A Child-World Part 7

My little story, Cousin Rufus said, Is not so much a story as a fact.

It is about a certain willful boy-- An aggrieved, unappreciated boy, Grown to dislike his own home very much, By reason of his parents being not At all up to his rigid standard and Requirements and exactions as a son And disciplinarian.

So, sullenly He brooded over his disheartening Environments and limitations, till, At last, well knowing that the outside world Would yield him favors never found at home, He rose determinedly one July dawn-- Even before the call for breakfast--and, Climbing the alley-fence, and bitterly Shaking his clenched fist at the woodpile, he Evanished down the turnpike.--Yes: he had, Once and for all, put into execution His long low-muttered threatenings--He had _Run off!_--He had--had run away from home!

His parents, at discovery of his flight, Bore up first-rate--especially his Pa,-- Quite possibly recalling his own youth, And therefrom predicating, by high noon, The absent one was very probably Disporting his nude self in the delights Of the old swimmin'-hole, some hundred yards Below the slaughter-house, just east of town.

The stoic father, too, in his surmise Was accurate--For, lo! the boy was there!

And there, too, he remained throughout the day-- Save at one starving interval in which He clad his sunburnt shoulders long enough To shy across a wheatfield, shadow-like, And raid a neighboring orchard--bitterly, And with spasmodic twitchings of the lip, Bethinking him how all the other boys Had _homes_ to go to at the dinner-hour-- While _he_--alas!--_he had no home!_--At least These very words seemed rising mockingly, Until his every thought smacked raw and sour And green and bitter as the apples he In vain essayed to stay his hunger with.

Nor did he join the glad shouts when the boys Returned rejuvenated for the long Wet revel of the feverish afternoon.-- Yet, bravely, as his comrades splashed and swam And spluttered, in their weltering merriment, He tried to laugh, too,--but his voice was hoa.r.s.e And sounded to him like some other boy's.

And then he felt a sudden, poking sort Of sickness at the heart, as though some cold And scaly pain were blindly nosing it Down in the dreggy darkness of his breast.

The tensioned pucker of his purple lips Grew ever chillier and yet more tense-- The central hurt of it slow spreading till It did possess the little face entire.

And then there grew to be a knuckled knot-- An aching kind of core within his throat-- An ache, all dry and swallowless, which seemed To ache on just as bad when he'd pretend He didn't notice it as when he did.

It was a kind of a conceited pain-- An overbearing, self-a.s.sertive and Barbaric sort of pain that clean outhurt A boy's capacity for suffering-- So, many times, the little martyr needs Must turn himself all suddenly and dive From sight of his hilarious playmates and Surrept.i.tiously weep under water.

Thus He wrestled with his awful agony Till almost dark; and then, at last--then, with The very latest lingering group of his Companions, he moved turgidly toward home-- Nay, rather _oozed_ that way, so slow he went,-- With lothful, hesitating, loitering, Reluctant, late-election-returns air, Heightened somewhat by the conscience-made resolve Of chopping a double-armful of wood As he went in by rear way of the kitchen.

And this resolve he executed;--yet The hired girl made no comment whatsoever, But went on washing up the supper-things, Crooning the unutterably sad song, "_Then think, Oh, think how lonely this heart must ever be!_"

Still, with affected carelessness, the boy Ranged through the pantry; but the cupboard-door Was locked. He sighed then like a wet fore-stick And went out on the porch.--At least the pump, He prophesied, would meet him kindly and Shake hands with him and welcome his return!

And long he held the old tin dipper up-- And oh, how fresh and pure and sweet the draught!

Over the upturned brim, with grateful eyes He saw the back-yard, in the gathering night, Vague, dim and lonesome, but it all looked good: The lightning-bugs, against the grape-vines, blinked A sort of sallow gladness over his Home-coming, with this softening of the heart.

He did not leave the dipper carelessly In the milk-trough.--No: he hung it back upon Its old nail thoughtfully--even tenderly.

All slowly then he turned and sauntered toward The rain-barrel at the corner of the house, And, pausing, peered into it at the few Faint stars reflected there. Then--moved by some Strange impulse new to him--he washed his feet.

He then went in the house--straight on into The very room where sat his parents by The evening lamp.--The father all intent Reading his paper, and the mother quite As intent with her sewing. Neither looked Up at his entrance--even reproachfully,-- And neither spoke.

The wistful runaway Drew a long, quavering breath, and then sat down Upon the extreme edge of a chair. And all Was very still there for a long, long while.-- Yet everything, someway, seemed _restful_-like And _homey_ and old-fashioned, good and kind, And sort of _kin_ to him!--Only too _still!_ If somebody would say something--just _speak_-- Or even rise up suddenly and come And lift him by the ear sheer off his chair-- Or box his jaws--Lord bless 'em!--_any_thing!-- Was he not there to thankfully accept Any reception from parental source Save this incomprehensible _voicelessness_.

O but the silence held its very breath!

If but the ticking clock would only _strike_ And for an instant drown the whispering, Lisping, sifting sound the katydids Made outside in the gra.s.sy nowhere.

