Produced by Richard Prairie, Tiffany Vergon, Charles
Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
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SWEET CICELY
OR JOSIAH ALLEN AS A POLITICIAN
By “Josiah Allen's Wife”: Marietta Holley
_With Illustrations_
Eighth Edition
[Illustration: SWEET CICELY.]
TO
THE SAD-EYED MOTHERS,
WHO, LIKE CICELY,
ARE LOOKING ACROSS THE CRADLE OF THEIR
BOYS INTO THE GREAT WORLD OF
TEMPTATION AND DANGER,
This Book is Dedicated.
PREFACE.
Josiah and me got to talkin' it over. He said it wuzn't right to think
more of one child than you did of another.
And I says, “That is so, Josiah.”
And he says, “Then, why did you say yesterday, that you loved sweet
Cicely better than any of the rest of your thought-children? You said
you loved 'em all, and was kinder sorry for the hull on 'em, but you
loved her the best: what made you say it?”
Says I, “I said it, to tell the truth.”
“Wall, what did you do it _for_?” he kep' on, determined to get a
reason.
“I did it,” says I, a comin' out still plainer,--“I did it to keep from
lyin'.”
“Wall, when you say it hain't right to feel so, what makes you?”
“I don't know, Josiah,” says I, lookin' at him, and beyend him, way into
the depths of emotions and feelin's we can't understand nor help,--
“I don't know why, but I know I do.”
And he drawed on his boots, and went out to the barn.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
SWEET CICELY
CHAPTER I.
It was somewhere about the middle of winter, along in the forenoon, that
Josiah Allen was telegrafted to, unexpected. His niece Cicely and her
little boy was goin' to pass through Jonesville the next day on her way
to visit her aunt Mary (aunt on her mother's side), and she would stop
off, and make us a short visit if convenient.
We wuz both tickled, highly tickled; and Josiah, before he had read the
telegraf ten minutes, was out killin' a hen. The plumpest one in the
flock was the order I give; and I wus a beginnin' to make a fuss, and
cook up for her.
We loved her jest about as well as we did Tirzah Ann. Sweet Cicely was
what we used to call her when she was a girl. Sweet Cicely is a plant
that has a pretty white posy. And our niece Cicely was prettier and
purer and sweeter than any posy that ever grew: so we thought then, and
so we think still.
[Illustration: JOSIAH TELLING THE NEWS TO SAMANTHA.]
Her mother was my companion's sister,--one of a pair of twins, Mary and
Maria, that thought the world of each other, as twins will. Their mother
died when they wus both of 'em babies; and they wus adopted by a rich
aunt, who brought 'em up elegant, and likely too: that I will say for
her, if she wus a 'Piscopal, and I a Methodist. I am both liberal and
truthful--very.
Maria wus Cicely's ma, and she wus left a widow when she wus a young
woman; and Cicely wus her only child. And the two wus bound up in each
other as I never see a mother and daughter in my life before or sense.
The third year after Josiah and me wus married, Maria wusn't well, and
the doctor ordered her out into the country for her health; and she and
little Cicely spent the hull of that summer with us. Cicely wus about
ten; and how we did love that girl! Her mother couldn't bear to have her
out of her sight; and I declare, we all of us wus jest about as bad.
And from that time they used to spend most all of their summers in
Jonesville. The air agreed with 'em, and so did I: we never had a word
of trouble. And we used to visit them quite a good deal in the winter
season: they lived in the city.
Wall, as Cicely got to be a young girl, I used often to set and look at
her, and wonder if the Lord could have made a prettier, sweeter girl
if he had tried to. She looked to me jest perfect, and so she did to
Josiah.
And she knew so much, too, and wus so womanly and quiet and deep. I
s'pose it wus bein' always with her mother that made her seem older and
more thoughtful than girls usially are. It seemed as if her great dark
eyes wus full of wisdom beyend--fur beyend--her years, and sweetness
too. Never wus there any sweeter eyes under the heavens than those of
our niece Cicely.
She wus very fair and pale, you would think at first; but, when you
would come to look closer, you would see there was nothing sickly in
her complexion, only it was very white and smooth,--a good deal like
the pure white leaves of the posy Sweet Cicely. She had a gentle, tender
mouth, rose-pink; and her cheeks wuz, when she would get rousted up and
excited about any thing; and then it would all sort o' die out again
into that pure white. And over all her face, as sweet and womanly as it
was, there was a look of power, somehow, a look of strength, as if she
would venture much, dare much, for them she loved. She had the gift, not
always a happy one, of loving,--a strength of devotion that always has
for its companion-trait a gift of endurance, of martyrdom if necessary.
She would give all, dare all, endure all, for them she loved. You could
see that in her face before you had been with her long enough to see it
in her life.
Her hair wus a soft, pretty brown, about the color of her eyes. And
she wus a little body, slender, and sort o' plump too; and her arms and
hands and neck wus soft and white as snow almost.
