James, in all things upright and without shred or raveling of any kind.
When I came to know how perfect they were, I never through vanity sought
to equal them in any great thing, but struggled only to pattern after
them in smaller matters, but fruitlessly, as it turned out. Nor was I
alone in these efforts, not indeed to achieve preferment, but bear
equality in some immaterial thing. For Cousin Rolland came in with like
scantiness of resource in comparison with Cousin Angeline's dear father,
who in every detail of life, so it appeared, was a model of sobriety and
goodly thrift. These comparisons, however unpalatable, Cousin Rolland
and I came in time to bear with patience; nay, to look forward to with
equanimity, as one may become accustomed to any disquieting thing in
life. Nor did we ever question anything she said, for Cousin Angeline
was not a woman to argue with, much less to contradict in matters about
which she had made up her mind. If, indeed, one were so foolish, she
had a way of conjuring up something in her own experience that would
utterly and forever upset all your arguments, however plausible they
might appear. This trait, however, we often notice in good men and
women that we know, and so I do wrong, perhaps, to speak of it as
peculiar to her.
In all Cousin Angeline's references to Rudley and James, the former, I
came to remark, was ever named first. Whether this was because he was
older or the more upright of life I never knew--or if I did, have
forgotten.
Thus they passed, and to my good, I hope; but in the long years that
have elapsed since that far-off time I have had, as you may suppose,
many curious reflections regarding them; not, indeed, in the way of
speculative desire for nearer acquaintance, but rather as to how they
fell out in the end--whether they lived on to old age, looked up to and
honored by the world, or relaxing because of too great strain, finally
fell by the wayside in sheer contrariness of spirit, and so ended their
lives in shame, and different from what might have been hoped. Of these
details and others of interest I shall now never know, for the
connecting-threads by which knowledge might have come to me were long
since severed. Thus it has been that at the end of all my cogitations
concerning them, I have ever been compelled, and to my great regret, to
bid them a new and reluctant farewell.
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*THE FISHERS*
"Fish'll bite their own tails on a day like this, Gilbert, and will go
crazy at sight of a grasshopper," Cousin Rolland remarked one afternoon
as we came out from luncheon and were well clear of the house.
"Yes," I answered, looking up at the sky, which was overcast with gray
clouds.
"What do you say, then, to a little diversion--after office hours?" he
asked, coaxingly, as if seeking to influence me.
"I'd like it," I answered, which he knew well enough.
"Well, then, suppose you be at the inlet at four--that is, if your
cousin can spare you," he added, winking, and glancing in the direction
of the house.
"What kind of bait shall I get?" I asked, disregarding his reference to
Cousin Angeline.
"Oh, anything. If you could lay hold of a frog, though, we might get a
bass or pickerel, maybe; but pork or worms will do for cat and suckers,
and they are good enough fishing for me."
"All right; I'll be there with what I can find," I answered, as he
walked away.
Like all good-natured men, Cousin Rolland was very fond of this kind of
sport, and without much, if any, reference to the weather, though if
favorable, as in the present instance, he never failed to make it an
excuse. Fishing, indeed, was the one thing in our lives from which we
derived unalloyed pleasure, albeit partaken of surreptitiously and with
fear and trembling as regards Cousin Angeline, who looked upon such
things as weak and frivolous, and not to be countenanced, much less
encouraged.
The ground we most frequented was a little inlet below the town, near
where the Sacs and Foxes once had their home, though for pickerel and
bass we often went as far as the juncture of the two rivers, some way
off. Hid away in the little cove I have mentioned, Cousin Rolland kept
a boat, which I was privileged to use when I could steal away; and this
was much oftener than one would think, because of Cousin Angeline's
frequent absences from home in pursuance of her many charitable labors.
When Cousin Rolland's work permitted, he would join me, and loosing our
little craft, we pulled into the quiet bay in search of such sport as
the day afforded. This, however, without hope of any great catch as
regards number or quality of fish, but with many idle comments regarding
the water and nature of the bait and other things of that kind, such as
fishermen are given to.
