"Chipadees sing pretty," said Captain Pharo, drawing a match along the
leg of his trousers and lighting his pipe, as we stood amid the song of
birds in the lane--"but robins is noisy creeturs, always at the same
old tune--poo! poo! hohum! Wal, wal--
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'My days are as the grass, Or as--'"]
he paused there, having his pipe well going.
"Yes," said I, gulping down some unworthy emotions of my own; "yes,
indeed."
"Come down to see ef ye wouldn't like t' go up t' the Point with us, t'
git a nail put in the hoss's shu-u?"
"Oh, yes, thank you! by all means," I replied.
"My woman heered--poo! poo!--
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'Or as the morn-ing flow'r,']
--she heered 't there was goin' to be a show up thar' to-night--some
play-actor folks. 'Ten Nights in a Ba-ar Room'"--the captain took the
pipe out of his mouth and yawned with affected unconcern. "I've heered
o' worse names for a show; but ye know what women-folks is when there
's any play-actin' around. They're jest like sheep next to a turnip
patch."
"Are they?"
"Oh, by clam! ye don't know nothin' 'bout female grass yit,
major--nothin'. Bars can't shet 'em out." I followed his sad gaze to
the west, and we sighed in unison.
"By the way, how 's your show stock gittin' along, major?"
"My show stock?"
"Why, sartin; we thinks all the more on ye, ef that c'd be, for havin'
some business. Ye see, the way my woman found it out, she runs over to
Lunette's every mail day and helps her sort the mail, 'nd she said all
the letters 't come directed to 'Mr. Paul Henry' had a mess o' wax run
onto the fold of every envelope with a pictur' stamped inter it o' a
couple o' the cur'osest-lookin' creeturs; said 'twas jest the head an'
necks of 'em an' they looked to be retchin' up ter eat out o' the same
soup plate; said 't must be your stock to the circus; for business
folks often has their business picturs put on outside their envelopes,
ye know, and jedgin' by the cur'osity of 'em, she thought they must be
doin' pretty well by ye."
"Oh, they are, captain," I sighed; "yes, they're doing pretty well by
me."
"Wal now, ef you've got a comf'tably good thing, major, be content with
it; 'tain't easy to git onto a new job nowadays. Ain't there some
pertick'lar spear o' grass ye'd like t' have set on the back seat with
ye?" he continued cheerfully. "She rides easier for havin'
consid'rable ballast, ye know."
"I don't know of any. Mrs. Lester is away at her daughter-in-law's."
"Hain't ye never thought--poo! poo! hohum!--wal, wal--
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'The blighting wind sweeps o'er, she--']
hain't ye never thought o' Miss Pray?"
"In what way, captain?"
"Wal, as a--poo! poo!--
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'She--']
as a pertick'lar spear, ye know?"
"No."
"In course human nature turns natchally to pink and white clover, like
Vesty; but I tell ye, major, when it comes to a honest jedgment o'
grass thar' 's lots o' comfort arter all to be took out o' old red
timothy. Old red timothy goes to shutin' right up straight an' minds
her own business. She ain't a-tryin' so many o' these d--d ructions on
ye. My foot 's some better," said he, lifting the maimed member; "but
she ain't yit what she use ter be. It 'u'd make a home for ye, 'ithout
payin' no board, an' ef ye got red o' payin' yer board ye wouldn't mind
ef she didn't treat ye quite so well--for that's the way 'ith all
female grass, clover 'n' all, when they once gits spliced onto ye. But
'ith what ye gits from yer show ye c'd buy a hoss, an' when the wind 's
in the nor'-east ye c'd tack away from home on some arrant--see? But
don't arsk her, 'less ye means ter stand by it, major, for the
women-folks has got to settin' onaccountable store by ye, ye kind o'
humors of 'em so."
I limped down the lane to invite Miss Pray on our excursion, with light
feet. Was it the air again, or was it the new consciousness that I was
developing into a beloved and coveted beau?
