A Maid of the Kentucky Hills Part 8

"Jer'_bome_. Look at yo'! Tryin' to break that cheer to splinters! Ain't yo' got stren'th to carry ev'n a _cheer_? 'N' is thim dishes washed 'n'

put in th' pantry, whur they should orter be?"

Granf'er dumbly lifted the chair, conveyed it stiffly to the furthest front corner of the porch, and quietly placed it. Then he turned to me, and with a show of dignity said, in his thin voice--

"Set down!"

I at once stepped upon the porch, advanced and shook hands with the old man, then took the proffered seat with a word of thanks.

He turned and hurried indoors, returning immediately bearing two other chairs identical with the first. One of these he handed the Dryad, just across the porch entrance, and the other he brought around and gingerly lowered to the floor about a foot from mine. When we were all seated Granf'er stretched one leg out to its fullest length, in order to gain freer access to his pocket, and after some tugging produced a half twist of tobacco. This he silently extended to me with a comical facial contortion which plainly meant that I should take all I wanted. I shook my head, and smiled.

"Light Burley!" he explained. "Skace 's hen's teeth. Don't yo' chaw?"

"S'pec' ever' man yo' meet to _live_ on terbacker?" snapped Granny, without looking up.

"No," I replied; "I smoke."

"Then smoke. Yo' come too later fur dinner, so now we'll hev to mix terbacker instid."

It dawned upon me that it was a sort of guest rite he was offering me, so I crumbled some of the light yellow leaf into my pipe and fired it.

Then he gnawed off a satisfactory chew, and stowed the remainder away.

He crossed his legs--by this time I had discovered that he wore boots with his trousers legs stuck down in the tops--in that comfortable, sagging way all old men have, and with one hand in his lap holding his elbow, he plucked gently at the front of his fringe of whiskers while his jaw worked erratically as he slowly adjusted the savory particles in his mouth.

No one spoke now for two or three minutes. It certainly was a new experience for me. A swift glance showed me that the Dryad had weighed the situation and was amused. Imps of fun danced in her eyes, and there was a tightening about her mouth which told me that she was holding herself in check with much effort. She was speechless from choice; the other two from nature.

Without warning Granf'er twisted his neck and ejected a curving stream of amber. It came down with a splash on the back of a half-grown chicken loitering near. There was a squawk of alarm, a flutter, a scurry from danger.

"That's right!" shrilled the bundle of fat. "Ef yo' can't kill 'em no other way, drownd 'em with terbacker juice!"

"Granf'er didn't see it!" championed Lessie. "It's under th' aidge o'

the po'ch, 'n' 'tain't hurt no-how."

Once more I saw her teeth, like two rows of young corn when the husks are green.

Granf'er paid no more heed to his helpmeet's words than if it had been the wind blowing down the chimney. Even his expression did not change.

Already a real pity was creeping into my heart for Granf'er. It took neither seer nor mindreader to discern that he belonged to that most to be pitied cla.s.s of all who live and breathe--a man who has become simply a woman's creature. A man who, for one or more of a hundred reasons, had abdicated his kingship in the home, suffering a reversal of rule contrary alike to all divine decrees and natural laws. Such a man deserves what he gets, it is true, live he in a mansion or a hovel. Man was created to rule, and woman knows it. It is by ruling only that he retains her love. When his reign ceases, then not only does her love cease, but her respect also. Look about you!

Granf'er drew the palm of his hand across his lips, mechanically--and with what seemed like a very natural motion--smoothed out some puckers in his coffee sack ap.r.o.n, and spoke. He was looking out upon the quiet majesty of the encircling hills, but I knew that he was addressing me.

"Y' see, Jeffy's S'firy's nevvy. He come wrong, we-all 'pine. Leas'ways, they's some'n' in 'is head that's somehow onbalanced 'im. No nat'r'l man 'd go tromp'n' thoo th' woods frum morn'n' till night 'ith nothin but a fiddle fur comp'ny. S'firy's special'y sot ag'in a fiddle, holdin' 'ith lots o' folks that th' dev'l's in it--"

"I'd jes' love to smash it to smithereens over a stump!" interpolated Granny.

"--but ez fur me 'n' Lessie, we kind o' en_j'y_ Jeffy's sc.r.a.pin' 'n'

sawin'. Lessie's re'ly plum' cracked 'bout it, 'n' 'd foller Jeffy over th' hull durn county if we didn't p'suade 'er pow'ful."

"Seems to me, Jer'bome, yo' c'n tell it 'ithout cussin'. Only las'

Sunday I had to speak to Father John 'bout yo' increasin' wickedness!"

"The hull durn county!" repeated Granf'er, quietly and reflectively, his gaze still fixed on the high hills. "They has big times--thim two--though Jeffy's mos' unsartain in 'is visits. Sometimes it's a month w'en we don't ketch sight o' 'im, 'n' ag'in he lingers with us a day or so at a spell. We sets lots o' store by Jeffy, 'cus th' Lord in 'is wisdom has saw fit to 'flict 'im. Th' wus' thin' 'bout 'im is th'

liquor--"

"I'd hev _some_ pride, Jer'bome!"

