"A dead fish can swim down-stream but only a live one can swim up it,"said Uncle Peabody as we rode toward the village together. We had beentalking of that strong current of evil which had tried to carry us alongwith it. I understood him perfectly.
It was a rainy Sunday. In the middle of the afternoon Uncle Peabody andI had set out in our spring buggy with the family umbrella--a faded butsacred implement, always carefully dried, after using, and hung in theclothes press. I remember that its folded skirt was as big around as mycoat sleeve and that Uncle Peabody always grasped it in the middle, withhand about its waist, in a way of speaking, when he carried it after ashower. The rain came on again and with such violence that we weredrenched to the skin in spite of the umbrella. It was still raining whenwe arrived at the familiar door in Ashery Lane. Uncle Peabody wouldn'tstop.
"Water never scares a live fish," he declared with a chuckle as heturned around. "Good-by, Bart."
He hurried away. We pioneers rarely stopped or even turned out for theweather. Uncle Peabody used to say that the way to get sick was tochange your clothes every time you got wet. It was growing dusk and Ifelt sorry for him.
"Come in," said the voice of the schoolmaster at the door. "There's goodweather under this roof."
He saw my plight as I entered.
"I'm like a shaggy dog that's been in swimming," I said.
"Upon my word, boy, we're in luck," remarked the schoolmaster.
I looked up at him.
"Michael Henry's clothes!--sure, they're just the thing for you!"
"Will they go on me?" I asked, for, being large of my age, I hadacquired an habitual shyness of things that were too small for me, andthings, too, had seemed to have got the habit of being too small.
"As easily as Nick Tubbs goes on a spree, and far more becoming, for Ido not think a spree ever looks worse than when Tubbs is on it. Comewith me."
I followed him up-stairs, wondering how it had happened that MichaelHenry had clothes.
He took me into his room and brought some handsome soft clothes out ofa press with shirt, socks and boots to match.
"There, my laddie buck," said he, "put them on."
"These will soon dry on me," I said.
"Put them on--ye laggard! Michael Henry told me to give them to you.It's the birthday night o' little Ruth, my boy. There's a big cake withcandles and chicken pie and jellied cookies and all the like o' that.Put them on. A wet boy at the feast would dampen the whole proceedings."
I put them on and with a great sense of relief and comfort. They were anadmirable fit--too perfect for an accident, although at the time Ithought only of their grandeur as I stood surveying myself in thelooking-glass. They were of blue cloth and I saw that they went wellwith my blond hair and light skin. I was putting on my collar andnecktie when Mr. Hacket returned.
"God bless ye, boy," said he. "There's not a bear in the township whosecoat and trousers are a better fit. Sure if ye had on a beaver hat ye'dlook like a lawyer or a statesman. Boy! How delighted Michael Henry willbe! Come on now. The table is spread and the feast is waiting. Mind ye,give a good clap when I come in with the guest."
We went below and the table was very grand with its great frosted cakeand its candles, in shiny brass sticks, and its jellies and preserveswith the gleam of polished pewter among them. Mrs. Hacket and all thechildren, save Ruth, were waiting for us in the dining-room.
"Now sit down here, all o' ye, with Michael Henry," said theschoolmaster. "The little lady will be impatient. I'll go and get herand God help us to make her remember the day."
He was gone a moment, only, when he came back with Ruth in lovely whitedress and slippers and gay with ribbons, and the silver beads of Mary onher neck. We clapped our hands and cheered and, in the excitement of themoment, John tipped over his drinking glass and shattered it on thefloor.
"Never mind, my brave lad--no glass ever perished in a better cause. Godbless you!"
What a merry time we had in spite of recurring thoughts of Uncle Peabodyand the black horse toiling over the dark hills and flats in the raintoward the lonely farm and the lonelier, beloved woman who awaited him!There were many shadows in the way of happiness those days but, afterall, youth has a way of speeding through them--hasn't it?
We ate and jested and talked, and the sound of our laughter drowned thecry of the wind in the chimney and the drumming of the rain upon thewindows.
In the midst of it all Mr. Hacket arose and tapped his cup with hisspoon.
"Oh you merry, God-blessed people," he said. "Michael Henry has bade mespeak for him."
The schoolmaster took out of his pocketbook a folded sheet of paper. Ashe opened it a little, golden, black-tipped feather fell upon the table.
"Look! here is a plume o' the golden robin," the schoolmaster went on."He dropped it in our garden yesterday to lighten ship, I fancied,before he left, the summer's work and play being ended. Ye should 'a'seen Michael Henry when he looked at the feather. How it tickled hisfancy! I gave him my thought about it.
"'Nay, father,' he answered. 'Have ye forgotten that to-morrow is thebirthday o' our little Ruth? The bird knew it and brought this gift toher. It is out o' the great gold mines o' the sky which are the richestin the world.'
