CHAPTER XXXIICONVALESCENCEOne day when I was well on my way toward recovery, I was made happy by a visit from Mrs. Singleton. I could plainly hear her inquiries as she mounted the stairs, and so was in a measure prepared to receive the dear lady and respond to her loving embrace and multiplied questions when she finally entered the room."You are feeling better, I know, for your looks show it!" she exclaimed, holding my hand and putting an arm about Constance."Yes, thank you; I'm a good deal better," I answered, grateful for what she said. For there are no more disagreeable people than those who tell you just how you look when you are ailing. Because of this I have always maintained that if you have nothing agreeable to say about one's looks, you should be silent. Or if you must babble about such matters, should say something that will not depress those you address too much."I have been kept away from you, my child, by the vexations of housekeeping," Mrs. Singleton went on, "but have known every day how you were getting on.""I expect you find it very hard to get started in your new home," I answered."Yes; the worry is enough to drive one mad, and it is made worse by the trouble of getting or keeping a servant.""Do you like Appletop as well as you expected?" I asked at a venture."Oh, yes, and so does Mr. Singleton, who has a fine business; but my girls! they drive me wild.""I'm sorry to hear that," I answered, not sympathizing with her very much, for she was the very picture of health and comfort of life."Yes; they say we left slavery in Mississippi to make slaves of them here, and indeed it is like it in many ways. For they have to be taught to wash and iron and cook, just as they were taught music when little things; and not knowing how, their hands are skinned by the washboard and burned by hot irons until they are a sight to see.""That's too bad.""Yes; but they are getting on better now, though they manage in one way and another to put most of the work on poor Betty.""How does Miss Betty like that?" I asked, glad of the reference because of my fondness for her."She says she doesn't care, and that in time she will be the best cook in the state.""There's always one worker in every family, they say," I answered."Oh, the others like to work, though not to cook; but it is said, you know, that the acorn that doesn't sprout the pigs eat, and so what one of the dear things lacks, the others make up for," she answered, with a good deal of pride."That's true, I'm sure; but haven't you any wish to go back to Mississippi?" I asked, to encourage her to talk."No, not if we could. The girls like it here too, I am sure, if their thoughts were known, the air and the freedom are so fine. They all send their love, and will come and see you when the doctor and Constance will permit," she answered, kissing the sweet girl by her side."I'm sure I shall be glad to see them," I answered, remembering their pleasant ways and many kindnesses to me."Here is something Betty sends you, and it is her own make," Mrs. Singleton replied, removing the cover from a dish of jelly that looked like amber in the morning sunlight."Tell Miss Betty I'm much obliged to her," I answered, asking for a spoon that I might try it at once. For I was now hungry all the time, and my thoughts dwelt more on delicacies like this than anything else."That will please her, the dear child, for she is never so happy as when doing things of this kind.""It's good of her to remember me and she may send me more another day, if she has a mind," I answered, as if in banter and yet meaning it, for such things were hard to get in Appletop."That she will, my dear, and bring it herself, if she may," Mrs. Singleton answered, turning to Constance."I hope she will, for it will do Gilbert good to see his friends now," Constance spoke up, pleased with the kindness shown me; for Mrs. Singleton and her daughters were loved by every one in Appletop, because of their kind hearts and unaffected ways.When the dear lady had taken her departure, I said to Constance, remembering why the Singletons left Mississippi:"Have the girls any beaus?""Yes, and Miss Betty more especially.""She is the worker, too.""It's not on that account, though perhaps it is a recommendation; but her being a worker doesn't prevent your Uncle Job going there very often.""Uncle Job, is he paying her attention?" I asked, not much surprised, remembering what I had seen at the steamboat landing."Yes, he is desperately in love with her; and she is worthy of it, too," Constance answered."I'm sure she is; and does she care for him?" I asked."I think so, but she is so full of her pretty ways and love of everybody that I can't tell. Sometimes I think she favors him very much, and then I don't know.""Is there any one else who pays her attention?" I asked, interested at once in Uncle Job's suit."Yes, his partner, Mr. Rathe, is madly in love with her, they say, though she doesn't give him any encouragement," she answered."I didn't know Uncle Job had a partner," I responded, surprised, I know not why, but more that there should be rivalry between them in such a matter; "what has he got a partner for, anyway?""Papa asked him that, and he said because his business called him away so much.""Who is Rathe?" I inquired, feeling somehow a growing enmity toward him."I don't know—no one does, I think; but that is nothing here where most people are strangers to each other, except as they are thrown together and so get acquainted," she answered, simply."What do you think of him?" I asked, feeling that if she liked him he must be all right. For every true woman has that strange knowledge of men that cannot go wrong, and so makes them a safe guide in such matters. Constance not answering, I added: "Or maybe you don't know him very well?""I have hardly seen him, and so ought not to judge," she answered, as if evading my inquiry.Thinking of what she said, I braced myself to ask a question that had been on my lips since she told me I was in Appletop, but somehow, when I would have spoken, the words stuck in my throat, as medicine sometimes will. Now, because of Uncle Job's troubles, I determined to speak out, and so asked:"Has Moth been here?""Yes; they had scarcely led your horse to the stable when he rode up to make inquiries; but papa, pretending to fly into a rage, cried out that if he ever spoke to him again or crossed his door he would have him ducked in the river for harassing you so"; and her face lighted at the recollection as if the remembrance pleased her greatly."What did Moth do then?""Oh, he took it in good part, saying he did not expect help, and that what he wanted was for your good, however others might view it. After lingering about the town for a few days he went away, believing, we think, that you had not come to Appletop; for no one except those we trust know you are here.""That's good, and I hope it is the end of him," I answered, feeling much relieved."We think it is, for unless he has left some one to spy about, how will he ever find out you are here?" she added, as if to clinch the matter.This mention filled me with new apprehension, for I thought it just like Moth's cunning to leave a spy behind. I said nothing to Constance, however, for it would do no good, and rather than disturb her I would have faced a hundred Moths, such was the tenderness I felt for her. One day not long afterward, when we sat looking across into the park, she suddenly turned to me, saying:"You have never asked about your friend Fox, Gilbert?""Fox!" I answered, startled out of myself; for how could she know anything about that strange man, half robber, half priest. "Who told you about him?""He came here to ask about you.""About me?'"Yes; late one night a man rode up to the door and called for your Uncle Job, and when he went out, Fox was there. He told how you and he escaped from the jail, adding that he had greatly blamed himself for letting you go off alone that night.""That was kind of him," I answered, glad to have been remembered, though Fox was an outlaw and cast-off, and thought to be altogether bad."Yes; and when your uncle told him of your illness, he was greatly distressed, and afterward kept coming to make inquiries till the doctor said you were out of danger. At last, when he went away, he asked your uncle to tell you that though he had taken Moth's horse, he had returned it to the owner, adding, as if to make light of what he had done, that the horse was a poor thing, anyway, and not worth keeping.""That was fine of him, and to send word, too. He is no more a robber, though, than I am, only he has got into a loose way of living and there is no chance for him to quit, I am afraid. I only wish he lived in Appletop," I added."Why?""Oh, he'd be a good friend, and one who would help find out who is plotting against Uncle Job, if what Burke said was true," I answered. At this, and strangely enough, I thought of Rathe, but why I do not know, unless because of his efforts to gain the favor of Miss Betty, and so was an enemy of Uncle Job's. "I don't suppose Uncle Job and Rathe are very good friends, since they have become rivals?" I asked, determined to learn all I could."I have never heard your uncle say anything unkind of him. He would be too proud, though, to do that; but Setti says Rathe's face is anything but friendly when your uncle's name is mentioned.""Does Rathe live at the Dragon?""He did until the last few days; but he is away most of the time; indeed, your uncle and he are hardly ever in town together.""Does he know I am here?""I don't know; we have never told him.""I hope he doesn't," I answered, feeling somehow as if it would be better if he did not, and with that the subject was dropped.In this way, and little by little, I regained my strength, and not at the last with any pleasure. For with it I should be parted from Constance, whom I grew every day more to love, not feeling then any more than in after years that such a thing was beyond me and not likely to lead to anything I could wish. For those who are mature in thought and pure of heart ever thus love, years being as naught to them. She was mine and I was hers, and alone in our lives we loved and were in everything as one.CHAPTER XXXIIITHE RED ROSE OF CUVIER RIVERWhen I was able to be abroad some part of the day, Constance and I loitered at first about the garden beside the house, the plants of which were beginning to turn with the early frost. In the park across the way, where all the roads meet, the hickory and ash were already bare and staring, the limbs of the elm showing black and cold through the scant foliage that yet clung to their extended branches. The oak and willow still held their leaves, but discolored and of bilious hue, as if sick unto death. In pleasing contrast to these, and in rebuke, it seemed, the maples welcomed the frost with pink and red and paling yellow, as if they thought the coming winter a thing to look forward to with delight and not with dread.The first day we ventured into the street we ran across Blott, grooming a horse near the stable door."Howdy do," he exclaimed, taking off his cap on seeing Constance; "I'm glad to see you out an' not lookin' so pale. It's a fine day for inv'lids, miss, an' purty for washin' an' dryin' things," he added, looking across the road at the sheets and pillow-cases flapping in the warm air."How are you, Blott, and the dapple-gray?" I cried, going to her. For it was Uncle Job's mare, and the one I had ridden to Appletop that morning."Hello, Gilbert! is that you? Well, I'd never know'd you," he exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you out agin, though, for 'ceptin' for you I'd not be curryin' horses now.""Not this mare, anyway," I answered, stroking her fine face and looking into her mild responsive eyes."No; an' she's a good one if I'm a judge, an' fit to ride for one's life.""So is every horse, Blott," I answered, rubbing my face against hers. "They'll all do the best they can.""All horses is good, Gilbert, if not broken by fools or the like," Blott answered, striking his currycomb against a post, and making the dust fly; "an' I never hired an old, broken-down livery plug in my life that I didn't want to buy it afterward, if 'twas gentle an' tried to please, which they mostly does.""That's so; but how are you getting on? As good as new and better, if your looks show," I answered, remarking his fine color and clear eyes."Yes; the bullet went through me as clean as a whistle, an' if the ashes of the old cabin was scraped away you'd find it there sure. Then I'm livin' a decent kind of life, too. The malary's a thing you don't want, though, Gilbert. It's like the bots, an' if you ever git it be careful of the medicine, for it's worse'n the disease. It makes one careless-like; kindy as if you was coastin' on a big bob. I used to see lots of signs as I shot down the hill, that said as plain as words, 'Hell's at the bottom, Blott'; but I kept on, not carin'. When I'd reached the bottom, Burke's shot tipped me over, an' though I rolled within a foot of the openin' I didn't go