One place in the little inlet, where the water was deep and the bottom
black with mud, catfish were always to be found in the shade of the
evening, and here at such times we were in the habit of casting our
lines; and in regard to this fish, I am bound to say it is not generally
held in the high estimation its plastic nature and grave character
merit. Moving about all its life in the quietude of the deep, cool
water, it comes to the surface without flutter or hurry of expectation,
but with a steady pull on the line such as one might expect from its
bulk and dignified character. This absence of flurry is misconstrued by
the unthinking, and causes many fishermen to underestimate the value and
game qualities of the fish. For one must not suppose that it is without
feeling or spirit because it makes so little fuss. On the contrary, its
grinding teeth and close-set jaws clearly evince its courage and
disposition to fight if there was anything to be gained by such waste of
energy. "Why struggle against the inevitable!" it seems to say, and in
this clearly shows itself superior to all others of its kind, though if
one would clearly understand its rage and undying hate he has but to
watch its pliant whiskers as they wag and twirl as it emerges from the
water, and afterward when lying helpless in the bottom of the boat.
Curiously, the head of this fish is in all things too big for its body,
but why this is so I have never heard any one venture an opinion. It is
as if it were made for some other and bigger animal, but there being
none such about, nature had in derision clapped it on this creature, all
too small. This unfortunate fish afforded us no end of pleasure, but of
our catch, after giving it some examination and remark, we generally
ended by slipping it back into the stream, to be caught again, unless,
indeed, it was of considerable size and firmness, when if we thought it
prudent, we put it aside for Cousin Angeline's table or charitable
endeavors.
If it happened that we were on hand too early for cat to bite, we fished
for suckers, of which there were great numbers about the mouth of the
little bay. It is from this harmless fish, you must know, that feeds
mainly on succulent grasses, that the good people of Illinois derive
their patronymic. Why it, any more than another, should have had so
great an honor thrust upon it I do not know, unless, indeed, because of
its great prevalence in the sluggish streams of the state. Viewed from
the exterior, it is as shapely a fish as one could wish, but inwardly is
full of bones; not diffused, indeed, as in the case of other fish, but
tied up like faggots or sheaves of wheat, and in such diminutive parcels
that no ingenuity of the gourmand is sufficient to evade the delicate
morsels. The mouth of the sucker is its striking feature, however, and
from this it derives its name. Without teeth and featureless, this
interesting fish has a way of puckering its lips into a knot and then
pursing them out suddenly, as a child will in derision of its playmates;
or perhaps more like a man who, firmly drawing in his lips, as if
nothing could ever move him from his set purpose, suddenly relaxes and
gives up all without a struggle.
Nothing could exceed our delight in snaring the inoffensive creatures
that frequented the little inlet, and indeed it is difficult to imagine
any form of recreation more refreshing or likely to relax the
overstrained nerves of men. This more especially, I may say, in the
case of philosophers and others not given to much hardness of muscle.
Its restive properties, too, are far greater, I am constrained to
believe, than are to be found in the new-fangled reel and more alert
game, whereby your nervous system is much overwrought and the fish put
to a vexation of spirit every kindly man must deplore.
In this way, and as I have described, the days went by until two months
had come and gone, when one afternoon, as we sat watching our lines,
Cousin Rolland remarked, spitting on his bait a second time:
"Your Cousin Angeline has more work to do, Gilbert."
This news, while important, as was everything concerning Cousin
Angeline, seemingly did not concern me, and so I only answered:
"Yes, cousin."
"She has a correspondent."
"Has she?" I replied, absently, pulling in a bullhead that wriggled on
the hook as if some one were tickling it to death.
"Cousin Angeline's fond of writing and accounts."
"This has nothing to do with the charities, though," he answered,
reflectively.
"I suppose letter-writing's strange here?" I replied, throwing the
bullhead back into the water and putting on a fresh worm. "But we ought
always to write to our kin, and Cousin Angeline's got a lot, you know."
"Yes, including papa and the two nephews; but it is not her kin who are
writing to her now," he replied, jerking at his line. "Drat it! that's
the third worm that turtle has picked off my hook."
