The glare of summer was softened into the glow of autumn. In the field the dry corn-blades, gently stirring, hoarsely whispered; and the grasshopper, stiffened by the chilling dew, sat on the pumpkin where the sunlight fell. The mornings were rosy, the noontide shone with a deeper red, but the evenings came, serenely stealing, it seemed, out of the heavily-wooded land, spreading over the fields and creeping along the hill-sides where the bell-cow rang her melancholy curfew.
John was a devoted student, and Potter, almost as much interested, was never too tired to assist him. "Don't sit up too late, John," the giant would sometimes say. "To-morrow night, remember, will soon be here."
Alf, delighted to know that his violin did not disturb the cause of education, mainly spent his evenings with that instrument. One night, with sudden enthusiasm, he exclaimed:
"Look yere, Mr. Potter, I wants er little o' dat edycation merse'f. Gimme holt o' dat book er minit. Now show me er J."
"There is one," Potter replied, pointing out the letter.
"Is you sho dat's er J?"
"Yes," said Potter, smiling at John.
"No chance whuteber fur er mistake in dis yere matter?"
"None at all."
"Uh, huh. So dis yere is de J dat I'se hearn so much erbout. An' yere's er nuder one. I tell you dis yere book couldn' git er long widout de J. Whut's dis yere one?"
"That is an S," Potter replied.
"Is you sho it is er S?"
"Yes."
"Wall, wall; so yere's de S dat's beener dodgen me fur sich er long time; but I got him now."
"Here is an L," said Potter.
"I doan kere nothin' 'bout dat," Alf said, closing the book. "I wouldn' git outen de way ef I wuz ter meet er L in de road. De J an' de S wuz whut I was airter."
"Do you not want to know the other letters?"
"No, sah; I dun got ernuff. Airter wile, ef de J an S wars out, I mout call fur some more, but I'se fixed ez long ez da lasts. Jule, wouldn' you like ter know er bout de J?"
"I knows 'em all," the girl replied.
"Take ere; take ere. I neber did see so much edycation; man kaint step round yere widout trampin' on it."
"These cool days, when we have no important work to perform," said Potter, "can be well spent."
"Mine shall be," John responded. "How long will it be, you reckon, before I ken stop this sort uv splashin' with these books, an' jump right in an' swim."
"Not a great while. You must lay the worm rail, you know, before you can build the fence. In truth, you learn more rapidly than anyone else I ever knew; and sometimes, while watching your progress, I can not help but look back with pity upon the snail-like movements of my early efforts."
"Oh, dar ain't no question 'bout dat boy l'arnin'," Alf exclaimed. "Er boy dat l'arned ter break er colt ez easy ez he did one time, ain't gwine ter hab much trouble wid dis S an' J bizness. Whut, er boy dat ken slip down outen er tree widout er quick-eyed pant'er seein' him, ain't got sly mubement ernuff ter ketch deze yere books er nappin'? Doan know dat chile yit; doan know him."
One afternoon while Potter and John were at their books, and while Alf was playing on his fiddle a sort of accompaniment to a doleful tune hummed by his daughter, there came a tapping on the facing of the open door.
"Come in," Potter called.
A woman and a girl stepped into the room. John and Potter sprang up with the quick impulse of courtesy's sudden demand, and offered them seats. Alf put down his fiddle, and bowing, gave the visitors a grinning welcome.
"Where are your women folks?" the elder visitor inquired.
"We have none, madam," Potter replied, "except this girl, the daughter of this old——"
"Servant o' the Lawd," Alf interjected.
"This servant of the Lord," Potter smilingly repeated, "who assists us in tending our crop, and who is——"
"Erbout de bes' cook in dis yere neighborhood," Alf again broke in.
"My daughter Eva and I were passing," said the woman, "and having noticed for some time that this old house was again inhabited, decided to stop and investigate. We live about five miles from here, on the Sunset road. I am Mrs. Lucy Forest, widow of Henry Forest, who died severalyears ago. You have heard of him, of course."
"I am a comparative stranger in this neighborhood," Potter replied.
"I ricolleck seein' him," John remarked. "Uster have something to do with the Sunday-school at Mt. Pleasant. Alf knowed him, too, I reckon."
"Lawd bless me, yas," Alf exclaimed. "I dug de man's grave."
"I remember you now," Mrs. Forest rejoined, "and I remember you, too," addressing John. "Your name," turning to Potter, "is——"
"Excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Potter."
"Well, I was going to say that your name was Bradshaw, and that I had seen you before."
"Excuse me a moment," said Potter, "I see your horse is loose. Let me go and hitch him for you."
"I'm younger than you, let me go," John insisted.
When John had gone, Mrs. Forest,looking after him, remarked: "That young man has a splendid face. Don't you think so, Eva?"
"Yes; strong and expressive of true refinement," the girl replied. Potter looked in admiration upon her. She was apparently but little more than fifteen years of age, but in form was well advanced toward graceful womanhood. Her eyes were large, dark, and beautiful. Her hair was as threads of fine and blackest silk, and in its graceful clustering, romance, it seemed, had found a lurking place. There was not a ruddy glow upon her cheeks, but with a creamy shading they tended toward paleness. An expression of quiet thought lay about the corners of her shapely mouth, but on her forehead, low and broad, fancy traced a brightening picture.
The girl's mother, noticing Potter's look, which had now almost deepened into a gaze, remarked: "I don't think my daughter is looking very well. For some time she has been at school over at Sunset,where there is an excellent teacher, but she studied so hard that I had to take her away."
"Mother, please don't make me out an invalid, for you know that I can walk long distances and climb steep hills without fatigue."
"Oh, I don't mean that you are an invalid, daughter; but you know yourself, Mr. Brad—Mr. Potter, that it is not well for one so young to be so devoted to books. It was her father's only trouble—I came near saying fault."
"It was his greatest pleasure," the girl suggested.
"Yes; but if it hadn't been for books he might have been a successful business man, and we might not have been compelled to leave our home in Tennessee, where I was so contented, and settle in this out-of-the-way place, and, of necessity, take up ignorance for our neighbors."
"His neighbors, the few books which he saved, are not ignorant," the girlreplied. "He loved them, found them true, and left them friends to me."
