A STRANGE VISITOR.—THE MAN IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.
THE cabin which the Willards had appropriated was built of massive
logs, through which was an occasional loophole. For when the first
pioneers took possession of the soil, the log houses were constructed
so as to be fortresses upon occasion. Later comers, being less
suspicious of their copper-colored neighbors, did not provide against
hostilities which they expected not.
But the walls of the cabin, beaten upon by sun and storm, had shrunken
till wide seams let the prairie winds—accustomed to their own way,
unchecked by obstacles—through and through the dilapidated structure,
whistling as they went, to express their contempt for the architectural
excrescence. The zephyr, just from touching with a respectful kiss the
beautiful prairie flowers, would pucker up its lips and dart through
the unsightly building with a "w-h-e-w!" as if ashamed of being seen in
so poor an abode. And it must be confessed that a log house does not
compare well with the blossoming verdure amid which it squats. Still,
human beings, unlike wild flowers, must have a house over their heads,
and the homely loggery has been the home of many a soul worth more than
worlds.
"I really believe," observed Mrs. Willard, next morning after their
arrival at the cabin, "that I suffered more from the cold last night
than I did sleeping in the wagon," and she shivered as she spoke. "I
guess, boys, you will have to stop up the cracks in the walls, if you
do not wish mother to get sick."
"We'll set about it to-day," manfully answered Ferdinand, entering.
"That's right," replied she, turning towards him with a pleased smile.
"Why, what have you there, my son?"
"Partridges," responded he, proudly swinging them into view. "Last
night, after all were asleep, and everything was still, I heard a
rumbling sound in the grove. So, going noiselessly out of doors, I
listened. Soon it was repeated, and I knew that it was a partridge
drumming on a log to call its mate. At daybreak I was out hunting.
Guess we will have a nice dinner to-day," he added, triumphantly.
"And we shall be indebted to your smartness for it," said aunt Esther.
"And now, Ferdinand, if you and Georgie will get me some wood, and make
a fire, we will have breakfast."
"And I," remarked aunt Esther, "will pick and dress the partridges."
"Those fowl are worth much more than their value to us as food,"
observed Mrs. Willard, with emotion, as the boys left. "Notice
Ferdinand; how cheerfully he steps off with shouldered axe! His dear
father bore the burden in the care of the family, and it is a new thing
for the boys to do much for themselves or us.
"But even the shooting of those birds has given Ferdinand a taste of
the happiness of self-reliance. Perhaps this pioneering is destined
to develop him into a useful man. Hear their axes! How enlivening the
sound! I must run out and see how they manage."
The grove in which was the cabin was principally of oak. Among the
leafy trees stood here and there one killed by prairie fires. Two of
these—they were not large—the boys were falling. The wood of the dead
trees was sound, dry, and exceedingly hard, and the task of cutting
them down, and chopping them into suitable lengths, was none too easy.
"How bravely you get along!" exclaimed Mrs. Willard, quietly loading
her arms with some or the smaller sticks.
And, notwithstanding Ferdinand cried out, "Don't do that, mother!" she
carried them into the cabin.
But the boys quickly followed with lusty loads. Then they lugged in a
huge backlog, and deposited it in the clay-stick-and-stone fireplace.
More wood was added, and if the smoke did puff out into the room, ere
long a merry fire was crackling, and tea-kettle and pot steaming.
"Chinking," or stopping up the cracks in the sides of the loggery, was
a slower and more laborious job than the lads anticipated. The manner
of accomplishing this, is to hew pieces of wood sufficiently narrow on
one edge to enter the crevices; then, striking on the broad or outer
part, they are driven closely in and nailed.
Oak being too hard to work, or even to secure, the nails often bending
and breaking, the wood was so impervious, the boys chose poplar
instead. This was soft and light, and proved just the thing. Several
days elapsed, however, before the chinking had far advanced.
Next came "mortaring" the chinking. This, in a new country, is usually
done with clay. The moist, tenacious earth is thrown violently, by the
hand, between the logs.
"Jolly! I can do that," cried Georgie. "It will be like snowballing."
But he was glad to cease from the attempt. Nor did Ferdinand succeed
much better. For strange as it may appear to the uninitiated, this
style of mortaring requires a powerful arm and no little physical
endurance.
One afternoon, as the brothers with lamed arms were ineffectually
laboring at clay-balls, they heard behind them the snort of a horse.
Turning, there sat a rider coolly watching, with an amused air, their
endeavors.
"You are not exactly used to that business," he remarked, dismounting.
"Here, I'll show you how."
And stripping off his coat, and rolling up his shirt-sleeves,
displaying a massive arm, he scooped up the clay, and threw it with
great precision and force.
"Now, boys," he went on in a complimentary manner, "you are bright
enough for 'most anything, but you haven't the muscle for this.
Besides, it wants practice."
And while they looked on, he continued mortaring and chatting, till
quite a space was finished.
