The days went easier after that. The boys took me into their play andsome of them were most friendly. I had a swift foot and a good eye aswell as a strong arm, and could hold my own at three-old-cat--a kind ofbaseball which we played in the school yard. Saturday came. As we weresitting down at the table that morning the younger children clung to theknees of Mr. Hacket and begged him to take them up the river in a boat.
"Good Lord! What wilt thou give me when I grow childless?" he exclaimedwith his arms around them. "That was the question of Abraham, and itoften comes to me. Of course we shall go. But hark! Let us hear what thegreen chair has to say."
There was a moment of silence and then he went on with a merry laugh."Right ye are, Michael Henry! You are always right, my boy--God blessyour soul! We shall take Bart with us an' doughnuts an' cheese an'cookies an' dried meat for all."
From that moment I date the beginning of my love for the occupant of thegreen chair in the home of Michael Hacket. Those good people wereCatholics and I a Protestant and yet this Michael Henry always insistedupon the most delicate consideration for my faith and feelings.
"I promised to spend the morning in the field with Mr. Wright, if I mayhave your consent, sir," I said.
"Then we shall console ourselves, knowing that you are in bettercompany," said Mr. Hacket.
Mr. Dunkelberg called at the house in Ashery Lane to see me afterbreakfast.
"Bart, if you will come with me I should like to order some storeclothes and boots for you," he said in his squeaky voice.
For a moment I knew not how to answer him. Nettled as I had been bySally's treatment of me, the offer was like rubbing ashes on thesoreness of my spirit.
I blushed and surveyed my garments and said:
"I guess I look pretty badly, don't I?"
"You look all right, but I thought, maybe, you would feel better insofter raiment, especially if you care to go around much with the youngpeople. I am an old friend of the family and I guess it would be properfor me to buy the clothes for you. When you are older you can buy a suitfor me, sometime, if you care to."
It should be understood that well-to-do people in the towns were moreparticular about their dress those days than now.
"I'll ask my aunt and uncle about it," I proposed.
"That's all right," he answered. "I'm going to drive up to your housethis afternoon and your uncle wishes you to go with me. We are all tohave a talk with Mr. Grimshaw."
He left me and I went over to Mr. Wright's.
They told me that he was cutting corn in the back lot, where I foundhim.
"How do I look in these clothes?" I bravely asked.
"Like the son of a farmer up in the hills and that's just as you oughtto look," he answered.
In a moment he added as he reaped a hill of corn with his sickle.
"I suppose they are making fun of you, partner."
"Some," I answered, blushing.
"Don't mind that," he advised, and then quoted the stanza:
"Were I as tall to reach the pole Or grasp the ocean in a span, I'd still me measured by my soul; The mind's the standard of the man."
"Mr. Dunkelberg came this morning and wanted to buy me some new clothesand boots," I said.
The Senator stopped work and stood looking at me with his hands upon hiships.
"I wouldn't let him do it if I were you," he said thoughtfully.
Just then I saw a young man come running toward us in the distant field.
Mr. Wright took out his compass.
"Look here," he said, "you see the needle points due north."
He took a lodestone out of his pocket and holding it near the compassmoved it back and forth. The needle followed it.
The young man came up to us breathing deeply. Perspiration was rollingoff his face. He was much excited and spoke with some difficulty.
"Senator Wright," he gasped, "Mrs. Wright sent me down to tell you thatPresident Van Buren is at the house."
I remember vividly the look of mild amusement in the Senator's face andthe serene calmness with which he looked at the young man and said tohim:
"Tell Mrs. Wright to make him comfortable in our easiest chair and tosay to the President that I shall be up directly."
To my utter surprise he resumed his talk with me as the young man wentaway.
"You see all ways are north when you put this lodestone near theneedle," he went on. "If it is to tell you the truth you must keep thelodestone away from the needle. It's that way, too, with the compass ofyour soul, partner. There the lodestone is selfishness, and with itshelp you can make any direction look right to you and soon--you'relost."
He put his hand on my arm and said in a low tone which made me tounderstand that it was for my ear only.
"What I fear is that they may try to tamper with your compass. Look outfor lodestones."
He was near the end of a row and went on with his reaping as he said:
"I could take my body off this row any minute, but the only way to getmy mind off it is to go to its end."
He bound the last bundle and then we walked together toward the house,the Senator carrying his sickle.
"I shall introduce you to the President," he said as we neared ourdestination. "Then perhaps you had better leave us."