Yes, we loved Cicely: and no one could blame us, or wonder at us for
callin' her after the posy Sweet Cicely; for she wus prettier than any
posy that ever blew, enough sight.
Wall, she had always said she couldn't live if her mother died.
But she did, poor little creeter! she did.
Maria died when Cicely wus about eighteen. She had always been delicate,
and couldn't live no longer: so she died. And Josiah and me went right
after the poor child, and brought her home with us.
[Illustration: CICELY.]
She lived, Cicely did, because she wus young, and couldn't die. And
Josiah and me wus dretful good to her; and many's the nights that I
have gone into her room when I'd hear her cryin' way along in the night;
many's the times I have gone in, and took her in my arms, and held her
there, and cried with her, and soothed her, and got her to sleep, and
held her in my arms like a baby till mornin'. Wall, she lived with us
most a year that time; and it wus about two years after, while she wus
to some of her father's folks'es (they wus very rich), that she met the
young man she married,--Paul Slide.
He wus a handsome young man, well-behaved, only he would drink a little
once in a while: he'd got into the habit at college, where his mate wus
wild, and had his turns. But he wus very pretty in his manners, Paul
was,--polite, good-natured, generous-dispositioned,--and very rich.
And as to his looks, there wuzn't no earthly fault to find with him,
only jest his chin. And I told Josiah, that how Cicely could marry a man
with such a chin wus a mystery to me.
And Josiah said, “What is the matter with his chin?”
And I says, “Why, it jest sets right back from his mouth: he hain't got
no chin at all hardly,” says I. “The place where his chin ort to be is
nothin' but a holler place all filled up with irresolution and weakness.
And I believe Cicely will see trouble with that chin.”
And then--I well remember it, for it was the very first time
after marriage, and so, of course, the very first time in our two
lives--Josiah called me a fool, a “dumb fool,” or jest the same as
called me so. He says, “I wouldn't be a dumb fool if I was in your
place.”
I felt worked up. But, like warriors on a battle-field, I grew stronger
for the fray; and the fray didn't scare me none.
[Illustration: PAUL SLIDE.]
But I says, “You'll see if you live, Josiah Allen”; and he did.
But, as I said, I didn't see how Cicely ever fell in love with a man
with such a chin. But, as I learned afterwards, she fell in love with
him under a fur collar. It wus on a slay-ride. And he wuz very handsome
from his mouth up, very: his mouth wuz ruther weak. It wus a case of
love at first sight, which I believe in considerable; and she couldn't
help lovin' him, women are so queer.
I had always said that when Cicely did love, it would go hard with her.
Many's the offers she'd had, but didn't care for 'em. But I knew, with
her temperament and nater, that love, if it did come to her, would come
to stay, and it would come hard and voyalent. And so it did.
She worshipped him, as I said at first, under a fur collar. And then,
when a woman once gets to lovin' a man as she did, why, she can't help
herself, chin or no chin. When a woman has once throwed herself in front
of her idol, it hain't so much matter whether it is stuffed full of
gold, or holler: it hain't so much matter _what_ they be, I think.
Curius, hain't it?
It hain't the easiest thing in the world for such a woman as Cicely to
love, but it is a good deal easier for her than to unlove, as she found
out afterwards. For twice before her marriage she saw him out of his
head with liquor; and it wus my advice to her, to give him up.
And she tried to unlove him, tried to give him up.
But, good land! she might jest as well have took a piece of her own
heart out, as to take out of it her love for him: it had become a part
of her. And he told her she could save him, her influence could redeem
him, and it wus the only thing that could save him.
And Cicely couldn't stand such talk, of course; and she believed
him--believed that she could love him so well, throw her influence so
around him, as to hold him back from any evil course.
It is a beautiful hope, the very beautifulest and divinest piece of
folly a woman can commit. Beautiful enough in the sublime martyrdom of
the idee, to make angels smile; and vain enough, and foolish enough in
its utter uselessness, to make sinners weep. It can't be done--not in 98
cases out of a 100 at least.
Why, if a man hain't got love enough for a woman when he is tryin' to
win her affection,--when he is on probation, as you may say,--to stop
and turn round in his downward course, how can she expect he will after
he has got her, and has let down his watch, so to speak?
But she loved him. And when I warned her with tears in my eyes, warned
her that mebby it wus more than her own safety and happiness that wus
imperilled, I could see by the look in her eyes, though she didn't
say much, that it wusn't no use for me to talk; for she wus one of
the constant natures that can't wobble round. And though I don't like
wobblin', still I do honestly believe that the wobblers are happier than
them that can't wobble.
I could see jest how it wuz, and I couldn't bear to have her blamed. And
I would tell folks,--some of the relations on her mother's side,--when
they would say, “What a fool she wus to have him!”--I'd say to 'em,
“Wall, when a woman sees the man she loves goin' down to ruination,
and tries to unlove him, she'll find out jest how much harder it is to
unlove him than to love him in the first place: they'll find out it is a
tough job to tackle.”