"Yes, child, yes; I know all that; but it was a hardship on me, and since his death the cultivation of the farm has given me no end of trouble. Oh, I like books well enough, but unless we can write them they don't make us a living."
"But," said Potter, "they reduce a dreary and barren hour into a minute of ripe delight."
The girl clapped her hands. "I thank you for so bright a defense," she exclaimed.
"Oh, when you come ter talk erbout books," said Alf, "Mr. Potter he plum dar. Got er big luther-kivered book yere dat he read mighty nigh all de time."
"The Bible I hope," Mrs. Forest remarked.
"The Bible often, Mrs. Forest, but the book to which he refers is the Bible's wise, though sometimes sportive, child—Shakespeare."
John re-entered the room. "There'scomin' up a shower," said he, "an' I took the horse to the stable."
"It is fortunate that we stopped, even though there are no women folks," Mrs. Forest replied.
Eva turned to John. "This room has somewhat the appearance of a school," she said.
"It is a school to me," John answered.
"You are anxious to learn, I suppose."
"Yes, so anxious that the time, it 'pears like, flies away befo' I l'arn anything."
"Time will seem kinder after awhile, for then you will be more able to employ it. When you want books that are full of interest, come over to our house."
Rain began to pour down. A frightened quail fluttered past the door. A baffled hawk screamed in anger. A rabbit ran into the yard and squatted under an old and tangled rose-bush. The rain ceased. The rabbit shook himself and ran away. The hawk screamed in anger.
"It is time we were going, daughter," said Mrs. Forest when a stream of sunlightcame through the window. "Will you please get our horse?" she added, addressing John.
John bowed, rather awkwardly, perhaps, yet with not a bad show of courtesy, and hurried away to execute the commission.
"Mrs. Forest," said Potter, "we do not live so far apart but that we might be more neighborly in the future."
"Why, surely not," Mrs. Forest replied. "You will find everyone neighborly in this part of the country. Many of the people have nothing, you might say, except a neighborly disposition."
When the visitors were gone, and when John had again taken up his book, Potter remarked: "Excellent people, I warrant you. What do you think of that young lady, John?"
"I don't know, sir. She's so fur away frum me, it 'pears like that I can't think about her at all. Mr. Potter, do you think I'm learnin' how to talk any better than I did?"
"Yes, and very rapidly, too; but thebook which you are of necessity studying now, can only serve you in a preliminary way—I mean that what you are studying now, will prepare you for grammar, and grammar will lead you into the excellencies of speech."
"Look yere," said Alf, "its erbout time I wuz er slicin' off our names, an' er puttin' 'em in de pot. I keep er tellin' you, dat edycation gittin' powerful thick round yere, but huh, when er man's hungry, he'd ruther yere suthin' er singin' in er skillet den ter fool wid er book, I doan' kere how many picters it got in it. I'll take deze yere squirl's dat we picked offen dem hickory trees dis mawnin', an' putty soon you'll yere er song in dat fryin' pan dat'll make you genermen drap dem books. I'se dun blowed my ho'n."
Early the next morning, before Potter and John had got out of bed, Alf came bustling into the room, bringing the appearance of great excitement. "Genermen," he exclaimed, "dis ain't no time ter lie yere!"
"What's the matter?" Potter demanded. "What has happened; can't you speak?"
"Cose I ken speak. Ef I couldn' speak, I couldn' tell you dat dis ain't no time ter lay yere. Whut's happened? B'ar tracks, sah; dat's whut's happened. I wus down in the fiel' jes' now ter see ef I could find any dem raskil coons t'arin' down de co'n, an' all at once I come ter er place so tangled wid stalks dat, fo' greshus, I dun thought er whirlwin' hit de co'n, but den it wuz all splained, fur dar wuz b'ar tracks mighty nigh ez big ez er ham. Huh, I dun thought somebody dun been goin' long dar er hittin' de groun' wid er maul. Let's git er bite ter eat ez soon ez we ken, an' foller de ole scounul."
Immediately after breakfast they set out to look for the bear. The tracks in the field proclaimed him to be of monstrous size. Pete, Alf's dog, well understood the importance of the pursuit. They followed the trail a long distance up the river, and then into a dense cane-brake.
"Mr. Potter, did you ever kill a bear?" John asked.
"No; the truth is I have never seen a wild one. You have killed a number of them, I suppose?"
"No, sir; but I shot one last winter, but he got away. My gun don't carry a ball large enough, I reckon, unless I mout hit him in the eye."
"Yere's de ole lady dat totes de ball," said Alf, affectionately tapping the barrel of his army gun. "Doan kere whar I hit one o' em, he gwine squeal, lemme tell you. Jes' look at ole Pete, how he prance. He uster be er mighty fine b'ar dog, but he ain't seed one in so long, dat I'se almos' afeerd dat he dun furgot how ter keep outen de way. B'ar git er holt o' er dog an' dat dog's gone, I tell you. Le's stop right yere, an' let him go on out in yander."
The dog ran forward, becoming more and more excited. The trail was evidently warm. The dog barked some distance away. "Hol' on," said the old negro."Lissun er minut'." Another bark; followed by a distressing howl. Alf sprang forward. Potter and John followed as rapidly as they could through the tangled cane. After a tiresome struggle, they came to a small open space. There lay the dog, dead. The old negro dropped his gun, got down on his knees, and lifted the animal's bleeding head. It was some time before the old negro spoke. His companions, respecting a grief which they saw was deep and stirring, remained silent. At length old Alf said: "Po' ole frien'. Too ole an' stiff in de j'ints ter git outen de way. We's all gittin' dat way, ole frien'. We'se gittin' so ole an' stiff dat we kaint git outen de way o' trouble w'en we sees it comin' down de road. Genermen, I lubed dis yere po' dog. He didn' know nuthin' but ter lub me. He neber seed nuthin' wrong wid de ole man. No matter whut I done, it wuz all right ter him. But he gone now—I doan know whar—but he's gone. Lemme tell you, though (arising and taking up his gun),suthin' gwine suffer fur dis. Mr. Potter, you an' John go roun' dat way, an' I go dis. Ef you hear my gun, come ter me. Ef I hear yo'n, I'll come."