Far Down some back-street he heard the faint halloo Of boys at their night-game of "Town-fox,"

But now with no desire at all to be Partic.i.p.ating in their sport--No; no;-- Never again in this world would he want To join them there!--he only wanted just To stay in home of nights--Always--always-- Forever and a day!

He moved; and coughed-- Coughed hoa.r.s.ely, too, through his rolled tongue; and yet No vaguest of parental notice or Solicitude in answer--no response-- No word--no look. O it was deathly still!-- So still it was that really he could not Remember any prior silence that At all approached it in profundity And depth and density of utter hush.

He felt that he himself must break it: So, Summoning every subtle artifice Of seeming nonchalance and native ease And naturalness of utterance to his aid, And gazing raptly at the house-cat where She lay curled in her wonted corner of The hearth-rug, dozing, he spoke airily And said: "I see you've got the same old cat!"

BEWILDERING EMOTIONS

The merriment that followed was subdued-- As though the story-teller's att.i.tude Were dual, in a sense, appealing quite As much to sorrow as to mere delight, According, haply, to the listener's bent Either of sad or merry temperament.-- "And of your two appeals I much prefer The pathos," said "The Noted Traveler,"-- "For should I live to twice my present years, I know I could not quite forget the tears That child-eyes bleed, the little palms nailed wide, And quivering soul and body crucified....

But, bless 'em! there are no such children here To-night, thank G.o.d!--Come here to me, my dear!"

He said to little Alex, in a tone So winning that the sound of it alone Had drawn a child more lothful to his knee:-- "And, now-sir, _I'll_ agree if _you'll_ agree,-- _You_ tell us all a story, and then _I_ Will tell one."

"_But I can't._"

"Well, can't you _try?_"

"Yes, Mister: he _kin_ tell _one_. Alex, tell The one, you know, 'at you made up so well, About the _Bear_. He allus tells that one,"

Said Bud,--"He gits it mixed some 'bout the _gun_ An' _ax_ the Little Boy had, an' _apples_, too."-- Then Uncle Mart said--"There, now! that'll do!-- Let _Alex_ tell his story his own way!"

And Alex, prompted thus, without delay Began.

THE BEAR-STORY

THAT ALEX "IST MAKED UP HIS-OWN-SE'F"

W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out 'Way in the grea'-big woods--he did.--An' he Wuz goin'along--an'goin'along, you know, An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "_Wooh!_"-- Ist thataway--"_Woo-ooh!_" An' he wuz _skeered_, He wuz. An' so he runned an' clumbed a tree-- A grea'-big tree, he did,--a sicka-_more_ tree.

An' nen he heerd it agin: an' he looked round, An' _'t'uz a Bear!--a grea'-big, sh.o.r.e-nuff Bear!_-- No: 't'uz _two_ Bears, it wuz--two grea'-big Bears-- _One_ of 'em wuz--ist _one's a grea'-big_ Bear.-- But they ist _boff_ went "_Wooh!_ "--An' here _they_ come To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy An'eat him up!

An' nen the Little Boy He 'uz skeered worse'n ever! An' here come The grea'-big Bear a-climbin' th' tree to git The Little Boy an' eat him up--Oh, _no!_-- It 'uzn't the _Big_ Bear 'at clumb the tree-- It 'uz the _Little_ Bear. So here _he_ come Climbin' the tree--an' climbin' the tree! Nen when He git wite _clos't_ to the Little Boy, w'y nen The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun An' _shot_ the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead!

An' nen the Bear he falled clean on down out The tree--away clean to the ground, he did _Spling-splung!_ he falled _plum_ down, an' killed him, too!

An' lit wite side o' where the' _Big_ Bear's at.

An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet!-- 'Cause--'cause the Little Boy he shot his gun An' killed the _Little_ Bear.--'Cause the _Big_ Bear He--he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa.--An' so here _He_ come to climb the big old tree an' git The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' when The Little Boy he saw the _grea'-big Bear_ A-comin', he 'uz badder skeered, he wuz, Than _any_ time! An' so he think he'll climb Up _higher_--'way up higher in the tree Than the old _Bear_ kin climb, you know.--But he-- He _can't_ climb higher 'an old _Bears_ kin climb,-- 'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees Than any little Boys In all the Wo-r-r-ld!

An' so here come the grea'-big Bear, he did,-- A-climbin' up--an' up the tree, to git The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' so The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher.

An' higher up the tree--an' higher--an' higher-- An' higher'n iss-here _house_ is!--An' here come Th' old Bear--clos'ter to him all the time!-- An' nen--first thing you know,--when th' old Big Bear Wuz wite clos't to him--nen the Little Boy Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf An' shot an' killed him dead!--No; I _fergot_,-- He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at all-- 'Cause _they 'uz no load in the gun_, you know-- 'Cause when he shot the _Little_ Bear, w'y, nen No load 'uz anymore nen _in_ the gun!

But th' Little Boy clumbed _higher_ up, he did-- He clumbed _lots_ higher--an' on up _higher_--an' higher An' _higher_--tel he ist _can't_ climb no higher, 'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so little, 'way Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't Be keerful! So he stop an' think: An' nen He look around--An' here come th' old Bear!

