The Primes and their neighbors : ten tales of middle Georgia / by Richard Malcolm Johnston

THE PRIMES * AND THEIR NEIGHBORS
/ TEN TALES OF MIDDLE GEORGIA
BY
RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON
AUTHOR OF WIDOW GUTHEIE, DUKE8&OBOUGH TALES, HARK LANGSTON, ETC.
" Ye happy fields, unknown to noise and strife, The kind rewarders of industrious life; Ye shady woods, where once I used to rove. Alike indulgent to the muse and love."
GENERAL LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF
NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1891

IPS 3 /*f '/
COPYMGHT, 1801,
BT D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
.DEC22-45

TO
4JTem orics of POWELTON,
MY NATIVE VILLAGE.
GENERAL LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CEO

PEEFACE.
WITH "The Durance of Mr. Dickerson Prime," which now appears for the first time, the author has been encouraged to put forth another collection of stories, containing some of those which have been printed recently in the magazines.
"While these sketches^ like their predecessors, are im aginary, except as to the scenes and certain characteris tics which have been selected here and there, they are in harmony with the rural society which the author re members as a lad, and later as a young lawyer whose practice took him into several counties in middle Georgia.
To him it is a very grateful solace to recall persons whose simplicity has been much changed by subsequent conditions, chiefly the Confederate War. Growth of inland towns and multiplication of outside acquaintance have served to diminish, or at least greatly modify, striking rustic individualities; and labor, become more exacting in its demands, has made life more difficult, and therefore more earnest.
33497

6

PREFACE.

Of the present collection, Mr. Gibble Colt's Ducks

appeared in Harper's Magazine, The Humors of Jacky

Bundle in Harper's Weekly, New Discipline at Eock Spring in Harper's Bazar, The Experiment of Miss

Sally Cash, Travis and Major Jonathan Wilby, and The Self-Protection of Mr. littlebury Roach in The Century,

and the others in The Cosmopolitan.

To the publishers of these periodicals the author

j/ tenders his thanks.

BALTIMORE, F&ruary 15,1891.

E. & J.

CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE DURANCE OP ME. DICKERSON PRIME ..... 9 THE COMBUSTION OF JIM RAKESTRAW . . . . .88 THE SELF-PROTECTION OP MR. LITTLEBERRY ROACH . . . JJS THE HUMORS OF JACKY BUNDLE ...... 80 THE EXPERIMENT OF Miss SALLY CASH ..... 100 TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY ..... 136 NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING . . . . . .161 MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE . . . . . . 180 MR. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS ........ 210 THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS ....... 225

THE DURANCE
OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME.
" Sayinge alas ! thus standeth the case, I am a banyshed man." THE NOT-BROWNK MAYD.
I.
MR. DICKERSON PRIME had never heard of the exile of Ovidius in Pontus, or of Demosthenes in JEgina. Occasionally he may have been more or less attentive on Sunday-meeting days, when his preacher, in words not learned but in tones meant to be pathetic,-made vague allusions to Israel's captivity in Babylon. But fullest acquaintance with all history, profane and sacred, would not have shaken his conviction that, for~ the ex tremity of anguish, the world had furnished no instance which, either in the individual or the aggregate, could be justly compared with his own. Perhaps this inten sity of wofulness seemed the more pitiful from the fact that it took place within a hundred yards of his own dwelling-house, through the windows of which, some times on the very piazza, he could observe from be tween the logs of his prison his family, as its members moved about in profoundest anxiety, not so much for him apparently as for themselves.
He was an extremely tall man, lean, lank, dark, both in complexion and in looks. Some persons,

10

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

mainly for the humor of the thing, said that he would have had more meat on his bones if he hadn't been too stingy to eat enough; but others, knowing what a good cook his wife was, and how she made him, whether or not, provide well for her table, argued that, possibly, he ate so much as to be kept poor in carrying it about. / "We all know how variously waggish people will be about such a man.
Indeed, Mrs. Prime habitually bore the looks of a woman who loved and who had the greatest plenty of good things, and was willing for everybody else to have the same. She was short, fat, and fair, approaching to ruddiness. She was even-tempered also in the main; but good wives, like good rules, may have their excep tions, which certify to their goodness in the long run. Mr. Prime knew as well as anybody that he owned a good wife, and he would have been willing to acknowl edge it out and out but for his apprehension that she might be led to dispute the fact that nature, gospel, and municipal law had all contributed to make him the head of his family.
They lived in an unpretending one-story house, with the usual shed-rooms, and owned a reasonably good piece of land, out of which, with the help of four negroes a man, his wife, and two of their half-grown children they got a living and something over. The surplus would have been larger, but that Mrs. Prime, besides a plenty for all, white and black, would (she often avowed that she just would) have some nice clothes for herself J and especially her daughter Cindy. The remonstrances of her husband were kept this side of the limit beyond which experience had taught him to foresee that they

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. H
did less good than harm, and so he contrived to save in every other way wherein his economic intentions met with no insuperable domestic hindrance. His habitual looks were those of a stern and immensely brave man. Yet he was neither. On the contrary, he was obliging to every degree consistent with his parsimoniousness, and of a spirit notably apprehensive of harm to himself or his property. Even a slight cold alarmed him, and, while suffering from it, I wouldn't like to say what quantities of blue-mass, Brandreth's pills, hoarhound, ^ and decoctions of Epsom salts and red pepper, went down his long neck. His obligingness had for its most signal expression the waiting on and the sitting up at ^nights with the sick. Charity of this sort, along with that of bestowing the counsel of multitudinous words in all sorts of exigencies, bodily, mental, spiritual, from a mashed thumb to the knottiest points of election and predestination, commended themselves to him especially because they were inexpensive. It would have wrung his heart to take out of his pocket a silver dollar and give it for the relief of the neediest of his neighbors. But he would go to them in sickness and, taking the peacock-feathers, gently wave them all day long, or all night long sit by the bedside and administer medicine at the doctor's appointed hours, taking his noddings and his wakings up in seasonable times, and reporting at daylight, with equally pleased accuracy, the forward or backward movements of patients. Thus he was in general. But his best was to be seen only at the Sprowlses. Let anybody in that family get sick, if you < wanted to see him in the fullest, most delightsome exercise of his powers on that line. Of his willing sac-

12

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

rifices there liis wife knew more than anybody else, and she used to speak of them with the freedom to which, in all the circumstances, she believed herself entitled.
"I do think on my soul that Mr. Prime is the fondest of sickness that I ever heerd tell of anybody. Not, I don't mean, for hisself. Because the littlest v/thing with him, even to the snufflin' of his nose from a "'bad cold, mighty nigh skeer out his very liver and lights, and if it weren't his insides is so long, they Jsn't any telling what-would happen after the perfect ocean of * physic he seem like it's his bounden duty to take for 'fears of giving up his final ghost, which he acknowledge he's a decided opposed to for yit a many a year. But which I've tried my verest conscientiousest best to tell him in vain that, if so be in his angzieties, he better mind how he expose hisself to every night a'r that is, and special with them Sprowlses that its his very de lights when any o' them gits sick. "Why, if a body will believe me, he come a nigher a-laughin' than he ever do when word come that one of the Sprowlses have the fever, and the doctor say the family have got to be keerful, or he can't take the resk of the case. In them solemn and joyful occasion, he'll pick out Mr. Prime will he'll pick out the very whitest shirt he has got to his name, and on it will he put, and hisself will he J primp the same ef he were goin' to get married a second time, which it is my lone dependence on the good Lord he'll never do, and which of course he'll never be able to do as long as I'm alive, though not as peart and active as I used to be in this vale of tears. And then to the Sprowlses will he shoot. And Mr. Sprowles, that I can't but despise sech ridic'lous

THE DUBANCE OP MB. DICKERSON PRIME. 13
selfish he'll tell people to their very face that its his opinion that Dickerson Prime is the best setter-up with sick people that he ever had any of his family that way, and that if it wasn't for Dickerson Prime he have no idea what could be did in sech a sitooation, and all sech that it makes Mr. Prime that proud that when he come back home, look alike he's most ashamed of sech people as me and- Cindy; but, 1 can tell you this now, he's not as much ashamed of me and Cindy as me and Cindy is ashamed of him, special Cindy,- as she have good reason for it. But I tell her to never mind, that the Scriptur' say the Lord will provide, and that in due time; and so Cindy'll go 'long and try to be riconciled to all the consequences. That's thes the way Cindy act, that her own father don't know the values of her."
It was but another instance of the sympathy of the weak for the powerful, out of which was made the best literature of former times. The Sprowlses,. with their hundred slaves and two thousand acres, accepted such service as one of the items of their dues. Its bestower was thankful that it was as cheap as it was hearty, espe cially that it was publicly recognized. He loved to be known as a friend of the Sprowlses, with whose family he longed for his own to be joined. Rather than part from such notoriety and the hope of its increase, he would have been glad to sit up every night with their gick and help to bury almost every one of their dead.

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
II.
THE Sprowlses lived a mile to the east of the Primes. /Their mansion, much finer outside than inside, big and white, stood in the midst of their negro cabins, surf rounded by their broad acres. John Sprowls, the head of the family, was long, lean, dark, and money-loving, like his nearest neighbor, but far more successful in money-getting. There were several children among whom this property was to be divided, but not now. The owner had worked too hard for it to be given away to anybody quite yet. Indeed, he had worked hard so hard that he had never taken the time to learn any better manners than those which he had started with; and he was proud to feel that he had never needed them, and that he did not need them now. He. had a ratHer pleasant sort of pity for his wife, who was always trying to make things in the house and about the yard a little more genteel, and sometimes, not often, let her get what would contribute to that end. He condescended to be worshiped by Mr. Prime, as much as the latter desired. Mr. Prime gloried in being on entirely friendly, almost intimate terms with a man who, no higher born than himself, hardly as high, no more industrious, no more economical, not even as well mannered, had risen so far above him. He must be lieve that there was a secret in such luck, and his hope was, either to find it out, or in some degree become a participant in its ultimate revealings. His wife and daughter might be ashamed of such servility if they preferred; but he intended to continue paying respect

THE DURANCE OF MR, DICKERSON PRIME. 15
where it was so manifestly due, and whence he hoped that some of its prosperity and glory might befall his
own family. The one Sprowls whom I have singled out for the lit
tle story which I now have in hand, on whom Mr. Prime looked to become the link for such exalted connection, was Jim. l^one ever called him anything but Jim. He wasn't worth it, and everybody^except Mr. Prime knew it; and the fellow might have kept on courting Cindy Prime, and kept on, and he never would have ousted Billy Sams from her affections. There was noth-1 ing in the world to recommend Jim Sprowls except his ' being the son of his father, and just like him in all points but one, and that was industry. He never would work unless when made to do it; and now that he was oneand-twenty, the question was, what next ? He answered, saying that he would go over to Mr. Prime's and marry Cindy. For his father had said that, if he would take Cindy Prime, the probability was that he would give him a hundred acres of land adjoining the Primes, and gome other property to start with. But Billy Sams was in there before him, and in there to stay, no mat ter how long things were to be put off by paternal hostility.
Cindy was fair, like her mother, and as for plump, and sweet, and all such as that, there wasn't a single soul among all her acquaintance who, if speaking honestly, wouldn't have said that Cindy Prime had as great a plenty of these as any girl ought to have, or should want to have. Billy's people were poor; but they had a nice tract of good land, which he managed for his widowed mother and his younger brother Bobby, and they were"

16

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

doing very well very well indeed. Billy was good-1 looking, too not so fair as Cindy, nor tall like Jim Sprowls, but he was fair enough in her estimation, and tall enough. If she had had the power to alter him in any way, it would have been only to make him accept able to her father. Her mother was all right, although, loyal wife that she was, she counseled patience and submission to the father's authority. And so Cindy wouldn't promise Billy, out and out, in so many words, but she acknowledged to him over and over again that she loved him with every single bit of the heart which she hoped she carried in her bosom, be it much or be it little. Billy tried to be reconciled, hard as it was, con sidering how pretty she was, how modest, how smart, how how everything, and yet seemingly unaware of it herself. He would have run off with Cindy any day that she would have let him say the word. But Cindy said, no. Wait till she was twenty-one, when she could do so without breaking the commandment of Scripture. It was only three short years, and Billy himself was only twenty. Three short years was the way she spoke of them. To Billy they seemed three hundred at the very lowest estimate, at the end of which Cindy, or he, or both, if not dead, would be so extremely aged that it wouldn't be worth while to try to get any reasonable amount of enjoyment out of what little remnant of vitality would be spared. One day Billy actually cried at the hopeless distance of such a prospect. But when Cindy told him that, if his object was to break her heart right in two, that was the very way to do it, he dried his eyes, and did not do so again as long as he could help it. Yet he and Mrs. Prime often had their sympar

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 17
thetic sheddings of tears, after which her tender heart would suggest comforting words.
"Never mind, Billy; it'll come right some time, and then you and Cindy will be glad it didn't come sooner. Its jest that Mr. Prime is so took up with the very name of the Sprowlses that he can't see how no manner of account Jim Sprowls is, and that all his pa's promising what he'll do if Cindy'll take him is jest to palm Jim off himself and on to Mr. Prime, which, even if he didn't Cindy'd no more marry Jim Sprowls than she'd die a old maid first, and that the wrinkliest, and the stringiest, and the scrawniest that ever come about. What more could the mother of a girl say, and try to keep herself dilicate ? You go 'long and keep up a stiff upper lip, Billy. It'll come right, and that to my opinion sooner than anybody know a-cording to the very word of Scriptur' which say to them it will in no wise disapp'int."
One day, after yet another exchange of sweet sym pathies, she said to him:
" Jim Sprowls have been over here this very mornin', and Cindy say its the dozent or the thirteent time, she say she can't ric'lect which, that she have told him to his face that he needn't pester hisself .to come over here on sech a arrant not a nare another time, and she say he say, Jim do, that he ain't; and that he mean to go away into foreign land. And I hope for Mr. Prime's sake, if for nobody else's, that he will. So don't you be down-hearted, Billy. The Scriptur' say, you know, that the Lord will provide to them that knock at the door, and stand a-waitin' patient."
In all this while Mr. Prime had never tried to 2

18 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
force the match which he so earnestly desired. He knew better, even if (as he was not) he had been a man of despotic spirit. He had found out, not very often, but enough so to satisfy any curiosity which he might have had, that his wife had a temper which on occa fiions could rise as high as the next woman's. Indus trious as the days were long, neat as a pin, she was courageous, and both hawks and Guinea-chickens knew that she could handle a gun with a man's dexterity when her barn-yard was invaded by the former, or when one of the latter hoped to avoid the dinner-oven by too rapid flight, or by seeking refuge in one of the yard trees. So Mr. Prime kept himself within sullen hostility to Billy Sams, while he devoted himself more and more to the Sprowlses.
IIL
JIM SPROWLS wasn't at all noted for being as good as his word; but this time he was. On the evening after his last appeal to Cindy (twelfth or thirteenth, whichever it was), he said to his father:
" Cindy's flung me again, and I don't feel like stayin' about here; and, if you'll let me have some money, I'll go away and git my livin' somewhere else."
"If Dick'son Prime would use the athority which the very law give a head o' his family; but ?J
He stopped, and after reflecting a few moments, said:
" Jim, T'll do it, that is to a extent. As you can't

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 19
git even as poor a girl as Cindy Prime, with her own father to back you, and as you ain't any manner o* use here, my opinions is you may jest as well spread out. You can do well if you'll simple foller the varous egzamples-I have sot before you: that I started without a dollar to my name, and by workin', and by savin', and by tradin', people sees what's around me. I'll let you have yes, I'll let you have a hundred dollars, which it's, to a cent, jest that much more'n I had, when I come a man and left my parrents; and I never went back, and if I had, it been no use, as they had nothin' to give, and if they had they wouldn't; and I expect you to do the same. Where you expect to strike for ?"
" I think I'll try it in Augusty." "All right; there's where I struck first when I come from South Callina. I picked up somethin' there, one way and another, enough to start with, then I moved on till right here, where I stuck. You got my egzampul before you, Jim, and, if it's in you, you can do likeways; but it's to be understood betwix us, you don't come back here without you come full-handed." After three days Jim departed. He said to Mr. Prime, who came over to bid him good-by, that the time would come, and that before so very long, that people would see for themselves what was in him. Mr. Prime said he hoped it, nay, he believed it. Then he went back home, where, if any change in his deport ment was remarked, it was somewhat more grave re serve in his family and more emphatic sullenness toward Billy Sams. Jim, according to the injunction of his mother, wrote to her now and then, every letter boasting, yet

20 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. :
not too extravagantly, that, like his father before him, he had been picking up one thing and another. It was March when he went off. Early in December he wrote that, if he could put his business in shape to allow it so soon, he might make about Christmas merely a short call on them at home on his way to the West, whither he should be bound, unless something better, which he doubted, should seem to turn up in his native region* He had about concluded that his proper home lay in the West the far West. And so, on the Saturday night before the regular monthly third-Sunday meeting at the big church, here came Jim. And if anybody ever did look improved in that length of time it was Jim Sprowls, with his Augusta clothes and sleek face, rattling the silver in his trousers-pockets as his hands /searched for sevenpences and thrips to divide among his little brothers and sisters. To his father's inquiries he answered generally, because, fact was, collections in all trades in Augusta had not been up to the average this fall. Yet he said calmly that his own matters had been left in the hands of an entirely reliable agent, who doubtless would remit shortly, and after this he himself would start for the West. Mr. Sprowls did not press for detailed information, satisfied to take all for granted. To the scores and scores of friends and acquaintances with whom he shook hands and talked the next morn ing, before and after service at the meeting-house, it seemed as if people's memories surely must be wrong about his having been gone no more than nine months, remarking, as they did, those town manners, that face grave in spite of its shininess, that calm knowledge of Augusta and its varied industries. The sweetness in the

heart of Mr. Prime would have been even more overflow ing but for the possible thought that Jim had grown above all fancy for Cindy. For, if not, surely Mrs. Prime would come to some sort of reason, and Cindy would not persist in keeping herself such a f no, he wouldn't say the word about her, even inwardly, although with her ma, actually hurrying her ma, she had packed her self into the meeting-house as soon as she got there, and, the very minute when the congregation was dis missed, packed herself on her horse and given him a cluck to start him for home. In atonement, as far as it would go, for such rudeness, her father just gave him self up to Jim, followed him about, noted with delight the complimentary words and looks of everybody, rode with him home, and accepted an invitation to dinner.
" Jeerns," he said, as he was leaving, " what is it have made you look so well and healthy, and shiny in the face?"
" I don't know, Mr. Prime. It's just here for a day or two it's been so. Ma says she ain't sure but what I've takin' the measles. The things had broke out bad in the house I boarded at in Augusty, but I had 'em five or six years ago. Still, I don't feel quite well last night and to-day."
" Psher ! It's no measles. It's jest the amount o' healthy you've picked up in your active about business. Come and see us."
" I will, Mr. Prime, before I go." After he was gone, Jim said he believed he'd He down awhile. " Never, in all my lifetime, have I see a boy so pick up in that lenk o' time."

22

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

" Yes, Mr. Prime, lie have on sto' clothes, and his looks have cert'n had a change, a-providin' he have not took to drink." </ "I has no idees of them kind, Kizzy. None of the Sprowlses that anybody know of has ever been drinkin' people. Missis Sprowls says she suspicion he may be a-taken o' the measles; but to my certain 'memb'ance he had his full share o' them, and they were o' the big kind that went all through the settlement five year ago. To my opinion its jest simple ex'cise of /good active healths and cons'tution."
The next day, on repairing to Mr. Sprowles's house, Mr. Prime was astonished to find Jim restless, feverish, /taking cupful after cupful of tansy bitters, and the mea sles breaking out as plentiful as blackberrries. Delighted as usual at an opportunity of rendering service to the dis tinguished family, he went back home and saw to what business was on hand, gave directions for the morrow's work, got out his same whitest shirt, returned, and joined in taking special charge of the sick of the measles. The latter grew worse instead of better. Mr. Prime, un derstanding all about handling such things, was nigh ecstatic at the thought that he was there to minister to wants and to comfort the anxious mother. For the father, disgusted that Jim had come home in such a plight, had turned him over to the rest of the family and gone to bed before nine o'clock. Mr. Prime, since Jim could neither sleep nor let anybody else have even an occasional furtive nod, about an hour before day, gave in to the mother's saying that she felt that the doctor ought to be sent for.
" It's a expense, Missis Sprowls, that I always in genii

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 23
tries to git out of; for them doctors, they'll come many time, and when they see what you been a-givin' they'll prob'le give the same physic but in a diff'nt unber-knownst way, and then say they done the cuorin', and charge a-cordin'. Still, Jeeijis seem like restless and tarrified with the things, and I ain't dispoged to take the respons'bility o' the case, special when I'll acknowledge that them measles seem like they intends to be bigger than I have yit ever come up with. Send for Dr. Lewis, if you don't feel complete easy in your mind."
A shade passed over the face of the physician as, not long after the dawn, he entered the room and looked at the patient. A gifted man, educated at the Medical School of Philadelphia, he almost instantly divined the malady. After a brief inspection he rose, and, beck oning to Mr. Prime and Mr. Sprowls, the latter of whom hadr just risen from his bed and come in, they went out to the piazza, where he said:
" Mr. Sprowls, I am sorry to have to tell you so; but Jim has come home with the small-pox."
IV.
O CLIO, Muse of History, holder of the half-opened scroll, inventress of the cithara, through the wrath of Yenus unwilling mother of Hyacinthus who was des tined to be slain by the discus of Apollo, and
But no: I am as well aware as anybody that such language is both inappropriate and inadequate; I was momentarily betrayed into attempting some sort of invo-

24:

THE PRIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.

cation by thoughts of a panic in the time of my youth after whose passage I conceived, the hope, continued until now with undiminished fervor, that another like it may not befall until after I am gone. Surely such limitless terror, such exasperated resentment never came so unexpectedly upon a rural community a few hours before so peaceful, so secure, so content with life's abounding blessedness. Nothing but the calm presence of mind of Dr. Lewis could have prevented extremes of feeling and action which might have been disastrous in many ways. Few ideas about death or the devil could be fairly compared with those entertained among country people of that period about the small-pox. This physician, knowing that the promptest action was necessary, after a few minutes' stay with Jim, galloped to the court-house and had convened a quorum of the County Court, by which an order was passed to send runners to Augusta, Milledgeville, and Macon, in order to obtain vaccine virus, and for the detail of prudent men in every militia district to distribute it among the people, not one of whom in a hundred, perhaps, had ever been thus treated. A proclamation, as far from discouraging as Dr. Lewis could make it, was signed by the judges, who immediately afterward adjourned, fled to their houses, and stayed there.
But I must keep with the people of my story. Mr. Sprowls was not very much of what people J called a " reg'lar-built, tore-down cusser." But, on the report by Dr. Lewis of his diagnosis of Jim's case, he tried out of the abundance of his heart to do his very best, in justice to the subject.
"O Mr. Sprowls!" pleaded his wife, "is this a

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 25
time for cursing? Dr. Lewis tells us what we must do."
"Yes, by bloods and thunders!" roared the hus band. " It's been a-comin' ever sence the triflin', no-aecount creetur come into the world; and now the pot have b'iled over sence he have ruined hisself, my God a'mighty, and everybody else!"
" Well," she replied, submissively, " we must try to make the best of what is sent us, and "
" Make the best! I say, make the best! make the worst! Ab, you Ab!" he roared to a negro in the horse-lot, " you fetch out Bill, and saddle him and bridle him. Betsy, you and Dickerson and the doctor here, you'll have to tend to this case the best you "
" Mr. Sprowls," said Dr. Lewis, " I advise, I warn you to countermand that order. If in this extremity you abandon your own son to his mother's sole care, you ought to be, and by the Lord I hope you will be, the first to perish by the disease! And if you run away, and it strikes you, don't send for me; for, before I would raise a finger to help you, I would let you die like a dog! As for Mr. Prime, he must try to take care of himself, both for his own sake and that of his family. You've got to stay here, right here, and by the bedside of Jim, if not to serve him, to assist and strengthen your wife in the service which she has to render. Besides, there's no family, when this case be comes known, as it will be as soon as I can ride to town, that would let you come even inside of their gate. Mrs. Sprowls, luckily I have in my saddle-bags a small quantity of vaccine matter. It is almost a sure preventive when taken in time, but I must say, in can-

26
dor, I fear it is not in the cases of you and Mr. Prime. I'll vaccinate you first, Mr. Prime, so that you can retire at once. Pull off your coat, if you please, and roll up your sleeve."
Yast as was the distance to be traversed, that sleeve went from wrist to shoulder as one with violent hands might tear the skin from an overgrown eel. The doc tor for long afterward used to say that he was often haunted by the countenance worn by Mr. Prime during this operation.
" Now return home;" but I warn you to take lodging for a while in your cotton-house near the gate. It will not do for your family to become exposed."
People may have seen and been told of strides. But I boldly venture the expression of opinion that not many have ever approximated as near perfection as those made by Mr. Prime while gathering up the space between the Sprowlses and his own front gate. They were the more remarkable because his conscience, only less active than his fright, kept telling him that they ought to have been made in the exact opposite direction and continued unceasingly until they had taken him to the other end of the world. As the doc tor was galloping past him, he cried:
" O Lordy, Dock Lewis! please tell Kizzy to please try to forgive me if she possible can, and be as leaniwent with me as as every thing will, and can, and do admit of, when she ought to know that the good Lord know I weren't a no more a-expectin' nor a-lookin' for seen a thing than if the very Bad Man hisself had a-riz out o' his wery bottom abodes with his coals er fire in his hand, and come a-runnin' up plump ag'in me.

THE DURANCE OP MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 27
Please, Dock Lewis, won't you? And please give me a little more o' that truck you slit in my arm, as the *t'other mayn't be quite enough for it to take ranktholt."
" It's quite enough, what I inserted, Mr. Prime; still, as you have been so much exposed, I'll leave with you a little more."
Giving him directions how to treat himself, and promising to plead for him as requested, the physician spurred his horse onward.
The time had come at last, in the opinion of Mrs. Prime, to let her husband know, if he had not been made fully aware theretofore, of the precise sort of ma terial of which the person whom he regarded a portion of his property was composed. After announcing his news, vaccinating mother and daughter, and making a brief appeal for the coming penitent, the doctor, re mounting, hurried on toward the court-house. The first movement made by the lady in furtherance of her pur pose was to take down the shot-gun from its pegs. Find ing that the pan was even full of good dry powder, she marched out and leaned the weapon against a stump a few feet on this side of the cotton-house which stood on a side of the walk just within the yard. Next she got out some of the most worn of the bedclothes, and, along with a shuck mattress, she and the cook took them to the cotton-house, wherein as comfortable a spread was made as time and the circumstances seemed to allow. Cindy had run over to the Samses, according to the doctor's suggestion, to vaccinate all there. Billy said afterward that it was a sight, and I have not a doubt that it was, to see Cindy blushing all over as she held

28

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

liis naked arm, and was afraid of Imrting it more than was necessary.
But I can't stop to tell about such events as these. My business now is with Cindy's mother. She had barely finished the operation of turning the cotton-house into a hospital, when she felt that her presence would shortly be needed at the gate. Thither, arming herself with the shot-gun, she presently repaired.

Y.
WOFULLY, yet with unslackened speed, Mr. Prime came on, dragging his vast length along! When within a few rods of the gate, it seemed to him that he heard the cocking of some sort of fire-arm. Lifting his for lorn head, he first looked into the muzzle, then halted amain.
" Well, you may stop where you stand!" Loud, firm was the gunner's tone. The breech was at her shoulder, one eye was shut, the other sighting along the barrel.
" Wonder ought to be with everybody that you had the oudacious to come back that fur."
" The good Lord, Kizzy! do, please let up that gun! It's to be hope I ain't goin' to have the things, and, if I am, I ain't prepar'd to die till I can have a little bit o' prip'ration, and "
" Si-lunce ! " The open mouth closed as tightly as an oyster. " Dickerson Prime, it's only a few words I'm a-goin' to waste on you. Hain't I told you more times

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 20
than they is gravel in the road from here plumb to the Sprowises, a-mcludin' o' both yards, that somethin' was a-goin' to come of your following of them people and a actual letting 'em own you the same they own their horses, and their cattle, and their very sheep ? Hush ! I don't want any answer from you; that is, not tell yit. And if you think to palm off on me, and special on Cindy, them mortual diseases and things that that triflin', good-for-nothin' Jim Sprowls brung back with him from his prowlin's all around the country, all I got to say, you never made sech a mistake sence the day and hour you come into this world. Now, sir, I have fixed a mattress and some sort o' things in the cotton-house, and you can other go in thar, or you can whirl your back around, and go back to the Sprowlses, or roam about in genal tell its settled what's to come of all this tarrifyin' business, which, if it wasn't for Cindy, I might try to stand it, that the poor child look like her own father keers no more for her than if she was somebody else's offspring, and not nigh as much as for them Sprowlses. Which-will-you-do ? I want a answer now! Which ? Cotton-house, or take yourself clean off ? And you may let this gun decide, that is a-'pinted right at your breast."
" Cotton-house, Kizzy, cotton-house! Do, for the Lord's sake, let her down !"
" Yery well, then," she said, taking down the gun and slowly backing.
The door was small, and he had to enter horizon tally. Stepping upon the block that stood before it, he thrust in one leg, but instantly withdrew it. As if momentarily reflecting that the expression of beseech-

30 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
ing in his back would be less pitiful than that in his front, he turned and backing in first one leg then the other, drew in the rest. Peering through the logs, he said:
" Eozzy, if you and the good Lord'11 forgive me this time, and I don't die, I'll never do so again; and, if you want me, I'll swar to it."
" Sech as that is too late, Dickerson Prime. All I want to be understood, and it's got to be understood, that you're to move no further toward the house than this here stump, where I'll fetch, my very self, your victuals and a pitcher of water three times a day. That cottonhouse is to be your home till the doctor gives the word you can come out, be it a-livin' or be it dead; and as for this gun, which I'm a-holdin' in my hand, it'll be kept a-standing right there behind the front door; because it's Cindy I'll be a-thinking about and not myself, a not withstanding the good Lord know, and I won't try to </disgwige I'm skeered to death o' the things myself, but nothing to the extent I am for poor Cindy."
By reason of the precautionary suggestions of Dr. Lewis, the malady was confined to Jim Sprowls and v a case of varioloid with his mother. The father by skillfulest dodging managed to escape. The panic in time subsided. During its continuance a gloom, black as the pall of a coffin, overhung the community. Never, in the whole history of families therein, had there been as much staying in the house oa the part of the heads of families, and as many avowed resolves to live, if spared this time, better lives, In imagination men parted from their wives and children, and after lan^guishing in loathsomest lazarettos, perished and were left unbaried. Housewives afterward declared that

31
never before had husbands made themselves so useful within the domestic circle. Feeling that these might be their last opportunities, they sedulously tried to make amends for their past short-comings. They helped to \ sweep the houses and the yards, insisted upon making the fires, sewed buttons on their own and their boys' clothes, fed the chickens, and at odd times read the Bible, and did other things characteristic of a people stricken in some dolorous manner they knew not how. Lifted in some degree above abject despondency, when the vaccine had taken, they moved about their homes with rolled-up sleeves looking fondly upon their blossom ing arms, and indulging in timid hopes that the end of the world was not as near as had been expected. "When the panic was at last subdued, and people emerged from their seclusion
But this story will not admit of such enlargement as that would require. So, leaving it to the future historian to elaborate, I conclude what I had to say for the Primes, including Billy Sams. Would you like to know what was done by the latter immediately after the vaccination all around by Cindy's deft, tender, com passionate fingers? Reflecting that Jim Sprowls hav ing shown what was in him, it might be as well for Mr. Prime to find out what was in his humble rival, Billy said that he was going right with Cindy straight back home.
" O Billy!" remonstrated Cindy, feeling it was her duty. "It's too dangerous. Besides, you'll be needed here."
" The bigger the danger, the more I'm a-goin'," he answered, looking becomingly stern.

32
Cindy appealed to his mother, who answered : " Let him go on, Cindy; the boy'll be jes distracted anyhow if he know yon in danger and him not there to f ward it off. Me and Johnny can manage with him to come over once't a day and look around. Go long, my son, and take good keer yonrself and the rest. The good Lord ain't a-goin' to forsaken them that tries to do right." They needed not have waited for joining of hands until they had passed one gate, nor parted them on reaching the other, for their love was as pure as it was sweet, the more because of their solemn apprehensions. On their arrival, after a hasty greeting with Mrs. Prime, who was wildly busied and tumultuously flustered, the first thing that Billy did was to march firmly toward the cotton-house, pause, as- if only momentarily, at Mr. Prime's dining-stump, and clear his throat loudly. " Stop where you stand, Billy Sams, if you have any respects of yourself, and your ma, and Johnny, and anybody else to which the everlastin' things could be scattered promiscous. Mister Prime, you goin' to let that boy expoge hisself, that it look like you're been and / gone and lost what feelin's you had for other people, besides the little senses is left to your own self ? I jes ^ declar' that things have got to a pass if they never done it before." The appeal affected the exile, who upon his knees was putting up the best he had in his repertory of prayers and supplications. Feebly he began to rise, his ascent not wholly unlike the slow, cautious letting out of a vast telescope. When the extreme length was at tained, with abject pitifulness he said :

THE DURANCE OP ME. DICKERSON PRIME. 33
" Mayby you better stop there at the stump, Billy. Kizzy say so, and I reckon she knows. But if you ever see a poor, lonesome creetur', that I'm thankful to be this nigh to a human of some sort, a bein' clean shet ^ out where the good Lord know, if he know my heart, he know I were never a-wantin' of it, nor a-expectin' it."
" I'm sorry for you, Mr. Prime," said Billy. " In deed I am, and I come over to tell you that I'll tend to what you want done in your business, and see to things, and, if you git sick, which it's to be hoped you won't, I'll take the resk of Mrs. Prime and Cindy, and wait on you same if you was my own father."
" God a'mighty bless you, my son! and if I ever do git out o' this place, and I'm a-livin', I'll be a father to you, Billy that is, in reason."
" Thanky, Mr. Prime." That night, during a short visit to his own home, Billy said to his mother: " Ma, not to go no further, I do think Mr. Prime were the solemncholomst, the woe- tbegondest, and the very raggidifacedest human you ever ^ let eyes on. He were powerful thankful I come, and he said things that Dr. Lewis told me, if it was him 'stid o' me, he'd act on 'em, he would." Then he hastened back. He was as good as his word. If it hadn't been for him, there is no telling how things would have gone to pieces. He made up his mind that, so far as he was concerned, others must be as good as their word also, provided he could make them. That same night, while Billy was away, Cindy put to her mother a very pointed question. " The laws me, v
3

34: THE PEIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBOR&
child!" was the answer. "Don't you see how dis tracted I am, not only in my mind but in my body too, a-includin' of my very flesht and blood? And not another word will I open my mouth, exceptin' to add for your comfort and consolation that I do think on my soul Billy Sams is one among a thousand, and if I'm to be the widder I not expected, leastways not nigh so soon, it look hard for you to be a orphant if it can be prewented: but which it's for you to decide accordin' to what few lights them Sprowlses and your father hain't put out by their works, which, if it was me, as Dock Lewis say but I have made up my mind in sech a case to be silent as a mice, as the saying is, because when your father git out o' that cotton- house, if he's alive, as Dock Lewis say he think he'll be, they is posi tive no tellin' who he'll be the maddest with, but which to me myself that ain't neither here nor there, and by that time he'll know it if he don't before. But with you it's differ'nt, and but, Cindy, the tearin' up and the flust'rin' I've been through this blessed day has made me that tired and sleepy that it seem like to me I hain't the enigy to pull off my clothes, and wash my face >i and fix my ha'r to go to bed decent, a-lettin' alone of sayin' my pra'ars, which, if they ever did come in season'ble and reason'ble, it seem like now's the time. When Billy come back from his ma's, if you and him is that foolish, you may set up till ten o'clock, but no longer. As for me, I'm off to bed, a-hopin' in my soul ^ that nary sech another day may bring forth, and aprayin' thet things mayn't be worse before they're better. And as for Billy, I sha'n't open my mouth ex ception to say that if he have a equil, I don't know him.