"Try a grasshopper, cousin; but who else writes to her?" I answered,
dropping my hook close to the bottom for cat.
"A lawyer, of all men."
"A lawyer! What can he have to say?" I answered, little interested.
"Oh, there are many things lawyers can write about, as in this case," he
replied. "You would jump out of the boat, too, if you knew his name."
"Why, what have I to do with it?" I answered, looking up surprised.
"Can't you guess who it is?" he answered, eying me sideways.
"No, unless it's Mr. Lincoln. I don't know any other," I answered.
"It is not Mr. Lincoln, for he never heard of your cousin. It is some
one you dislike, and for good reason," he replied. slowly.
"Some one I dislike!" I answered, trying to think who he could mean.
"Yes, but it is all right, I hope. It's--it's--Moth," he answered at
last, catching his breath.
This piece of news, which he had sought to lead up to with, so much
pains, and which if I had not been so dull I would have guessed, I was
altogether unprepared to hear. Surely nothing so startling could have
been dreamed of, and repeating the name over and over, I sat staring at
him, unable to say more.
"Yes, Moth," he went on, "the rascal! I saw the letter on her table."
"What did it say?" I asked, after a while, scarce able to speak.
"I could only read the name, for your cousin came in at the moment, and
made such an ado about my spying into her correspondence that I was
frightened. When I told her again and again that I had not read a word
the letter contained, she finally appeared to believe what I said, and
there the matter dropped."
"Do you think he knows I'm here?" I asked, foolishly, feeling sure he
did.
"I am afraid so, else why should he write to her? He must have found
out that you stopped off here, and so have traced you. Some one in Rock
Island has written him--betrayed you, Gilbert, I fear," he added,
coloring, and winding his line absently about the stick he held.
"Yes, but what am I to do? I'll not let Moth take me. I'd throw myself
into the river first," I answered, scarce knowing what I said.
"No, of course not; and if it turns out that he is really after you, you
must go to your Uncle Job. It is only a few hours' ride, and if there
is no boat, you can go by the highway. There is no need to act hastily,
though. Let us watch and see. Maybe it is all right, after all."
"No, they're after me, and I'm not going back to the house," I answered,
determined never to come into Moth's clutches.
"That will never do, Gilbert. We will go home and spy out the ground,
as I have said. Moth will never come this far on so uncertain an
errand," he added, as if to comfort me.
"Yes, he will, now that he has found out I'm here and he has some one to
help trap me," I answered, thoughtlessly, as I should not have done,
because of Cousin Rolland. He, however, took no notice of what I said,
but taking up the oars brought us to the shore, and securing the boat we
started for home, much cast down in spirits.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*THE CONSPIRATORS*
At the supper-table Cousin Angeline gave no sign except that she seemed
to speak more kindly than was her wont and to put herself out somewhat
to add to my comfort. This was so unusual that by and by if she but
offered me a dish or smiled, I was ready to cry out with fear. For what
more natural, if she were going to give me up, than that she should seek
to lull me to sleep meanwhile by little attentions of this nature. Of
Moth or his letter she said not a word. Nor did she so much as look at
Cousin Rolland, who sat dumb, with his face buried in his plate. Most
strange of all, she did not speak of her father or Rudley and James.
This alarmed me more than aught else, for such a thing had never
happened before that I could remember. Thus I found nothing to comfort
me, and supper being over, I after a little while excused myself and
went to bed; but sleep did not visit my tired eyes, and at the first
peep of day I got up and went into the garden. Here I wandered
aimlessly about until summoned to breakfast. Afterward, still more
disturbed, my mind conjured up a thousand improbable things, till
finally, worn out with loss of sleep and worry, I entered the house, and
slipping unobserved into the parlor, lay down on a settle that stood in
the corner, where I soon fell asleep. How long I had thus lain I do not
know, when I was awakened by voices in the adjoining room. At this I
got up, greatly alarmed, for of way of escape there was none, save
through the room from whence the voices came. Listening intently, I
recognized Cousin Angeline's voice, and then, almost with the same
breath, Moth's. Fearing they would enter the room where I lay, I
secreted myself, and luckily, as it turned out, for in a moment the
parlor door was thrown open and Cousin Angelina and Moth entered.
