OLD FOLKS LEFT ALONE.
Early the next morning a wagon drew up at the gate. It was to convey the
bridal party to a little village high up among the mountains. Margaret
was tearful and Jasper was sad, hiding his countenance as he fussed with
the harness. Tom insisted that it was no time for sorrow. "We'll be back
in a week's time," said he. "And even after I take her down to town I'll
bring her back here every month." But Margaret continued to sorrow. "I
don't never expect to see you ag'in," she said and Lou laughed with
tears in her eyes. "Why, it's nothin' to be away from home a week,
mother. And just think how happy I am." But there were more tears; and
Jasper stormed at a dog and shook the wagon wheel to satisfy himself
that it was sound. The driver, as lank a lout as ever slept in a stable,
sat upon a board seat, stuffing his greedy mouth with ginger cake. He
took up the lines and clucked to the horses, but it was discovered that
something more remained to be said and he was commanded to wait.
"Jest hold on a minit till I git sorter uster the idee," said Margaret.
"I want to say somethin' an' I don't know what."
Old Jasper put his arm about her. "It's in the way of nature, my dear,"
he said and upon his shoulder she wept, the wagon waiting, the driver
munching; and on the fence and in the trees the birds that had been
wedding guests were singing, having come down from the vine-knob to
carrol them a good-bye. At last there was nothing more to be said and
the driver popped his hickory bark whip and the wagon rolled away.
Jasper went into the house and sat down, deep in thought, but for a long
time Margaret stood at the gate, and the old man saw her sobbing in her
apron. She came into the room when no longer could she hear the wagon
rattling over the stones, high up the hill, and he said to her: "In the
way of nature, my dear, and you mustn't grieve. I count her a very lucky
girl. That young feller will make her a good livin' and--"
"Well," Margaret broke in, "she deserves it. You talk as if he wan't
lucky too. But I jest want to tell you he is and you needn't say he
ain't. You ought to be ashamed of yo'se'f to belittle yo' own daughter
thatter way. Well, I never. Never did I expect to see the day when you'd
say yo' child wan't worthy of a young man, even if he is a jedge's son."
"Air you about through?"
"Oh, don't talk to me. I'm out of all patience with you. Great goodness
alive, is it all to his credit that he is a jedge's son? You talk like
if she hadn't found him nobody else would a had her. And thar ain't a
puttier girl in all this here section, although she hain't got as many
clothes as she ought to have, a goin' a way off on a bridal tower."
"Gittin' putty nigh the eend."
"Laws a massy. Time was when I never dreamed that you'd slander yo' own
kith an' kin. An' come right from yo' daughter's weddin' an' swopped
hosses with a preacher. It was a sin and a shame. I never was so
mortified in my life. And then at supper he prayed. Just think of it.
I'll bet anything he cheated you."
"Wall let us believe not. The next mornin' after standin' all night, the
hoss I let him have will show his true worth. He's got a spavin, as you
know, an' when he leads him out of the stable a j'int in his right
leg'll pop like a pipe stem broke."
"Now Jasper Starbuck, is it possible that you put off that spavined hoss
on Brother Fetterson? You ought to be ashamed of yo'se'f. Ain't you got
no respect at all for the gospel?"
"Wall, not so powerful much respect for a gospel that always wants to
ride a fine hoss at another's expense. Jest thought I'd l'arn him a
lesson. Come out an' let's look at my new hoss."
They went out to the stable, and when Jasper attempted to lead forth the
horse, the animal cringed and held back, and in his eye there was an
expression of pain, for in truth he was so badly spavined that he had to
hobble on three legs.
"Ah, hah, that's what you git for tryin' to cheat the gospel," said
Margaret. "And you ought to be ashamed of yo'se'f, an' he a preacher at
that--preached the loveliest funeral sermon over old Aunt Polly Myer I
ever heard in my life."