THE DURANCE OP ME. DICKERSON PRIME. 35
As for the rest, that's betwixt you and him and your God in the oppechunity, which look like to me it's a-most a marricle, though I don't intend to open my mouth one way nor another."
She went off to bed. Greater people have had trysts perhaps more fit for poets' lays, but Billy and Cindy in their allotted hour never even thought of that. When the clock struck ten, Cindy, however reluctant she may have been, rose and retired. Billy went out to the stump, and listened until his ear caught the prolonged, profound snorings that were issuing between the logs of the cotton-house. Then he repaired noiselessly to the other shed-room on the back piazza opposite that in which Cindy lay, and both, awake and asleep, dreamed of things of which no poet could justly write or tell. What remains shall be told by Mr. Prime, who was never tired of talking about it all. " Yes, I'll jes' acknowledge to all survivin' friends, and people of all sort, that when I come to die good an' all, out an' out, an' no mistake, my everlastin' hopes has been, an' is, that I ain't to be tore up in my mind like I were on all them solemn occasion. When Dock Lewis brung out word that Jeems have fotch the small-pok home with him, I come a mighty nigh a drappin' dead in my tracks right thar in the Sprowls' peazer. An' as I went on home, seem like to me I were skearder o' Kizzy than I were of hit; because, if so be she's a ruther a small female, an' calm accordin' in gen'l, yit, when she git mad an' skeard, to boot, it ain't everybody that they hadn't ought to git out her way for the time a-bein'. And so, lo an' behold, when I have arriv' at
GENERAL LIBRARY
J

36 THE PRIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS,
the gate, and see her with the gun cocked, a-pintin' level at my bres, which she never have failed yit to fetch down anything she were aimed right straight at in her range, I thes flung up my hands an'
"But Kizzy she say atterwards, she hain't no no tions o' pullin' the trigger on me, an' were only a jes' a-hintm' the abs'lute necess'ty o' me gittin' in the cot ton-house amejiant, which nare rat that ever had a hole ever tuck to it quicker. An' it's jes' not worth while for me to try to make people understand what I went i/ thro in that same cotton-house, let alone night, but the very daytime, when here was me, jes' me, by my lone self, and outside there was Kizzy, an? Cindy, an? Billy, an1 the niggers, all a-movin' aroun' same if I been dead, an' they settlin' up my estates. An' as for the lint o' that cotton, well now, honest', it do seem like to me I never will git it out, not clar, I mean, out my eyes, an? my nose, an? my very throat an' bres. An' then, you know, I might nigh as well a had the things theyself, for the eefeck o' keepin' a constant a-punchin' in my arms o' that stuff Dock Lewis give me, which Kizzy'11 tell you herself they weren't a place on nare arm you could lay down a silver dollar whar it hadn't took.
" Now, Billy well, as for Billy Sams, when he come over thar so amejiant, and say he come to take the resk o' me and all on the place, I used words to the full extents of which to Billy was not my meanin'; but the very next day him and Cindy they whirled in and got married! Kizzy say aterwards, if I have anybody to git mad with, it were Dock Lewis, which it wer him that saved my life, an' he told Billy he had the rights from what I have promus'd with my own mouth; and

THE DURANCE OF MR. DICKERSON PRIME. 37
that as for her, she never much as opened her mouth; and she told Cindy she would not exception that the idees of her bein' a widder an' Cindy bein' a orphant, both at one time an' onexpected, seem like to her was more'n ought to be putt on any one family in gen'l; an' Dock Lewis, why he jes' backed 'em all up squar. And so why, law me! What was the use? There they wus, married an' a'most forgot it, time I got out ag'in 'rnong the land o' the livin'; anj, tell the truth, I were that thankful, seem like I couldn't fetch my mind to think, nor keer so overly much about anythin' ex ception o' my own self.
"And as for Jeems Sprowls, I don't 'member as I ever seen as many people, special females, of all age, to not be glad the small-pok never kill't him. When he got up at last I never went anigh him; but them that see him say he were scaly in the face as a pineburrer, an' knotty same as a cowcummer. Atter that, seem like to him, an' everybody else, that he better leave them coast; and my sispicion is, may be his ma \ know, but they an't nobody else know whar Jeems Sprowls is."

THE COMBUSTION
OF JIM KAKESTKAW.
" But brief his joy; he feels the fiery wound."--WINDSOR FOREST.
"You nrast of ben too young to 'member Len /Cane, weren't you?" said my old friend Mr. Pate one
day while I was on a visit to the old settlement. I answered that I remembered having seen him
once or twice, though then he had far passed his prime. In his day he was well known; indeed, somewhat fa mous throughout a limited territory bordering on the creek and the mill-pond. Diminutive, long-headed, thinheaded, with the blackest of hair and the brightest of eyes, he looked old when he was young, and rather young when he was old.
"Yes, sir," Mr. Pate would say, "the older he growed arfter he got what growth he did git, 'pear'd like the littler and the younger he got. He were a curosity, Len were. But everybody liked him, because, though he were one o' the silentest and say-nothin'est creeters you ever see, yet he were one of the best natured and one o' the commodatin'est."
The account given by my old friend was so circum stantial that I feel that I must often abridge so as to keep within reasonable limits.
Mr. Cane, though remarkably taciturn, was always

THE COMBUSTION OF JIM RAKESTRAW. 89
an attentive, often an eager, listener, and was ever keenly observant.
"Was he a married man, Mr. Pate? I was so young at the time of his passing away that I do not re member as to that."
"Married? Len Cane? Bless your soul, not he. I don't supposen that Len Cane never had the 'motest idea o' ever tryin' to get married. He used to say that he was homed a bach'lor. They used to sorter joke him about wimming and gurls, and, exceptin' in the case o' Jim Rakestraw, he allays tuck it in good part. One day he says to me for him an' me was allays friendly, and even ruther thick, that is as fur as he could git thick with anybody says he :
"' S'her', Mr. Pate, 'tain't no use for people to be wastin' their words a-talkin' to me 'bout marryin'. I weren't horned to git married. I'd a never of suited no woman, even ef I had of thought I could of got one that might of suited me. Ausbon have a wife and a whole pile o' children, and them's enough for the Cane folks; much as Ausbon can do, with me to help him, to s'port them, let alone the fetehin' in more mouths to feed.'
"Jim Rakestraw, when he ever plagued him about his constant a bachelorin', Len 'd in general say about so:
" ' Jim, they's some men, and they's more of wim ming, that would of done better than they done ef they hadn't of got married, and special to them that they tuck up with.'
" Sech as that would sort of shet up Jim Rakestraw, because you see it flung the laugh on to him."
Mr. Cane's ostensible home was with his younger

40

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

brother, Ausbon, who dwelt near the head of the millpond, and he justly regarded the various jobs done by himself about the house and yard, not counting in the game he brought, as fully compensatory for the little he consumed in board and the trifling care needed for his ' comfort. He had a small back-shed room wherein he usually slept at night when not on the creek banks. Kot unfrequently he got his meals elsewhere. For he was welcome, and for fully sufficient reasons, at most of the houses in the neighborhood. He was never employed at regular work requiring much time for its consummation, unless one might so style his persistent, successful pursuit of game and fish, of which at that time there was a considerable quantity in the forests and streams of Middle Georgia. It used to seem that it was the mill-pond that had contributed most to make him what he was.
" Yes, sir; yes, sir," Mr. Pate said with emphasis, " Len Cane, it seem to me, that he were a creeter o' the creek. The same, in an' about, as ef he'd of ben a otter, J er a mussrat, er a wild duck. They weren't no tellin' what he'd of come to if he'd ef ben borned an' raised in a high, dry, open settlement. My 'pinions allays has been that he'd of jes' come to nothin', er he'd jes' drindled and drindled from the word go down to nothin'. As it were, he derweloped, you may say, up to bein' the 4 best ducker and fisherman we he had among us by a long shot. Not that he never got squirrels, pigeons, and other dry-land things, and killed hawks and black birds and sech, but he done that for a 'commodatin' o' the neighbors a' most in general; for everybody, a pos sible a exceptin' o' Jim Kakestraw, liked Len Cane, an'

THE COMBUSTION OP JIM RAKESTEAW. 41
inwited him to their houses, and for which he were al lays a feller that didn't want to be behind in doin'
J
favors to people he liked, and that was good to him. And as for hawks and minks, why, sir, the wimming used to jes' acknowledge with their very mouths that 'tweren't for Len Cane they couldn't hardly raise a chicken for them oudacious varmints. True, he'd sometimes ruther try to grumble a little when they'd send for him, and beg him for help, and he'd say somehow about so :
" ' Dunno how 'tis people can't keep off their own hawks, 'stid o' sendin' for me, an' takin' me away from my business. Now, in course, as fer minks, that's another thin', an' which nobody can be expected to head thetn, off excepin' it's them that knows their ways.'
" With jes' about such grumblin' he'd answer a call o' one o' the neighbor's wives to her hen-house. He never was knowed to refuse such a call, and he allays went arfterwards and got his part o' the chicken-pie, and which I suppose you know that a chicken-pie were allays the pay to them that killed a hawk er cotch a
"As for hawks, people said that none o' them ever went nigh Ausbon Cane's, because they weren't one of 'em that didn't know, if he knowed anything, that he could never go to them preemisses but once't. And as for minks, people 'lowed that the minks found out that they and Len Cane couldn't live in the same settlement, and as Len he wouldn't never move away, the minks they concluded they would ; that is, them the hides of which he didn't have stretched an' hangin' in his Brer Ausbon's back peazer."

42 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBOR&
"What Mr. Cane called his business was the millpond or the lowlands bordering about, and the creek whose waters formed it. An inconsiderable stream the latter was, coursing leisurely through a level of some extent that was covered densely with reeds, wil lows, bays, and other growth. A lofty dam had gath ered quite a body of water, to the head of which wild duck used to resort in large numbers. There they were able to hide themselves from most hunters among the numerous thick copses. Few besides Len and none like him could hunt this game with much satisfaction. It seemed too expensive to have to wade so far in the early mornings, and get so little for the pains. But the very difficulties were most attractive to him, although he was fond of catering thus to the appetites of his neighbors, for which, seldom for his own, he pursued his avocation.
" The cunniner, and the slyer, and the sneakiner a varmint were," said Mr. Pate, " the keener Len were to run 'em down an' head 'em off. He natchel loved to show 'em, it 'peared like, that smart as they wus, lie were smarter'n them. He'd thes lay round the millpond, not only of a day, but many a time of a night. v He have a gun, a old, single-barrel, flint-an'-steeler, an' I supposen she were the longest shot-gun you ever see, vand when he put in her what he call a buck load, you better believe she lumbered when he fired her off. By daybreak, or maybe before, he'd be down thar a-creepin' x/smooth an' silent as a snake, nigh about knee-deep, and hip-deep in the water. And you know, sir, he never shot at 'em a-nyin, as some does these days, because he were powerful stingy with his powder an' shot, even

THE COMBUSTION OP JIM RAKESTRAW. 43
when it were give to him for shootin' hawks and sech.
" ]NTer he'd never give a load for jes' one single, lone dnck jes' so by itself, and ef the poor things had of had sense enough to know how stingy he were with ' his ammunition, an' a diwided themselves when he were a-comin', they's more of 'em a dodged him. But you see now thar it was. They never knowed when he were a-comin'. He'd steal upon 'em at their roost, an' when they weren't much as even dreamin' o' sech a thing, blaze away on 'em in a lump, an' come out o' the water with a great pile of 'em.
" Some people used to say they believed them ducks knowed him, an' some went so fur as to say they knowed Ms actuil name, though maybe in their outlandish langwidges, and because they in general had their nose stopped up with bad colds because of their bein' so much in the water, they called him Led Cade, instid o7 his raal name, which it were Len Cane, in course. But in course Len he never acknowledge to sech as that; for he were a truth-tellin' little feller, and he let people run on and have their jokes."
At all events, with all the knowledge the ducks had of Mr. Cane, his knowledge of them was greater, and he seldom, if ever, came back from a hunt without booty.
" Now when you come to talk about the fish in that mill-pond," said the historian, " it actuil did 'pear like that the simple fact of the business were that Len Cane have studied them fish untwell he know 'em same as he know his Brer Ausbon's children, an' some said he tuck in 'em an intrust ekal to Ausbon's children, but

44 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORa
which I supposen, maybe, they carried that too fur. v At all ewents, whether it were a dish of suckers that
a neighbor's wife wanted, er catfish, er eel, er bream, er redbelly, er even hornyhead, that dish, if you give Len Cane notice, even if it were sometimes a wery short notice, that dish he'd have, a-carryin' a string with his own hands to their houses, and maybe not tech nary one of 'm hisself, because he never hunted ner fished fer the love o' 'em hisself, but jes' it 'peared like for the fun o' the thing and fer 'comidashin."
His favorite mode of taking the fish'was with the ./basket. This was made of white-oak splits, and was
four or five feet long, ten or twelve inches in average diameter, narrowing at top and widening at bottom. Into the mouth was inserted a funnel, also of splits, wide, closely woven at the opening and narrowing to a small orifice, beyond which the weaving stopped, and the splits projecting and sharpened at end converged almost to a point. Considerable time would be ex pended and much pains in enticing the fish to the vari ous holes he had chosen. He had his cat-holes, his sucker-holes, and others. When all was ready, these holes would be left unbaited for a day, and then baskets, well supplied, tied underneath the bank by ropes or grape-vines, would be let in the water. The fish, eager for the bait, would push their way through the pliant splits, which, closing upon their entrance, would hinder with their sharp points the retreat.
The only man in the neighborhood whom Mr. Cane did not like was Jim Kakestraw, a huge, lazy, lubberly giant, whose foot was so big that some said it had no business to be called a foot at all, and so they

THE COMBUSTION OF JIM RAKESTRAW. 45
called it a thirteen-incher. This man, who got his liv ing by every means possible except work, was wont to deride Mr. Cane for his diminutive size and his general business. Len, who was one of the most peaceable of men, had borne his railleries with some patience, al though he had occasionally retorted with words that pierced his thick skin, and inflicted momentary pain. In all probability nothing serious would have ensued but for conduct on the part of Rakestraw on a certain occasion, so palpably outrageous that even such flesh and blood as those of the harmless Len Cane could not be expected to endure it. It was to get an account of this that I had at first inquired of Mr. Pate, whose time for getting to it I had to bide with what patience I could command.
" Well, as I ric'lect, ef I don't disremember, it were Billy Pritehett's wife that started it, though she wern't to blame no more'n you are this minute. Billy and her hadn't been long married, and she got into a complainy way, though she were a monstous fine young 'oman, and she told Billy one day that she wanted a mess of stewed cat-fish, and that the facts of the busi- ^ ness were she believed she weren't goin' to git well till she got it. Now, that very day, Billy, an' Len, an' Jim Rakestraw, they all happened accidental to be at the mill, an' when Billy norated to Len the kinditions o' his wife, Len ups he does an' says:
"' "Why for pity's sake Billy, why yes, in course. You tell your wife she shall have them fish for dinner to-morrow, if I'm spared to go to my cat-hole thar, 'jes ^ below the cornder o' Jimmy Sharp's bottom field. Wish I'd of knew before of her a-wantin' of 'em.'

46

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

" Jes' like him, jes' like Len Cane for the world; for he were as perfec' a 'eommodatin' man, and special to the sick, as you ever knowed of.
" But now, come to the serous part o' the business. txWhen Len come to his cat-hole next mornin', soon as
he gethered holt o' the grape-vine, he know from the way his basket pull that somebody or somethin' else ben thar. And sure enough, when he drawed her to the bank, every bit of his bait to the very last scrap were eat up, an' nary cat, an' if a body might want to make a joke about such a thing, I might say nary kit ten to show for it.
" And who you reckin it were that done it ? Why, nobody but Jim Rakestraw.
" Len, though he never let on to nobody, yet he know it were him the minute he see the empty basket, because he see the print o' his old thirteen-incher where he turned out o' the road at the ford, and he see it agin not fur below whar he turned up toward Jimmy Sharp's fence arfter he robbed the basket. And what made it dead on him, Len picked up the pine bark which the Ktriflin' feller have tied on when he were at the cat-hole to keep his track, which he knowed everybody knowed from bein' saw.
" Well, sir, you believe me, Len Crane were warm, and he have made up his mind that sech as that he don't t,- stand from sech a ornary good-for-nothin' as Jim Rakestraw, an' that he were goin' to lay for him. So about two days or sich a matter arfter that, lo and behold! him and Billy Pritchett and Jim they meets at the mill agin. Len up, he did, and 'pologized to Billy like a man for not fetchin' his wife the cat-fish, and he declared that

THE COMBUSTION OP JIM RAKESTBAW. 4.7
Billy might tell his wife that she weren't more dis'pinted than he were; but that a mud-turckle have been to his basket and robbed it; but he have caught the varmint that very day, and he have baited his basket good, and that to tell his wife that, nothin' happen, them fish she shall have for dinner on the follerin' day."
Kot feeling that it would be proper to give Mr. Pate's extended account, I proceed to the culmination.
That night a brief dialogue was held between Mrs. Ausbon Cane and her husband.
" Ausbon," said the former, " Brer Len's gun must be awful rusty."
" Rusty! Why, in gen'l Len keep her monstous bright. What you talkin' about, Mandy ?"
" He come to the smoke-house this evening when I was getting out supper, and asked me for a piece of fat meat, because he say he want to swab out his gun. I give a good size piece as/thought; but he say 'twasn't enough, and that the job o' swabbin' he have on hand for the present'll take a great gaub of meat and nothing less. I told him to help hisself, an' he cut off enough, seems to me, to swab out any gun and grease every wheel on the plantation to boot."
" Needn't be afraid he'll waste it. He have a use for it, you may be shore. He talked about gun-swabbin', least ways them's my 'spicions, to keep you from astin* him too many questions, and for him not to have to tell any more stories than were any needcessity fer."
" Humph! I wants not to know Brer Len's busi ness more than he wants to tell me. But something's on Brer Len's mind, Ausbon, and have been for two or three days, and ever sence somebody robbed his fish-

4:8 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBOR&
basket, and he were dis'pinted of carryin' Betsy Pritchett her mess o' cats he promised. I don't remember as ever I see Brer Len that put out in his mind as he were then, and he hain't been the same man sence. Do lie tell you who he think done it ?"
" No, not he. It were some nigger, I s'pose." By an hour before day the next morning Mr. Cane rose quietly, lit his candle, dressed himself, took down his gun, blew into the barrel, saw that the touch-hole was clear, picked his flint, primed, shut down the lock, and proceeded to load. My aged historian, with utmost seriousness, told me that it was said afterward that never had that gun re ceived such a charge of powder, probably, except once; and that was when its owner had been sent for by the Widow Keenum, a most excellent lady, to shoot Stiggers's bull, which had broken into her cow-pen, and gored to death two of her yoke oxen. Upon this charge of pow der (the latest, I mean) he rammed well, Mr. Pate or anybody else never did know the quantities of fat meat that were rammed into that long gun-barrel on that eventful morning. Having finished this operation, he left the house, and, as quickly as his feet could carry him, repaired to his cat-hole. He knew from the feel of the grape-vine that the basket held a most satisfactory catch. Behind him, as he stood upon the bank, some fifteen paces dis tant, was a dense copse of honey-suckles. In the midst of this he concealed himself and waited for the dawn. As soon as it began to break, his keen eyes perceived the giant form of Jim Rakestraw sneaking clumsily down the creek bank. Having reached the cat-hole, after listen-

THE COMBUSTION OF JIM BAKESTRAW. 49
ing cautiously for a moment, he kneeled, got hold of the grape-vine, and drew the basket ashore. Jim laughed almost aloud as it swayed heavily to his pull. Remov ing the funnel, he began to take out the fish.
" Humph!" he grunted, in a low tone, " thar's a ,foin feller."
He then drew out another. " Humph ! humph! " he grunted again, " thar's an other wery foin feller." At that instant, words, which to Jim Rakestraw it seemed impossible for any human throat to utter in such a tone, filled the circumambient space to an im mense distance. The words were: "And here come another foin one, you mean sneakin' hound, you! " As these words were spoken the gun was fired. The report but Mr. Pate said it was useless to undertake to describe that. " But well, sir, my opinions is that sech a n'ary 'nother skene was never viewed and beholded on that nor n'ary 'nother creek bottom. Ef you'll believe me, that fat meat it tuck o' fire, and it sot Jim Rakestraw afire from the ball o' his head to the very blue of his toenail. He drap the basket, he did, and he ris', and he sot off down the creek a-fightin' the fire an' a-bellerin' same as Stiggers's bull; for he have a woice ekal to him. " Kow you see, 'squire, Len's gun, she have kicked him back an' clean out o' the clump o' bushes whar Jie have hid hisself. But yit, Len weren't hurt serous; but of all the skeered men a body ever see, exceptm7 o' Jim Rakestraw, Len were the skeerdest. Because,
4

50 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
you see, Len had no idea o' killin' o' Jim Rakestraw, mean as lie were, and when he see him a-bnrnin' up same as a dry bresh-heap, he ris' from whar the gun have kicked him and he tuck arfter Jim, and he hollered, and he hollered, and he hollered to him to jump in the creek, but which, if the poor fellow see the creek, he was so flustered in his mind cm' his body, an* his legs, an' all over hisself, that he didn't have the jedgment left to make fer the creek. Len he keep on a-follerin', and a-hollerin', and you know he darsn't lay hands on him a blaze o' fire as he were. Untwell, finally, Len he got jes' wore out and disgusted, and tarrified to boot, and he tuck his gun by the bar'l, and at last he heave the old feller in, and sech a sizz as he did make, I don't s'posen no Twemom ever made before nor sence."
" What then ?" I asked when my informant had stopped. " How did they settle it \"
" Oh, that were about all. The thing jes' settled it self. Nobody never knowed agzactly how the thing were, untwell a long time arfterward, an' arfter Jim Rakestraw moved out o' the settlement. Len, arfter he heave him in the creek, dodge behind a tree nntwell he come out, and he see he weren't hurt serous, though he Were swinged tur'ble. When he tuck the back track for home, Len he gathered the cat-fish, and, good as his word, he tuck 'em to Billy's wife. Thar he never tar ried, not even to breakfast; but he have told 'em thar that it seem to him thunder have struck some'rs in the creek bottom from the fuss he have heerd in the elements as he were makin' for his cat-hole ; and Billy's wife say she know it must be so, because she heerd it, and it have k lift her spang out o' her bed, but she say she feel a heap

THE COMBUSTION OP JIM EAKESTRAW. 51
better the minute she lay her eyes on the cat-fish he brung her.
" And that's jes' the way the thing went on 'twell Jim went off, which he done soon as his ha'r have sort o' growed back. He have a kind o' sispicion that it were Len; but he never were quite shore in his mind but what the thunder struck him. Then, you know, he couldn't prove it on Len 'ithout Len acknowledgin' it, and which Len Cane no more goin' to do than shoot him agin. Then he know the case out and out all through were against him. So he tuck hisself oil out the settlement.'1

THE SELF-PKOTECTION
OF MR LITTLEBEKRY KOACH.
IT used to seem curious to me that the poor make earlier marriages than the rich. Not reared to expect luxuries, knowing that two persons in entire accord can live more cheaply together than apart, usually they mate young. Having little besides themselves and their af fections to give, they exchange these brief courtships, and go cheerfully to the work and to the enjoyment of their joined lives, in which there is scarcely anything to lose but much to hope for. The rich, contrariwise, often make delays from one and another cause, less sel dom follow the promptings of their own hearts, are more concerned about the'conveniences of such alli ances, and sometimes are solicitous as to whether or not they may be made to give more than they receive.
Such always heretofore had been the matter with Mr. ^Littleberry Roach, who, although ever open-mouthed in praise of the other sex, was, at forty-five, still a bachelor. Unfortunately for any conjugal experience of his own, he found himself at twenty-one the inherii tor of six negroes and three hundred acres of wellstocked land a fortune for those times. In spite of the gauntness of his long figure, the absence of smooth-

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. 53
ness from Ms visage and his manners, knowing that many a cap was to be set for the sake of other things ~~ that he had, he put himself upon his guard against femi nine influences except such as were backed by propertyqualifications equal to his own. Yet he would admit freely his weakness in the presence of manifest beauty, even when undowered. Often had he been heard to * say about thus:
" Yes, sir; yes, sir; when I see a putty girl it always warm me up, no matter what kind o' weather, and I feel like I were a kind o' breakin' out, like people ^ does 'long o' heat, or the measles. Yes, sir, that's me shore, and I can't he'p it. But you know how it is with a man that he have prop'ty; that he got to keep a' eye on hisself, and not liable to fling hisself away a jes accordin' to his time-bein' feelin's. a-givin' everythin' and a-gittin' nothin'. Yes, sir, 'twer'n't for that, they ain't no tellin' how many times I might 'a' got married, jes betwix' me and you."
During the years passed since coming to his ma jority he had intimated to several ladies at, and above, and even somewhat below, his standard, his willingness, as he expressed it, to give and take; but all of these, when such hints became serious, had subdued their co quetries and intimated that they were not in the humor to make the exchange proposed. It never seemed to occur to him that his physical imperfections should be taken in abatement of his claims, and so those several disappointments availed not to hinder his keeping one eye upon himself in the midst of all unequal inveigle- / ments, however tempting.
But now at forty-five he was beginning to ponder if

54: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
his life, to some degree, had not been a mistake. Quite a number of women, whom he doubted not that he could have gotten, he now saw happy, prosperous mothers of families; while here was himself, grown wrinkled, and more and more gaunt with the drying up that had begun in him even when he was a boy. Conscious of always having wanted a wife, he must indeed to himself it seemed that he positively must do something that would clear away some of the gloom that was gathering over the future of his being.
" Yes, sir; yes, sir; I got to positive must; and I wish I'd 'a' done it long ago ; and I would 'a' done it exceptin' I were afeard o' bein' tuck in. For jes lo and behold all this prop'ty round me which have been a-increasin' a constant ev'y sence my parents palmed it off on me; and if anybody in this whole section o' country have more kinfolks than me, and them all poor, I should like to know wharbout he live. In course, I know ev'y one o' 'em would be distrested in their mind ef I was to git married and in the courses of times have a lawful ar or ars, male or female, as the case might be, ' like the Legislator' say, and ev'y dad-fetchit one of 'em rather see me at the bottom o' my grave than sech as that. Right thar, as the Scriptur' say, the shoe's a-beginnin' to pinch. And it ain't that, exceptin' for the 'structions o' that Jim Sanky, I'd be a reason'ble riconciled in my mind. I got to perteck myself some how agin Jim fSanky; and, tell the truth, I feel the n'ces'ty o' perteckin' myself agin my kinfolks, who I wish to gracious some o' 'em had a been borned rich, or married rich, or got rich somehow, so all eyes wouldn't be on me and iny death-beds and dyin' hours."

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MB. ROACH. 55
The dwelling of Mr. Roach, not at all fine, but far too good for any old bachelor, was near the Ogeechee, four miles north of our village. His nearest neighbors were the Sankys, half a mile to his right as he stood in his front door, and the Harrells, a mile to his left. Mrs. Sanky, a widow, we will say of thirty-nine, tall, religious, somewhat demure during her married ex perience, but since the demise of her husband, a year or so back, seeming to notice things theretofore regarded with indifference, had a snug plantation, a small but re spectable bunch of negroes, all of whom and of which were encumbered by a twelve-year-old boy named Jim, who in this little story must have more prominence than he deserves.
" The said Jim Sanky," Mr. Roach often said con fidentially to a large number of his neighbors, " yes, sir, I has cussed that boy a million o' times, more or less, and it have come to that I got to perteck myself agin him, even ef I have to fetch in the law, the dificulty bein' that Jim have nobody to give him the hick'ry like Tommy Sanky done a endurin' o' his lifetime, and which, as for his poor widder, she don't seem adequate to the above, even if she were so disposed."
To the left the old man Harrell, survivor of his companion of forty-five years, dwelt with his daughter, Pheriby, of about the age of Mrs. Sanky, but fatter, comelier, and, though not confessedly less religious, much more vivacious. Twenty years ago Mr. Roach had sought her in his own ambiguous way; but she had married her cousin of the same name, and after the spending of all their joint property and the death of her husband she had come back to preside over the

56

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS,

household of her father, prosperous but old, and peri odically extremely feeble.
Resolved on turning over a new leaf, Mr. Roach felt" that it was fortunate there was an unencumbered widow, remanded, as it were, back to girlhood, and heir presumptive to an estate larger than his own, soon to devolve upon her by an aged father, and so he began to pay her the most pointed respects. It seemed to him well to begin with her by eliciting her sympathy for the trouble he endured in the case of Jim Sanky.
" Look like," he said, one early day, " the creetur* have a spite agin me, and the good Lord know for what it is, a-exceptin' in his lifetime I got his pappy to give him the hick'ry for his oudacious. He a constant a-skearin' o' my mules, a-shootin' his gun at birds along the fence where they plowin' in my field anext to their'n, and it 'pear like, when his hounds jump a rabbit, he natchelly / love for him and them to run over inter my cotton-patch. But his mother's a female, and she's a widder, and it look like a man hate to fuss with them kind o' people, special when Jim got so big, it take more'n a woman to handle him."
" If such a boy was my child," answered Mrs. Pheriby, " he'd mighty soon find who was who betwixt me and him."
" Thar now! I allays said it, that if it have be'n Missis Pheriby Har'll's lot to have childern, she'd of learnt 'em to know how to behave theirself."
At that very moment crept in Mr. Harrell; so much more feeble than when last seen by Mr. Roach, that, the latter's spirits rising at the sight, he resolved to be as agreeable to the old man as he could.

THE SELF-PROTECTION OP MB. ROACH. 5?
" How's your healths, Mr. Har'll 3 You look ruther feeble this mornin'.?
" Yes, ruther feeble, Berry; but to them that has faith and their titles is cle'r death ain't the molloncholy it's to them that has no God. How you, Berry ? Time a-beginnin' to tell on you too. You mayn't see it your self, but you're gittin' a heap stringier than what you was. You never was what a body might call fat, at no time; but you' re a-gittin' stringier a-constant."
Mrs. Pheriby made some excuse and left the room. After some moments of preliminary talk, Mr. Harrell disclosed the occasion of his interruption of a chat that Mr. Roach had intended to make specially interesting.
" Berry, the membership in Jooksborough have got too big for the meetin'-house to hold all convenant, and so us all on this side the creek (in another county, to boot) be'n a-thinkin' o' puttin' up another over here if providin' the money can be raised, which is all put up exceptin' fifty dollars and shingles. I'm a mighty anx ious to have the meetin'-house put up befo' my departure is at hand, as the 'postle Paul say, and I be'n a-waitin' to see you and ask, in a 'fectionate way, how much from you, a-'memberin' it'd be a-lendin' to the Lord which he's shore to pay back ag'in after many days. What you say ?"
Something like a shudder ran all through Mr. Roach, long as he was. He had been persuading himself that, for a worldling, his contribution of two, sometimes three dollars a year, which was fully up to the average, ought to compound for his shortcomings, which mainly had been on the line of profane swearing. Having heard of the scheme, something of neighborhood pride

58

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

had induced him to resolve to give four dollars, possibly according to the character of the solicitor as much as five. Now, looking upon the feeble condition of Mr. Harrell, a feeling of liberality was rising in his breast, and in a moment more he would have announced, in as generous tones as he knew how to employ, ten dol lars. But at that moment Mrs. Pheriby returned, and said:
" Now, pa, I thought / was to have the asking of Mr. Roach about our new church, which I have but very little doubts he'll make up the balance, a-expectin' to git his rewards in various ways."
Mr. Roach, believing that he understood the mean ing in her eyes, rapidly going over in his mind the si lent clamors of his relatives, feeling that now was the time, and Mrs. Pheriby the person, drew a long breath and answered:
"I'll do it." He looked at the lady and smiled. She looked at him and smiled. Her father, too far gone to notice such things, said: " Now, Berry Roach, I know you feel good, jes as well as if I was inside o' you, and my hopes is it may all be blessed to your conviction and your conversion from your many folds o' sin and temptation, and not keep on a constant a-gittin' older and older and stringier and stringier, and not a-layin' holt o' the plan o' salvation, which a man like you that's got no wife it may be hopin' agin hope, because then he?' pra'ars, if she was a Christian woman, they ain't no tellin' what they might 'a' done in the salvation of your immorchal soul." It relieved Mr. Roach of some of the embarrassment

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. 59
at these words that in their midst Mrs. Pheriby, with handkerchief to her face, again arose and left the room. Just as he was about to go, she came back and said:
11 Good-by, Mr. Roach. I'm ever so much obliged." Her intelligent smile, as she withdrew her hand from his light, affectionate squeeze, made him feel that he never would wish to look upon a lovelier female. When he returned home they told him that Jim Sanky and his hounds had been running rabbits up and down all over the cotton-patch, destroying unknown quanti ties of cotton; and that two of the men] even had to leave their work in the field in order to protect the sheep in the pasture into which these marauders had entered, after their previous destruction. ^ " Consarn the creettir!" said he; and but for the pleasant memories of his recent visit he would have employed yet stronger words. Mrs. Sanky being a neighbor, and a widow at that, he felt that he ought, in a neighborly way, to ride over, and through her send to him a warning more serious than any yet conveyed to him. Although she had the reputation of being a person with a temper of her own, he had never been witness to its exhibitions. Then Mr. Eoach was a man as gallant in feeling as he was long and stringy in bod ily shape, and he would have borne far greater outrages from Jim rather than inflict any punishment of which his mother might have just cause to complain. Seeing his approach, Mrs, Sanky had shifted her self into her next best Sunday frock, and in her haste threw over her shoulders a white cape, looking in the contrast more attractive than Mr. Roach remembered to have noticed for quite a tune.

60 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" My!" thought lie; but lie didn't say so in words. " Why, the good Lord help my soul, Mr. Roach," she said, when informed of the object of the visit, " what is a body to do in such a case ? The poor boy have got no fathers, and I'm nobody but a lone widow, which it seem a'most right hard as young a female as I am should be left in them conditions; and not only will not her own and ownlest son let her keep peace and friendship with neighbors that he know, as well as he know his name is Jeems Sanky, his father always set store by as friends and good neighbors, which it could be did 'twasn't for that boy; and which if ever a boy did miss a person that were strong enough to manage him, it were Jeems Sanky sence he be'n feelin' like he were his own man." Then she wept, and she did so with such good taste that Mr. Roach was obliged to say that of course boys would be boys, and he had no doubt that as Jim got older, as he must do in the course of time, more or less, he would be another sort of a boy altogether. " I'm afraid not, Mr. Roach," she answered can didly. " I have talked and pleaded with that boy, and once I took down the hickory, but he looked at me so much like a pitiful orphan, that I hadn't the heart. Yit, yit," removing her handkerchief, and looking at her visitor with moistest, saddest eyes, " I has faith that the promises will not be without effect to the widow, and that the good Lord will provide for her somehow as may seemeth him meet. Have anybody asked you to help us out with our- new meetin'-house, Mr. Roach?" "When Mr. Roach, not without some embarrassment,

THE SELF-PROTECTION OP MR. ROACH. 61
told what he had agreed to do in these premises, she seemed disappointed, and said:
" Pheriby Harrell! I wouldn't have treated her that way. She know I had you down on my paper as my favorite name whensomever I could catch up with you accidental, and a-living the closetest to you at that. But I s'pose Pheriby know she could git more out o* you than I could, and of course the meetin'-house want all it can git."
" It were her pa that named it first to me, Missis Sanky."
" Ah ! then that's deffer'nt. And as for Brer Har rell, he know he might have put up that buildin' by his lone self, er at leastways give that last fifty dollars which he squeezed out o' you. But Brer Harrell, good man as he is, he were always one to push up t'other people and hold back hisself to make up the last if they was any last to make up, and which sometimes they ain't. Why, Mr. Roach, don't I remember when it come to movin' poor Patsy Daniel and her orphan childern 'way over into Jasper County, whar her old aunt sent words that if the neighbors would make up and send her thar, she'd settle 'em on a piece o' her land, and Brer Harrell he tuck it in hand and he went round in his 'flicted way he have in seen times, a-sayinj to people it were cheaper to palm 'em all off that way on that old 'oman, than have to keep 'em here and sup port 'em, and he actuil' got ten dollars out o' Mr. Sanky and the lendin' o' our kyart and steers for one blessed, solid week, and me a-scoldin' about it all the time, and come to find out that Brer Harrell his very self didn't give but three dollars and seventy-five cents, which it

62 THE PEIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.
lack jes* that much to make tip; and then he git out by sayin' that Pheriby and her husband have been so much expense to him. he can't afford more'n to go round and raise money from people and charge for his time! People say if Brer Harrell had put up a'cordin' to his prop'ty, the meetin'-house would have been up by now, and the worship in it done begun a'cordin' to the com mandment. And nobody know how much he's a-goin' to put up, and they won't know now, special' sence you've put up the last fifty dollars, and they ain't nothin' left but shingles; because why, Brer Harrell have appointed hisself his own committee, and he have got everythin' in his own hands."
"The old man looked very feeble, Missis Sanky, and he acknowledge that he ain't much time left to go on."
Mrs. Sanky laughed. "Ah, Mr. Roach, that ain't no sign, nor it don't mean anythin' here nor there. I used to think it did, when I've heard him acknowledge the same time and time again, special' when he want people to do somethin', and when they done it, next time you see him, more'n probable, you'll hear him braggin' about his father a-livin* to ninety, and him only thes seb'nty his last birthday, or sixty-nine, or seb'nty-one, as the case might be. That's Brer Harrell, a notwithstandin' he's a righteous good man, and he expect to be deac'n o' our new meetin'-house, which somehow the brothrin and sisters wouldn't make him deac'n over there in Dukesborough; but which he say his time ain't come yit, but it's a-comin'. If ever Brer Harrell do die, and which poor Mr. Sanky used to laugh and say he doubted

THE SELF-PROTECTION OP MB. EOACH. 63
it, but Pheriby will change things over there, onlest he tie her up in his will, which he threaten to do some times when Pheriby buy things he think is too fine, but which poor Mr. Sanky used to say Brer Harrell ought to be 'shamed of hisself for holdin' back his ownlest child in that unuseless way. But it all go to show that no person can have everythin' to their likes nor dislikes, as I know by my own expeunce by Jeems Sanky that he, a-havin' of no fathers, will keep on pesterin' the best neighbors any lone and lonesome widow ever did have in a world where it seem to me everybody have friends exceptin' of widows ; but I am thankful to say that I have been able to lay up some money, and I am willin' to pay for all the damage of Jeems Sanky for this one time; but I shall tell Jeems Sanky plain that hereafter the law must take its courses, alsobeit that I can't but be sorry that the poor boy have no fathers."
Mr. Koach, while drawing a long, sympathetic breath preparatory to his reply to these words, was thus intercepted:
"And if you won't let me pay you, Mr. Koach, which there's the money in the sideboard drawer, please you let the cotton that Jeems Sanky and his hounds have knocked out go on my paper for the meetin'-house, so I mayn't be disapp'inted complete out and out."
" I never felt like I were so complete overtook, not ehdurin' o' my whole lifetime," Mr. Koach afterward used to say. A feeling even rather majestic came over him as he answered:
" Missis Sanky, I shall not take the money you be'n

64
a-layin' up, which I am thankful to hear of it. And, madam, jes' to show you what sort a man I am, I will make it my business to have got out the shingles for the aforesaid meetm'-house and no questions asked. That is me, if I understand myself."
" O Mr. Koach! Mister Roach! " But a prudent, bashful widow like Mrs. Sanky would rather have died, she thought, than to go very far beyond the length of these words. " You say," asked Mr. Roach, with some sternness, " that you think the old man Harr'll's healths is better than what he call for ?" For a lady almost entirely in black, with an only son who having no fathers was such a varlet, Mrs. Sanky laughed with surprising heartiness. Then she said: " Why, laws o' me, Mr. Roach! Mr. Sanky used to say that Brer Harrell got his livin' out o' his complainin's about his healths, and it were to his opinions that he'd outlive him and many an other person in the neighborhood; and you see how it all come true in poor Mr. Sanky's case, to go no further, although I has heard him say somethin' about Berry Roach as it 'pear like he ruther name you by name." "Ko, ma'am," said Mr. Roach, with confident strength, " I should hopes not, not by a long shot; for a person that has the healths I has and no incumbents o' no sort, sech as that would seem like a pity and en tire onexpected." As he rode along home Mr. Roach pondered much. Here was Mrs. Sanky, during her married life a homegtaying and, so far as the outside world knew, a few-

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. (Jg
worded woman, whom people had been wont to call plain, solemn, penurious, and all such, yet now spruce, chatty, not excusing her own son's pernicious practices, not ashamed of having laid up money for hard times and rainy days, and showing that if you gave her some thing to laugh about she could laugh as heartily as the best. All this. Then he asked himself how it was that the old man Harrell, at his time of life, should be fooling people about the pretended near approach of death. As for the tying up his property by will in a way that would hinder any husband whom Mrs. Pheriby might elect from getting lawful control of it, he was loath to believe that a man like Mr. Harrell, always a stickler for masculine rights, would ignore them at the last. Still, there was no telling how long some old people could live, and what notions they might take up when old age had made them childish. Mr. Koach concluded that he would think of all these things.
II.
WHEN it was noised abroad that the last fifty of the three hundred dollars needed for the new meeting house had been subscribed by Mr. Roach, and shingles, people were happy. Passages of Scripture were quoted, and hopes were had that Mr. Roach soon might feel it his duty to walk down into the water and come up out of it a new man. The gentleman himself, extrava gant neither in hopes nor in wishes, except in so far AS deliverance from Jim Sanky was concerned, enjoyed
5

66 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
the kind of consolation that any honorable man must feel when he has been doing more than his duty. As for Jim Sanky, the cotton was about gathered anyhow, the sheep were removed to another pasture, the hogs would make about as good meat as if they never had been dogged, and the pigeons well, as for pigeons, they in some respects were not unlike Jim Sanky in going to places where they were not wanted ; and so, upon the whole, Mr. Roach believed that he was feeling reason ably contented in his mind, barring an incertitude which, owing to its vagueness, was rather unsatisfac tory.
It was surprising to the general public, to the mem bers gratifying, that the new meeting-house went up so rapidly. Mr. Harrell, whose rejuvenility was disgust ing to Mr. Roach, had examined every stick of lumber, seen to its kiln-drying, inspected every paper of nails, and, what everybody said he ought not to have done, counted and sighted every shingle. Long before any body had expected, the building was up, and was named Bethel.
Claiming all the honors of the new Babylon that had been founded, yet Mr. Harrell, in view of the fact that hereafter it might require to be ceiled and painted, saw fit to divide with Mr. Roach the honors of its first opening, which was appointed on a Saturday. The flooring, waiting for shrinkage, had not yet been nailed, and the cracks indulged in unrestricted yawnings. A moderately large congregation assembled, and all occu pied the benches except Mr. Swinney, the preacher, Mr. Harrell, and Mr. Roach. The first ascended the pulpit, and the other two were seated in front upon splint-

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. 6?
bottom chairs, which. Mr. Harrell had provided. Mr. Roach took his seat with becoming solemnity, careful to place the rounds at safe distances between the gapings of the floor beneath. Never having occupied so prominent a place in a house of worship, in spite of some embarrassment he felt a pleasant sense of quietude like what he conceived it might be in heaven, which destination he could not but hope that without much further expense he, in good time, would reach. He had not offered any remonstrance against being put so prominently forth, because he honestly believed himself entitled to the distinction. It was understood that the preacher, during the course of the sermon, would pay his respects to the most liberal and the next most dis tinguished among the contributors to the pious under taking ; and it was deemed nothing but right that the recipient of such praise should be in position where he could see and be seen by everybody. The hymn was sung, the prayer said, and then the reverend gentle man, taking an apposite text, put forth. Nobody, not even Mr. Harrell, when allusion was made to walls of any kind, whether in the ancient temple of Jerusalem or those around them, could keep his or her eyes off Mr. Roach. The preacher noticed the dissipation, and decided to stop short his hammering upon knotty theo logical points and rise into the panegyric for which all evidently were impatient. Mr. Roach, aware that this was coming, took out his huge bandana and spread it on his lap in preparation for all embarrassing contingen cies.
" Brethren and sisters," said the speaker, " there is a person in this house."