Meanwhile, the sun was declining. Suddenly it slipped off the edge of
the prairie, and dropped from view.
For some time, the boys had been feeling uneasy. They saw the afternoon
waning, and tea approaching, and then night. And the stranger—who was
he? How he lingered—so keen and self-confident! Was he a fit person to
invite into the cabin?
The mother and aunt were not unaware of this presence, and the former
delayed supper, hoping he would leave. The boys, too, though thankful,
at the outset, for his efficient assistance, grew more and more uneasy
at his tarrying. On their part, therefore, conversation was confined to
monosyllables.
But the volunteer worker in clay paid no heed to their reserve. Nor did
he take any hints, however plain, about the lateness of the hour, or
resent it when the dwarf, making his appearance, told him bluntly, and
in a suspicious, domineering manner, that if he had far to travel, he
had better start, as "they" couldn't keep him over night.
"Ah, 'tis a trifle late, youngster, as you remark," he mildly
responded. "What a bright star that is low down there in the sky! I
don't much wonder 'ef' you cud give the real name on't."
"I don't care about the star," retorted the Hunchback, wrathfully.
"When did you state you immigrated from the east?" asked the strange
caller, seating himself on an oak stick.
"Mother," whispered the Hunchback, reentering the house, "that man is
determined to stay here. I tried to send him away, but he will not
budge an inch. It's the very fellow who came to us on the prairie, when
you called Georgie."
"So I suspected," she replied, anxiously.
"We shall bar the door against him," said aunt Esther, firmly.
"Frankie, you manage to sly the boys in, and we'll fasten the chap out."
"But he'll steal the horses," suggested the dwarf.
"I didn't think of that," she replied. "Mercy! He's heard every word!"
she instantly exclaimed; for near the entrance was the subject of
remark listening to their conversation.
The demonstration he had thus received that "listeners never hear any
good of themselves," did not, however, disturb his equanimity.
Passing, uninvited, the forbidden threshold, he said, with unruffled
audacity, holding up his begrimed hands,—
"'Ef' you will have the kindness, madam, to obleege me with a dish of
water to rense off this sile! I jist thought I'd give yer boys a lift
mor-tarin.' Heavy work that fer youngsters like them!"
The spinster, with stately dignity, poured water in a basin, and giving
it to Georgie, he set it on a bench without the cabin.
"A cloth, ma'am, 'ef' yer please, ter dry me on," he said, putting his
face within the door.
With freezing coldness, a towel was held towards him.
"Thank ye, ma'am," said he, rubbing his head dry. Then producing a
pocket comb, he removed his hat, and turning his back on the women,
proceeded to comb his hair, remarking,—
"Don't mind me, ma'am; I see yer tea is waitin'. An' the youngsters, no
doubt, are hungry as pigs."
The Willards were, at this stage of affairs, convinced that they had
met their match. On two trunks, arranged side by side, and covered with
a cloth, waited the meal. What could they do?
"Perhaps you will eat with us," said Mrs. Willard, faintly, in an
accent intended to elicit a refusal.
"Don't care ef I take a bite," brightly replied the repulsed guest. "I
ain't a mite bashful among friends. Haven't tasted sich corn-dodgers
for a month of Sundays. And that butter is a little the sweetest. May
I ask, ma'am, ef it's yer own churnin'?" addressing the indignant
spinster.
"No!" she emphatically replied.
"'Of' course not! Excuse me, ma'am. I might hev known from yer hands—so
white an' delicate, that they'd never seen much 'tile.'"
Aunt Esther haughtily folded her hands in her apron, and lifted her
eyebrows scornfully.
"Hands, ma'am," he calmly continued, "have a marster sight of meanin'
to 'em. Here's one, for instance," laying his own on the table, "that
was constructed for 'most anything—shootin', choppin', diggin', and, in
circumstances of danger, say, fightin'. You see," said he, closing his
fingers, "it's considerable of a fist, 'ef' I do say it."
And a latent threat seemed to his excited auditors to pervade his tone.
"A man that's got to 'knock' about the world has ter own a paw that can
thread a needle or floor an elephant. But a lady,—" and here his voice
was low and soft,—"who stays ter home, or goes to dances, or keeps
school, don't need a power of bone an' sinew, no more'n she needs a
man's thunderin' lungs. Show me a person's paw, male or female, an' ten
ter one I ken tell jist what natur intended him fer.
"An' now, ladies," he observed, rising, "'ef' it will be no offence,
I'll jist take a whif, ter keep off the 'dis'pepsy."
Then seating himself in a corner of the wide-mouthed fireplace, he drew
some tobacco and a huge knife with a poniard-shaped blade from one
pocket, then an oddly-carved pipe from another, and carefully cut up
the weed, and filling the bowl, inserted the slender stem between his
lips, and puffed in quiet.
