Into this household I was received with open-handed graciousness.
Nothing can be more charming than the unconscious generosity of simple
folk. To this family I applied the word simple and cut myself with a
cool smile at my own vanity. Was I not a countryman and as rustic-minded
as they? But I had come from another community, had crossed a state line
and the lines of several counties, and besides I took to myself the
credit of having read many a cunning book, and therefore these people
were surely more simple than I. Traveling unquestionably gathers
knowledge, but the man who reads has ever a feeling that he is the
proper critic of the man who has simply observed.
Mrs. Jucklin gave me a strong grasp of welcome, apologized for the lack
of order that I must surely find in the house and conducted me to the
sitting-room, a large apartment, with a home-woven carpet on the floor.
A turkey wing, used for a fan, hung beside the enormous fire-place, and
on the broad mantelpiece, trimmed with paper cut in scollops, an old
Yankee clock was ticking. The woman shook a cat out of a hickory rocking
chair and urged me to sit down. She knew that I must be tired after my
long ride, and she said that if I would only excuse her for a moment she
would go down to the spring-house and get me a glass of milk, to give me
strength wherewith to wait until she could stir about and get something
to eat. And above all, I must pardon Limuel's abruptness of manner. But
really he meant nothing by it, as I would find out when I should become
better acquainted with him. She was a little, black-eyed woman,
doubtless a descendant of a Dutch family that had come to the colony at
an early date, for she reminded me of my mother, and I know that
mother's grandfather was a Dutchman. I begged Mrs. Jucklin not to go
after the milk, but she ran away almost with the lightness of a girl. In
truth, to think of the milk made me shudder; I couldn't bear the thought
of it. During the hard times at the close of the war, when I was a
child, we had to drink rye coffee, and I remember that once the cows got
into the rye field and gave rye milk. The coffee and the milk together
had made me sick, and ever since then I had looked upon milk with a
reminiscent horror. But there she came with it.
"My dear madam," I pleaded, "I would much rather not drink it."
"Oh, but you must, for I know you are tired out."
"But I don't drink milk."
"And it is because you can't find any like this. Just taste it, then."
The old man came stalking into the room and I gave him an appealing
look. "I gad, Susan," said he, "let him alone. Don't you reckon he's
got sense enough to know what he wants? Take the stuff away."
With a sigh of disappointment she placed the tumbler upon the
mantelpiece. "Where's Alf?" the old man asked.
"Gone over to the General's to help about something."
"Where's Guinea?"
"She's about somewhere. That's her in the passage, I think. Guinea?"
There was no reply, save of hastening footsteps, and a moment later a
young woman entered the room. She was not very tall, but she was
graceful, and her dark eyes were dashed with mischief. She reminded me
of the woman whom I had seen on the train; her smile was the same, but
her eyes were brighter. She had a peculiar laugh, a musical cluck, and
at first sight I was glad that I had met her, but a moment later I was
afraid that she was going to laugh at me. The old man did not introduce
me; his wife did not know my name, and I sought to speak my name, but
had lost it just at that moment and could merely splutter something. I
was not much embarrassed, though; I recalled what I had heard the two
men say, and behind me was the strong brace of a woman's kindly regard.
"We are glad to see you," said the girl, looking straight at me. I
replied that I was glad to see her, and then we both laughed; she with
her musical cluck and I with a goat-like rasp, it seemed to me. We all
drew up about the fire-place, a habit in the country, and it was then
that I thought of the open-handed graciousness of the household. Had I
correctly caught this girl's name, Guinea? And with a countryman's
frankness I asked if that were her name.
"Well, no," said Mrs. Jucklin, speaking for her, "it ain't her sure
enough name, but it's all that she goes by. And it came about in this
way: A long time ago, when she was a little bit of a girl, she was
toddlin' about the yard with a checked dress on, and one of the
neighbors lookin' at her said that she looked exactly like a little
guinea chicken, and ever since then we have called her Guinea. Her right
name is Angeline."