68 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
He paused for several moments, looking the while hard at Mr. Koach.
" Yes," he continued, " and I will not name his name, although he is settin' in a cheer alongside o' Brer Harrell, and not a thousand mile from the foot o' thia pulpit."
He paused again, and there was almost ferocity in the gaze which he fastened upon Mr. Roach, The latter, for a few moments, steadily returned the speak er's look. Then, as if satisfied that he was the person alluded to, he turned his eyes benignantly upon the congregation, lingering somewhat first upon Mrs. Pheriby, then upon Mrs. Sanky. To make himself entirely comfortable and more presentable to observa tion, he leaned his chair far back, sat upon its very edge, and extended his legs to their full length, resting his heels firmly in the cracks of the floor. Never be fore in his life, if his recollection was not at fault, had he felt as sweet.
" Yes, brethren and sisters," continued Mr. Swinney; " and the astonishest thing about the whole business is that that same person (and I shall not even name his seek, a-owin' to his presence, which everybody can see for theirself), even ef he ain't a professor o' religion, he have been as lib'l, and he have made hisself a' example to the good Lord have mercy on us all!"
This ejaculatory finale to the panegyric was not in opportune ; for, half a second before its utterance, Mr. Roach, suddenly lifting his right leg, gave a scream, loud, terrific as ever was poured from throat of Indian or of wolf. The women echoed it. Mr. Roach rose instantly, clapped a hand beneath his thigh, looked for a moment

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MB. EOACH. 69
down through the yawnings of the floor; then, lifting his eyes and surveying the congregation, loudly ex
claimed : " Gentlemen and ladies, I has be'n stobbed; and
that d-d-dangnation bad ! " " Oh my laws !" shouted a hundred female voices.
All the men, except the preacher who, taking a step backward, raised one eye over the pulpit and young Mr. Hammick, who had been booked for one of the deacons, crowded around the assailed. The last named rushed out, and peering under the house observed a pair of legs that just having emerged on the opposite side were making off with all possible speed. Quickly passing around, he saw those legs as they sought a hiding-place behind a huge red oak that stood some fifty yards dis tant. In his run thither Mr. Hammick picked up a pine stick, to one end of which, with point projecting, had been fastened a stout brass pin. Approaching softly the oak, he reached around to seize the culprit; but the latter, his coat-tails drawn over his head, eluded the grasp and was fleeing amain.
" Nobody but Jim Sanky! Oh, you may hide your self with them coat-tails, but you can't fool me, you sarpent! Well! if that weren't a skene in the first openin'. Bethel start herself quare, no doubts about that."
Bringing himself back to proper solemnity, he re turned to the house, where the scene had continued interesting. Some young women, in expectation of the sight of streams of blood upon the sacred floor, prepared to faint; and when none appeared they decided to faint notwithstanding. Mr. Eoach was overwhelmed with

^0

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

sympathetic questions and dolefully comforting assur ances.
"Ef," said Mr. Harrell "ef you feel your time have come, Berry, my advices is to do your level best at prayin' to be forgive' for your sins. Them's my ad
vices." Looking behind as well as he could, feeling for the
murderous gash, finding none, and seeing no blood, Mr. Roach looked up and seemed vaguely vibrating between relief and disappointment. At that moment the young man came in, and, holding aloft the weapon, said aloud :
" A boy have jobbed this here pin into Mr. Roach, and then runned away, a-kiverin' his head with his coat-tails so a body couldn't see how to sw'ar to him."
What else could he say, when there was the mother among the most cordial sympathizers ?
"The varmint!" said Mr. Harrell. "'Pears like you got more of a rimnant left than we supposened, Berry; but it's to be hoped you'll take warnin' before it's everlastin' too late."
In the midst of titterings that vainly-strove to be repressed the preacher called all to their knees, and, after jerking out some sort of prayer, dismissed the meeting. When the greater part of them had dispersed, Mr. Hammick, having awaited the opportunity, gave information to Mrs. Sanky of Jim's misconduct.
" I was afraid it was him, Brer Hammick. Please go and tell Mr. Roach I'd like to see him for jes' one minute."
"Well, now, Sister Sanky, I ain't quite shore; at leastways for a little while, if I was in your place "
" Please go and send him here, Brer Hammick."

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. 71
When Mr. Roach approached her, pale, with tremu lous tone, she said:
" Mr. Roach, it were Jeems Sanky that run that pin into you, and if I had my ruthers, I don't know but I'd o' ruther somebody have run a knife into my heart! I see nothin' but for you to pertect yourself and let the law take its course; but I hope you'll tell the judge, and the jury, and the sheriff, and the man that keep the jail, to try to 'member that the poor boy have no fathers, and that they'll all be no harder on him than the law'll allow. If the poor chile have got to be hung, the good Lord know I don't want to live to see it."
" I'm sorry, truly sorry, Missis Sanky," he answered, with unaffected sympathy. "'Pear like I'm sorry for you as I am for myself. In course, I has to try to pertect myself agin Jim, but I shall make it my business to study and try to be leeniwent along o' Jim as I pos sible can be."
" Thanky! thanky! Poor Mr. Sanky before he died always said you was a good man down at the bottom of your hearts, and now what he say have come true. I can't but hope you'll get your rewards. Good-by, Mr. Roach."
As Mr. Roach turned he was met by Mr. Harrell and Mrs. Pheriby. The former laughingly said:
" I were powerful glad you was skeert a heap worse than you was hurted, Berry. My! my! but didn't you jump and tell the news! But even me, /even jumped a little bit; for, says I, who know but me next, a-settin' right thar by you ? You didn't know I could jump so, did you ? Oh, yes, sence the new meetin'-house been put up I feel like a colt just weaned. But," assuming

Y2

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

vast threatenings in his looks, " I should spar' no time nor no money to find out who that boy were that he nave the imp'dence to interrup' public worship in that kind a style, and ef his parents didn't let me take his hide oiFn him, nor they didn't do it theirself, I should put the law onto him to the extents she mind to take him for his oudaciousness at a solemcholy time that were. I'm glad it weren't me; but the boy that done that, whomsoever he is, he knowed better than to be a-jobbin o' pins inter me in that kind o' style. Good-by. Come 'long, Pheriby."
" Mr Roach," lingering, she said : " I was very much frightened at first, and I am very glad indeed that you was hurt no worse. Good-by. I'm coming, Pa."
The feelings of Mr. Roach during the remainder of that day and night, and for another day and night, he used afterward to characterize as " prob'ble the schupendousest egzitement any man in the whole State o' Georgia ever drapped into for the time a bein'." He pondered and pondered till bedtime, and after that couldn't sleep for a long, long time ; and when he awoke next morning found that he had been dreaming about pondering all night. Several poor relatives came there the next day, full of apprehension, anger, vengeance. All of them he dismissed as soon as decency would allow, some of them perhaps rather sooner, comforting them with the assurance that in his body, and even in both of his legs, he had never felt better ; and then he went to pondering again. His purpose on the forenoon, of Saturday had been formed to ride home with Mrs. Pheriby after service, and feel, and allow Mrs. Pheriby to feel, their ways among matters that possibly would be

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. 73
interesting to both ; but he had been disgusted with her father's behavior, particularly the deception of which he had been guilty regarding the condition of his health and strength of body. Just as soon as the Bethel busi ness had been made secure, here was old man Harrell going about kicking up his heels like a young man. From the number of times that man had seemed to be about to drop right into the grave, then suddenly turning his back upon it and gone to prancing, it did appear that he was destined, if not to be restored to his youth, at least, as poor Mr. Sanky had prophesied, to survive many a man, even Littleberry Roach, now in the full vigor of manhood. ISTo, sir; no, sir ; not to-day, at all events. Mr. Harrell may be a professor, and Littleberry Roach a mere worlding ; but Littleberry Roach wouldn't treat people that way, old nor young. No, sir; no, sir.
But of course the subject on which Mr. Roach had been pondering the most during these two days and nights was the pressing need of his being protected against Jim Sanky. That boy had to be dealt with in a summary way that would stop his destructive practices. Still, he was the son of a widow, and she had acted so honorably throughout, that he believed that, as a man, a neighbor, and a friend, he should give her notice of his intention, so that her scapegrace, if so minded, might abscond. How best to do this was not perfectly clear to his mind, but it was a thing that could not l>e delayed, he felt; and so on Monday morning, in a state of some incertitude, he dressed himself uncommonly well for a week-day, and mounted his horse. As he rode along the lane between a fine field of cotton on one side and one of corn as good on the other, in the

74: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS
midst of other thoughts he, in brief parentheses, contem plated how the widow Sanky, who was a better man ager than her late husband had been, was making tell the work she was putting on that rather small but ex cellent plantation.
Mrs. Sanky, made aware of his slow, apparently thoughtful approach, downcast as she was in heart, felt it not entirely amiss to add another narrow streak of white, and so to dispose her long hair that it might con tribute its own portion of help, however inconsiderable, to the suppliant she was about to become. When the visitor entered the house, received the friendly greet ing, looked upon the patient face that sorrow, tasteful gear, and a most abundant, well-arranged suit of hair made strikingly interesting, after a few moments, turn ing his eyes, he surveyed some bright new furniture, which had been received there since his last visit, a month ago.
" Nice," he said ; " all very nice." " I'm glad you think so," answered the lady; then sighed, with great heaviness. Mr. Roach, startled, said, or tried to say: " Law bless my Missis Sanky ! I I can't do any thing in this case a along o' Jim." " Oh, can't you, Mr. Roach ? Bless your dear there now! I no business a-usin' that word ; but I forgot myself at the minute." And how she did blush! " As for puttin' the law onto Jim, like the neigh bors advises, I hain't the hearts to do it. And yit, Missis Sanky, a man in my sitooation o' life he owe it to hisself to pertect hisself ef he can." " Of course he do, Mr. Roach; of course."

THE SELF-PROTECTION OP MR. ROACH. 75
" I has took in consideration that, as I've freckwent lieered you say with your own mouth, that Jim Sanky have no fathers, at least for the present time a-bein'; and I goes on to say that fathers, or at leastways some of 'em, is what Jim Sanky need, ef any can be found suitable to riggerlate him. Ahem, madam ! "
Mrs. Sanky stared up at Mr. Eoach, who w;as now standing, as if he were a ghost; and if not a very awful, at least a very tall one.
"Yes, madam, Missis Sanky, them is who Jim Sanky need, and if it's your consents and your wishes, I'm willin' to -be them very them, and only them tell death shall me and you do part."
He had heard somewhere that when a man was dis cussing with a woman a subject of importance it assisted much to use words of solemn import.
As it was inconvenient to faint with satisfaction in a sitting position, Mrs. Sanky arose, tottered, looked weakly at Mr. Roach, fell into his arms, and after re maining there a few minutes said beseechingly:
" O Mr. Roach! dear Mr. Roach! do, please, let me loose!"
He did so promptly; and when she resumed her seat she said, " Mr. Roach, Mister Roach, I thought all this time upon my soul, I thought it was Pheriby."
If he was embarrassed by this remark, he determined not to seem so. Smiling in a pleasant disdain, he was silent for a few moments, then said :
" Ah, ha! I knewed it! Polly as I will call you in a' affectionate way does you 'member a-tellin' me what what cert'n people said in their lifetime about old man Har'll, and him a-outlivin' cert'n var'ous peo-

76 THE PBIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.
pie ? Well, I found out that that is a constant a-comin* true; people of var'ous age a-djin' and a-droppin' off on all sides, and him a-frolickin' around, and a-callinj hisself a colt and that not even broke, but jes' weaned ! No, madam.; old man Har'll may 'pose on t'other peo ple, but not on Berry Roach. I ain't a-denyin' that he got out o' me fifty dollars when he make out like he were on his last laigs ; but any man is liable to sech as that when he think it's a' old person's dyin' hour. No, Polly," taking her hand, " you hit me a toler'ble sizable lick that day when I come over to see you about Jim, and you had on that same cape you got on now, and I smelt your handkercher, and you talk so fa'r and squar' about Jim, and I has already begun to feel lonesome thar at home by myself, and all that sot me to thinkin'. And but now, last Sadday, after all that rumpus, and you sent for me, and me not a even a-dreamin' who it were jobbed my laig with that pin, and the very boy's very mother told me herself who it were, and I see you was yit fa'rer and sqa'rer, and which I'll not deny that I have notussed that cape and them white ruffles round your wrists, a-lookin' like they would if they could, modest as they was, and you drawed out your Sunday hankercher which I could smell out thar in the very ar, and it make me feel solemn and good all over in great big spots, ontwell as I rid on back home I says to my self, what Jim Sanky need for me to pertect myself agin, him is fathers / and then, when that have got stuck fa'r and squar* in my mind, I jes' had to add on to myself that I'd be them fathers myself ef so be it's the good Lord's will and the boy's mother's to boot. Now that is every single blessed thing they is in it."

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR. ROACH. ff
Tears came to Mrs. Sanky's eyes, and nothing could have been sweeter to the nostrils of Mr. Roach than the perfume of the handkerchief with which she dried them so pitifully. No woman of delicate feelings would be willing for it to be understood that she could be won so suddenly, as it appeared, by even such a man as Mr. littleberry Koach, and so she said:
" Berry, up to the time when you come over here about Jeems a-knockin' out your cotton with his hounds, and a-skearin' of your sheep in the pastur', and a-doggin' your hogs in the low grounds, my mind have never not even dwelt on any man person since the widow I've been. But somehow, on that present occasion, when you have come over here, a actuiP drecmed o' fifty dol- * lars by Brer Harrell, and Pheriby to boot, and instid of takin' damages for Jeems and his hounds, you put down and added the actuil shingles for our meetin'house, then I says to myself, as a dilicate female is obleeged to say to herself, alsobe she mayn't be nothin' but a lone widow, but yit I says to myself, my hopes is, Berry Roach will never ask me to jind him in the banes o' mattermony; cause if he do, I shall be obleeged to give my consents. Oh, me ! but I hope them words : Berry, I do hope they excuse me on the awful occa sion !"
" 'Umph, humph ! Yes ; I'm glad to hear it. 'Pears like we was rather nunaniinous on them p'ints. *-" mar's Jim, Polly ?"
" Jeems he got uneasy in his mind, and he have went across' the river to Cousin Sookey Brazzle's." ""
" 'Umph, humph ! Well, Polly, I'm a-gwine on to ^ town; and by as yearly in the atternoon as I can tend t-

to the business and git back I shall be here, and I shall

fetch the married license, and I shall fetch along also

other Squire Buck Peek, or the old man Swinney, which-

somever you may prefers, ef it ain't too ill-conwenant."

" Mister Koach! "

" You heerd me what I said."

" You are so hasty and and I may say perfect, act-

uiP vi'lent."

" Mayby so, mayby so; but a man at my time o'

life that he have been a-waitin' this long, he don't feel

like he ought natchul' to be made wait no longer.

Which do you say, Buck Peek, or the old man Swin

ney?"

" Why, Brer Swinney in course if it ain't too in

convenient. Berry Koach, yon actuil' astonish me, and

you mighty nigh take away a body's breath with your

/hurry and vi'lence, I call it. Go 'long off!"

It was a union happy for all. Mr. Koach used with

a thankful heart to refer to these last scenes.

" Yes, sir; yes, sir; when my mind were made up,

she were made up. Polly she said I were vi'lent, same

/ as a harrikane, and mayby I were. But you see, a-lettin'

alone o' that cape, and that smellin' hankercher, and

that ha'r, the sleekest and the mostest I ever see hung

on top o' a female head, and then thar were Jim, which

I have knowed I were jes' obleeged to pertect myself

somehow agin Jim Sanky, and it come on me all of a

suddent that the best way to do that were to git posses

sions of his mother. And when Jim come back from

y

his cousin Sookey Brazzle's and found me thar at the head o' things, it cowed him to that, that as everybody

know, he whirled in and he made a man o' hisself; nor

THE SELF-PROTECTION OF MR> ROACH. ft)
not even his mother is prouder than what I am o' Jeems Sanky. And it all go to show that not ontwell a man's time come to git married he a-gwine to do it; but when the time do come, he may wring and twist and squirm, but he's jes' as certain as a shot is to roll out a shovel when she's tilted. And as for me, when I come back thar that evenin' along o' Buck Peek, and Polly were lookin' beautifuller and gorgerouser than I ever see her befo', I felt that good and peaceable in my mind that I were glad I never got married befo'; dad-fetchit, if I didn't."

THE HUMOKS OF JACKY BUNDLE.
" Cavillator facie magis quam facetiis ridiculus." --Cicero ad Atticum.
I.
MR. JOHN BUNDLE was a person of such good dis position, that ever since lie was a little boy until now, when he was thirty, people had been calling him Jacky. He was a lover of good things in general, including a good story, or even a good anecdote, provided it was not very long; but most of all he loved the good wife whom undeservedly, as he often acknowledged, Heaven had sent him. A man of much modesty, he would never undertake the part of narrator that is, to any extent; yet his native sense of fitness made him quick to detect a flaw in the recital of another, and sometimes by a word or two of brief comment he diverted a laugh from the tale to its teller, and thus, without any de gree of ambition in that line, carried off its honors. Nobody could have been more innocent of provoking resentment by what little jocoseness was in him. Yet, so it is, not many persons enjoy having the points of their own stories turned upon themselves. Notably the case was thus with Mr. Eeddick Sanders, who had long in dulged the belief that perhaps he was the best story-teller in the neighborhood, if indeed a better could be found in

THE HUMORS OP JACKY BUNDLE.

81

j

any other. The failure of Mr. Bundle to recognize the

full justice of this claim, Mr. Sanders had attributed

partly to jealousy, but mainly to stupidity, and often in

a compassionate, confidential way, while gently patting

with his finger his own forehead, he spoke softly of

what he called Mr. Bundle's upper story. Therefore,

people were surprised one Saturday evening, at Hines's

store, by a sudden violent ebullition of wrath on the

part of Mr. Sanders toward one admitted to be not

fully responsible for his actions. The occasion was

thus : To about a dozen gentlemen there met, Mr. San

ders related an anecdote that he had picked up some

where, and everybody laughed with a heartiness that to

any reasonable habitual narrator ought to have been

satisfactory. But, being ambitious, he thought he could

improve the success already achieved by repeating his

anecdote, and in the very same words. To his chagrin

silence accompanied his tale, as Milton on a certain oc

casion remarked in Paradise Lost. This action seemed

to Mr. Bundle to have been injudicious, and, resting his

cheek upon his thumb and forefinger, he said, calmly,

yet with seriousness:

l( Red, that's twice't you've told that joke, twice't

hand runnin', and it look like right thar's whar you

made your mistakes, if anywhars."

The laughter, delayed till now, broke forth in a loud

explosion. Yet, if people will believe me, Mr. Sanders,

instead of receiving this monitory remark in a thankful

spirit, was wrought into high passion, and, shaking his

fist at Mr. Bundle, said:

" You incontempible ornary an' egiot I 'Twer'nt for

your wife, an* 'twer'nt you got no better sense than to

6

82

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

^

be mterraptin' people that Las sense, I'd give you a few

lessins for your imp'dence."

" Come, now, Red," said one of the company,

" Jacky had no idees of hurtin' your feelin's. Did you,

Jacky?"

" Why, no," answered Mr. Bundle, in perfect inno

cence. " Iv course not. I wouldn't hurt Red Sanders's

feelin's, not for his wife's sake, let alone of his'n. I

thes wanted to splain to the feller whar he counted

wrong in his talk. I beg your pardon, Red; that's

/that I beg it for Patsy's sake ef not yourn."

Mr. Sanders accepted the amende; but he intimated

that, after having submitted from family considerations

to several thousands of such indignities, a very few

thousands more would inevitably provoke the punish

ment which had been delayed so long.

i "Ever see sech a hellaballoo about a poor little

joke !" said Mr. Bundle, turning away ; " and it spile't

whut little were in it by tellin' of it twice't hand run-

riin'. My! me! my! "

, They were brothers-in-law, Mrs. Bundle being Nancy,

and Mrs. Sanders Patsy, daughters of the widow Lary,

who lived on Beaver Dam Creek. The sisters, excellent

women both, were devoted to each other, and they got

along with almost no complaining at their husbands,

although these, the neighbors thought, might have

tried harder at least to make it appear that they came

somewhere in the neighborhood of deserving such

wives. Yet they were moderately industrious, kept

4 out of debt, and except on election-days, muster-days,

Fourth-of-July days, and Christmas-days, seldom took

too much. Big fellows they were strong, healthy,

THE HUMORS OF JACKY BUNDLE.

83

hearty. Of the two, Mr. Bundle was better liked in the neighborhood. Accommodating as unpretending, he was a famous sitter-up with the sick, and a helper in the burying of the dead. Mr. Sanders, aboundingly cor dial in expressions of sympathy, extended overflowing consent to his wife's ministrations to suffering in every shape, and, as he believed, experienced a temperate enjoyment of the thanks paid by the lowly for such unselfish condescension. Often he had acknowledged to himself and to the world that, for the sake of de cency, if nothing more, he had tried to endure the close relationship between himself and such a man as Jacky Bundle; but he must say often with frankness that people need not be surprised if some day something of some sort, in some way or another, should break loose, when Jacky Bundle, at last found utterly indifferent to good sense and respectable manners, might be flung, back-handed as it were, into the ditch, and, so far as Mr. Sanders was concerned, left there. Rather overbearing by nature, he had become more so from habitual impact with a yieldingness exceptionally uncomplaining. His own vast volubility of words had served to make him feel contempt for the few employed, and they in usually modest, subdued tones, by his brother-in-law, and it surprised him, but disgusted more, when the latter made an impression which with much elaboration he had striven for in vain.
"Sech as that," over and over Mr. Sanders had said in others' hearing, " bound to come to a head some time. For Patsy's sake, and 'special* Nancy's, I ben a-enduren and a-puttin' off. Bat I ben told, and that by old people that knowed what they talkin' about, that

84

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

they is sech a thing as breakin' even of a camel's back, hump and all, with feathers, if you keep a-pilin' 'em on top of him or her, as the case mout be, for with sech people the seek of a animal make no deffe'nee. But as for me, I'm a-gittin' of tired of sech a low-down piece o' business."

II.
/ HUTSON'S Court ground, three miles southwest of our village, had the honor of being chosen for the inus/ ter this falL The district then was far more densely populated than now. In their fiery energy the first settlers tore up the red soil in this fertile and most fair , hill region; and then, believing it exhausted, sold their homesteads at small cash prices, and moved onward to other conquests in the West. After they had gone, f and after these lands had rested, the old-field pine took the places of the oak, hickory, walnut, and cucum ber, and a new face of the earth showed that exhaus tion was a thing that it had never as much as thought of. But this is parenthetical, an unpremeditated expression of admiration for my dear old native region that has kept rich instead of growing poor amid disasters of so many kinds. In the time whereof I am telling this little story, which deals with humble country folk, the v battalion could muster five hundred militia, from eight een to forty-five, variously equipped with implements of war, from fire-arms of every existing species and every 4 condition of dilapidation, to riding-switches cut from the hickory-tree. No store was there, and no other houses,

THE HUMORS OP JACKY BUNDLE.

85

except the magistrate's mansion and out-buildings and a shed on the other side of the public road, under which his court held its monthly sessions. Yet oh such occa sions was to be had a plenty of such things as it was foreseen that this portion of the State's military force believed itself in need of for comfortable endurance of the heat and burden. Elderly ladies were there, with joint stools at the rear of their one-horse wagons, in which were ginger-cakes, and beer made from the persimmon and the honey-locust. Elderly, or other wise exempt gentlemen, brought in ox-carts, among other things, jugs containing what some persons then considered, as some do now, an. excellent invention for the heart of man in gladsome mood -or sorrowful. Other exempts had ovens for the corn pone, griddles for the hoe-cake, pots of coffee, bottles of molasses, kegs of buttermilk, and pits from which ascended and permeated hundreds of square rods of circumambient air as mouth-watering scents as ever were snuffed by the nose of man.
To the open field beyond the mansion from the court-ground the various companies were marched at such intervals and in such order as officers and men understood and respected. When all were in satis factory martial array, it was interesting to note the unwarlike, occasional gay composure of privates, even subalterns, compared with the fearful passion of the major, as, clothed in new regalia (suspected of being the occasion for the order for the present parade), light ning in his eye, thunder in his voice, he galloped up and down, and up and down, shouting the while as if all the enemies of the country were at the foot of the

86
/ hill just beyond Beaver Dam Creek, preparing to cross that very last of the nation's defenses, assail an un offending, free, but unprepared people, and reduce them to everlasting bondage. On the other hand, the sol diers, apparently indifferent to the menacing fate, lounged about, discussing and jesting upon neighbor-
v hood topics, swapped knives, whittled sticks, and some xeven took hands in brief games of old sledge or mumble .-peg, kneeling on the soft, clean Bermuda grass. Yet they
heartily cheered their major in his gallant endeavors to save the State, whose destinies for the time being had been put in his hands. After an hour or so, when the voice of the hero could be heard no more on account of his exhaustion, and his steed was reeking, as if news had been brought from outposts that the enemy had thought best to retire from Beaver Dam, the forces left the field in such irregular leisure as becomes men who feel themselves in no need of guides to conduct them to familiar places.
The battalion, thus resolved into its constituent ele ments, repaired variously as suited their several in stincts. The sober-minded set out for their homes; the rest lingered, some to enact and some to witness such interesting scenes as the occasion was likely to improvise. Not a few old misunderstandings and some suddenly risen were settled during that afternoon, and /many a game was played at pitching silver dollars, marbles, foot-racing, vaulting, ball, and others. Mr. Sanders was in excellent feather, having discharged his duties of orderly sergeant as satisfactorily as if he had known what they were; Mr. Bundle also, as high a private as any, was conscious of having done all that

THE HUMORS OP JACKY BUNDLE.

7

was needed from a modest citizen of a free country on the present occasion. True, he had gotten a rebuke while marching to the field, the only one administered by a subaltern on that day.
" Privick Bundle," said Sergeant Sanders, " you'll obleege me by tryin' to keep some sort o' step with some body ef you can't do it 'ith yourself."
"Yes, SIR!" answered the delinquent. "I ben a-doin' my level best to keep it along o' you, sargeant, but blest ef you ain't too onreg'lar for me."
The laugh raised by this answer was carried up and down the lines.
" Silence ! " shouted the major, and let his steed curvet in admonition.
Notwithstanding this exception, Mr. Bundle felt entire contentment in his mind. Later in the day as he was moving along leisurely past the gate of Mrs. Mohorn's wagon in the direction of one of the ox carts beyond, she said:
"Jacky Bundle, you've already drunk as much sperrits to-day as is good for you. You better stop right here, and spend the thrip or the sev'n >, pence you got left in your pocket right at this here waggin here than to be a-goin' a-home a-makin' o' Nancy ashamed o' you, an' you a-feelin' to-morrer momin' a-like your head was a-goin' to bu'st open to boot. Now don't you think so yourself, and in the honest truth ?"
Now Mr. Bundle had great respect for Mrs. Mohorn, the greater because of the admiration and affec tion which he knew that good woman to have for his own dear wife. So he halted, and looking solemnly

88 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
at the lady, answered, " Missis Mohorn, I does, I actuil does, and I thanky for your adwices."
Taking from his pocket his remnant of change a couple of thripensapennies he peacefully ate his cake, drank his two cups of persimmon, wiped his mouth, rose, and thanked her again, as a gentleman ought. She put the coins in her home-knit woolen purse in the manner of a person who was conscious of having ren dered a kind service and been reasonably remunerated.
" And now, Jacky," she added, as he was turning to leave, " if I was in your place I'd go straight to my horse, and I'd onhitch him from the saplin', and I'd git on his back, and I'd go straight on home. I wouldn't wait for Red Sanders, not me. I wouldn't. He's over thar with a passel o' men on them benches behint the court-'ouse, a-tellin' of his tales, and them a-laughin' at 'em, or at him, one or t'other, and there ain't no tellin* when sech as that is a-comin' to a eend, and the wife you've got, Jacky Bundle, oughtn't to not be kep' oneasy about her own husband and companion more than what can be holp. Is them your opinions, Jacky Bun dle, er is they not ? Answer fa'r and squar'."
" Missis Mohorn," he answered, solemnity now sunk to its profoundest, " they is. A good-eveuin' to you, and I thanky agin."
As he moved slowly away, Mrs. Mohorn, more in soliloquy than minding to impart expression of her thoughts to her little granddaughter, whom she had taken with her as a companion, said, looking at the de parting form : " As good a man as ever lived, 'twer'n't he will git disgwiseded with too much sperrits ; worth a cow-pen full o' sech as Bed Sanders."

THE HUMOKS OP JACKY BUNDLE.

89

With as honorable intentions as any man ever had to go on home without delay, Mr. Bundle walked to the spot on the edge of the wood where his horse was standing. He was pleased with the low, affectionate whicker that saluted his approach. But just as he was drawing down the pliant hickory limb to which the halter was attached, shouts of laughter from the court yard pealed forth so exuberant that he let loose the twig, and said: " Troup, my boy, wait a leetle, thes a leetle longer, on Marse Jacky, tell he go and see whut ia the fun at the court-'ouse. He won't be gone a-long, and when we git home you shall have six more year o' corn and a bundle o' fodder more'n common blamed if you sha'n't!"
Troup replied with a subdued, patient whinny, and his master turned back. Complimenting himself for leaving voluntarily the main crowd that were yet lingering in the various pastimes beyond the mansion, he thought he might take this final indulgence for a brief time, the sun being yet high enough for him to get home some time before its going down. Just as he reached the court-yard, Mr. Sanders, whose back was toward the comer, rose from his seat, overflowing with gleefulness, and said:
" Gentlemen, I hain't yit told you my best story best thing ever heerd in your life. I got it over in Put-, man last week. I hain't yit told it even to Jacky Bun dle, because Jacky one o' them kind o' fellers that you got to thes ram a good thing into o' him before you can git him to under Why, hello! Jacky, that you ? I thought you done gone on home. Glad you hain't; I were about tellin' the boys a joke I got 'cross the

J
90 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Oconee. Best thing ever heerd in your life. Set down till I git through, and when we has a little more fun we'll break up and go home together."
Mr. Bundle, regarding his brother-in-law with hum blest respect, sat down on a bench, last in the row, and nudging the friend next him, whispered, " Thar it is agin', sp'ilin' his joke, even ef it's a good'n, by braggin' on it hisself, and that before he tell it."
The speaker evidently was set back somewhat by the unexpected apparition of Mr. Bundle, of whom he had just spoken in not respectful terms, and by the smiles at the whispering that he himself had not over heard. However, trusting in his own powers and the merits of his theme, he boldly put forth. The story was about a very green rustic in Putman, who not long back had married a girl so far his superior that for this reason alone he had become jealous. As the narration advanced with irrelevant circumstantiality, Mr. Bundle, more and more intent, moved gradually but most hum bly nearer. The audience winked at one another, yet seemed reasonably expectant of the climax, which promised, if it should ever be reached, to be satisfac tory.
"Jacky Bundle," suddenly cried Mr. Sanders, in something of a fret, " if you'll try to keep still, I'll go on with my tale."
"Beg your pardon a thousand times, Eed," was answered, with deepest humility. " From what you said and from the way you let off from the jump, I see she were a-goin' to be uncommon good, and I were only thes a-tryin' to git as nigh you as I could, so as to not lose none even o5 the drippin's. Do, please, for gra-

THE HUMOKS OF JACKY BUNDLE.

91

cious' sake! do peerten up, and don't keep the augence a-waitin' to hear what 'come o' the cussed fool. Didn't the young 'oman's kinfoiks kill him and cut him up and fling him to the dogs \ "
The crowd, unable to refrain, burst into loud laugh ter. Smarting beneath the ridicule thus put on him, Mr. Sanders rushed upon the intruder, and gave him a push that prostrated him upon his back.
Kow it seemed unfortunate for Mr. Bundle that at that very instant loud cries from many voices came from the main crowd in the field beyond Hutson's, pro claiming that Robert Hackett and William Giles, the two most noted fighters in the district, were stripped for yet another trial of manhood. To this scene, likely to be far more interesting, every man, save two, at the court-ground rushed, and the brothers-in-law were left to themselves.

III.
ENTERTAINING as it might be to follow the rest, who, with ejaculations of various kinds, were hurrying to the struggle of more doughty combatants, I must linger with Mr. Bundle, upon whom Mr. Sanders had thrown himself in wrath, and was beginning to pay off some of the debt which he felt to be due. Finding himself in such an unexpected and inconvenient situation, Mr. Bundle cried lustily to his neighbors to remove from his breast the superincumbent weight, and let the en counter, if nothing else would satisfy Mr. Sanders, be had upon terms at least approximating equality.

92 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

; " You, Jake Powers! you, Ab Perkins! you, Joe

Askew! Whar in thunder is all of you, that you won't

pull this fool off'n me, and let me have a fa'r chance to

cope along 'ith him ? "Whar is you all goned ?"

" Goned, sir. Don't you hear the eecho ?" said Mr.

Sanders, more irate, vengeful, and contemptuous per

haps because of their family relationship. Yet feeling

secure from interference during the combat two hundred

yards distant, which he judged, from his knowledge of

the combatants, would be prolonged, he was deliberate

in his inflictions. Mr. Bundle, on the contrary, not

withstanding his generally uniform temper, with pok-

ings among his ribs, and other unpleasant things, was

growing impatient, even disgusted.

"Ain't they nobody" he plained from his lowly

position, " that have the sense to jerk this everlastin'

cuss from off'n top o' me 1 Is everybody done turned

fool and goned away ?"

O

v

The answer made by echo to these pointed inquiries

was to the effect that she knew no person that was ade

quate, or, if so, was disposed for the desired interfer

ence.

