Mothering on Perilous Part 20

Philip is in a seventh heaven. Every day in the week now he basks in Dilsey's presence two or three hours, cheerfully doing the menial tasks of keeping up fires and ironing; and on Sat.u.r.days he spends almost the entire day in her society, hanging out clothes, turning wringers, doing tremendous deeds on the wood-pile with his ax, running nimbly down and up the rocky sides of the well when the chain breaks and the bucket falls in, as it is fond of doing, and, between labors, giving hazardous performances on the limb of a peach-tree. The teasings of the boys and girls seem powerless to dampen his ardor,--indeed, I suspect that their "Howdy, Mr. Warrick," "Good evening, Mrs. Floyd," fall as music on his ears.

_Sunday Night._

When I went with Nucky to the jail this afternoon, I found that the rumors abroad for two weeks had reached it, indeed, they were being freely discussed by the prisoners, the keeper and Blant himself,--I was thankful to see that he was able to put his mind on the subject.

"Yes," he said sadly, "it looks like I'll have to give up the hope I have cherished, and try to get my consent to face life again; which G.o.d knows I couldn't if it wasn't brung home to me that I got a family depending on me, and a pore little infant looking to me for life itself. Nothing else could ever give me courage to breast the waves of sorrow that swallows me up. But I reckon, after all, I have got a higher call to live than to die; and that, when they acquit me on my trial, constant hard labor for my family will in time take off some of the edge of my sorrow."

"But the probabilities is they _won't_ acquit you, Blant," said the keeper impatiently; "I been trying to ding that into your head nigh a week. I told you plain what the talk was about sending you to Frankfort a couple of year'".

"I can't believe anything so unreasonable," replied Blant. "Now, a life for a life is just plain sense and common justice,--if they was to kill me for the lives I have took, especially Rich's, I would perfectly agree they was doing right. But what good or justice it would do anybody to shut me up in Frankfort when I'm so bad needed at home, I fail to see.

Here I am, with a crippled paw, a living to make for a large family, and the babe maw left in my hands to tend and raise,--you might say with my hands running over full,--now is there any sense in cooping me up where I can't do none of it? I allow not--it's plumb ridiculous,--no jury would be guilty of it; and if they was to, I haint willing to take it."

"I allow you'll have to, if it comes," said the keeper, sternly. "You'd ought to have thought of that sooner, and looked before you leaped. You certainly done the nearsightedest job ever I heared of when you give yourself up to the sheriff,--honest, I wouldn't have believed it of you, Blant,--but of course your mind was clean unhinged by misery, and you wa'n't accountable. And I'm sorry for you if you get sent up. But now you've throwed yourself in the arms of the law, you got to lay there.

Whatever you do, take warning, and don't try no escapin' tricks here on me, like you done on the sheriff last spring. Because, whatever happens, and however good I like you--which I do, the best in the world--I want you to ricollect that law is law, and I'm its sworn gyuardeen, and obligated by my oath, and aiming to do my _whole duty_.

And also, that I haint no poor shakes at gun-practice myself, though I may not be as sure a shot as you."

At the words, "as sure a shot as you," a spasm of anguish pa.s.sed over Blant's face. "I wish to G.o.d I never had been no kind of a shot at all before I took the life of him I loved!" he exclaimed, wildly. "Don't never tell me of it, or call it to my recollection that I had the surest aim of any man in five counties; for the days of my gun-pride are over; I have shot my last shoot!"

Cries of amazement and incredulity rose on all sides. "You're crazy, Blant,--wouldn't you defend your life?" "Wouldn't you shoot for your freedom?" "Wouldn't you fight for your land if the Cheevers tuck it again?" To all of which he returned the solemn answer, "No,--none of them things would now tempt me! The bullet that pierced my friend's heart was my last! Not for life, not for freedom, not for old ancestral land, will I shed another drap of human blood!"

Nucky heard these words of Blant's as if stunned and smitten, and walked home beside me in a daze.

XXVI

"MARVLES" AND MARVELS

_Thursday._

Yesterday, when the ground was hard and smooth, but not too dry, marbles struck the school like a lightning express. It appears that before school in the morning Geordie had "trusted" a few leading spirits (Taulbee and Philip among the cottage boys, Lige Munn and Harl Drake among the day-pupils) with sets of marbles, giving them three days' time in which to pay him the ten cents a set. At noon playtime I was surrounded by a mob of my boys, loudly demanding extra work, while the woodwork teacher was beseiged by day-pupils of all sizes and ages, demanding extra jobs in the shop.

When Hen told me before supper that all the "day-schools" as well as the cottage boys were buying "marvles" from Geordie, I said, "Oh, you must be mistaken. Geordie has not more than the dozen sets he traded you boys out of after Christmas, and possibly a few others collected before."