[Illustration: SAMANTHA AND THE “BLAMERS.”]
I said this to blamers of Cicely (relatives, the best blamers you can
find anywhere). But, at the same time, it would have been my way, when
he had come a courtin' me so far gone with liquor that he could hardly
stand up--why, I should have told him plain, that I wouldn't try to set
myself up as a rival to alcohol, and he might pay to that his attentions
exclusively hereafter.
But she didn't. And he promised sacred to abstain, and could, and did,
for most a year; and she married him.
But, jest before the marriage, I got so rousted up a thinkin' about what
I had heard of him at college,--and I studied on his picture, which she
had sent me, took sideways too, and I could see plain (why, he hadn't no
chin at all, as you may say; and his lips was weak and waverin' as
ever lips was, though sort o' amiable and fascinating),--and I got to
forebodin' so about that chin, and my love for her wus a hunchin' me up
so all the time, that I went to see her on a short tower, to beset her
on the subject. But, good land! I might have saved my breath, I might
have saved my tower.
I cried, and she cried too. And I says to her before I thought,--
“He'll be the ruin of you, Cicely.”
And she says, “I would rather be beaten by his hand, than to be crowned
by another. Why, I love him, aunt Samantha.”
You see, that meant a awful sight to her. And as she looked at me so
earnest and solemn, with tears in them pretty brown eyes, there wus in
her look all that that word could possibly mean to any soul.
But I cried into my white linen handkerchief, and couldn't help it, and
couldn't help sayin', as I see that look,--
“Cicely, I am afraid he will break your heart--kill you”--
“Why, I am not afraid to die when I am with him. I am afraid of
nothing--of life, or death, or eternity.”
Well, I see my talk was no use. I see she'd have him, chin or no chin.
If I could have taken her up in my arms, and run away with her then and
there, how much misery I could have saved her from! But I couldn't: I
had the rheumatiz. And I had to give up, and go home disappointed, but
carryin' this thought home with me on my tower,--that I had done my duty
by our sweet Cicely, and could do no more.
As I said, he promised firm to give up drinking. But, good land! what
could you expect from that chin? That chin couldn't stand temptation if
it came in his way. At the same time, his love for Cicely was such, and
his good heart and his natural gentlemanly intuitions was such, that, if
he could have been kep' out of the way of temptation, he would have been
all right.
If there hadn't been drinking-saloons right in front of that chin, if
it could have walked along the road without runnin' right into 'em,
it would have got along. That chin, and them waverin'-lookin', amiable
lips, wouldn't have stirred a step out of their ways to get ruined and
disgraced: they wouldn't have took the trouble to.
And for a year or so he and the chin kep' out of the way of
temptation, or ruther temptation kep' out of their way; and Cicely was
happy,--radiently happy, as only such a nature as hern can be. Her face
looked like a mornin' in June, it wus so bright, and glowing with joy
and happy love.
I visited her, stayed 3 days and 2 nights with her; and I almost forgot
to forebode about the lower part of his face, I found 'em so happy and
prosperous and likely.
Paul wus very rich. He wus the only child: and his pa left 2 thirds of
his property to him, and the other third to his ma, which wus more than
she could ever use while she wus alive; and at her death it wus to go to
Paul and his heirs.
They owned most all of the village they lived in. His pa had owned the
township the village was built on, and had built most all the village
himself, and rented the buildings. He owned a big manufactory there, and
the buildings rented high.
Wall, it wus in the second year of their marriage that that old college
chumb--(and I wish he had been chumbed by a pole, before he had ever
gone there). He had lost his property, and come down in the world,
and had to work for a livin'; moved into that village, and opened a
drinking-saloon and billiard-room.
He had been Paul's most intimate friend at college, and his evil
genius, so his mother said. But he was bright, witty, generous in a way,
unprincipled, dissipated. And he wanted Paul's company, and he wanted
Paul's money; and he had a chin himself, and knew how to manage them
that hadn't any.
Wall, Cicely and his mother tried to keep Paul from that bad influence.
But he said it would look shabby to not take any notice of a man because
he wus down in the world. He wouldn't have much to do with him, but it
wouldn't do to not notice him at all. How curius, that out of good comes
bad, and out of bad, good. That was a good-natured idee of Paul's if he
had had a chin that could have held up his principle; but he didn't.
So he gradually fell under the old influence again. He didn't mean to.
He hadn't no idee of doin' so when he begun. It was the chin.
He begun to drink hard, spent his nights in the saloon,
gambled,--slipped right down the old, smooth track worn by millions of
jest such weak feet, towards ruin. And Cicely couldn't hold him back
after he had got to slippin': her arms wuzn't strong enough.