in, an' ever since I've bin tryin' to crawl back agin to the top. It's slow work, though, both my tendons bein' bowed an' my wind not much to speak of. I'm not such a fool after all, though, as I look," he went on in his droll way. "For it's a wise chicken that knows enough to stay near the barn, but after the hawks git most of their feathers they learn better'n to wander too far.""Well, the hawks haven't picked your bones," I answered, scanning his great frame."No; an' I can't think how it all happened, for I wasn't wild when a boy. I was tied up too tight, I guess. You've got to leave some slack in a boy's galluses, Gilbert, if you want to keep the buttons on his pants. Don't forget that when you're grown, if you don't want to raise a lot of wrecks.""Yes; but good by. Take good care of the mare," I answered, stroking her nose as we walked away."You bet your last plunk, an' for what she's done for me, if nothin' else."As I grew stronger, Constance and I extended our walks into the town, standing by to watch the coming and going of the traders and farmers. The little village as yet made no open pretense of grandeur, nor hinted at the hope of many that it would one day become a city. Such things were talked about, however, quietly, by the more aspiring, and if the authorities still permitted the edge of the sidewalk to be used as a rack for horses, and the cows to wander at will, it was in the interest of trade and neighborly accommodation, and for the present only. For, like a young maiden who dreams of taking her hair out of braid, some there were in the town who were beginning to discuss the need of improvements and things that cities require and older places have, led on by wily politicians and expectant contractors; though nothing came of it, or ever would.After a while, like young birds gaining strength, we wandered as far as the ferry, a mile or more away. Here we spent our time watching the river and gathering the crimson leaves and flowers that still blossomed along its borders. These visits were made much of by Mrs. Hayward, the young wife of the ferryman, who both of us came to know and love. If it happened that she could get away from her household duties, she would often go with us, and at other times, if it was convenient, would entertain us at the little cabin where she and Mr. Hayward lived. In this manner Constance and she soon became great friends, and because of it the lady in time took me into her liking as well. Later, when the nuts were right for gathering, we sometimes extended our visits a great way into the country. Thus it came about one day, when we were far from Appletop, that a storm coming on, we sought shelter in a house some distance from the road, as if in a place by itself, so secluded were its surroundings. The mistress made us welcome, and her husband coming in while we sat, Constance cried out at seeing him that it was Blake, the carpenter who had fixed up the treasure-room at the Dragon. Like most people who came into the new country, the Blakes had pre-empted a piece of land and, building a house thereon, made it their home; but he, being a carpenter and builder, sought employment where he could find it, and oftentimes a great way off, as in our case.The good people did all they could to make us prolong our stay, and this we were only too glad to do, because of their kindness and desire to be hospitable. Mr. Blake was a stout little man, slow of speech, with eyes of a reddish color, and having sharp eyebrows that stuck out like bayonets. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had a way when they talked, which pleased us very much, of resting their hands on each other's shoulders and prefixing what they said to each other by some endearing phrase, as people sometimes will who are much alone or greatly attached to each other. As soon as she learned who we were, Mrs. Blake, without further waiting or any pretense of formality, at once assumed toward us, and naturally, the air of a mother, so that we were in a little while talking and laughing as if we had known her always. When it came time to leave, Mr. Blake took hold of my hand and held it as if meditating some form of speech. Then, calling to his wife and looking to her as if for help, he said:"I have heard all about your life, my son, and if you would care to leave Appletop and come and live with us, you having no regular home, we should be glad to have you, and would make it pleasant if we could, and treat you like our own"; saying which, and unable to go on, he put my hand in that of his wife's, folding his arms in a homely way, as if he found them a great bother when not in use."Indeed, we should be glad to have you come and make your home with us, for you would take the place of our boy," Mrs. Blake responded, tears starting in her eyes at the reference. "Please come, as Mr. Blake says, and we will try and make your life happier than it has been since you, too, have been alone."This offer, so full of love and gentle kindness, moved me more than I could find words to tell, and promising that if I went to any one I would come to them, we drove off, Mr. and Mrs. Blake standing with their hands on each other's shoulders, watching until the forest hid us from view.Some days after this we set apart an afternoon for a visit to the Singletons. As if to do us honor they gave us tea, and besides did and said many pleasant things to show their kindness; but most of all, I sat watching Miss Betty, as if I might thus in some way come to know how she regarded Uncle Job. On our way home, too, this formed the subject of conversation, but without our being the wiser for anything we had seen or heard. On reaching the Dragon, however, all such thoughts were driven from our minds by seeing Moth making his way across the street in the direction of the Dragon. Hurrying into the house, he followed us to the door, demanding to see Mr. Seymour, but the latter would by no means go out nor let the other come in. While Moth stood thus expostulating with the servant, Uncle Job came up, and seeing him, stopped and bowed politely, but without saying a word."I am sorry, Mr. Throckmorton," Moth began, without preface of any kind, "to thwart you in regard to your nephew, your intention being worthy, no doubt. This I am compelled to do, however, and I come now with the decree of the court, due and legal summons having been given, to claim his person, and I demand that you give him up peaceably and without show of resistance." Saying which, he took a document from his pocket and held it out for Uncle Job to examine, adding, "Here is my authority, sir!"Uncle Job, neither taking the paper nor making any motion to do so, answered directly:"I have also the decree of our court, due summons having in like manner been given, awarding the lad to my care, Mr. Moth, and so I shall not be able to comply with your request."At this Moth started back, but presently regaining himself, answered:"My decree, Mr. Throckmorton, will be found to antedate yours, and therefore holds priority.""I think not," Uncle Job replied, shortly."I know it does," Moth answered, in a heat. "I went before the court the day of its opening after the summer vacation, and my decree is as of that date, and nothing you have, therefore, can antedate it.""I did the like here, Mr. Moth, and so the order I hold must bear the same date as yours," and Uncle Job took the paper from his pocket and held it for the other to examine. At this I thought Moth would have toppled over, so great was his surprise and rage. "So you see you are forestalled, Mr. Moth, and Gilbert being here our judge will, of course, exercise his prerogative; and now, as there is nothing more to be said about the matter, I will bid you good day"; and Uncle Job, bowing politely, turned on his heel and walked away."The judge at his home will take precedence of all others," Moth yelled after him; "and if necessary I will appeal to the higher courts. I'll not take denial and will have the child whether or no." To this Uncle Job made no response, and Moth, after a while, finding no attention paid to his threats, turned and went the way he came.When he was gone I looked at Constance, and with such dismay in my face that she cried out:"He can't do anything, Gilbert, I am sure he can't. Your Uncle Job said so, and I would believe him before I would that mean little lawyer."To this I made no response, for to tell the truth, since Moth had overcome Fox and shown such courage and cunning, my fear of him had increased beyond all bounds. Indeed, I thought him capable of any desperate thing that might come into his head; and so, going back into the room I sat down, at a loss what to do or say."You haven't anything to fear, Gilbert, indeed you haven't," Constance kept on repeating, hovering about me like a gentle dove, and as if dreading some foolish resolve I might make."You don't know what he is capable of, and the only thing left for me is to go away. I have made Uncle Job enough trouble already, and it's no use, for Moth will never give me any peace.""You're not going away, Gilbert; you can't, and there is no need. Besides, where would you go?" she persisted, resting her face against mine."I don't know, but I am going, and to-night. I'm tired of being chased about the country by that little devil. I would like to kill him!" I answered, feeling very sore."Oh, don't say that, Gilbert, please don't!" she answered, putting her arms about me as if she would in this way shield and restrain me."I didn't mean it, Constance, you know; but Moth'll not stop at anything nor wait for the courts, and once he gets me, there will be no help for it. It would be just like him to put me in jail—but where I am to go I don't know.""Don't go at all, Gilbert, please don't, there's no need," she pleaded.To this I made no response, and for a time we sat without speaking, clasping each other's hands. At last, seeing I was determined, she looked up timidly and as if she had found a way out of our trouble."If you will leave, Gilbert, why not go to the Blakes? They are such gentle people, too, and Moth would never be able to find you there.""It's the very thing," I cried, jumping up, "and not like going away, either, for I shall be near you all the time; you are always my good angel, Constance," I added, kissing the sweet creature."Then you will go there?""Yes; but no one must be told, so that if Uncle Job is asked, he can say he doesn't know.""No one but Blott, for he must go with you. He will not betray us, I'm sure," she answered.On Blott's being sent for, she went to him, and taking his great hand said, in a hesitating, timid way, "We want you to do something for us, and we know you will never speak of it to any one.""A tenpenny nail in an oak plank, miss, can't hold it better'n I can a secret if it concerns you or Gilbert there," he answered, with more resolution than was usual with him."It isn't much, but we think it a good deal," she answered, still hesitating."If you think that, it's mount'ins to me," he answered."Thank you; and it is good of you to say so. Gilbert has to go away to-night, Blott," she hurried on, "and without any one knowing it, or where he is, and I want you to go with him.""All right, miss, I'll do anything you say; but what's the matter, if there ain't no harm in askin'?""Moth's here," I answered, "and he is determined to make trouble, and so I am going away.""Is that woodtick after you agin? Well, if that's all you're goin' for, I can fix him quicker'n a butterfly can flap his wings," Blott responded, straightening up. "See that fist? If it was to hit him, he wouldn't light this side of Rock River's foamin' waters. I hain't had a scrap since the cold winter of '32, an' I'm just dyin' for one.""No, Blott; it wouldn't help me, and only get you into trouble," I answered."Well, just as you say; but if you'd let me give the little burr a thrashin'—nothin' to hurt, you know—he'd never bother you agin.""No, that wouldn't do. The more he is opposed, the worse he is. The only thing for me to do is to go away until things can be fixed up by Uncle Job.""All right, if you'll have it that way; but what am I to do?""Saddle two horses, and wait for Gilbert outside the town, where he will join you after dark," Constance interposed, and as if ordering a squadron of cavalry."How far are we goin'?""Not far, and you can be back by midnight.""All right, miss; I'll wait for him behind the grove of mulberry-trees, if he knows where they is.""Yes," I answered; "and take the mare, if she is in the stable"; and with that he hurried off to get things in readiness for our departure.When it was time to go, Constance and I grieved as if we were to be separated forever, and thus we were again parted. Going to the place appointed, I found Blott as we had arranged, and mounting my horse we rode away in the shadows of the night, glad to get off so easily. On our way we stayed for supper at the Eagle's Nest, a rude tavern on the edge of the prairie, where Constance and I had often stopped in our wanderings about the country. Blott was in