"Her right name is what?" the old man asked, looking up.
"Angeline," I said.
"Well, it's the first time I ever heard of it."
"Now, Limuel, why do you want to act that way? A body would think that
you don't know anything about your own family."
"Never heard of it before," said the old man.
"You are surely the most provokin' man I ever saw, Limuel. You know the
very day we named the child, and now you pretend----"
"Pretend? I don't pretend nothin'. Can't blame a man for never hearin'
of the name, can you?"
"Mister," she said, turning to me, "please don't pay any attention to
him. He'd pester me nearly to death if I'd let him. But come, Guinea, we
must stir about and get something to eat."
The mother and the daughter went out into a kitchen detached from the
main part of the house, and the old man looked at me and laughed. And
after a moment of chuckling he said: "I reckon that I've got two of the
finest in the world."
"Children?" I asked.
"No, game roosters. One's named Sam and the other's named Bob."
"I thought you said that Sam had been eaten by the preacher."
"Oh, that Sam was, but I've got another one. I always have a Sam and a
Bob. When a Sam dies I get another Sam, and likewise with a Bob. But you
know what's a fact? I never allow 'em to fight to a finish. If I did the
sport would be gone. You must never let one rooster know that the other
one can whip him, for if you do there won't be any fight after that--you
must always keep each one believin' that he is the best man. I reckon
I've had more than a hundred, but I never let 'em fight to a finish. My
folks here don't care nothin' about fun--they even frown on it, Alf with
the rest, and I hold that he ought to know better, bein' a man, but so
it is. I've got a chicken house back here, with a high picket fence
around it, and I keep it locked, I tell you. Have to, or the preachers
would eat up my sport, and this ain't findin' no fault with their
doctrine, for I believe the Book from kiver to kiver. After we get a
snack we'll slip off and have a set-to. What do you say?"
I hardly knew what to say. I was afraid to decline, lest I might lose
his good opinion, and I was loth to accept the invitation, fearing that
I might lower myself in the estimation of the women; but while I was
casting about the old man relieved me by saying: "However, we've got
plenty of time before us. It's always well to hold a good thing in
reserve, you know. After dinner we'll go over and see Old Perdue and
find out if you can arrange with him about the school. He's got the
whole thing in charge. General Lundsford has charge of nearly everything
else, but he don't take much stock in free schools. He argues that
nothin' that's free is any good, and in the main he's about right; but
we've had some pretty good schools here, the only trouble bein' to keep
the teachers out of the creek. What education my son Alf has he picked
up about home, here, but Guinea was sent off to school, way over at
Raleigh."
"I am glad to see that you thought so much of the importance of training
her mind," I remarked.
He gave me a troubled look, moved uneasily, as I had seen him move when
I told him that I was burying a rabbit, ran his fingers through his
upright, bristling hair and for a long time was silent. And as I looked
at him I fancied that he was trying to think of something to say,
something to lead my mind away from what he had already said. I had seen
the quaint, half-comical side of his nature, and now I saw that he could
be thoughtful, and in his serious mood his face was strong and rugged.
His beard, cropped close, reminded me of scraps of wire, some of them
rusted; and when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand I wondered
that he did not scratch the skin off.
Guinea came to the door and told us that the meal was ready. The old man
got up, with a return of his comical air, and told me to follow him. The
girl continued to stand near the threshold and as I drew near unto her
she said: "This door wasn't cut quite high enough for you, was it? Look,
father, he has to duck his head. The boys may have a time putting him
into the creek." She was now talking to her father, but was looking at
me, so I took it upon myself to answer her. "Yes, for you have called
attention to the fact that my legs are long and the rascals may have
hard running with trying to catch me."
"Oh," she replied, "but I was thinking of your strength rather than your
swiftness. Come this way. Father has run off and left you."
The old man had stepped down out of the passage and had gone some
distance toward a small house surrounded by a picket fence.
