North of Boston Part 9

Our hens and cows and pigs are always better Than folks like us have any business with.

Farmers around twice as well off as we Haven't as good. They don't go with the farm.

One thing you can't help liking about John, He's fond of nice things--too fond, some would say.

But Estelle don't complain: she's like him there.

She wants our hens to be the best there are.

You never saw this room before a show, Full of lank, shivery, half-drowned birds In separate coops, having their plumage done.

The smell of the wet feathers in the heat!

You spoke of John's not being safe to stay with.

You don't know what a gentle lot we are: We wouldn't hurt a hen! You ought to see us Moving a flock of hens from place to place.

We're not allowed to take them upside down, All we can hold together by the legs.

Two at a time's the rule, one on each arm, No matter how far and how many times We have to go."

"You mean that's John's idea."

"And we live up to it; or I don't know What childishness he wouldn't give way to.

He manages to keep the upper hand On his own farm. He's boss. But as to hens: We fence our flowers in and the hens range.

Nothing's too good for them. We say it pays.

John likes to tell the offers he has had, Twenty for this c.o.c.k, twenty-five for that.

He never takes the money. If they're worth That much to sell, they're worth as much to keep.

Bless you, it's all expense, though. Reach me down The little tin box on the cupboard shelf, The upper shelf, the tin box. That's the one.

I'll show you. Here you are."

"What's this?"

"A bill-- For fifty dollars for one Langshang c.o.c.k-- Receipted. And the c.o.c.k is in the yard."

"Not in a gla.s.s case, then?"

"He'd need a tall one: He can eat off a barrel from the ground.

He's been in a gla.s.s case, as you may say, The Crystal Palace, London. He's imported.

John bought him, and we paid the bill with beads-- Wampum, I call it. Mind, we don't complain.

But you see, don't you, we take care of him."

"And like it, too. It makes it all the worse."

"It seems as if. And that's not all: he's helpless In ways that I can hardly tell you of.

Sometimes he gets possessed to keep accounts To see where all the money goes so fast.

You know how men will be ridiculous.

But it's just fun the way he gets bedeviled-- If he's untidy now, what will he be----?

"It makes it all the worse. You must be blind."

"Estelle's the one. You needn't talk to me."

"Can't you and I get to the root of it?

What's the real trouble? What will satisfy her?"

"It's as I say: she's turned from him, that's all."

"But why, when she's well off? Is it the neighbours, Being cut off from friends?"

"We have our friends.

That isn't it. Folks aren't afraid of us."

"She's let it worry her. You stood the strain, And you're her mother."

"But I didn't always.

I didn't relish it along at first.

But I got wonted to it. And besides-- John said I was too old to have grandchildren.

But what's the use of talking when it's done?

She won't come back--it's worse than that--she can't."

"Why do you speak like that? What do you know?

What do you mean?--she's done harm to herself?"

"I mean she's married--married someone else."

"Oho, oho!"

"You don't believe me."

"Yes, I do, Only too well. I knew there must be something!

So that was what was back. She's bad, that's all!"

"Bad to get married when she had the chance?"

"Nonsense! See what's she done! But who, who----"

"Who'd marry her straight out of such a mess?

Say it right out--no matter for her mother.

The man was found. I'd better name no names.

John himself won't imagine who he is."

"Then it's all up. I think I'll get away.

You'll be expecting John. I pity Estelle; I suppose she deserves some pity, too.

You ought to have the kitchen to yourself To break it to him. You may have the job."

"You needn't think you're going to get away.

John's almost here. I've had my eye on someone Coming down Ryan's Hill. I thought 'twas him.

Here he is now. This box! Put it away.

And this bill."

"What's the hurry? He'll unhitch."

"No, he won't, either. He'll just drop the reins And turn Doll out to pasture, rig and all.

She won't get far before the wheels hang up On something--there's no harm. See, there he is!

My, but he looks as if he must have heard!"

John threw the door wide but he didn't enter.

"How are you, neighbour? Just the man I'm after.

Isn't it h.e.l.l," he said. "I want to know.

Come out here if you want to hear me talk.

I'll talk to you, old woman, afterward.

I've got some news that maybe isn't news.

What are they trying to do to me, these two?"

"Do go along with him and stop his shouting."

She raised her voice against the closing door: "Who wants to hear your news, you--dreadful fool?"

The Fear

A LANTERN light from deeper in the barn Shone on a man and woman in the door And threw their lurching shadows on a house Near by, all dark in every glossy window.

A horse's hoof pawed once the hollow floor, And the back of the gig they stood beside Moved in a little. The man grasped a wheel, The woman spoke out sharply, "Whoa, stand still!"

"I saw it just as plain as a white plate,"

She said, "as the light on the dashboard ran Along the bushes at the roadside--a man's face.

You must have seen it too."

"I didn't see it.

Are you sure----"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"--it was a face?"

"Joel, I'll have to look. I can't go in, I can't, and leave a thing like that unsettled.

Doors locked and curtains drawn will make no difference.

I always have felt strange when we came home To the dark house after so long an absence, And the key rattled loudly into place Seemed to warn someone to be getting out At one door as we entered at another.

What if I'm right, and someone all the time-- Don't hold my arm!"

"I say it's someone pa.s.sing."

"You speak as if this were a travelled road.

You forget where we are. What is beyond That he'd be going to or coming from At such an hour of night, and on foot too.