She went to the saloon-keeper, and cried, and begged of him not to sell
her husband any more liquor. He was very polite to her, very courteous:
everybody was to Cicely. But in a polite way he told her that Paul wus
his best customer, and he shouldn't offend him by refusing to sell him
liquor. She knelt at his feet, I hearn,--her little, tender limbs on
that rough floor before that evil man,--and wept, and said,--
“For the sake of her boy, wouldn't he have mercy on the boy's father.”
But in a gentle way he gave her to understand that he shouldn't make no
change.
And he told her, speakin' in a dretful courteous way, “that he had the
law on his side: he had a license, and he should keep right on as he was
doing.”
[Illustration: CICELY IN THE SALOON.]
And so what could Cicely do? And time went on, carryin' Paul further and
further down the road that has but one ending. Lower and lower he sunk,
carryin' her heart, her happiness, her life, down with him.
And they said one cold night Paul didn't come home at all, and Cicely
and his mother wus half crazy; and they wus too proud, to the last, to
tell the servants more than they could help: so, when it got to be most
mornin', them two delicate women started out through the deep snow, to
try to find him, tremblin' at every little heap of snow that wus tumbled
up in the path in front of 'em; tremblin' and sick at heart with the
agony and dread that wus rackin' their souls, as they would look
over the cold fields of snow stretching on each side of the road, and
thinkin' how that face would look if it wus lying there staring with
lifeless eyes up towards the cold moonlight,--the face they had kissed,
the face they had loved,--and thinkin', too, that the change that had
come to it--was comin' to it all the time--was more cruel and hopeless
than the change of death.
So they went on, clear to the saloon; and there they found him,--there
he lay, perfectly stupid, and dead with liquor.
And they both, the broken-hearted mother and the broken-hearted
wife, with the tears running down their white cheeks, besought the
saloon-keeper to let him alone from that night.
The mother says, “Paul is so good, that if you did not tempt him, entice
him here, he would, out of pity to us, stop his evil ways.”
And the saloon-keeper was jest as polite as any man wus ever seen to
be,--took his hat off while he told 'em, so I hearn, “that he couldn't
go against his own interests: if Paul chose to spend his money there, he
should take it.”
“Will you break our hearts?” cried the mother.
“Will you ruin my husband, the father of my boy?” sobbed out Cicely, her
big, sorrowful eyes lookin' right through his soul--if he _had_ a soul.
And then the man, in a pleasant tone, reminded 'em,--
“That it wuzn't him that wus a doin' this. It wus the law: if they
wanted things changed, they must look further than him. He had a
license. The great Government of the United States had sold him, for a
few dollars, the right to do just what he was doing. The law, and all
the respectability that the laws of our great and glorious Republic can
give, bore him out in all his acts. The law was responsible for all
the consequenses of his acts: the men were responsible who voted for
license--it was not him.”
“But you _can_ do what we ask if you will, out of pity to Paul, pity to
us who love him so, and who are forced to stand by powerless, and see
him going to ruin--we who would die for him willingly if it would do any
good. You _can_ do this.”
He was a little bit intoxicated, or he wouldn't have gid 'em the cruel
sneer he did at the last,--though he sneeren polite,--a holdin' his hat
in his hand.
“As I said, my dear madam, it is not I, it is the law; and I see no
other way for you ladies who feel so about it, only to vote, and change
the laws.”
“Would to God I _could!_” said the old white-haired mother, with her
solemn eyes lifted to the heavens, in which was her only hope.
“Would to God I could!” repeated my sweet Cicely, with her eyes fastened
on the face of him who had promised to cherish her, and comfort her,
and protect her, layin' there at her feet, a mark for jeers and sneers,
unable to speak a word, or lift his hand, if his wife and mother had
been killed before him.
But they couldn't do any thing. They would have lain their lives down
for him at any time, but that wouldn't do any good. The lowest, most
ignorant laborer in their employ had power in this matter, but they had
none. They had intellectual power enough, which, added to their
utter helplessness, only made their burden more unendurable; for they
comprehended to the full the knowledge of what was past, and what must
come in the future unless help came quickly. They had the strength of
devotion, the strength of unselfish love.
They had the will, but they hadn't nothin' to tackle it onto him with,
to draw him back. For their prayers, their midnight watches, their
tears, did not avail, as I said: they went jest so far; they touched
him, but they lacked the tacklin'-power that was wanted to grip holt of
him, and draw him back. What they needed was the justice of the law to
tackle the injustice; and they hadn't got it, and couldn't get holt of
it: so they had to set with hands folded, or lifted to the heavens in
wild appeal,--either way didn't help Paul any,--and see him a sinkin'
and a sinkin', slippin' further and further down; and they had to let
him go.
