Grandma Bisnette came from Canada to work for the Browers. She was
a big, cheerful woman, with a dialect, an amiable disposition and a
swarthy, wrinkled face. She had a loose front tooth that occupied all
the leisure of her tongue. When she sat at her knitting this big tooth
clicked incessantly. On every stitch her tongue went in and out across
it' and I, standing often by her knees, regarded the process with great
curiosity.
The reader may gather much from these frank and informing words of
Grandma Bisnette. 'When I los' my man, Mon Dieu! I have two son. An'
when I come across I bring him with me. Abe he rough; but den he no bad
man.'
Abe was the butcher of the neighbourhood--that red-handed,
stony-hearted, necessary man whom the Yankee farmer in that north
country hires to do the cruel things that have to be done. He wore
ragged, dirty clothes and had a voice like a steam whistle. His rough,
black hair fell low and mingled with his scanty beard. His hands were
stained too often with the blood of some creature we loved. I always
crept under the bed in Mrs Brower's room when Abe came--he was such a
terror to me with his bloody work and noisy oaths. Such men were the
curse of the cleanly homes in that country. There was much to shock
the ears and eyes of children in the life of the farm. It was a fashion
among the help to decorate their speech with profanity for the mere
sound of it' and the foul mouthings of low-minded men spread like a
pestilence in the fields.
Abe came always with an old bay horse and a rickety buckboard. His one
foot on the dash, as he rode, gave the picture a dare-devil finish.
The lash of his bull-whip sang around him, and his great voice sent its
blasts of noise ahead. When we heard a fearful yell and rumble in the
distance, we knew Abe was coming.
'Abe he come,' said Grandma Bisnette. 'Mon Dieu! he make de leetle rock
fly.'
It was like the coming of a locomotive with roar of wheel and whistle.
In my childhood, as soon as I saw the cloud of dust, I put for the bed
and from its friendly cover would peek out' often, but never venture far
until the man of blood had gone.
To us children he was a marvel of wickedness. There were those who told
how he had stood in the storm one night and dared the Almighty to send
the lightning upon him.
The dog Fred had grown so old and infirm that one day they sent for Abe
to come and put an end to his misery. Every man on the farm loved the
old dog and not one of them would raise a hand to kill him. Hope and
I heard what Abe was coming to do, and when the men had gone to the
fields, that summer morning, we lifted Fred into the little wagon in
which he had once drawn me and starting back of the barn stole away
with him through the deep grass of the meadow until we came out upon the
highroad far below. We had planned to take him to school and make him a
nest in the woodshed where he could share our luncheon and be out of the
way of peril. After a good deal of difficulty and heavy pulling we
got to the road at last. The old dog, now blind and helpless, sat
contentedly in the wagon while its wheels creaked and groaned beneath
him. We had gone but a short way in the road when we heard the red
bridge roar under rushing wheels and the familiar yell of Abe.
'We'd better run,' said Hope, ''er we'll git swore at.'
I looked about me in a panic for some place to hide the party, but Abe
was coming fast and there was only time to pick up clubs and stand our
ground.
'Here!' the man shouted as he pulled up along side of us, 'where ye
goin' with that dog?'
'Go 'way,' I answered, between anger and tears, lifting my club in a
threatening manner.
He laughed then--a loud guffaw that rang in the near woods.
'What'll ye give me,' he asked leaning forward, his elbows on his knees,
'What'll ye give me if I don't kill him?'
I thought a moment. Then I put my hand in my pocket and presently took
out my jack-knife--that treasure Uncle Eb had bought for me--and looked
at it fondly.
Then I offered it to him.
Again he laughed loudly.
'Anything else?' he demanded while Hope sat hugging the old dog that was
licking her hands.
'Got forty cents that I saved for the fair,' said I promptly.
Abe backed his horse and turned in the road.
'Wall boy,' he said, 'Tell 'em I've gone home.'
Then his great voice shouted, 'g'lang' the lash of his whip sang in the
air and off he went.
We were first to arrive at the schoolhouse, that morning, and when
the other children came we had Fred on a comfortable bed of grass in a
corner of the woodshed. What with all the worry of that day I said my
lessons poorly and went home with a load on my heart. Tomorrow would be
Saturday; how were we to get food and water to the dog? They asked at
home if we had seen old Fred and we both declared we had not--the first
lie that ever laid its burden on my conscience. We both saved all our
bread and butter and doughnuts next day, but we had so many chores to
do it was impossible to go to the schoolhouse with them. So we agreed
to steal away that night when all were asleep and take the food from its
hiding place.
