The next day was Sunday, and the wonderfulest day you ever saw. We had
an early breakfast, for Mr. Miller was drivin' into the country that day
to preach, and Mrs. Miller was goin' with him and the girls had to get
the dinner. So nobody had to go to Sunday School, and I could keep out
of it by not goin' home in time. A thought came to me and I said to
Mitch, "You never saw my grandpa's farm--we can walk out there before
noon and have dinner, and maybe get a lift on the way. And maybe grandpa
or some one will drive us in in the morning in time for school." Mitch
was crazy to go and see the farm; so we struck out, down through the
town, under the trestle bridge, up the hill, past Bucky Gum's big brick
house, past the fair grounds and along the straight road between the
wheat fields. It was wonderful, and we sang and threw clods at birds and
talked over plans about goin' to see Tom Sawyer. For Mitch said: "We'll
try this Old Salem place, and if that doesn't pan out, then we'll go to
Hannibal. Tom'll tell us; and if he can't, we'll see his crowd anyway
and have a good time. And besides, I'm lookin' forward now to somethin'.
I'm goin' to lose Zueline--I feel it all through. And if I do, it's time
to get away from here and forget."
"What do you mean by lose her?" says I. "You'll always be in the same
town and in the same school, and you'll always be friends."
"Oh, yes," said Mitch, "but that's just the trouble--to be in the same
town and the same school and not to have her the same. I've got a funny
feelin', Skeet--it's bound to happen. And anyway, if it don't, we must
be up and doin' and get the treasure and then square off for somethin'
else. And if I get it and all goes well, maybe Zueline and me will marry
and be happy here. That's the way I want it."
[Illustration: We Sang and Threw Clods]
It must have been two hours before we got to the edge of the wood where
Joe Gordon lived. And I showed Mitch the oak tree where Joe had peeled
off the bark to make tea for the rheumatism or somethin'. My grandma had
told me. Finally we crossed the bridge over the creek, and climbed the
hill. "There," I said to Mitch, "that's my grandpa's house. Ain't it
beautiful--and look at the red barn--and over there, there's the hills
of Mason County right by Salt Creek." Mitch's eyes fairly glowed; so
then we hurried on to get to the house, which was about half a mile.
[Illustration: Going through the Hired Man's Trunk]
There wasn't a soul at home but Willie Wallace, the hired man. He was
shavin' himself, goin' to see his girl, and he let us play on his Jews
harp and smell the cigars he had in his trunk, which he had perfumed
with cinnamon or somethin'. Grandpa and grandma had gone to Concord to
church, and Uncle Henry was in town seein' his girl, and the hired girl
was off for the day. We were hungry as wolves, so I took Mitch into the
pantry where we found a blackberry pie, and a crock of milk, rich with
cream. We ate the pie and drank the milk. Then I showed Mitch the barn
and the horses, and my saddle. I took him into the work house where the
tools were. I showed him the telephone I made which ran down to the
tenant's house. And we got out my uncle's wagon and played engine; and
went up into the attic to look for books. Mitch found a novel by Scott
and began to read; and that was the last of him. I went back to the work
house and pulled a kite I had made from the rafters and got it ready to
fly.
After while grandpa and grandma came from church and when grandma came
out of her room where she had changed her silk dress for a calico dress
in order to get dinner, I stepped out from a door and said, "Hello,
grandma." "Why, child," she said, "you almost scared me to pieces. What
are you doin' here? Where's your popie and your momie?" Then I told her
Mitch and I had walked out, and she took me into the kitchen and made me
help her. By and by she went into the pantry for somethin' and when she
came out she said: "Do you like blackberry pie, Skeet?" "Yes'm," I said.
"Well, I guess you do--and you like milk, too. And now you go down to
the cellar and get another crock of milk--do you hear? And if I hadn't
put the other pies in the cupboard in the dining room, there'd be no pie
for dinner." "No, grandma, we wouldn't eat more'n one--Mitch and I
wouldn't, honest we wouldn't."
Mitch came in, then, and grandma looked at him kind of close and
laughed, and asked him if he was goin' to be a preacher like his pa.
Well, a funny thing came out. Mr. Miller had preached at Concord that
morning, and grandma began to talk about the sermon and say it was the
most beautiful she ever heard. Pretty soon she went out of the room for
somethin', and Mitch said: "She's the livin' image of Aunt Polly--and so
she should be my grandma and not yours; for I'm Tom if anybody is, even
if you're not much like Huck."
Then we had dinner, and Mitch was readin' that novel while eatin', and
grandma kept sayin', "Eat your dinner, Mitch." He did eat, but he was
behind the rest of us.
We helped grandma with the dishes. Then she said, "You boys clear out
while I take a rest. And after while I'll show you some things." She
always took a nap after dinner, lying on a little couch under the two
windows in the settin' room, where the fire-place was, and the old
clock, and the mahogany chest that had come from North Carolina, given
her by her grandmother, and her red-bird in a cage. Grandpa always fell
asleep in his chair while reading the Petersburg _Observer_, which came
the day before.
So Mitch and I walked through the orchard, and when we came back, I
showed him the carriage with glass windows and the blue silk curtain;
and the white horses which grandpa always drove. But we didn't put in
the time very well, because we wanted grandma to wake up.
We went in the house at last, and they were talking together. I heard
grandpa say something about Doc Lyon. We'd almost forgot that by now.
But when we came in the room, grandma said, "Well, here you are," and
went over and got out her drawer that had her trinkets in it. She had
the greatest lot of pictures in rubber cases you ever saw; soldiers
which were dead, and folks who had married and moved away or had died;
and a watch which belonged to her son who was drowned before Mitch and I
was born; and a ribbon with Linkern's picture on it; and breast pins
with hair in 'em; and sticks of cinnamon. And by and by she went to her
closet and got some peach leather, which Mitch had never seen before.
And he thought it the best stuff he ever et. You make it by rolling
peaches into a thin leather and dryin' it, and puttin' sugar and things
in it. It's waxy like gum and chews awful well.
[Illustration: Grandma Showing her Treasures]
Then she got down her scrap book and read little things that Ben
Franklin said, about temperance and work, and study, and savin' money.
She asked Mitch if he had read the Bible through, and Mitch said yes,
for he had. "You haven't," she said to me--"if you'll read it through,
I'll give you five dollars." So I promised. "Now," she said, "you can do
it by fall if you're industrious. Work and play--play hard and work
hard, for the night cometh when no man can work." I never saw Mitch
happier than he was this afternoon. The time slipped by, and finally
grandma said to me to bring in the cows, she was goin' to milk. We began
to wonder how we'd get back to town. But we went for the cows just the
same and watched grandma milk, and helped her with the buckets, and
watched her feed her cats. Then we said we must go, at least after
supper. "How can you go?" said grandma, "you can't walk to-night. It's
too far. Willie Wallace is going in town early with a load of corn, and
you can ride." That suited us. So we had supper, fried mush and eggs and
milk. Then we had prayers; and grandma put us in the west room up-stairs
where there was a picture of Alfaratta, the Indian maid. And I think we
would be sleepin' yet if she hadn't come in to wake us.
We rode in with Willie Wallace and got to the school yard before eight
o'clock. Mitch and I agreed that this was the longest school day we ever
spent.