"--n' w'en he gits holt o' that he goes plum' lunatic crazy sometimes.

Y' see, it's th' shiners 's whur he gits th' mos.' Th' ryavines over yan air full o' the'r still-houses, 'n' Jeffy fiddles fur 'em fur 'is bottle full o' liquor. Puss'nly, I hol' that a little liquor is pow'ful he'pful, but S'firy 'lows it's no good fur nothin' 'cep' to make dev'lment 'twixt people--"

"Ef I had my way not another drap'd go into a bottle!"

"--'n' I 'gree they's some sinse in her argyment, though it's my b'lief that a w'ite man 's got to drink some'n', 'n' 't' 's well be pyore whiskey as anythin'."

He stopped to relieve his overcrowded mouth, uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the other way, "to keep 'em frum goin' to sleep," and continued:

"'Pears to me Lessie said yo' come frum Lets'nt'n--uh-huh--some little ways off. 'S never thur. Walked over to Ced'rt'n onct, but home 'n'

Hebrin's good 'nough for weuns. We ain't th' wanderin' kin', yo' mought say, but live peaceful 'n' work our--"

"_Work!_"

"--work our lan', whut little we've got that's fit'n'. You's good to our Jeffy--to S'firy's Jeffy, that is, fur he ain't no kin to me (not that I'd be 'shamed o' Jeffy, onderstan', on 'count o' his not bein' jes'

right in th' head)--so I says to yo' here 'n' now 'ith S'firy 'n' Lessie to witness, as head o' this house I says yo're welcome here to-day 'n'

any day!"

Then, quite unexpectedly, he clamped his hand across my leg above the knee, and gave me a squeeze which hurt.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon on that small front porch.

Granf'er entertained me in the manner I have outlined; a mixture of opinion, native philosophy, and local news, with occasional caustic interruptions from Granny's two-edged tongue. Lessie said very little--what chance had she in the face of Granf'er's garrulity?--and once she went in the house and stayed for half an hour. When she came back she had on yet another dress, pure white this time. There were some frills and tucks and a touch of imitation lace here and there. I'm sure it must have been her Sunday frock. She was showing off her wardrobe, after the manner of a tot of eight or ten.

The sun had halted for a moment in its downward course on the crest of a range as I arose to go.

Granf'er was voluminous in his invitation to "Come ag'in 'n' set a w'ile"; Granny tendered me a defiant nod in response to my polite good-by, and lo! as I turned to bid Lessie farewell last, she had already moved into the yard, and was waiting for me! Side by side we started down the narrow, hard-beaten path. That is, she took the path and I walked in the new gra.s.s which bordered it.

"I'll go to th' crick with yo'," she said, demurely; then, with characteristic irrelevance--"Ain't Granny tur'ble?"

"Granny's jealous of you, and I suppose she has nagged at Granf'er so long it has become a fixed habit. I'm really sorry for the old fellow, Dryad."

"Whut?"

She turned a quizzical, puzzled face.

I laughed, gently, and made known to her the meaning of the word.

"There are lots of things I'm going to tell you when I get a chance," I added. "Wouldn't you like to know about this big world, and about the many kinds of people who live in it? About the great cities, and about what people have done and are doing? Wouldn't you like to learn how the trees grow, and what makes the wind, the lightning, and the thunder?

About all the birds and animals; streams, rocks and hills? Wouldn't you like to learn all these things, and lots more?"

Her eyes had widened as I talked, and now on her fresh, unlined face a wonder and a hunger grew. It seemed as if her fallow mind was struggling to emerge from some dark, concealing mist--to leap up and meet the knowledge I had promised. A look almost of distress, born of futile longing. We were moving very slowly. She spoke.

"I've--sometimes--w'en by myse'f--mos' often in the deep woods--I've felt some'n _crawlin'_ in here"--she put her hand to her head--"some'n'

that 'peared to be want'n' to say some'n'. 'N' I's diff'ernt then. I didn't wan' to go home to Granny 'n' Granf'er. I wanted to go some'r's else--way off, maybe, 'n' I'd be mis'ble 'cause I couldn't tell--couldn't make out whut 'twuz, yo' know. 'N' after w'ile it'd go 'way 'n' leave me, 'n' I wouldn't git right fur a day or so. I ast Father John 'bout it one day 'n' it looked lak it hurt 'im, 'n' he tol'

me not to have them spells if I c'd he'p it. Said they wuzn't good fur me. 'N' jes' now, w'en yo' tol' me 'bout all them things you's goin' to learn me--it come back--come back lak th' crick comes down w'en it rains in th' hills--with a rush 'n' pour, 'n'--'n'--oh! I wan' to know!--I _do_ wan' to know!"