He drunk harder and harder, neglected his business, got quarrelsome. And
one night, when the heavens was curtained with blackness, like a pall
let down to cover the accursed scene, he left Cicely with her pretty
baby asleep on her bosom, went down to the saloon, got into a quarrel
with that very friend of hisen, the saloon-keeper, over a game of
billiards,--they was both intoxicated,--and then and there Paul
committed _murder_, and would have been hung for it if he hadn't died in
State's prison the night before he got his sentence.
[Illustration: PAUL SHOOTING HIS FRIEND.]
Awful deed! Dreadful fate! But no worse, as I told Josiah when he wus a
groanin' over it; no worse, I told the children when they was a cryin'
over it; no worse, I told my own heart when the tears wus a runnin' down
my face like rain-water,--no worse because Cicely happened to be our
relation, and we loved her as we did our own eyes.
And our broad land is _full_ of jest such sufferin's, jest such crimes,
jest such disgrace, caused by the same cause;--as I told Josiah,
suffering, disgrace, and crime made legal and protected by the law.
And Josiah squirmed as I said it; and I see him squirm, for he believed
in it: he believed in licensing this shame and disgrace and woe; he
believed in makin' it respectable, and wrappin' round it the mantilly of
the law, to keep it in a warm, healthy, flourishin' condition. Why, he
had helped do it himself; he had helped the United States lift up the
mantilly; he had voted for it.
He squirmed, but turned it off by usin' his bandana hard, and sayin', in
a voice all choked down with grief,--
“Oh, poor Cicely! poor girl!”
“Yes,” says I, “'poor girl!' and the law you uphold has made her; 'poor
girl'--has killed her; for she won't live through it, and you and the
United States will see that she won't.”
He squirmed hard; and my feelin's for him are such that I can't bear
to see him squirm voyalently, as much as I blamed him and the United
States, and as mad as I was at both on 'em.
So I went to cryin' agin silently under my linen handkerchief, and he
cried into his bandana. It wus a awful blow to both on us.
Wall, she lived, Cicely did, which was more than we any one of us
thought she could do. I went right there, and stayed six weeks with her,
hangin' right over her bed, night and day; and so did his mother,--she a
brokenhearted woman too. Her heart broke, too, by the United States; and
so I told Josiah, that little villain that got killed was only one of
his agents. Yes, her heart was broke; but she bore up for Cicely's sake
and the boy's. For it seemed as if she felt remorsful, and as if it was
for them that belonged to him who had ruined her life, to help her all
they could.
Wall, after about three weeks Cicely begun to live. And so I wrote to
Josiah that I guessed she would keep on a livin' now, for the sake of
the boy.
And so she did. And she got up from that bed a shadow,--a faint, pale
shadow of the girl that used to brighten up our home for us. She was our
sweet Cicely still. But she looked like that posy after the frost has
withered it, and with the cold moonlight layin' on it.
Good and patient she wuz, and easy to get along with; for she seemed to
hold earthly things with a dretful loose grip, easy to leggo of 'em. And
it didn't seem as if she had any interest at all in life, or care for
any thing that was a goin' on in the world, till the boy wus about four
years old; and then she begun to get all rousted up about him and
his future. “She _must_ live,” she said: “she had got to live, to do
something to help him in the future.”
[Illustration: CICELY AND THE BOY.]
“She couldn't die,” she told me, “and leave him in a world that was so
hard for boys, where temptations and danger stood all round her boy's
pathway. Not only hidden perils, concealed from sight, so he might
possibly escape them, but open temptations, open dangers, made as
alluring as private avarice could make them, and made as respectable as
dignified legal enactments could make them,--all to draw her boy down
the pathway his poor father descended.” For one of the curius things
about Cicely wuz, she didn't seem to blame Paul hardly a mite, nor not
so very much the one that enticed him to drink. She went back further
than them: she laid the blame onto our laws; she laid the responsibility
onto the ones that made 'em, directly and indirectly, the legislators
and the voters.
Curius that Cicely should feel so, when most everybody said that he
could have stopped drinking if he had wanted to. But then, I don't know
as I could blame her for feelin' so when I thought of Paul's chin and
lips. Why, anybody that had them on 'em, and was made up inside and
outside accordin', as folks be that have them looks; why, unless they
was specially guarded by good influences, and fenced off from bad
ones,--why, they _could not_ exert any self-denial and control and
firmness.
Why, I jest followed that chin and that mouth right back through seven
generations of the Slide family. Paul's father wus a good man, had a
good face; took it from his mother: but his father, Paul's grandfather,
died a drunkard. They have got a oil-portrait of him at Paul's old home:
I stopped there on my way home from Cicely's one time. And for all the
world he looked most exactly like Paul,--the same sort of a irresolute,
handsome, weak, fascinating look to him. And all through them portraits
I could trace that chin and them lips. They would disappear in some of
'em, but crop out agin further back. And I asked the housekeeper, who
had always lived in the family, and wus proud of it, but honest; and she
knew the story of the hull Slide race.
And she said that every one of 'em that had that face had traits
accordin'; and most every one of 'em got into trouble of some kind.