Mr. Sanders, in the intervals of his pokings, like

other great men who in fully successful situations are

prone to vaunt their forbearance and general magna

nimity, reminded Mr. Bundle of the pains that he had

taken to make something respectable out of him, and of

what he had to endure from his stupid indocility and even

his occasional impudence, all for the sake of his wife

and children. Feeling that he could afford to be gener

ous in the offer of terms, in special consideration of in

evitable family ties, at length he said: "Jack Bundle

THE HUMORS OF JACKY BUNDLE.

93

I won't call you Jacky, for that sound like I keered something for you, which I don't, after all your mean ness everybody have gone to the fight 'twixt Bob Hackett an' Bill Giles, which your fool imp'dence have hendered me a-seein'. I owe you somethin' for that too. Howbeever, as your wife is Nancy Lary, which that's she's the own dear sister o' my wife, a-not'ithstandin' the poor innicent girl flung herself away when she took up along 'ith you, yit, if you'll promise me to behave yourself, an' keep your mouth shet when I'm a-talkin' an* a-noratin' things that you never yit has had the sense to understan' 'em an' to wally 'em, well, sir, in them ewents I lets you up, an' ef not, I perceeds to jolt you in the ribs."
" Red Sanders," answered the fallen man, firm as the ground on which he lay, " you may jolt on if you're mean enough to do it 'ith the' vantage you got o' me suddent and onexpected, but ruther'n I'll make any sech promus, I'll see you in Mexico, by blood! or any t'other o' the tremenjousest islants that the jography books tells about, sir."
The fact is, that Jacky Bundle, for the first time within anybody's recollection, became utterly disgusted with the extremity to which he had been reduced, and, brother-in-law or no brother-in-law, he made up his mind that
But here I think it well to record some additional friendly interference on the part of Mrs. Mohorn. Hear ing the plaining tones that came from the court-yard, leaving everything except her money-purse with her granddaughter, she hastened to the unhappy scene, and was horrified to see Jacky Bundle, whom she well

94 "THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORa
liked, beneath Reddiek Sanders, whom she liked not at all.
" The good laws have mercy on us all," she cried, " and 'special' poor Jacky Bundle ! " She looked around a moment, presumably for something with which she might help her fallen friend; but finding none, gathered in one hand her skirts, and extend ing the other on high, she strode toward the field, screaming: " 'Ain't you people got no senses and no hearts inside o' you, that Bill Giles and Bob Hackett a-everlastin' a-fightin' make you don't keer for po' Jacky Bundle, that that mean Red Sanders have al ready beat him to a jelly among them benches behint the court-'ouse, that the po' creeter can't even cherrip ? Is this the sort o' country we has to live in, that people is a-goin' to let people be beat to death, and them that has famblies an' is innicint as Jacky Bundle, that I thought, on my soul, he was done goned home tell I heerd his dyin' speeches thar 'mong them benches ?"
At the moment of her reaching the field the GilesHackett conflict was brought to an end, Mr. Hackett this time handing in his word. At Mrs. Mohorn's ap peal, several men, with ejaculations of great surprise, made haste to repair to the court-yard.
In the mean while some changes had taken place in the relations of the couple of gentlemen who had been left to themselves in such interesting and exigent circum stances. Matters had grown so monotonous with Mr. Bundle that at the very moment of Mrs. Mohorn's de parture for means for his rescue he said:
" Lookee here, Red Sanders, this business is gittin' tiresome. Let me up. I'm not a-goin' to promus you

95
notMn? flat o' my back, and 'special about your everlastin' horn-blowin's. Let me up, I tell you."
" No sir; not after sech words as them." At this juncture it so happened, that, as the hand which held down his opponent became disengaged mo mentarily with intent to gain a firmer grip, Mr. Sanders, by a sudden, powerful movement of Mr. Bundle, was overthrown once, yea twice, and then came prone, with his whole front upon the ground, wedged between one of the benches and an oak sapling near by. With neither more nor less haste than necessary, Mr. Bundle put himself astride of Mr. Sanders's back, and then for a brief while seemed to deliberate what he should do next. After sufficient reflection, he pinioned the gen tleman's arms beneath his own knees, wound his hands in the long hair beneath, and apparently decided to make a pick of the head it covered, " Jack Bundle," cried Mr. Sanders, in an interval of resting from the work on hand, " I wouldn't of be lieved that sech onfeelin' meanness was in any white man, not to say nothin' about a man's own brer-in-law and the companion of his own wife's dear sister, that it do look like a pity that two wimming that love one 'nother like Patsy Lary and Nancy Lary that was,, should have to fall out and be sip-rated in this kind o' style; that as for me, I wouldn't treat a dog so, not even a mean sheep-stealin' dog." Mr. Bundle, a man of fewest words, was not in clined to waste argument on a case already adjudicated after rather troublesome litigation, but continued lei surely to peck the ground with the instrument impro vised for the occasion.

96 ^HE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
"For the Lord's sake, Jacky Bundle," cried Mr. Sanders, at another pause in the operation, " stop this oudacious foolishness, that it's a-puttin' out my eyes out and a-mashin' off my nose off, and ef you don't, I'll put the law on you; I will, pos'tive and perp'ndieklar."
" Oh, I know, Red," answered Mr. Bundle, with a cool sense of security becoming one in his position, " I know how to dig inside o' the law. I thes want to pay back what I owe you, with lawful intrust a-added on to it. I ain't a-nigh done 'ith it yit. But I has kincluded in my mind that ef you'll promise me one /thing I'll git off'n you, and ef you don't I'm a-gwine to keep on a-diggin' with your head till I strike water in this court-'ouse yard, hard trod as the ground is by v tromplin' for thirty year and better."
" Name your terms, then, and name 'em quick, for I can't stand sech as this much longer; but Jacky," he added, in affectionate, pleading tone, " I should supposen that in sech a onfort'n't kindition a man's own dear brer-in-law mout natchel take in the sitooation o' the case in his mind, and kinsider his own, well as t'other people's latter eend, and to not be too hard on his wife's own dear brer-in-law, which, if I has ever ben flung onexpected intoo jes' sech a case, I don't 'members it."
Mr. Bundle, disengaging his fingers, lifted, spread apart, and cooled them; then taking a yet more hearty hold upon the luxuriant locks, and slightly elevat ing the head below, thus answered: " Yes, sir. Well, the terms is these and them: that you got to let up for one whole blessed year from this day and date in the tellin' o' your insignifikiut tales, that they has wore

THE HUMORS OF JACKT BUNDLE.

97

people out a-list'nin' to 'em. Your very wife, Red Sanders, that you good as swo' to pertect, have ben pessecuted by your everlastin' woices to that she's got to be thin as a shad a-goin' down-stream. Ner neither is my wife, which she is her own dear sister, even she is not nigh the woman she was from your deternal gab, no, sir, not even in her flesht and bloods; and everybody else is that disgussed that What you say, Reddick Sanders, to the above ?"
He concluded with a tightening of his grip. " I s'pose I'll have to promise, Jacky, as they ain't no gittin' around it in the fix I'm in." " 'Tain't no bavin? to do about it, sir. It's got to be done, and it's got to be did fa'r and squar,' and no bones. Does you do it ? Talk quick." " I does." "Andsw'arstoit?" " I does in them words." "All right. Hello, boys!" Mr. Bundle asked, as he rose, of the men who, having followed Mrs. Mohorn, had returned. One of them answered: " Never see a pootier fight; but Bob had to give in this time. That set Bill two in five, and, as he ris offn Bob, he told him the next turn would fetch him even 'ith him. Bob laughed, he did, bunged up as he were, and he said: 'All right, Bill; we'll see.' Then they went to Jim Simmons's k'yart to take a drink, which Bill he 'sisted on payin' the expense. But, my good ness, Jacky, what's all been to pay 'twixt you and Red ? Misses Mohorn skear'd us all out a year's growth apiece, sayin' Red had you down, and was a-maulin' the breath out o' you. But Red, the way his nose is skin't, look
7

98

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.

like he had the worst of it. Nobody had a idee that you two, brer-in-laws at that, was a-goin' into a reg'lar scrimmage, and that about nothin'."
" No, I supposen not," replied Mr. Bundle. " Soon as you all left, Red he lit on to me, and I hollered for some o' you to take him off tell my throat got sore, and then I accident fetched him a turn, and now we are about even ain't we, Red \ "
Mr. Sanders took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, softly patted his nose, combed his hair with his fingers, and nodded a vague, silent response.
" But, Red," asked Mr. Powers, " you never finished your story. Whatever did become o' that feller ?"
" I can't tell you honible, Jake," he answered, sol emnly, and, immediately turning away, went for his horse. Indeed, it was time for those who lived several miles away to be gone, yet Mrs. Mohorn would delay 'Mr. Bundle somewhat longer.
" Come a-right along 'ith me, Jacky," she said, tak ing him by one of his coat-tails. Having marched him to her wagon and planted him on one of her stools, " Thar!" she said; " ef ever I see a body that he have deserved to have a gingy-eake and a cup of beer free gratis an' for nothin,' it's you, Jacky Bundle"; and she made him eat to the last crumb, and drink to the last drop.
" Not only so," Mr. Bundle said to his wife that night, " but she actuil tuck out her box these couple o' /her biggest, brownest thrip cakes, and 'ithout a-even a-openin' o' her mouth about the money, she thes flung 'em in my lap, she did, and she says, ' Jacky, take them cakes home, and give one to Nancy, and diwide the

THE HUMORS OF JACKY BUNDLE.

99

totlier 'mong the childern.' And she say, and don't forgit that, honey, that she ruth'r that wouldn't git to the ear o' the old man Leadbetter, as, bein' the deacon, he might feel his juty to fetch it up in the church as a-lookin' like a encour'gement to fightin'. We must be wery partic'lar about that."
It was so late when the statute of limitations began to run, after the unsealing of the mouth of Mr. San ders, that, to the best of my recollection, it was never known precisely what were the results of the conjugal unpleasantness on the other side of the Oconee.

THE EXPERIMENT
OF MISS SALLY CASH.
I.
s THE front gate of Mr. Singleton Hooks opened al most immediately upon the public road. Several large white-oaks stood just outside the yard, each with its couple of horseshoes, for the accommodation both of vis itors and of those who came on business. For one of his negro men constantly worked in the blacksmith's shop at the intersection with the main thoroughfare of a neigh borhood road that, coursing alongside the garden and front yard, crossed and continued on in a southeasterly direction toward the county-seat.
Half a mile farther west, equally near to the road, but on the south side of it, dwelt Mr. Matthew Tuggle. Claiming to be only a farmer, yet, by trading in horses and by other speculations, he kept himself about even with his next neighbor in prosperity, and it would not have been easy to say which of the two owned the more valuable property.
Diiferent as they were, good friends they had been always. They ought to have been indeed; for their wives were cousins, and fond to affection of each other, as were their daughters, Emeline Hooks and Susan Arm

THE EXPERIMENT OP MISS SALLY CASH. 101
Tuggle. The difference between the heads of these families may have served as a foil to unite them more closely. Mr. Hooks, tall, slender, whose long iron-gray hair and solemn port made him look above, though he was somewhat under, forty-five; a justice of the peace ; a sometimes reader of books judicial, medical, and the ological ; a deacon, even an occasional exhorter imag ined that he would have more loved and respected his kinsman by marriage but for his worldliness. On the other hand, Mr. Tuggle, stubby, but active as a cat, without a single white streak in his fair, bushy hair, professed in every company affection, admirajion, even reverence for his Unk Swingle, as, in spite of some not very urgent remonstrances, he always called him.
The most besetting of Mr. Tuggle's sins was danc ing. Mourning, as Mr. Hooks often did, the preva lence of this amusement, even among many leading families, yet he neither would nor could deny that, even after he had become a married man, he had liked both the cotillon and the reel, and sometimes indulged even in the jig. Mortifying as it was to confess, down to this very time, the sound of the fiddle was so pleasing to his ears that he had to keep himself beyond its reach. Yet he was truly thankful that before it was everlast ingly too late he had seen himself a sinner in the broad road, and betaken himself to the straight and narrow way. Often, in his affectionate solicitude for Mr. Tug gle, he would say about thus :
" Now there's Matthy Tuggle: as everybody that know Matthy is ableeged to acknowledge, he's a toler'ble, passable, good-hearted creeter, ef he could jes' ric'lect that his young da^fris over,*and a man 'ith a family

102 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
of his age ought to set a' egzample by good rights to the risin' generations of his own and other people, 'stid of prancin' his legs, short as they might be, to the fid die, and no great shakes at dancin' at that which because he'll tell you hisself that, in them times when I followed the practice, he never much as hilt a light to the foot /1 slung in a quintillion when my dander were up, the fiddle chuned accordin' to the scale, and my pard'nter ekal to her business. But, the deffunce betwix' me and ^Matthy, /see they were a jumpin'-off place to sech as that, and I had the jedgment to git out o' the way o' the wrath to come; but Matthy let his legs, duck legs ef they might be, keep on a-runnin' off 'ith him; and which exceptin' o' that, Matthy Tuggle might ben one o' the pillars o1 the church; because he not a bad man in his heart, and Brer Roberts give his opinions he'll git conwerted from his ways; but ef so, seem to me like high time; and, tell the truth, a body can't help prayin' for him, ef it do look like fiingin' away powder and shot. As for him a-callin' me his Unk Swingle, every body know Matthy will have his jokes, spite o' his knowin' they ain't more'n a munt in me and his age. Yit I can't help lovin' Matthy, spite o' his young, chileless ways. When a man want adwices in his business he know how to give it; and when a body need sech a thing, they ain't nobody got a better back-bone to prize him out o' de-ficulties. That's Matthy Tuggle, and ef he jes had grace, they positively, they ain't no tellin'."
Mr. Tuggle, far less loquacious, yet indulged in an occasional antiphon.
"Unk Swingle is a good man, a' excellent good man. Fact, Unk Swing Hooks what I call righteous

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 103
man, well as bein' of a smart man. I got nothing course, ag'in his righteousness, but yit I can not foller him in makin' out dancin' sech a devilish, oudacious piece o' business all of a suddent, and special when I ain't forgot before he were conwerted, and his ekal on the floor I have yit to see; but yit he were then jest as honest as he is now; and, natchel supple as them legs oj his'n is, I wouldn't swear he'd never spread 'em ag'in to the fiddle, prowided he's overtook some time and he can do it ruther onbeknownst. He ain't the old man he make out like, not nigh."
Each of the young ladies had inherited her father's most striking characteristics, physical and moral. Miss Hooks, serious, tall, although religious, was rather more charitable than her father toward the worldly-minded. Miss Tuggle, petite and gay, was fond of the dance and other sports that she believed to be innocent. Both were handsome and nearing to twenty years of age. It had come to be understood that whoever was to marry either would have to bring other things besides good looks, good habits, and good social standing. Nobody could have foreseen that the confidence and affection between these young ladies, so fine, so closely knit in sentiment and in kin, would give place to coldness suspicion, and jealousy. Indeed, nobody, however wise and prudent, can foretell upon any sort of persons, to say nothing of young ladies in special, the effect of domestic afflictions on the one hand, and, on the other, the settlement in the neighborhood of a new marriage able man giving promise of a successful career in an in teresting business.

II.
THE plantations, each comprising several hundreds of acres, lay on both sides of the road, and were ad joined, east of Mr. Tuggle, southeast of Mr. Hooks, by ir-ihat of Miss Sally Cash, near by whose residence led the neighborhood way aforementioned and another, begin ning at a point on the main thoroughfare a mile east from Mr. Hooks. Here a country store had been set up lately.
Professing to be as independent a woman as ever drew the breath of life, yet Miss Cash, partly for com pany's sake, partly for convenience, usually had with her one or another of the young sons of her cousin, Mr. > Abram Grice. Left, when a young child, an orphan and poor, with the work of her hands she had paid fully for the care bestowed by her kinsfolk during her mi nority, and afterward, by industry, economy, and judi cious investments, become owner of a good plantation and about a dozen slaves, all paid for. For some years last past upon her countenance and in her deportment had been visible the air of conscious prosperity.
A tall woman was she, somewhat thin, blue-eyed, reddish-haired. It was only lately that had appeared on her cheek the blush that through her earlier years had delayed. This advent was due, she claimed, to release from her most arduous work, but perhaps mainly to the fact of her never having had a man about the house to i delve and work for, and try to please, and be hectored over and-so-forths of various sorts. Hitherto she had not been supposed to be or wish herself on the matri-

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 105
monial carpet. For men in the abstract I don't remem ber that she ever had been heard to express either ear nest hostility or eontetnpt, because, as often in con versation she frankly admitted, her own father before his death had been a man; not only so, but her own blessed, dear brother, if she had ever had one, must have belonged to the same sex. But when the question came to taking one of these creatures into her house, and giving up to him not only her name, but the prop erty for which so long and laboriously she had toiled, that, to use one of her favorite metaphors, was a gray horse of entirely another color.
Of late, however, contemporaneously with the new sheen upon her face, the tone of her remarks touching the male sex had begun to show some change. Some times, after remarks sounding of sarcasm, she would moderate their sharpness and say about as follows :
" And yit," smiling in the careless manner so com mon and so secure in ladies of property, " don't you know thes here lately I ben a-studyin', and I ben arunnin' over in my mind, that ef that's that I didn't know but what good oppechunity, you mind I might make a expeermunt, ef thes only to see what they is in it that make so many women go through what they go through with, rather than they'll run the resk of being called old maids, and exact' the same of widders when their husbands has died off and left 'em. Now, fur as bein' of dead in love with any man person as ever trod the ground, like warous women that I have knew, and that no matter how much trouble and sickness, and hives and measles, and whoopin'-cough, and the ackuil dyin' o' their offsprings and childern, and hus-

106 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
bands in the bargain, and then afterwards gittin' of another, which of course my expeunce have nothin' to do 'ith all nor none of sech; and, as fur my a-sendin' roses and pinks, and bubby-blossoms, and even makin' pin-cushions and knittin' money-pusses for their beaux, as some girls does these days, of course sech as that and them is not to be expected of me, a not'ithstandin' they are a plenty o' women older than what I call for, and them not married at that; but it would not suit my idees of dilicate, sech as that and them. And yit well, thes here lately, a thes a-settin' by myself, I ben, 4 er ruther my mind ben, a-consatin' what sech might be if it was to happen onexpected like. Because, don't you know, when a person of my time o' life, and special when she's a female person, and which I've freckwent thought, though of course I know that were not the fault of my parrents, although it look right hard somewkeres, that a orphin' child 'ith no more prop'ty than she have, nother father ner mother, ner brother ner sis ter, she were left in the female kinditions I ben every sence 1 knewed myself, and have to scuffle and baffle my own way along and up to my present ockepation o' life, which, a not'ithstandin' I am thankful that not a dollar nor a cent do I owe for this plantation and nig gers, hous'le and kitchen furnichurs, stock ner utenchul. But and ah ! there come' in the question to who ? And my meaning is: 'ith a female person in my kin ditions, who shall the said prop'ty of sech warous kind go to, when, as the Scriptur' say, the thief knocketh at the door when he ain't ben a-expectin'; because prop'ty . can not foller a body in the ground, and it wouldn't be no use ner enjoyment ef it could. So you see fur

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 107
yourself, that they is more than one views to take of thes one loned female, ef indeed she may try to keep herself perfect cool, spite of iduil thoughts occasional. I try to be thankful to the good Lord ef I've ben a person that had to work hard, I've ben a person as had appetites for my victuals and a plenty o' them. But it go to show what warous thoughts a female person like me their mind will run on sometimes, that she live by her lone self, a not countin' Abom Grice's Tony, and special these long nights, that it's too soon to go to bed, and she git through the reelin' of broaches and windin' of balls, and she got more stockin's now than she have any use fur, and then to thes set and study in their mind till they git sleepy, which I'm honest thankful that don't take more'n nine o'clock never; and when my head do once touch the piller, then 'Farewell, world,' tell the chickens crow next mornin'."
Talks like these, new to Miss Cash, but becoming more and more oft repeated, led in time to the suspicion that her mind, however resistant theretofore to love's influences, was approaching a reasonable degree of re ceptivity thereto. But I advance no opinion on the possible connection between the late diversion in her views touching her own possible change of condition and the unexpected demise of Mrs. Tuggle.
For a time the loss of so dear a companion depressed Mr. Tuggle to a degree that hopes were indulged by Mr. Hooks that his affliction might prove a blessing in disguise, and lead him to knock at the door of the church. Much of his time was spent with the Hooks family, from whom, particularly the ladies, he sought the consolation that his daughter had not the heart to

108 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
offer. These occasions, and others whereat he may have been present, Mr. Hooks essayed to improve by such counsel and warning as seemed needful and apposite. By degrees, however, it appeared likely that the mourner would look for his most satisfactory relief in substituting, if one every way suited could be found and obtained, another woman in the place of her who had departed from him. Not that Mr. Tuggle made any great change in his dress, or indulged in unseemly gayeties. It was mostly that, when in the company of marriageable ladies, or when being only among gentlemen the subject of marriageable ladies was under discussion, his face evinced an attentiveness that was believed to indicate that his mind was not only interested but decently alert.
Mr. Hooks was sorry to have to admit that he was disappointed.
"It do look like," he said one day to his wife and daughter, " that Matthy, 'stid of taken' of warnin' from his affliction and lookin' forrards to his own latter end, is a-rnakin' of prip'rations for another lease o' his life, which he ought to know he can't count on no great lenks; but it only go to show when a worldly man like him git to be widowers, what they'll be far up and doin* before grace can git a holt on 'em. Now, I'm not adenyin' that him and Sally Cash jinds plantations, as both o' 'em jinds along 'ith me; and ef it's their desires to fling both into one, that's their business. And, tell the truth, Sally a good, industrious woman that have a good prop'ty, and I'm not a-findin' fau't 'ith her for sprucin' up so fine lately and carryin' about 'ith her so much red o' one kind and another. For Matthy Tuggle

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 109

a man worth all her whiles. But it do seem to me, ef

I was in Matthy's place, I should ask the question, and

I should ask it on my knees "

" Pshaw, Mr. Hooks! " interrupted his wife. " It's

easy enough asking questions. The thing is answerin'

'em. As for widowers getting married again, they'll

all do it, and them generally does it the quickest that's

the surest they won't in their mind when their wives is

a-livin'. As for Cousin Matthy, I think he behave very

decent, considering, and Emeline think the same. He

have told us both that if it mayn't be impossible for him

to look out for another companion, he have made up his

inind to be keerful; and a better husband no woman

ever had than poor Cousin Betsy. But, Mr. Hooks, I

wish you wouldn't be supposening you was in Matthy's

place."

" I was only a-sayin', my dear wife, how in sech a

case it would be grace, and nothin' but grace would let

me stand it; and ef I could only make you more keer-

ful about your 1 "

" Do, pray, Mr. Hooks, don't begin on that everlast-

in' subject."

*

Then she rose and left the room.

"Pa," said Emeline, "if I was in your place, I

wouldn't talk to ma so much about her bad health, and

specially what she says you are always bringing up about

her liver."

" Emeline, my darlin'," he said with mournful re

monstrance, " you know what your ma is to me and you

too, and that what make me so anxious, and try to make

her take better keer of herself. You think your ma

hain't acknowledged to me time and time ag'in, that

110 THE PEIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
not untwell she were married to me and I told her that she knewed that folks 1mA livers, when it's the very importantest, and dilicatest, and danjonsest cons'tution o' people ? My adwices to you is to try to conwince her of the needcessity of whut she eat. and how she eat. Her appetites is not large, but they is resky."
III.
THE changes in the tone of conversation and other deportment of Miss Cash were followed by another that 4 was particularly gratifying to Mr. Abner Hines, a young man anywhere between thirty and forty, who not long before had come into the community and set up the store aforementioned. The merchant was polite, court eous, sociable, obliging, reasonably easy to be entreated about his prices, and it soon appeared that in time he would do better than had been expected. In the case of Miss Cash, who from the first had regarded the enter prise with considerable interest, her purchases, careful, even stinted at first, lately had been growing notably more generous. Mr. Hines had an ambition to get as much as possible of her ready specie, consistently of course with the rendering of just equivalent, and he began to believe that he had cause to congratulate him self.
" Not," he would say confidently to several customers, one at a time " it's not that Miss Sally don't yit beat you down in the price, like she always have. But here lately she go for a finer article, and a article that's fash-

THE EXPERIMENT OP MISS SALLY CASH,
ionabler than what she used to be willin' to put up with. She want the best, she say ; and knowin' I got to fall, I generally raises on her in the askin' price, so as to leave room for not droppin' too fur not to make a livin' profit."
Mr. Tuggle was one of those who had commented, though always withont any sarcasm, on some of the lady's peculiarities. Yet now he spoke of her invariably in terms not only of much respect but of admiration. Respecting his daughter's feelings and neighborhood opinions of decency, he did not yet go to Miss Cash's house; but whenever he saw her riding-nag standing at a neighbor's gate or at the store he would alight, and deport himself as if recently he had been studying manners with special reference to her. Outsiders believed that they could see in both a tendency toward each other that understood itself enough not to be in special haste.
Mr. Tuggle, although improved in his dress, behaved with more decency than is common with widowers. The seriousness that he took on at the beginning of his bereavement continued, and it was gratifying to all the Hookses; for the ladies of the family, like their head, if coming short of his outward degree, were religous. For a man that had not studied the art of music specially, he was a good singer; and often, on Sunday evenings, when perhaps Mr. Hines (who was fond of visiting, par ticularly at these two houses) may have called on Susan Ann, and their conversation was not very interesting to one in his lonely condition, he strolled to his next neigh bor's, and he and Emeline, joined by her mother, when well enough, would spend quite a time in the singing of

112 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
hymns. Mr. Hooks liked these exercises, mainly for the hope, feeble as it had become, that before his serious season had fully passed, Mr. Tuggle might see the need of diverging from the broad road along which he had been traveling for, lo! those so many years.
" Ef Matthy," he said one evening after Mr. Tuggle had left " ef he only had the sperrit ekal to his woices, they'd be some hopes of his conwictions and conwersions, in course under grace; for everybody that have studied Scriptur' know that 'ithout grace 'tain't worth whiles for a sinner to try to move one blessed peg. But I do think the idee a man at his time o' life a-wishin' and awantin' and a actuil' a-desirin' to git married ag'in "
" Keed'nt talk to me about widowers," abruptly put in Mrs. Hooks. " They're as certain to marry again as the days is long. The thing is for 'em to try and marry suitable."
" Well, ef it's to be Matthy and Sally, the question'll be how she and Susan Ann is to congeal together; be cause they've both of 'em got a temper o' their own, that nary one of 'em is willin to be runned over, jes dry so."
"My opinions is," said Mrs. Hooks, "that right there'll be the difficulty, and I have told Matthy so in them words."
"What Matthy say?" " He said nothin'; but he look like he were pes tered and jubous in his mind." " IJmph, humph ! "Well, I'm thankful it ain't me; and I should never expect it to be me ef my adwices would be took for the rig'lations " But he again, though reluctantly, suspended when

approaching a subject painful to liis wife to hear dis cussed.
Many such conversations were had between this loving husband and his wife, always interspersed with af fectionate salutary admonitions. Mr. Hooks used to say that is, before he had become a church-member that really he had his doubts which he was most cut out for, a lawyer or a doctor; but since that momentous epoch, he was confident in his mind that his proper sphere, had he only known it in time, would have been that the center whereof was the pulpit; and he used almost to intimate what he might do therein even now but for his justice bench, his blacksmith's shop, and his large gin-house, in which a considerable portion of the pub- lie had interests co-ordinate with his own.
During all this while Susan Ann Tuggle had grown more and more anxious at the thought of the marriage of her father, especially with Miss Cash. Confidence between parent and child had been checked by the for mer's prompt rebuke of some sharp words spoken by the latter touching the lady in question, and afterward they had gotten into the habit of carrying their burdens separately to their relations down the road.
" O Emeline! Emeline ! If pa brings another wo man to our house to hecter over me, and special' old/ Miss Sally, I leave for the for the first place I can find a home at with respectable people."
" Be calm, Susan Ann, and don't be scared and go to fretting before the time comes. I think Cousin Matthy have behaved right well so far, considering. I never heard a parrent talk more affectionate of their daughter than he have been talking about you here lately."
8

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Oil, these widowers can be affectionate enough, but the more affectionate they are, the more they go on the idea that they must have a mother for their orphan children; but I want nobody in ma's place, and special' old Miss Sally. Yet J mean to try to hope for the best; but I tell you now, Emeline, that if it come to the worst, I shall take the first chance that comes that's decent, and get married myself."
More serious, far more pious, than her cousin, Miss Hooks was accustomed to employ Scriptural phrases for her own and others' comfort. With calm earnest ness she counseled Susan Ann to possess her soul in pa tience, and endeavor to remember in all circumstances that afflictions, though they seem severe, are oft in mercy sent.
" And which, Susan Ann," she said in conclusion, "no longer than last Sunday evening, when me and Cousin Matthy were singing for ma, who wasn't well enough to join in with us, and we were a-singing that veriest hymn, and I happen to look at Cousin Matthy, I think I see his eyes water, and I know I see his mouth trimble."
IV.
PROFOUND as was the sense of loss in the breast of Mr. Hooks, when, a few weeks after the events last herein told, his wife followed her cousin on the oldfashioned, unavoidable way, there was no telling to what deeper depths it might have descended but for ike merciful fact that he was thoroughly cognizant of

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. H5
the cause to which mainly her departure was attribu table. Her pious resignation, he hoped, was credited for all that it had contributed to the comfort that he was enabled to take. But that which seemed the con trolling element in this behalf was the recollection of having made an unerring diagnosis of the malady which had torn her from his arms.
" The de-ficulty 'ith my poor, dear Malviny," with calm melancholy he said often during the season of mourning, " were her liver, that k'yard her off from this spears of action like the thief of a night when no man can work, l|ut people's asleep and a not a-lookin' for no sech. I have saw, and I have freckwent noticed, and that more than a munt before she taken down; and it were her complexions and weak stomach she have for her victuals, because her appetites, ever sence I have knowed her, and special' lately, they has not been large, but they has been resky; and I has told her so time and time ag'in, in course in a affectionate way; and when the doctor have to be sent fur, I told him, plain as I could speak, no matter what he give, 'ithout they'd rig'late her liver they wouldn't fetch her back to her wanted healths. And I give him the credic, he done his lev'lest best; not only bleedin', but calomel and jalap. In course, I'm not a-denyin' that my poor, dear wife had to go when her time come; but yit, I can't but be thankful I knewed the de-ficulty, and I left down no gaps in the tryin' to powide ag'inst it."
The consolations from this benignant source sup ported Mr. Hooks to a degree that made him extremely thankful. Recognizing that duties to the living could not be paid fully by a man (especially with his various

116 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
vast responsibilities) who went about mourning all his days, he turned, after a brief while, his back upon the graveyard, and tried to present, first a resigned, soon a cheerful, face to the world outside of it. It began to be remarked that his conversation, general carriage, even his person, were brighter than for years. For now he dressed and brushed himself with much care ; and before long, instead of bestowing monitory looks and words upon jests and other frivolities of the young and the gay, he not only smiled forgivingly, but occa sionally with his own mouth put forth a harmless anec dote at which he laughed as cordially as he knew how, and seemed gratified when others enjoyed it.
Singular as was the contrast, the seriousness in the whole being of Mr. Tuggle seemed to deepen after the affliction that had fallen upon the Hooks family.
" The fack is, Emeline," he said one Sunday even ing, " sorry as I'm obleeged to be fur myself, I can't help symp'thizin' 'ith you, a-knowin' what your ma were to you, and how you miss her. IsTow, Susan Ann, poor girl, she look to me like she think less about her ma than about her who's to take her place."
" Cousin Matthy," answered Emeline, " if anybody ever stood in need of symp'thy in this wide and sorrowful world, it's me. Law, Cousin Matthy, you think pa mean anything byliis jokes and getting so many Sun day clothes ?"
"Less said about 'em, Emeline that is, by me soonest mended."
After reflecting awhile, she said, "I think Miss Sally a fine woman, don't you ?"
" Bemockable, remockable ; and so do your pa."

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. H7
" O Cousin Matthy! Do, pray, please, Cousin Matthy, don't let pa go to courting at least before poor ma have been in her grave a decent time, and special' that oh me! "What is a poor orphan girl to do like me! "
" What to do, Emeline ? Why, wait and see. Your pa not an old man, by no manner o' means, and it's natchel he may not be willin' to pass for one before the time come. But wait and see, and be cool and keerful. Any adwices I can give, you know I'll do it."
Much of other like conversation was had after they had been singing together for some time. For a while Mr. Hooks, while sitting or promenading on his piazza, had listened with more or less interest, until by some chance the selections began to grow extremely sorrow ful ; when, taking his new hat and his new cane, he walked up the road.
" Evenin', Susan Ann. I left your pa and Emeline a-singin' of hymes. I listened to 'em tell they got on them solemn and solemcholy ones, that somehow don't congeal along 'ith me in the troubles ben on my mind, and I come up here to see ef you couldn't stir up somethin' to help out a feller's feelin's. What's all the live liest times 'ith you, Susan Ann ? "
" Glad to see you, Cousin Sing'ton," Susan Ann said, cordially. " Well, now, let me see. Ay, I've got it! Didn't Miss Sally look nice and young to-day at church with her new red frock, and her new green ca lash, and her new pink parasol, and her new white crane-tail fan, and her new striped ribbons, and her cheeks that just blazed like a peach, didn't she \ "
" That she did! that she did! Miss Sally begin to

118 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
look these days nigh same as a young girl, special' sence they have got to be more marryin' men, ah ha! I no tice her startin' to spruce up soon arfter your howbe'ever, a man oughtn't to express hisself undilicate to them that's interested in the case, ahem !"
Her tone changed instantly. " Cousin Sing'ton, you don't mean pa ? I'm sure that is, I think Miss Sally is setting her cap for yo-u, and seem to me she'd suit; she certain' have been more dressy and pink in the face since since you come on "the carpet." " Well, it only go to show the defhmce they is in people. Now Emeline say she shore in her (mind Miss Sally, ef she had to choose betwix' us, she'd lay ch'ice on your pa." " Did Emeline say that, Cousin Sing'ton ?" she < asked with darkling brow. "Now, Susan Ann/' with prudent tone, "I don't say them was her wery langwidge, and I don't know as I were ad-zactly in order to name to you them words o' Emeline, because it would seem like a pity fur you and her not to keep on o' bein' the affection't' couples you've always ben." "If Emeline Hooks is trying to marry off pa to that the fact of the business, it isn't fair all round, nowhere, Cousin Sing'ton." " As for suitin' all- parties, fur your pa and Sally to jind in banes, Susan Ann, I might have my doubts that is, in my own minds, and not a-expressin' 'em. Thar, right thar, they is a deffunce, and I shouldn't wish by no manner o' means for even these few priminary re marks to be named, either to Emeline or your pa."

