CHAPTER IX.
A FREQUENT caller at the Wycliff home was “Uncle Jerry� Barnaby. He was always welcome, being an old friend, the acquaintance between the two families dating back to the time when both occupied farms in Sprucemont—the little hill-town, richer in broad views and fresh air than in salable commodities.
“Oh, I was a king, then!� said Uncle Jerry. “Only think of those beautiful fields of grass and grain that I used to have.�
“And how much labor you spent in getting out the rocks and improving the land, before you could have those crops,� replied Mrs. Wycliff.
“Yes, I was the first farmer in all that region to use dynamite, both on my farm and on the highways. Oh, I was a king then; king of my own farm, anyway. And now I am a slave to these sleek villains, the Baldwins. The tearscome to my eyes whenever I think of those old times; and of those sleek cattle that had been petted so much by my wife and the girls that it seemed like sacrilege to sell them; they seemed to belong to the family.� And Uncle Jerry burst into tears at his own recital of former glories.
“To think that I should have come to this,� exclaimed Uncle Jerry. “To be a slave,—a poor, despised, down-trodden slave for the Baldwins,—and I used to be a king of two hundred acres in Sprucemont.
“And those colts, the beautiful creatures. When I went into the pasture they would come up to me and lay their noses on my cheeks, and almost talk to me. How many colts I have raised to be fine horses, and sold for good prices, and my wife and daughters could always ride anywhere they chose, and to-day—� and Uncle Jerry could not proceed for some minutes for sobbing.
“To-day,� he continued, at length, “My poor dear girl is pining away forthe fresh air. I heard yesterday that Zack Baldwin had an old horse that he was going to kill. I might have known that I would be refused, but I was thinking only of my poor dear girl, and I went and begged him to let me have the old horse. I promised him it should never do anything but draw the poor girl the little way she is able to ride.�
“Didn’t he let you have it?� asked Mrs. Wycliff, full of sympathy.
“Of course not. It wouldn’t make any big sound, you know, like giving a half a million dollars to a library. It might, possibly, have saved my daughter’s life. He ordered the horse taken out and shot before my eyes. I felt as if those shots sounded my daughter’s doom. I might have known that a man who would discharge me for getting the policemen’s pay raised, would refuse me an old horse which might save my daughter’s life.�
“Did he discharge you for that?�
“Surely. He came to me after town-meeting, and said:—‘A man who worksagainst my interests in town-meeting will never get another day’s work from me. I have no use for such men as you and Wycliff. He got offended at me once before. It was a year ago. Fifty of us were making a lawn for him. He paid us only a dollar and a half a day, although everybody else about here was paying a dollar and three-quarters for that kind of work. I circulated a petition, which most of the workmen signed, asking for one dollar and seventy-five cents per day, and presented the petition to Zack Baldwin. He finally agreed to split the difference with us, and pay us a dollar and sixty-two and a half cents a day, but he was revenged on us. Those who refused to sign the petition were given work much longer than the rest. That is the Baldwin brand of Christianity,—paying lower wages than other employers pay, and discharging those who ask for fair wages; and at the same time making princely gifts to public libraries and other institutions. It was because outside work was dull, just then, thatZack Baldwin took advantage of us, to get our work at less than market price.’�
“But I thought,� said Mrs. Wycliff, “that Zechariah and David Baldwin were in company.�
“They are,—in the mills. Congressman Baldwin isn’t a bit better than Old Zack, the old Shylock. The man who shuts his eyes to tyranny isn’t a bit better than the tyrant. Since town-meeting I’ve had to walk three miles up to the Wendell Farm, for work. These little hands were not made for handling heavy stone.� And he exhibited a pair of hands almost as small and fine as a lady’s.
“You look like a light and feeble man to walk six miles and handle stone all day, and you must be getting a little too old for hard work. How old are you, Uncle Jerry?�
“I can’t tell. I’ve even written back to the old country,—I was born in Ireland,—and tried to find out, but I think the records must have been destroyed. I could not get any information about it.I can remember once shaking hands with Abraham Lincoln, in the city of Hartford. That is a landmark in my life. I was grown up then and able to do a man’s work.�
John Wycliff arose, took down a volume from his bookcase, and examined it a moment.
“Lincoln was in Hartford on the fifth day of March, 1860, and, I think, never at any other time. Very likely you are about sixty-five years old now.�
“What is the matter with your daughter?� asked Mrs. Wycliff.
“I cannot tell you, because the doctors cannot tell me. It seems to be a sort of melancholy.�
“What caused it?�
“Well, there’s a point I don’t like to speak of.�
“Don’t mention it, then. Please forgive me for asking.�
“After all, it doesn’t matter, seeing there are no strangers here;� and Uncle Jerry lowered his voice and looked inquiringly toward the doors.