One or two of 'em, specially guarded, I s'pose, by good influences, got
along with no further trouble than the loss of the chin, and the feelin'
they must have had inside of 'em, that they wuz liable to crumple right
down any minute.
And as they wus made with jest them looks, and jest them traits, born
so, entirely unbeknown to them, I don't know as I can blame Cicely for
feelin' as she did. If temptation hadn't stood right in the road in
front of him, why, he'd have got along, and lived happy. That's Cicely's
idee. And I don't know but she's in the right ont.
But as I said, when her child wus about four years old, Cicely took a
turn, and begun to get all worked up and excited by turns a worryin'
about the boy. She'd talk about it a sight to me, and I hearn it from
others.
She rousted up out of her deathly weakness and heartbroken, stunted
calm,--for such it seemed to be for the first two or three years after
her husband's death. She seemed to make an effort almost like that of a
dead man throwin' off the icy stupor of death, and risin' up with numbed
limbs, and shakin' off the death-robes, and livin' agin. She rousted up
with jest such a effort, so it seemed, for the boy's sake.
She must live for the boy; she must work for the boy; she must try to
throw some safeguards around his future. What _could_ she do to help
him? That wus the question that was a hantin' her soul.
It wus jest like death for her to face the curius gaze of the world
again; for, like a wounded animal, she had wanted to crawl away, and
hide her cruel woe and disgrace in some sheltered spot, away from the
sharp-sot eyes of the babblin' world.
But she endured it. She came out of her quiet home, where her heart had
bled in secret; she came out into society again; and she did every
thing she could, in her gentle, quiet way. She joined temperance
societies,--helped push 'em forward with her money and her influence.
With other white-souled wimmen, gentle and refined as she was, she went
into rough bar-rooms, and knelt on their floors, and prayed what her sad
heart wus full of,--for pity and mercy for her boy, and other mothers'
boys,--prayed with that fellowship of suffering that made her sweet
voice as pathetic as tears, and patheticker, so I have been told.
But one thing hurt her influence dretfully, and almost broke her own
heart. Paul had left a very large property, but it wus all in the
hands of an executor until the boy wus of age. He wus to give Cicely a
liberal, a very liberal, sum every year, but wus to manage the property
jest as he thought best.
He wus a good business man, and one that meant to do middlin' near
right, but wus close for a bargain, and sot, awful sot. And though he
wus dretful polite, and made a stiddy practice right along of callin'
wimmen “angels,” still he would not brook a woman's interference.
Wall, he could get such big rents for drinkin'-saloons, that four
of Cicely's buildings wus rented for that purpose; and there wus one
billiard-room. And what made it worse for Cicely seemin'ly, it wus her
own property, that she brought to Paul when she wus married, that wus
invested in these buildings. At that time they wus rented for dry-goods
stores, and groceries. But the business of the manufactories had
increased greatly; and there wus three times the population now there
wus when she went there to live, and more saloons wus needed; and these
buildings wus handy; and the executer had big prices offered to him,
and he would rent 'em as he wanted to. And then, he wus something of a
statesman; and he felt, as many business men did, that they wus fairly
sufferin' for more saloons to enrich the government.
Why, out of every hundred dollars that them poor laboring-men had earned
so hardly, and paid into the saloons for that which, of course, wus
ruinous to themselves and families, and, of course, rendered them
incapable of all labor for a great deal of the time,--why, out of that
hundred dollars, as many as 2 cents would go to the government to enrich
it.
Of course, the government had to use them 2 cents right off towards
buyin' tight-jackets to confine the madmen the whiskey had made, and
poorhouse-doors for the idiots it had breeded, to lean up aginst, and
buryin' the paupers, and buyin' ropes to hang the murderers it had
created.
But still, in some strange way, too deep, fur too deep, for a woman's
mind to comprehend, it wus dretful profitable to the government.
Now, if them poor laborin'-men had paid that 2 cents of theirn to the
government themselves, in the first place, in direct taxation, why, that
wouldn't have been statesmanship. That is a deep study, and has a great
many curius performances, and it has to perform.
[Illustration: UNCLE SAM ENRICHING THE GOVERNMENT.]
Cicely tried her very best to get the executor to change in this one
matter; but she couldn't move him the width of a horse-hair, and he a
smilin' all the time at her, and polite. He liked Cicely: nobody could
help likin' the gentle, saintly-souled little woman. But he wus sot: he
wus makin' money fast by it, and she had to give up.
And rough men and women would sometimes twit her of it,--of her property
bein' used to advance the liquor-traffic, and ruin men and wimmen; and
she a feelin' like death about it, and her hands tied up, and powerless.
No wonder that her face got whiter and whiter, and her eyes bigger and
mournfuller-lookin'.