"You go with her," he called, looking back, "and I'll be there pretty
soon."
"No telling when he will come now," the girl remarked, walking close
beside me. "He's got two of the most spiteful chickens out there you
ever saw, and whenever anything goes wrong with him he bolts right out
there, no matter who is here, and makes those vicious things peck at
each other. Mother and I try hard to reform him, but we can't."
It was Mrs. Jucklin's time-grayed privilege to apologize for the
scantiness of her fare, and this she did with becoming modesty and
regret. She had not expected company; the regular dinner hour was over
long ago, and somehow she never could understand why she couldn't get a
meal out of the regular time. But if I would only give her a chance she
would reclaim herself. She called my attention to the corn bread;
declared that it was not fit to be eaten, and she didn't know what made
the stove act that way. But the milk she knew was good. Oh, she had
forgotten that I didn't drink milk. Guinea smiled at me and clucked at
her mother. "Don't pretend that you like anything just to please her,"
she said, when Mrs. Jucklin had turned about to keep a hoe-cake from
burning. "All you've got to do is to say nothing until she gets
through--that, and simply to remember that she enjoys it."
While we were eating we heard a voice crying: "Hike, there, Sam; get him
down, Bob! Hike there!"
"They are warming up to their work," Guinea remarked, and her mother
sighed; and then she began to talk louder than was her wont, striving to
drown the old man's voice. "It isn't any use, mother," said the girl.
"The gentleman will find it out sooner or later."
"And I suppose," said I, "that you think that you may find out my name
sooner or later. Please pardon me for not introducing myself. My name
is----"
"Hike, there, Bob! Get him down, Sam! Now you are at it! Hike, there!"
"My name is Hawes, William Hawes, and I am from Alabama."
"And you have come to teach the school?" said the girl.
"Yes, if I can make the arrangements."
"But is there anything very satisfying in such an occupation?" she
asked.
I felt then that she placed no very high estimate upon my worth, and on
her part this was but natural, for among country people school-teaching
is looked upon as a lazy calling.
"I have not chosen teaching as my real vocation," I answered.
"Hike, there, I tell you! Hike!"
"It is my aim to be a lawyer, to be eloquent, to stir emotions, to be
strong in the presence of men. My earlier advantages, no matter how I
sought to turn them about, gave me no promise of reaching the bar; I had
good primary training, but in reality I had to educate myself, and in
the work of a teacher I saw a hope to lead me onward."
"Came within one of letting them fight to a finish," said the old man,
stepping into the room.
"Limuel, why will you always humiliate me?" his wife asked, placing a
chair for him.
"Humiliate you! Bless your life, I wouldn't humiliate you. The only
trouble is that you are tryin' to make me fit a garment you've got,
ruther than to make the garment fit me. I ain't doin' no harm, Susan,
and it's my way, and you can't very well knock the spots off'en a
leopard nur skin an Etheopian. Here comes Alf."
The son was a young fellow of good size, shapely, and with his mother's
black eyes. Guinea introduced me to him, and at once I felt that I
should like to win his friendship. The old man explained my presence
there. "And now," said he, "I want you to go over to old Perdue's with
him after dinner and see if any arrangements can be made. He's goin' to
board with us, and I want to tell you right now that he is from good
stock; his grandaddy was the captain of the company that my daddy fit in
durin' the Creek war, and from what I learn I don't reckon there was
ever sich fightin' before nor since. What are they doin' over at the
General's?"
"Nothing much," Alf answered. "They started to plow this morning, but it
is still most too wet."
"Was Millie at home?" Guinea asked.
"I think so, but I suppose you know that Chid isn't."
"Never mind that," the old man spoke up. "Leave all cuttin' and slashin'
to folks that ain't no kin to each other. You've been to dinner, have
you, Alf? Well, hitch the mare to the buckboard and go with this
gentleman over to old Perdue's."