At home we had read much about the new President and regarded him withdeep veneration. In general I knew the grounds of it--his fight againstthe banks for using public funds for selfish purposes and "swappingmushrats for mink" with the government, as uncle put it, by seeking toreturn the same in cheapened paper money; his long battle for theextension of the right of suffrage in our state; his fiery eloquence indebate. Often I had heard Uncle Peabody say that Van Buren had made itpossible for a poor man to vote in York State and hold up his head likea man. So I was deeply moved by the prospect of seeing him.
I could not remember that I had ever been "introduced" to anybody. Iknew that people put their wits on exhibition and often flung down a"snag" by way of demonstrating their fitness for the honor, when theywere introduced in books. I remember asking rather timidly:
"What shall I say when--when you--introduce me?"
"Oh, say anything that you want to say," he answered with a look ofamusement.
"I'm kind o' scared," I said.
"You needn't be--he was once a poor boy just like you."
"Just like me!" I repeated, thoughtfully, for while I had heard a gooddeal of that kind of thing in our home, it had not, somehow, got undermy jacket, as they used to say.
"Just like you--cowhide and all--the son of a small freeholder inKinderhook on the Hudson," he went on. "But he was well fed in brain andbody and kept his heart clean. So, of course, he grew and is stillgrowing. That's a curious thing about men and women, Bart. Ifthey are in good ground and properly cared for they never stopgrowing-never!--and that's a pretty full word--isn't it?"
I felt its fulness, but the Senator had a way of stopping just this sideof the grave in all his talks with me, and so there was no sign ofpreaching in any of it.
"As time goes on you'll meet a good many great men, I presume," hecontinued. "They're all just human beings like you and me. Most of themenjoy beefsteak, and apple pie and good boys."
We had come in sight of the house. I lagged behind a little when I sawthe great man sitting on the small piazza with Mrs. Wright. I shallnever forget the grand clothes he wore--black, saving the graywaistcoat, with shiny, brass buttons--especially the great, whitestanding collar and cravat. I see vividly, too, as I write, the fullfigure, the ruddy, kindly face, the large nose, the gray eyes, the thickhalo of silvered hair extending from his collar to the bald top of hishead. He rose and said in a deep voice:
"He sows ill luck who hinders the reaper."
Mr. Wright hung his sickle on a small tree in the dooryard and answered.
"The plowman has overtaken the reaper, Mr. President. I bid you welcometo my humble home."
"It is a pleasure to be here and a regret to call you back toWashington," said the President as they shook hands.
"I suppose that means an extra session," the Senator answered.
"First let me reassure you. I shall get away as soon as possible, for Iknow that a President is a heavy burden for one to have on his hands."
"Don't worry. I can get along with almost any kind of a human being,especially if he likes pudding and milk as well as you do," said theSenator, who then introduced me in these words:
"Mr. President, this is my young friend Barton Baynes of theneighborhood of Lickitysplit in the town of Ballybeen--a coming man ofthis county."
"Come on," was the playful remark of the President as he took my hand."I shall be looking for you."
I had carefully chosen my words and I remember saying, with somedignity, like one in a story book, although with a trembling voice:
"It is an honor to meet you, sir, and thank you for the right tovote--when I am old enough."
Vividly, too, I remember his gentle smile as he looked down at me andsaid in a most kindly tone:
"I think it a great honor to hear you say that."
He put his hands upon my shoulders and turning to the Senator said:
"Wright, I often wish that I had your modesty."
"I need it much more than you do," the Senator laughed.
Straightway I left them with an awkward bow and blushing to the roots ofmy hair. A number of boys and girls stood under the shade trees oppositelooking across at the President. In my embarrassment I did not identifyany one in the group. Numbers of men and women were passing the houseand, as they did so, taking "a good look," in their way of speaking atthe two great men. Not before had I seen so many people walkingabout--many in their best clothes.
As I neared the home of Mr. Hacket I heard hurrying footsteps behind meand the voice of Sally calling my name. I stopped and faced about.
How charming she looked as she walked toward me! I had never seen herquite so fixed up.
"Bart," she said. "I suppose you're not going to speak to me."
"If you'll speak to me," I answered.
"I love to speak to you," she said. "I've been looking all around foryou. Mother wants you to come over to dinner with us at just twelveo'clock. You're going away with father as soon as we get through."
I wanted to go but got the notion all at once that the Dunkelbergs werein need of information about me and that the time had come to impart it.So then and there, that ancient Olympus of our family received noticeas it were.
"I can't," I said. "I've got to study my lessons before I go away withyour father."