great humor at the table, and as there were no other guests we had the place to ourselves."I suppose you know how this tavern got its name?" he at last spoke up, transferring the skeleton of a prairie chicken to a second plate, and helping himself to a quail wrapped about with thin slices of pork."No; how did it?" I answered, without looking up."Well, on the hill back of the house an eagle has her nest, or did six years ago when we camped here for a week durin' the Black Hawk war; an' that's how it was.""Tell me about it—the war, I mean," I answered, my curiosity at once excited, as it always was concerning everything that had to do with Black Hawk."I've always thought the beginnin' of that trouble different from most wars," he answered, helping himself to a couple of slices of toast."Tell me about it; you have time while we're finishing our supper.""Well, once upon a time, a great while ago," he began, "there was a beautiful Injun maiden called the Red Rose. She was the belle of the Sac Nation, an' lived in the Injun village overlookin' the Rock an' the Mississippi, where her people had been nigh on a hundred years. Her eyes were like a limpid spring in the dark woods, an' all the young warriors were her lovers, for there was none like her for modesty an' attractive ways. She was as purty as a wild-flower, an' a great dancer, an' fleet of foot as the coyote, an' gentle as the cooin' dove. Her father's name was Standin' Bear, an' a fierce old warrior an' hunter he was, but sometimes given to strong drink when greatly tempted. Well, at that time, along about 1800, the early French settlers livin' on Cuvier River (which is French for Copper), bein' friv'lous an' fond of dancin', as people are now, gave a great ball, an' white women bein' scarce, the Injuns were told to bring their squaws. So to please her, Standin' Bear took Red Rose to the party. Whisky was plenty, as it always is at such places, an' while Red Rose danced an' was happy, thinkin' no harm, Standin' Bear drunk more'n he should, an' while in that state a white man insulted his daughter in a way no one could overlook; but when Standin' Bear sought to punish the brute, he was knocked down an' dragged out by the scalp-lock, an' given a kick besides. This no white man nor Injun could endure; but Standin' Bear, not havin' any redress, waited till the man come out after the ball was over, when he fell on him with a fierce cry an' killed him. You'll say it was murder, but it was the Injuns' way, an' without fuss or scarin' of women. A white man would have gone swaggerin' an' cussin' into the room an' shot the feller, an' everybody'd said it served him right. That's the difference between the two, an' one's as bad as the other. After he'd killed the man, Standin' Bear fled with Red Rose to their village, travelin' day an' night till they were safe.""Then what happened?""What always happens when an Injun kills a white man," Blott went on, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Word was sent to the gov'nor at St. Louis, an' soldiers were hurried off to demand Standin' Bear's surrender. This bein' done, they took him to St. Louis, where he was to be hung, but on the advice of Black Hawk, Quashquamme, the great chief of the Sacs, went down to see if he couldn't save Standin' Bear, who was some kin to him. When he got to St. Louis he found white men didn't settle differences of that kind by acceptin' money or property outright, as the Injuns do. While waitin' he fell in with a man named Shoto, an old fur trader, who, knowin' the Sacs to be reliable Injuns, volunteered to supply the chief an' his companions with what they wanted. In this way he got the Injun in debt about two thousand dollars, for a lot of truck hardly worthy carryin' off. Then Shoto, to get his money, proposed that the Sacs an' Foxes sell their land to the government, an' this is what come about in the end. It was agreed that Standin' Bear should be freed, an' the Injuns git a sum of money every year, which, of course, they didn't git, that bein' the government's way of treatin' Injuns. Well, at the appointed time the prison door was thrown open an' Standin' Bear walked out, Red Rose bein' a little way apart waitin' for him. As he hurried toward her, an' she stood with her arms outstretched, there was the crack of a rifle, an' Standin' Bear dropped dead at her feet. At this she uttered a piercin' cry, an' fell beside him. Her companions, runnin' up, carried her off, thinkin' she was dead; an' while she come to, she was never the same as before, but sick of mind like, an' believin' her father was come, she'd hold out her arms, sayin': 'You didn't believe the pale faces, but I knew they'd keep their word,' an' this the poor thing would repeat over an' over a thousand times a day, smilin' an' holdin' out her hands plaintive-like. When she got some strength, Standin' Bear's companions took his body an' Red Rose in their canoes an' carried them to the Injun village, where, as I said, the two rivers, the tumblin' Rock an' the Mississippi join their waters; an' here they buried the old chief with the dead of his tribe. So you see the whites kept their word about freein' Standin' Bear, an' broke it, too.""I should say so, and with a vengeance!" I cried, ashamed that my race should do so treacherous a thing. "Then what happened?""Nothin', for he was only an Injun.""Did that bring on the war?""Yes, through the debt of old Shoto's and the treaty follerin' it.""Why did Black Hawk allow the treaty to be made?" I asked."He was away huntin' when it was signed, an' didn't know about it. That was always the way, though. When the Injuns was to be tricked it was done when he was off on a hunt, for he never was fuddled with liquor, an' stood up for the rights of his people.""He ought not to have gone off hunting," I answered, with some impatience."That was their way, an' carried on systematic-like, an' not as we do, for play," Blott answered, helping himself to another quail."How was that?" I asked."After the Injuns had buried their corn and punkins an' other truck, they went off to the west on their fall and winter hunt, takin' five or six hundred horses an' two or three hundred canoes.""That was an army.""Yes; an' they often had to fight, too, with their enemies, the Sioux, an' other Injuns. They was gone all winter, returnin' in time to plant their corn, bringin' with them dried meat, sellin' their furs to the traders. After the plantin' was done they went off agin in July on a great buffalo-hunt on the Iowa plains. So you see huntin' with them wasn't like it is with us, but a regular business. Try some of this ham, Gilbert; it's sweeter'n honey. No! Why, you haven't any more appetite than a housefly!" Blott exclaimed, helping himself to a delicate morsel. "Well, where was I? Oh, yes. Much ill-feelin' resulted from the trick sale of the Injun lands, as you may imagin', an' the whites made more fuss than the others, as people always do when they've done anything they're ashamed of. There wasn't nothin' like war, though, till one day in 1830, twenty-six years after the ball, an' when Red Rose had long been dead an' buried beside her father on the banks of the purlin' Rock. Then Black Hawk bein' off huntin' agin, the whites took possession of the Injun village an' burned it. They didn't need the ground more'n they did the moon, for there was enough for all, and more, but they was crazy to git rid of the Injuns, an' wouldn't wait nor live up to the agreement they'd made. Finally Black Hawk, for the sake of peace, consented to move his tribe over into Iowa; but there wasn't enough game there, it bein' the Sioux country, an' the ground bein' unplowed they couldn't raise corn, so before plantin' time he come over into Illinois, bringin' his women an' children, to raise a crop to keep his people from starvin'. An' it was this comin' that brought on the war."[*]Our supper being over, Blott brought his story of the Black Hawk war to an end, and the horses being ready, we mounted without loss of time, and hurried forward on our journey.Mr. and Mrs. Blake were greatly surprised at my coming, as you may imagine, but their pleasure was only the more on that account, they said. This I could not help but believe, for both of them did all they could to make me feel I was welcome and at home. Blott did not stop, but hurried away; and as it was late, Mrs. Blake shortly after showed me to the room her son had occupied, saying it was mine now and always would be. Bidding her good night, I threw myself on the bed, and when at last I fell asleep, it was to dream of Standing Bear and Red Rose, which latter appeared sometimes as an Indian maiden, but more often as my own true love, Constance.[*] It has been calculated by those curious in such matters that the consideration the Indians received under the treaty referred to by Blott—if the amount agreed upon had really been paid, which it was not—amounted to less than one cent for each two hundred and twenty-five acres of land relinquished. In this connection it is a curious thing and pathetic even in Indian annals, that in the case of the great chief Black Hawk persecution should not have ended even with his life. For shortly after his death in 1838—at the age of seventy-one years—his grave was opened by a vandal white and the body stolen, and with it his medals, sword, jewelry, and other decorations. Black Hawk's sons, discovering the crime, recovered the body and had it reinterred, but only to have the grave again opened, and the body stolen a second time. Thus the great man, harassed throughout life, failed to find a resting-place even in death, his body being moved hither and thither, his bones at last finding a place of lodgment—to be stared at by the gaping crowd—in the Burlington (Iowa) Geographical and Historical Society; and only, in the end, to find rest in oblivion through the fortunate happening of a great fire in 1855—-THE AUTHOR.CHAPTER XXXIVGLIMPSE OF A SUMMER SEAWhen I awoke the next morning the yellow sunlight streamed into my window, as if to be first to make known the presence of a friend. Looking out, the blue sky, contemplative and mild, smiled upon me, and as if some other presence dwelt there of like serenity, but which no vicissitude of season or tempest could overcast. This welcome that the heavens hold out to country people is not imaginary, but real and sensible to the eye and heart, and its comfort and companionship make solitude sweet to them, oftentimes to the exclusion of other and more practical company. To all such it does not lessen the fellowship of the clouds that they are but storehouses of wind and rain. Their movement and change of shape make them attractive and companionable, though their forms take flight while we look. So at night, the moon and stars tell a story of their own, each having its office of friendship. However far off, their brightness and steadfast ways are not mere reflections of some distant object, but present companions, looking down in serenity, brightening when we smile and steadfast when we grieve, awaiting us always in their places, like friends to be found when needed. To city people, who see such things but imperfectly from the angles of buildings and deep-set streets, they lack these romantic attributes, but to him who dwells in the solitude of the country they are as I say.From the first hour, Mr. and Mrs. Blake made me feel that I shared everything in common with them, and this in so simple a manner that it was but a little while before I was at home and as if I had known them always. In this way the deathly sinking of the heart we all have in early life when first separated from those we love, I found less hard to bear. For however much the young may stray, or however desolate their lives, there will never come a time when they will not feel this sickness of the heart, this pang of parting from those dear to them, as if the breath of life were forever leaving their bodies.After breakfast the morning following my arrival it was determined to put aside all other things and give over the day to the pleasurable emotions of sight-seeing. All the belongings of the Blakes they were to show me, not grudgingly and little by little, as if of no account, but at once and in order as become the properties of those who grow old in contentment and honest industry. The house came first of all, and this was different, and in most things better than others round about—if others there could be when the nearest dwelling was miles away. Mr. Blake being a carpenter and having some skill as an architect, and being, moreover, of a domestic nature, had been at pains to bring from a distance the lumber and other needed things to make his home attractive. As if to make up for this extravagance, however, the structure was correspondingly small, so that its rooms afforded hardly space in which to move about. Among other things, he had been to some trouble to make the house secure, and this because of Mrs. Blake's being much alone, so that in some respects it was a veritable fortress. Like the pioneer women