"Your letter, Mrs. Love, notifying me of Gilbert being here was delayed,
not being properly directed," Moth went on, finishing what he had been
saying; "but as soon as it came to hand I wrote you, and have followed
as quickly as I could."
"I am glad you have come," Cousin Angeline replied, seating herself on
the settle behind which I was hidden, "for every day the lad is away
from his aunt and her restraining influence is greatly to his
disadvantage."
"I am sure of that, as indeed my client is," Moth answered, striding
back and forth.
"I have done what I could to correct his morals and abominable habits,
and while there is nothing positively wicked about him, he is wayward,
and I can plainly see a tendency in him to go to the bad that nothing
but strict discipline will overcome. Miss Holmes has probably observed
this, too, Mr. Miller?"
"Moth, if you please, madam. Yes, she has noticed the tendency you
speak of, and it is because of it that I have hastened; and now that I
am here," he went on, "I will lose no time in having him taken before
the court and his aunt appointed guardian. His uncle abandoning him is
evidence of his unfitness, so there will be no trouble this time, I
apprehend."
"Take him before the court! What for, pray? No, no, you will never get
him that way," Cousin Angeline answered, in a decided voice.
"Indeed, madam, why not, may I ask?"
"There will be delay, and in the end you will be defeated through the
efforts of his uncle and, I fear, my husband, whose heart is like melted
butter."
"Then what am I to do? for have him I will," Moth answered, in his
dogged way.
"Of course; he belongs to his aunt," Cousin Angeline replied. "But why
bother the courts with so trifling a thing, Mr. Miller?"
"Moth, I said, madam, if you please--Moth. I fear I do not quite
understand your meaning. How else, pray, can I secure him except
through the courts?"
"It is plain enough. Take him wherever you find him. What have the
courts to do with his going back to his aunt? It will be time enough to
consult them afterward, I should think," she answered, as if there was
no other way.
"I could handle him easily enough if I could once get him away from
here," Moth answered, reflectively. "There is many a way to make a lad
keep quiet, or silence inquiry; but how to get him, that is the thing
that sticks me."
"It is easy enough if you have the courage and tact," she replied,
decisively.
"How, madam?" he asked, surprised.
"Well, in this way, among others. He is in the habit of stealing off to
a little inlet below the town, and quite out of the way of observation.
I will give him permission to go there this afternoon, and that will
please him, for he would rather idle away his time than do any useful
thing. He will go straight to the inlet, and once there you can come
upon him unawares, and in a place where he can neither fly nor make
himself heard. You must go early, however, and before my husband joins
him, as he will be likely to do later, being that way inclined, I am
sorry to say."
"That is all right as far as it goes, madam, but afterward?" Moth asked,
doubtfully.
"When you have him, capsize his boat, and every one will think he has
been drowned. Then if you can't get him away, you are sadly lacking in
resources," Cousin Angeline added, grimly, as if to spur him on.
"Suppose some one should be about. You can't tell," Moth answered,
dubiously.
"There will be no one, for the place is aside, as I have said. No one
frequents it except Gilbert and my husband. And once he is in your
possession, you can drop down the river to the first town, and from
there take him home; and good riddance to the little glutton."
"Well, the plan seems all right, madam, and I will try it, and am much
obliged to you for your advice, and the hint about overturning the
boat," Moth answered, with a chuckle, as he turned toward the door. "Do
not fail to have him on hand, though. And about another matter I had
nearly forgotten," he added, facing about. "You have been very
obliging, and my client directs me to say that she will lose no time in
recompensing you for your trouble, and of this you may rest assured."
"Thank you; I have not expected any recompense, but only sought to do my
duty by the unfortunate lad. However, she can do as she likes in the
matter," Cousin Angeline answered, as if greatly pleased at the idea of
a reward. "Do not fear in regard to Gilbert, Mr. Miller. He will be on
hand, as I have said, or if anything should prevent his going this
afternoon, he will be there to-morrow. It would be impossible for him
to keep away from the river two days in succession, the little
vagabond!"