I stepped into the cottage through the low window, as I often did. At
the same moment the cover of the wood-box flew up, and I beheld the
rosy, good-natured visage of Miss Pray's orphan girl looking out: she
put her finger on her lip.
"Sh!"
"What is it?" I said.
She pointed upward. I saw on the long spike which held the horseshoe
over the door a pail of water so delicately hung that whoever first
entered there must receive its contents in one fell unmitigated deluge
upon the crown.
"Sh! It 's Wesley's" (her fellow-orphan) "it 's Wesley's birthday. I
ain't got no present to give him, so I'm going to _souze_ him with cold
water: he 's bringin' in some wood--there 's steps! Sh!"
She ducked into the wood-box, which had subterranean channels of
escape, with anticipated delight, and put down the cover, leaving me
alone in the room with the approaching victim and in the unenviable
position of appearing to be the sole perpetrator of this malign deed.
I had the merest time to master this idea, when the door swung in upon
its hinges, and not Wesley, but Miss Pray herself, stood before me, a
mad and a blighted object.
I gazed at her, horror-struck, and was endeavoring to speak, when
Wesley, staggering in behind her with his arms full of wood, came to my
relief. "O Miss Pray, 'twan't major, honest 'twan't, nor 'twan't me,
Miss Pray: 'twas that Belle O'Neill, an' she 's mos' got to the graves
by this time. I seed her runnin', through the windy. O Lord! O Miss
Pray! how wet you looks when you're as wet as you be now, Miss Pray!"
"Indeed it was not meant for you," I cried. "Belle meant it for a
birthday jest on Wesley."
"Oh, I wish it had b'en, Miss Pray," gasped poor Wesley, with ill-timed
sympathy; "I'm so much more used to bein' wet 'n you be."
It was doubtful toward which Miss Pray was waxing most warm--the
recusant Belle O'Neill, or the stupid, open-mouthed Wesley--when I
stepped in at this juncture and entreated her with the Kobbes'
invitation.
"I'll go," said she, with evident satisfaction gleaming even through
her dripping state, "'s soon 's I've changed my do's and whipped Belle
O'Neill."
During the former process I volunteered, as one whom she would trust,
to watch for Belle, and lure her, if possible, to the house. I
repeatedly saw that damsel's head peering out from behind the
gravestones of Miss Pray's ancestors, down by the sea-wall, and making
signals to me to know if advance were safe.
And every time, prostituting sublime justice to a weak sense of
compassion, I waved her back to her fastness until after we should be
gone.
"Shall I tell her 't you'll whip her after you git back, Miss Pray?"
said Wesley, with deep relish.
"No," said Miss Pray, who had now appeared, resplendent in holiday
attire. "Do you want her to run away, and leave me without help?
All'as keep your mouth shet--that 's the safest commands for you;
all'as keep your mouth shet."
Wesley closed that wide organ, with a look of wondering surprise.
Miss Pray was lean and resplendent, not gray and comfortable like my
friend Mrs. Lester. There was no blueberry "turnover" to devour. As
we passed over the jolting road I clung desperately to the carriage
bars.
But it appeared that the captain had an abnormal design, before
entering the Point, of descending into a shallow branch of Crooked
River, there to wash the mud of past happy epochs from the carriage.
"Wal, Cap'n Pharo Kobbe," said his young wife, stultified with amaze at
this proceeding, "I should like to know what's took you!"
"Adm'r'l bet, spell ago, 't he could scrape twenty-five pound o' mud
off'n my two-seated kerridge next time I driv her to the Point. Jest
keep yer eyes up the road," said Captain Pharo, standing, diligently
and furtively swashing, with his unconscious boots submerged in water,
"t' see that thar' ain't nobody lookin'."
"What 's he goin' to give ye, if ye win the bet, cap'n?" said his
lively wife.
The captain cast me a dark and fleeting wink over his shoulder. "Poo!
poo!" he sang: "hohum!
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'My days are as the grass. Or as--']
anybody in sight, major?"
"No; the road is all clear."
"What 's he goin' to give ye, Cap'n Pharo Kobbe, if ye win the bet?"
