Old Caravan Days Part 4

Grandma Padgett, who in her early days had carried live coals from neighbors' houses miles away, saw how to dispense with lamp or candle. She took a shovel full of embers--and placed a burning chip on top. The chip would have gone out by itself, but was kept blazing by the coals underneath.

"Shall I go ahead?" inquired Robert.

"No, you walk behind. And you might carry a piece of stick," replied his grandmother, conveying a hint which made his shoulder blades feel chilly.

They moved toward the cellar entrance in a slow procession, to keep the chip from flaring out.

"Don't hang to me so!" Grandma Padgett remonstrated with her daughter. "I sh'll step on you, and down we'll all go and set the house afire."

Garrets are cheerful, cobwebby places, always full of slits where long, smoky sun-rays can poke in. An amber warmth cheers the darkness of garrets; you feel certain there is nothing ugly hiding behind the remotest and dustiest box. If rats or mice inhabit it, they are jovial fellows. But how different is a cellar, and especially a cellar neglected. You plunge down rough steps into a cavern. A mouldy air from dried-up and forgotten vegetables meets you. The earth may not be moist underfoot, but it has not the kind feeling of sun-warmed earth. And if big rats hide there, how bold and hideous they are!

There are cool farmhouse cellars floored with cement and shelved with sweet-smelling pine, where apple-bins make incense, and swinging-shelves of b.u.t.ter, tables of milk crocks, lines of fruit cans and home-made catsup bottles, jars of pickles and chowder, and white covered pastry and cake, promise abundant hospitality. But these are inverted garrets, rather than cellars. They are refrigerators for pure air; and they keep a mellow light of their own. When you go into one of them it seems as if the house were standing on its head to express its joy and comfort.

But the Susan House cellar was one of dread, aside from the noise proceeding out of it. Bobaday knew this before they opened a door upon a narrow-throated descent.

One of Zene's stories became vivid. It was a story of a house where n.o.body could stay, though the landlord offered it rent-free. But along came two good youths without any money, and for board and lodging, they undertook to break the spell by sleeping there three nights. The first two nights they were not disturbed, and sat with their candle, reading good books until after midnight. But the third, just on the stroke of twelve, a noise began in the cellar! So they took their candle, and, armed with nothing except good books, went below, and in the furthest corner they saw a little old man with a red nightcap on his head, sitting astride of a barrel! In Zene's story the little old man only had it on his mind to tell these good youths where to dig for his money; and when they had secured the money, he amiably disappeared, and the house was pleasant to live in ever afterward.

This tale, heard in the barn while Zene was greasing harnesses, and heard without Grandma Padgett's sanction, now made her grandson shiver with dread as his feet went down into the Susan House dungeon.

It was trying enough to be exploring a strange cellar full of groans, without straining your eyes in expectation of seeing a little old man in a red nightcap, sitting astride of a barrel!

"Who's there?" said Grandma Padgett with stern emphasis, as she held her beacon stretched out into the cellar.

The groaning ceased for an awful s.p.a.ce of time. Aunt Corinne was behind her nephew, and she squatted on the step to peer with distended eyes, lest some hand should reach up and grab her by the foot.

It was a small square cellar, having earthen sides, but piles of pine boxes made ambushes everywhere.

"Come out!" Grandma Padgett spoke again. "We won't have any tricks played. But if you're hurt, we can help you."

It was like addressing solid darkness, for the chip was languishing upon its coals, and cast but a dim red glare around the shovel.

Still some being crept toward them from the darkness, uttering a prolonged and hearty groan, as if to explode at once the acc.u.mulations of silence.

CHAPTER VI. MR. MATTHEWS.

Aunt Corinne realizing it was a man, rushed to the top of the steps and hid her eyes behind the door. She knew her mother could deal with him, and, if he offered any harm, pour coals of fire upon his head in a literal sense. But she did not feel able to stand by. Robert, on the other hand, seeing no red nightcap on the head thrust up toward them, supported his grandmother strongly, and even helped to pull the man up-stairs.

One touch of his soft, foolish body was enough to convince any one that he was a harmless creature. His foot was sprained.