They separated. "I feel sorry for the old fellow," Potter remarked. "He's a man of very deep affections, with all his African peculiarities. Indeed, he has feelings finer than many a man would ascribe to one of his color."
"I know he is one of the best men I ever seed—saw," John replied. "I have hearn folks try to make out that the nigger ain't got as big a soul as the white man, but nobody's got any bigger soul than Alf has. There's his gun!"
Again they struggled through the cane, and again they came upon a small, open space. There they found Alf, sitting on a bear, smoking his pipe and fanning himself with his straw hat.
"You have him sure enough!" Potter exclaimed.
"Sah?" Alf replied, with pretended unconcern.
"I say you have killed the bear!"
"Whut b'ar?"
"Why, the one you are sitting on."
John was leaning against a tree, shaking with laughter. He understood the old man.
"Oh, dis yere b'ar."
"Yes; that bear."
"Oh, yas, sah; I got him. Tell you whut it is" (getting up, and putting on his hat), "it won't do fur er b'ar ter come killin' one o' my ole frien's. Dangerous, sah, dangerous. Wall, we'll go home now, get de hosses, an' drag dis generman ter de house."
"An enormous animal," said Potter.
"Cose he is. Oh, I ain't trampin' roun' de neighborhood er shootin' kittens, I tell you."
When the bear had been dragged home, skinned and cut up, the work of dividing with the nearest neighbors was begun. John took a choice roast over to Mrs. Forest, whose overflowing expressions of thanks quite embarrassed him, but Eva came forward with such frankness of manner that his confusion was put to instant flight.
"Come into the other room," said the girl, "and let me show you some of my books."
He followed her into a room situated at the end of a gallery that ran the full length of the old log house. The collection numbered but a few volumes, but John opened his eyes in great astonishment.
"You haven't read all these here, have you?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, some of them many times. It doesn't take long to read them all. After awhile I will lend them to you."
"I will take good care of them."
"Oh, I know that. Anyone who would not take care of a book is not worthy of the slightest trust."
Mrs. Forest came to the door. "Eva," she said, "yonder comes that good-for-nothing Bob Juckels. I wish he would stay at home. Look; he threw a stone at the calf. I could wring his good-for-nothing neck."
Eva and John went out onto the gallery. Bob Juckels climbed over the fence, though the gate was near, and, in a skulking and "scuffing" manner, approached. He was just old enough to be "gawky," and was not intelligent enough to understand even the demands of the uncouth politeness of the neighborhood. His face was covered with red freckles, his teeth protruded, and his dingy hair looked as though it might, at some time, have been chewed by a calf.
"Hi, folks," he said, as he stepped upon the gallery. "'Lowed I'd drap in an' see you erwhile. Pap wanted me ter chop sprouts outen the corners uv the fence ter-day, but I don't feel like it. Ain't this here John Lucas?"
"Yes," John replied.
"That's whut I 'lowed. I was over at ole Lucas' house one time; drapped in ter git a drink uv water, an' hanged ef that wife uv hizen didn't skeer me putty nigh ter death. I ain't been thar sense, fur it's sorter outen my range, anyhow. Eva, have you got any fresh water handy?"
"Some there in the bucket, I think," the girl replied.
"Sho it's fresh?"
"If it isn't, you know where the well is," said Mrs. Forest.
"Yas, ought ter. John, is that yo' hoss hitched out thar?"
"Yes."
"'Lowed so. Sorter looks like you—haw! haw! Say, ef you'll go my way I'll ride behind you?"
"I'm not goin' your way; but you shouldn't ride behind me if you was goin' mine."
"Reckon we'd see erbout that."
"Well, I must go," said John, addressing Mrs. Forest and Eva.
"Don't be snatched," Juckles replied.
John gave the fellow a contemptuous look; and then, after shaking hands with the ladies, and especially after listening with gratitude to their sincere declarations that he would ever be a welcome visitor at their house, mounted his horse and rode away. He had not gone far when his saddle-girth broke. He dismounted, and while he was mending it with a string, Bob Juckles climbed over a fence, and approached him.
"'Lowed I'd cut across the field an' beat you," said Bob. "That ain't much uv a nag you've got, nohow. Don't look like he could pull er settin' hen offen her nest."
"He's putty strong," John replied, "but there air some things he can't pull.He couldn't pull the truth out of you, for instance."
"Oh, you air gettin' mighty high up sense you been 'sociatin' with that ole nigger an' that big red-headed feller. I've hearn all erbout you."
"I expect you have hearn more about us than anybody cares to hear about you."
"Keep on that er way," Bob replied, "an' you'll be sharp ernuff ter drive in the ground airter while."
"Juckels, go on erway now and leave me alone. I don't like you, and I don't want to have anything to do with you."
"How do you know whuther you like me ur not, when you don't know much erbout me?"
"I know enough about you. I've seen you a number of times. Alf knows you, too."
"Alf's er ole fool."
"Go on away, now."
"Say," said Juckels, "what made you go over thar ter the wider's?"
"None of your business."
"Fine-lookin' gal they've got over thar, ain't she? Ken make er putty fair article uv pie, too, I tell you. Say, I bet I ken outrassle you fur that coat you've got on."
"I told you to go away."
"Wall, then, I ken outbox you fur that ar hat."
John had mended the girth and was trimming a switch that he had cut from a hickory sapling.
"Did you hear whut I said?" Juckels remarked.
John, without replying, was preparing to mount his horse, when Juckels took hold of his arm. John wheeled about, and with the switch gave the intruder so sharp a cut across the face that he roared with pain. "Never mind," he yelled as John rode away, "this ain't the last day in the world. You'll hear frum me one uv these days in a way that'll make you squeal."
John, upon arriving home, found his uncle and aunt. Old Jeff was wheezywith a cold which he had caught some time before, while tying fodder at night in the dew. He and his wife had met Alf, who was on his way to take them a piece of bear meat, had faced him about and compelled him to go back with them, declaring that they could take the meat home themselves.
"I never was mo' s'prized in my life than when I found you folks had suthin' ter eat over here," said Mrs. Lucas. "My consceounce alive, I wush I may never stir agin, ef I didn't 'spect ter find you all starved ter death."