Wall, she kep' on, tryin' to do all she could: she joined the Woman's
Temperance Union; she spent her money free as water, where she thought
it would do any good, and brought up the boy jest as near right as she
could possibly bring him up; and she prayed, and wept right when she wus
a bringin' of him, a thinkin' that _her_ property wus a bein' used every
day and every hour in ruinin' other mothers' boys. And the boy's face
almost breakin' her heart every time she looked at it; for, though he
wus jest as pretty as a child could be, the pretty rosy lips had the
same good-tempered, irresolute curve to 'em that the boy inherited
honestly. And he had the same weak, waverin' chin. It was white and rosy
now, with a dimple right in the centre, sweet enough to kiss. But
the chin wus there, right under the rosy snow and the dimple; and I
foreboded, too, and couldn't blame Cicely a mite for her forebodin', and
her agony of sole.
I noticed them lips and that chin the very minute Josiah brought him
into the settin'-room, and set him down; and my eyes looked dubersome at
him through my specks. Cicely see it, see that dubersome look, though
I tried to turn it off by kissin' him jest as hearty as I could after
I had took the little black-robed figure of his mother, and hugged her
close to my heart, and kissed her time and time agin.
She always dressed in the deepest of mournin', and always would. I knew
that.
Wall, we wus awful glad to see Cicely. I had had the old fireplace fixed
in the front spare room, and a crib put in there for the boy; and I went
right up to her room with her. And when we had got there, I took her
right in my arms agin, as I used to, and told her how glad I wus, and
how thankful I wus, to have her and the boy with us.
The fire sparkled up on the old brass handirons as warm as my welcome.
Her bed and the boy's bed looked white and cozy aginst the dark red
of the carpet and the cream-colored paper. And after I had lowered the
pretty ruffled muslin curtains (with red ones under 'em), and pulled
a stand forward, and lit a lamp,--it wus sundown,--the room looked
cheerful enough for anybody, and it seemed as if Cicely looked a little
less white and brokenhearted. She wus glad to be with me, and said
she wuz. But right there--before supper; and we could smell the roast
chicken and coffee, havin' left the stair-door open--right there, before
we had visited hardly any, or talked a mite about other wimmen, she
begun on what she wanted to do, and what she _must_ do, for the boy.
I had told her how the boy had grown, and that sot her off. And from
that night, every minute of her time almost, when she could without
bein' impolite and troublesome (Cicely wus a perfect lady, inside and
out), she would talk to me about what she wanted to do for the boy, to
have the laws changed before he grew up; she didn't dare to let him go
out into the world with the laws as they was now, with temptation on
every side of him.
[Illustration: THE SPARE ROOM.]
“You know, aunt Samantha,” she says to me, “that I wanted to die when my
husband died; but I want to live now. Why, I _must_ live; I cannot
die, I dare not die until my boy is safer. I will work, I will die if
necessary, for him.”
It wus the same old Cicely, I see, not carin' for herself, but carin'
only for them she loved. Lovin' little creeter, good little creeter, she
always wuz, and always would be. And so I told Josiah.
Wall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table, Josiah and me
did, in Thomas Jefferson's little high-chair. I had new covered it on
purpose for him with bright copperplate calico.
And that night at supper, and after supper, I judged, and judged
calmly,--we made the estimate after we went to bed, Josiah and me
did,--that the boy asked 3 thousand and 85 questions about every thing
under the sun and moon, and things over 'em, and outside of 'em, and
inside.
Why, I panted for breath, but wouldn't give in. I was determined to use
Cicely first-rate, and we loved the boy too. But, oh! it was a weary
love, and a short-winded love, and a hoarse one.
We went to bed tuckered completely out, but good-natured: our love for
'em held us up. And when we made the estimate, it wuzn't in a cross
tone, but amiable, and almost winnin'. Josiah thought they went up into
the trillions. But I am one that never likes to set such things too
high; and I said calmly, 3,000 and 85. And finally he gin in that mebby
it wuzn't no more than that.
Cicely told me she couldn't stay with us very long now; for her aunt
Mary wuz expectin' to go away to the Michigan pretty soon, to see a
daughter who wus out of health,--had been out of it for some time,--and
she wanted a visit from her neice Cicely before she went. But she
promised to come back, and make a good visit on her way home.
And so it was planned. The next day was Sunday, and Cicely wus too tired
with her journey to go to meetin'. But the boy went. He sot up, lookin'
beautiful, by the side of me on the back seat of the Democrat; his uncle
Josiah sot in front; and Ury drove. Ury Henzy, he's our hired man, and
a tolerable good one, as hired men go. His name is Urias; but we always
call him Ury,--spelt U-r-y, Ury,--with the emphasis on the U.
Wall, that day Elder Minkly preached. It wus a powerful sermon, about
the creation of the world, and how man was made, and the fall of Adam,
and about Noah and the ark, and how the wicked wus destroyed. It wus a
middlin' powerful sermon; and the boy sot up between Josiah and me, and
we wus proud enough of him. He had on a little green velvet suit and a
deep linen collar; and he sot considerable still for him, with his eyes
on Elder Minkly's face, a thinkin', I guess, how he would put us through
our catechism on the way home. And, oh! didn't he, didn't he do it? I
s'pose things seem strange to children, and they can't help askin' about
'em.