Robert carried a backless chair and set it before the fire, and on this the limping man was placed. Grandma Padgett emptied her coals on the hearth and surveyed him. He had a red face and bashful eyes, and while the top of his head was quite bald, he had a half-circle of fuzz extending around his face from ear to ear. He wore a roundabout and trousers, and shoes with copper toes. His hands were fat and dimpled as well as freckled. Altogether, he had the appearance of a hugely overgrown boy, ducking his head shyly while Grandma Padgett looked at him.

"For pity sake!" said Grandma Padgett. "What ails the creature?

What's your name, and who are you?"

At that the man chanted off in a nasal sing-song, as if he were accustomed to repeating his rhyme:

J. D. Matthews is my name, Ohio-r is my nation, Mud Creek is my dwellin' place, And glory is my expectation.

"Yes," said Grandma Padgett, removing her gla.s.ses, as she did when very much puzzled.

Corinne, in a distant corner of the lighted room, began to laugh aloud, and after looking towards her, the man laughed also, as if they two were enjoying a joke upon the mother.

"Well, it may be funny, but you gave us enough of a scare with your gruntin' and your groanin'," said Grandma Padgett severely.

J. D. Matthews reminded of his recent tribulations, took up one of his feet and began to groan over it again. He was as shapeless and clumsy as a bear, and this motion seemed not unlike the tiltings of a bear forced to dance.

"There you go," said Grandma Padgett. "Can't you tell how you came in the cellar, and what hurt you?"

Mr. Matthews piped out readily, as if he had packed the stanza into shape between the groans of his underground sojourn:

To the cellar for fuel I did go, And there I met my overthrow; I lost my footing and my candle, And grazed my shin and sprained my ankle.

"The man must be a poet," p.r.o.nounced Grandma Padgett with contempt.

"He has to say everything in rhyme."

Chanted Mr. Matthews:

I was not born in a good time, I cannot speak except in rhyme.

"Ain't he funny?" said Bobaday, rubbing his own knees with enjoyment.

"He's very daft," said the grandmother. "And what to do for him I don't know. We've nothing to eat ourselves. I might wet his foot and tie it up."

Mr. Matthews looked at her smilingly while he recited:

I have a cart that does contain A pana_seer_ for ev'_ry_ pain.

There's coffee, also there is _chee_, Sugar and cakes, bread and hone-ee.

I have parch corn and liniment, Which causes me to feel content.

There is some half a dozen kittles To serve me when I cook my vittles.

b.u.t.ter and eggs I do deal in; To go without would be a sin.

When I sit down to cook my meals, I know how good a king feels.

"Well, if you had your cart handy it would be worth while," said Grandma Padgett indulgently. "But talkin' of such things when the children are hungry only aggravates a body more."

Producing a key from his roundabout pocket, Mr. Matthews lifted his voice and actually sung:

J. D. Matthews' cart stands at your door.

Lady, will you step out and see my store?

I've cally-co and Irish table linen, Domestic gingham and the best o' flannen.

I take eggs and b.u.t.ter for these treasures, I never cheat, but give good measures.

"Let me see if there is a cart," begged Bobaday, reaching for the key which his grandmother reluctantly received.

He then went to the front door and groped in the weeds. The hand-cart was there, and all of Mr. Matthews' statements were found to be true. He had plenty of provisions, as well as a small stock of dry goods and patent medicines, snugly packed in the vehicle which he was in the habit of pushing before him. There were even candles. Grandma Padgett lighted one, and stuck it in an empty liniment bottle. Then she dressed the silly pedler's ankle, and put an abundant supper on the fire to cook in his various kettles; the pedler smiling with pure joy all the time to find himself the centre of such a family party.

Bobaday and Corinne came up, and stood leaning against the ends of the mantel. No poached eggs and toast ever looked so nice; no honey ever had such melting yellow comb; no tea smelled so delicious; no ginger cakes had such a rich moistness. They sat on the carriage cushions and ate their supper with Grandma Padgett. It was placed on the side of an empty box, between them and the pedlerman. He divided his attention betwixt eating and chanting rhymes, interspersing both with furtive laughs, into which he tried to draw the children.