"Then these lines came off his tongue, with no more hesitation about itthan the bird has when he sings his song on a bright summer morning andI put them down to go with the feather. Here they are now:
"TO RUTH "'Little lady, draw thy will With this Golden Robin's quill-- Sun-stained, night-tipped, elfish thing-- Symbol of thy magic wing! "'Give to me thy fairy lands And palaces, on silver sands. Oh will to me, my heart implores, Their alabaster walls and floors! Their gates that ope on Paradise Or earth, or Eden in a trice. Give me thy title to the hours That pass in fair Aladdin towers. But most I'd prize thy heavenly art To win and lead the stony heart. Give these to me that solemn day Thou'rt done with them, I humbly pray. "'Little lady, draw thy will With this Golden Robin's quill.'"
He bowed to our young guest and kissed her hand and sat down in themidst of our cheering.
I remember well the delightful sadness that came into my heart on themusical voice of the reader. The lines, simple as they were, opened anew gate in my imagination beyond which I heard often the sound of musicand flowing fountains and caught glimpses, now and then, of magic towersand walls of alabaster. There had been no fairies in Lickitysplit. Twoor three times I had come upon fairy footprints in the books which Mr.Wright had sent to us, but neither my aunt nor my uncle could explainwhence they came or the nature of their errand.
Mr. Hacket allowed me to write down the lines in my little diary ofevents and expenses, from which I have just copied them.
We sang and spoke pieces until nine o'clock and then we older members ofthe party fell to with Mrs. Hacket and washed and dried the dishes andput them away.
Next morning my clothes, which had been hung by the kitchen stove, weredamp and wrinkled. Mr. Racket came to my room before I had risen.
"Michael Henry would rather see his clothes hanging on a good boy thanon a nail in the closet," said he. "Sure they give no comfort to thenail at all."
"I guess mine are dry now," I answered.
"They're wet and heavy, boy. No son o' Baldur could keep a light heartin them. Sure ye'd be as much out o' place as a sunbeam in a cave o'bats. If ye care not for your own comfort think o' the poor lad in thegreen chair. He's that proud and pleased to see them on ye it would be ashame to reject his offer. Sure, if they were dry yer own garments wouldbe good enough, God knows, but Michael Henry loves the look o' ye inthese togs and then the President is in town."
That evening he discovered a big stain, black as ink, on my coat andtrousers. Mr. Hacket expressed the opinion that it might have come fromthe umbrella but I am quite sure that he had spotted them to save mefrom the last home-made suit I ever wore, save in rough work, and keepMichael Henry's on my back. In any event I wore them no more save atchore time.
I began to make good progress in my studies that week and to observe theaffection with which Mr. Hacket was regarded in the school and village.I remember that his eyes gave out and had to be bandaged but the boysand girls in his room behaved even better than before. It was curious toobserve how the older ones controlled the younger in that emergency.
Sally came and went, with the Wills boy, and gave no heed to me. In hereyes I had no more substance than a ghost, it seemed to me, although Icaught her, often, looking at me. I judged that her father had given hera bad report of us and had some regrets, in spite of my knowledge thatwe were right, although they related mostly to Amos.
Next afternoon I saw Mr. Wright and the President walking back and forthon the bridge as they talked together. A number of men stood in front ofthe blacksmith shop, by the river shore, watching them, as I passed, onmy way to the mill on an errand. The two statesmen were in broadclothand white linen and beaver hats. They stopped as I approached them.
"Well, partner, we shall be leaving in an hour or so," said Mr. Wrightas he gave me his hand. "You may look for me here soon after the closeof the session. Take care of yourself and go often to see Mrs. Wrightand obey your captain and remember me to your aunt and uncle."
"See that you keep coming, my good boy," said the President as he gaveme his hand, with playful reference, no doubt, to Mr. Wright's remarkthat I was a coming man.
"Bart, I've some wheat to be threshed in the barn on the back lot," saidthe Senator as I was leaving them. "You can do it Saturdays, if you careto, at a shilling an hour. Stack the straw out-of-doors until you'vefinished then put it back in the bay. Winnow the wheat carefully andsack it and bring it down to the granary and I'll settle with you when Ireturn."
I remember that a number of men who worked in Grimshaw's saw-mill werepassing as he spoke.
"Yes, sir," I answered, much elated by the prospect of earning money.
I left with a feeling of keen disappointment that I was to see so littleof my distinguished friend and a thought of the imperious errands of menwhich put the broad reaches of the earth between friend and friend.
I remember repeating to myself the words of the Senator which began:"You may look for me here soon after the close of the session," in thetone in which he had said them. As of old, I admired and tried toimitate his dignity of speech and bearing.
When I returned from the mill they were gone.