THE EXPBEIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. H9
Susan Ann was silent for a while, then said, " Don't you think, Mr. Hines wants to court Emeline, Cousin Sing'ton?"
" Well, now, Susan Ann," he answered, in the man ner of one desirous to avoid full disclosures of family secrets, " ef Mr. Hines do, him ner Emeline haint named sech to me. I wouldn' be thunderstruck surprised ef he might desires sech a thing ef he had the prop'ty to put it through. They both know, I supposen, that a man that have the prop'ty I pay taxes on, and it a-increasin' every constant in warous way, I should expect a son-inlaw to fetch ef he can't fetch land, fur him, besides of what goods he have wisible in his stow, to fetch along a reason'ble, size'ble pile o' niggers. These would be my adwices to Emeline and to all young wimming. I don't know how freckwent the times I've 'membered what my father used to say when he was a-livin', about people a not allays bein' keerful enough who they got married to, and that is that people ought to be allays keerful not only to look whar they leap, but whar they lope. As for me, that is, my own self, a not'ithstandin' I feel a'most a right young man jes grown, sech is my healths, and my strength, and my sperrit, yit my inten tions is to look same as a hawk whar I'm a-leapin' and whar I'm a-lopin' both; and as I can't talk 'ith any satisfaction along 'ith Emeline, I shall 'casional' consult your adwices, which, my opinions is, you have a stronger jedgment than her on them important sub jects."
The words of Mr. Hooks during this and much other conversation were interpreted by Susan Ann as intimating his wish for her influence in his behalf with

120 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Miss Cash, counting upon her exerting it freely after learning that Emeline was rendering like service to Mr. Tuggle.
Y.
FEIEND as well as neighbor Miss Cash had been to both the ladies lately deceased. A famous nurse in sickness, she had tended their decline with assiduous, tender care, and the tears shed by her at their depart ure were as hearty as they were copious. Yet while observing proper decorum whenever in the company of the bereaved, she grew constantly more lively in gait and conversation, more addicted to visiting, and far more expensive and pronounced in apparel.
" It ruther astonish," Mr. Hines one day said to Mr. Hooks, after selling to him the materials for yet another suit, "and it put me up to get things fine enough for Miss Sally."
"Eight, Mr. Hines, she's right. A' excellent, a fine, a what I call a superfine woman, and I wouldn't object anybody a-tellin' her I made them remarks. And how young she look! and her jaws red same as a rose. My, my! what a wife and kimpanion, 'ith them looks, and them ways, and them niggers, and warous prop'ty she would make! Think she have a notion or idees that way, Mr. Hines ?"
" That question oversize my information, sir; but I have heard her say that her mind been runnin' on a expeennunt, as she call it, and she don't know what she

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 121
might do if the right man was to come, and he didn't prove to be too old and wore out."
" TJmph, humph! I suppose not, of course; young female like her. Yaas. I'm told she drap in your stow right freckwent these days. When she come next time, Mr. Hines, you may 'member my respects, and tell her anything I can help her in any her business of all kind, my requestes is, and also is my desires, she won't hizitate. A superfine female! No man, sir I say it bold and above-bode no man that's either too old or wo' out ought to, daresn't to offer hisself to be a party o' the second part in Miss Sally Cash expeermunts, or whatsomeever she mind to name 'em."
Interesting to all the neighbors, most especially to Mr. Hines, became movements made by the two widow ers, their daughters, and Miss Cash. For Mr. Hines, as was believed, hoped to be able to win for himself that one of the young ladies whose father Miss Cash would accept eventually. The coolness and reserve that had risen between the cousins neither Miss Cash nor the gentlemen objected to. Indeed, there was no doubt that every one of the six felt that the hand that he or she held had to be played with utmost discretion. Miss Cash manifested great respect for the late serious con versations of Mr. Tuggle, and she laughed consumedly at the new jokes of Mr. Hooks. Nobody doubted that she could choose between the two; and each of these, conscious that the other was his equal, or nearly so, ad vanced with slowness and caution. As for the young ladies, each convinced that the other was working against her wishes and interests in the case of Miss Cash, and perhaps remotely in that of Mr. Hines, they

122 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
became reserved to the degree that, not visiting each other at all, whenever they happened to meet they spoke, but nothing more. With entire coolness Miss Cash seemed to contemplate their cross-firing, and not infrequently she indulged in partly confidential chat about it with Mr. Hines at the store, or at her house, to which, in answer to her kind invitations, he some times went.
" Yes," Miss Cash said one day, " ef you have ever heard two girls praise up fathers that's not their'n, it's them. Look like they don't count their own fathers no shakes at all hardly, but it's they of the other. I agrees with both what they say; because both their parrents is excellent good men, and them fine, good girls."
" People say, Miss Sally," here Mr. Hines ventured to remark, " that in all prob'bility the Cash plantation will jind in either with the Hooks or the Tuggle."
" They all three jinds now already, Mr. Hines; but I know what your meanin's is in your mischevious. It takes more than one consents for sech as that, Mr. Hines; which a young lady like me, that have no expeunce, even ef she do think sometimes in a iduil hour of makin' sech a expeermunt, yit she can't but have her doubts, I may even say she can't but be jubous, and in fact downright hizitate on sech a dilicate, and I might actuil' say skeary kinclusion she might have on the sub jects of our present remarks. But, Mr. Hines" and now she smiled distantly and pleasantly "a person might have more than thes one expeermunt in her mind eye, as the preacher say, and when the time come, you'll see ef Sairey Cash, which people in gener'l call her Sally, but you'll see ef she's the young lady she

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 123
took herself, ef she understand' herself, and she think she do. For, somehow, I talk with you freer than I talk with some. But I actuil' do want to see them girls do well, and for whoever gets 'em to not have to wait for prop'ty as I am now thankful that I ain't hendered from the haviii' of comforts, and even lugjuries when I want 'em."
Noticing his interest in the conversation, she con tinued to talk at much length, saying, among other things:
" I'm older than them girls, Mr. Hines that is, I'm some older; and I know their fathers better than they do, and I know them better than their fathers do. Both them girls think they know me perfic', and their fathers has their sispicions about me, which their sispicions is pine blank deffernt. It would all be ruther funny ef my mind were made up, which it ain't, and it look hard a loned female person have nobody to go to for adwices. But ef you name those few remarks to any or every body, Mr. Hines, I shall never forgive you while the breath is in my body, as, in the good healths I always enjoys, I should hope would be for many a years yit to come."
The neighbors at last were growing impatient at the delay of a consummation the more eagerly looked for because of its uncertainty.
" It look like nip and tuck betwix' Sing'ton and Matthy," said old Mr. Pate several times, "and ut 'pear to me like they both of 'em a-expectin' and a-countin' on officiatin' Sally, so to speak. Sing'ton well, I don't 'member as I ever see a yearlin' boy livelier and jokier. I tell him sometimes don't look out they'll

124: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
fetch him up in the church about his world'y ways. But sher! that jes only make him go on yit more live lier. As for Matthy, he ain't peart and gayly as he used to wus; but he look solid and studdy as a jedge that have the case done made up in his head, and he ain't a-pesterin' hisself about how much them lawyers / palawers, and jaws, and jowers 'ith one 'nother and / the jury. I jokes Sally too sometimes, and ask her which she goin' take; but she smile, and say them that astes the fewest queschins gits told the fewest lies. But and you may take my word for it people ain't a-goin' to be kept waitin' much longer, to my opinions. Sing'ton and Matthy, both of 'em, is men that when they means business they bound to bring it to a head, and see if there any profic in it or not. You mind what I tell you."
YL
Miss CASH gave a party. By candlelight the guests arrived. The hostess * shone in a white frock whose flounces, furbelows, and gathers if these be their names I feel it to be vain at my time of life to undertake to describe. Her hair, I admit, was red; but her cheeks well, she would have contended, if necessary, that their color was her busi ness ; and certain it is, that for every stick of cinna mon that may have been used by her for any purpose under the sun the hard cash had been paid down on Mr. Hines's counter and no grumbling. Whoever had supposed that Mr. Hooks would have

THE EXPERIMENT OP MISS SALLY CASH. 125
declined an invitation to a party at that house, even when it was understood that there was to be dancing, knew not the man. That very evening he had ridden down to the store and purchased not only the shiniest pair of silk stockings that could be found in the whole store, and the sleekest pair of pumps, but the longest, , widest, stripedest silk cravat; and the latter he had Mr. Hines to tie around his neck, enjoining him to come as nigh the Augusta knot as was possible in a provincial region so remote from that great metropolis.
"Them feet and them legs," contemplating these interesting objects, he remarked at the party to several ladies and gentlemen, as if imparting a pleasant secret
" them legs and them feet 'pear like they forgot tell here lately what they made fur ; but my intenchuins is, before they git much older, to conwince 'em o' their ric'lection."
He sat by Susan Ann, and Mr. Tuggle by Emeline; and it was evident that each of these young ladies was intent upon exhibiting before Miss Cash her own espe cial knight to the best possible advantage.
To one who loves the sound of the fiddle, there is something in its voice that imparts an exhilaration seldom coming from any other music. In the breast of Mr. Hooks on the present occasion that emotion was perhaps the more pronounced because of several years' suppression. When Morris, a negro man belonging to the rich Mr. Parkinson, was called in, even while put ting his instrument in tune, the eyes of Mr. Hooks were lit up into fiery brilliancy; his face quivered with almost angry smiles; and he had to breathe, and that hotly, through his nostrils alone; while his elevated

126 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NE1GEBOR&
mouth was puckered in every possible approach to a point, in order to hold within its accumulating waters.
It was pleasant to everybody to notice how well Mr. Hines looked and behaved. On the whole he was better dressed that is, more stylishly and perhaps expensively than any other gentleman present. But of course he had been to Augusta far more often than anybody else there; and besides, being his own buyer as well as seller, he could afford to dress as he pleased. Having con fessed to Miss Cash that his early education in dancing had been neglected, she, with kind thoughtfulness for the embarrassment that he must feel otherwise, deputed him to assist in the entertainment of her guests, in which office he deported himself with a satisfaction that hardly could have been greater if it had been his own house.
" Choose pardners ! " at length cried Morris in the commanding, menacing tone that only negro-fiddlers ever knew fully how to employ.
Instantly rose Mr. Hooks, and, violently seizing the hand of Susan Ann, led her forth. Mr. Tuggle glanced at Emeline, then lowered his head far down, as if to be more able thus to control liis feelings. Emeline did the same.
The surprise manifested by the whole company at the prompt rise of Mr. Hooks and his march to the head of the cotillon was feeble compared with that ex perienced when they witnessed what he could!1 do in that line. At first, as the figures were called, he moved with measured dignity, his long arms with deliberate exactitude describing immense, majestic arcs, both in the preliminaries of rotary movements and in their

THE EXPERIMENT OP MISS SALLY CASH. 127
consummation. Susan Ann was a noted dancer, and the sight of her agility and grace, together with her ap preciative words, inspired her partner to repetition of the noblest exploits of his youth.
" You are the best partner I ever danced with," she whispered.
" Laws, girl!" he answered, indifferent, " wait tell I git warm, and come down 'ith a few o' my double dim-. mersimmerquibbers."
"Give them some," she replied, looking at Miss Cash, whom she saw already running over with admira tion.
"Sashay Wall!" When came the turn of Mr. Hooks to obey the command, if ever a pair of human legs exhibited sup pleness, sprightliness, precision of calculation, the fac ulty to intertwine and outertwine, to wrap themselves around each other when high lifted from the floor, un wrap themselves at the instant of return, and afterward to reverse these apparently reckless spires, then surely was the time. There were moments when all, includ ing Susan Ann, evinced apprehension that in one of these audacious exaltations a man so tall and slender, so long disused to such exercise, might lose his balance and fall bodily, perchance head-foremost, in the arena. But no! The arm of the daring vaulter, sometimes both, sometimes alternately extended, sometimes pointing to the zenith, sometimes to the horizon, sometimes at vari ous angles intermediate to horizon and zenith, kept him true as any gyroscope. His countenance the while wore a serious, even threatening, aspect. When Morris, panting and dripping with sweat, gave the last shriek-

128 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
ing note and called, " Honors to pardners," the hero descended heavily on one foot, and, extending the other, rested its toes easily on their extreme points, and while one hand hung in the direction toward these, the other's forefinger, far above all heads, pointed to the heavens. Amid the applause that rose irresistibly, after conductinO g Susan Ann to her seat,' instead of taking that by her side, he promenaded around the room for some minutes suffering himself to be admired. Then, pausing in front of his rival, he said:
" Matthy, ain't you goin' to j'in in the egzitin' spote Miss Sally have powided so liber'l fur the enj'yments and 'ospital'ties of us all ?"
" Now that," on his way home said Mr. Pate, " it didn't look like quite fa'r in Sing'ton, him a-knowin' Mathy, 'ith his duck-legs, were onpossible to foiler him in them climbin's, the oudaciousest I ever 'spected to live to see. Yit Matthy not a man people can skeer. He look like he know what he were about, and he smile and answer calm, he have made up his minds to quit dancin'."
YIL
DURING the last wane of the evening, somewhat of abstraction, not wholly unattended by embarrassment, began to be noticeable in the carriage of Miss Cash. She was observed to whisper several times alternately with Mr. Hooks and Mr. Tuggle, who nodded respect fully. As the party was breaking up, Mr. Pate, appar ently reluctant to leave, in view of the briefness of hu-

THE EXPEBIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 129
man life, especially the fewness of occasions similar to the present that were likely to occur during his own briefer remnant, full of good wishes as of things good to eat and to drink, felt that he ought not to go away without a few valedictory words.
"Sally " he said, with moistened eyes, "a better party, and a more liberT powided, I never should hope to put on my Sunday close and go too ; no, never endurin' what little balance o' time they is left me to be 'ith you all, which I hope the good Lord, ef he spar* my life, he'll find he hain't so very many better friends than what I've tried to be. And I'll say for Sing'ton Hooks and Matthy Tuggle, I've knewed 'em from babies, and their ekals for a marryV female person to make their ch'ice betwix', other people may know, I don't. And, tell the truth, I don't 'member as ever I have wish', before here lately, there was more'n one Sally Cash to diwide betwix' 'em boys, as I call 'em, compar'd to me. And my adwices is for you not to be for ever and deternal a-hizitatin' about a marter which it ain't possible no way to make any big mistakes. Be cause them boys is, both of 'em, business boys, and natchel speakin' they don't want to be al'ays hilt betwix' hawk and buzzard in this kind o' style. Good-by; good-by. Good-by, Sing'ton; I did not know you was ekal to sech awful performance. Good-by, Matthy; you done right not follerin' Sing'ton on that line ; but a dignifieder behavior than you I would never wish to go to nobody's party. And it's a pleasure to see how honer'ble you and Sing'ton has been in the whole case. And my ricommends to both you boys is, to keep on standin' squar' up to the rack tell the fodder fall; and
9

130 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
when she do, let him that's disapp'inted, ef he can't be satisfied, let him leastways try to git riconciled, and then gether up his fishin'-pole, his hook and line, and his bait-gourd, and move to some other hole in the millpond ; because you both got sense enough to know that 4 the good Lord ain't one that jes' make one lone fish by itself. Good-by, Sing'ton; good-by, Matthy ; goodby, all."
When all had departed except the Hookses and the Tuggles, who were requested to remain for a few min utes, the gentlemen were asked to take seats on one side of the room and Emeline and Susan Ann on the oppo site, while Miss Cash took her position, from which she could command, in flank, the view of all.
After several modest, significant coughs, she began: " I ast you all to stay behind because I wanted to make these few, feeble, and interesting remarks about me and you all. You are all my neighbors, and I've tried to be you-all's friends, and none of you has knew the extents. I ain't a-blamin' none of you; because I never yit has told you, nary one. And I never told not even myself, not untell here lately, because not untell here lately did I know the ewents and how they would all turn out; and I has never ben so much conwinced in my own minds that the good Lord know more about me than I do about myself than I ben thes here lately. Howbe'ever, let me and them keep behind for the pres ent time a-bein'. " Mr. Hooks, you and Susan Ann has be'n a-thinkin' that me and Mr. Tuggle was a-goin' to nunite in the banes of mattermony. And then again, Mr. Tuggle, you and Emeline has be'n a-countin' on the same 'ith

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH.
me and Mr. Hooks, which I needs not say yon has all be'n mistakened, but in a deffer'nt and warous way. In nary case have I let on ef it was to be, or not so: one rea-' son, because a lady owe it to herself not to be kickin' be fore she have ben spurred, and not to say yea nor nay tell she's ast; which both o' you all mayn't be surprised hain't never ben done by none of them gent'men here on the present occasion in this very same room. And I am thankful they didn't. Because I am a person that have my own p'ints o' views and my own ch'ices o? kimpanions like other people, and, not ef I know my self, would it be my desires to pass for the mothers of childern which is not my ownd; ner not their step mothers even, ef some has be'n a-sispicionin' to the kintraries."
Looks of surprise went around at the close of this paragraph. Slightly shifting her pesition, the speaker resumed:
" And yit, both you men has be'n a-co'tin' close and heavy, a'most amejiant when their wife deparched from the famblies in their charges, and, not to save my life, could I turn my backs when both o' you ast me to help you out; and it's because, I sometimes ben a-supposenin', there is or they may be somethin' in the a'r that, in sech times, make sech things interestin' and ketchin', even to a moduest female like me."
During the bashful pause ensuing here, the gentle men looked at each other inquiringly, and the young ladies, moving their chairs some space farther apart, turned and faced alternately the opposite walls.
" Yes, sirs, and yes, ma'ams, you girls; you knewed yourselves, but you knewed not t'other couple; and

132 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
v nary one, nor nary couple betwix' you, has knewed Sally Cash, what little time may be left she may call, or
* t'other people may call, her by them fambiliar names. Yit, before I come as fur downd as myself, I want to settle up the expeermunts I ben a-makin' a clean a out side o' Sally Cash; and which I'll begin by askin' of you, Mr. Hooks, a certing queschin, and that is, is you willin', or is you not, to give Emeline to Mr. Tuggle ?" Here Susan Ann turned and stared at Emeline as if she were a ghost, while Emeline kept her eyes upon the wall, studying it curiously, as if it were covered all over with frescoes from the most ancient masters. " Well; now, Sally," began Mr. Hooks in much calmness, considering the situation, "the queschin it ketch me by surprises, and I may say " " That you'll have to hear," Miss Cash interrupted, " what Mr. Tuggle'll say to the queschin I'm a-goin' to put to him in the amejiant spurs o' the awful an' interestin' minutes : and which, that is, Mr. Tuggle, will you let Mr. Hooks have Susan Ann ? There's the whole case betwix' you all." " Jes so; perpendic'lar; the same as a gate-post," said Mr. Hooks, with deliberate yet utmost emphasis. Then Emeline, turning, sought the face of Susan Ann, which by this time had become absorbed in the contemplation of the masterpieces on her wall. In an other moment they were weeping, hugged in each other's arms. " Come, come; set down, set down," said Miss Cash, " and let me git through 'ith the rest o' my tale. It won't be so very much to -you, but it's everything to me." Then the native blood rose even through the cin-

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 133
namon, and a something much like beauty overspread her face.
" When I first begun to talk about makin' a' expeermunt of the gittin' of married myself, it were mostly iduil talk. But somehows, or somehows else, I don't know as I may never know how seen things comes about, yit I got to ruther love to let my mind runned on the interestin' subjects. And then, it come to me, and I begin to think, mayby who knows ? ef it were the will of the good Lord, that him, a-knowin' how I have always ben a orphin and had to work hard to help take keer of myself, and that a'most every sence I were a baby that, I say, mayby it were his will for me not to git old thes by myself, and never had any pleasant siciety, like other people, o' them to keer anything about, exceptin' o' them might natchil' expects to git whut prop'ty I got, and then a possible a-wantin' me out o' the way before my time come to deparch, like poor Betsy Tuggle, and poor Malviny Hooks, good friends as they wus to me and me to them. And not that Abom Grice never even hint sech a thing, but he have freckwent told me that it were my very first juty to look out for myself. Yit, I know, because I have saw what it is for women to git old thes by theirselves, 'ith no husband, and no childern, and no nobody o' the kinds; and even when their kinfolks mayn't want 'em to die, they sispicions 'em of it. And so I thought mayby it were the will o' the good Lord to hender sech as that to me, him a-knowin' how I've had to scuffle and baffle every sence I were a little bit of a orphin child, and ef anybody ever loved me thes for myself, the good Lord know I don't know who it was unteU now.

134 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
And O Mr. Hooks, don't ask me yit, not quite yit! I'll acknowledge everything, and then tell you what I want you to do, when I can git a little more compoged in my mind."
Rising she went to a table whereon were tumblers anct a pitcher of water. As she lifted the latter with tottering hand, Mr. Hooks went briskly and took it just as it would have dropped. He poured a glass that with difficulty she drank; then, reseating herself continued:
" When I see you two men a-courtin' of them girls, it got to be that interestin' to me, that I got so I couldn't go to sleep o' nights, tell away yonder a'most midnight; thes a-layin' and a-thinkin' ef you two men, that have ben young and happy before, can be young and happy ag'in, why not me, thes one time, that have al'ays ben a loned female by myself ?"
She paused, and the tears streamed from her eyes. Emeline and Susan Ann wept in genuine sympathy, and the eyes of Mr. Tuggle were very moist. Mr. Hooks looked down at his pumps and silk stockings, and, perhaps because be recognized the incongruity be tween what they had been doing so lately and any de gree of sadness which he might express, simply rose from his chair.
" Set down, Mr. Hooks; set down. I'm a'most thoo. But, and, I tell you now, all of you, I'd of died before I'd of even peached sech a thing to ary man person that ever preambulated on top o' the ground, first. And when one o' that same seek of people name to me the very subjects I ben a-thinkin' and a actuil' adreamin' about, ef it didn't 'pears like to me the good Lord sent him a-purpose."

THE EXPERIMENT OF MISS SALLY CASH. 135
"With hand yet trembling, she took from her bosom a marriage-license, and, handing it to Mr. Hooks, said:
" There's a paper for you, Mr. Hooks, which people is now ready and a-waitin' for you to 'tend to it."
Turning her face toward the dining-room, she called aloud:
" Mirny, you may come in, and the balance of 'em." The door opened, Mirny and the other negroes, hav ing on every item of Sunday clothes that that planta tion had on hand, filed in and took position near the walls After a decent moment, a-tiptoe, his arm already curved to receive that of his bride, stepped forth Mr. Abner Hines. " And I do believe, on my soul," Mr. Hooks said some time afterward, "that after I have jinded them two together, hard and fast, a'cordin' to law and gospul, that it were in me to make prob'ble the biggest, everlastin'est speech I ever spread myself before a augence; but the fact were, everybody got to laughin' and cryin* so they drownded my woices. Ah, well! it were a ruther egzitin' time all thoo. But everything have swaged down peaceable. The breth'en they forgive me for dancin', when Susan Ann give in the pootty expeunce she told, and it were give' out I wouldn't do so no more."

TRAVIS AND
MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY.
"... Manhood la called foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric." CORIOLANTJS.
I.
BEFORE the war between the States, although I was not personally acquainted with Mr. Jonathan Wilby, I had heard of him through our common acquaint ances. A bachelor, educated at the State (Georgia) University, owning a good plantation and several slaves on the farther side of the Oconee, hospitable, a free liver, he had contracted debts that amounted to two or three thousand dollars. Taking into account the natural increase in the value of his property, there was no cause for much anxiety; and so he persisted in keeping his hounds and his pointer, in entertaining his friends, and in traveling about, not infrequently out of "his county, in visits to Macon, Augusta, sometimes as far as Savannah or Atlanta, the while leaving, with general directions, his plantation affairs to Travis, his foreman. Travis, some ten years older than he, had been his nurse for two or three years after he had be come old enough to be not in need of constant female care, and ever since then a strong affection had subsist-

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY.
ed between them. But for Travis, liis master's debts would have been larger than they were. His expen sive habits would have been much more injurious but for the industry, economy, and constant watchfulness of Travis. Planters in that part of middle Georgia, besides gardens, usually allowed to their slaves small patches for cultivation at odd times for their own use. Availing himself of this privilege, Travis by the begin ning of the war had saved as much as four hundred dollars. Dressing himself and his family plainly, like the rest of the servants on the place, yet his cabin had a good supply in nice appointments, which, although cheap, were not very common in their class.
Mr. "Wilby had voted against Secession yet, when his State had solemnly declared itself out of the Union, and the war came on, he became a stanch Confederate, and, being only thirty years old, and unmarried, felt himself bound to take his part in all the dangers which were to ensue. Joining one of the first military com panies raised in his county, he was made one of its lieu- / tenants, and leaving Ms business in the hands of Travis, under the direction of one of his neighbors, he went forward, if not very cheerfully, at least with a genuine purpose to perform the duties which were to come in his career. Only once he came home on furlough, and returned to his command before the time of his leave expired. Before the end of the war he had risen to the rank of major.
This is about all that I had known of him previously to a meeting which, by accident, I had with him at his own residence some years ago. I knew well enough that the people in his county, like those in mine, had

138 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
been making hard struggles to repair some of the losses incurred by four years' resistance to the Government of the United States, during which many had failed, some had become desperate, and not a few had died poor and broken-hearted.
I once had occasion to visit a gentleman named Bass who dwelt in that county. His residence was situated five or six miles from the public road leading from our county-seat to his. I had crossed the ferry and gone some distance on the by-way that I had been directed to take, hoping to get to my destination by nightfall. But the road, long unworked, was so rough beneath the buggy-wheels, that, finding I must be dis appointed in this hope, I determined at near sunset to seek shelter for the night at the first house to which I should come. The dusk had begun to set in, when, after ascending a steep, rocky hill, I came within view of a nice, white, square, two-story mansion in the midst of a grove of red oaks. A gentleman was sitting on the piazza, with a book in his lap. Over his other garments he wore a short summer coat of light material, and he seemed to be reflecting, as, with the forefinger of his right hand in the volume he had been reading, his left lay upon it. At my call he looked up, rose im mediately, went into the house, from which he almost momentarily emerged, having exchanged the coat he had worn for a black broadcloth, and, readjusting his cravat, came out to the gate. When I told him the object of my call, he answered politely:
" Certainly, sir. Alight if you please." Calling to a negro boy, who just then was coming from the horse-lot across the road, he said:

TEAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 139
" Here, William, take this gentleman's horse, and, after patting the buggy under the shelter, water him, and tell your daddy to see that he's well taken care of. Then you run to the kitchen and tell your mammy that I want to see her in the dining-room, right away. Hear, "William ?"
" Yes, sir, Marse Jon'th'n," answered the boy, and went briskly to execute his orders.
Having escorted me in, and disposed of my hat, umbrella, and satchel, he said :
" Perhaps it may not suit your habit to sit on the piazza after sunset. If not, we will go inside the house."
I answered that usually I sat all evenings outside unless driven in by stress of cold or other inclement weather. When we were seated he said :
" My name is Jonathan Wilby." I gave my own name, and added that, although long knowing of Major Wilby, I had not had the pleasure of meeting him before. " Oh, yes, yes," he replied, cordially; " we have many common acquaintances. I am really very glad to know you personally, and that right here, in this house." Just then a portly, neat-looking black woman ap peared in the doorway of the hall, and, courtesying, said: " Marse Jonathan, William told me you wanted to see me." " Yes, that's right, Bitter. I'll see you." Saying to me, " Please excuse me for a moment," he went in. After a few minutes he returned, resumed his seat, and, smiling, said:

140 THE PRIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.

" Being nothing but an old bachelor, my table, es

pecially at supper, is lightly loaded usually, and I sent

for my cook to let her know that I expected two plates

on it to-night, and enough to fill both."

/

Bachelor or not, it was an excellent supper, and well

served by the same woman and her daughter, a girl

some thirteen

years
/

old.

The table furniture was finer

than one often sees in country houses, except those be

longing to the richest. My host was pleased to see me

eat with a good appetite. After supper we repaired to

the parlor, as the air had grown cool since the coming

on of night. A walnut round table, several old-fash

ioned mahogany chairs which had been repaired lately,

a sofa, and a very high family clock, were what the

room contained.

" You smoke \ " " Yes."

" I'm sorry I've nothing but a pipe to offer you. We planters since the war find it necessary to be eco nomical in our indulgences; but this pipe is a clean one and the tobacco is good. I wish I did have a cigar for you."
I assured him that I was more than content with the pipe.
When we had fired up, he grew more and more in cordial mood.
" I declare I am as glad as I can be that you were / benighted and had to stop over with me of course, I
should add, unless your business is to be hurt by the delay. I do not often see anybody outside of my serv ants, being not at all given to visiting and not much to being visited. I walk about the plantation, and I sit

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY.
and read much of my time, mainly about the war, which is far more interesting to me to look back to than dur ing its continuance I thought it ever would be. I used to hunt a good deal, and to travel about the country, and was fond of being in society. But everything is so changed and people have gotten to be so poor that I stay here, trying to economize as well as I can, so as to help a little the poorest about me, including a few of my old negroes who can't get along without working harder than I think they ought."
" You don't get lonesome sometimes, living in this big house by yourself ?"
" Not much," he answered, indifferently. " I have first-rate health, sleep well, and generally I can get out of books as much entertainment as I need. I am for tunate in having about me the same servants I had be fore the war, who are entirely reliable. My main man servant, especially, is one of unusually good judgment, and, under my directions, makes a living for us all, and a little over. They were his wife and his daughter whom you saw waiting upon the supper-table. The field-hands also were all raised on the place, some before * my time, the most after. So you see that I have a family, such as it is, and there is much the same feeling between us now as heretofore. I have to be careful about their disposition to make me spend on myself more money than I should; especially Travis and his wife. They, like most old negroes, have a good deal of family pride. Travis thinks I might keep hounds, as I once did, and have a finer buggy; and Hitter, his wife, almost scolds sometimes at my persistence in wear ing old clothes longer than she thinks becoming. In-

142
deed, from what I hear I don't go about myself, as I said negroes generally do not seem to realize all the seriousness of changed conditions. However, however," he added, moving his hand, as if in rather humorous admission of the fact, " perhaps the same can be said, and with justice, of us white people."
" I think, Major Wilby," I said, " that I remember to have heard that in one of the battles around Rich mond you were seriously wounded."
" Yes, my head was scraped by a Mmie-ballone day, rather too deep to make a joke of. They thought for a while that I was going to make a die of it, or lose my reason. That would have been hard, considering every thing. I often think what a mercy it was to my old negroes that I didn't do either."
Stooping to relight his pipe from the embers on the hearth, he said:
" Oh, no ; I'm seldom lonesome. Still, I am always / glad when any one falls in on me as you have to-night.
Have you any news ?" " None except such as you have seen in the news
papers." / " I take only the Milledgeville Recorder ; some times," he added, smiling, " getting two at once, when we happen not to send into town but once in a fort night. Travis says I ought to take a daily paper, so that, even if I can't get it every day, I can keep up more with current news. But I tell him no ; I don't take interest in politics now, and not much in news, be yond what happens in the neighborhood and among people I know. But I delight in reading about the war, especially General Lee. Wasn't he a splendid fel-

TEAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WTLBY. 143
low! Good man, too. When I saw him after the sur render, looking so calm, when I knew his heart was broken, I could have cried. I have read everything I could pick up on both sides. Big thing, wasn't it ? I didn't feel like going into it; but I thought, if anybody ought, it was just such as myself. We gave them a good tussle, but they were too many for us. I've come to believe that it was all God's will; and, to tell you the truth, I'm not sure but that everything about it will turn out for the best in time. Yet, my! haven't we had a time of it ?"
" Most of us have had it, indeed," I said ; " but you seem to be in about as comfortable conditions as any planter I know, in your native home, and surrounded by your old family servants, who are faithful, and, from what you say of them, still affectionate."
" Yes, indeed. Now, thank God, I am comfortably situated; but I went through a siege like the rest, and worse than most of the rest, for a year or two after I got back."
He looked at me as if asking if I cared to hear of his experience. After brief mention of a few of my own trials, I intimated that I would be entertained by a recital of some of his.
" Well, sir," he answered, " when I got back, the question was, what to do next. Negroes free, a man owing more money than his plantation and stock would pay for if put upon the market, I just told people whom I owed to take what I had and I'd go off to some town or other and clerk or get some sort of work, and send back what I could make over a decent support. Travis was against such a movement, for freedom didn't seem

144: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
to make any difference in the feeling lie had for me. Travis argued: Stay right here, and we'd work out; that nearly all of my negroes would remain with me on moderate wages; and that, by close economy, with the price of cotton keeping up or near to what it was then, I could get through the difficulties in two or three years. Mr. Bass (the gentleman you are on your way to see) rather thought with Travis ; but, feeling confident that cotton would fall as soon as one good crop would be made, I persisted. I gave Mr. Bass a power of attor ney to sell, or to do whatever might seem best with the whole property, and then I cut out afoot. You think Travis didn't cry when I told him good-by ? Bitter, too. But there's much more affectionateness among negroes than some persons suspect. However, that's paren thetical. I left with a few dollars in my pocket, and walked to Augusta, where I got a place in a hardwarestore, and I never wrote to a soul to tell them where I was. Meanwhile, Mr. Bass (I can never be thankful enough to him, and, as to that, to Travis also) let the plantation to Travis, hoping cotton would not fall. Travis hired hands and made what he called a ' bully crop,' and Mr. Bass paid off a considerable portion of my debts. If he had known where I was, he would have written urging me to come back, believing then that I might feel secure in keeping possession of the property. But he didn't know, and so he and Travis set in for another crop. That was a first-rate one, and he squared me off except a few hundred dollars. As for my experience as a merchant's clerk, that was without results of consequence from beginning to end. At the hardware-store they soon found out that I knew too

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 145
little of trade to be of service to them, and after a little while they got rid of me; very politely, however. I tried several other places, where I was taken in on my agree ing to work for nothing except board until I had learned the business well enough to warrant a salary. In this way I lived first at one and then at another place in Augusta, until at last I became rather disgusted with myself, making nothing above expenses, and feeling that my services were hardly worth even them. I got rather homesick, too ; but the thought of coming back into this neighborhood, seeing another man in possession of my native homestead, and being a pauper, and per haps a sponge upon Travis and my other old negroes, I said to myself,' I'll die first!' And, indeed, I came near doing that very thing. One morning I walked out to a planter a few miles below Augusta and hired myself to work for him. There I was doing finely until I got sick. They told me, after I got up again, that I had been down for over a month, and that while the fever was on me nobody, they verily believed, had ever done so much talking. Well, one morning when I waked up, and I found myself better, whom do you suppose I saw ? Travis. Yes, sir; my being sick got somehow into the Augusta papers, and Travis, hearing of it, came to me just as I was getting over it. To my astonish ment, he informed me of what I have told you of the operations here and their results, and, in spite of the gratification afforded me by the news, I could not but reproach myself for not having done a single thing toward the extrication which had come so happily. However, I reflected that I had done honestly what I believed to be for the best, and I decided to cast every
10

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
thought except gratitude behind me. In this while Travis also made something for himself ; enough to purchase a small piece of land, which he rents to some of his people. He thinks, however, that it is more to his advantage to stay here with his wife and his younger children and to work on wages. Then you know many negroes are, like white people, fond of the places where they were born and where they have always lived. I am glad, on both of our accounts, that he prefers that course. He does for himself, I doubt not, better than if he were on his own place, and, under my directions, manages very well for me."
At this period the man Travis, tall, black, firmly built, came to the door, and, dropping his hat upon the floor, saluted me with humble respect and said :
" Well, Marse Jonathan." " Yes," the master answered in kindly tone ; " Travis, you no doubt saw that this gentleman's horse was attended to properly." " Yes, sir, marster." "Did the plow-hands get through with that field this evening \ " / " Not quite, sir ; be thoo by a' hour-by-sun in de mawnin'." "I hardly thought they would quite finish it to-day, as the ground is hard from the drought, and I don't want the mules pushed." "No, sir, I know dat; en I told de plowers dee must be keerful wid 'em." " That was right. How was the cotton-picking to night, Travis ?" "Right good, Marse Jon'than. I has to be right

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 147
strenious wid dem drap-shot gang o' pickers 'bout de bottom bolls. Some on 'em makes out like it hurt dey back to git down to dem bottom bolls more'n grown folks. I speck I'll haf to git holt o' some on 'em ef dee ain' mo' partic'lar."
"Now, now, Travis; don't be too hard on them. You've been a boy yourself, you know."
" Oh, yes, Marse Jon'than," he retorted, in goodhumor, "I know dat, en I found out dem ve'y time what de hick'ry was made fer; but I ain' gwine be too servigous wid 'em."
" That's right; talking goes a great way with chil dren, if people will be prudent and not too impatient."
After other questionings and giving of directions for the morrow, he said :
" One thing more, Travis. This gentleman wishes to go to Mr. Henry Bass's early to-morrow morning. As the road is rough, and not easy for a stranger to follow, I want you to go with Mm."
"Yes, sir." I protested against the trouble I was giving, but Mr. Wilby cut me short. " No trouble at all. There are several by-forks by which you would be in danger of being misled. Trav is, you can ride your plow-mule, unless you prefer to walk." " I rather take it afoot, Marse Jon'than." " If the man must go," I said, " let him take a seat with me in the buggy." " That is best, perhaps, as he would know better how to avoid the stumps and straddle the ruts. Be ready, Travis, soon as breakfast is over. You can go now."

14:8 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
When Travis had gone, Mr. Wilby said: " I have to watch that man in his aptness to be rather too hard upon those under him, as I've no doubt you've observed was often the case with negro foremen. He is so thoroughly industrious and upright himself that he can not well understand how any, even boys, can be other wise, and he is a firm believer in the whip as the most efficient punisher and reformer of all shortcomings."
"We talked to a late hour. Several times he apolo gized for taking more than a fair portion of the conver sation.
" Living here by myself, as it were, when I do have an opportunity to talk, it sometimes seems difficult for me to stop. I suppose a man's tongue, like his legs, is in need of occasional exercise ; if so, mine can not com plain to-night, eh ?"
I answered that I had been very much entertained. Indeed, I had been. Much of his conversation, espe cially about battle and hospital scenes, was at times ex tremely graphic. Then I was touched by the sadness, mixed with what seemed to be meant for a bit of humor, with which he spoke of the temporary derelic tion of his manhood at the close of the war. It was near midnight when, lighting a candle, and conducting me to bed, he said:
" You may sleep without anxiety about waking in good time for breakfast. I will call you. Sleep well. Good-night."
I could not but lie awake for some time, thinking of this man, so gentle, almost childlike, yet cultured, firm, and apparently with much business capacity; and I made up my mind that, as far as I could do so with

TEAVIS AND MAJOE JONATHAN WILBY. 149
propriety, I would get Travis to tell me more about him the while he was conducting me to the person whom I sought.
II.
WHEN I rose next morning a few minutes before it was time to call me, and unexpectedly appeared before Major Wilby sitting on his piazza, holding in one hand his watch, and reading in a large octavo volume that lay in his lap, he looked up quickly, and, shutting the book said:
" Ah, ha! Up already ? Good-morning. I should have called you in ten minutes more. I hope you slept enough, at least as near so as possible after being kept up by me so late last night. I felt rather remorseful about it when I got back to myself. However," with out waiting for me to remonstrate, " it's only once. If your time would allow you to give me another night, I'd agree to have supper by sunset and let you go to bed with the chickens. I've just been reading Stephens's account of Lee's last fight. I think I've read the book at least a dozen times."
Shortly afterward we sat down to breakfast. With polite insistence he often asked me to partake again of the several nicely cooked dishes. I noticed, as at sup per, that he ate quite temperately, though dallying long with apparently choicest appetite on what was upon his plate. My equipage and Travis in his best clothes were waiting at the gate when breakfast was over. After I was seated in the buggy, my host, giving me his hand, said:

150 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" I'm sorry you can not give me another night. I don't remember when I have enjoyed anything more than your visit. Please never pass this way without making me a call. Good-by. God bless you! Be careful, Travis."
Kugged as the way was, I enjoyed much the travel on that sweet autumnal morning. Almost throughout the drive of three miles much of the primeval forest was yet standing, and the great oaks and lesser trees that rose as if in waiting around them showed the generous fecun dity of the dark soil in contrast with the rich, deep red on our side of the Oconee. Upon the cotton-fields the light frost that had fallen was ripening fast the upper bolls ; and the varying red and purple on the sassafras, sweet-gum, black-gum, and maple along the small streams, in relief with the brown and yellow of the uncut woods, made the landscape pleasant to look upon. Travis spoke not except in answer to my questionings, which at first were touching the condition of things in general within that region.
" I doubt, Travis," said I, " if these black lands over here are not as good as the red lands of our county. I hadn't been thinking so; but the cotton and corn I have seen yesterday evening and this morning are equal to any that our people have to show."
" Hit's tough land, marster; hit's mons'ous pow'ful tough. But yit, if people take pains wid her, en doan' overcrop deyse'f, en keep up wid her, she gwine pay back de wuk put on her; dat is, ef de seasons doan' come too onreg'lar."
"You find the colored people and the whites in this neighborhood likely to get along well together ?"

TEAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY.
" Oh, yes, sir, mos'ly. At de fuss offstart some o' de white folks en some o' de colored people, dee got kinder Vpicious o' one 'nother, which you know yourse'f, mars, ter, de colored people is natchul' skeary o' white folks, dee not havin' de eddication ner not de sense o' white folks; en when dee found out dee all could vote, en some de white folks couldn't, it tuck pains, I tell you, now, to keep things on livin' ways. En den all de white folks, like Marse Jon'than, en Mr. Bass, whar we gwine now, dee wasn't all like dem two, in 'lowin' colored peo ple a fa'r livin' chance; but things is rig'lated now tol'ble well over here. Colored people, des like po' white folks, dee found out dee have to wuk fur deyse'f en dey famblies, en votin' warn't gwine feed none o' 'em; en den white folks en colored begin, seem-like, to have some peace in dey mind, like befo' de waw."
" You all at Mr. Wilby's seem to get along very easily. I haven't seen a household that so reminded me of old times."
" Oh, yes, sir. "We all gits 'long fuss-rate wid Marse Jon'than. He never bodders to hurt; not nobody, Marse Jon'than don't. He set in de house, en read his book, en he nuver interrup' nobody, en nobody doan' interrup' him."
" But I notice that he takes a strong interest in the business of his plantation. He told me that he has a talk with you every night, giving directions for next day's work."
He was silent for a brief while, then answered : " Den you ain' know what ail po' Marse Jon'than." <k Why, no; isn't he all right ?" " Oh, yes, sir; oh, yes, marster," he said quickly.

152 THE PEIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Marse Jon'than's all right, exception in his head, which it ain' de same like befo' de waw. People 'bout here dee all knows 'bout it, else I wouldn' let on."
" I am greatly surprised to hear that, Travis. I had been thinking that Mr. Wilby was one of the most intel ligent men that I've met in a long time."
" De Laud bless your soul, marster! Marse Jon'than lain' lackin' in sensible; he know more'n ary 'nother white man in dis whole settlement. All de white folks'll tell you de same. Why, sir, Marse Jon'than ken tell people all 'bout things long befo' dee er dey parrens er gran'parrens was born. He even ken go back en tell * 'bout de Injins, en how dee collupsed people wid dey tomberhawks en dey wigwoms, atter dee shoot 'em wid dey bo' 'n' arrers; en he ken p'int out de very tree whar his pappy's grandpappy en some un 'em hung up a Tory t'other side de 'Conee River. Yes, sir, dat he ken. But de trouble wid Marse Jon'than, his head ain' right, and hain' be'n not sence he got waounded in de waw, en he come home, en he see ev'ybody so to' up, he jes drap / ev'ythin', en went off, en he stayed whell we found out whar he war thar not fur from A'gusty, en I went atter him, en I fotch him back atter he got so he could trabble. Didn' he tell you nothin' 'bout dat las' night ? He love to tell 'bout hisse'f en whut he be'n thoo, when he ketch up wid a man he see dey doan' know 'bout it. But dat's mons'ous sildom; beca'se he doan' go nowhar, en people 'bout here dee all knows 'bout it."
"Yes, indeed, he did tell me a good many things about himself that were very interesting; but I did not suspect that his mind had been affected at all by his

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 153
wound. Does he know, or lias he any suspicion, that such is the case ?"
" Oh, no, so, dat he don't. Ef he knowed dat, no body could keep him dar nary single day, not dee couldn'."
" "Why ? Isn't that his home ?" " Oh, yes, sir; yes, sir. Right dar whar you see him las' night, dar he was born en raised." "Well. I can't understand why he could wish to leave it, unless it were to go for treatment to the Lunatic Asylum at Milledgeville." " De good Laud he'p my soul en body agin Marse Jon'than nuver gwine to Mil'geville, en him locked up wid dem po' 'stracted people in dat gweat big house! JSTo, sir, Marse Jon'than couldn' stan' sech as dat, not for one blessed munt; dat he couldn', raised like he ben raised. En dat whut ev'ybody dat know him want to hender by not a-'sputin' wid him en let him have his own way 'bout ev'ythin', en him not findin' out dey anythin' de marter wid his head. Make my fresh crawl, idee Marse Jon'than gwine 'way fom here, en special' to take up wid dem po' creeturs in Mil'geville !" " Was there thought to be any difficulty in his mind before receiving his wound ? " " Well, now, marster, I be'n a 'spicion'n my mind, en so have Ritter. She's my wife, en it was her you see in de dinin'-room 'long her little gal me en Ritter, we 'spicions de trouble beginned wid Marse Jon'than befo* he got waounded, en dat dat made him wusser. You see, Marse Henry Bass, whar we gwine dis very mawnin', he have a little gal name Miss Lizy. I ain* talkin' 'bout now, but befo' de waw. She war always a

154: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
mons'ous putty child, en Marse Jon'tlian be'n sayin', ev'y sence she war a leetle bit o' tiling, runnin' 'bout in pant'^lets, en wadin' in de spring branch, dat when she got to be a 'oman, he war gwine to have her for his wife. En so when she were 'bout fifteen year old, en Marse Jon'than 'gin to make up to her, sho' 'nough, lo en behole, here come long de waw. En Marse Jon'than, he war agin de waw hisse'f; but he say, he bein' a bach'lor he think he ought to go right 'long, 'mong de fust; but he tell Hitter, befo' he lef, dat he have ax Miss Lizy to wait for him, en Miss Lizy said she war gwine do it. But when Marse Jon'than ben gone 'bout a year er sech a marter, dey come 'long a colonel wid gold things on his clo's, en he overpersuade Miss Lizy, en her pa he war strong agin it; but dee runned away, dee did, en de man, en which dee all say he warn' no colonel, but he have runiied away fom de waw, en people was atter him to fetch him back en shoot him. En he warn' good to Miss Lizy, en atter a while she come back home, she did, en she have a little baby dat it come dead, en den Miss Lizy, she died. En when Marse Jon'than come home wid a furler not long atterwards, look like all dat was too much for him, en he didn' eat nothin't all hardly, en he git up en walk 'bout of a night when he ought to stay in bed en git well o' de sickness he come home wid; en befo' his time war up, he went back to de waw, en he say to me he doan' keer ef de Yankees kill him, only ef he ken come up one time wid de man dat do Miss Lizy so. En sho 'nough de news come dat Marse Jon'than done got shot in de head, en was in de 'orspit'l; en I want to go to him, but Marse Henry Bass say no, better not yit awhile; mought be I couldn'

TEAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 155
git to him, en do no good ef I did. En den de waw, it stop at las' atter it be'n seemin' like it nuver was gwirie stop whell ev'ybody was kill er gone to payishin'. En den Marse Jon'than, lie come home ag'in, en look like he nuver took no intruss in nothin'. En he owe some o' do neighbors, en he owe a man in Macon, en de neighbors dee all say, pay when you ken, as much as you ken ; but de Macon man he say he want all his'n now, dollar for dollar. En ef Marse Jon'than ben right in his head, he'd a knowed he could squar' off wid all 'em in time; but he say no, let people take what he got; en bless your soul, befo' I knowed it, he have done lef en gone, nobody know whar. En sho 'nough dat Macon man, when he sue Marse Jon'than, en level on de plantation en de res' o' de prop'ty, en Marse Henry bought it in, den de trouble was to find Marse Jon'than. En at las' de A'gusty paper let out whar he was, en I went on down dar soon I heerd de news, en I nussed him night en day one whole solid munt; en Kitter she got oneasy, she did, en she declar', 'twarn' for her younges' child, en she warn' feared a-gittin' los', she'd 'a' come atter me, like I went atter Marse Jon'than. I speck you know how women is. En it look like ev'ythin' people could do wid him he gwine die. Tell de truth, marster, I got down on my knees ev'y day en ev'y night, en I pray de Laud to spar him dis one time, en not let him die 'ception' whell I could git him back whar he was born en whar his pa en his ma died. En sho 'nough, one mawnin' en he am' be'n knowin' me all dat time but one mawnin', atter he have one good long sleep, he wake up, en he look at me, en he say, ' Hello, Travis!' En den I des cried en I laughed.

156
" Be'n I gwine be hung, I couldn' lie'p nary one. En clen, even atter all dat, he wouldn' say he were comin' /back wid me whell I tell him de debts mos' done all paid en de plantation a-runnin' same like befo'; en dar he ben ev'y sence des like you see him."
I felt deeply interested in this story, and I said to the negro:
" Travis, from this account I take you to be as good a pattern of faithfulness as I have ever seen. You and your former master's friend managed very well. You and he, besides making good crops, I suppose made compromises with the creditors ? "
" No. sir," he answered quickly; " we nuver made no comp'mise. Marse Jon'than say he doan' wan' nothin' he owe to be dock down, like a heap o' people had to do; en so I make whut I could, en I gin it to Marse Henry, en he scattered it round 'mong dem Marse Jon' than owe, en when de lan' was put up, dat en de crop dat year 'bout squar' him out."
" Then he owes yet the purchase money for which the plantation was bid off ?"
He was silent for a moment or so, then answered: " No, sir ; Marse Jon'than doan' owe for de lan' ner nothin' on it. It was all bid in for him." "Who bid it in?" " Marse Henry Bass; he de one bid on it." " Then he must owe Mr. Bass ?" No sir; no sir," he answered promptly. " I tell you how't was, marster. De money Marse Henry paid, I gin him myse'f, which I ben makin' en savin' for dis long time. You see, marster, lan' so plenty, en money so hard to git, Marse Henry wid de fifteen hund'ed

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 157
dollars I gin him he got de lan', en I was dat glad I mos' holler out dar at the cote'-'ouse."
"But, Travis, it seems to me that in the circum stances the land belongs to you instead of Mr. Wilby."
" Dat whut Marse Henry say, but it doan' 'pear like dat to me, for beca'se I tell you why, marster. Ev'y dollar I make, it war made out dat same plantation which hit belong to Marse Jon'than, he got it by his own pa, en him buried right dar behine de gyarden 'longside o' his own ma; en seem like to me dat lan' belong to Marse Jon'than, 'ceptin' whut he may 'low to me when he come right in his head, en he see he ken spar'."
" And Mr. Wilby understands none of these trans actions ?"
" No, sir; dat he doan'." " And he believes now that he is entirely square with the world ?" "Yes, marster. You see nobody doan' tell him 'bout de way de lan' was bought in, beca'se dee know he'd come dissat'fied. En den, he is squar' wid de world, de way I look at it." " And what becomes of the money made yearly by the crops ?" " Well, now, marster, sence cotton done come down dey ain' ben so mighty much tuck in bersides o' payin' o' han's, en keepin' up de plantation en de stock, en he'pin' some our own colored folks en po' white folks round here. Yit dey is some, en Christmas come, Marse Jon'than he take out 'bout fifty dollars, en he say he wan' Marse Henry Bass save de balance, atter payin' de

158 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
expenses, en givin' away whut he think he ken spar', he wan' Marse Henry to save for hard times, for all of us. He mighty feared, 'casion'ly, hard times gwine come on him ag'in, po' Marse Jon'than!"
"Does he go often among the hands when at work?"
" No, sir; he inos' hardly miver do dat, en when he do, he doan' bodder wid de workin'. I goes in de big 'ouse ev'y night en he talk wid me awhile, en dat sat'fy him."
" One more question I'll ask you, Travis, as I sup pose the house we are approaching is Mr. Bass's resi dence."
" Yes, sir; dar whar Marse Henry live; en bless your soul, marster, Marse Jon'than ain' never ben dar sence Miss Lizy she died."
" Ay ? The question I wish to ask is, do the colored people on the place understand how things are ? "
" No, no, sir ; 'ceptin' o' Ritter, en I uuver told Tier more'n I could he'p. She love Marse Jon'than same like me, be'case she nussed him too. But den you know, marster, f'om your own expeunce, ef you mar ried, a man needn't be.tellin' his wife ev'ythin' he know."
When we had reached our destination, and the man having dismounted, was about to turn back, I took off my hat, involuntarily, as it were, and, giving him my hand, said:
" Travis, I am glad I met your Marse Jonathan, as you call Major Wilby, and more so that I have seen and held this conversation with you. Well as I thought I knew your people, this has surprised me. Give my

TRAVIS AND MAJOR JONATHAN WILBY. 159
thanks to the major for all his kindness. I thank you also for yours. Good-by. I have not a doubt that God will bless you, in this world and in the next."
" Thanky, marster; you're mighty welcome. Far'well."
He turned and went his way. After my business with Mr. Bass was finished, on my mention of the con versation I had had with the man, he confirmed every statement made except that relating to his own daugh ter, to whom neither he nor I made allusion.
" The case," he said, " is well understood through out the neighborhood, and, indeed, in the county gen erally. The plantation and everything appertaining to it belong to Travis, and the records are in his name. Such is the well-known delicacy of Major Wilby, amounting to extreme sensitiveness of every appearance of wrong-doing on his part, that people never think of disabusing his mind of the illusion under which he lives, and so strong is the affection for him had by this old slave, that I believe he sometimes tries to persuade himself that the property rightfully belongs to his former master. I am glad you made the major's ac quaintance and spent a night there with him. Such companionship does him good. He'll be referring to your visit for a long time. He is very fond of the so ciety of thoughtful, cultured people, although he never makes visits himself. I don't wonder you did not dis cover, in so limited a visit, his infirmity. He is, and always has been, a thorough gentleman in his instincts and deportment. No misfortune could befall him so unhappy as for him to find out his true relation to Travis, whom he never takes to be other than a servant working

160 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
for wages. Indeed, the negro himself prefers to feel as if such were really the case."
Shortly afterward, having taken leave of Mr. Bass, I drove on. I had been witness, even a recipient, of the old affectionateness of slaves continuing unhurt by the war and emancipation; but now, reflecting on what I had seen lately, somehow I felt that I had been in the presence of a majesty, in its kind, higher than I had believed possible to humanity in any condition.

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING.
" I rather tell you what is to be feared Than what I fear."---Julius Caesar.

I.

MR. THOMAS TUSSER, who it seems had native tough

ness sufficient to survive some hard experiences in child

hood, lived to be the author of a right good Georgic, -

which he styled A Hundred Good Pointes of Hus-

bandrie. He had been a pupil of St. Paul's School,

London, whence he was sent to Eton College. Feeling,

after some years, as if he might afford to be somewhat

merry over the recollection, he thus described a little

scene between himself and Nicholas Udall, the head

master :

" From Paules I went,

To Eton sent,

To learn straighte waies the Latin phrases,

Where fifty-three stripes given to me

At once I had:

The fault but small

Or none at all.

It came to pass thus beat I was.

See, Udall, see,

The mereie of thee

To me, poore lad."

The discipline of English schools came along with
other institutions into this country with our forefathers, 11

162 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
but none except old people or those who are growing old can tell us of its varied enormities. The follow ing brief story is meant to describe a scene or two wherein, apparently from accidental circumstances, that K discipline, in a country school in Georgia many years ago, became suddenly much modified.
The Rock Spring Academy had been started with t* hope of its being a marked improvement upon the coun
try (commonly called Old Field) schools, for whose bet terment something, nobody knew precisely what, had been long supposed to be needed. The community had become thickly settled and prosperous. Several wellto-do planters, recognizing the importance of giving to their children higher instruction than in their pioneer existence they had been able to get, built an academy near a spring that issued from beneath a large granite bowlder. In all respects save one the school prospered, r having in the first term sixty, and opening the second with seventy-five pupils, of both sexes, ranging from seven to twenty years of age. The master, educated quite above the average (which is not saying very much), had not succeeded in establishing a discipline that was fully up to so many needs and responsibilities.
It was a period when a change gradually and indefi nitely was coming upon the minds of people, even in rural districts, regarding that dogma of immemorial prevalence that education could be imparted best, if not K only, by the hickory, the ferule, and the fist, with an r occasional substitution of the milder penances of stand ing on one foot upon a stool, climbing a smooth pole, or crawling among the rounds of the master's chair; and thoughtful minds were beginning to indulge the

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING. 163
hope that a more reasonable regimen might be found and inaugurated. But the man who led off at Rock Spring, apparently convinced that it was wise to hold to the great apostle's counsel, to become all things to all men, undertook to gauge his discipline to all tastes, applying the old weapons of warfare to the children of those who yet adhered to the heroic treatment, and con fining himself to the mildly persuasive with the rest. Signs of failure appearing during the first term were multiplied in the beginning of the second. When it was noised outside that several large boys recited lessons only when they pleased, and kept others from study when they pleased, the attendance of pupils began to fall off, and the teacher was notified -by the president of the Board of Trustees that unless he made a change in his rule he would be evicted. He did make a change; but it was too late. Essaying one day to put the hickory upon a big boy named Thomas Aiken, who had behaved outrageously, the latter resisted, and with the help of comrades dragged him to the spring branch, gave him a ducking, and otherwise so maltreated him that, feeling himself to have been ruined by such discomfiture, he took his departure forth with.
At this juncture a young man named Samuel Cox, tall, slight, of not more than one-and-twenty years, was beginning to meditate a change of the vocation which he had followed for a year with slender success. A graduate of the State College, he had been admitted to < the bar, and kept an office at the court-house of his na- ' tive county, which adjoined that in which Rock Spring Academy was situated. Thus far he had made neither

164 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
money nor professional reputation. Modest he was too much so for a lawyer and fond, though not to great excess, of amusement, especially hunting and fish ing. His small property seemed likely to be exhausted before very long, and he began to suspect that he had made a mistake in choosing the law for his profession. In this state of mind it bethought him one Saturday afternoon to pay a visit to his uncle, a thriving planter, who, now aged, dwelt ten miles or so from the court house. This gentleman had been guardian to the youth, both of whose parents had deceased during his child hood.
" Law don't suit me, somehow, TJnele Jack." It was after supper, and they were sitting in the piazza on the mild August night. " May be you don't suit the law, Sam," answered the uncle, bluff as he was affectionate and fond. " What people call suiting has got two sides to it: I found that out long ago." "Perhaps I would have been nearer the truth to put it that way. At all events, it doesn't seem to suit me, and that's enough for me to know. But what to go at next I'm bothered to find out. I know I'd never make a doctor, and I doubt if I'm fit for a farmer, even if I hadn't spent most of my little property in trying to prepare myself for something different." 1 " Why not go to school-keeping." " My Lord, uncle!" " Well, now, boy, it may be my Lord, and it mayn't; I won't say which. But one thing certain, you've spent about a third of your prop'ty in your education, and a good chunk of the balance in trying to make that of

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING. 165
some use to you. I'm blamed if /wouldn't make it count somewhere; either You don't feel like you was cut out for a preacher, do you, Sam? Because, if so "
"Dear Lord! no, uncle," he answered, laughing, yet not without some sadness. " But school-keeping! the last, the very "
" Now stop, Sam; stop right there." The young man's repugnance was natural. The schools were stages whereon had been enacted scenes which, if now accurately described, would seem incredible to those who have never known them nor their likes. Their multiform drolleries in the midst of unlicensed despotism were remembered with mingled feelings of fun, disgust, and resentment. Hardly any young man of education, a native of that region, but would have felt himself degraded by adopting a profession most of whose practitioners had been objects of the ridicule and contempt of thoughtful persons. Within a few years past, however, to some of the villages had come edu cated teachers from the Northern, particularly the New England States, and they had succeeded in building up large and highly respectable schools, some of them hav ing attained high reputation. The uncle called attention to these, and then men tioned the vacancy at Rock Spring. " Why, Uncle Jack, I'm told that they have over there the wildest set of boys in the whole country, and that a parcel of them, led by a young giant named Tom Aiken, actually drove away the last teacher. I was sur prised to hear that about the boy, for he has a sister named Emily whom I met several times in the school

166 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
vacation which she spent at her aunt's in town, and a more sweet-tempered, lovely girl I don't remember ever to have seen. If I were to undertake a school for which, by-the-way, I don't feel as if I had any sort of qualification it seems to me that I'd better begin any where else than at Rock Spring with its antecedents."
" I heard about that, and I didn't feel a bit sorry for that schoohnarster. Instead of laying down his rules like them Yermont fellows, that know what to lay down, and then let nobody alter 'em, like them Medes and Per sians that the Bible tells about, without being took holt of and dragged over the coals, big and little, that fellow, they tell me, had some rules for some and other rules for t'others, and sticking to none with none of 'em; and so some of them big chaps, when he went to firing away on one of 'em after it got too late, they whirled f in and give him his walking papers. But, Sam Cox, I haven't been a-thinking but what you're another kind of stuff from such as that, to be willing to be drove off just dry so, from a lawful business. Now, suppose you had been fitter for the law, or, by blood, suppose you hadn't, and a man, or two men, or, as to that, a whole camp-meetin' of 'em, were to come to your office and ordered you out, would you have done it ? "
" Certainly not, sir. I should have answered their insolence as it deserved, and driven them off."
" Aha! I knew it! What your father'd have done. Well, that's about what them yearling boys done with that schoolmarster, and he weren't any more of a man than to let 'em run over him. If it had been me, and if I hadn't knew B from Bullsfoot about books, I should have seen them chaps through, and been with

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING. 167
'em till now, if alive." After a brief pause he resumed thus : " The fact of the business is, Sam, you've got to do something, as you can see for yourself. You've tried law, and that seems like a flash in the pan. You've got a good education. Your father I loved him like I did myself, Goda'mighty bless his soul! he told me, when he made his will appointing me guardeen for you, to give you a good education if it took all the prop'ty he had to leave you, and it looks like all that money spent and all that prip'ration oughtn't to count for just nothing, bedad. Well, to my opinion, you wouldn't " make any better farmer than you've made lawyer. Farming, to amount to anything, a man have to have enigy, which if it's in you, I've never seen it come out of you. What you've cared for always, besides of hunting and fishing, is books, and books have got to be your mainest tools in gitting a living, and them same opinions your father helt, what made him tell me what he did about sending you to school and college. People have already been a-whispering that you, who've had the best education of any of the whole breed of Coxes, it's a pity you're so long in doing anything to show for it, and I'll be just dadfetchit, so to speak, if I didn't. As for school-keeping suiting or not suiting, you don't know how that'll be without trying it. There isn't any manner of doubt but what them Northern men that have come down here and took up with the business, some of 'em have got to be regular professors in college, and some have gone from their school to the law, and there isn't one of 'em that isn't making a good name for himself."
Ho more was said upon the subject that night. Sam-

168 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
uel Cox, though dreamy and rather inactive, yet had a man's sense of manful responsibilities. He greatly loved and respected his uncle, and so, after much re flection as he lay awake in bed, he determined to apply for the headship of Rock Spring, and thus he announced the next morning. The application was successful, although the trustees were doubtful and through their president, Mr. Hundley, so warned the applicant of his ability to control the turbulent elements in the task he was about to assume.
" I got to be plain 'ith you, Mr. Cox, and tell you we has some oudaeious bad boys in this neighborhood; that is, I mean, mischeevious and up to all sorts o* pranks, and they'll be shore to try you, and fact is, you do look monst'ous mild an' spindlin'-like. Howbeever, the case as it now stand, we'll have to take somebody, an' we've kincluded to let you set in an' try it."
Many were the suggestions of the uncle when his nephew returned and informed him of what had been done and said. Insensible to fear himself, he could not but regret the softness of spirit which he feared might not be able to cope with the set of whom Mr. Hundley had spoken in such monitory language.
"If the concern of the whole business, Sam, the way it's in general been worked by such school-marsters as have kept schools in the country, if it weren't such a eternal mess of confound bamboozling, it wouldn't be so plaguy troublesome to manage it. The schoolmarsters I've knew, instead of trying to make scholars like 'em, and behave theirselves right because they ought, they were always a-watching 'em, and a-catching up, sometimes the wrong ones at that, and banging

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING. 169
away at 'em right and left, which it isn't seldom a grown person's worth while to be bothering to find out all the mischief young people will do, and the more, bedad, the more they know they're watched, because they despise, just like grown people, to be everlasting dogged, so to speak; and as for the way that some school-marsters have of making some of his scholars do his watching, I never believed in it, because it makes a boy mean, or it makes him a coward, which leads to the same. If I was a school-marster of course not without a education for the above I'd try to let my scholars know that I did not, so, jesso, look on 'em as a passel of godforsakened sons o' guns that weren't worth the powder and shot 'twould take to kill 'em ; but, for their parents' sake and and and so forth; but / know nothing about the business. Go on, boy, and do the best you can find out how. In all events, Sam, I sha'n't be expecting to hear you're drove off, for such as that don't run in the Cox tribe. Bedad, I don't know but what the best thing could happen for some of 'em to make a dead set at you the first day, and so make you feel like showing 'em, and showing yourself to boot, the stuff you made out."
" Yes," soliloquized the old man, as Samuel was riding on his way to Kock Spring, " if he's got the sperrit of his father, though he were a mild person, just like Sam, they needn't try to drive him off."

170 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
II.
THE new teacher was to board with Mr. Hundley, who dwelt about half a mile from the academy. This gentleman felt it to be his duty to administer very many precautionary suggestions.
" I wish to gracious, Mr. Cox, you weren't quite so mild and spindly like. Ef them boys could see you was ekal to handlin' of em, I shouldn't have the anxiety I has. Howbeever, them boys obleeged to know they ain't the heads o' this whole community o' people, and I thought I'd go along with you a Monday mornin', and open on 'em with some few primary remarks as the President o' the Board o' Trustees o' the Rock Spring Maled and Femaled Ecademy. They'd be bound to respect me, no deffunce what they mout think of your mild and spindly all kinditions and 'comp'ishments, I may say."
" If you do not object, Mr. Hundly," answered Cox, " I'd rather go alone. I feel that it is best to face singly the music, whatever it is to be."
" All right. I jes' kincluded I'd fling out the siggestion. Mayby it's best to open up 'ith as stiff a upper lip as possible. Some of 'em there'll be certain to feel what you made out of."
About sixty pupils were convened. The new mas ter, after hanging his hat upon a peg near a window, ad vanced to a chair near the fireplace, and, seating himself, made a brief address, appealing earnestly to his pupils' sense of all their duties. He was very much embar rassed. Yet his sincerity of purpose enabled him to

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING.
epeak with some freedom and emphasis. The fore noon was spent in organizing classes. The following is part of a conversation between him and Thomas Aiken:
" Your name is ?" " Aiken Tom Aiken, the name I go by." " What have you been studying, Thomas ?" " Little of first one thing and then another; no great shakes of none of 'ein." tt What do you propose to take up now ?" " Whatever comes to hand ciphering and such." *' I suppose, at your age, you'd feel like getting on fast as possible ?" " Oh, I'm in no great hurry." While the girls were out at the afternoon recess, after the teacher had occupied several minutes with a class at the blackboard that was on a stage at the farther end of the room, he returned to his seat, on which, after the girls had returned, he sat. Leaning backward, a tack, that had been so placed as to pro ject its point from one of the upper slats, pierced deep into one of his shoulders, inflicting extreme pain. As he instantly rose, with a cry, there was loud laughter among the boys. His face, already flushed, crimsoned at this insult. The girls looked staringly around, vaguely inquiring the cause of it all. Mr. Cox for a moment looked at the school, then turning, walked, with what appeared an uncertain step, toward the win dow near which his hat was hanging, and stood looking out. Some blood had oozed through his thin summer clothing. When Emily Aiken saw that, she rose, went quickly to the chair, where, ascertaining what had been

172 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
done, she stood several moments, until Mr. Cox turned again.
"Mr. Cox," she said, her face red as his had been shortly before, " I want to tell you that the girls in this school have made up their minds that, if they can help it, the boys shall not break it up. I don't know who had the meanness to hurt you in that way; but I know that it was done in order to see if you were a man that would submit to such conduct. I beg you, for myself and the other girls, and the little boys, not to give up your place, as some of these big rough creatures are de termined to make you do if they can. For for for God's sake, Mr, Cox, don't go away and leave us!"
Then she covered her face with her hands, and was led by one of her mates back to her seat. The teacher took out his handkerchief and dried his eyes (for he had been weeping), then came back, removed carefully the tack, and taking out his purse, put it into it. By this time Ms face had become composed, and he said: " I will excuse the girls from school to-morrow, mean ing to devote that day exclusively to the boys. I wish them, the boys I mean, to be present as soon as the school is opened. You are now dismissed." As the girls were filing out he called to Emily Aiken, to whom, when she came up, he said : " Miss Aiken, I thank you for your very kind words. I have no idea of leaving you all, at least just now."
" Oh, I'm so glad, Mr. Cox!" she said, heartily, and passed on. " Tom, she said to her brother, as they were on their way home, " I do hope that you had nothing to do with what I call as perfect a piece of meanness as I ever saw. I don't ask you to tell me

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING. 173
who did it, but I would like to know, if you can tell, what it was done for, when the man had not even said a word to deserve it."
" It was done," he answered, sullenly, " to let him know that he needn't undertake to run over everybody in that school as some of 'em does. Still, nobody ex pected the thing to hurt him as bad as it did. My! didn't he jump!"
" It was a shame, a crying shame, and it was worse to laugh at him. I thought when he first went to the window, where his hat was hanging, that he was about to leave. But when he turned I saw that he wasn't afraid."
" And a sight you was, standing up there and talk ing so before the whole school!"
She made no answer, for she was already regretting that she had thus given way to her feelings.
When Mr. Cox had reached Mr. Hundley's front gate, a little boy whose home was farther on, and who had been waiting for him, said, in a low tone, "Mr. Cox, I can tell you who put that tack in your chair."
"Was it you?" " No, sir; no, SIR." " Did the one who did, ask you to tell me ?" " No, sir. That he didn't." "Did you say to him that you intended to tell me?"
" Why, no, sir. That I didn't." " Well, then, do you go on home, and mind you, don't you mention to anybody what you have said to me." " Cur'ousest sehoolmarster ever /went anywhar to school," muttered the urchin as he moved away.

174: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Mr. Hundley was much concerned at the report of his children. " I've got to go to that 'cademy," he said, in a threatening tone.
"My dear sir," answered quickly his boarder, "I hope not. I beg not."
" But, Mr. Cox, I'm the President o' the Board o' Trustees; and besides, them boys know they daresn't "
" True, sir, and doubtless they would respect you as they should. But you see, sir, I, unfortunate as it may prove to be, am, nominally at least, at the head of the school, and, if it is to be governed at all, it must be by myself. There are some elements more unruly than I had even imagined ; but it is perhaps lucky that the issue is made so soon, and just as it is. But I am per fectly satisfied that I should not have any help in meet ing it. To-morrow will show if I am adequate to it."
" Yery well; work your own files. I thought a-bein' of the president-- Howbeever, as you say, you're the head o' the school, and my laws! I do wish, jes for the time a-bein', you mind, Mr. Cox, you weren't so mild and spindly like. Howbeever, do the best you can." Then he ceased, and turned mournfully to an other subject.
Every boy was in his place when Mr. Cox arrived the next morning. On his way he had gotten a cube of wood some eight inches in dimensions. After bid ding all a good-morning, he took the tack with which he had been pierced, and thrust it through a small bit of white paper into the block, and said, " I have put into this wood the tack that was fixed in my chair yes terday." Then he walked to the stage, and laid it on the edge, the mark fronting the fireplace at the hither

NEW DISCIPLINE AT BOCK SPRINCJ
end. Keturning, he drew from one of bis pockets a pistol, and, taking aim, fired. The wood slid rapidly backward several feet.
" Will one of you little boys do me the favor to go and see how nigh I came to the mark."
A boy went, and immediately on reaching the spot answered, " YouVe driv' her in, plump and squar'."
Then another bit of paper was put upon the orifice, and, drawing forth another pistol, he sent its bullet straight after its predecessor. After this he laid the weapons, without reloading, upon the mantel. Then he addressed the school with many words, some of which were as follows:
" I have done what you have seen for the purpose of letting the large boys iij this school be convinced that I am a man whom there might be some risk in maltreat ing without just cause, seeing that I know how to de fend myself. I have never fought with another in all my life, but there was never a time when I would not have fought, and fought to kill, if I had received an injury like the one that was put upon me yesterday, and I had known who the perpetrator was. I was thankful, however, after the first pangs of pain and resentment were over, that I did not know the person who had out raged me in a manner so cowardly and brutal. I might have found him, it is possible, by bribing or frighten ing some of the smaller boys, if such methods did not seem to me unbecoming to a gentleman to employ them. And now I think it may be as well for you all to know how I intend to keep this school. I say keep, for that I mean to do, at least for the term for which I am en gaged. For I will rather die than it shall be said of

176 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
me that I was driven or that I ran away from an hon orable service that I had undertaken to perform. I shall not inflict bodily punishment upon any except those who are too young to be amenable to other influ ences. Whenever, if ever, a boy too old for such treatment persistently fails to conform to my discipline, I shall expel him from this school; and if he will not go willingly, I will make him go unwillingly."
He paused and walked about in the room, erect at the consciousness of manhood fully up to all possible exigencies Not a whisper was uttered, the pupils re garding him as if he had been transformed suddenly into a giant. After some time, his face softening into sadness and sympathy, he said :
" Boys, let us understand one another. I came here with the intention to conduct myself like the gentleman that I claim to be. Treating every one as a gentleman everywhere has the right to be treated, if I should find any one of you not able to appre ciate such treatment, I shall require him to go away and leave the rest of us to ourselves. I shall neither watch you, nor allow you to watch one another with the view to report to me afterward. I shall not permit any boy to inform me of the misconduct of another, except such as may be injurious to the inform ant, or be so disreputable that it ought to be made known publicly. As for the little confidences that may rise among you, I shall not only not seek to know them, but I will spurn any one who may be mean enough to betray them to me. Now those of you who feel that they will not like such a discipline will do well to keep away from here. Those who may feel that they can

NEW DISCIPLINE AT ROCK SPRING.
not answer, each for himself, whenever I may inquire of conduct done outside of my presence, let them keep away also; for I will have about me neither spies nor liars. If any one of you supposes that I brought with me to day those pistols which now lie empty on the mantel for the purpose of making afraid, he mistakes my motive very far. I have never worn a pistol or other deadly weapon ; but, having effected the purpose I had on my mind, I shall bring them here never again. I am not such a coward as to wish to make anybody afraid of me personally, beyond the fear which the bravest of men will always feel at the thought of doing injustice to another. I would refuse to keep in my school a boy, of whatever age, whom I found to be afraid of me; for I would despise myself if I felt anything but horror at making a coward of the son of any freeman. I give you the regt of the day to reflect upon what I have said. To-mor row I shall begin in earnest with the work I may have to assign to those of you who return. Dismissed."
Thomas Aiken, who had remained until the rest were out, advanced and said: " Mr. Cox, I was not the one who hurt you, but I encouraged the little boy who did, and I am ashamed of it, and am sorry for it. I will quit the school if you say so. Still, I want you to understand that I ain't afraid of you, or what you can do with your pistol. What you said is what makes me feel as I do."
" And if you were afraid of me, Thomas, you should go. As it is, I'd rather you would not."
" My Lord !" answered the boy, his eyes filling with tears. " Why couldn't I had such a man before ? Here I am nearly grown, and knows nothing except the bad-
12

178 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
ness that the teachers I've been to put in the heads of such boys as me by their foolishness and meanness."
They became friends, to remain so always. The scene just related became known far and wide. Startling though it was, its immediate consequences were so benign that in a brief time the new teacher had gained everybody's confidence and affection. The school grew apace in numbers and reputation, and people won dered both that they had endured so long a regime that invited to disorder and insubordination, and that at last it had to be overthrown by an inexperienced stripling. Mr. Hundley was a man who wished always to be both just and generous. On a happy public occasion afterward, while under the influence of syllabub and other good cheer, among numerous other words he spoke the following: " Yes, yes, yes. The fact o' the whole business were jes tliis: I were that perplexited with anexity in my mind, him a-bein''so mild and spindly-like, that when the thing come to a head, and that on the very first an' openin' day, that I and it were entire onbeknownst to Mr. Cox but I sont words by my little boy Jimmy to them yearlin' boys, that ef I had to come to that instootion o' 'rethmitic and the warous branch o' edification, I should come as the President o' the Board o' Trustees o' the Rock Spring Maled and Femaled Ecademy, and I should count on no foolin' ner no projekin', ner nothin' o' the kind. And I were thankful, from all account, my messenges acted like a charm, and I were the msteYment in the startin' o' a discipline which have eended to-night in the present skenery o' people o' warous kind and mind, like the copy.book say. And I has no hizitation in sayin*,

NEW DISCIPLINE AT BOCK SPBINGL 179
both as my own self, and as the President o' the Board o' Trustees, that I don't 'members in all enduorin' my life times, as I ever knowed a suitabler, reasonabler, lovel'er, ner more epinted jindin and nunitin' together o' two people in the banes o' mattermony than Mr. Cox an' Emily, which ef ever two people was jest made for one 'nother, it were them two people, seem like to me."