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'Or as the morn-ing flow'r, The
blight--'"]
"Ye needn't keep on singin', Captain Pharo Kobbe; for the sake o' the
company, I shan't ask ye nothin' more."
Saddened by this blight, his evil and surreptitious deed being
accomplished, Captain Pharo backed out of the stream.
But the triumphant smile returned to his countenance as he advanced on
the Point and found Admiral 'S I Sums-it-up sitting within the porch of
the grocery with other of his townsmen.
"Adm'r'l," said Captain Pharo, "I want ye to step down here and scrape
twenty-five pound o' mud off'n my two-seated kerridge."
The admiral regarded us fixedly for some moments, fireless pipe in
expressionless mouth, and then rose and descended to us. The women had
already contemptuously left our company and gone about their shopping.
"Come along, Kobbe!" said the admiral, "and bring"--he glanced with
calm, meaningless vision at me--"bring all the rest on ye."
He led us under the loud sign of a tin shop, where, after sedate
speculation in the matter of purchasing a tea-kettle with a consuming
leak in the bottom, he cleared his throat. "'S I sums it up," said he
to the proprietor, without further utterance; that individual looked
doubtfully at me.
"Oh, he 's all right," said Captain Pharo; "he 's a cousin o' mine in
the show business."
This introduction proving more than satisfactory, we were ushered into
a small room apart and the door locked behind us: but missing Uncle
Coffin's inspiration in this case, and remembering the quality of the
liquid, I made a smart show of drinking, without in the least
diminishing the contents of the bottle.
Not so, however, good Captain Pharo: from this time on his conduct
waxed sunny and genial, as well as irresponsible of the grave duties
which had hitherto afflicted him.
"Thar' 's a lot o' winter cabbage, 't was sp'ilin' down in my suller,
't I put in onto the kerridge floor, major," said he; "ef ye're mind
ter sell 'em out for what ye can git, to harves, ye're welcome. Sell
'em out to hulls, by clam!" he called after me. "I ain't so mean 't I
carn't help a young man along a little."
I returned to the carriage and arranged my fading cabbages as
attractively as possible, offset by the glories of the star bed-quilt;
and whether it was because the news had already spread that I was in
the show business, or by reason of some of those occult charms at which
Captain Pharo had hinted, I was soon surrounded by a lively group of
women.
"Here 's one 't ain't worth but two cents," said one fair creature,
holding up a specimen of my stock, whose appearance beside her own
fresh beauty caused me to writhe for shame. "I shan't give a mite more
for her."
"O madam, is she worth that?" I denied impulsively.
The woman, speechless, dropped the cabbage to the earth.
"Here 's a nickel, anyway, for your bein' so honest," she exclaimed,
soon afterward.
I took it with a bow. And here sordid considerations ceased, as they
had begun: my pious emotions toward the sex conquered, and I became not
the base purveyor but the elegant distributor of cabbages, right and
left, only with murmured apologies for gifts so unworthy.
I was now evidently classified as belonging high in the spectacular
drama; when the horse, having finished the meal of cracked corn he had
been enjoying by the roadside, with the reins thrown slack over his
neck, suddenly lifted his head with an air of arriving at some instant
conclusion and started merrily down the road.
Too lame to jump from a moving vehicle, my first emotions of dismay
gradually disappeared, however, as I found that our passage was not
disturbed even by the most untoward outward events. For a base-ball
from the bat of some players in an adjoining field hit the noble animal
full in the flank without occasioning any alarm to his gait or
divergence from his resolved purpose.
He turned down the Artichoke road and went straight to Uncle Coffin's.
"I've come to take you and Aunt Salomy to the show," I said, lifted out
and knocked hither and thither by my friend in his tender ecstasy.
"Cruisin' out on the high seas without no rudder, you--you young spark,
you!" he cried delightedly. "You're 'most too full o' the devil t'
exist!" he exclaimed at last, holding me out at arm's-length admiringly.