Hen looked wise. "You never knowed he had a marvle-mill a-running back yander in the branch, ever sence he got the stable-job?" he said.

"What in the world?" I demanded.

"Right there under the stable-lot fence, where the branch falls into Perilous, he took'n made him four little troughs, that takes streams out and draps 'em into four holes he's got hollered out in a flat rock underneath. All he's got to do is to put a chunk of sandstone in every hole, and the water keeps it a-whirling till first thing it knows it's a pure marvle; and then he puts in another chunk. He makes him twelve marvles a day thataway--it haint no trouble to drap in the chunks whilst he's watering the nags--and he's been at it stiddy for six weeks. I kotch him at it one time, and he give me a set not to tell t'other boys.

Marvles! Gee-oh, he's got 'em!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'I kotch him at it one time.'"]

_Sat.u.r.day Night._

Philip carries on his siege with characteristic vigor, leaving nothing undone to win the citadel of Dilsey's difficult affections, and enduring as best he may the painful moments caused by her too-great particularity in trifles. This morning I pa.s.sed down through the back yard while the washing was in full progress. The girls were working and singing at their tubs under the big sycamore. A little to one side, Philip was energetically turning the wringer for Dilsey. He paused, as I pa.s.sed, to blow his nose after the good old fashion of our first parents, to be cruelly reminded by her, "I allus blow _mine_ on a handkerchief!"

_Tuesday._

Blant's declaration that he has "shot his last shoot" has become widely known, and occasions a sensation. The boys are incredulous. Taulbee said this evening (Nucky being at the jail),

"Of course he never meant it,--a hero like Blant to give up his life, or his freedom, or his land, for the lack of a shot? No, I'll bound you he said it to throw dust in their eyes so's they won't look for him to escape. If Blant could get his fingers on a forty-five, they'd soon see whether he'd shoot!"

_Friday._

Excited groups dot the school-yard and cottage-grounds every recess and playtime, and cries of "No inchin's!", "My taw!", "Pickin's on me!", "No back-killin's!", "I beat, but you git the goes!" fill the air. Marbles is such a quiet and genteel game, comparatively speaking, and with so much less menace to life and limb than preceding ones, that I encourage and forward it in every way, and sincerely hope it will last out the term. The boys seem most unfortunate, however, about losing their marbles, and are constantly asking for extra work in order to buy more.

I have already given Jason money to buy half a dozen sets.

_Sat.u.r.day Night._

This afternoon, after the arduous labors of the day, and an hour of play, Philip was sitting on the back cottage-steps eating a huge chunk of "sugar-tree-sugar" he had just bought in the village, the other boys leaving their marbles and gathering about him like flies as he drew forth the great, sticky lump, though with but faint hope in their eyes.

Sure enough, he made no motion to break it up or pa.s.s it around (Taulbee, with whom he usually shares, is at home for the week-end). So Philip sat and licked and crunched in solitary state. Just at this juncture, four of the wash-girls, including Dilsey, suddenly appeared round the corner of the house, on some unexpected errand. Dilsey stopped in her tracks, and took in the situation. Then walking on, she remarked casually to the peach-tree, "I'd sooner die as to marry a greedy man!"

Flushed and angry, Philip sprang to his feet. "You needn't talk, missy,--I give you more'n I kep',--more'n you could eat!"

"Yes, and I give very near all of mine to the girls; but you haint never give them boys nary grain of your'n, that I can see!"

Philip wavered a bare instant, then, "'Cause I haint had time yet," he said, "I was just a-fixing to break it up with this-here rock, and give 'em some."

"Well, I would, if I was you," murmured Dilsey, with decision, as she pa.s.sed on.

As Philip smashed angrily away with the rock, I marvelled at the vast power in women's hands, and wished there were more Dilseys with the courage to use it.

_Sunday._

Flour all gone,--no more biscuit from now on until the roads open--and no sugar for the little coffee that remains.

_Monday Evening._

To-day the rumor is flying that the remaining Cheevers set the fence up again on the Marrs land Friday and Sat.u.r.day, taking their time, in known security from interruption. Nucky disappeared at noon,--of course he has gone home.

_Tuesday Night._

I was late going over to supper this evening, and had turned out the lights and was locking my door to leave when Nucky ran into the cottage.

He did not see me in the shadow, and evidently believed the house to be deserted, for he flung himself down before the fire in a pa.s.sion of fury and despair, beating the floor with hands and feet. I waited until the storm had subsided a little, then stepped forward into the firelight.

"What does this mean?" I asked.

"Mean!" he replied. "It means that Blant has took leave of his senses,--that he aint at himself no more,--that he has gone plumb back on everything!"