Potter looked up with a broad smile, and attempted to make some sort of a pleasant reply, but had no sooner said "madam" than the old woman, using an illustration afterward employed by Alf, "fairly fluttered." "Oh don't call me er madam," she exclaimed. "Gracious knows I didn't come all the way over here ter be madamed. When a man calls a woman madam, he thinks he's done the biggest sorter day's work. Now thar's Jeff grinnin' jest like er 'possum. Do b'le've in my soul he would grin ef the woods was afire."
"I mout ef I had ter go through 'em" old Jeff replied.
"Yes, I'll be bound you would," she answered, giving, as a recognition of his reply, a sort of savage nod. "Wall, we kaint be settin' 'round here allus, Jeff. Let's be gittin' on home, fur it'll be night 'fo' we git thar, nohow."
Winter came. Snowbirds fluttered on the smoking ground where the hogs were fed. The dry and cupped leaf of the hornbeam tree floated down the shivering rivulet, carrying as a cargo the lifeless body of a cricket.
As the weather grew colder, Alf's daughter seemed to grow weaker. She spoke not of the pain she must have suffered, but all day, when the wind howled, she sat in a corner near the fire, with her wasted hands clasped and with musing gaze fixed upon the glowing coals. In the night, when the sharp sleet rattledagainst the window—when some homeless and abused dog howled dismally on the hill-side—old Alf would take her in his arms and walk the floor with her, whispering the while soft words of love's encouragement. The winter would soon be gone; the dry and stiffened twig would soon again be "velveted" with buds. He told her to think of the garden that he was going to clear for her in the edge of the woods.
"Doan talk erbout gittin' weaker ever' day, little angel," he would say. "W'y bless me, chile, you's gittin' heavier all time. Huh, airter while it will take er man ez strong ez Mr. Potter ter lif' you roun'." But when he would put her down and turn away from her, tears would start from his eyes. One night, after a physician had gravely shaken his head and gone away, Alf called Potter and John.
"Come in yere er minit, genermen," he said.
They followed him. A large stove had been placed in Alf's room. Two holes in the stove glared like two red eyes.
"Can we do anything for her?" Potter asked.
"I'se erfeered not; but I kaint think, sah, dat she's so much wus ter day. Yeres de genermen, Jule. You wanted me to call 'em."
She smiled in reply. Alf knelt beside the bed. "You doan feel so much wus, does you, honey?"
"No, sah; I feels much better."
"Thank de Lawd fur dat. Set down, genermen. Oh, I tole you dat doctor didn' know whut he talkin' 'bout. Is you sufferin' much pain, little gal?"
"No, sah; none er tall. Whut time is it?"
"Bout 12 o'clock."
"I thought it wuz day. Ain't dat de sun shinin' dar ergin de wall?"
"No; dat's de light frum dem holes in de stove."
"I thought de fire wuz out," she replied. "It's so col' in yere."
"Oh, no; we got er monst'us good fire. I put in some hickory chunks jes' now."
"I wush I could see de sun."
"You ken termor' mornin', honey. It's been cloudy, you know, fur two or three days, but it's cl'ar now, fur when I looked out jes' now, er thousan' stars wuz er winkin' at each uder, thinkin' dat da got er good joke on de weather."
"De moon ain't shinin', is it?" she asked.
"No. It sorter 'pears like she's got tangled up in de underbresh way over yander on de uder side de hill, but termor' mornin' de sun gwine git up early, an' fling er bushel o' gold right inter dis yere room."
"Daddy?"
"Yas, honey."
"You won't feel too bad ef I tell you suthin', will you?"
"No, darlin'."
"Daddy?"
"Yes."
"I'se dyin'."
"Oh, doan say dat." He took her hands. "My God, genermen," he exclaimed, "she is cold. Oh, fur God's sake, kain't you he'p me? John, kain't—Oh, Hebenly Father——"
"Daddy?"
"Yas, angel."
"Didn' you tell me erbout de good man dat died? Daddy, I—oh, I'se so happy—I——"
"My God, she's gone!" exclaimed the old negro; "gone, gone. Oh, God, have mercy on my po' ole heart. Genermen, leave me yere er little while."
Potter and John went out into the night. The thousand stars were still winking at each other. Without speaking the two friends turned down toward the river.
"What noise is that?" Potter asked suddenly stopping.
It was the wild wailing of Alf's fiddle. The old man was pouring out his grief.
Three years passed. No change had come over the old house where Potter, John, and Alf lived, but the farm was no longer a place half covered with bushes and briers. It was a long time after Jule's death before old Alf regained his wonted cheerfulness; and one night when she had, for more than two years, been in her grave, old Alf got out of bed, and began to walk up and down the room. Potter, who heard him, asked if he was ill. "Oh, no, sah," he replied. "I am jes' walkin' wid de speret o' my chile."
To John there had come a great change. He had studied with unwavering determination, and had during two winters attended school at Sunset. From a charge, he had become a companion to Potter, who, during more than one conversationwith Mrs. Forest and Eva, had said: "That boy has a wonderfully strong and original mind. His teacher declares that he never saw his equal. The mark he is going to make will be deeper than any furrow he has ever plowed."
Potter and John had spent many pleasant hours at the Forest house. John had read all of Eva's books. He had not stopped at this; he had bought a number of books which he found in a store at Sunset—old books, which were thought by the storekeeper to be hopelessly out of date. He had laughed when John marched proudly away with a sack full of treasures. "That feller will never make a livin'," said the storekeeper. "Why, he give me $5 for a lot of old rubbish that I've been tumblin' about the store for years." John also laughed, but with quiet joy, for in the sack there were "Burns' Poems," the "Vicar of Wakefield," "Paul and Virginia," "Plutarch's Lives," and "Macaulay's Essays." One afternoon, John and Eva were strolling along aflower-fringed road near Mrs. Forest's house, when the girl remarked:
"It is not strange to me that you are so different intellectually now from your former self. When I first saw you I knew that this time would come."
"It is so strange to me," John replied, "that I can scarcely realize it. Oh, of course, I am by no means learned, and doubtless never shall be, but every day I see the light of perseverance thrown upon mysteries which were once dark and stubborn. Eva, there is no life so wretched as that of the yearning backwoods boy. His hands are tied; the dust from the field of ignorance blinds his eyes. But there is hope for every boy. I believe that as a case of hopelessness mine was at one time without a parallel."
