A LITTLE RETROSPECT.
Richard Burton, three years previous to the opening of this story, was a
dry-goods merchant in St. Louis. Becoming tired of the dull routine of
his daily life, and with a wistful remembrance of the country, where he
had passed his boyhood, he sold out his business for a few thousand
dollars, and with the sum realized bought a large ranch located on a
small river or creek running into the Missouri.
In taking this course he was influenced in no small degree by a city
acquaintance, Aaron Wolverton, who six months before had located himself
in the same township, and who, indeed, had made the purchase of the
ranch on his behalf. Wolverton made a large commission on the
transaction--larger than Richard Burton was aware; but it must be
admitted he had bought him an excellent property. Burton was entirely
unacquainted with the fact that Wolverton had at an earlier period been
an unsuccessful suitor for his wife's hand, nor did he know it till the
morning on which our story opens.
It is always rather a hazardous experiment when a man, engaged till
middle life in other business, becomes a tiller of the soil without
special training for his new occupation. Few persons make farming
profitable, however well qualified, and the St. Louis merchant was
hardly likely to do more than make a living. In fact, he did not make
both ends meet, but fell behind every year till he felt compelled to
borrow three thousand dollars on mortgage of Aaron Wolverton. His wife
expressed uneasiness, but he laughed away her remonstrances, and assured
her he should be able to pay it back in a couple of years, if fortune
favored him with good crops.
"You know, Mary," he said cheerfully, "there are a good many extra
expenses just at first, but it will be different in future. Wolverton
assures me that the ranch is a fine one, and that I can pay him back
sooner than he desires, for he is glad to lend on such excellent
security."
Mrs. Burton was silent, but she was not convinced.
Robert Burton, popularly called Bob, was the only son of the
ex-merchant. He thoroughly enjoyed the removal to the country, having a
taste for manly sports. He usually spent a part of the day in study,
reciting to a clergyman in the village, and the rest of his time he
employed in hunting, fishing, and farm work. Clip, the young refugee,
was his chosen companion, and was sincerely attached to Massa Bob, as he
generally called him. The negro lad was full of fun and innocent
mischief, but had no malice about him. Bob tried to teach him to read,
but Clip was no scholar. He complained that study made his head ache.
"But you ought to know something, Clip," expostulated Bob. "You don't
want to grow up an ignoramus."
"What's dat?" asked Clip, bewildered. "Never heard such a long word. Is
it anything very bad?"
"It means a know-nothing, Clip."
"I guess you're right, Massa Bob. Dat's what I am."
"But don't it trouble you, Clip?"
"No, Massa Bob; I guess I was never cut out for a scholar."
Still Bob persevered in his effort to teach Clip.
One day, after an unsuccessful attempt to get him to understand the
difference between capital B and R, he said: "Clip, I don't believe you
have got any sense."
"Spec's I haven't, Massa Bob," answered Clip, philosophically. "How many
have you got?"
Bob laughed.
"I don't know exactly," he replied; "but I hope I have as many as the
average."
"I reckon you've got a lot. You learn awful easy."
"I am afraid I shall have to learn for both of us, Clip."
"Dat's so!" said Clip, in a tone of satisfaction. "Dat'll do just as
well."
So Bob was finally obliged to give up teaching Clip in despair. He was
led to accept the conclusion of his young _protégé_ that he was never
meant for a scholar.
In one respect Bob and Clip shared the prejudices of Mrs. Burton.
Neither liked Aaron Wolverton. They felt friendly, however, to Sam
Wolverton, the nephew; and more than once Sam, with his appetite
unsatisfied at home, came over to Burton's ranch and enjoyed a hearty
lunch, thanks to the good offices of Bob Burton.
One day he came over crying, and showed the marks of a severe whipping
he had received from his uncle.
"What did you do, Sam?" asked Bob.
Sam mentioned the offense, which was a trifling one, and unintentional
besides.
"Your uncle is a brute!" said Bob indignantly.
"Dat's so, Sam," echoed Clip.
"It would do me good to lay the whip over his shoulders."
Sam trembled, and shook his head. He was a timid boy, and such an act
seemed to him to border on the foolhardy.
"How old are you, Sam?"
"Fourteen."
"In seven years you will be a man, and he can't tyrannize over you any
longer."
"I don't believe I shall live so long," said Sam, despondently.
"Yes, you will. Even in four years, when you are eighteen, your uncle
won't dare to beat you."
"Why don't you run away, like I did?" asked Clip, with a bright idea.
But Sam was not of the heroic type. He shrank from throwing himself on
the world.
"I should starve," he said. "Would you run away, Clip, if you were in my
place?"
"Wouldn't I just!"
"And you, Bob?"
"He wouldn't strike me but once," said Bob, proudly.
"It's all well enough for you, but I think I'm a coward. When my uncle
comes at me my heart sinks into my boots, and I want to run away."
"You'll never make a hero, Sam."
"No, I won't. I'm an awful coward, and I know it."
"How is your aunt? Is she any better than your uncle?"
"She's about the same. She don't whip me, but she's got an awful rough
tongue. She will scold till she's out of breath."
"How long have you lived with your uncle?"
"About four years. When my father died, he told me to go to Uncle
Aaron."
"Didn't he leave any property?"
"Uncle Aaron says he didn't leave a cent, and I suppose it's so; but
father told me in his last sickness there'd be some property for me."
"I've no doubt there was, and he cheated you out of it," said Bob
indignantly. "That's just my opinion of your uncle."
"Even if it is so, I can't do anything. It'll do no good. But I'd like
to know how it is, for Uncle Aaron is all the time twitting me with
living on him."
"As if you don't do enough to earn your own living. Why, you work harder
than Clip, here, though that isn't saying much," added Bob, with a
smile.
Clip showed his white teeth, and seemed to enjoy the joke.
"Spec's I was born lazy," he said, promptly. "Dat ain't my fault, ef I
was born so."
"That wouldn't be any excuse with Uncle Aaron," remarked Sam. "He thinks
I'm lazy, and says he means to lick the laziness out of me."
"I think we had better hire out Clip to him. He needs a little
discipline like that sort."
"Oh golly, massa Bob! I couldn't stand it nohow," said Clip, with a
comical expression of alarm. "Massa Wolverton's the meanest white man I
ever seed. Wish an earthquake would come and swallow him up."
"Your father was round to see my uncle this morning," said Sam.
"Yes, I know; he went to pay him some interest money."
"Your father is a nice gentleman. I wish I was his nephew," said poor
Sam, enviously.
"Yes, Sam; he's always kind. He's a father to be proud of."
"By the way, Sam, I've got some good news for you."
"What is it, Bob?"
"Your uncle carried home a pair of prairie chickens this morning. You'll
have one good dinner, at least."
"Where did he get them?"
"I shot them."
"And you gave them to him?" asked Sam, surprised.
"Well, yes, after a little squabble," and Bob related the adventure of
the morning.
"How brave you are, Bob!" said Sam admiringly. "You actually had a
quarrel with Uncle Aaron?"
"Yes," answered Bob, with a smile. "When I got through, your uncle was
lying on his back resting. I threw down two of the chickens, as much for
your sake as any other reason. I hope you'll get your share."
"I saw the chickens in the kitchen before I came away, and wondered
where they came from. I knew Uncle Aaron wouldn't buy them."
"Has your uncle got a gun?"
"No; I think he's afraid of a gun."
"And you are afraid of him?"
"I can't help it, Bob. He flogs me sometimes with a horsewhip."
"I'd like to see him try it on me," said Bob, with emphasis. "But as I
said before, you'll be a man some time, Sam, and then he won't dare
touch you."