of her day, however, she had no thought of fear any more than men have, and lived in her home, more often alone than otherwise, contented and happy, as Dido might have done before the new lover broke in upon the quiet of her life.When we had viewed the house with great particularity, and more especially its treasures in the way of ornamentation and bits of furniture, we passed on to the garden. Here there were many fruit-trees, all healthful of growth and beginning to show signs of maturity. About these, but irregularly and where the sun could reach them, currant and gooseberry bushes added to the beauty of the place, as well as contributed something to the comforts of the table. These things coming more particularly within the scope of Mrs. Blake's life, she cultivated them with this double purpose, and so skillfully that they stood out in the autumn air as if in pride at the dual office they thus happily filled. In respect of such things I have always thought, as others perhaps have, that shrubs are to trees what children are to men. Pliant and beautiful, we can do with them as we will. If cared for, they respond with bursting foliage and brilliant hue, but if neglected or improperly placed, their gaunt stems and shriveled leaves cry out against the treatment we accord them.Going to the stable, we found it a small affair, like the house, but built wholly of logs and brush. Scattered about were other diminutive edifices and places of retreat and refreshment for animals, and of so great a number that they looked at a distance like a Hottentot village, such as we see in early books of travel. About these structures, and in the remote and secluded corners and places of vantage, chickens congregated, singly and in numbers, and amid such a carnival of cackling and desultory talk as I had never heard before. Running in from the yards and edges of the forest, they crowded about Mrs. Blake with such noisy exuberance of spirit that it was impossible to hear one's voice, much less to think. In her, you could see, they recognized a benefactress and friend who knew and treasured them for all and more than they were worth. In return, it was as if they were every one filled with expectancy of labor, and the prospect it held out to their mistress of pin money such as no one had ever dreamed of before. Overjoyed, I lost no time in making up to these old friends, and in this sought out such offerings of food as I could find that came within the scope of their appetites. For they were dainty things, and accustomed to much refinement of fare, not regarding the coarser kinds of food with any relish whatsoever, so long as the grasses and forest yielded a profusion of delicate morsels in the way of succulent bugs and relishable insects that only needed a little running and craning of the neck to secure.Mr. Blake's likings tended altogether to horses and cattle, and of the former he owned a great number, though only the two he used were broken. The others, all fine animals, I volunteered to take hold of and fit for the saddle and harness; and this offer he hailed with pleasure when I told him I had been accustomed to such things at Wild Plum. In this way he would be able, he said, to market the animals, whereas now he could hardly give them away, men being too busy to properly break them. The appetites of these idle creatures, I soon discovered, were keen beyond all measure of reason, as if, like idle men, they needed more than those who worked or otherwise contributed to the common good. Of cows, the Blakes had many and of fine form, but save the two set apart for use, all ran wild with their calves, only the more sturdy surviving the neglect. For it was apparent they got no attention whatever, save grudgingly from the hired man, except as Mrs. Blake or her husband saw their needs, and this only occasionally. My small ideas of thrift were yet enough for me to see how little was being done to make the farm productive. For Mr. Blake's earnings as a carpenter, it was apparent, were used to make up his losses as a farmer, and so he was making little or no headway, except in the rise of his land, which at best could not be much.However, not regarding this at all, he sought every occasion to add to his unproductive plant. Thus, the third day after my arrival we drove across the country to make inquiries in regard to an ass of gentle disposition, so it was advertised, that the owner desired to sell. Delighted with the animal, Mr. Blake bought him at sight, and everything being arranged, we tied our purchase to the tailboard of the wagon, and mounting to our seats, set out for home. Looking back after we had gone some distance, great was our astonishment to see the little animal braced on his legs and plowing the soft road with his sharp hoofs, refusing to lift even so much as a foot. Seeing how things were, Mr. Blake got down, and going to the animal, sought to encourage him in every way; and being satisfied at last, mounted to his seat, when we started forward as before. Without any better result, however; whereupon Mr. Blake got down again and fondled the animal as if he were a petted child. Then motioning me to go on, he followed, endeavoring, upon further show of stubbornness, to push the brute forward, but without any kind of success. Upon this we rested, striving meanwhile to coax the animal with such choice bits of food as our lunch-basket and the feed-box afforded. These bribes the ass devoured, and acceptably we thought; but when we sought to start, Mr. Blake walking alongside, clucking and making other demonstrations of encouragement such as should have mollified any reasonable creature, the animal refused to budge a foot. This I thought highly exasperating, for the day was cloudy and raw and such as quickly chills one perched high up, as I was, and not too warmly clad. At last, every device being without avail, Mr. Blake motioned me to go ahead, he following on behind, much disheartened, it was apparent, at the brute's behavior. We had, however, gone but a little way when the donkey, striking an obstruction and refusing to bend his legs, toppled over and fell on his side; and as he made no effort to rise, I brought the wagon to a standstill, though reluctantly, I must confess. After some effort we succeeded in getting him to his feet, but going on a few yards, he fell over as before. Upon this, Mr. Blake motioned me to go ahead, which I did somewhat briskly, out of all patience with the brute. Soon the donkey's skin showing evidence of wear, Mr. Blake tipped him over on the other side, I meantime driving on without appearing to notice what he was doing. In this way both sides of the brute were after a while worn free of hair, the hide, too, in many places showing signs of giving way. At sight of this, Mr. Blake called to me to halt, and together we lifted the brute to his feet, wrapping them about with straw and pieces of cloth. In this way, and going ahead with care, so as to avoid obstructions as much as possible, alternately pulling and dragging the animal, we finally reached home, much worn in body and spirit; to the very last, however, be it said, without any outbreak of temper on Mr. Blake's part, so calm and unruffled was his nature. The ass, not a bit the worse for his hard usage, albeit his sides were wholly divested of skin, raised his voice in protestation once he was in the paddock, as if Beelzebub were come again. Nor did he cease his complaining with the going down of the sun, so that we scarce got a wink of sleep all that night. In a week's time, however, he slept in the warm sun beside the barn as if born upon the place; but of value he had none whatever. This Mr. Blake did not much regard; he had the animal, and it presented a fine appearance in the paddock, and so he was content. Thus this obstinate animal lived on for many years, awakening the echoes of the forest with his mighty voice, dying finally at a ripe old age, much to his master's regret.Such things as these may seem apart and not of much interest, and very likely that is true enough; but to me they were everything, making up as they did my life when young, as they do, in fact, the lives of most country-bred youths. Looking back to it now, from under a fast-fading sun, its quiet and beauty, peaceful beyond measure, cause a sigh of regret as at some far-off vision that can never return, nor anything like unto it. When I had been in my new home some weeks, Mr. Blake fell into a habit of gazing upon me in a fixed, heavy way for hours at a time, and as if grieved at something beyond expression. Anxious as to the cause, I lost no time in speaking to Mrs. Blake about it, and what she said I thought remarkable; nor could I by any means understand it, or any part of it, so little do the young know the springs of human sympathy or liking. For it seemed that at the time of Constance's and my first visit great patches of freckles covered my face, and in these Mr. Blake saw a dear resemblance to his dead son, who, it appeared, was similarly marked. Now, with return of strength, the freckles one by one fading out of my face, he watched their going with surprise at first and then with grief, until in the end, all being gone, it seemed to him as if he had lost his son anew. Encouraged by his wife, however, he after a while overcame his despondency, treating me with gentle kindness, as before, but never, I thought, with the warmth I had noticed in him at first. Mrs. Blake, happily, having no such cause of disappointment, grew in her liking for me, so she would often say, with each passing day. The reason of this was, I think, that matronly women, such as she, when deprived of children, ever thus regard with increasing interest the thing, whatever it may be, which they set apart to fill the void in their lives. Thus she regarded me, and each day redoubled her efforts to win my love, and in this was so completely successful that as long as she lived I never ceased to regard her with the tender affection her great heart merited.One fair day soon after my coming, Constance rode out to make us a visit, emerging from the shadows of the trees like an angel of light, which indeed she was; for straightway the place seemed as if enchanted. Giving her scarce a minute to greet Mrs. Blake, I hurried her away to show her the farm, but more that I might have her to myself during the short time she was to stay. Forgetful of all else except the happiness of being together, we wandered hand in hand in the edge of the forest, till at last, tired out, we sat down beneath an oak to watch the sky and sleeping clouds—except, indeed, when we were looking into each other's faces, which I know was the case most of the time. This until long after the hour when she should have started for home. Then, hastening, I brought her horse, and mounting one myself, rode beside her to the door of the Dragon, which we reached soon after dark. Returning as in a trance, I could not believe it night or that I was alone, for the sky was ablaze with stars, every one of which seemed to reflect back her image or to be the brighter for her having seen it.The beauty of the Blakes' surroundings was such as one does not often meet with at this time, though it was common enough before the forests that lined the great river were disturbed by the hand of man. On every side the farm was bordered about by tangled shrubbery and overhanging trees, and now, it being autumn, they were tinged with a thousand shades of color, not one remaining steadfast, but shifting with the varying light, revealing some new beauty with each changing reflection of the sun. On one side, upon a ridge of sand, oaks with gnarled and rugged sides lifted their giant forms, and about the other borders boxwood and ash, mingled with maple and elm, grew in picturesque confusion. Near by, on the very edges of the farm, elders and a thousand vagrant bushes struggled to outdo each other in growth and show of beauty. Farther out, in the stubble of the field, fat weeds, green as in midsummer, uplifted their heads defiantly, as if shouting to the passer-by, "See! after all, nothing comes of thrift." In the meadow, and in homely confusion, wild sunflowers and rosin-weeds projected their stems high in the air, and upon these meadowlarks and bobolinks sat and sang the day through.To one side of the farm, and along an old and abandoned highway, grasses and flowers spread quite across the sunken road, and on both its sides bushes crowded forward in confusion and such precipitancy of haste that in many places one could scarce make headway. Above this scramble of green the trees spread their limbs, and the sky peering down between their slender branches looked like a glimpse of some far-off summer sea.
CHAPTER XXXII
CONVALESCENCE
One day when I was well on my way toward recovery, I was made happy by a visit from Mrs. Singleton. I could plainly hear her inquiries as she mounted the stairs, and so was in a measure prepared to receive the dear lady and respond to her loving embrace and multiplied questions when she finally entered the room.