"Yes," she replied, "but you have sat between two remarkable teachers. On one side, a man of books, not a great philosopher, but a man of engaging fancy and bright illustration. On the other side, a child of nature—a man who can feel thepulse of a leaf, who can hear the beating of the heart of a tree."
"Yes, but those teachers came to me," John rejoined, "just as opportunities must at some time come to all boys. If I could preach to every farmer boy, or for that matter to every boy, the first word uttered should be 'books.' Yonder comes that fellow Juckels. Let us go back toward the house."
They turned back, but had not gone far when Juckels overtook them.
"Out sorter sunin' yo'selves, I see," he said. John gave him a short "Yes;" Eva said nothing.
"Tell me, they do, that you air sorter gittin' up in the picters, John."
"I am not studying pictures. I have no intention of becoming an artist."
"Oh, you know what I mean? Say, one time er good while ergo, I told you that you would hear from me in a way that would make you squeal. Ricolleck?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Wall, the reason you ain't is becazeI went off down ter my uncle's in the white oak neighborhood, an' ever' time I came back you was off at school or somewhar else. Now, don't you think it is erbout time we was havin' er settlement?"
"I don't owe you anything," John replied.
"No; but I owe you suthin'."
"All right, then, pay it."
John felt the girl's trembling touch upon his arm. He looked at her, and saw that her face had grown paler. She gave him a look of earnest meaning, and then slowly shook her head. Not another word was spoken until they were within a few steps of Eva's home. Then John, bidding her good evening, said that he must hurry on and assist Potter and Alf in feeding the cattle.
"I wish to see you a moment," said the girl, drawing him aside. "Don't have anything to do with that man." She added, in an undertone, "he is utterly without principle."
"I will keep an eye on him," Johnreplied. "The coward ever seems to fear the light of an open eye quite as much as he does the gleaming of a weapon. Good-evening."
John walked rapidly, but Juckels, moving with a sort of dog trot, soon overtook him.
"Looks like we mout have rain, John; the sun's goin' ter bed sorter bloody, ez the feller says."
"Yes," John replied.
"Hickory switches grow putty plentiful long here, don't they?"
"Yes."
"Never wuz cut in the face with one, I reckon?"
"No."
"They say it hurts putty bad."
"You ought to know."
"Sho nuff; mebbe, then, I do."
"I should think so, if you have a good memory."
"You bet I've got er good one. Now here, I want you ter 'polyjise ter me."
"What for?"
"You know, an' you've got ter do it ur suthin' is goin' ter happen."
"Something is always happening. If something didn't happen, time would be very dull to some people."
"Yas; an' when suthin' do happen, time mout stop ter some people. You've hearn uv fellers what b'l'eves that er pistol sometimes snaps, but er knife don't, hain't you?"
"Yes."
"Wall, I'm one uv them fellers."
"There are fellows, too, that I suppose you have heard of."
"Whut sort?"
"The kind that would not hesitate a moment to knock you down and kick you across the road. I see your knife, you coward." They had stopped in the road, and were facing each other.
"Yas, an' you'll feel——"
John knocked him down with a blow, lightning-like in its quickness, and, without waiting for him to get up, resumed his brisk walk. Juckels did not follow,but in a sort of hoarse roar exclaimed: "You'll hear from me in a way that'll make you squeal! see if you don't."
When John reached home, he found that the cattle had been fed, and that supper was waiting for him.
"Suthin' gwine ter snatch you up one deze nights an' run erway wid you," said Alf, slyly winking at Potter. "Keep on prowlin' 'round de woods at night, an' you'll see bimeby. Set up dar now an' eat some o' dem fish me an' Mr. Potter dun cotch. B'l'ebes da bites in dis airly fall weder better den da do in de spring. Yo' Aunt Liz wuz ober yere terday, an' wuz powerful 'stonished ter see dat we ain't dun starved ter death yit. When she seed deze new cheers an' table it made de ole lady open her eyes, I tell you. Seed dat pizen feller Juckels pokin' roun' down by de river 'bout dinner time. Dat feller ain't gwine ter come ter no good. I lay er rattlesnake gwine ter bite him some day. Huh, an' I lay it'll kill de snake, too."
John then related his adventure with Juckels. "Why, you ought to have stamped the life out of the scoundrel," Potter exclaimed. "Don't you know that he might hide behind a tree and shoot you. I will go over to-morrow, see his father, and tell him that unless something is done his son is likely to be badly hurt. Why, it is an outrage."
"Doan reckon it is much use ter see his daddy," Alf replied. "W'y, dat feller is older den John, an' I doan reckon his daddy ken do much wid him."
"That may be, but something must be done. By the way, this morning while strolling up the river I met two well-dressed men, horseback, who asked me if I knew who was cutting that cedar timber away up beyond Rocky Bend."
Alf opened his eyes and straightened up. "You didn' know o' co'se," he said, with the thickness of a half-strangled whisper.
"Why, yes; I told them that four or five brothers named Dun were doing it."
"Den de Lawd hab mussy on us!" the old negro exclaimed.
"What difference did it make? I don't understand you."
"Oh, I 'tended ter tell you 'bout dat, but it's too late now, for we'se gone. Lawd, da's got you po' ole servant on de hip ergin!"
"Alf, are you crazy?"
"No, sah; an' I'se erfeerd I won't be nuthin' putty soon. Mr. Potter, dat cedar timber up dar is on guberment lan', an' dem men dat axed you erbout it wuz guberment men. W'y, nobody in dis yere neighborhood would er tole on dem Duns, fur da's de wust men you eber seed. Da'll dodge dem guberment men an' come right yere airter us. Doan ax me how da'll fine out who tole on 'em, fur I lay da knows dis minit. Did anybody yere you tole 'em?"
"There was a man fishing close by."
"Dat settles it. Lawd, da dun built er nudder fire un'er yo' po' ole servant."
"I didn't think to caution Mr. Potter," said John.
"Too late ter talk erbout it now," Alf went on. "Dem Duns comin' right yere dis night, set dis house erfire an' shoot us ez we runs out."
"The situation is serious," Potter admitted.