It was a blow to her. I saw the shadow that fell upon her face. She wasvexed and turned and ran away from me without another word and I felt apang of regret as I went to the lonely and deserted home of theschoolmaster.
I had hoped that the Senator would ask me to dinner, but the coming ofthe President had upset the chance of it. It was eleven o'clock. Mrs.Hacket had put a cold bite on the table for me. I ate it--not to keep itwaiting--and sat down with my eyes on my book and my mind at theDunkelbergs'--where I heard in a way what Sally was saying and what "Mr.and Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg" were saying.
At twelve-thirty Mr. Dunkelberg came for me, with a high-stepping horsein a new harness and a shiny still-running buggy. He wore gloves and abeaver hat and sat very erect and had little to say.
"I hear you met the President," he remarked.
"Yes, sir. I was introduced to him this morning," I answered a bit tooproudly, and wondering how he had heard of my good fortune, but deeplygratified at his knowledge of it.
"What did he have to say?"
I described the interview and the looks of the great man. Not much morewas said as we sped away toward the deep woods and the high hills.
I was eager to get home but wondered why he should be going with me totalk with Mr. Grimshaw and my uncle. Of course I suspected that it hadto do with Amos but how I knew not. He hummed in the rough going andthoughtfully nicked the bushes with his whip. I never knew a morepersistent hummer.
What a thrill came to me when I saw the house and the popple tree andthe lilac bushes--they looked so friendly! Old Shep came barking up theroad to meet us and ran by the buggy side with joyful leaps and cries.With what affection he crowded upon me and licked my face and hands whenmy feet were on the ground at last! Aunt Deel and Uncle Peabody werecoming in from the pasture lot with sacks of butternuts on awheelbarrow. My uncle clapped his hands and waved his handkerchief andshouted "Hooray!"
Aunt Deel shook hands with Mr. Dunkelberg and then came to me and said:
"Wal, Bart Baynes! I never was so glad to see anybody in all the days o'my life--ayes! We been lookin' up the road for an hour--ayes! You comeright into the house this minute--both o' you."
The table was spread with the things I enjoyed most--big brown biscuitsand a great comb of honey surrounded with its nectar and a pitcher ofmilk and a plate of cheese and some jerked meat and an apple pie.
"Set right down an' eat--I just want to see ye eat--ayes I do!"
Aunt Deel was treating me like company and with just a pleasant touch ofthe old company finish in her voice and manner. It was for mybenefit--there could be no doubt of that--for she addressed herself tome, chiefly, and not to Mr. Dunkelberg. My absence of a few days hadseemed so long to them! It had raised me to the rank of company and evenput me above the exalted Dunkelbergs although if Mrs. Horace Dunkelberghad been there in her blue silk and gold chain "big enough to drag astone boat," as Aunt Deel used to say, she might have saved the day forthem. Who knows? Aunt Deel was never much impressed by any man saveSilas Wright, Jr.
Mr. Grimshaw came soon after we had finished our luncheon. He hitchedhis horse at the post and came in. He never shook hands with anybody. Inall my life I have met no man of scanter amenities. All that kind ofthing was, in his view, I think, a waste of time, a foolishencouragement to men who were likely to be seeking favors.
"Good day," he said, once and for all, as he came in at the open door."Baynes, I want to have a talk with you and the boy."
I remember how each intake of his breath hissed through his lips as hesat down. How worn and faded were his clothes and hat, which was stillon his head! The lines on his rugged brow and cheeks were deeper thanever.
"Tell me what you know about that murder," he demanded.
"Wal, I had some business over to Plattsburg," my uncle began. "While Iwas there I thought I'd go and see Amos. So I drove out to Beekman'sfarm. They told me that Amos had left there after workin' four days.They gave him fourteen shillin's an' he was goin' to take the stage inthe mornin'. He left some time in the night an' took Beekman's riflewith him, so they said. There was a piece o' wood broke out o' the stocko' the rifle. That was the kind o' gun that was used in the murder."
It surprised me that my uncle knew all this. He had said nothing to meof his journey or its result.
"How do you know?" snapped Mr. Grimshaw.
"This boy see it plain. It was a gun with a piece o' wood broke out o'the stock."
"Is that so?" was the brusque demand of the money-lender as he turned tome.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"The boy lies," he snapped, and turning to my uncle added: "Yer mad'cause I'm tryin' to make ye pay yer honest debts--ain't ye now?"