"You are feeling better, I know, for your looks show it!" she exclaimed, holding my hand and putting an arm about Constance.
"Yes, thank you; I'm a good deal better," I answered, grateful for what she said. For there are no more disagreeable people than those who tell you just how you look when you are ailing. Because of this I have always maintained that if you have nothing agreeable to say about one's looks, you should be silent. Or if you must babble about such matters, should say something that will not depress those you address too much.
"I have been kept away from you, my child, by the vexations of housekeeping," Mrs. Singleton went on, "but have known every day how you were getting on."
"I expect you find it very hard to get started in your new home," I answered.
"Yes; the worry is enough to drive one mad, and it is made worse by the trouble of getting or keeping a servant."
"Do you like Appletop as well as you expected?" I asked at a venture.
"Oh, yes, and so does Mr. Singleton, who has a fine business; but my girls! they drive me wild."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I answered, not sympathizing with her very much, for she was the very picture of health and comfort of life.
"Yes; they say we left slavery in Mississippi to make slaves of them here, and indeed it is like it in many ways. For they have to be taught to wash and iron and cook, just as they were taught music when little things; and not knowing how, their hands are skinned by the washboard and burned by hot irons until they are a sight to see."
"That's too bad."
"Yes; but they are getting on better now, though they manage in one way and another to put most of the work on poor Betty."
"How does Miss Betty like that?" I asked, glad of the reference because of my fondness for her.
"She says she doesn't care, and that in time she will be the best cook in the state."
"There's always one worker in every family, they say," I answered.
"Oh, the others like to work, though not to cook; but it is said, you know, that the acorn that doesn't sprout the pigs eat, and so what one of the dear things lacks, the others make up for," she answered, with a good deal of pride.
"That's true, I'm sure; but haven't you any wish to go back to Mississippi?" I asked, to encourage her to talk.
"No, not if we could. The girls like it here too, I am sure, if their thoughts were known, the air and the freedom are so fine. They all send their love, and will come and see you when the doctor and Constance will permit," she answered, kissing the sweet girl by her side.
"I'm sure I shall be glad to see them," I answered, remembering their pleasant ways and many kindnesses to me.
"Here is something Betty sends you, and it is her own make," Mrs. Singleton replied, removing the cover from a dish of jelly that looked like amber in the morning sunlight.
"Tell Miss Betty I'm much obliged to her," I answered, asking for a spoon that I might try it at once. For I was now hungry all the time, and my thoughts dwelt more on delicacies like this than anything else.
"That will please her, the dear child, for she is never so happy as when doing things of this kind."
"It's good of her to remember me and she may send me more another day, if she has a mind," I answered, as if in banter and yet meaning it, for such things were hard to get in Appletop.
"That she will, my dear, and bring it herself, if she may," Mrs. Singleton answered, turning to Constance.
"I hope she will, for it will do Gilbert good to see his friends now," Constance spoke up, pleased with the kindness shown me; for Mrs. Singleton and her daughters were loved by every one in Appletop, because of their kind hearts and unaffected ways.
When the dear lady had taken her departure, I said to Constance, remembering why the Singletons left Mississippi:
"Have the girls any beaus?"
"Yes, and Miss Betty more especially."
"She is the worker, too."
"It's not on that account, though perhaps it is a recommendation; but her being a worker doesn't prevent your Uncle Job going there very often."
"Uncle Job, is he paying her attention?" I asked, not much surprised, remembering what I had seen at the steamboat landing.
"Yes, he is desperately in love with her; and she is worthy of it, too," Constance answered.
"I'm sure she is; and does she care for him?" I asked.
"I think so, but she is so full of her pretty ways and love of everybody that I can't tell. Sometimes I think she favors him very much, and then I don't know."
"Is there any one else who pays her attention?" I asked, interested at once in Uncle Job's suit.
"Yes, his partner, Mr. Rathe, is madly in love with her, they say, though she doesn't give him any encouragement," she answered.
"I didn't know Uncle Job had a partner," I responded, surprised, I know not why, but more that there should be rivalry between them in such a matter; "what has he got a partner for, anyway?"
"Papa asked him that, and he said because his business called him away so much."
"Who is Rathe?" I inquired, feeling somehow a growing enmity toward him.
"I don't know—no one does, I think; but that is nothing here where most people are strangers to each other, except as they are thrown together and so get acquainted," she answered, simply.
"What do you think of him?" I asked, feeling that if she liked him he must be all right. For every true woman has that strange knowledge of men that cannot go wrong, and so makes them a safe guide in such matters. Constance not answering, I added: "Or maybe you don't know him very well?"
"I have hardly seen him, and so ought not to judge," she answered, as if evading my inquiry.
Thinking of what she said, I braced myself to ask a question that had been on my lips since she told me I was in Appletop, but somehow, when I would have spoken, the words stuck in my throat, as medicine sometimes will. Now, because of Uncle Job's troubles, I determined to speak out, and so asked:
"Has Moth been here?"
"Yes; they had scarcely led your horse to the stable when he rode up to make inquiries; but papa, pretending to fly into a rage, cried out that if he ever spoke to him again or crossed his door he would have him ducked in the river for harassing you so"; and her face lighted at the recollection as if the remembrance pleased her greatly.
"What did Moth do then?"
"Oh, he took it in good part, saying he did not expect help, and that what he wanted was for your good, however others might view it. After lingering about the town for a few days he went away, believing, we think, that you had not come to Appletop; for no one except those we trust know you are here."
"That's good, and I hope it is the end of him," I answered, feeling much relieved.
"We think it is, for unless he has left some one to spy about, how will he ever find out you are here?" she added, as if to clinch the matter.
This mention filled me with new apprehension, for I thought it just like Moth's cunning to leave a spy behind. I said nothing to Constance, however, for it would do no good, and rather than disturb her I would have faced a hundred Moths, such was the tenderness I felt for her. One day not long afterward, when we sat looking across into the park, she suddenly turned to me, saying:
"You have never asked about your friend Fox, Gilbert?"
"Fox!" I answered, startled out of myself; for how could she know anything about that strange man, half robber, half priest. "Who told you about him?"
"He came here to ask about you."
"About me?'
"Yes; late one night a man rode up to the door and called for your Uncle Job, and when he went out, Fox was there. He told how you and he escaped from the jail, adding that he had greatly blamed himself for letting you go off alone that night."
"That was kind of him," I answered, glad to have been remembered, though Fox was an outlaw and cast-off, and thought to be altogether bad.
"Yes; and when your uncle told him of your illness, he was greatly distressed, and afterward kept coming to make inquiries till the doctor said you were out of danger. At last, when he went away, he asked your uncle to tell you that though he had taken Moth's horse, he had returned it to the owner, adding, as if to make light of what he had done, that the horse was a poor thing, anyway, and not worth keeping."
"That was fine of him, and to send word, too. He is no more a robber, though, than I am, only he has got into a loose way of living and there is no chance for him to quit, I am afraid. I only wish he lived in Appletop," I added.
"Why?"
"Oh, he'd be a good friend, and one who would help find out who is plotting against Uncle Job, if what Burke said was true," I answered. At this, and strangely enough, I thought of Rathe, but why I do not know, unless because of his efforts to gain the favor of Miss Betty, and so was an enemy of Uncle Job's. "I don't suppose Uncle Job and Rathe are very good friends, since they have become rivals?" I asked, determined to learn all I could.
"I have never heard your uncle say anything unkind of him. He would be too proud, though, to do that; but Setti says Rathe's face is anything but friendly when your uncle's name is mentioned."
"Does Rathe live at the Dragon?"
"He did until the last few days; but he is away most of the time; indeed, your uncle and he are hardly ever in town together."
"Does he know I am here?"
"I don't know; we have never told him."
"I hope he doesn't," I answered, feeling somehow as if it would be better if he did not, and with that the subject was dropped.
In this way, and little by little, I regained my strength, and not at the last with any pleasure. For with it I should be parted from Constance, whom I grew every day more to love, not feeling then any more than in after years that such a thing was beyond me and not likely to lead to anything I could wish. For those who are mature in thought and pure of heart ever thus love, years being as naught to them. She was mine and I was hers, and alone in our lives we loved and were in everything as one.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE RED ROSE OF CUVIER RIVER
When I was able to be abroad some part of the day, Constance and I loitered at first about the garden beside the house, the plants of which were beginning to turn with the early frost. In the park across the way, where all the roads meet, the hickory and ash were already bare and staring, the limbs of the elm showing black and cold through the scant foliage that yet clung to their extended branches. The oak and willow still held their leaves, but discolored and of bilious hue, as if sick unto death. In pleasing contrast to these, and in rebuke, it seemed, the maples welcomed the frost with pink and red and paling yellow, as if they thought the coming winter a thing to look forward to with delight and not with dread.
The first day we ventured into the street we ran across Blott, grooming a horse near the stable door.
"Howdy do," he exclaimed, taking off his cap on seeing Constance; "I'm glad to see you out an' not lookin' so pale. It's a fine day for inv'lids, miss, an' purty for washin' an' dryin' things," he added, looking across the road at the sheets and pillow-cases flapping in the warm air.
"How are you, Blott, and the dapple-gray?" I cried, going to her. For it was Uncle Job's mare, and the one I had ridden to Appletop that morning.
"Hello, Gilbert! is that you? Well, I'd never know'd you," he exclaimed. "I'm glad to see you out agin, though, for 'ceptin' for you I'd not be curryin' horses now."
"Not this mare, anyway," I answered, stroking her fine face and looking into her mild responsive eyes.
"No; an' she's a good one if I'm a judge, an' fit to ride for one's life."
"So is every horse, Blott," I answered, rubbing my face against hers. "They'll all do the best they can."
"All horses is good, Gilbert, if not broken by fools or the like," Blott answered, striking his currycomb against a post, and making the dust fly; "an' I never hired an old, broken-down livery plug in my life that I didn't want to buy it afterward, if 'twas gentle an' tried to please, which they mostly does."
"That's so; but how are you getting on? As good as new and better, if your looks show," I answered, remarking his fine color and clear eyes.
"Yes; the bullet went through me as clean as a whistle, an' if the ashes of the old cabin was scraped away you'd find it there sure. Then I'm livin' a decent kind of life, too. The malary's a thing you don't want, though, Gilbert. It's like the bots, an' if you ever git it be careful of the medicine, for it's worse'n the disease. It makes one careless-like; kindy as if you was coastin' on a big bob. I used to see lots of signs as I shot down the hill, that said as plain as words, 'Hell's at the bottom, Blott'; but I kept on, not carin'. When I'd reached the bottom, Burke's shot tipped me over, an' though I rolled within a foot of the openin' I didn't go in, an' ever since I've bin tryin' to crawl back agin to the top. It's slow work, though, both my tendons bein' bowed an' my wind not much to speak of. I'm not such a fool after all, though, as I look," he went on in his droll way. "For it's a wise chicken that knows enough to stay near the barn, but after the hawks git most of their feathers they learn better'n to wander too far."