"Serious!" Alf exclaimed. "Does you call it serious fur er man ter run outen de house ter keep frum bein' burnt up an' den git shot down like er deer? Oh, Lawd, you better take yo' po' servant home, caze he kain't git erlong down yere."
"I didn't mean to harm the Dun brothers or in the least meddle with their affairs," said Potter, "but if they hold my action to be of such mortal sin and come to this house to seek a bloody revenge I shall deem it my duty to shoot them."
"That is the way to talk," John replied.
"Yes," said Alf, "it's de way ter talk, an' it's de way ter ack, too, but de danger is in 'em settin' de house erfire. Wall, I'se got er powerful good ole gun yere, an' ef I draw down on one o' dem men he'llwish he had er staid at home, I tell you. We'd better put deze lights out, caze dem raskils ken slip up yere an' shoot us through de cracks."
Action upon the old negro's advice was immediately taken. The wind began to howl furiously. A rumbling, low and distant, proclaimed with sullen threatening the coming of a storm. Nearer, nearer the rumbling came, and glittering spears of blinding light were thrust with angry flashing through the chink holes of the wall. The wind became more violent, the rumbling burst into a deafening clap, and ragged sheets of water lashed the house. The lingering lightning, quivering in fearful dalliance, as though loth to sink back into the dark and surging cloud, wrought upon the river, which could be seen through the window, a thousand terror-breeding shapes—great monsters that lashed the water into fiery foam.
"We better put down deze yere guns an' pray erwhile," said Alf. "Oh, Lawd, is you gwine ter let de elements kill yo' po'ole servant? My greshus, yere dem limbs strikin' de house! Dar ain't been no sich er storm ez dis—mussyful hebens, is de house down! Oh, I thought we gone dat time, sho. Deze ole logs wuz put yere ter stay—dat is, I hopes so."
"This storm will protect us from the Duns until morning, at least," Potter rejoined. "This lightning will purify our air against their poisonous vapors."
"Then," said John, "let us hope that this wind is not ill. Mr. Potter, you remember the first day I ever saw you, when we were sitting in the yard discussing a plan upon which, to me at least, there has fallen such a promise of ripeness, you said that I might think it strange that you should seek to bury yourself here in the woods."
"Yes, I remember."
"And you said that some time in the future you hoped to tell me the cause."
"Yes."
"Well, is not this a most befitting time? If a storm drove you to this place let astorm drive out to me your confidence. I have often seen you put your book aside and give yourself to moments of so deep a brooding that, though I would not seek to be obtrusive, I have tried to study out your mystery. This storm, I think, is growing worse. To-morrow—well, to-morrow we may not be here. Tell me now."
A lingering, quivering light fell on Potter's face, and under the glare John could see the darkened lines of trouble.
"No, my dear boy, I can not tell you now. That I have confidence in you, you well know; that I have an affection for you, you must feel. I have watched the soft color of sadness which I once saw under the sunburn on your face grow brighter with an eager glow. I have seen your mind unfold, and each day have found something new in you to admire, but I can not tell you what you crave to know. There, the lightning is growing dimmer. From a roar the wind is shrinking to a wail."
"Yas," said Alf, "an' I thank de Lawd fur it, too; I tell you dat. It won't do ter fool wid one deze yere storms dat puts on er black nightcap an' w'ars red ribbons at its throat. I think we mout ez well lay down yere now an' sleep erwhile. Dem men ain't gwine ter come yere ter-night; but I do b'l'ebe da'll be yere in de mawnin'; an' ef da block us up in yere de neighbors will jes' let us stay yere an' starve, caze, I tell yo, da so monst'us feerd o' dem fellers."
They had not long to wait when morning came until they saw that Alf's prediction had not been an idle one; for when Potter opened the door to look out, there came a short report from an opposite hillside, and a bullet sent splinters flying from the door facing.
"Shet de do'," Alf cried. "Grab yo' guns an' lay down on de flo'. When de sun comes up da gwine shoot through deze yere cracks. Oh, Lawd, da's still atter yo' po' ole servant. Lissun how da shoot. Biz! Yere dem balls!"
"If I can get a sight at one of them," said Potter, peering through a hole in the wall, "I think that I can relieve him from duty. Boys, shoot, anyway."
A brisk firing was now begun on each side. A small mirror flew into fragments and fell on the floor. A dish pan with a ringing "tang" fell from the wall.
"Oh, de scounule," said Alf. "It's er powerful good thing for us dat dar ain't no cracks closer ter de flo'. Helloa! What's de matter? Thank de Lawd, w'y look yander; de guberment men is airter 'em."
Indeed, a deputy United States marshal and his men had arrived, and the Duns, five in number, were captured, not however until two of them had been severely wounded. The prisoners were brought to the house, where one man, a sort of physician, attended to the wounded.
"I am very sorry that we got you into trouble," said the deputy marshal, addressing Potter, "but you have greatly aided us in breaking up this gang."
"What will you do with them?" Potter asked.
"They will be sent to the United States prison at Detroit. They have stolen a great deal of valuable timber, for which the government has use, and their terms are not likely to be short. I don't think you need to fear any more trouble, as the entire gang is now broken up. Well, boys, go and get the wagon and we will haul our violent woodchoppers to Little Rock."
That night old Alf, taking down his fiddle, remarked: "Got ter hab some music, now. Oh, I tell yer dat when er man praises de Lawd wid er little music now an' den, it takes er mighty powerful evil speret ter lay his claw on him."
One evening old Alf, having put away the supper dishes, took down his fiddle and began to twang its strings, but failing to feel his wonted interest in the instrument, put it down and then sought diversion in the humming of an old "corn-shucking" song; but again meeting with failure, he got up, sadly shook his head, and began to walk up and down the room. Potter and John, who were reading, paid no attention. Suddenly he exclaimed:
"Uh, huh, now I got it, got it sho."
"What have you got?" Potter asked.
"W'y, sah, got de reason dat I'se troubled in my mine dis ebenin'."
"Are you troubled?"
"Is I troubled? Now, dat's er fine question ter ax er man dat has been carryin' on like I has. Ain't my fiddle'fused ter talk ter me, an' ain't er old song dun failed ter fetch de co'n-bread crumbs o' comfort? Tibby sho. Now, whut's de matter? Suthin' dat I needs. Whut is dat suthin'? W'y, I needs ter go er possum huntin', sah, dat's whut I needs. I dreamed last night dat I seed er piece o' fat meat an' er sweet pertater er raslin'. I knowed it meant suthin', but I didn' know whut till jes' now. It means dat we got ter go er possum huntin' dis yere very night, sah. How do it hit you?"