What a still group was that, that evening! By the flickering firelight,
the Willards could see that the dark eye of their unknown, self-invited
visitor followed all their movements, while the uncertain glow that
fell on his features reflected no satisfactory insight into his true
character. Contradictory elements predominated in the strongly-marked
countenance, the expression of which was remarkably under the control
of its proprietor.
At one moment, Mrs. Willard would judge him to be a rough but honest
specimen of the uncultured frontiersman; at the next, a shrewd villain
who had assumed the pioneer manner and dialect for a bad purpose.
Whatever the surmises of the cabinites, the mysterious stranger smoked
silently on, pouring in irregular alternation the smoke out first in
a dense volume direct, then from the right corner of his mouth; next,
from the left, and lastly in two simultaneous jets from his nostrils.
And all this in the easiest, at home style conceivable, as if he of the
pipe was owner of the premises, and smoking in that particular place
and method a household institution.
Nine o'clock. Ten o'clock. He was still there. The boys stole out of
doors, and engaged in earnest consultation, Georgie standing sentinel
where he could report if the man left his seat.
"I shall order him off," said Frankie.
And with knit brow and threatening eye, approaching the intruder, he
laid his puny hand upon the man's muscular knee, and said,—
"Come, mister, be starting; we can't accommodate you here!"
"Can't?" inquired the smoker, deliberately knocking the ashes from his
pipe. "Let's see. Two rooms. One at the foot of the ladder, and one
above. I'll jist peep inter the loft."
And calmly crossing the apartment, and supporting himself upon the
strips of wood nailed, in lieu of a real ladder, against the logs, he
peered into the attic.
"Good enough for a king," said he. "There are just six of us, countin'
myself. I've known forty ter occupy one floor in a smaller cabin than
this. No, youngster, you're not agwine ter set me afloat on the naked
prairie at this 'on'reasonable hour. These ladies wouldn't permit sich
barbarous proceedin', pervided 'I' was willin', which I am not. 'Twon't
answer at the west to turn the cold shoulder on the benighted traveller
that way. 'Ef' you're willin', ma'am," addressing Mrs. Willard, "I'll
jist bring in my blanket, and roll myself up in it under the ruff!"
"We are not prepared—" began she.
"Never mind apologies, ma'am. I kin sleep 'beautiful' so. All I wants
is a board—ef it isn't the softest that ever was!"
And fetching in a roll of blanketing, he tossed it upon the boards
overhead, saying,—
"I'll jist take a peep inter the shed, an' see if there's a corner for
my beast."
And loosening his splendid steed from the sapling to which it had
been haltered, the stranger led him to the little stable, followed by
Ferdinand and Georgie.
"Why, youngsters," said he, glancing in, "you don't turn yer critters
in 'permiscuous'—do ye? It's a born mericle that they hadn't got ter
kickin', and spilte one t'other afore now. We must fix some stalls ter
keep them separate. Got an axe?"
Georgie brought one.
With singular handiness and celerity, he hewed some thick poles flatted
at both ends, and with the strong nails from the wagon pouch, also
carried to him by Georgie, he constructed three rude stalls for the
horses, and tying his in the one farthest from the door, the brothers
secured theirs in the remaining places.
It had been aunt Esther's custom, before retiring, to read aloud a
portion of Scripture, and then the family repeated in unison the
Lord's Prayer. When the trio returned, after stating their habit, she
opened her gilt-edged pocket Bible, and read the fourth Psalm. As she
concluded the last verse,—
"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only
makest me dwell in safety—"
"There's no book like that," remarked their guest; and falling to his
knees, he listened devoutly as the divinely-given petitions ascended.
"I shall sleep beautiful after that prayer," said he, as they arose;
"it sounds natral."
Whether he was sincere or not in what he said, it is certain that
the afflicted and lonely household was soothed and uplifted by their
simple, unaffected service. On the solitary prairie, far from human
succor, their hearts instinctively turned for protection to the
ever-present Being who neither slumbers nor sleeps. And the two women
retired, serenely committing themselves to the loving care of the
infinite Helper and Preserver.
How much, however, their returning composure was due to the reverential
deportment at prayers of their strange guest, I cannot decide. But Mrs.
Willard whispered to her sister,—
"I am afraid we have been too suspicious of that man. Did you notice
that he knelt with us?"
But aunt Esther doubtingly shook her head.
As for the boys, they did not ascend to their mattresses in the cabin
garret, but camped beside their mother's bed, Ferdinand with an axe,
and Georgie with the hatchet, while the dwarf sat in a dim corner,
screened by trunks, with Ferdinand's gun ready loaded and capped. The
three had resolved to watch till day. But soon the 'boarder' fell a
snoring in so masterly and systematic a style, that Georgie drowsily
whispered to Ferdie,—
"Guess you won't hear the partridges drum to-night!"
"Yes, I hear one now," replied Ferdie; "he's on that man's nose!"
And after a convulsive giggle, they both dropped asleep.
But the Hunchback kept guard.