"Well, the hawks haven't picked your bones," I answered, scanning his great frame.
"No; an' I can't think how it all happened, for I wasn't wild when a boy. I was tied up too tight, I guess. You've got to leave some slack in a boy's galluses, Gilbert, if you want to keep the buttons on his pants. Don't forget that when you're grown, if you don't want to raise a lot of wrecks."
"Yes; but good by. Take good care of the mare," I answered, stroking her nose as we walked away.
"You bet your last plunk, an' for what she's done for me, if nothin' else."
As I grew stronger, Constance and I extended our walks into the town, standing by to watch the coming and going of the traders and farmers. The little village as yet made no open pretense of grandeur, nor hinted at the hope of many that it would one day become a city. Such things were talked about, however, quietly, by the more aspiring, and if the authorities still permitted the edge of the sidewalk to be used as a rack for horses, and the cows to wander at will, it was in the interest of trade and neighborly accommodation, and for the present only. For, like a young maiden who dreams of taking her hair out of braid, some there were in the town who were beginning to discuss the need of improvements and things that cities require and older places have, led on by wily politicians and expectant contractors; though nothing came of it, or ever would.
After a while, like young birds gaining strength, we wandered as far as the ferry, a mile or more away. Here we spent our time watching the river and gathering the crimson leaves and flowers that still blossomed along its borders. These visits were made much of by Mrs. Hayward, the young wife of the ferryman, who both of us came to know and love. If it happened that she could get away from her household duties, she would often go with us, and at other times, if it was convenient, would entertain us at the little cabin where she and Mr. Hayward lived. In this manner Constance and she soon became great friends, and because of it the lady in time took me into her liking as well. Later, when the nuts were right for gathering, we sometimes extended our visits a great way into the country. Thus it came about one day, when we were far from Appletop, that a storm coming on, we sought shelter in a house some distance from the road, as if in a place by itself, so secluded were its surroundings. The mistress made us welcome, and her husband coming in while we sat, Constance cried out at seeing him that it was Blake, the carpenter who had fixed up the treasure-room at the Dragon. Like most people who came into the new country, the Blakes had pre-empted a piece of land and, building a house thereon, made it their home; but he, being a carpenter and builder, sought employment where he could find it, and oftentimes a great way off, as in our case.
The good people did all they could to make us prolong our stay, and this we were only too glad to do, because of their kindness and desire to be hospitable. Mr. Blake was a stout little man, slow of speech, with eyes of a reddish color, and having sharp eyebrows that stuck out like bayonets. Mr. and Mrs. Blake had a way when they talked, which pleased us very much, of resting their hands on each other's shoulders and prefixing what they said to each other by some endearing phrase, as people sometimes will who are much alone or greatly attached to each other. As soon as she learned who we were, Mrs. Blake, without further waiting or any pretense of formality, at once assumed toward us, and naturally, the air of a mother, so that we were in a little while talking and laughing as if we had known her always. When it came time to leave, Mr. Blake took hold of my hand and held it as if meditating some form of speech. Then, calling to his wife and looking to her as if for help, he said:
"I have heard all about your life, my son, and if you would care to leave Appletop and come and live with us, you having no regular home, we should be glad to have you, and would make it pleasant if we could, and treat you like our own"; saying which, and unable to go on, he put my hand in that of his wife's, folding his arms in a homely way, as if he found them a great bother when not in use.
"Indeed, we should be glad to have you come and make your home with us, for you would take the place of our boy," Mrs. Blake responded, tears starting in her eyes at the reference. "Please come, as Mr. Blake says, and we will try and make your life happier than it has been since you, too, have been alone."
This offer, so full of love and gentle kindness, moved me more than I could find words to tell, and promising that if I went to any one I would come to them, we drove off, Mr. and Mrs. Blake standing with their hands on each other's shoulders, watching until the forest hid us from view.
Some days after this we set apart an afternoon for a visit to the Singletons. As if to do us honor they gave us tea, and besides did and said many pleasant things to show their kindness; but most of all, I sat watching Miss Betty, as if I might thus in some way come to know how she regarded Uncle Job. On our way home, too, this formed the subject of conversation, but without our being the wiser for anything we had seen or heard. On reaching the Dragon, however, all such thoughts were driven from our minds by seeing Moth making his way across the street in the direction of the Dragon. Hurrying into the house, he followed us to the door, demanding to see Mr. Seymour, but the latter would by no means go out nor let the other come in. While Moth stood thus expostulating with the servant, Uncle Job came up, and seeing him, stopped and bowed politely, but without saying a word.
"I am sorry, Mr. Throckmorton," Moth began, without preface of any kind, "to thwart you in regard to your nephew, your intention being worthy, no doubt. This I am compelled to do, however, and I come now with the decree of the court, due and legal summons having been given, to claim his person, and I demand that you give him up peaceably and without show of resistance." Saying which, he took a document from his pocket and held it out for Uncle Job to examine, adding, "Here is my authority, sir!"
Uncle Job, neither taking the paper nor making any motion to do so, answered directly:
"I have also the decree of our court, due summons having in like manner been given, awarding the lad to my care, Mr. Moth, and so I shall not be able to comply with your request."
At this Moth started back, but presently regaining himself, answered:
"My decree, Mr. Throckmorton, will be found to antedate yours, and therefore holds priority."
"I think not," Uncle Job replied, shortly.
"I know it does," Moth answered, in a heat. "I went before the court the day of its opening after the summer vacation, and my decree is as of that date, and nothing you have, therefore, can antedate it."
"I did the like here, Mr. Moth, and so the order I hold must bear the same date as yours," and Uncle Job took the paper from his pocket and held it for the other to examine. At this I thought Moth would have toppled over, so great was his surprise and rage. "So you see you are forestalled, Mr. Moth, and Gilbert being here our judge will, of course, exercise his prerogative; and now, as there is nothing more to be said about the matter, I will bid you good day"; and Uncle Job, bowing politely, turned on his heel and walked away.
"The judge at his home will take precedence of all others," Moth yelled after him; "and if necessary I will appeal to the higher courts. I'll not take denial and will have the child whether or no." To this Uncle Job made no response, and Moth, after a while, finding no attention paid to his threats, turned and went the way he came.
When he was gone I looked at Constance, and with such dismay in my face that she cried out:
"He can't do anything, Gilbert, I am sure he can't. Your Uncle Job said so, and I would believe him before I would that mean little lawyer."
To this I made no response, for to tell the truth, since Moth had overcome Fox and shown such courage and cunning, my fear of him had increased beyond all bounds. Indeed, I thought him capable of any desperate thing that might come into his head; and so, going back into the room I sat down, at a loss what to do or say.
"You haven't anything to fear, Gilbert, indeed you haven't," Constance kept on repeating, hovering about me like a gentle dove, and as if dreading some foolish resolve I might make.
"You don't know what he is capable of, and the only thing left for me is to go away. I have made Uncle Job enough trouble already, and it's no use, for Moth will never give me any peace."
"You're not going away, Gilbert; you can't, and there is no need. Besides, where would you go?" she persisted, resting her face against mine.
"I don't know, but I am going, and to-night. I'm tired of being chased about the country by that little devil. I would like to kill him!" I answered, feeling very sore.
"Oh, don't say that, Gilbert, please don't!" she answered, putting her arms about me as if she would in this way shield and restrain me.
"I didn't mean it, Constance, you know; but Moth'll not stop at anything nor wait for the courts, and once he gets me, there will be no help for it. It would be just like him to put me in jail—but where I am to go I don't know."
"Don't go at all, Gilbert, please don't, there's no need," she pleaded.
To this I made no response, and for a time we sat without speaking, clasping each other's hands. At last, seeing I was determined, she looked up timidly and as if she had found a way out of our trouble.
"If you will leave, Gilbert, why not go to the Blakes? They are such gentle people, too, and Moth would never be able to find you there."
"It's the very thing," I cried, jumping up, "and not like going away, either, for I shall be near you all the time; you are always my good angel, Constance," I added, kissing the sweet creature.
"Then you will go there?"
"Yes; but no one must be told, so that if Uncle Job is asked, he can say he doesn't know."
"No one but Blott, for he must go with you. He will not betray us, I'm sure," she answered.
On Blott's being sent for, she went to him, and taking his great hand said, in a hesitating, timid way, "We want you to do something for us, and we know you will never speak of it to any one."
"A tenpenny nail in an oak plank, miss, can't hold it better'n I can a secret if it concerns you or Gilbert there," he answered, with more resolution than was usual with him.
"It isn't much, but we think it a good deal," she answered, still hesitating.
"If you think that, it's mount'ins to me," he answered.
"Thank you; and it is good of you to say so. Gilbert has to go away to-night, Blott," she hurried on, "and without any one knowing it, or where he is, and I want you to go with him."
"All right, miss, I'll do anything you say; but what's the matter, if there ain't no harm in askin'?"
"Moth's here," I answered, "and he is determined to make trouble, and so I am going away."
"Is that woodtick after you agin? Well, if that's all you're goin' for, I can fix him quicker'n a butterfly can flap his wings," Blott responded, straightening up. "See that fist? If it was to hit him, he wouldn't light this side of Rock River's foamin' waters. I hain't had a scrap since the cold winter of '32, an' I'm just dyin' for one."
"No, Blott; it wouldn't help me, and only get you into trouble," I answered.
"Well, just as you say; but if you'd let me give the little burr a thrashin'—nothin' to hurt, you know—he'd never bother you agin."
"No, that wouldn't do. The more he is opposed, the worse he is. The only thing for me to do is to go away until things can be fixed up by Uncle Job."
"All right, if you'll have it that way; but what am I to do?"
"Saddle two horses, and wait for Gilbert outside the town, where he will join you after dark," Constance interposed, and as if ordering a squadron of cavalry.
"How far are we goin'?"
"Not far, and you can be back by midnight."
"All right, miss; I'll wait for him behind the grove of mulberry-trees, if he knows where they is."
"Yes," I answered; "and take the mare, if she is in the stable"; and with that he hurried off to get things in readiness for our departure.