"Thank you; and now as the matter is fully understood, I will go and
make the necessary arrangements," Moth answered; and bidding her good
day, took his departure.
When the street door closed behind him and his footsteps could no longer
be heard, Cousin Angeline left the room, and putting on her bonnet,
followed him, but for what purpose I could not imagine. Nor did it
matter, for when she was gone I sprang up, and not losing a moment,
gathered such articles of clothing as I could lay hands on, and wrapping
them about some biscuits I found in the cupboard, slipped out of the
back door and so into the alley. Following this in the direction of the
country, I quickly reached the forest, and hiding myself in its depths,
soon found my way to the road that led to Appletop.
*CHAPTER XXVI*
*LOST IN THE FOREST*
However much we may desire to retain the unconscious spirit of youth, it
vanishes with life's first nipping frost, and although the leaves may
not fall in a night, they have no sap or potency left in them. Thus it
was with me from that melancholy day when my father went down broken and
disheartened. The shell, however, had not yet fallen apart, but from
the day that I left Wild Plum childhood vanished, and the weeks were
like years in growth and knowledge of worldly things. So that now, at
twelve, my youth was already a thing of the past, and not to be
considered in any other light. It mattered not that others did not see
the change. This pleased me rather than otherwise; but Moth made me
less than I was--a mere creature not worthy of thought--and because of
it I hated him, and my aunt not less. They threatened all I at present
regarded, so fast had I grown in love of things apart; and to shake them
off, and in all matters go contrary to their wishes, was now uppermost
in the desire of my heart. In this I was again successful, and going
forward in the bright sunshine, my heart lightened as I reached the
summit of the bluff and looked down on the village I had left behind.
Its scattered houses lay bathed in the afternoon's sun, and beyond them
the great river, smooth and glistening, stretched away on either side,
broken only by the lofty trees that lined its eastern shore. To the
south the little inlet, bordered about with willows, where Cousin
Rolland and I were wont to go, I could plainly see; and in the heart of
the village his house stood out among its neighbors, as if somehow
greater than them all. Looking, I imagined I could see Cousin Angeline
watching from her door, and beckoning me to return. Knowing it could
not be, I yet was none the less alarmed, and turning, ran on, the
quicker to hide myself in the forest that lay behind.
As I went forward my spirits mounted with every step; for such is ever
the elasticity of our young life, its shadows losing themselves in the
smallest ray of light. Now again I was free, beneath the spreading
trees and overhanging sky, and hurrying on, a frenzy seized me, and I
sang and cried aloud like one crazed. Never had the odors of the woods
seemed so sweet or the flowers that bordered the road so full of beauty.
Hastening, the murmurings of the forest and the sight of the birds
flying back and forth across my path, or running forward in semblance of
fear, little by little soothed my mind and made me share with them the
peaceful sweetness of the surrounding scene. The path I followed, for
it was little more, now plain, now obscure, had no set rule, but went
here and there, as in the old days of Indian life. If the trees were
dense, it went around them, as it did the rocks and hills. So, too,
with the slumbering pools and impassable stretches that lay along the
way. These it dodged as if in play, leaving Nature's tracing
undisturbed as in the grace of its first creation. Each turn in the
meanderings of the road, as if in jealousy, hid some mystery of its own.
A vista or cluster of trees it might be, or perhaps a distant view of
some quiet valley, clothed in vestments of color and asleep in its hazy
depths. Thus I went on, disregardful, noting only what was about me,
softly beguiled, and after a while silent, plucking at the wild flowers
by the way, or bathing my face in their soft perfume. Coming in this
mood upon a wild-plum tree that grew beside the road, I gathered its
leaves in remembrance of my home, and pressing them to my lips, thrust
them into my bosom, wet with my tears. In this way the afternoon
passed, the openings in the forest showing more and more the sun
hastening to its setting.