Vesty was talking brilliantly with some of the company, quite away from
me. She had a bright, disdainful look, when I chanced to glance that
way, new to her, but quite befitting--ah me! ah me!--some lady one
might dream of, of high, disdainful quality.
"Ain't he a case neow to describe anything in natur'?" joyfully
reiterated Captain Leezur to Uncle Coffin.
Uncle Coffin, with his hands on his knees, shook his head at me,
finding no words quite to the mark.
"Dodrabbit ye!" said he; "you sly young dog, you!"
"That's what I tell him!" rippled the deep-gurgling brook of Captain
Leezur's voice; "we're jest like nateral twin-brothers. Only," he
added tenderly and gravely, "he ain't nigh so ongodly as I use' ter be."
"Ongodly! Why, dodrabbit ye, Leezur!" said this native Artichoke, "ye
never done an ongodly thing in yer life--'cept, maybe," he added, "to
cuss a little when ye was fishin' for the bucket."
"'Specially," said Captain Leezur intelligently, "when the women folks
has been thar afore ye, r'ilin' the water and jabbin' of her furder
deown."
Uncle Coffin gave me an irresistible but a loving and true, not a
malicious, wink.
"Speakin' o' women folks, Leezur," said he, "is there any news from
Lot's wife?"
Captain Leezur cleared the mellow symphonies of those organs through
which he intoned his speech; and was about to reply, fully and sweetly,
when Captain Pharo made his appearance at the door.
Uncle Coffin sprang from his chair, and with a grave face, which only
later broke out into those beams of affection which were storming his
bosom, shook him violently by the collar, dragged him across the floor,
and set him in a chair by the fireplace with a loud, conclusive thump.
"Dodrabbit ye, man!" said he, "I hain't heered your voice since I was a
baby."
Captain Pharo, with a countenance full of delight and sympathy, pulled
his ruffled jacket down nearer to the waist line, and lit his pipe.
"Dodrabbit ye, Pharo!" continued Uncle Coffin, and turned from his pet
to me with another wink, "what are yer days like now? They ain't like
the grass, are they? I b'lieve they are, jest like the same old grass,
or like the morning flower, the blighting wind sweeps o'er. She
withers in an'--why don't ye never finish on 'er out, Pharo? Why don't
ye never ring the last note on 'er--eh?"
"Because, Coffin," said Captain Pharo, with a smile of deep meaning,
"because thar's so many things that when they're onct finished they 're
completely done for in this world; eat a meal o' vittles and thar 's
the end on't; smoke a pipe an' she runs dead; I like t' have one thing
left over. I like to feel, Coffin, by clam! 't thar's somethin' 't
thar ain't go'n' to be no end on!"
Uncle Coffin had been studying him attentively, with his hands on his
knees.
"Kobbe," said he, "you're a philosoffarer."
Captain Pharo wiggled uneasily.
"I don't say hippopotamar nor rhinosossarer," said Uncle Coffin; "I say
philosoffarer."
Captain Pharo drew a strange breath of relief.
"Mebbe we're a little alike in that respec'," Captain Leezur assured
him deliciously; "'cept 't he ain't nigh so ongodly as I use' ter be."
"I don' know," said Captain Pharo. "I have worked sometimes,
Sundays--poo! poo! hohum!--but not 'less 'twas somethin' 'mportant,
gettin' in hay or somethin' like that. And I have--poo! poo! hohum!
Wal, wal--hauled out my lobster car sometimes Sundays waitin' for the
smack--hohum!"
"Pharo," said Uncle Coffin, holding up his finger, "no more! I know
ye. Thar ain't an ongodly bone in yer body--'cept maybe when ye've
lost yer pipe an' cussed a little."
"An' the women folks wants to haul ye over somewhar's on a flat sea to
have yer gol darn pictur' took!" said Captain Pharo, with poignant
recollection of a still unquiet grief.
"Kobbe," said Uncle Coffin, "no more!"