ME. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE.
" Old times are changed, old manners gone." --Lay of the Last Minstrel.
I.
OLD Mr. Pate, whose residence was a mile or so 1 south from Hines's store, believed that he and his family
had had some very interesting experiences, and he was extremely fond of talking about them, not only to adults, but to children, among whom I was honored by being called one of his favorites.
" And it's because," he would say to me, " you ain't like some boys, and 'special them Jooksborough school boys, that 'stid a list'n and keepin' they mouth shet respectful when grown people is a-talkin' and a-tryin' to learn 'em somethin' about times long before they was borned, they'll actuil argy with 'em, and they'll go to gigglin', which in my time no boy darsn't to do ; and bersides that, meet 'em in the street when they let out o' school, 'stid o' givin' the road to old people, as some of 'em does, why a body got to give the road to them, same if they was a 'oman or a bitin' dog. What some on 'em want is the hick'ry, to learn 'em manners, sech as boys used to have in my time."
I liked well to listen to his narrations of neighbor-

ME. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 181
hood traditions of the Indians, who, when he was a child, were just beyond the Oconee, twenty miles dis-, tant; about the culture and marketing of tobacco, the introduction of the cotton-plant and the cotton-gin, oldtime sports, courtships, disciplines, and other subjects. He felt great pride in the recollection of his parents, and would tell with gratitude that was even gleeful of the whippings received from them, often in the day, more often at night, and how these had contributed in making him the respectable, comfortable citizen that he believed his neighbors would bear him out in saying he had always tried to be.
" Yes, sir," in honorable praise of his ancestry, he would say, " my father used to say that a boy, to make a man that's any account, he ought to get by good rights, at fa'r calc'lation, one whippin' every day, and sometimes two of a night. Yes, sir; that was the kind o' man my father were, and Joe Pate'11 tell you the same o' his'n, which his ma and the wimming always called him Sephus / but /never called him that one time, not since the day he were borned. You see, they writ him down in the Bible Josephus, bercause / were already named Joe, or Joseph, which you mind to call it."
The Pate dwelling, originally a two-roomed framed cottage, had been enlarged from time to time, and was quite comfortable in spite of the irregularities of its various improvements. The farm consisted of several hundred acres of good rolling land. Mr. Pate, when, about fifty years of age, besides a wife, had two married sons, Jimmy and Billy (both settled near by and doing well), and two unmarried children Betsy, twenty, and

182 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Josephus, lately turned of eighteen. Half a mile east were the Tidys, widow, with- a son lihu, twenty-one, and a daughter Sylvy, fifteen. Perhaps their mansion of four rooms, two below and two above, and the grove of red oaks, were kept somewhat nicer than the Pate place, because Mrs. Tidy for three years past had had no man to hinder the cultivation and indulgence of her tastes about such things. A lady of remarkably active, pleasant habits for one a little beyond forty, she felt it her duty to concern herself not only for the condition but the appearance of tilings about her premises.
Equidistant from these families, and toward the V south, were the Runnells, new people. The former
owner having cut down most of the woodland, and let the hillsides run into gullies through the rude sort of culture so ruinous to rolling lands, had offered the place for sale; and while Mr. Pate was haggling over the price demanded, Mr. John Runnell, from one of the counties near the Savannah, much to the former's dis appointment, purchased and removed there with his family, consisting of one daughter, Patsy, seventeen, and another, Milly, four years old. Their mother had died a year before. It was a worn-away looking place, although a few oaks, too noble not to be spared, shaded the small inclosed space around the double hewed log-house, with its fourteen-feet passage. Mr. 17 Runnell was a tall, dark, wiry man of thirty-eight, stern though not ill-looking, plain in dress, and too much of < what was called a rusher to care a great deal about looks or manners. Patsy, not quite so tall as Betsy Pate, but considerably taller than Sylvy Tidy, and very nearly as pretty, used to scold her father for the

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 183
way he dressed, especially in a new community. But he trusted that the way in which he was improving that once fine plantation, and laying up money, would estab lish his family in good time upon a satisfactory status. He let her take her own way in having improvements put to the house and yard, and did not complain at a few fine things she got at Jlines's store for herself and her little sister.
It looked rather hard on Betsy Pate, that her younger brother, tall like his father, but slender and very handsome, should have been awarded so many good things and herself so few. Yet if her face had not been quite so bumpy, and her hair of a sandy quite so pale, she would have been as good looking as there was any need for. She had a capital figure, and she professed herself to be as independent a girl as that whole region could produce; and even if she had not always loved Sylvy, and had not begun to love Patsy, she would not have envied the smooth olive complexion of the former nor the blushing brunette of the latter not if Betsy Pate knew herself.
For some years past Mr. Pate had been indulging the hope that his own and the Tidy families in proper time would become united by two bonds. There was some pathos in his ill-concealed regret that Betsy's face was not more smooth, and her hair was so far outside of favorite colors, and in his thankful pride that she had a figure that no young man in his senses could con template without some emotion. If anything was to come from this branch of his ambitions, it was getting to be time. Lihu Tidy, of middle height, stout, steady, reticent, almost gloomy, supposed to think as much of

184: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
himself as lie deserved, thus far had shown regard for no girl in special, although from a proper sense of duty he made occasional visits not only to the Pates but to other families, and was always polite, even apologetic for not visiting more freely; but then, you know, there was the business of the plantation, and other things of the kind. Since the moving in of the Runnells, he had become rather more chatty, and had been heard to say that the Runnells were much more interesting people than might have been supposed at their first appear ance. Betsy, as she sometimes told her mother, had gotten tired of trying to entertain Lihu, who talked to a girl as if he was sorry for her, when goodness knew that, as for herself, she wished he would come to that house seldomer unless he altered.
" Why, ma, when that boy put his pitiful looks on me and say nothing, I just have to put mine on him and say the same, because he can't be sorrier for me than / am for him. Now! And that makes him stop it for the time a-being, and try to say something more interesting like. I do think, on my soul, I never see brother and sister so different; that Sylvy's not only /lively as a cricket, but she have politeness for other people besides herself, young as she is, and small if she be."
"You think there's anything betwixt Sephus and Sylvy ?" asked the mother.
" Laws, ma! don't ask me about brer Sephus. He's got to be such a man that he hardly knows himself what he wants. If he wasn't so big and conceity and 4 scattery, I think he could get Sylvy ; but my opinion, the way things is now, he better not try it. Besides,

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 185
Mrs. Tidy have ^her own opinions about such. Sephus have to run about less and 'tend to business better, be fore he could get her consent, let alone Sylvy's."
" That boy'll have to be took in hand, I'm a-thinkin', and my suspicion is your pa does, too ; Patsy Runnell seem like a nice girl, a uncommon nice girl."
" That she is, and sensible, to boot. She knows how to manage Lihu with his solemncholy ways, which I don't, because they make me mad, a-knowing they ain't no more foundation for 'em than than I come a mighty nigh a-saying, than any common setting hen, if a body could compare a fowl that's knew to be a fe male with a man person."
Patsy, indeed, professed rather to like those ways of Lihu that were as a foil to her own wit. Whenever he came there, she told him that she was thankful that his business could be let up so as to give a girl a chance at his society. Such talk in time served to make him less apologetic, less disposed when in ladies' society to al lude to his own weighty responsibilities, and less openly compassionate for feminine infirmities, general and spe cial.
As for Joe but with Josephus Pate, as he had been put down in the Bible, I will begin a new chapter.
II.
THE fashion of the times, as in most frontier com munities, was to marry young, but not, except in few cases, with one's first lover. Few Georgia boys had not

186 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
been lovers at fourteen, yet it was not until about eight een that a youth was regarded as ripe for marital responsibilities. Even at that age, heads of families, except such as always had been and had counted upon always being poor, expected that applicants for their daughters should have something to start withal, if it were only a negro or two and a piece of land, or the money wherewith to purchase them. Joe Pate, by the time he was eighteen, had experienced several degrees of the passion sometimes named tender toward several maiden ladies and perhaps a few widows. In lordly ways often had he teased Sylvy Tidy for being so young and so little, and regarded so much younger by her mother. But lately Sylvy had been developing fast, and she was beginning to show that, young and little as she was, she felt that she knew a few things, if not more. Her development went on so rapidly that Joe began to make his attentions to her more serious and pointed. Occasionally he gave her a nice pocket-hand kerchief or a curiously wrought vial of perfumery, and now and then she seemed as if she was not wholly averse, like Atalanta with the apples of Meilanion, to be caught; but soon again the consciousness of extreme juvenility, or something else, made her begin to talk about what she owed to her ma, when Joe would rise, bid her good-by, and, returning to his plow, do such work as presently we shall hear his father commenting upon.
In those days, white boys who worked at all were expected to work steadily like the negroes. Joe's ir4 regularities in this regard had been winked at by his father because he hoped that he would change after the

ME. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 187
period of sowing a few wild oats. Billy and Jimmy were now both steady-going married men. Joe .the youngest and his father's namesake had gotten six months more of schooling than they had, and then he was taller, handsomer, and brighter. All these had something to do with this too long indulgence.
It was the middle of June. The days, long and hot, were uncommonly dry. For some time past a more earnest stimulus had been felt by the paternal mind to be needed in order to bring Joe to the standard held by his brothers, whose courtings had never led to gross neg lect of their work. Mr. Pate suspected that one matter with Joe was the excess of his education, and once or twice he so expressed himself to his wife.
"And I'll tell you for one reason why, Polly: I have caught, and more'n once't at that, but I have caught that boy under a sassafac in the fence-cornder a-reading a book that they calls a novyul, that some o' them Jooksborough schoolboys they loant it to him; and, as nigh as I can come at it, from what people tells me, it's a kind of a book that the half of 'em is lies, and, what's more, the fellow that writ it knowed it." Having spoken to Joe several times mildly about his conduct, and without effecting satisfactory results, he decided to impart to his words greater stress. One Saturday night, after supper, when he had lighted his pipe and seated himself as usual at one end of the piazza, he dismissed all except Joe and then said:
" Joe, seem to me that if you don't mind what you're 'bout, they is danger of your comin' to be of ruther mons'ous little account. I've told you before now that I were tired of your everlastin' a-runnin' about, and

188 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
nothin' a-cornin' of it; and when you ain't, you tak'n eich long restes at the eand of your row, under plumtrees and sassafacs and 'simmons in the cornder of the fence, like the sun have give you the headache, which 'twern't for your appetite for your victuals a-holdin' out, your ma'd be oneasy. And you ought to know that season like now, when nary drap of rain has fell in so long a body done forgot about it, if the ground ain't kept a-bein' of stirred, people is to make nothin' for man ner beast; and sech as that got to stop, and that speedy."
At first, confounded by these words, Joe was begin ning to employ his superior educational advantages in avoidance and defense, when his father, turning his face toward the house, cried aloud :
" Betsy, tell your ma and the balance of you, you may all come back : me and Joe's through."
" Yes," said Mr. Pate, after he and his partner had gone to bed, " my righteous belief is that it's them novyuls and the extry schoolin' I give him ; because I've notussed that the more schoolin' people give a boy, as a gen'l thing, the lazier about work and good for nothin'er he git. Joe think he must try to be like them town boys, that when they'r let out o' school they come a-flockin' into the peazer o' Eland's store and people has to jes' shet their mouth, and they can't hear their own ear, and them a-gabblin' about what they been a-readin' about men and wimming a everlastin' fallin' in love, and playin' the juce and turnin' up Jack, and blowin' one 'nother's brains out, and all sich. I picked up one o' them novyuls yisterday whar Joe have left it under a 'simmon, and I opened her whar he have turned down

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PBOPLE. 189
a leaf, and I'll be dad-fetcli-it if I didn't come acrost more fool talk about love than /ever talked to every sweetheart I ever had, a' includin' them I got mar ried to."
" Mr. Pate," answered his wife, " what the matter with Sephus, it ain't the extry schooling he have. That ain't enough to hurt him bad as that; and, as for nov els, Betsy have read some o' them herself, and she say that they has things in 'em that's that affecting, that they sometimes makes her actual cry, and that they ain't a-going to do much harm if a body ain't already willing to make a fool o' their self. Sephus have marryin? in his head, and he have had it there evy sence he quit school, and he'll git over his foolishness soon as he can settle down in his mind."
" He need some sort o'settlin', and that bad ; bad as I ever see a ole-field colt need curryin' and the cuckleburrers carded out of his tail. I wouldn't make no objection to him a-marryin', if he could git somebody that's of any account. I ben a-hopin' him and Sylvy Tidy might jine pardners; but I has my serous doubt if he have the sense to want Sylvy."
" That's jest the one the boy have made up his mind at last that he do want; but he see the trouble his flyin' around have made with Sylvy, and what his not at tending to business have done with her mother. Betsy say she's cert'n in her mind Sylvy likes Sephus well enough if he wer'n't so impatient, and make out like he's a-goin' to court Patsy Runnell for spite, or git you to give him off his portion, as he call it, and let him move clean off to some distant heemerspere, he say."
" To some some whar did you say, Polly ?"

190 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" To some heemerspere; I don't know where that is no more'n you do."
" Well, well, the thing have broke out on the creetur' in bigger spots than I ben a'lowin'. As for them Runnells, they're nigher to me than I want now; for Jack Runnell knowed I wanted that land, and needed it to boot. Heemerspere ! I don't know yes, mayby I will give Joe his portion portion por "
" I should do no sich thing; I should let Josephus Pate to understand Mr. Pate, do try to keep awake when people is a-trying to talk about things that is se rous, and not to go to snorin' before the words is out o' their mouth."
But Mr. Pate's unstudied music rose into a sustained diapason, and his companion, turning over, and cover ing an ear with the sheet, soon fell asleep.
III.
ON the next day was the stated monthly meeting of the Dukesborough Church. On such days people looked their best, clad in things the smallness of whose cost was compensated by the fact that they had -lain for a month in the press of sweet-smelling flowers and leaves; yet, especially in the case of the young, by the bloom imparted to cheeks by the air of that region; than which none could be more sweet. If there was a single item of his best clothes that Joe Pate had omitted on that morning, he could not have said what it was. The very tags of his spotted cravat he counted upon for doing

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE.
their part in aid of a purpose that last night had been fixed in his mind. Even Mr. Kunnell wore a cravat of some kind, tied on in some sort of fashion, and a new suit of jean. Sylvy Tidy was as sweet as they ever make them, in her white dotted muslin, leghorn bonnet, and linen bird-eye apron, with cambric ruffles in be coming places. Not so very far behind was Patsy, in her striped gingham, green calash, her wide red belt stuffed with rose-buds and violets, making the indiffer ent Lihu almost regret that he had not gotten himself up nigher like Joe. And Betsy! Now, as for Betsy Pate, a girl honest as the days were long, it is possible that she may have used the night before somewhat more of buttermilk and chalk than usual in subduing her bumps. At all events, she shone well there on an end of the bench where her new silk frock and her new some kind of sash, that swept the aisle floor, were seen to proper advantage.
After the meeting Joe got permission to ride home with Sylvy, Lihu with Patsy, and Mr. Kunnell, much to her father's dislike, with Betsy. On Joe's face was a severity that contrasted well with the gayety of his attire. Some huskiness in his voice he regarded as not out of place. Patsy chattered almost too much for Lihu. At the two-mile fork, where the Tidys and Runnells must diverge from the main road, Mr. Runnell, knowing, of course, that Lihu would see Patsy home, kept on by Betsy's side, and Betsy found that just between two and two there was more good talk in him than people knew of.
After the divergence Patsy, who, with her escort, was in front, in the intervals of conversation looked

192 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
back several times, and seemed as if, on encouragement, she might address a remark or two to the couple behind. But on those occasions Joe was looking intently at Sylvy, and Sylvy as intently at a point somewhere between the ears of her horse.
"Sephus seems serious and solemn this morning," said Patsy.
" Joe, you mean ?" answered Lihu. " Oh, that never mean any great things with Joe." Lihu was mistaken. If Joe Pate had been going to be hung, his seriousness would not have been more intense than that with which he had been courting that child. Some of the last of his thousands of words ran about thus:
"I don't suppose," he said, with rueful efforts at resignation, " that women and females ever know, or if they do, they never care for, the pains, and, I may add, the dying groans of them that worships 'em perhaps more than may be good for their own safetity and healths. To some people it may be a consilation that this world is nothin' but a flitterin' show; but as for me, I am a man that I'm obliged to acknowledge that, fur as I'm concerned, I much ruther have a different and a entirely another sort of a sp'ere of action."
He took out his silk pocket-handkerchief, unfolded and waved it, dispersing its cinnamon and cologne-water around and about.
" Sephus," said Sylvy, as they drew near the horse block, " I can't help the being of honest with you, be cause it's my nature. And I won't say I don't like you, Sephus, which, with a girl of my age, it might be going too far on first impressions so serious and not full ex pected. But I am not a woman grown, or at least ma

MB. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 193
don't think so, if I am the exact age she married pa, though, of course, that's been some time ago, and there fore she say that not imtil I'm seventeen will she not even think of such as that for me long as that may seem to other people. If you feel like waiting till then, all I can say, just as the Scripture says, there is never any telling what a day may bring forth, and special in ma's opinions of various people."
These words, meant to assuage, made the hearer frantic.
" Sylvy, look in my eye and see if you see anything like the Methusalem your ma want me to be, if not her own daughter."
" O Sephus," trying her best to be mild, " you. oughtn't to use such vi'lent language."
" I have saw," he went on, reckless " I have saw for some time that your ma was predijiced ag'inst me, that make her want to put off things, as important as them, till the Judgment-day, when everything will be forever and eternally too late."
"No, Sephus, ma may have her faults about the ages of people; but she is not a woman to take up prejudices just so for nothing, though I won't deny that I have heard her say that she wished you'd be more attentive to business."
"Ah, ha! ah, ha! And didn't you correct those 1 remarks, Sylvy ?"
" Correct them, Sephus! How could I correct them, a-knowing nothing about it excepting what people said?"
When he had assisted her to alight, he said, " Sylvy, with a man in my quategory, so to speak, to. make the
13

194 THE PRIMES AND" THEIR NEIGHBORS.
case powerfuller in the various departments of my hu man life, two years is the same as twenty no more, no less."
" All right, sir," she answered, unbuckling her rid ing-skirt.
" And yon talk that cool and calm because you don't love me."
" I never said I did; I only said what a day might bring forth."
" Farewell, Sylvy; I hope you'll drop a few tears when you hear the result."
" I don't know what you're talking about, Sephus." " I ain't perfec' cler in my own mind that I know myself; but I think I'm talking about my bandishment and exile'ds. In my present quategory, my intentions is to bandish myself from this cold heemerspere and go whar' people is kind, and can understand me enough to not want to put me off forever and deternally." " Sephus, do hush !" He took her hand, gave a mysterious good-by, mounted his horse, hardly speaking to Lihu who had just returned after taking Patsy home, and galloped to the Runnells. " Now, look here, Sephus," Patsy interrupted when he had been going on for five minutes or so, " you bet ter stop right there, for Sylvy's sake, if not for your own, for you'll wish you had. And I want to tell you, straight up and down, that you don't know your own mind, not perfect, I mean; and not only that, but I ain't a girl that is willing to be nobody's second choice, no matter whether he's in a fret or not." " I think it's about as short and pre-emt'ry a convisa-

ME. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 195
tion as I ever experienced with a lady on tio subject of importance whatsomever."
" It may be so, but it was just that much longer than it ought to have been, or there was not a bit of neces sity for," retorted Patsy.
" It 'pear like I got no friends nowheres." Patsy laughed .and laughed. Suddenly she said: " Yonder comes pa; I know you won't want him to see you a-looking so quare. Sephus, you don't know how quare you do look !" He bade her an abrupt farewell, and paying almost no attention to her father's invitation to dinner, rode on slowly, disgustedly, home.
IY.
OF the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Pate in the gig, while on their way from meeting, the following is a small portion :
Mr. Pate.--" I wonder why'n't Jack Runnell go 'long with his own daughter, and let Lihu rid along o' Betsy ?"
Mrs. Pate.--"Laws, Mr. Pate! Don't you supposen Mr. Runnell want varieties sometimes, like t'other people ?"
Mr. Pate.--" He may, and he mayn't. But I don't keer 'bout his takin' o' his wari'ties out o' any o' my people; because he couldn't help from kno'win' that I wanted that land and needed it."
Mrs. Pate.--"Come, my dear, don't let's talk

196 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
about land of a Sunday, and a meeting Sunday at that."
Mr. Pate.--" All right, honey, if you say so; but Sunday or Monday, thar's the land a-backin' up ag'in and betwix' me and the Plains and Gateston road. My 'spicions is that Lihu, silent boy as he is, don't like no sich."
Mrs. Pate.--"Lihu have nothing to do with it. And for I don't know what, I wouldn't for Betsy to of heard you say them words; for, it would of hurt her feelings. Yonder's Mr. Bunnell a-telling of her goodby. Ain't you a-going to ask the man to stay to dinner ?"
Mr. Pate never before did such a thing with a neighbor since he had owned a house he put his horse to a slow walk until Mr. Runnell's back was fully turned. Afterward he rather regretted this first breach of hospitality, particularly when Betsy, with some seri ousness upon her face, expressed surprise. During the rest of the day, he felt more uncomfortable than for quite a time. After supper Joe said to him that he would like to have some conversation with him alone. So when he had fixed himself in his accustomed seat and fired up, he said :
" Well, Joe, what's up with you now ?" "Pa," he answered, abruptly, "I wish you would give me my portion and let me go away to myself." Taking out his pipe, Mr. Pate turned quickly to him and said: " Ah, Joe, has you and Sylvy done made your plot, and her ma; have she give her consents ? Ef so, why of course, my son " " Me and Sylvy have made no plots, pa; and if ws

ME. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 197
had, Missis Tidy make out she's nothin' but a suckin' baby, and more'n that, she have tuck up a predigiee ag'in me."
By many an interrogatory Mr. Pate got from Joe how the matter stood. After reflecting for some time, he calmly remarked:
" Ya-as, I think I understand the case, Joe. In the mornin' I'll see what kind of a portion I can give you. You know I ain't no rich man, my son, but I'll try to be as lib'ral as I ken, to do jestice to the t'other chil dren, a also countin' in your ma. My intentions is to be lib'l and fa'r as the case'll allow."
" Thanky, thanky, thanky, pa, and when " " Bet say ! " cried the father, aloud, " you all can come out; me and Joe is thro' ag'in." The rest of the evening was spent in moderately cheerful chattings, Mr. Pate taking less part than usual, considering, Joe well understood, how best to set ofE to himself on the morrow. Occasionally he may have thought, in the midst of his gay, rattling talk, how Sylvy would feel; but then she must reflect that she had brought the most of it on herself by persistent hanging on to her mother's apron-strings: " Mr. Pate," his consort began while tying on her night-cap, " I don't know what have got holt of you. I shouldn't be giving Sephus no portion, as he call it, big man as he is. I should tell that boy, plain, that the trouble is, he's too big a man, and he's lazy, which Betsy say, if he weren't and Sally Tidy could see him more studdy and industrious at his work, she wouldn't hender his gitting of Sylvy, special when she have marryin' in her head her own self."

198 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Who, Polly ? Missis Tidy f " " Laws, Mr. Pate! Where has your eyes been, this last six munts and better ?" " Why, 'oman, you take the breath away from me! Why'n't Jack Eunnell be a-usin' over thar' then, 'stid o' over here, and which it would be another sort suitabler ? I got to see them people, both of 'ein. My, my! That do beat!" " If you do, you'll be sorry for it. That's what I got to say. When it's people's lot to git married, they goin' to git married; and as for me, I ain't a person that is willin' to take the resk of pushin' 'em ner hen/derin' 'em, nary way. But, my dear husband, I do hope, for goodness gracious' sake, you ain't a-goin' to be giv ing Sephus any prop'ty, and let that foolish child go off." " Oh, my dear, I'm not a-goin' to do no great things , 'long o' Joe. I promised the feller I'd give him somethin' ; but I shall start by driblets, and see how they'll work a while. I'm a-goin' to try to keep in reason. But I'm pow'ful sleepy. I s'pose it's egzitement." In another minute, if he was not asleep, his wife knew no better. Mr. Pate was so fond of enlarging upon this happy period in his domestic life that I let him tell of it in his own words: " Next mornin' I told Joe after breakfast, let's me and him pull off our coats, as the day were hot, and we ^ had some preamberlation on hand. So we shucked our selves, we did, and we muandered along to the medder branch. When we got thar', I gethered me a good hick'ry, and, before he even 'spicioned what I were up

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE* 199
to, I lit on him with thirty-nine, and them genewine, accordin' to law; and then, before he had time to git over the 'stonishment, I says to him, says I, * Thar now, my man, you got your portion, as you call it, and now you can go to yourself if you want too ; but if you do, you git. no prop'ty from me, livin' ner dead.' And then I marched back to the house, I did, and I were speechless to nobody, and I putt on my workin' clo's; and I marched to the lot a-lookin' as sorrowful as I knowed how, and I got Joe's mule, and I went, I did, and I plowed that whole blessed day, a-eatin' my dinner in the field along o' the niggers. Night come, I come back, putt up my mule, fed him, curried him; went to my supper a-lookin' madder and tireder and pitifuller than I was, in fact. Man with family got to do that a way sometimes for the effec' it have on females and the balance of 'em. No Joe; I never let on if I 'membered any sich people as Joe Pate. Ev'ybody was silent, same ef it ben in meetin', exceptin' when I riz from the table, and went out to the back po'ch, and hollered to the cook I want breakfast next mornin' by candlelight. My wife, she declar' atterwards, people could hear me two mile off. Soon I got to the peazer, here come Joe, and he say in the very word o' Seriptur* how he have been the podigrill son, and he want to git forgiveness; and he declar' it have mighty nigh kilt. him, me a-plowin' his mule all day long, and him aprowlin' around doin' o' nothin' but pattin' hisself whar I lain the hick'ry on to him. Then I up, I did, and I says to Joe: * Joe,' says I, l you know, without my atellin' you, that I ain't no great rich man to go to stoppin' o' work and a-killin' calves, even ef they was any

200 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
single one in the calf-parstur that's fat enough to kill, and couldn't be in sech a kind o' spell o' weather. Yit, ef your notions is to go back to work, and stop your projeckin', and take your chances, like Billy and Jimmy took theirn, and has made industrous, respectable men, and good livin' men, all right.' And thar it.stopped. Old Joe, bless his old heart, he acknowledge I took him at the very nich o' time. He were pow'ful 'shame' about that podigrill son business. But you see it were his ma that put him up to that. Joe knowed I want in no fix in my mind to want no great Scriptur' cavort'n' doin's 'bout sech a little matter; but his ma, she argued it were sech a good example, I'd melt the quicker. You see them is wimming, my son, but which the good Lord know nobody think more of 'em than what I do."
His hopes for a match between Joe and Sylvy hav ing failed of fruition, those for Betsy and Lihu became more earnest than ever in the mind of Mr. Pate. To his fond eyes, if Betsy's bumps had not diminished very much in numbers, some of the largest, he hoped, had subsided in size and redness, and her figure had de veloped into absolute perfection. It pained him much that where Lihu came to the house once, Mr. Eunnell came about three times, and he decided that as a parent he must do something to divert the latter's attentions.So one day, neglecting his wife's advice, he praised Mrs. Tidy to the very skies to Mr. Runnell, intimated

MB. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 2Q1
strongly that he had ascertained that she was a marry ing female, and if so, he didn't know her equal for a widower in search of another companion. To his de light, Mr. Runnell, although he heard these remarks almost in silence, began to visit Mrs. Tidy more often than was demanded by mere border-fence contingencies, and not only that, but he put on a cravat and his new suit of jean.
" I tell you, Mr. Pate," his wife warned him, " such meddling as that is not for the best, and if it's to do anything, it's to do more harm than good."
"Remembering how many blessings had come to him from not going counter to her earnest counsels, he for bore a similar assault upon Mrs. Tidy. Yet, in defer ence to his wife, he decided, reluctantly, to pause for a while and await events. Alas! Little did he dream that the first of these that was of importance was to be the death of Mrs. Pate; yet this did not happen until she had lived to be thankful for the sight of the entire reformation of her dear Sephus. Time and time again, during his life, had Mr. Pate been heard to admit that for every dollar with which that family had been blessed, she had made seventy-five cents, and now, what more, he would ask of his friends and neighbors, could a poor lonesome, woe-begone widower say? Such was his anguish that he acknowledged sometimes that he would feel like giving right straight up, except that he was only fifty-one years old his last birthday, and a-going on to fifty-two his next, and his bodily health was sound as any dollar. Mr. Pate felt that he was not a man to be going about promiscuously among mankind, or woman kind either, bewailing his bereavement Solitude and

202 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
reflection led him to regret that, heedless of his dear deceased wife's affectionate admonitions, he had spoken to Mr. Runnell so pointedly about a matter, that, strictly speaking, he could not but acknowledge now was none of his business. In such a frame a man must feel like undoing, if possible, any harm which such imprudence may have caused. Therefore he availed himself of a reasonably early opportunity to have a chat with Mr. Runnell, whom now he called Johnny', and he alluded, at great distance, however, to the risk of any man mar rying a second time, especially to a widow with-children. His motive, he thought, if he understood himself, was to render nugatory his own thoughtless suggestions.
In regard to Mrs. Tidy, Mr. Pate thanked his wife, even in her grave, for the warnings given by her in the case of that lady; and he was thankful to himself for having given heed to them. When his sense of be reavement had been subdued to the degree that allowed him to venture over there, he told Betsy, on returning, that he hoped the visit had done him a little good.
" I rid by Johnny Runnell's as I come back, and sot awhile with him. I thought, seeni to me, Johnny look oncommon well, and some younger. Ah, well! a man 'flicted like I am, it 'pear like he ought to try and be friendly, and special with them he live the clostest too."
Betsy smiled sadly, poor girl! She had been sorely afflicted by the death of her mother.
When Mrs. Tidy had heard of the peculiar way in which Joe's portion had been set off to him, she said that, having gotten what he had been needing for some tune, she now had some hopes of his making a man if he lived. Lihu laughed; but Sylvy cried, and declared

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 203
that if she was in Sephus's place she would just no, maybe that wouldn't be best but, anyhow, she would do something. And Joe did something. Knowing well the sense of the community about parental rule, and the most common means for its enforcement, he went vig orously to work, and for weeks kept himself at home, even missing the next monthly meeting. Since the death of his mother, his father had been leaving the management of the plantation almost entirely in his hands, and all the old people in the neighborhood were beginning to say how well Joe Pate was doing at last.
YI.
ONE day Mr. Runnell said to Patsy: " Lihu Tidy seem to been usin' around here and around you, Patsy, here lately more'n common, but I've notussed he hain't been here sence last meetin' Sun day a week ago, and whensoever him and me comes up with one another, he look yit more serous and speech less than I remembers to of ever saw him. Anything the matter 'twixt you and him, my daughter ?" " No, pa, only lihu sorter begun a-courting of me in a cool, way-off-yonder kind of way, like he were afraid I might say yes to him, and when at last he come to the point, I astonished him by telling him I didn't want him." " My, me, my! Patsy! I I ken -but be sorry to hear it!" "Pa, I like Lihu Tidy, excepting for all his con-

204 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
ceity, and him having appearantly no blood in him. I won't have no man that don't want me, sure enough, but come about me talking and looking like he thought I were making more by the bargain than what he was. No, sir, not me."
Her father said no more. He had his reasons; for liis present profoundest concern was about some pros pects for himself that he had in view. He was alarmed at this rejection, but more on his own than Patsy's ac count ; yet he decided to take on more spruceness of dress, and more sociability, although during several months past these had been conspicuous throughout the whole neighborhood.
To the mind of Mr. Pate it seemed hard that, in such deep distress for his late affliction, he should have to worry himself over Mr. Runnell, and lament so late the influence upon that gentleman of words which, con trary to his dear wife's remonstrances, he had let fall in his hearing. Conscious of the need of some sort of ac tion touching the repeated visits of Mr. Runnell at the Tidys, he regarded it prudent to throw what he would have called a " feeler " in his home circle. And so one night1 at the supper-table, after much sighing and groan ing over his biscuit and coffee, his hoe-cakes and clab ber, he said at most vast distance:
" Do 'anybody understand John Eunnell ? He's a' enigmy to me; a perfec' enigmy! I would jes' like too know whut the feller is arfter, a-flyin' around so everlastin' in his new jean clo's. Do you have a' idee whut he's up to, Joe, and how he's headed ?"
" My notions," answered Joe, smiling, " is that Mr. Eunnell is bent on changing his conditions; but as to

who with, you'll have to ask him. I know that is, he's never told me anything about it."
Mr. Pate rose, uttered " a perfec' enigmy!" and left the table. That night he sat up to a late hour for him, mainly ruminating. By bedtime his mind came to the decision that he owed duties which, delicate as they: were, could not be shirked by a man of honor. The more he thought about the matter, the more he appre hended that in some unguarded moment he may have spoken about Mr. Kunnell in Mrs. Tidy's presence, in terms of praise not warranted by his merits or his own opinion of them.
" Right is noth'n' l)ut right, no matter who it hurts." The next morning, in the dress so consoling to wid owers, having ridden to Mrs. Tidy, he expressed him self first in terms of most respectful admiration of his late wife. " And which," he said, confidently as sor rowfully, " that I hasn't a single jubous doubt, that soon as the breath got out o' her body, she went to mansion in the sky same as a bow-'n'-arrer, Or even a rifle-bullet." Then he offered Mrs. Tidy sympathy in her lonely condition in words even more cordial than those that had been employed by him at the going of her husband three years before. After these, he went to the main purpose of his call, muffling its abruptness by beginning at the period of his first acquaintance with the subject of his intended remarks. Mrs. Tidy, a nice, bunchy little woman, sat and looked as though she had a plenty of time for listening to what he might have to say. " Missis Tidy," he began with mild solemnity," about a year ago, or sich a matter, a person, which I shall not

206 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
name his name at present, but he came into this neigh borhood a not mor'n a horn-blowin' from this house, and he come a onexpected, a-fetchin' with him a couple o' children, which he 'lowed were his own daughters, but by who, as she was leff behind and that in the ground, nobody about here know, and it may be high prob'le, madam, you know the person I am a-illudin' to."
" Who you talking about, Mr. Pate Mr. Runnell ?" she asked, in amused surprise.
Mr. Pate, his lips firmly closed, bowed. " Why, of course I know Mr. Runnell, and so do ,, everybody else." " Do anybody know, Missis Tidy, how he treated his first wife?" And he looked as mysterious and threatening as if he had just come from that distant, un known grave, with a charge from its occupant against him whose cruelties had put her there. " Why the good Lord bless my soul, Mr. Pate! What you asking such questions about when when it's so late? How you do flurry a body! 'Why, Mr. Pate you treading on toes, and your own toes too, when you hinting such questions." Mr. Pate looked momentarily at his feet, and, as he was proceeding to look at Mrs. Tidy's, she drew them under her skirt and laughed doubtfully. Failing in this search, his eyes again sought her face with inquir ing eyes, eager as unintelligent. " You didn't know, then," she asked, " that lihu's been a-courtin' of Patsy, and it looks like he's not a-going to get her ? There's our toes." For a brief while Mr. Pate could not speak, because his breath was gone clear away. He looked down again

MB. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 207

at his own shoes, thinking, possibly, that if the condi

tion of the toes which they covered could be known,

they would be found, every one of them, to be mashed

entirely off. When his breath had returned, he mur

mured, " Poor Joe and poor Bet " but he could not

quite get it out. Mrs. Tidy laughed, and laughed, and

laughed.

"Well, Mr. Pate, if you ain't behind the times!

And you didn't know that I've give my consent to

Sephus and Sylvy,; and you didn't know and there's

where your toes comes in you didn't know Mr. Run-

nell been a-courting Betsy ever sence here he's been, and

the poor child won't answer him yea nor nay, a-waiting

for you to get over your predigices ?"

"Then Johnny Kunnell ain't been a-comin' over

here in his new jean clo's "

"No, he haven't. The idea! Young man like

him!" She looked extremely sad.

" Oh no, oh no!" said Mr. Pate, slowly, as if he

would check some of the warmth that was rushing

through his whole being, including his very nostrils.

" Betsy's mistakened; I think a heap of Johnny Run-

nell myself; but in my lonesome solitoodernary as I

ken but call it MISSIS Tidy," lifting high his voice and

both his hands, " there is one more question, and one

more dilemmy on top o' my mind. You may know

what's to come o' you, when your childern has forsook

you and flewed away; but what Pm, to do, I never

/

vs

7

knowed a convenenter time for the infimation than

this very day of our Lord, Chris'mus so nigh upon us."

"Why, Mr. Pate, Lihu "

208 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Ah, Lihu! Lilm 'bleeged to put his plot thoo, the way things is a-goin' all 'roun' Patsy Runnell."
" In those case," she said, sadly, " of course, Mr. Pate, when people find theirselves sitooated like some people well! Oh, my "
" Let me interrup' you, madam, right thar, if you please, madam. Missis Tidy, I call upon you, and I call upon the walls o' this room, and the ceilin' and the jice't and the flo', yes, madam, and the furnicher, a' includin' the very cheer you set'n' on, madam I call upon you all to listen to my solom languidges, which it is: You come and Woe 'long o1 me ! "
" Oh, Mr. Pate, Mister Pate!" she cried, putting her handkerchief to her face.
" That settle it," he said, taking her unresisting hand. It was interesting to hear the old man long after ward speak of these scenes. " Ah, yes, the good Lord have give me a heap better luck'n common. He have give me two good wives, when mostest men has other had but one, or, ef more'n one, one or t'other of 'em, I've notussed, have been a ruther indeffer'nt, so to speak. But he give me a good one in the offstart, and when she give out, thar were another one right thar, ready for me, jes' as good. We didn't put off things, I tell you. As for Lihu, I told Lihu, no female girl want to be courted like he been a-courtin' o' Patsy, and that it were thar natur' to want to be courted like puttin' out a house afire. And he took me at my word, Lihu did, and he set at Patsy right, untwell Patsy, she seein' him in dead yearnest, and she seein' marryin' goin' on all 'round her, she caved in, she did, and seek another Chris'mus as we had; to-be-

MR. JOSEPH PATE AND HIS PEOPLE. 209
shore! And Joe Pate'11 tell you to this day that what saved him was dis-siplin. And so Joe he lay claim for him and Sylvy to be the first to step out on the flo', because he say he have got his portion oneet, and now he think he were li'ble to have it twicet. Joe were always a feller that would have his fun; and he have overpersuaded Sylvy to ask the same, and so old JoeI never called him /Sephus, not sence the day he were borned but him and Sylvy they opened the ball, as the sayin' is. Then come Lihu and Patsy, because every body laughed, they did, and said we'd all go down'ards 'stid o' up'ards, jes' for the fun of it. Then Johnny and Betsy; and I don't 'member as I ever see a suitabler couple than them two. And then ev'ybody laughed ag'in, and they say they has saved the biggest for the last, a-meanin' o' me and Missis Tidy that were. You see, we was all jes' in them high sperrits, we was jes' natchel obleeged to laugh at ev'ything ev'ybody said. And then we two wound 'em up, and we kimpleted what I always called a reg'lar round, circ'lar, ball, globe. And I'm now sev'nty year old; but ef the good Lord'11 spar my life, a-knowin' what a friend I been o' his'n always, my intenchins is to make everything yit loveler and interestiner."
14

ME. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.
" Dux femina facti."--
I.
" I HAVE come to the conclusions that what I want is a little duck, to call mine."
He had the solemnity not uncommon in very tall, rather slim, and moderately dark gentlemen, old enough to know what they are talking about when the matter is their own individual, special wants. The announce ment excited some surprise, even a little fluttering ; therefore I shall proceed to tell briefly the conditions of the speaker and his audience that led to it.
Property of the value of about one hundred dollars, his share in his father's estate, by accretions in one way and another during the twenty years since the majority of Mr. Gibble Colt, had amounted to five hundred perhaps a little over. In this while he had lived with an older sister, wife of Mr. Isaac Spillers, his services about the house, the yard, the garden, the horse-lot, and the cow-peri being taken as equivalent for board. The small farm was situated a couple of miles from the village of Red Oak, and bordered on the public road leading thence to Augusta. The land was not more thin and gravelly than the average in that militia dis trict, which, by a pleasant conceit of one of the early

MR. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.
settlers, had been named " Pea Kidge." Notwithstand ing his great length and solemnity, Mr. Colt was a man affectionate in his feelings. Therefore, although he shed not many tears, he was much grieved at the death of his sister. His sense of bereavement had been quick ened by some changes already made in the household, and others contemplated by his brother-in-law. These had put him to thinking that perhaps it might be well for him to make some change in himself. This thought was in his mind on a fine morning when he called at the Sprayberrys.
These extremely nice people, Miss Prudence and her sister, Charty Ann, two years younger, owned a farm of similar dimension, half a mile nearer town. Their cottage, modest like themselves, was retired quite out of public view. Both parents had died some years back, when the sisters had fully reached womanhood. By this time they had managed to get a comfortable, respectable living on the place, and make a 'satisfactory beginning in the raising of negroes from the man and woman with whom at the death of their father they had started on their own independent, inoffensive line. It was at this house, and in the joint presence of these ladies, that Mr. Colt made the remark above quoted.
As to ages, slimnesses, and complexions, the Misses Sprayberry were not far unlike their visitor. Almost all of their time, especially of late years, they stayed at home, taking care of their little property, trying to make little additions to it in honest ways, feeling mild compassion for the moving, restless world outside, and upon the whole congratulating themselves on their fore sight in not having encumbered themselves with hus-

212 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
bands, children, and the other inevitable appurtenances of married life. These very last words, however, were applicable in their entirety only to the elder sister, who never had had a beau, and, if people would believe her, never had wanted one. Miss Charty Ann, despite her suspicions that some of the things in what few novels she had read might not have been precisely as set down therein, admitted an interest that occasionally was tender enough for tears at scenes capable of touching an affec tionate, sympathizing heart. Whenever a wedding took place in the neighborhood, if invited, she went to it. If not invited, just for curiosity nothing else in the world she liked to hear how the bridal party and everybody else looked and did, and how everything in general went off. Miss Prudence knew well enough how to make allowance for the harmless levity of her younger sister, it being a foil to her own habitual se riousness. Without ever chiding, she regarded it enough to set for her an example in the matter of books. On week-days she opened never one except the Bible; and on Sundays, this, the hymn-book, and Pil grim's Progress. With the last I suspect that she never did get entirely through; but often was she heard to ex press her never having a doubt that the poor, dear good man was bound to get there at last or, as she expressed it, " safe and sound eventual."
Almost the first words spoke by Mr. Colt on this morning were those announcing his rather singular want. It was the more surprising to these ladies, par ticularly Miss Prudence, because, as for ducks, not one of that species of fowl was on that place, nor had been since as far back as anybody there could remember.