But 4,000 wus the estimate Josiah and me calculated on our pillows that
night wus the number of questions the boy asked on our way home, about
the creation, how the world wus made, and the ark--oh, how he harressed
my poor companion about the animals! “Did they drive 2 of all the
animals in the world in that house, uncle Josiah?”
[Illustration: GOING TO MEETING.]
“Yes,” says Josiah.
“2 elfants, and rinosterhorses, and snakes, and snakes, and bears, and
tigers, and cows, and camels, and hens?”
“Yes, yes.”
“And flies, uncle Josiah?--did they drive in two flies? and mud-turkles?
and bumble-bees? and muskeeters? Say, uncle Josiah, did they drive in
muskeeters?”
“I s'pose so.”
“_How_ could they drive in two muskeeters?”
“Oh! less stop talkin' for a spell--shet up your little mouth,” says
Josiah in a winnin' tone, pattin' him on his head.
“I can shut up my mouth, uncle Josiah, but I can't shut up my thinker.”
Josiah sithed; and, right while he wus a sithin', the boy commenced agin
on a new tack.
“What for a lookin' place was paradise?” And then follered 800 questions
about paradise. Josiah sweat, and offered to let the boy come back, and
set with me. He had insisted, when we started from the meetin'-house, on
havin' the boy set on the front seat between him and Ury.
But I demurred about any change, and leaned back, and eat a sweet apple.
I don't think it is wrong Sundays to eat a sweet apple. And the boy kep'
on.
“What did Adam fall off of? Did he fall out of the apple-tree?”
“No, no! he fell because he sinned.”
But the boy went right on, in a tone of calm conviction,--
“No big man would be apt to fall a walking right along. He fell out of
the apple-tree.”
And then he says, after a minute's still thought,--
“I believe, if I had been there, and had a string round Adam's leg, I
could kep' him from fallin' off;--and say, where was the Lord? Couldn't
He have kept him? say, couldn't He?”
“Yes: He can do any thing.”
“Wall, then, why didn't He?”
Josiah groaned, low.
“If Adam hadn't fell, I wouldn't have fell, would I?--nor you--nor
Ury--nor anybody?”
“No: I s'pose not.”
“Wall, wouldn't it have paid to kept Adam up? Say, uncle Josiah, say!”
“Oh! less talk about sunthin' else,” says my poor Josiah. “Don't you
want a sweet apple?”
“Yes; and say! what kind of a apple was it that Adam eat? Was it a sweet
apple, or a greening, or a sick-no-further? And say, was it _right_
for all of us to fall down because Adam did? And how did _I_ sin just
because a man eat an apple, and fell out of an apple-tree, when I never
saw the apple, or poked him offen the tree, or joggled him, or any
thing--when I wasn't there? Say, how was it wrong, uncle Josiah? When I
wasn't _there!_”
My poor companion, I guess to sort o' pacify him, broke out kinder a
singin' in a tone full of fag, “'In Adam's fall, we sinned all.'” Josiah
is sound.
“And be I a sinning now, uncle Josiah? and a falling? And is everybody a
sinning and a falling jest because that one man eat one apple, and fell
out of an apple-tree? Say, is it _right_, uncle Josiah, for you and
me, and everybody that is on the earth, to keep a falling, and keep
a falling, and bein' blamed, and every thing, when we hadn't done any
thing, and wasn't _there?_ And _say_, will folks always keep a falling?”
“Yes, if they hain't good.”
[Illustration: JOSIAH CLOSING THE CONVERSATION.]
“_How_ can they keep a falling? If Adam fell out of the apple-tree,
wouldn't he have struck on the ground, and got up agin? And if anybody
falls, why, why, mustn't they come to the bottom sometime? If there is
something to fall off of, mustn't there be something to hit against? And
_say_”--
Here the boy's eyes looked dreamier than they had looked, and further
off.
“Was I made out of dirt, uncle Josiah?”
“Yes: we are all made out of dust.”
“And did God breathe our souls into us? Was it His own self, His own
life, that was breathed into us?”
“Yes,” says Josiah, in a more fagged voice than he had used durin' the
intervue, and more hopelesser.
“Wall, if God is in us, how can He lose us again? Wouldn't it be a
losing His own self? And how could God lose Himself? And what did He
find us for, in the first place, if He wus going to lose us again?”
Here Josiah got right up in the Democrat, and lifted the boy, and sot
him over on the seat with me, and took the lines out of Ury's hands, and
drove the old mair at a rate that I told him wus shameful on Sunday, for
a perfessor.
[Illustration: “IT WUS ON A SLAY-RIDE “]