We were stunned by this quick attack. Uncle Peabody rose suddenly andsat down again. Mr. Grimshaw looked at him with a strange smile and ataunting devilish laugh came out of his open lips.
Uncle Peabody, keeping his temper, shook his head and calmly said: "No Iain't anything ag'in' you or Amos, but it's got to be so that a man cantravel the roads o' this town without gettin' his head blowed off."
Mr. Dunkelberg jumped into the breach then, saying:
"I told Mr. Grimshaw that you hadn't any grudge against him or his boyand that I knew you'd do what you could to help in this matter."
"Of course I'll help in any way I can," my uncle answered. "I couldn'tharm him if I tried--not if he's innocent. All he's got to do is toprove where he was that night."
"Suppose he was lost in the woods?" Mr. Dunkelberg asked.
"The truth wouldn't harm him any," my uncle insisted. "Them trackswouldn't fit his boots, an' they'd have to."
Mr. Dunkelberg turned to me and asked:
"Are you sure that the stock of the gun you saw was broken?"
"Yes, sir-and I'm almost sure it was Amos that ran away with it."
"Why?"
"I picked up a stone and threw it at him and it grazed the left side ofhis face, and the other night I saw the scar it made."
My aunt and uncle and Mr. Dunkelberg moved with astonishment as I spokeof the scar. Mr. Grimshaw, with keen eyes fixed upon me, gave a littlegrunt of incredulity.
"Huh!--Liar!" he muttered.
"I am not a liar," I declared with indignation, whereupon my auntangrily stirred the fire in the stove and Uncle Peabody put his hand onmy arm and said:
"Hush, Bart! Keep your temper, son."
"If you tell these things you may be the means of sending an innocentboy to his death," Mr. Dunkelberg said to me. "I wouldn't be too sureabout 'em if I were you. It's so easy to be mistaken. You couldn't besure in the dusk that the stone really hit him, could you?"
I answered: "Yes, sir--I saw the stone hit and I saw him put his hand onthe place while he was running. I guess it hurt him some."
"Look a' here, Baynes," Mr. Grimshaw began in that familiar scoldingtone of his. "I know what you want an' we might jest as well git rightdown to business first as last. You keep this boy still an' I'll give yefive years' interest."
Aunt Deel gave a gasp and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. UnclePeabody changed color as he rose from his chair with a strange look onhis face. He swung his big right hand in the air as he said:
"By the eternal jumpin'--"
He stopped, pulled down the left sleeve of his flannel shirt and walkedto the water pail and drank out of the dipper.
"The times are hard," Grimshaw resumed in a milder tone. "These days therich men dunno what's a-comin' to 'em. If you don't have no interest topay you ought to git along easy an' give this boy the eddication of aSile Wright."
There was that in his tone and face which indicated that in his opinionSile had more "eddication" than any man needed.
"Say, Mr. Grimshaw, I'm awful sorry for ye," said my uncle as hereturned to his chair, "but I've always learnt this boy to tell thetruth an' the hull truth. I know the danger I'm in. We're gettin' old.It'll be hard to start over ag'in an' you can ruin us if ye want to an'I'm as scared o' ye as a mouse in a cat's paw, but this boy has got totell the truth right out plain. I couldn't muzzle him if I tried--he'stoo much of a man. If you're scared o' the truth you mus' know that Amosis guilty."
Mr. Grimshaw shook his head with anger and beat the floor with the endof his cane.
"Nobody knows anything o' the kind, Baynes," said Mr. Dunkelberg. "Ofcourse Amos never thought o' killing anybody. He's a harmless kind of aboy. I know him well and so do you. The only thing that anybody everheard against him is that he's a little lazy. Under the circumstancesMr. Grimshaw is afraid that Bart's story will make it difficult for Amosto prove his innocence. Just think of it. That boy was lost andwandering around in the woods at the time o' the murder. As to thatscar, Amos says that he ran into a stub when he was going through athicket in the night."
Uncle Peabody shook his head with a look of firmness.
Again Grimshaw laughed between his teeth as he looked at my uncle. Inhis view every man had his price.
"I see that I'm the mouse an' you're the cat," he resumed, as thatcurious laugh rattled in his throat. "Look a' here, Baynes, I'll tell yewhat I'll do. I'll cancel the hull mortgage."
Again Uncle Peabody rose from his chair with a look in his face which Ihave never forgotten. How his voice rang out!