In the excitement of the day neither of us had eaten much. They thought
we were ill and sent us to bed early. When Hope came into my room above
stairs late in the evening we were both desperately hungry. We looked at
our store of doughnuts and bread and butter under my bed. We counted it
over.
'Won't you try one o' the doughnuts,' I whispered hoping that she would
say yes so that I could try one also; for they did smell mighty good.
''Twouldn't be right,' said she regretfully. 'There ain't any more 'n
he'll want now.
''Twouldn't be right,' I repeated with a sigh as I looked longingly at
one of the big doughnuts. 'Couldn't bear t' do it--could you?'
'Don't seem as if I could,' she whispered, thoughtfully, her chin upon
her hand.
Then she rose and went to the window.
'O my! how dark it is!' she whispered, looking out into the night.
'Purty dark!' I said, 'but you needn't be 'fraid. I'll take care o' you.
If we should meet a bear I'll growl right back at him--that's what Uncle
Eb tol' me t' do. I'm awful stout--most a man now! Can't nuthin' scare
me.'
We could hear them talking below stairs and we went back to bed,
intending to go forth later when the house was still. But' unfortunately
for our adventure I fell asleep.
It was morning when I opened my eyes again. We children looked
accusingly at each other while eating breakfast. Then we had to be
washed and dressed in our best clothes to go to meeting. When the wagon
was at the door and we were ready to start I had doughnuts and bread
and butter in every pocket of my coat and trousers. I got in quickly and
pulled the blanket over me so as to conceal the fullness of my pockets.
We arrived so late I had no chance to go to the dog before we went into
meeting. I was wearing boots that were too small for me, and when I
entered with the others and sat down upon one of those straight backed
seats of plain, unpainted pine my feet felt as if I had been caught in
a bear trap. There was always such a silence in the room after the elder
had sat down and adjusted his spectacles that I could hear the ticking
of the watch he carried in the pocket of his broadcloth waistcoat. For
my own part I know I looked with too much longing for the good of my
soul on the great gold chain that spanned the broad convexity of his
stomach. Presently I observed that a couple of young women were looking
at me and whispering. Then suddenly I became aware that there were
sundry protuberances on my person caused by bread and butter and
doughnuts, and I felt very miserable indeed. Now and then as the elder
spoke the loud, accusing neigh of some horse, tethered to the fence in
the schoolyard, mingled with his thunder. After the good elder had been
preaching an hour his big, fat body seemed to swim in my tears. When he
had finished the choir sang. Their singing was a thing that appealed to
the eye as well as the ear. Uncle Eb used to say it was a great comfort
to see Elkenah Samson sing bass. His great mouth opened widely in this
form of praise and his eyes had a wild stare in them when he aimed at
the low notes.
Ransom Walker, a man of great dignity, with a bristling moustache, who
had once been a schoolmaster, led the choir and carried the tenor part.
It was no small privilege after the elder had announced the hymn, to see
him rise and tap the desk with his tuning fork and hold it to his ear
solemnly. Then he would seem to press his chin full hard upon his throat
while he warbled a scale. Immediately, soprano, alto, bass and tenor
launched forth upon the sea of song. The parts were like the treacherous
and conflicting currents of a tide that tossed them roughly and
sometimes overturned their craft. And Ransom Walker showed always a
proper sense of danger and responsibility. Generally they got to port
safely on these brief excursions, though exhausted. He had a way of
beating time with his head while singing and I have no doubt it was a
great help to him.
The elder came over to me after meeting, having taken my tears for a
sign of conviction.
'May the Lord bless and comfort you, my boy!' said he.
I got away shortly and made for the door. Uncle Eb stopped me.
'My stars, Willie!' said he putting his hand on my upper coat pocket'
'what ye got in there?'
'Doughnuts,' I answered.
'An' what's this?' he asked touching one of my side pockets.
'Doughnuts,' I repeated.
'An' this,' touching another.
'That's doughnuts too,' I said.
'An' this,' he continued going down to my trousers pocket.
'Bread an' butter,' I answered, shamefacedly, and on the verge of tears.
'Jerusalem!' he exclaimed, 'must a 'spected a purty long sermon.
'Brought 'em fer ol' Fred,' I replied.
'Ol' Fred!' he whispered, 'where's he?'
I told my secret then and we both went out with Hope to where we had
left him. He lay with his head between his paws on the bed of grass just
as I had seen him lie many a time when his legs were weary with travel
on Paradise Road, and when his days were yet full of pleasure. We called
to him and Uncle Eb knelt and touched his head. Then he lifted the dog's
nose, looked a moment into the sightless eyes and let it fall again.
'Fred's gone,' said he in a low tone as he turned away. 'Got there ahead
uv us, Willy.'
Hope and I sat down by the old dog and wept bitterly.