"'I know not why I love her,
The fair an' beau'chus she;
She bro't the cuss upon me,
Und'neath the apple-tree:
But she asked me for my jack knife,
And halved 'er squar' with me,
Sence all'as lovely woman
Gives the biggest half to thee.'"
"Judah's wife writ that," exclaimed Captain Pharo, with a generic awe
of poetry as poetry.
"She did," said Uncle Coffin, with eyes appreciative of the muse fixed
gravely on the fire, "she did."
There was a daughter of Eve who was treating me very severely.
Instead of the old encouraging smile and gleam of merry recognition or
sympathy in her eyes, there was now an averted gaze, bent very
brightly, it seemed, on every one but me; in that direction alone, a
studied coldness, a haughty carriage of the head. What could I
expect?--but it broke my heart.
I subscribed silently to the mood of Belle O'Neill, whose mind was
subject to vagaries, and who in the midst of the gay company was
playing weird, plaintive "revival" tunes upon the mouth-harp,
enthusiastically absorbed in her art.
Her mistress, Miss Pray, who notably for some time had been receiving
the attentions of Pershal, the man who had been in California, had
withdrawn with him, with tacit understanding of apologies, to the
kitchen, where they were carrying on their courting, as all good Basins
should, undisturbed.
The young people were playing a game of forfeits. I heard Vesty's
penalty pronounced; it was, to go and put her hand upon "the handsomest
man in the room."
She began to move, with her lovely, erect head and brilliant, averted
smile, toward the fireplace. Surely she would not put any ignominy or
mockery upon me--ah, no! I knew in my heart. But she came nearer, and
I gazed, spellbound; and then she bowed her beautiful head with a
tender, laughing smile, and laid her hand on Captain Leezur's shoulder.
"Here!" she said.
Oh, how he laughed! Robins by the brook, and sun-sparkles.
"That 's right, Vesty!" he exclaimed; "that 's right, darlin'. Come
and kile yourself areound them 't 's got some feelin's!"
He winked at Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin. The sweet girl blushed
disdainfully--for some one--and, with a lingering touch on the dear
man's shoulder, went away.
"I've all'as been kiled over a good deal," explained Captain Leezur
gently, with a smile the subtlety of which he sought in a measure to
hide.
"And we mustn't forgit," he added, "that thar 's a time for all things
under the sun. Thar 's a time to be a bean-pole and thar 's a time to
kile."
He winked at me; fearing that I had not understood, he winked still
broader; then, moving his back toward his two companions, he directed
full upon me a wink so vast and expressive that I endeavored at once to
signify my enlightenment by replying in kind; but, unpractised as I was
in the art, I could only infer what the unlovely aspect of my features
must have been from the look of sorrowful disgust which immediately
thereafter overspread Vesty's own.
But it transpired that that look of disgust was not for me. It was for
Belle O'Neill, who, moved by another inspiration, had thoughtfully
abandoned her mouth-harp to creep through the surreptitious channel of
the wood-box and learn how Miss Pray and Pershal were progressing in
their courting.
She returned with a face of excitement.
"Be they j'indin' hands, or anything like that?" we asked.
"No," said Belle O'Neill: "he told 'er winter pears was the pears for
him, an' she giv' him a slap an' started down suller to get a dish o'
fruit, an' he told 'er when she come back he was goin' ter tell her a
story 't he hadn't never told or dreamed o' tellin' to anybody but her;
he said he'd all'as kep' it to himself, 'cause folks 't hadn't been in
Californy was ign'runt an' env'ous, an' wouldn't believe nothin' 't was
told 'em, but he guessed she loved him well enough to b'lieve it; an'
he said the name of it was 'The Story o' the Sacred Cow!'"
On uttering these words with a countenance of feverish eagerness and
expectation, Belle O'Neill unhesitatingly turned and crept back through
the passage.
Not long afterward I found myself lifted bodily over into the wood-box,
and guided by the silent wake of Captain Pharo's pipe before, and
entreated gently by Uncle Coffin from behind, I crawled to the little
store-room adjoining the kitchen.