When it was time to go, Constance and I grieved as if we were to be separated forever, and thus we were again parted. Going to the place appointed, I found Blott as we had arranged, and mounting my horse we rode away in the shadows of the night, glad to get off so easily. On our way we stayed for supper at the Eagle's Nest, a rude tavern on the edge of the prairie, where Constance and I had often stopped in our wanderings about the country. Blott was in great humor at the table, and as there were no other guests we had the place to ourselves.
"I suppose you know how this tavern got its name?" he at last spoke up, transferring the skeleton of a prairie chicken to a second plate, and helping himself to a quail wrapped about with thin slices of pork.
"No; how did it?" I answered, without looking up.
"Well, on the hill back of the house an eagle has her nest, or did six years ago when we camped here for a week durin' the Black Hawk war; an' that's how it was."
"Tell me about it—the war, I mean," I answered, my curiosity at once excited, as it always was concerning everything that had to do with Black Hawk.
"I've always thought the beginnin' of that trouble different from most wars," he answered, helping himself to a couple of slices of toast.
"Tell me about it; you have time while we're finishing our supper."
"Well, once upon a time, a great while ago," he began, "there was a beautiful Injun maiden called the Red Rose. She was the belle of the Sac Nation, an' lived in the Injun village overlookin' the Rock an' the Mississippi, where her people had been nigh on a hundred years. Her eyes were like a limpid spring in the dark woods, an' all the young warriors were her lovers, for there was none like her for modesty an' attractive ways. She was as purty as a wild-flower, an' a great dancer, an' fleet of foot as the coyote, an' gentle as the cooin' dove. Her father's name was Standin' Bear, an' a fierce old warrior an' hunter he was, but sometimes given to strong drink when greatly tempted. Well, at that time, along about 1800, the early French settlers livin' on Cuvier River (which is French for Copper), bein' friv'lous an' fond of dancin', as people are now, gave a great ball, an' white women bein' scarce, the Injuns were told to bring their squaws. So to please her, Standin' Bear took Red Rose to the party. Whisky was plenty, as it always is at such places, an' while Red Rose danced an' was happy, thinkin' no harm, Standin' Bear drunk more'n he should, an' while in that state a white man insulted his daughter in a way no one could overlook; but when Standin' Bear sought to punish the brute, he was knocked down an' dragged out by the scalp-lock, an' given a kick besides. This no white man nor Injun could endure; but Standin' Bear, not havin' any redress, waited till the man come out after the ball was over, when he fell on him with a fierce cry an' killed him. You'll say it was murder, but it was the Injuns' way, an' without fuss or scarin' of women. A white man would have gone swaggerin' an' cussin' into the room an' shot the feller, an' everybody'd said it served him right. That's the difference between the two, an' one's as bad as the other. After he'd killed the man, Standin' Bear fled with Red Rose to their village, travelin' day an' night till they were safe."
"Then what happened?"
"What always happens when an Injun kills a white man," Blott went on, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Word was sent to the gov'nor at St. Louis, an' soldiers were hurried off to demand Standin' Bear's surrender. This bein' done, they took him to St. Louis, where he was to be hung, but on the advice of Black Hawk, Quashquamme, the great chief of the Sacs, went down to see if he couldn't save Standin' Bear, who was some kin to him. When he got to St. Louis he found white men didn't settle differences of that kind by acceptin' money or property outright, as the Injuns do. While waitin' he fell in with a man named Shoto, an old fur trader, who, knowin' the Sacs to be reliable Injuns, volunteered to supply the chief an' his companions with what they wanted. In this way he got the Injun in debt about two thousand dollars, for a lot of truck hardly worthy carryin' off. Then Shoto, to get his money, proposed that the Sacs an' Foxes sell their land to the government, an' this is what come about in the end. It was agreed that Standin' Bear should be freed, an' the Injuns git a sum of money every year, which, of course, they didn't git, that bein' the government's way of treatin' Injuns. Well, at the appointed time the prison door was thrown open an' Standin' Bear walked out, Red Rose bein' a little way apart waitin' for him. As he hurried toward her, an' she stood with her arms outstretched, there was the crack of a rifle, an' Standin' Bear dropped dead at her feet. At this she uttered a piercin' cry, an' fell beside him. Her companions, runnin' up, carried her off, thinkin' she was dead; an' while she come to, she was never the same as before, but sick of mind like, an' believin' her father was come, she'd hold out her arms, sayin': 'You didn't believe the pale faces, but I knew they'd keep their word,' an' this the poor thing would repeat over an' over a thousand times a day, smilin' an' holdin' out her hands plaintive-like. When she got some strength, Standin' Bear's companions took his body an' Red Rose in their canoes an' carried them to the Injun village, where, as I said, the two rivers, the tumblin' Rock an' the Mississippi join their waters; an' here they buried the old chief with the dead of his tribe. So you see the whites kept their word about freein' Standin' Bear, an' broke it, too."
"I should say so, and with a vengeance!" I cried, ashamed that my race should do so treacherous a thing. "Then what happened?"
"Nothin', for he was only an Injun."
"Did that bring on the war?"
"Yes, through the debt of old Shoto's and the treaty follerin' it."
"Why did Black Hawk allow the treaty to be made?" I asked.
"He was away huntin' when it was signed, an' didn't know about it. That was always the way, though. When the Injuns was to be tricked it was done when he was off on a hunt, for he never was fuddled with liquor, an' stood up for the rights of his people."
"He ought not to have gone off hunting," I answered, with some impatience.
"That was their way, an' carried on systematic-like, an' not as we do, for play," Blott answered, helping himself to another quail.
"How was that?" I asked.
"After the Injuns had buried their corn and punkins an' other truck, they went off to the west on their fall and winter hunt, takin' five or six hundred horses an' two or three hundred canoes."
"That was an army."
"Yes; an' they often had to fight, too, with their enemies, the Sioux, an' other Injuns. They was gone all winter, returnin' in time to plant their corn, bringin' with them dried meat, sellin' their furs to the traders. After the plantin' was done they went off agin in July on a great buffalo-hunt on the Iowa plains. So you see huntin' with them wasn't like it is with us, but a regular business. Try some of this ham, Gilbert; it's sweeter'n honey. No! Why, you haven't any more appetite than a housefly!" Blott exclaimed, helping himself to a delicate morsel. "Well, where was I? Oh, yes. Much ill-feelin' resulted from the trick sale of the Injun lands, as you may imagin', an' the whites made more fuss than the others, as people always do when they've done anything they're ashamed of. There wasn't nothin' like war, though, till one day in 1830, twenty-six years after the ball, an' when Red Rose had long been dead an' buried beside her father on the banks of the purlin' Rock. Then Black Hawk bein' off huntin' agin, the whites took possession of the Injun village an' burned it. They didn't need the ground more'n they did the moon, for there was enough for all, and more, but they was crazy to git rid of the Injuns, an' wouldn't wait nor live up to the agreement they'd made. Finally Black Hawk, for the sake of peace, consented to move his tribe over into Iowa; but there wasn't enough game there, it bein' the Sioux country, an' the ground bein' unplowed they couldn't raise corn, so before plantin' time he come over into Illinois, bringin' his women an' children, to raise a crop to keep his people from starvin'. An' it was this comin' that brought on the war."[*]
Our supper being over, Blott brought his story of the Black Hawk war to an end, and the horses being ready, we mounted without loss of time, and hurried forward on our journey.
Mr. and Mrs. Blake were greatly surprised at my coming, as you may imagine, but their pleasure was only the more on that account, they said. This I could not help but believe, for both of them did all they could to make me feel I was welcome and at home. Blott did not stop, but hurried away; and as it was late, Mrs. Blake shortly after showed me to the room her son had occupied, saying it was mine now and always would be. Bidding her good night, I threw myself on the bed, and when at last I fell asleep, it was to dream of Standing Bear and Red Rose, which latter appeared sometimes as an Indian maiden, but more often as my own true love, Constance.
[*] It has been calculated by those curious in such matters that the consideration the Indians received under the treaty referred to by Blott—if the amount agreed upon had really been paid, which it was not—amounted to less than one cent for each two hundred and twenty-five acres of land relinquished. In this connection it is a curious thing and pathetic even in Indian annals, that in the case of the great chief Black Hawk persecution should not have ended even with his life. For shortly after his death in 1838—at the age of seventy-one years—his grave was opened by a vandal white and the body stolen, and with it his medals, sword, jewelry, and other decorations. Black Hawk's sons, discovering the crime, recovered the body and had it reinterred, but only to have the grave again opened, and the body stolen a second time. Thus the great man, harassed throughout life, failed to find a resting-place even in death, his body being moved hither and thither, his bones at last finding a place of lodgment—to be stared at by the gaping crowd—in the Burlington (Iowa) Geographical and Historical Society; and only, in the end, to find rest in oblivion through the fortunate happening of a great fire in 1855—-THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER XXXIV
GLIMPSE OF A SUMMER SEA
When I awoke the next morning the yellow sunlight streamed into my window, as if to be first to make known the presence of a friend. Looking out, the blue sky, contemplative and mild, smiled upon me, and as if some other presence dwelt there of like serenity, but which no vicissitude of season or tempest could overcast. This welcome that the heavens hold out to country people is not imaginary, but real and sensible to the eye and heart, and its comfort and companionship make solitude sweet to them, oftentimes to the exclusion of other and more practical company. To all such it does not lessen the fellowship of the clouds that they are but storehouses of wind and rain. Their movement and change of shape make them attractive and companionable, though their forms take flight while we look. So at night, the moon and stars tell a story of their own, each having its office of friendship. However far off, their brightness and steadfast ways are not mere reflections of some distant object, but present companions, looking down in serenity, brightening when we smile and steadfast when we grieve, awaiting us always in their places, like friends to be found when needed. To city people, who see such things but imperfectly from the angles of buildings and deep-set streets, they lack these romantic attributes, but to him who dwells in the solitude of the country they are as I say.
From the first hour, Mr. and Mrs. Blake made me feel that I shared everything in common with them, and this in so simple a manner that it was but a little while before I was at home and as if I had known them always. In this way the deathly sinking of the heart we all have in early life when first separated from those we love, I found less hard to bear. For however much the young may stray, or however desolate their lives, there will never come a time when they will not feel this sickness of the heart, this pang of parting from those dear to them, as if the breath of life were forever leaving their bodies.