An' so the Little Boy make up his mind He's got to ist git out o' there _some_ way!-- 'Cause here come the old Bear!--so clos't, his bref's Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is Aginst his bare feet--ist like old "Ring's" bref When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired.

So when th' old Bear's so clos't--the Little Boy Ist gives a grea'-big jump fer '_nother_ tree-- No!--no he don't do that!--I tell you what The Little Boy does:--W'y, nen--w'y, he--Oh, _yes_-- The Little Boy _he finds a hole up there 'At's in the tree_--an' climbs in there an' _hides_-- An' _nen_ the old Bear can't find the Little Boy Ut-tall!--But, purty soon th' old Bear finds The Little Boy's _gun_ 'at's up there--'cause the _gun_ It's too _tall_ to tooked wiv him in the hole.

So, when the old Bear find' the _gun_, he knows The Little Boy ist _hid_ 'round _somers_ there,-- An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff an' sniff around, An' sniff an' snuff around--so's he kin find Out where the Little Boy's hid at.--An' nen--nen-- Oh, _yes!_--W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs 'Way out on a big limb--a grea'-long limb,-- An' nen the Little Boy climbs out the hole An' takes his ax an' chops the limb off!... Nen The old Bear falls _k-splunge!_ clean to the ground An' bust an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did!

An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun An' 'menced a-climbin' down the tree agin-- No!--no, he _didn't_ git his _gun_--'cause when The _Bear_ falled, nen the _gun_ falled, too--An' broked It all to pieces, too!--An' _nicest_ gun!-- His Pa ist buyed it!--An' the Little Boy Ist cried, he did; an' went on climbin' down The tree--an' climbin' down--an' climbin' down!-- _An'-sir!_ when he 'uz purt'-nigh down,--w'y, nen _The old Bear he jumped up agin!_--an he Ain't dead ut-tall--_ist_ 'tendin' thataway, So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat Him up! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart To climb clean _down_ the tree.--An' the old Bear He can't climb _up_ the tree no more--'cause when He fell, he broke one of his--He broke _all_ His legs!--an' nen he _couldn't_ climb! But he Ist won't go 'way an' let the Little Boy Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear Ist growls 'round there, he does--ist growls an' goes "_Wooh! woo-ooh!_" all the time! An' Little Boy He haf to stay up in the tree--all night-- An' 'thout no _supper_ neever!--Only they Wuz _apples_ on the tree!--An' Little Boy Et apples--ist all night--an' cried--an' cried!

Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear went "_Wooh!_"

Agin, an' try to climb up in the tree An' git the Little Boy.--But he _can't_ Climb t'save his _soul_, he can't!--An' _oh!_ he's _mad!_-- He ist tear up the ground! an' go "_Woo-ooh!_"

An'--_Oh,yes!_--purty soon, when morning's come All _light_--so's you kin _see_, you know,--w'y, nen The old Bear finds the Little Boy's _gun_, you know, 'At's on the ground.--(An' it ain't broke ut-tall-- I ist _said_ that!) An' so the old Bear think He'll take the gun an' _shoot_ the Little Boy:-- But _Bears they_ don't know much 'bout shootin' guns: So when he go to shoot the Little Boy, The old Bear got the _other_ end the gun Agin his shoulder, 'stid o' _th'other_ end-- So when he try to shoot the Little Boy, It shot _the Bear_, it did--an' killed him dead!

An' nen the Little Boy dumb down the tree An' chopped his old wooly head off:--Yes, an' killed The _other_ Bear agin, he did--an' killed All _boff_ the bears, he did--an' tuk 'em home An' _cooked_ 'em, too, an' _et_ 'em!

--An' that's

THE PATHOS OF APPLAUSE

The greeting of the company throughout Was like a jubilee,--the children's shout And fusillading hand-claps, with great guns And detonations of the older ones, Raged to such tumult of tempestuous joy, It even more alarmed than pleased the boy; Till, with a sudden twitching lip, he slid Down to the floor and dodged across and hid His face against his mother as she raised Him to the shelter of her heart, and praised His story in low whisperings, and smoothed The "amber-colored hair," and kissed, and soothed And lulled him back to sweet tranquillity-- "And 'ats a sign 'at you're the Ma fer me!"

He lisped, with gurgling ecstasy, and drew Her closer, with shut eyes; and feeling, too, If he could only _purr_ now like a cat, He would undoubtedly be doing that!

"And now"--the serious host said, lifting there A hand entreating silence;--"now, aware Of the good promise of our Traveler guest To add some story with and for the rest, I think I favor you, and him as well, Asking a story I have heard him tell, And know its truth,in each minute detail:"

Then leaning on his guest's chair, with a hale Hand-pat by way of full indors.e.m.e.nt, he Said, "Yes--the Free-Slave story--certainly."

The old man, with his waddy notebook out, And glittering spectacles, glanced round about The expectant circle, and still firmer drew His hat on, with a nervous cough or two: And, save at times the big hard words, and tone Of gathering pa.s.sion--all the speaker's own,-- The tale that set each childish heart astir Was thus told by "The Noted Traveler."

TOLD BY "THE NOTED TRAVELER"