Proud now of my wickedness as I had formerly been of my charms, I
steered my friends to the Point by the conventional means of the
rudder. Captain Pharo, who had been so congenially occupied that he
had not even missed me, heaped encomiums upon me, and receiving Uncle
Coffin almost with tears of joy in his eyes, led him away to the tin
shop.
I secured more cracked corn for the horse and shed-room, where I tied
him with retrospective security. There being no restaurant, I obtained
some biscuits and cheese, and with these and six tickets for the very
front row, Aunt Salomy and Mrs. Kobbe and Miss Pray and I stole early
into the hall and sat us down to rest.
There were already figures as for a rehearsal behind the curtain;
indeed, that thin structure revealed angry silhouettes, and loud voices
reached us.
"Sh!" came from that source: "or them fools down there, eatin' crackers
an' cheese, 'll hear ye."
"I don't care if the whole town hears me," replied a passionate female
voice. "You said I could have twenty dollars, and now you won't give
it to me. I won't play to-night till I do have it--hear that!"
"Sh! or I'll shake ye! Don't make a fool o' yourself, Maud. Wait till
I get to-night's receipts----"
"I won't! I'd like to see you shake me; ha! ha!"
Here the angry figures became plastic and tilted at each other
menacingly; the woman seized something and threw it; there was a crash.
Aunt Salomy choked placidly over her cracker crumbs. Mrs. Kobbe gazed
with faithful interest.
Soon the very tall and hard-looking young man who had sold me the
tickets came down from behind the curtain, with a hang-dog air, and his
handkerchief bound about his head, and returned to the office at the
door.
Almost at the same moment Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin walked
fearlessly up the aisle, their familiar hats on their heads, their
pipes in harmonious glowing action, and sat down beside us with beams
of recognition.
The hard young man, who appeared to be pecuniary manager as well as
leading star of the show, came to us. "No smoking here!" he said,
severely.
"No smokin'!" replied Captain Pharo. "Ye'd orter put it on yer
plackards then! D'ye s'pose I'd come to yer show ef I'd known that?
Come along, Coffin! I'm goin' ter hang out outside, by clam!
[Illustration: Music fragment: "'My days are as the grass, Or as--'"]
"No singing, either, sir, on the part of the audience. This company is
from Boston, sir."
"Is she?" said Captain Pharo, with blighting sarcasm, new-lighting his
pipe preparatory to leaving the hall; "I thought she was from Jaffy!"
"Dodrabbit ye, Pharo!" said Uncle Coffin, wirily folding his powerful
arms; "keep yer seat, Pharo, and keep yer pipe. Ef any man from
Boston, or any other man, wants ter take the pipe outer my mouth, or
outer Pharo Kobbe's mouth, let 'im come on an' try it!"
At this opportunity, I silently pressed a coin of such meaning into the
manager's hand that he skipped gracefully past us to the stage, where
he proceeded to explain--while the ribs of court-plaster with which he
had endeavored to conceal his wounds kept constantly falling upon the
floor--that, owing to the unavoidable illness of some of the actors, he
should be obliged to give us a choice variety entertainment instead of
the play advertised.
Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin, not yet comprehending this idea, and
smoking triumphantly with their hats on, listened to several ranting
recitations from the wife who had so inopportunely defaced her
husband's visage; but when, after a brief recess, she again appeared
with a stage bow, Captain Pharo looked blankly at Uncle Coffin.
"Where 's the ba-ar, Coffin?"
"I kind o' suspicion they've giv' it up, Pharo; goin' to have
recitationers 'nstead."
"Curfew _shall_ not ring to-night!" yelled the woman on the stage, with
a leap of several feet perpendicularly.
"By clam!" cried poor Captain Pharo, rising; "I don' know what she is,
but she is goin' to ring, and she 's goin' to ring loud too, by clam!
I come here to see 'Ten Nights in a Ba-ar Room,' I didn't come here t'
see contortioners and recitationers. Give us any more o' yer----"
Here, an onion, thrown from the rear of the room by some sympathetic
partner in Captain Pharo's woes, came whizzing over our heads and just
missed the woman, by good aim; she retreated without the formality of
her usual sweeping bow. The manager began hastily to get together his
stage setting for the play. A table and a bottle were first produced;
Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin began to nudge each other with choice
anticipation of the advancing drama, when another onion, thrown with
unerring vision, took the bottle and shattered it, with its contents,
upon the stage floor, directly under our faces.