For a time old Jasper was silent. His wife asked him what he intended to
do. "Wall," said he, "believe I'll knock this critter in the head, skin
him, take a hindquarter over to that preacher's house and make him eat
it raw."
"You'll do nothin' of the sort, an' yo' daughter jest married, too. I'm
sorry, Jasper, that I said what I did a while ago. Yes, Lou is
lucky--almost as lucky, Jasper, as I was when you asked me to be yo'
wife."
"I'd ruther you'd scold me than to talk thatter way, Margaret. You know
I can't stand it, an' please don't. Helloa, who's this a comin'?"
It was the post-master, who, ripping open many a man's letter could read
it off just like print. He shook hands with Jasper and Margaret and said
that he had several letters for the young fellow and the good-looking
woman from away off. When Jasper gave him an account of the wedding and
told him that the brides and the bridegrooms were gone, he said: "Wall,
we jest as wall open the letters an' see if we kin find out what's in
'em."
Margaret fluttered at him. "You'll do nothin' of the sort. Jest leave
'em with me and I'll see that they air give over all right."
"Wall, ma'm, no harm did," he said handing her the letters; and then to
Jasper he said: "Brother Fetterson come a ridin' by my house late
yistidy an' wanted to swop hosses with me. Had a five year old that I
raised myse'f, a little under size but as tough as dried beef; so I
swopped for a mighty likely nag."
"Have you looked at yo' swop to-day?"
"Yes, seed him a standin' out in the lot."
"Didn't see him walk, I reckon."
"No, was a tradin' licker for hounds at the time an' didn't stir him up;
an' when I come away jest now he was off in the pasture somewhar. Didn't
know but you mout want him."
"Ah, hah, an' in the hope that I do I reckon you've got a nigger
astradle of him stirrin' the spavin outen his j'int, hain't you?"
"Wall, reckon I better bid you good day," said the post-master, turning
to go, and as he did old Jasper's laughter and Margaret's contempt
followed him. "Got cheated hisse'f an' now he wants to come over an'
cheat you," she said.
"Yes," the old man replied, "but tain't no mo' than natral. I don't hold
it much ag'in a man when he tries to cheat me. It's the old Adam a
b'ilin' up in him."
"It didn't uster be thatter way in the good old times," she remarked,
and scratching his head he replied: "Yes, it did, or worse. Away back
they'd knock you on the head or stick a knife in you an' take what you
had. Now they cheat you without knockin' you down, an' that is a
improvement."
He was becoming too philosophical to suit Margaret, and she told him
that he did not seem to realize the loss of his daughter. "Don't I?
Wall, jest say the word an' I'll set down on a stump an' cry."
"Yes, but you wouldn't cry if it was me that was gone. Oh, anybody's
goin' would put you out mo' than mine, an' you was jest achin' for a
chance to show me."
"Then if you have give me the chance I must thank you for bein' so
accommodatin'. But I wish you wouldn't worry me now, Margaret. In one
respeck the goin' away of the folks was a blessin' fur the trouble that
has been a threatenin' for some time is shorely a comin.' Don't nag
me."
"Do I bother you, Jasper, an' trouble a comin' too? Well, I won't. I
wonder if I ain't as mean as I can be."
"No, you're all right. An' it must be me that's as mean as a old dog a
layin' in the corner of the fence with a bone. If I know'd how I'd go
an' meet that trouble. Thar ain't nuthin' much wuss then to set down an'
wait fur it to come sore-footed along the road, a lookin' fur you."
"But you won't do nuthun' outen the way, will you Jasper?"
"Nuthin'. I've shown all along that I was tryin' to keep out of a
diffikilty. Wall, I'll walk on around the place--by myse'f, Margaret,
fur I want to think."
He went slowly away, changing his course from time to time as he looked
back and saw that she was watching him; and when she went into the house
he walked briskly toward a tree down beneath a hill, and here he sat
down, with his hat off. At his feet was a grave, trimmed with muscle
shells brought from the creek, and shading the stone at the head was a
rose-bush, in bloom.