"No, sir!" he shouted so loudly that we all jumped to our feet andAunt Deel covered her face with her apron and began to cry. It was likethe explosion of a blast. Then the fragments began falling with a loudcrash:
"NO, SIR! YE CAN'T BUY THE NAIL ON MY LITTLE FINGER OR HIS WITH ALL YERMONEY--DAMN YOU!"
It was like the shout of Israel from the top of the mountains. Shepbounced into the house with hair on end and the chickens cackled and theold rooster clapped his wings and crowed with all the power of hislungs. Every member of that little group stood stock-still andbreathless.
I trembled with a fear I could not have defined. Quick relief came when,straightway, my uncle went out of the room and stood on the stoop, backtoward us, and blew his nose vigorously with his big red handkerchief.He stood still looking down and wiping his eyes. Mr. Grimshaw shuffledout of the door, his cane rapping the floor as if his arm had beenstricken with palsy in a moment.
Mr. Dunkelberg turned to my aunt, his face scarlet, and muttered anapology for the disturbance and followed the money-lender.
I remember that my own eyes were wet as I went to my aunt and kissedher. She kissed me--a rare thing for her to do--and whispered brokenlybut with a smile: "We'll go down to the poorhouse together, Bart, butwe'll go honest."
"Come on, Bart," Uncle Peabody called cheerfully, as he walked towardthe barnyard. "Le's go an' git in them but'nuts."
He paid no attention to our visitors--neither did my aunt, who followedus. The two men talked together a moment, unhitched their horses, gotinto their buggies and drove away. The great red rooster had stood onthe fence eying them. As they turned their horses and drove slowlytoward the gate, he clapped his wings and crowed lustily.
"Give it to 'em, ol' Dick," said Uncle Peabody with a clap of his hands."Tell 'em what ye think of 'em."
At last the Dunkelbergs had fallen--the legendary, incomparableDunkelbergs!
"Wal, I'm surprised at Mr. Horace Dunkelberg tryin' to come it over uslike that--ayes! I be," said Aunt Deel.
"Wal, I ain't," said Uncle Peabody. "Ol' Grimshaw has got him under histhumb--that's what's the matter. You'll find he's up to his ears in debtto Grimshaw--prob'ly."
As we followed him toward the house, he pushing the wheelbarrow loadedwith sacks of nuts, he added:
"At last Grimshaw has found somethin' that he can't buy an' he's awfulsurprised. Too bad he didn't learn that lesson long ago."
He stopped his wheelbarrow by the steps and we sat down together on theedge of the stoop as he added:
"I got mad--they kep' pickin' on me so--I'm sorry, but I couldn't helpit. We'll start up ag'in somewheres if we have to. There's a good manydays' work in me yet."
As we carried the bags to the attic room I thought of the lodestone andthe compass and knew that Mr. Wright had foreseen what was likely tohappen. When we came down Uncle Peabody said to me:
"Do you remember what you read out of a book one night about a mansellin' his honor?"
"Yes," I answered. "It's one o' the books that Mr. Wright gave us."
"It's somethin' purty common sense," he remarked, "an' we stopped andtalked it over. I wish you'd git the book an' read it now."
I found the book and read aloud the following passage:
"Honor is a strange commodity. It can not be divided and sold in part. All or none is the rule of the market. While it can be sold in a way, it can not be truly bought. It vanishes in the transfer of its title and is no more. Who seeks to buy it gains only loss. It is the one thing which distinguishes manhood from property. Who sells his honor sells his manhood and becomes simply a thing of meat and blood and bones--a thing to be watched and driven and cudgelled like the ox--for he has sold that he can not buy, not if all the riches in the world were his."
A little silence followed the words. Then Uncle Peabody said:
"That's the kind o' stuff in our granary. We've been reapin' it out o'the books Mr. Grimshaw scolded about, a little here an' a little therefor years, an' we knew it was good wheat. If he had books like that inhis house mebbe Amos would 'a' been different. An' he'd 'a' beendifferent. He wouldn't 'a' had to come here tryin' to buy our honor likeyou'd buy a hoss."
"Oh, dear!" Aunt Deel exclaimed wearily, with her hands over her eyes;"a boy has to have somethin' besides pigs an' cattle an' threats an'stones an' hoss dung an' cow manure to take up his mind."
Uncle Peabody voiced my own feeling when he said:
"I feel sorry, awful sorry, for that boy."
We spent a silent afternoon gathering apples. After supper we played OldSledge and my uncle had hard work to keep us in good countenance. Wewent to bed early and I lay long hearing the autumn wind in the poppleleaves and thinking of that great thing which had grown strong withinus, little by little, in the candle-light.