Captain Pharo leaned forward and sniffed; so did Uncle Coffin.
"Water! Coffin, by clam!" said Captain Pharo, rising. "Plackards said
'twas goin' to be a re'listic play--and here, by clam! I've rode
twelve miles over a hubbly road an' waited 'round here all day, jest t'
hear a spear o' female grass screech, an' see a pint bottle o' water
busted! Come along! I'm goin' home."
How futile indeed are the poor effects of the stage compared with the
ever new and varied drama of life itself!
As Miss Pray and I came in sight of her cottage, at this now uncanny
hour of the night, we saw that the house was all alight, and Belle
O'Neill stood in the doorway, loudly and gleefully ringing the
dinner-bell.
"O Miss Pray, there was a dead pig washed ashore to-day, right down on
your clam-bottoms--such a beautiful one!--jest as fat!--and me and
Wesley brought it up and roasted it, and we've been expectin' you, an'
expectin' you, an' tryin' to keep it hot----"
"A dead pig!" hissed Miss Pray. "Do you want to murder us? Do you
want to drown me in the morning and p'ison me at night, Belle O'Neill?
For heaven's sake, have you et any of it?"
The appearance of the dish testified only too plainly that she and
Wesley had dined.
"You're p'isoned!" shrieked Miss Pray: "be you prepared, Belle O'Neill?
Fat pig! He was prob'bly bloated with p'ison! Oh, dear! oh, mercy!
you're prob'bly dyin' this very minit."
Belle O'Neill began to howl, Wesley to weep dismally with low moans,
his fists in his eyes.
I had a medicine which I administered to the two, in case the exigency
were as fearful as Miss Pray predicted, which I strongly doubted. From
this, as Belle O'Neill recovered, she turned to Miss Pray with the
confessional fearlessness of one who has been at the grave's brink.
"And, oh, Miss Pray! the brindle cow 's calved and hid it in the woods!"
"So you've been down by the sea-wall, hunting up things to p'ison the
only friend you ever had on earth with, and left the brindle cow and
her calf to die in the woods?"
But Belle O'Neill had reached that plane of despondency where the
slings and arrows of outrageous fortune could no longer sting her.
"I meant it for the best, Miss Pray," she said, as we all started, with
the lantern, for the woods.
Never had I engaged in a scene of such eerie fascinations; especially
as, when we discovered the cow with her calf, and endeavored to set the
latter on its feet and lead it, the cow shook her horns at us with such
an aggressive lunge, I fled without apology behind a tree, where Miss
Pray and Wesley, dropping the lantern, pursued me with entreaties for
protection!
But Belle O'Neill, seemingly conscious that she had to redeem herself
by some heroic act or die, picked up the lantern and continued leading
the calf, at which the cow singled her out with respect and obediently
followed her: so that we who had witnessed her disgrace now followed
meekly, afar off, her triumphal procession homeward.
"That girl has done nobly," I said.
"Belle O'Neill," said Miss Pray, before we finally sought that repose
which is the guerdon of all nobly sustained adventure, "the drownin'
and the p'isonin' is both forgot, and next time the jew'lry pedler
comes along you shall have a breas'pin--that is, if you're livin',
Belle O'Neill."
"Oh, Belle will live," I cried; "the danger is over."
"Whether I lives or whether I dies," said Belle O'Neill, calm now on
heights above us all, "I meant that roast pig for the best, Miss Pray."
But before I could get to sleep that night I gave myself up to folly; I
rolled in inextinguishable fits of laughter. My gray heraldry, my
ancient coat of arms, innocently maligned as they had been, stared down
reproachfully at me through the night. I feebly wiped my weeping eyes
and rolled and laughed the more, and slept at last such a sleep as only
the foolish and blessed of mortality know.