The Cobbs will be the death of me before they get here. The report
spread that they and I had already had a tremendous quarrel, and
that, rather than live beside them, I had sold them my place. This
set flowing towards me for days a stream of people, like a line of
ants passing to and from the scene of a terrific false alarm. I
had nothing to do but sit perfectly still and let each ant, as it
ran up, touch me with its antennae, get the counter-sign, and turn
back to the village ant-hill. Not all, however. Some remained
to hear me abuse the Cobbs; or, counting on my support, fell to
abusing the Cobbs themselves. When I made not a word of reply,
except to assure them that I really had not quarrelled with the
Cobbs, had nothing against the Cobbs, and was immensely delighted
that the Cobbs were coming, they went away amazingly cool and
indignant. And for days I continued to hear such things attributed
to me that, had that young West-Pointer been in the neighborhood,
and known how to shoot, he must infallibly have blown my head off
me, as any Kentucky gentleman would. Others of my visitors, having
heard that I was not to sell my place, were so glad of it that they
walked around my garden and inquired for my health and the prospect
for fruit. For the season has come when the highest animal
begins to pay me some attention. During the winter, having little
to contribute to the community, I drop from communal notice. But
there are certain ladies who bow sweetly to me when my roses and
honeysuckles burst into bloom; a fat old cavalier of the South
begins to shake hands with me when my asparagus bed begins to send
up its tender stalks; I am in high favor with two or three young
ladies at the season of lilies and sweet-pea; there is one old soul
who especially loves rhubarb pies, which she makes to look like
little latticed porches in front of little green skies, and it is
she who remembers me and my row of pie-plant; and still another,
who knows better than cat-birds when currants are ripe. Above all,
there is a preacher, who thinks my sins are as scarlet so long as
my strawberries are, and plants himself in my bed at that time to
reason with me of judgment to come; and a doctor, who gets despondent
about my constitution in pear-time--after which my health seems to
return, but never my pears.
So that, on the whole, from May till October I am the bright side
of the moon, and the telescopes of the town are busy observing
my phenomena; after which it is as though I had rolled over on my
dark side, there to lie forgotten till once more the sun entered
the proper side of the zodiac. But let me except always the few
steadily luminous spirits I know, with whom is no variableness,
neither shadow of turning. If any one wishes to become famous in
a community, let him buy a small farm on the edge of it and cultivate
fruits, berries, and flowers, which he freely gives away or lets
be freely taken.
All this has taken freely of my swift April days. Besides, I have
made me a new side-porch, made it myself, for I like to hammer and
drive things home, and because the rose on the old one had rotted
it from post to shingle. And then, when I had tacked the rose in
place again, the little old window opening above it made that side
of my house look like a boy in his Saturday hat and Sunday breeches.
So in went a large new window; and now these changes have mysteriously
offended Mrs. Walter, who says the town is laughing at me for
trying to outdo the Cobbs. The highest animal is the only one who
is divinely gifted with such noble discernment. But I am not sorry
to have my place look its best. When they see it, they will perhaps
understand why I was not to be driven out by a golden cracker on
their family whip. They could not have bought my little woodland
pasture, where for a generation has been picnic and muster and
Fourth-of-July ground, and where the brave fellows met to volunteer
for the Mexican war. They could not have bought even the heap of
brush back of my wood-pile, where the brown thrashers build.
V
In May I am of the earth earthy. The soul loses its wild white
pinions; the heart puts forth its short, powerful wings, heavy with
heat and color, that flutter, but do not lift it off the ground.
The month comes and goes, and not once do I think of lifting my
eyes to the stars. The very sunbeams fall on the body as a warm
golden net, and keep thought and feeling from escape. Nature uses
beauty now not to uplift, but to entice. I find her intent upon
the one general business of seeing that no type of her creatures
gets left out of the generations. Studied in my yard full of birds,
as with a condensing-glass of the world, she can be seen enacting
among them the dramas of history. Yesterday, in the secret recess
of a walnut, I saw the beginning of the Trojan war. Last week
I witnessed the battle of Actium fought out in mid-air. And down
among my hedges--indeed, openly in my very barn-yard--there is a
perfectly scandalous Salt Lake City.
And while I am watching the birds, they are watching me. Not a little
fop among them, having proposed and been accepted, but perches on
a limb, and has the air of putting his hands mannishly under his
coattails and crying out at me, "Hello! Adam, what were you made
for?" "You attend to your business, and I'll attend to mine," I
answer. "You have one May; I have twenty-five!" He didn't wait
to hear. He caught sight of a pair of clear brown eyes peeping
at him out of a near tuft of leaves, and sprang thither with open
arms and the sound of a kiss.
But if I have twenty-five Mays remaining, are not some Mays gone?
Ah, well! Better a single May with the right mate than the full
number with the wrong. And where is she--the right one? If she
ever comes near my yard and answers my whistle, I'll know it; and
then I'll teach these popinjays in blue coats and white pantaloons
what Adam was made for.
But the wrong one--there's the terror! Only think of so composite
a phenomenon as Mrs. Walters, for instance, adorned with limp
nightcap and stiff curl-papers, like garnishes around a leg of
roast mutton, waking up beside me at four o'clock in the morning
as some gray-headed love-bird of Madagascar, and beginning to chirp
and trill in an ecstasy!
The new neighbors have come--mother, younger daughter, and servants.
The son is at West Point; and the other daughter lingers a few days,
unable, no doubt, to tear herself away from her beloved pennyroyal
and dearest Green River. They are quiet; have borrowed nothing
from any one in the neighborhood; have well-dressed, well-trained
servants; and one begins to be a little impressed. The curtains
they have put up at the windows suggest that the whole nest is being
lined with soft, cool spotless loveliness, that is very restful
and beguiling.
No one has called yet, since they are no at home till June; but
Mrs. Walters has done some tall wading lately, and declares that
people do not know what to think. They will know when the elder
daughter arrives; for it is the worst member of the family that
settles what the world shall think of the others.
If only she were not the worst! If only as I sat here beside my
large new window, around which the old rose-bush has been trained
and now is blooming, I could look across to her window where the
white curtains hang, and feel that behind them sat, shy and gentle,
the wood-pigeon for whom through Mays gone by I have been vaguely
waiting!
And yet I do not believe that I could live a single year with only
the sound of cooing in the house. A wood-pigeon would be the death
of me.