The examination of Amos was set down for Monday and the people of thevillage were stirred and shaken by wildest rumors regarding the evidenceto be adduced. Every day men and women stopped me in the Street to askwhat I knew of the murder. I followed the advice of Bishop Perkins andkept my knowledge to myself.
My life went on at the same kindly, merry pace in the home of theschoolmaster. The bandages over his eyes had in no way clouded hisspirit.
"Ah, now, I wish that I could see you," he said one evening when we wereall laughing at some remark of his. "I love the look of a merry face."
I continued to wear the mysterious clothes of Michael Henry, save atchore time, when I put on the spotted suit of homespun. I observed thatit made a great difference with my social standing. I was treated with agreater deference at the school, and Elizabeth Allen invited me to herparty, to which, however, I had not the courage to go, having no ideawhat happened to one at a village party.
I asked a boy in my Latin class to tell me.
"Oh, ye just fly around an' kiss and git kissed till ye feel like afool."
That settled it for me. Not that I would have failed to enjoy kissingSally, but we were out, as they used to say, and it would haveembarrassed both of us to meet at a party.
Saturday came and, when the chores were done, I went alone to the grainbarn in the back lot of the Senator's farm with flail and measure andbroom and fork and shovel and sacks and my luncheon, in a push cart,with all of which Mrs. Wright had provided me.
It was a lonely place with woods on three sides of the field and a roadon the other. I kept laying down beds of wheat on the barn-floor andbeating them out with the flail until the sun was well over the roofwhen I sat down to eat my luncheon. Then I swept up the grain andwinnowed out the chaff and filled one of my sacks. That done, I coveredthe floor again and the thump of the flail eased my loneliness until inthe middle of the afternoon two of my schoolmates came and asked me togo swimming, with them. The river was not forty rods away and a goodtrail led to the swimming hole. It was a warm bright day and I was hotand thirsty. The thought of cool waters and friendly companionship wastoo much for me. I went with them.
More ancient than the human form is that joy of the young in the feelof air and water on the naked skin, in the frog-like leap and splash andthe monkey-chatter of the swimming hole. There were a number of the"swamp boys" in the water. They lived in cabins on the edges of the nearswamp. I stayed with them longer than I intended. I remember saying as Idressed that I should have to work late and go without my supper inorder to finish my stent.
It was almost dark when I was putting the last sack of wheat into mycart, in the gloomy barn, and getting ready to go.
A rustling in the straw near where I stood stopped me suddenly. My skinprickled and began to stir on my head and my feet and hands felt numbwith a new fear. I heard stealthy footsteps in the darkness. I stood myground and demanded:
"Who's there?"
I saw a form approaching in the gloom with feet as noiseless as a cat's.I took a step backward and, seeing that it was a woman, stopped.
"It's Kate," the answer came in a hoarse whisper as I recognized herform and staff.
"Run, boy--they have just come out o' the woods. I saw them. They willtake you away. Run."
She had picked up the flail and now she put it in my hands and gave me apush toward the door. I ran, and none too quickly, for I had not gonefifty feet from the barn in the stubble when I heard them coming afterme, whoever they were. I saw that they were gaining and turned quickly.I had time to raise my flail and bring it down upon the head of theleader, who fell as I had seen a beef fall under the ax. Another manstopped beyond the reach of my flail and, after a second's hesitation,turned and ran away in the darkness.
I could hear or see no other motion in the field. I turned and ran ondown the slope toward the village. In a moment I saw some one coming outof the maple grove at the field's end, just ahead, with a lantern.
Then I heard the voice of the schoolmaster saying:
"Is it you, my lad?"
"Yes," I answered, as I came up to him and Mary, in a condition ofbreathless excitement.
I told them of the curious adventure I had had.
"Come quick," said the schoolmaster. "Let's go back and find the man inthe stubble."
I remembered that I had struck the path in my flight just beforestopping to swing the flail. The man must have fallen very near it. Soonwe found where he had been lying and drops of fresh blood on thestubble.
"Hush," said the schoolmaster.
We listened and heard a wagon rattling at a wild pace down the roadtoward the river.
"There he goes," said Mr. Hacket. "His companions have carried him away.Ye'd be riding in that wagon now, yerself, my brave lad, if ye hadn't'a' made a lucky hit with the flail--God bless ye!"
"What would they 'a' done with me?" I asked.
"Oh, I reckon they'd 'a' took ye off, lad, and kep' ye for a year or sountil Amos was out o' danger," said Mr. Hacket. "Maybe they'd drowned yein the river down there an' left yer clothes on the bank to make it looklike an honest drowning. The devil knows what they'd 'a' done with ye,laddie buck. We'll have to keep an eye on ye now, every day until thetrial is over--sure we will. Come, we'll go up to the barn and see ifKate is there."
Just then we heard the receding wagon go roaring over the bridge onLittle River. Mary shuddered with fright. The schoolmaster reassured usby saying:
"Don't be afraid. I brought my gun in case we'd meet a painter. But thedanger is past."