After breakfast the morning following my arrival it was determined to put aside all other things and give over the day to the pleasurable emotions of sight-seeing. All the belongings of the Blakes they were to show me, not grudgingly and little by little, as if of no account, but at once and in order as become the properties of those who grow old in contentment and honest industry. The house came first of all, and this was different, and in most things better than others round about—if others there could be when the nearest dwelling was miles away. Mr. Blake being a carpenter and having some skill as an architect, and being, moreover, of a domestic nature, had been at pains to bring from a distance the lumber and other needed things to make his home attractive. As if to make up for this extravagance, however, the structure was correspondingly small, so that its rooms afforded hardly space in which to move about. Among other things, he had been to some trouble to make the house secure, and this because of Mrs. Blake's being much alone, so that in some respects it was a veritable fortress. Like the pioneer women of her day, however, she had no thought of fear any more than men have, and lived in her home, more often alone than otherwise, contented and happy, as Dido might have done before the new lover broke in upon the quiet of her life.
When we had viewed the house with great particularity, and more especially its treasures in the way of ornamentation and bits of furniture, we passed on to the garden. Here there were many fruit-trees, all healthful of growth and beginning to show signs of maturity. About these, but irregularly and where the sun could reach them, currant and gooseberry bushes added to the beauty of the place, as well as contributed something to the comforts of the table. These things coming more particularly within the scope of Mrs. Blake's life, she cultivated them with this double purpose, and so skillfully that they stood out in the autumn air as if in pride at the dual office they thus happily filled. In respect of such things I have always thought, as others perhaps have, that shrubs are to trees what children are to men. Pliant and beautiful, we can do with them as we will. If cared for, they respond with bursting foliage and brilliant hue, but if neglected or improperly placed, their gaunt stems and shriveled leaves cry out against the treatment we accord them.
Going to the stable, we found it a small affair, like the house, but built wholly of logs and brush. Scattered about were other diminutive edifices and places of retreat and refreshment for animals, and of so great a number that they looked at a distance like a Hottentot village, such as we see in early books of travel. About these structures, and in the remote and secluded corners and places of vantage, chickens congregated, singly and in numbers, and amid such a carnival of cackling and desultory talk as I had never heard before. Running in from the yards and edges of the forest, they crowded about Mrs. Blake with such noisy exuberance of spirit that it was impossible to hear one's voice, much less to think. In her, you could see, they recognized a benefactress and friend who knew and treasured them for all and more than they were worth. In return, it was as if they were every one filled with expectancy of labor, and the prospect it held out to their mistress of pin money such as no one had ever dreamed of before. Overjoyed, I lost no time in making up to these old friends, and in this sought out such offerings of food as I could find that came within the scope of their appetites. For they were dainty things, and accustomed to much refinement of fare, not regarding the coarser kinds of food with any relish whatsoever, so long as the grasses and forest yielded a profusion of delicate morsels in the way of succulent bugs and relishable insects that only needed a little running and craning of the neck to secure.
Mr. Blake's likings tended altogether to horses and cattle, and of the former he owned a great number, though only the two he used were broken. The others, all fine animals, I volunteered to take hold of and fit for the saddle and harness; and this offer he hailed with pleasure when I told him I had been accustomed to such things at Wild Plum. In this way he would be able, he said, to market the animals, whereas now he could hardly give them away, men being too busy to properly break them. The appetites of these idle creatures, I soon discovered, were keen beyond all measure of reason, as if, like idle men, they needed more than those who worked or otherwise contributed to the common good. Of cows, the Blakes had many and of fine form, but save the two set apart for use, all ran wild with their calves, only the more sturdy surviving the neglect. For it was apparent they got no attention whatever, save grudgingly from the hired man, except as Mrs. Blake or her husband saw their needs, and this only occasionally. My small ideas of thrift were yet enough for me to see how little was being done to make the farm productive. For Mr. Blake's earnings as a carpenter, it was apparent, were used to make up his losses as a farmer, and so he was making little or no headway, except in the rise of his land, which at best could not be much.
However, not regarding this at all, he sought every occasion to add to his unproductive plant. Thus, the third day after my arrival we drove across the country to make inquiries in regard to an ass of gentle disposition, so it was advertised, that the owner desired to sell. Delighted with the animal, Mr. Blake bought him at sight, and everything being arranged, we tied our purchase to the tailboard of the wagon, and mounting to our seats, set out for home. Looking back after we had gone some distance, great was our astonishment to see the little animal braced on his legs and plowing the soft road with his sharp hoofs, refusing to lift even so much as a foot. Seeing how things were, Mr. Blake got down, and going to the animal, sought to encourage him in every way; and being satisfied at last, mounted to his seat, when we started forward as before. Without any better result, however; whereupon Mr. Blake got down again and fondled the animal as if he were a petted child. Then motioning me to go on, he followed, endeavoring, upon further show of stubbornness, to push the brute forward, but without any kind of success. Upon this we rested, striving meanwhile to coax the animal with such choice bits of food as our lunch-basket and the feed-box afforded. These bribes the ass devoured, and acceptably we thought; but when we sought to start, Mr. Blake walking alongside, clucking and making other demonstrations of encouragement such as should have mollified any reasonable creature, the animal refused to budge a foot. This I thought highly exasperating, for the day was cloudy and raw and such as quickly chills one perched high up, as I was, and not too warmly clad. At last, every device being without avail, Mr. Blake motioned me to go ahead, he following on behind, much disheartened, it was apparent, at the brute's behavior. We had, however, gone but a little way when the donkey, striking an obstruction and refusing to bend his legs, toppled over and fell on his side; and as he made no effort to rise, I brought the wagon to a standstill, though reluctantly, I must confess. After some effort we succeeded in getting him to his feet, but going on a few yards, he fell over as before. Upon this, Mr. Blake motioned me to go ahead, which I did somewhat briskly, out of all patience with the brute. Soon the donkey's skin showing evidence of wear, Mr. Blake tipped him over on the other side, I meantime driving on without appearing to notice what he was doing. In this way both sides of the brute were after a while worn free of hair, the hide, too, in many places showing signs of giving way. At sight of this, Mr. Blake called to me to halt, and together we lifted the brute to his feet, wrapping them about with straw and pieces of cloth. In this way, and going ahead with care, so as to avoid obstructions as much as possible, alternately pulling and dragging the animal, we finally reached home, much worn in body and spirit; to the very last, however, be it said, without any outbreak of temper on Mr. Blake's part, so calm and unruffled was his nature. The ass, not a bit the worse for his hard usage, albeit his sides were wholly divested of skin, raised his voice in protestation once he was in the paddock, as if Beelzebub were come again. Nor did he cease his complaining with the going down of the sun, so that we scarce got a wink of sleep all that night. In a week's time, however, he slept in the warm sun beside the barn as if born upon the place; but of value he had none whatever. This Mr. Blake did not much regard; he had the animal, and it presented a fine appearance in the paddock, and so he was content. Thus this obstinate animal lived on for many years, awakening the echoes of the forest with his mighty voice, dying finally at a ripe old age, much to his master's regret.
Such things as these may seem apart and not of much interest, and very likely that is true enough; but to me they were everything, making up as they did my life when young, as they do, in fact, the lives of most country-bred youths. Looking back to it now, from under a fast-fading sun, its quiet and beauty, peaceful beyond measure, cause a sigh of regret as at some far-off vision that can never return, nor anything like unto it. When I had been in my new home some weeks, Mr. Blake fell into a habit of gazing upon me in a fixed, heavy way for hours at a time, and as if grieved at something beyond expression. Anxious as to the cause, I lost no time in speaking to Mrs. Blake about it, and what she said I thought remarkable; nor could I by any means understand it, or any part of it, so little do the young know the springs of human sympathy or liking. For it seemed that at the time of Constance's and my first visit great patches of freckles covered my face, and in these Mr. Blake saw a dear resemblance to his dead son, who, it appeared, was similarly marked. Now, with return of strength, the freckles one by one fading out of my face, he watched their going with surprise at first and then with grief, until in the end, all being gone, it seemed to him as if he had lost his son anew. Encouraged by his wife, however, he after a while overcame his despondency, treating me with gentle kindness, as before, but never, I thought, with the warmth I had noticed in him at first. Mrs. Blake, happily, having no such cause of disappointment, grew in her liking for me, so she would often say, with each passing day. The reason of this was, I think, that matronly women, such as she, when deprived of children, ever thus regard with increasing interest the thing, whatever it may be, which they set apart to fill the void in their lives. Thus she regarded me, and each day redoubled her efforts to win my love, and in this was so completely successful that as long as she lived I never ceased to regard her with the tender affection her great heart merited.
One fair day soon after my coming, Constance rode out to make us a visit, emerging from the shadows of the trees like an angel of light, which indeed she was; for straightway the place seemed as if enchanted. Giving her scarce a minute to greet Mrs. Blake, I hurried her away to show her the farm, but more that I might have her to myself during the short time she was to stay. Forgetful of all else except the happiness of being together, we wandered hand in hand in the edge of the forest, till at last, tired out, we sat down beneath an oak to watch the sky and sleeping clouds—except, indeed, when we were looking into each other's faces, which I know was the case most of the time. This until long after the hour when she should have started for home. Then, hastening, I brought her horse, and mounting one myself, rode beside her to the door of the Dragon, which we reached soon after dark. Returning as in a trance, I could not believe it night or that I was alone, for the sky was ablaze with stars, every one of which seemed to reflect back her image or to be the brighter for her having seen it.
The beauty of the Blakes' surroundings was such as one does not often meet with at this time, though it was common enough before the forests that lined the great river were disturbed by the hand of man. On every side the farm was bordered about by tangled shrubbery and overhanging trees, and now, it being autumn, they were tinged with a thousand shades of color, not one remaining steadfast, but shifting with the varying light, revealing some new beauty with each changing reflection of the sun. On one side, upon a ridge of sand, oaks with gnarled and rugged sides lifted their giant forms, and about the other borders boxwood and ash, mingled with maple and elm, grew in picturesque confusion. Near by, on the very edges of the farm, elders and a thousand vagrant bushes struggled to outdo each other in growth and show of beauty. Farther out, in the stubble of the field, fat weeds, green as in midsummer, uplifted their heads defiantly, as if shouting to the passer-by, "See! after all, nothing comes of thrift." In the meadow, and in homely confusion, wild sunflowers and rosin-weeds projected their stems high in the air, and upon these meadowlarks and bobolinks sat and sang the day through.
To one side of the farm, and along an old and abandoned highway, grasses and flowers spread quite across the sunken road, and on both its sides bushes crowded forward in confusion and such precipitancy of haste that in many places one could scarce make headway. Above this scramble of green the trees spread their limbs, and the sky peering down between their slender branches looked like a glimpse of some far-off summer sea.