The door was slightly ajar; and with whatever shame I have only to
record that I stood with delectation by this door and waited for the
Man-Who-had-Been-in-California to tell "The Story of the Sacred Cow."
"Arter all, Jane," said he, plunging his knife into a choice pear,
"you'd orter seen the winter fruit we use' ter have in Californy!"
Miss Fray's face fell. We heard Captain Pharo groan silently;
moreover, his pipe had gone out, and he dared not relight it.
"I thought you was goin' to tell a new one--about the Sacred Cow?" said
Miss Pray.
"So I will, Jane," said Pershal; "but the fact is, it 's sech a true,
sech a solemn an' myster'ous thing, that I fa'rly dread to tackle it!"
Belle O'Neill would have gasped, had she dared. She kicked the calf of
my lame leg convulsively instead.
"Thar's been a great many stories," continued Pershal, "about sacred
cows. Folks has claimed t' seen 'em. Circuses has claimed t' had 'em:
but the fact, an' the solemn fact, is, thar wa'n't never but one Sacred
Cow, and that was raised on my farm in Californy.
"She was white, and nothin' monst'ous, jest about the size of an
ordinary cow"--Captain Pharo drew an inaudible sigh of relief--"it was
the intellex of her and the sacredness; wal, the go-to-meet'n-ness of
her, as ye might say, that was so monst'ous an' so strange that I
trem'le to call it up ag'in; but I've promised, an' I will."
Belle O'Neill, pale in the darkness, stifled another gasp.
"She wa'n't nothin' byordinar' as a calf; run an' gambil around with
the other calves, bunt everythin', an' shake her heels out with the
sinfullest. It was when she got to be a cow, and a old cow, that these
here ructions o' sacredness, as ye might say, begun to develop
themselves in her.
"First I knew, she wouldn't eat nothin': we warmed her mess an' we
salted it; no, nothin' 'u'd do. We tried all manner o' gimcracks an'
fussin' with her. Finally says Jim--my man--say she: 'Perhaps she's
the Sacred Cow,' says he, laffin', an' went in an' got a hymn-book an'
sot it up afore her, and"--Belle O'Neill shivered--"what does the old
cow do but pitch in and eat her mess regalar! Minit we took that
hymn-book away or shet it up, she'd stop eatin'."
Captain Pharo and Uncle Coffin nudged each other in voiceless agony. I
felt, but could not see, the calm irradiance of Captain Leezur's look.
"Then another singalar thing begun to be noticed. All them 't drunk
the milk from her was took an' possessed to jine the church! I use'
ter send out peddlin' carts o' milk--for my ranch was the biggest in
that section--it use' ter be all mixed together in course, an' the
smallest elemunt o' that old cow's milk in it made it jest the same as
ef 'twas all hern. Sometimes I thought ser'ously whether I hadn't
ought to take her and go around an' start seasons o' special interest
with her all over the kentry; and then thinks I--no, I'll stay here and
I'll let 'em build new churches. So they kep' a-goin' up--three new
Baptis', four new Methodis', in a month's time."
Captain Leezur was softly but strenuously sucking a nervine lozenge. I
heard Captain Pharo crunching one down stormily, at the same time one
was pressed into my hand. "They come high," whispered the beloved
voice; "cent apiece, dollar a hunderd, but----"
"But the strangest and singalarest of it all, I didn't find out till
'long toward the last. I was a-milkin' on her one day, an' I spilled
the milk accidental, an' I said a word that I hadn't ort'er said. When
she heered that she up an' kicked me, an' I give her tail a yank, an'
she began to sing----"
Belle O'Neill clutched me by the neck.
"I don' say that she sung as Vesty doos. I don' say that she
pernounced the words jest regalar; but as fur as tune goes, she hit the
tune right squar' in the bull's eye every time. She sung:
"'From Greenlan's icy mountings,
From Injy's coral stran',
Whar Aferk's sunny fountings
Roll down their goldin' san';'"
And when she got as fur as that"--Pershall showed evidences of lively
distress--"she keeled right over an' died."