“There is no one except ourselves within hearing,� said Mrs. Wycliff, reassuringly.
“It was years ago, but after you left the hills,� continued Uncle Jerry, in a low voice. “Pet,—that’s what we called her,—was gay as a bird till then. Pet got acquainted with a fine young man up in the country,—a fine fellow he was every way. I’d say that if ’twas the last thing I was to say in this world. Never a likelier fellow ever grew up on the hills, if I do say it. Well, he took a liking to our Pet, and I guess there was as much love on Pet’s part as on his.�
Uncle Jerry paused. After a little Mrs. Wycliff ventured to ask:
“Why didn’t they marry?�
“Well, you see,—� and Uncle Jerry’s voice dropped lower still. “I said he was as fine a fellow as ever grew up on the hills, and I wouldn’t take it back if it was to be the last thing I ever said, but—he was a Protestant.� Uncle Jerry was silent a few moments.
“Looking back now, it seems to methat we were both, Pet’s mother and I, willing to ruin Pet for life rather than have her marry a Protestant. While I cannot say positively that this is the reason for Pet’s long sickness, yet of one thing I am certain—she has not been like her former self since that time.�
“But what became of him?�
“He went away, to the West it was believed. No one on the hills, so far as I know, has heard from him since. But this whole subject is one which I do not like to think about, much less talk about. I have learned one lesson, and a pretty costly one,—when God has taught two persons to love one another no one should be guilty of keeping them apart.�
“And here am I,� continued Uncle Jerry piteously, “Sixty-five years old, at least, discharged by those sleek villains, the Baldwins, because I dared to champion the policemen, and obliged to walk six miles a day to work, and then,—only think of it,—this slender body and these weak hands to build stone wall all day. The only work I can get to do with theselittle hands is to lift and tug at heavy stone all day. Merciful God! What shall I do? I can’t stand this work a great while. My back is almost broken. These thin arms are as sore as boils. These little hands are covered with blisters. And my poor, dear girl pining for the fresh air. That horse that Zack Baldwin ordered shot to-day, might have saved my daughter’s life. What does he care? He will kill me, in time, too, for I can’t walk six miles and build stone wall all day, and follow it up a great while.� And Uncle Jerry paced the floor in agony, his face drawn and white, and wringing his small, thin hands.
“You have a fine house, Uncle Jerry,� said Mrs. Wycliff.
“Yes; but we can’t eat or drink it, or if we could, how long would it last? If I began to use up the value of my home how long would it be before I should be ‘on the town?’�
“But I mean could you not rent furnished rooms?�
“No; Pet is so nervous I can hardlylive with her myself, much less have strangers in the same house with her. We try to economize, but economy is difficult to practice with sickness. There is only one thing I can do. I must sell my place, and buy a little farm back in the country again. I was born under king-rule. I am not going to die under it.�
“But you are not able to do the work on a farm,� protested Mrs. Wycliff, “or even if you are able to do it to-day you will not be able to do it long. Your wife and daughters used to help you a great deal on the farm. They are not able to do it now. I think I know of a better arrangement.�
“What is it?� asked Uncle Jerry, much as a drowning man might grasp at a straw.
“You have a good house, which would bring you in a large rent. Then you could get a job at superintending a small farm. You would not need to work, yourself, any more than you felt able to.�
“Who would give old Jerry Barnaby a job as a farm boss, especially when he could not get a recommend from the Baldwins? Don’t try to fool a poor old man. It’s cruel, and besides it isn’t like you, either, John Wycliff.� And Uncle Jerry looked reproachfully at the younger man.
“It’s no fooling, Uncle Jerry,� said Wycliff rising, and placing his hands on Barnaby’s shoulders. “Do you know the Twin Mountain Farm?�
“Every rod of it.�
“Now, if you are not too steep with your price, you can take charge of that farm. You will have your fuel, vegetables, meat, maple sugar—indeed, most of your living off the farm. You will not need a very big cash salary, along with your rent, to take care of you and your family in good shape, and your wife and daughter will have a horse to drive whenever they wish.�
“Who owns the place?� asked Barnaby.
“A one-eyed crank named Wycliff.�
“Do you own that place? Well, we shan’t have any trouble about the price, if you think I can fill the bill.�
“Yes, yes, Uncle Jerry. Come around in the morning and we will make a bargain in five minutes. Then we will drive off and buy stock and tools.�
“Very well. I must get home and tell Pet and her mother. We are willing to shake the dust of Papyrus off our feet any day.