a happy, droning voice, though
gravely enough, of the "awakenin'" that was going on in Wallencamp--how
"a good many o' the young folks was impressed," and "Cap'n Sartell had
been seekin', ever since little Bessie died, and some that had seemed to
be forgitful and backslidin' had come forward and told where they stood,
until it seemed as though the Lord was a sendin' a blessin' down, jest as
soft and beautiful as them blossoms;" and Grandma's eyes wandered towards
the peach-tree with a tearful fervor in them.
Aunt Patty was a temporary occupant of the steps. Her anxious, care-lined
face was turned indoors, away from the light and the falling blossoms.
There was an anxious, restless ring in her voice, too.
"I'm glad to hev such a time, I'm sure," said she. "We need it bad
enough, any time, Lord knows!--but it seems a queer season o' the year
for't. When we've had 'em before it's generally been along in the winter.
I never heered of an awakenin' before right in the midst o'
tater-buggin'."
Aunt Patty was not intentionally irreverent. Life, with her, had been so
narrow and hard pressed, always a painful reckoning of times and seasons.
The allusion to "tater-buggin'" gave Grandpa an opportunity of a sort of
which he had not been slow to avail himself lately--to engage in a little
old-time, secular conversation. His voice, however, as it sounded from
the south doorway, was impressive enough for any subject.
"Grists on 'em, this year!" he said.
"Heaps!" Aunt Patty responded, readily. "I don't see how ever the
children could be speered to go to school now, anyway. Randal had all
eight o' hisn out yesterday, with a four-quart pail apiece, and him and
Lucindy pickin' into the half-bushel besides; and Rodney told Bede, for
the livin' truth, he'd seen a lantern movin' around last night right in
the dead o' night, and he looked out and it was the Dean and Abbie Ann
out tater-buggin', and everybody knows they wasn't out in the daytime, it
was so dreadful hot. I'm sure we never had such queer weather afore. But
them bugs are the hardest critturs to kill. It's almost impossible to
dispose on 'em; and it does seem enough, what with ploughin' and plantin'
and harrowin' and hoein' to git a few potatoes, and like enough, wet
weather to rot 'em, without havin' to fight over 'em, for the last chance,
with a whole army of varmint. I'm sure this 'ere way o' gittin' a livin',
as old Grandther Skewer used to say, 'It costs more than it's wuth.'"
Led by the screams of the little Keelers in Madeline's apartment, Grandma
had left the room for a moment, and Grandpa cleared his throat and began,
hopefully:--
"Talkin' about tater-bugs," he said, and he glanced at me with a
preliminary gleam in his eye; "Bachelder Lot was tellin' me the other
mornin,--he said he was eddicatin' a couple on 'em. He said thar' wa'n't
no other way to get rid on 'em, but to appeal to their moral natur', and
he said when he'd got 'em eddicated up to the highest p'int o' morality,
he was a goin' to send 'em out as missionaries ter convart the rest.
Bachelder said he'd got 'em fur enough along, now, so't they'd pass
examination along o' average folks that wa'n't admitted church
members----"
"Bijonah Keeler!"
Grandma, unexpectedly returning, had caught the last word only of
Grandpa's discourse, but taking this in connection with the bright and
mirthful expression of his countenance, she judged that his sentiments
had been of an unusually reprehensible nature.
"Wall, wall, ma," said Grandpa, with an evident notion of continuing his
narration; "what now, ma?"
"I hope, pa," said Grandma, giving one the impression that she felt she
couldn't put the case too strongly; "that you are as innocent o' what
you've be'n a sayin' as the babe unborn, and to your credit, pa, I
believe you be!"
"Wall, wall, ma," said Grandpa, now mentally lost and bewildered; "I
guess I know what I'm talkin' about!"
"And if you do, pa," said Grandma, with a solemnity that was unutterably
conclusive; "you know more than I do!"
Then, while the women talked, Grandpa, sitting alone in the south door,
sighed and whittled, and abstractedly scanned the horizon. Once, he made
a singularly bold attempt to entice Aunt Patty again into the channels of
profane conversation, by an introductory speculation as to the prospect
of the bean crop; but Grandma Keeler nipped this reckless and irreverent
adventure in the bud, by replying in a calm, vast tone:--
"Pa, it r'aly seems to me that for a vain creetur in a fleetin' world,
and a perfessor besides, there'd ought to be more things to talk about
than beans!"
Grandpa Keeler sighed still more deeply, gazed wistfully towards the
barn, as though he would fain have shuffled out in that direction; but
the weather being so warm, he refrained. He glanced at me with a feeble,
helpless smile, his head fell backward, his eyes gradually closed, and,
in spite of the iniquities which covered his ancient head, he fell into a
slumber that had all the semblance of childlike and unblemished
innocence.