He drew a long pistol from his coat pocket and held it in the light ofthe lantern.
The loaded cart stood in the middle of the barn floor, where I had leftit, but old Kate had gone. We closed the barn, drawing the cart alongwith us. When we came into the edge of the village I began to reflectupon the strange peril out of which I had so luckily escaped. It gave mea heavy sense of responsibility and of the wickedness of men.
I thought, of old Kate and her broken silence. For once I had heard herspeak. I could feel my flesh tingle when I thought of her quick wordsand her hoarse passionate whisper. She must have come into the barnwhile I was swimming and hidden behind the straw heap in the rear end ofit and watched the edge of the woods through the many cracks in theboarding.
I knew, or thought I knew, why she took such care of me. She was inleague with the gallows and could not bear to see it cheated of itsprey. For some reason she hated the Grimshaws. I had seen the hate inher eyes the day she dogged along behind the old money-lender throughthe streets of the village when her pointing finger had seemed to say tome: "There, there is the man who has brought me to this. He has putthese rags upon my back, this fire in my heart, this wild look in myeyes. Wait and you shall see what I will put upon him."
I knew that old Kate was not the irresponsible, witless creature thatpeople thought her to be. I had begun to think of her with a kind of aweas one gifted above all others. One by one the things she had said ofthe future seemed to be coming true.
When we had pulled the cart into the stable I tried to shift one of thebags of grain and observed that my hands trembled and that it seemedvery heavy.
As we were going into the house the schoolmaster said:
"Now, Mary, you take this lantern and go across the street to the houseo' Deacon Binks, the constable. You'll find him asleep by the kitchenstove. Arrest his slumbers, but not rudely, and, when he has come to,tell him that I have news o' the devil."
"This shows the power o' knowledge. Bart," he said to me when we enteredthe house.
I wondered what he meant and he went on:
"You have knowledge of the shooting that no other man has. You couldsell it for any money ye would ask. Only ye can't sell it, now, becauseit's about an evil thing. But suppose ye knew more than any other manabout the law o' contracts, or the science o' bridge building, or thehistory o' nations or the habits o' bugs or whatever. Then ye become theprincipal witness in a different kind o' case. Then it's proper to sellyer knowledge for the good o' the world and they'll be as eager to getit as they are what ye know about the shooting. And nobody'll want tokill ye. Every man o' them'll want to keep ye alive. But mind, ye mustbe the principal witness."
Deacon Binks arrived, a fat man with a big round body and a very wiseand serious countenance between side whiskers bending from his temple tohis neck and suggesting parentheses of hair, as if his head and itsaccessories were in the nature of a side issue. He and the schoolmasterwent out-of-doors and must have talked together while I was eating abowl of bread and milk which Mrs. Hacket had brought to me.
When I went to bed, by and by, I heard somebody snoring on the littleporch under my window. The first sound that reached my ear at the breakof dawn was the snoring of the same sleeper. I dressed and went belowand found the constable in his coon-skin overcoat asleep on the porchwith a long-barreled gun at his side. While I stood there theschoolmaster came around the corner of the house from the garden. Hesmiled as he saw the deacon.
"Talk about the placid rest of Egyptian gods!" he exclaimed. "Look atthe watchful eye o' Justice. How well she sleeps in this peacefulvalley! Sometimes ye can hardly wake her up at all, at all."
He put his hand on the deacon's shoulder and gave him a little shake.
"Awake, ye limb o' the law," he demanded. "Prayer is better than sleep."
The deacon arose and stretched himself and cleared his throat andassumed an air of alertness and said it was a fine morning, which it wasnot, the sky being overcast and the air dank and chilly. He removed hisgreatcoat and threw it on the stoop saying:
"Deacon, you lay there. From now on I'm constable and ready for any actthat may be necessary to maintain the law. I can be as severe asNapoleon Bonaparte and as cunning as Satan, if I have to be."
I remember that through the morning's work the sleepy deacon and thealert constable contended over the possession of his stout frame.
The constable shouldered the gun and followed me into the pasture whereI went to get the cow. I saw now that his intention was to guard me fromfurther attacks. While I was milking, the deacon sat on a bucket in thedoorway of the stable and snored until I had finished. He awoke when Iloosed the cow and the constable went back to the pasture with me,yawning with his hand over his mouth much of the way. The deacon leanedhis elbow on the top of the pen and snored again, lightly, while I mixedthe feed for the pigs.
Mr. Hacket met us at the kitchen door, where Deacon Binks said to him:
"If you'll look after the boy to-day, I'll go home and get a littlerest."
"God bless yer soul, ye had a busy night," said the schoolmaster with asmile.
He added as he went into the house:
"I never knew a man to rest with more energy and persistence. It was aperfect flood o' rest. It kept me awake until long after midnight."