"You've heered o' the tewn 't the old cow died on? Wal, that 's whar
it all started, Jane; right thar. That was the very cow and the very
event. It was _my_ old cow that died."
"Give me sea-room here, by clam!" muttered Captain Pharo, shooting his
arms about.
"Ef I b'lieved in gho's, I sh'd say 't your but'ry was harnted, Jane,"
came from the kitchen the solemn and shifty voice of the
Man-Who-had-Been-in-California: "le's step around by the outside way to
the door whar the folks is. Jest look at the stars, Jane," he
continued, when they were safe out. "See anythin' o' my old cow up in
the Milky Way? Down in the southern latitude, whar I was, the Milky
Way use' ter be so plain some nights 't ye could see----"
We lost it in the distance, as we returned, by the honorable and
legitimate highway now offered us, to the guest-room. "I never keered
so much about money in the bank," said Uncle Coffin, giving me a nudge;
"all 't I ever as't for was luck!"
But I yearned in secret to know the developments of the Milky Way;
especially as the length of time absorbed by Pershal and Miss Pray in
walking between the two doors advised me with an only too tragic hint
of the marvel and interest I had lost.
I could not wonder that Vesty was now loftier toward me than ever.
Uncle Coffin, Captain Pharo, Captain Leezur and I kept close together
as a sort of brazen and disgraceful community. Uncle Coffin, having to
retrace his steps to Artichoke, was the first to leave the party.
"I can't tell ye, Miss Pray," said he, "how much I've enjiyed the
evenin'--no, honest, I can't tell ye!"--he winked at Captain Pharo, who
choked and had to resort to song--"but I und'stand thar 's a happy
event comin', an' I wish ye jiy; ye know I do!"
As he disappeared down the road he indulged in a continued, loud, and
exact imitation of Admiral 'S I Sums-it-up (who was also a justice of
the peace, and who married people):
"G'long, ye old fool! Git up, ye old skate!"
At which we all, including Pershal and Miss Pray, laughed inordinately,
gazing out into the sweet Basin night; and indeed I was even ready to
avow with my life that it was a joke of the extremest savor. Even had
all Uncle Coffin's sins been known, he would have been forgiven.
Captain Leezur put on Vesty's shawl for her:
"Sence I'm the han'somest man in the room," he gurgled.
"So you are!" The tender, girlish light of her great eyes was on him;
no kind look for me.
"Vesty!" Captain Leezur whispered, but a whisper that could not be dark
and secret to save itself; I heard: "why don't ye speak to major? Ye
ain't spoke tew words tew him the hull endurin' evenin'."
She darted a dark flash at him too.
"Vesty! Vesty!" said the beloved old man, in that whisper that so
thoroughly deceived him--"I know 't I set ye up to this bean-pole
business. But it won't dew for both on ye to be bean-poles. One or
the other on ye 's got to kile. Neow, Vesty, ye know 't major 's got
some misfortin's in his looks 't makes him beound to be preoud; ye
wouldn't have him other ways. Ye see, Vesty, he don't know 't----"
She stopped him with a haughty look.
"An' in course," said he, "I don't know, neither. But it dews make me
feel dreadful t' think I've started sech a rank bean-pole farm as this,
when I've all'as told ye, my little gal, 't we'd ort'er use
moderation"--Captain Leezur wiped his blessed shining eyes--"moderation
in all things, even in passnips--I have said--an' neow I change it to
bean-poles."
Vesty's mouth quivered; her eyes looked fit to enfold the whole sinful
world for his sake.
"Good-night, major!" she said coldly; but she had spoken. And,
beautiful and tall, she passed out of sight.
As Captain Leezur turned to me, in spite of the dark duplicity of his
conduct toward me, my heart gushed out to him unawares. I grasped his
hand silently.