"I'm willing. What do you say, John?"
"Suits me exactly," John replied.
"Then, let us get ready and go at once," said Potter. "There is no retrospective hand that reaches so kindly out of the past and touches me with a thrill of so endearing a memory as the hand that comes out from under the hazy curtain of an Indian-summer night and gently draws me back into a hallowed past, when, with eager footsteps, I followed the negroes on my father's farm to the place where the dogs had treed."
"Yas, I reckon so," Alf replied; "I do reckon dat; yas, sah, I do. I doan know nuthin' 'bout no arm comin' out, but I knows dat de ricollection o' some frosty nights in ole North Kliny makes me wush dat I wuz dar, er boy ergin. But let us go on ef we gwine, caze it's been some time sense de oven has shined wid de sweet grease o' de possum. Deze new dogs we got, I doan know so much erbout 'em. Wush Ole Pete—neber mine, dat's all right. Lawd, yo' ole servant 'bout ter grumble ergin."
They went out into the beautiful night. Nature was so hushed that the rythmic flow of the river could be heard. The stars seemed to shine through a gauzy sheen. In the air there was a faltering promise of the coming of winter. On a log, where the moonbeams fell, there lay a substance of greenish white. It was a dead tree-toad.
"Let's cross dis fiel'," said Alf, "an' skirt 'long de edge o' de woods whar de 'simmon trees grows. Whoop—ee! [calling tothe dogs]. Git 'em down, ole boys. Whoop—ee, git 'em down!"
The old negro was joyous. He hummed old tunes. "I doan know whut make dem varmints so skace ter-night," said he.
"Knowing that you were coming after them, they have doubtless all left the country," John replied.
"I reckon you's hit it, sah; I reckon you has, caze when I starts out, suthin' mighty nigh sho ter happen. Whoop—shove 'em ole boys! Whoop, push 'em!"
"Hold on a minute," said Potter, stopping. "What is the cause of that bright light over yonder?"
"Bresh heep er burnin' whar somebody cl'arin' up new groun', I reckon," Alf replied.
"Not that," John remarked. "A brush heap would hardly send its light so high."
"Dat's er fack," the old man admitted.
"That is someone's house on fire," said Potter. "Who lives over that way?"
"Miz Forest's house is ober dat way ef I ain't turned 'roun'."
"It is her house!" John exclaimed, bounding forward. "Come on!"
They ran with the speed of utmost exertion. John gained on his companions. He jumped over a rail fence without touching it. "Come on," he cried. They could now plainly see the house. The roof was in flames. No one could be seen near the burning building. "Is it possible that they are burning up?" John thought.
He reached the yard fence, cleared it at a bound, ran across the yard, sprang upon the gallery, and threw himself with all his weight against the door. It did not yield. "Eva," he cried, beating on the door. "Eva!" No answer came. He leaped from the gallery, seized the door-step, a ponderous log, staggered upon the gallery and threw the log against the door. An oak latch snapped and the door flew open. He did not rush into the room. His sense of modesty, even at such a time, forbade it, but with a loud voice he exclaimed: "For God's sake come out; your house is on fire." Thenext moment Mrs. Forest and Eva, almost frantic with excitement, but wrapped in the clothes which they had gathered from the bed, rushed from the room. By this time Potter and Alf had arrived. They dashed into the house to save what furniture they could. "Don't be excited," said Potter. "Fire is dropping down, but it will take quite a while for those oak rafters to burn in two. Carry out the trunks; we can save all the clothes. Here, Alf, you are too much excited. Where is John?"
John had thought of Eva's books, and although that end of the house was almost entirely wrapped in flames, was exerting himself in the dangerous work of saving the cherished volumes, and before the roof fell in, he had carried out the last book. A number of the neighbors soon arrived, for the cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" had echoed through the woods. Mrs. Forest and Eva, having dressed themselves in the barn, stood looking at the destruction of their home.
"I don't know how it could have happened," said Mrs. Forest. "It must have caught from the upper part of the chimney. I don't know how to thank you all. The fact that this is the first time I have ever been placed under such serious obligations, makes me awkward in acknowledging them. Eva, can't you say something?"
The girl stood trembling. John stood near her. "No," she replied, "I—I—don't know——" She burst into tears.
"Come, daughter, we are going home with Mrs. Patterson and stay until we can have another house built."
The next day John went over to Patterson's. Mrs. Forest and Eva, with that strong recuperative force found among people who live in the woods, had recovered from the effect of the excitement of the previous night.
"Let us walk over and look at the ruins," said John, addressing Eva.
"There is but little to look at," she replied, "but we will go."
They spoke but few words as they crossed the fields, but each one felt that the other was not unhappy. The leaves on the running brier were red, and the velvety top of the sassafras sprout was cool to the touch.
There was nothing left of the old house but a few smoldering chunks. John and Eva sat down on a log that had served as a horse-block.
"It would have been a great disappointment to me, Eva, if your books had not been saved."
"Yes," she replied, "but they were not worth so great a risk."
"Oh, the risk was nothing. All that was required was a little activity."
They were silent for some time, and then John remarked:
"How strange everything has been. I used to fear that there never would be a time when I could talk to you without embarrassment. This fear did not come from any word or action of yours, but from a true estimate of myself."
"How a true estimate?"
"Why, an almost overpowering knowledge of my own ignorance."
She gave him an imploring look. He continued:
"You have ever been kind to me. You have helped me, inspired me. I know nothing of the world, but I know gratitude. When I am reading a book, and hold so much within my grasp, the world seems very small; but when I look away at the clouds floating far beyond the hills, I then feel that the world is very large. But, Eva, may it be large or small, there is to me but one source of true happiness. You are that source, my angel. I love you—love you. When I am near you nature is more beautiful. There is religion in the soft light of your eyes. There is the thrill of deep poetry in every sound of your voice. I do not come to you with pleading, for I feel that you love me—not because I have done you a service, but because our souls, waving in a perfumed atmosphere, touch each other."
"John."
"Yes, angel."
"You are the only human being who has ever understood me; you are the only human being whom I have ever understood. Yes, I do love you—loved you when I saw you with a child's primer in your hand—loved you when I saw you a grasping student of rhetoric. That we should love each other, seems to me as natural as that the sun should shine. It could be the only result of our association."
He put his arm about her and drew her closer to him. "Eva, as you say, love could be the only result of our association; and now do you not know that there can be but one true result of our love?"
"Yes," she replied, "only one."
The neighbors soon decided to build Mrs. Forest another house. The building of a log house in the country is looked upon as a sort of holiday frolic, and there is no man in the immediate neighborhood too busy with his own affairs to lend a helping hand. The new house was builtupon the same site, and after the same pattern as the old one.
Eva had, one day, just finished arranging her books, when Bob Juckels stepped upon the gallery.
"Hi," said he, as he reached into an adjoining room, drew out a chair and sat down.
"Mr. Juckels, I want you to go away from here," the girl replied.
She stood in the library door. He looked up at her, with an attempt at a smile, but with the result of an ugly grin.
"Pretty good house you got here. Woulder come over ter the raisin', but I didn't wanter meet Lucas, fur when I meet him, we're goin' ter mix. I'm me, let me tell you that." He took out a bottle of whisky, shook it, held it up, squinted at it and then took a drink. The girl was afraid of him. Her mother had gone over to a neighbor's house.
"Putty good house you've got here. Made outen green logs an' it won't burn ez easy ez the old one did. Say, did youtell Lucas that I had axed you ter marry me?"
"No; I dislike you so much that I do not mention your name to anyone."
"Good idee. Wall, I've come ter ax you agin."
"And I tell you that I wouldn't marry you to save my life. I despise you."
"That don't make no diffunce ter me, fur airter we was married erwhile you would git over that. When I axed you befo' an' you 'lowed you wouldn't, I said you would hear from me."
"Yes."
He shook the bottle again, and took another drink. "An' you did hear frum me," he said, after a few moments' silence.
"I don't know that I have."
He laughed with a low and malicious chuckle, looked about him, looked up at the rafters, looked down at the floor, chuckled again, and said:
"Ever'thing new."
"I don't understand you," Eva replied.
"Reckon not. Wimin kain't grab erp'int ez quick ez men ken. I mean that I sot yo' house afire. Hol' on, now; hol' on. Go ter cuttin' up an' it won't be good fur you, an' mo'n that, ef you ever breathe er word uv whut I've said it'll be good-by ter you an' that feller Lucas, too. Green logs mout not burn, but thar's suthin' else that will. Powder'll burn, er—haw, haw! Yes, it'll burn like er flash."
"Oh, you wretch!"
"Yas; that's whut the grasshopper 'lowed, but the wild turkey picked him up all the same. Wall, I must be shovin' erlong; sorter knockin' 'round fur my health. I'll come over agin ter-morrer an' see whut you've got ter say. But, my lady, ef you say er word ter yo' mother, ur anybody else, it'll be good-by ter the whole kit an' bilin' uv you."
A few hours later, while Potter, John, and Alf were strolling along the river bank, they came upon Juckels. He stood with one hand resting upon a rock that protruded from a rugged cliff. An empty whisky bottle lay on the ground. As themen approached, Juckels looked up with a frown, and, with thick utterance, said:
"I want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now. Never mind, Lucas, I am goin' ter settle with you."
"Any time will suit me," John replied.
"My time will suitme," Juckels rejoined. "It don't make no diffunce whuther it suits you or not. But I want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now, fur I got here fust an' this is mine."
"Whut is yo'n?" Alf asked.
"This possum."
"Whar's any possum?"
"Under this here rock; that's whar."
"What's er possum doin' under dat rock when dar's plenty trees fur him ter climb!" Alf asked.
"That's none uv yo' lookout," said Juckels. "He's under this rock, an' I'm goin' ter crawl up under thar arter him."
Alf looked at the ground, examined a number of tracks, and then remarked: "Co'se you ken do what you please 'bout dis yere matter, but ef you wuz er frien'o' mine I'd t'ar yo' coat mightily er holdin' ter you fo' I'd let you go up under dar."
"Yas, I reckon you would t'ar er feller's coat, an' take it erway frum him too, ef you could."
"Oh, go on up under de rock ef you wants to," Alf exclaimed; "but I tell you now dat ef you wuz er frien' o' mine I'd beg you might'ly not ter go under dar."
"You air er old thief, an' want me ter leave this possum so you ken git him."
"Come," said Potter, "there is no occasion for such language."
"This ain't none uv yo' er'fair, nuther," Juckels responded. "I'm goin' under thar, an' that's all thar is erbout it."
He threw his hat aside, kicked the whisky bottle into the river, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the rock. The men had turned to go away, when there issued from under the rock the most frightful noises—the yells of Juckels and the fierce shrieking of furious animals. Juckels rolled out from under the cliff. He was literally coveredwith wildcats. The men ran to his assistance. The animals ran back into their den. Juckels was unable to speak. He was bleeding from many wounds, and when he breathed, blood bubbled from a hole in his throat. Some time elapsed before a word was spoken.
"We must take him home," Potter said. "Cut down some saplings and we will make a stretcher."
They started on their burdensome and solemn march, and must have gone two miles, when Alf said:
"We mout ez well put him down now an' rest erwhile."
"No," replied Potter; "let us hurry on so that a physician may be summoned."
"Dar ain't no use'n er doctor," said Alf. "De man is dun dead."
So he was. They put down the stretcher. The sounds of hoofs attracted their attention.
"Yonder comes Mrs. Forest," said John.
"Yes," replied Potter, "and I will meether and guide her away from this awful sight."
"You are the very man I want to see," cried Mrs. Forest when Potter approached within hailing distance. "I am on my way to your house to consult you," she added, reining up the horse when they met in the road. "I want to ask your advice about something. That good-for-nothing Bob Juckels has told Eva that he set fire to our house, and has declared that he will kill us all if we—I hardly know what all he didn't say, but I want to ask you if you think it best to have him arrested!"
"He is beyond the power of the law, Mrs. Forest. Yonder he lies dead."