ME. (HBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.

313

Therefore, when the announcement was made, Miss Prudence simply looked at Mr. Colt, and said not a single word. The visit in itself was not a surprise ; for, living so near, his wont had been to fall in there oc casionally, the same as if he were an old maid like themselves, and he had been no more suspected of evil intents than if indeed he was in that condition of life. But on this occasion, when he alluded to ducks, and that in a sort of abstracted, distant way, in a voice almost husky, and looking as solemn as if somebody was dead or upon his death-bed, Miss Prudence asked herself if she knew what upon earth the man could be driving at. The answer being in the negative, and Mr. Colt sitting there without adding a word of explanation, after some moments she broke the silence in the following manner:
" Gibble Colt, I thought you knewed it; but if you didn't, they haven't been a duck of no sort on this plan tation since here I've been. My father always before he died took up a predigice ag'inst the things; for what reason he never told anybody that I ric'lect of, except it might have been their everlastin' puddlin' and paddlin' in every blessed thing that have water in it. And I have freckwent heard him express his opinions that for eatin', chicken and turkey was good enough for him, with mayby sometimes goose for rarity, but although which he acknowledged he loved goose not to the same extents. And so ever since his time we never got in the habit of havin' 'em in the family. It is there fore, and for them reasons, that if you certain in your mind they is what you do want, I hain't a doubts on my mind that the Hills, if they couldn't let you have a pa'r, they could at least spar' you a settin' of eggs to raise

214 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
from. They've got 'em, I know, because every time I go by there I see 'em by their spring branch."
While this speech was going on, Mr. Colt was look ing all around the room, as if, not fully crediting Miss Sprayberry's disclaimer, he suspected that an individual of the, kind he had specified was hid away somewhere on the mantel, or behind the clock, or under the table, or other furniture. When the lady -had finished her elaborate, kind answer, he replied:
" I don't need to go to the Hills. The duck I'm after is here right here and she's nowhere else that is, prowidin' she's willin'."
Then he looked at Miss Charty Ann with all the pointedness and painfulness which his countenance could put on.
Now, notwithstanding that the nigh resemblance between Miss Charty Ann and a duck, especially a little duck, had occurred perhaps to only a few imaginations, she seemed not displeased that it had been noticed by that of Mr. Colt. She did not essay to squat very far down on her chair, but she did shrink herself into a mien of girlishness and meek loveliness that few ducks of any size could have surpassed.
" I am positive and simple disgussed!" said Miss Prudence, rising, and leaving the pair to themselves.
Long as both lovers were, long as had been the time before their coming together in this intensely interest ing relation after a long, long acquaintance, their court ship and other antenuptial preparations were exceeding brief. I suppose they thought to make up for so much time unnecessarily thrown away.
Poor Miss Prudence, feeling herself thus deserted

MR. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.

215

or, as she expressed it, "clean flung away " could solace herself, and that in a very small degree, only by thoughts, of which the following were a few among vast numbers of expressions to the friends to whom in her desolation she turned:
" When Gibble Colt come to the house a-enquirin' about ducks, I natchel said that we didn't keep the things, and I were perfect honest in my mind when I a-p'inted him to the Hills, that they have a spring branch where they could keep theirselves from trouble some people that likes to have a clean, decent, respect able yard. I ain't a-settin' in this cheer if I weren't a-tryin' to give him the best infimation I knewed how, all be I were ruther took back in my mind by Gibble Colt at his time of life a-wantin' to begin on the raisin' of sech a kind of a animal. Tell you the truth, for a minute I suspicioned Gibble Colt of bein' out of his head, and not a-knowin' what it were he did want. And the first thing I knewed there was him a-eying of Charty Ann, and she not displeeged at it. So I just ris; and as I ris, I heard him ask her if she wouldn't be his little duck. That of all the names I ever ex pected to live to see Charty Ann called by, the lastest one was that. And yit I never in my born days have I ever see a idee took holtof so fast, and break out all over 'em, which, if it hadn't been my own blessed sis ter, I should have to set down and laugh. It only show what people can come to when they think they fell in love; because it do seem to me at her time of life and special a high, tall woman like Charty Ann she'd 'a' felt ashamed of herself at the very namirf of bein' Gibble Colt's little duck."

216 THE PEIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.
Yet Mr. Colt made a first-rate husband, and soon a satisfactory brother-in-law; and Miss Prudence, having to do so, admitted it honorably. He did not try to in terfere with her right, acquired by primogeniture, and established by long usage, to the headship of the family, and he would have discouraged, if he had noticed, any ambition on the part of his wife to rise in her own scale of being than as his own favorite bird. About every rural homestead there are some things which it falls to a man more conveniently and more becomingly than to a woman to look after. These were undertaken at once by Mr. Colt, and attended to with constant faithfulness and efficiency. For the rest, he let himself be supported by these ladies without a single word of complaining. Soon after his marriage he did a thing which could not have failed to affect sensibly any feminine heart that knows how to value affectionateness and kindness. The sisters had always waited on themselves mainly. They had been so brought up, and such work was not irk some. But Mr. Colt, early in his domestication, said, that no duck of his, nor any sister of his duck, should do such work as that much longer. And so one day, at an administrator's sale, with his money that he had called in, he bought a young woman, whom, when he had brought her home, he turned over to Miss Prudence, with very few, but those affectionate and specific, remarks. Delicate little things like that go far with good women. Miss Prudence could have cried, but I suppose she decided that such giving way could hardly be expected of her, and so she did not. Sylla, the new servant, healthy, honest, willing, became a great help. Not following the example set by her mistresses, she

MR. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.
married young, and few women of any race ever bore a more numerous, sound, likely progeny. In time Miss Prudence came to love, almost as well as her sister, him who so naturally and smoothly had assimilated with the whole family.
" Yes, yes, I think a heap o' Gibble Colt, and I've even got riconciled to him callin' Charty Ann his little duck. But still I can't but be thankful it ain't me instead of Charty Ann. He's a affectionate kind of a creatur' affectionater than Charty Ann, in fact and he ain't much more in a body's way than if he was a female. Yes, I got complete riconciled, and I'm thank ful I did."
II.
THINGS went on, and kept going for twenty years without one unhappy ripple. It seemed a pity for a change to come. Yet it fell most lightly upon the one who was to be subtracted soonest. Neither her hus band nor her sister could believe it when, after a few days of what seemed a very light spell of illness, Mrs. Colt bade them good-by, calling them both to witness that of the two she could not say which she loved better. As for their future she offered no advice, but expressed humble hope that her own was secure.
They were not people to make a great ado of mourning, yet each was deeply, sorely distressed.
And now there was Miss Prudence and there was Mr. Colt, and no person ever did know how she at the head of the table and he at the foot, how she at one

218 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
corner of the fireplace and he at the other, looked at each other and were speechless.
In such afflictions men seem to have an advantage over women. The former can and often do roam about, while the latter feel as if it is their duty to stay at home. Not that Mr. Colt roamed promiscuously. He never had been a man for such as that; and his roaming, not counting an occasional purposeless walk to town, was confined almost entirely to the Hills, whose husband and father had deceased some months before. Perhaps, of its kind and to its degree, there was consolation in passing and repassing by the Hill spring branch, and looking mildly at the Hill ducks, that did not forego the comfort of puddling for any losses among their families, however unexpected, quick, and violent. It is curious that we do not yet we who are on the highest scale of animate being ought to set more store by the many cheerful examples placed before our view by so many of the lower animals.
Yet with this movement of her brother-in-law Miss Sprayberry could not bring herself to sympathize. The Hills had never been favorites with the family a fact which Mr. Colt ought to have known and did know. Therefore on his second or it may have been on his third return, with all the straightness which sixty years had not been able to bend, she scanned him with an eye which looked as if it wished to see if he did not feel ashamed of himself. It saw nothing of the kind. On the contrary, he looked back at her as if he had been doing nothing in this wide world to feel ashamed about.
" I wouldn't have believed it," said poor Miss Pru-

MR. GIBBLE COLT'S DUCKS.

219

dence, " after the names he called Charty Ann all the time they lived together, and appearant was in yearnest. It's a mercy the poor child didn't live to see it. Howsomever, I have no idee if she'd 'a' lived he'd 'a' done it. "Well, I suppose the good Lord made men folks so; but it seem a pity they can't be decent in some things, special in times of affliction; that is, if it ever come to 'em, which sometimes it seems to me they don't to some of 'em."
One night, after they had been sitting by the fire for quite a time, wherein the few remarks made by Mr. Colt were answered in not much more than monosylla bles and grunts, suddenly, in a tone of much impatient sorrow, he ejaculated:
" My ! how I do miss my little duck! " Miss Prudence jumped slightly, it came in a way so unlike the speaker. But she recovered herself imme diately, and, looking at him with intense severity, said: "If it's Charty Ann you're a-speakin' about, Gibble Colt, I wished in my heart you missed her like I do. If I don't, that I do." " "What for, Prudence ? Name of the good Lord ! what's the reason you don't think I miss her like you, and obleeged to be a sight worse ? If I was to miss her any more than I do, I just know I couldn't stand it; and I ain't quite shore in my mind I can stand it as it is." " Look to me like you already got toler'ble peert, a-muanderin' a'most a-constant over to the Hills, that you know poor Charty Ann never liked 'em nor their ways."

220 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
hain't been a-understandin' of me. It's for lonesome, Prudence jes only for lonesome that it appear like I'm that restless in my mind that it look to me as if I ain't to have another little duck in the place of the one the good lord seemeth him meet to take away from me, and leave me same if I were on a disolate islant all by my jes lone self it look to me my usefulness is at a eend. Now that's jes how the thing stand."
" The Lord help your poor old childess soul, Gibble Colt! That here you are, and at your time of life, a-feelin' like and a-tryin' to feel like you want to have another little duck, as you call it, and a-goin' a-totterin' a-lookin' for one, and that over yonder to that house whar I jes wonder it don't disguss your very self, Gibble Colt, like it disguss me."
Then, as if the risen natural heat added to the arti ficial was too much for her, she slided her chair back several inches.
Patient, calm, studious, watchful, Mr. Colt, in soft denial and avoidance, resumed :
" Now, Prudence, you call me childess, when you know Charty Ann never named me them names, not in her whole lifetime; nor she never called me a-totterin' person, a-knowin' how I yit helt my own in the p'int of strong and active, if so be I weren't, and I never laid claim to a fast runner, but able to git over ground reason'ble swift, peert, and handy. And as for the makin' game o' my words, you never has had the expeunce of the bein' anybody's little duck; but you hain't forgot that Charty Ann always loved for me to .call her that, which it were the affectionatest I knowed for the good, lovin' wife and companion tehe made me.

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221

If you had the expeunce, I hain't a doubts but what you'd be jes like Charty Ann when you got used to it. And to come to the very p'int o' the case, Prudence, and let the whole facts speak for their own selves, I been a-gpin' over to the Hills jest to see if it wouldn't put you to thinkin' about things in your mind, and not to be willin' to have this whole family, black and white, all tore up and sip'rated, some a-goin' one ways and the t'others a-goin' nowheres, but to stay right here by their lone selves, a-moanin' for them that's gone, and a-tryin' to paddle their own canoe ag'inst stumps and logs and everything else in the world, where it seem like you ought to know they ain't many I am now speakin' of men people, and my own self in partick'lar that they love to paddle by their own selves, special when they've once't had a companion to help paddle on her side. You know what a stow I sot on Charty Ann, and it would now be my fond desires to set that same stow on you."
Immediately after this, the longest speech that he had ever made, he rose and went off to bed.
Commenting on a proposal so unexpected, Miss Sprayberry said afterward, with a solemnity whose honesty could not be doubted by any who knew her:
" If they is any grain of honest truth left in me, which I has to have my doubts sometimes, yet, on the top of it, if so be, I declare to you that when Gibble Colt, a settin', him and me, by that fire-h'a'th, when he named them words to me, at the first beginning I didn't know what the man meant, and I didn't be lieve he knewed hisself. But when he went suddent off to bed, which the sleep have done flewed

222 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
clean gone from me, I set there, and I turned it over in my mind, and looked at it that a-way, and then I turned it back and looked at it, and it seem like to me my mind kep' on a-lookin' at it all and every single ways to find out what Gibble Colt were drivin' at by them sollomest langwidges I ever hear come from him, sollom though he always in gener'l, but not to them extent. But I couldn't. And so I ris, and I took my self off to bed the jes likeways ; but even then it kept a-ringin' in my years till I got to sleep and got to dreamin', that the sense come to me sort of dim like, like a -body sometimes they can begin to see the first crack o' day of a cloudy mornin'. Kext day Gib ble Colt hardly said three words, except yes and no when he were asked at the table if he'd take some o' this and that; but that day and the day after he stayed at home all day long, and if he even looked over toward the Hills I never see it. And not only so, but look like he were tryin' all the time to see how useful and dilicate he could be with everything. He even went to where Sylla's little girl Jenny was achurnin', and, without sayin' a single word to her, he took the churn-stick out her hand, and told her to go 'long in the house and wait on her Miss Prudence, and he whirled in and he churned as nice a turn of butter milk and butter as ever anybody would wish to put in their mouth. And when night come he were yit silenter, and he looked like he were studdin' all the time in his mind what I wanted, and he'd git up and git it, once't or twice't a-takin' out of Jenny's hand as she were comin' with it and put in mine. And I never see in my life sech a moanin' look as come out his eyes, and I

. 223
got actuil mad with myself for trimblin' so when I helt out my hand to take anything he handed me. And so the second night, away in the night, I said to myself, mayby it's my lot; but if so be, it's been a long time a-comin', ad that unbeknownst. JBut, and, as the next day were meetin'-day, I said to myself, I mean to see Brer Swinney after meetin', and git his advices if he wouldn't think sech as that ought to be a disgrace and a disguss. And I done it. And Brer Swinney said no, but it were the very best thing for me and Gibble Colt to do, and which he were glad, because he been a-hopin' jes that way, he said. And then he made me take a funny messenge to Gibble Colt, and it were to tell Gibble Colt that he said,Go it, Gibble 1' Did you' ever! And it all 'peared like to me that I have never missed Charty Ann as much, not sence she been gone. And when I told Gibble Colt what Brer Swinney said because I wouldn't done sech thing, if I had of knewed what it were goin' to be when I promised Brer Swinney Gibble Colt said he were goin' fast as he could, but he were ready and a-waitin' to peerten up whensomever I give the word. And I jes got mad to see how I were hemmed in by Gibble Colt, with Brer Swinney to help. And so I told Gibble Colt to go 'long off from me, and go back to Brer Swinney and see if he wouldn't please take back what he said. And Gibble Colt he went off a'most in a skip to the lot, and he put the bridle and saddle on John, and he loped off; and 'tweren't more than three hours before here come Gibble Colt back, a-fetchin Brer Swinney, and Brer Swinney him a-fetchin' Tommy Portid and Jimmy Pit man to be the witnesses. And if I hadn't knewed it

224 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
was broad, open daytime, I'd 'a' declared I were adreamin'."
The marriage, on Miss Prudence's part mainly of domestic convenience, yet not without some portion of the tender sentiment with which Mr. Colt believed himself to be inspired, was a -happy one. It required some little time for the bride to become used to her title of endearment.
" I told Gibble Colt I wanted to be named no ducks of no sort. But you know how men people can aidge on and persuade. 'Tweren't long before here it come by degrees, and I thought to myself, if it please Gibble Colt, it ain't a-goin' to hurt me, fur as I could see. Seem like what he said come true. I hadn't had the expeunce of it, and they ain't any doubts but what that do make a difference. But, you know, sometimes I got 'shamed of myself, thinkin' of Charty Ann. Yit I clear believed she were in heaven; and if so be, she couldn't be hurted about Gibble Colt namin' me his little duck. Brer Swinney aud Gibble Colt say I ought to be riconciled, and I reckon I am."

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.
" What fates impose, that men must needs abide."--HENSY VL
I.
MR. REDDING BURGE owned a satisfactory two-story dwelling conveniently situated in a plantation from which he got more than a comfortable maintenance. A tall, heavy, gray-haired man of sixty, he had lived thirty years with the wife of his youth, and after her death taken another in decent time, and for ten years had been living with her in equal content. Hospitable, fond of company, claiming to be young and intending so to remain, he held, though with becoming moderation, to the sports in which he used to be an eager participant. Among these, chicken-fighting was perhaps his favorite. The boys in his neighborhood were tliinking about a suitable celebration of Christmas, and of the various suggestions offered not one received unanimous support. Of course, Christmas had to be honored, and the young, even the old like Mr. Burge, had the notion that the most becoming way was in extraordinary mirth and festivities; for into a region comparatively new, joyousness in the blessed season was mainly what had been carried. When Mr. Burge had heard all the arguments for and against various forms, he said :
15

226 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Why can't you all have a few chicken-fights ? If you say so I'll let 'em be in my horse-lot, and I'll feed the crowd that's to come, and the night before I'll keep all the house'll hold of transient people that is knew to be decent."
This proposition was cordially approved. For quite a time there had been rivalries in this sport between this county and the one adjoining south, and Fortune, apparently intent upon keeping the balance rising and falling with slight deviations had been according vic tory now to one, now to the other. The last score was in favor of the upper, and it was 'hoped that at this Christmas it would be repeated. Among the set there were the Wyricks, and, though less enthusiastic, the eldest of the Rountrees, their cousins. His next younger brother, Isaac, was little fond of sports of any sort, but preferred to improve the good education that he had received by reading, in what leisure the planta tion business allowed, books on serious, lately mainly on religious subjects. For a year past he had been a mem ber of the leading religious denomination in that neigh borhood, and expectations were had that ere long he might be made one of the deacons. Tall and slender, like his brother, he would have been regarded mor-e handsome but for the habitually serious expression upon his face. With his widowed mother and his two younger brothers John, twenty, and Joel, eighteen he resided about a mile from the Burges, on a property much more valuable than theirs. For a couple of years William Martyn, another cousin, whose family was living in Mississippi, had been sojourning with one and another of his kindred, paying for his board with

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227

the service of a negro boy about sixteen years old, named Abram, whom he had received as his portion of his deceased father's estate. He was a slight, dapper, handsome, dressy youth, looking younger than his twenty years, and very much so than Isaac, who was twenty-four. He was warmly in favor of the proposed celebration, little as he liked the idea that among the combatants from the lower county would be, as he had lately learned, Morgan Kelsey, to whom he, and indeed the rest of that connection, who were quite clannish, believed that they had good reason to indulge deep hos tility.
The intervening time was spent mainly in preparing the cocks for the approaching main, a matter which requires much more of careful management than out siders know of. Isaac, with whom young Martyn then happened to be sojourning, endeavored to dissuade him from going to the meeting.
" Will, if you expect ever to be steady and go to some business that will make you a man of independ ence, it is high time that you were getting less fond of sports whose innocence is at least questionable."
This was said at Mrs. Kountree's table, and was meant as a warning to the younger brothers as well.
" O Cousin Ike," answered Will, " when I get old like you I'm going to cut my crop of wild oats, burn them up, and go to sowing good grain."
" You are not four years younger than I am." " Ay, but four years! Many a thing will happen in four years." " I hope that within them-some good may come to you."

228 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" I join in the hope. Will you join in mine that in that time some bad may come to our enemies ?"
Quick glances passed between Isaac and his mother. " No! " answered the former with emphasis. " I join in no such wish. I have no enemies, and if I had I couldn't afford to wish them evil. You have less right than I to claim to have enemies." " You have no enemies, Cousin Ike ?" " No; I don't know a human being that I could say I believe wished me harm, and I have tried to forgive any who did harm to me." " And your family ?" " Well, yes; though, as you know, I have never assumed that any has been done, that is, with wanton premeditation." " Well, I know to the contrary, and I haven't for given, and I never will." Then he rose from the table with the same careless air that he had worn throughout the discussion. He was followed by John and Joel. " I wish Will Martyn would go clear away from here and from this neighborhood," said Mrs. Kountree. " Why, mother ? " asked Isaac, calmly. " Because I'm afraid of his undoing with John and Joel the influence that I and you have over them." " I hope not. They understand Will, and I have little fear that he can lead them astray, or indeed that he will attempt to do it. He is a better fellow at heart than he seems or pretends to be." " I like the boy; but it distresses me to hear him allude to that shocking affair, especially since the getting-up of this chicken-fighting at Christmas.'^

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229

"That's because he has heard that Morgan Kelsey
is coming to it." " Yes, I know; and that makes me more anxious." " Well, well, mother, you know he loved James very
dearly. I have heard him say that he loved him the best of all his kin, even those much nigher. He was never satisfied with the end which that case had. Still, he knows well enough that it couldn't be helped, and that nothing can ever help it except what God may send to that man, whom from my heart I pity, in view of the destiny that, as I always believed, will fall upon him if the truth did not come out at that trial. You know, mother, that I never have expressed the belief that it did not."
" Yes, Isaac, and I have always tried to feel as you do, for the sake of avoiding doing Morgan Kelsey any injustice, even in thought; I've tried to keep these younger boys from harboring malice against him, and I might succeed if it wasn't for Will. I can't help being touched by his affection for Jimmy. Neither he nor they can forget that Jimmy was of a peaceable disposition and would never have wanted more than his rights. Indeed, he was one to be content with less. I wish you would try to get Will to quit hinting at the case."
" I have talked with him several times. Will is a fiery fellow and naturally revengeful. I have been trying to dissuade him from going to this frolic, be cause I am always afraid of the consequences of his meeting Morgan Kelsey. He has almost promised me that he will not. As for John and Joel, there's no harm to be expected from them. lake you, I have

230 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS,
warned them against any feeling of revenge, and so I have "Will and Tom Wyrick. They are the ones that most need to be held in restraint."
" I'll be thankful if they'll both keep away. I did hear Will say something about some business he had the other side of the Ocmulgee River."
" Yes, and I have suggested that Christmas would be a suitable time to go and attend to it. It's of little import, I dare say, but anything to get him away during that time. However, let us try to make every allow ance possible for "Will."
The effort succeeded; at least so it appeared. Two days before Christmas Martin took his leave of the fam ily, and all supposed that he had gone where he had said.
The Christmas-eve came and with one exception a merry company gathered at Mr. Burge's. Twice the long table in the dining-room was lightened of the bur dens under which it groaned, and twice the big bowl was emptied of eggnbg. After supper, Mr. Burge at one corner and his wife at the other surveyed and list ened to their guests along the wide amphitheatre before the fireplace. The only quiet, serious one among all was Morgan Kelsey. But that was expected of him.
He was not intending to participate in the sport, but had come in compliance with the warm solicitation of Mr. Burge, who was proud of his connection with the Kelseys. This was backed by those of his young neigh bors who hoped that the visit might make some diver sion for the melancholy under which he labored. He sat about midway, and now and then his face took on something of a smile at a special sally of gayety among the other guests.

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231

The night was dark from .the mist that often comes along with that season. The clock was not far from the stroke of twelve when the \host said :
" Lookee here, young people. It's got to be mid night. It being of Chris'mus, and you all bein' here, I've set up three hours over my time. My rule is always to not go to bed till the balance do, because I always want to see to the putting out of lights after everybody, and special comp'ny have got to bed com fortable. Sooky's going to have another waiter of eggnog brought in for a kind of a nightcap, and then you must all fall in and do the best you can, packed as we're obleeged to put you away. Morgan, my son, won't you take just one tumbler ? Maybe it'll sort o' peerten you up to get to sleep sooner among these rattlin' boys. That or somethin' o' the same sort do it for me when my mind get too restless of a night, which, thank God, that's seldom."
" No, I thank you, Cousin Kedding. I feel better without it."
" All right. I was never a person to insist on people takin' of spirits 'ithout I thought they needed 'em. I'm a-goin' to jine these fellows in one level spoonful, to just keep polite in my own house, a-knowin' that I've already got enough now, which unfort'nate it ain't everybody that do know that. Of course, I'm a-makin' of no insinooations, as Sooky hain't had the waiter brought in but twice't. " Well, now, boys," he continued, when all except Kelsey had risen and gathered around a table near the other end df the room, " here's tox me, and you all, and to Sooky, and yes, and to Morgan, though he qan't jine ; and here's to of course a includin'

232 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS,
in of Chris'mus, which I'm thankful the good Lord send to all, white folks and niggers, once't a year."
The toast was not drunk. Before a lip was touched, the firing of a shotgun was heard as if in the midst of them, and Kelsey fell upon the floor.
II.
TEN miles below, in the county adjoining, dwelt the Kelseys. Their large white mansion with piazza stood a quarter of a mile from the public thoroughfare in a grove of white oaks. Henry Kelsey, the late head of the family, at his death four years back, left in land, negroes, and other property an estate which, divided among his wife and their three children, would have been twelve or fifteen thousand dollars apiece quite a fortune among rural people of that period. Of these children Morgan was the oldest, and now was about twenty-five years old. Somewhat above medium height, he was handsome, notwithstanding a rather dark com plexion and an unopen, saturnine expression habitually worn upon his face. Not irascible, on the contrary, mild, low-voiced, and deliberate in speech, there was in him a sullenness which hindered his prompt acquies cence to the will of others even in matters of little im port. Such a'disposition in a family where the others are women sometimes obtains an ascendency that not always attaches to one who frankly yields his opinions and his will when convinced of error. His twin sisters, Emily and Susan, four years younger, unlike him, for he had

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233

inherited his characteristics mainly from the mother, took their complexion and dispositions from the father. Of medium height, lithe shape, long, fair hair, and blue eyes, they resembled each other perhaps more than is usual with sisters so related. Rendering to their mother's rule unfailing obedience, they would have loved to ex hibit greater fondness for her and their brother. Mrs. Kelsey was not conscious of lack of any proper parental affection; yet since her children's young childhood she never had been used to show or to receive demonstra tions of special fondness.
The girls were dearly devoted to each other. It was pleasant to observe the frequency with which they were in physical contact, hands joined or arms around each other's necks, or resting upon their shoulders. Even when at parties of pleasure they loved to sit, if not side by side, as nearly so as possible without exhibition of too evident preference. Each had been sought in mar riage since the attainment of full growth; but they needed not their brother's discouraging words to turn away politely, yet positively, from suitors. It was not until they had just passed twenty that upon the elder a change was wrought. The one to effect it was James, eldest of the Kountrees. About equal in property, in social and educational advantages, manly, courteous, known to be of good habits, physical and moral, in time he prevailed, although before that event he had had to take several denials. After the last of these, while he was walking slowly toward the gate where his riding horse stood waiting, Susan said, as both were standing upon a step of the piazza :
" Sister, I think you ought to take James Bountree."

234 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Why, darling 2" And she blushed asking the ques tion.
" Because you love him." Emily threw her arms around her, and, as tears came into her eyes, said: " What would become of you ?" " Of me ? What ought to become of me if I suf fered myself to stand in the way of your greater happi ness?" " I don't believe it would be greater." "Yes, it would, and now that I have seen clearly what I believed to be, you shall recognize and feel the truth of what I have said." Dashing away from her sister, taking out her hand kerchief, Susan ran waving it toward the departing lover, Emily in vain beseeching her to come back. When he was shutting the gate, observing her he paused, and, taking off his hat, awaited her approach. " Mr. Kountree," she said, " sister's rejection of you was on my account at least I think so; and I came to tell you that it makes me very unhappy. Don't! don't!" she continued quickly as he was making a movement to return to the house; "the worst thing you could do would be to go to her now." He thanked her warmly, turned, and mounting the horse, rode away. " Sister! sister! What did you say to that man ?" asked Emily. " Nothing, my dear, but what I must say." A few days after James returned, accompanied by Isaac, whose suit of Susan began with the others' espousals.

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235

Influenced by Morgan, who was unwilling for either of his sisters to marry anybody, Mrs. Kelsey delayed to give her assent to the marriage. To her, not to Emily, in his brief, sullen manner he had suggested the pain that separation from the latter would bring to Susan, and, incidentally as it were, the inconvenience and in jury to the estate from setting off Emily's portion. Yet the evident fitness and the resoluteness which she knew to belong to the girls along with their filial piety pre vailed, and the marriage took place. The husband would have preferred to settle on a portion of his hereditary estate, but he purchased a place adjoining the Kelseys in order that the sisters might not be so far separated. He did not complain that neither Mor gan nor his mother proposed to set off his wife's por tion, according to the terms of her father's will, but trusted that all would result fairly in good enough time. One day, near the close of the year, Susan said to her mother:
" Mother, why don't you and Brother Morgan turn over to Brother Jimmy sister's property ?"
" Morgan says he is going to do so, Susan, as soon as it is convenient to have the division."
" I don't see why it isn't as convenient at one time as another to give people what belongs to them. Brother had his own portion set off as soon as he was of age."
" You are not supposed to understand such matters, my daughter."
This was her only argument; for secretly she wished that the matter had been done.
" But I do understand this case," persisted Susan. "I know what father's will was, and anybody knows

236 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
that people are entitled to have their rights acknowl edged and adjusted."
" Morgan does not wish to keep Emily and James out of their rights; at least he tells me so. But he says that it has not been convenient to have the division yet, and that when it is they shall have no reason to com plain."
" Neither of them has complained; but they were married in April, and here it is the last of November."
The mother said no more. She contemplated no degree of injustice; yet she had been led to acquiesce, or seem to acquiesce, in a postponement which she could not defend conscientiously.
Much of the time Susan spent with her sister. She listened with little attention to the suit of Isaac Rountree. More gifted than his brother, he was not so per suasive in manner and speech. He loved devotedly and so told her without reservation, asking her to take such time for consideration as she liked. As the months went on she became conscious of enhanced interest in his visits, particularly when she saw how much he was respected and beloved by his brother and by Emily. But she knew that a nearer feeling must be had before acceptance could bring happiness, or impart it.
In this while "William Martyn had been spending much of his time with this, his favorite kinsman. More than the solemn remonstrances of Isaac, the affectionate admonitions of James subdued his impetuosity. Indig nant at Kelsey's delayings, he was wont to speak of them, but less in James's presence than elsewhere, in such terms as he felt that they deserved. On a public day, while, along with others, he and Kelsey were return-

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ing from the county seat, the latter, putting his horse alongside of Martyn's, said:
" Will, they tell me that you've been talking a good deal about some things that you know nothing about."
Each of them had had a drink of spirits, but neither was obviously under its influence. Martyn answered:
" Well, now, come to think of it, Morgan, I am a right talky fellow, considering what little I know. But what are you driving at now ?"
" I've been told that you're much concerned because Emily's part of the property hasn't been turned over to Jim before now."
" That's so. I have spoken about it several times."
" Jim has not, as far as I have heard. He knows better. His little cousin, it seems, doesn't."
" What for, do you suppose ? If you think it's be cause he's afraid, Morgan Kelsey, you're much mis.taken. He's no more afraid than I am. But he thinks too much of his wife and has too much respect for her feelings to raise a fuss with her brother. I think you understand that well enough. If it was me, little as I am, as you've got no better manners than to call me, I would have had you hauled over the coals be fore now for a settlement, and and be d d to you! What you got to say now ?"
" Only this: that the less that Jim Rountree says about it, and the less that you are put up to say about it, the better it will be for all parties."
" You don't believe, Morgan Kelsey, that I've been * put up,' as you call it."
" I understand you, perfectly. Cousin Jim will be

238 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
able to take care of himself, I tliink. As for me, I know I will."
Then he rode on to seek more agreeable companion ship. The same afternoon Kelsey walked over to James Kountree's, a thing he had done seldom, and his words to all were more full and cordial than they had ever been. When about to leave, he invited Rountree and Martyn to come over, saying :
" Jim, I'd like to have a talk with you about the es tate ; Susan, I suppose, can entertain Will, while you and I walk around. Suppose you come to-morrow ?"
" Certainly, Morgan," he answered, " I will with pleasure."
That night Susan was there; so was Isaac Rountree. During the evening, while they were talking apart from the others, Susan said:
"Mr. Rountree, I like you very much. I wish I could love you as I love Brother Jimmy."
It was said artlessly, as if she were a little child.. But the words killed the hope that he had indulged, and angered him. At once he turned his speech from her, and the next morning left for home, resolved to sue her no more.
After he had gone, James, Will, and Susan walked over to the Kelseys. Morgan, more affable than what was habitual, after some conversation in the house, pro posed that his brother-in-law should go with him for a walk. They went out. After a few minutes a pistolshot was heard. They rose simultaneously and went to the back door. Kelsey, pistol in hand, came on, blood running from a bruise upon his forehead. Before he had reached them he said :

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"You see this wound upon my head, mother? James Rountree struck me with his stick, and I shot
him." Susan, screaming, went back into the house. Mar
tyn rushed forth, Kelsey and his mother following. Lifting the head of his cousin, who was not quite dead,
Martyn cried: " How was it, Cousin Jimmy ?" " That you, Will ? Morgan struck me, and I but
it's all tell Emily it's all " The youth laid his head upon the ground. Kelsey, having just reached the place with his
mother, said: " I hated it, Will; but I had to do it in self-de
fense." Rising from the ground Martyn answered : " Not only God Almighty, but the very devil in hell,
knows that you are a liar And an assassin! " Mrs. Kelsey seemed as if she would faint, when her
son, placing his arms under hers, bore her away. As they were moving, Martyn, in a high voice, cried :
" Yes, sir ! Liar ! Murderer! I swear that you shall not escape punishment, if I have to be hung or sent to hell for putting it on you ! "
The shock was greater than the wife could endure. That night, after the premature birth of her infant, they
died together. - The bodies were buried in the Rountree graveyard. Only Mrs. Kelsey and Susan attended, returning at once when the graves were covered. A few days afterward. Isaac, accompanied by Martyn, went down to his broth er's place in order to attend to what personal items in

240 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
his effects the law would not regard as important por tions of his property, which must descend to the Kelseys. Susan, hearing that he was there, rode to the place. Without words of salutation she went to him and said:
" Isaac, stop what you are doing for a moment until I tell you something. You needn't retire, Mr. Martyn, unless you wish. Isaac, they told me, as I had in structed them to do, that you were here, and I came to tell you that I will marry you if you still want me."
She placed both her hands upon his shoulders and looked in his face. He yearned to take her in his arms.
" Susan, do you love me ?" " Ko, Isaac. I tried to love you for Brother Jim my's and sister's sakes. Perhaps I might have done so after a while. Since what has happened I don't think I could, but I will marry you if you want me." He trembled as, her hands upon him, she seemed to beseech. " And you don't think you ever could love me, Susan ?" he asked almost piteously. " I fear not, Isaac, though I don't know. Kot, I think, as men wish to be loved by their wives. But I would marry you to-morrow, to-day, and you may kiss me now if you say you will take me with what I have to give you. I offer for the sake of family peace and reconciliation. If the acceptance of my offer would not bring these, or if it is less than you would demand with or without these, say so." He looked down upon her with great yearning. To the passion in his eyes the-response in hers showed, as

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he believed, that it would be indeed a sacrifice of her who stood ready to be led away."
" Susan," he said, " I love you even more than I knew. If you could love nie in return I think I could give up freely what indeed I must give up as it is, all thoughts of prosecution, convinced as I am that my brother was slain with none or with little of provocation. But tell me now I ask you solemnly what is your life to be ? Are you afraid or are you averse to live in that house from which so much has been wrenched as to make it seem a home of desolation ? If you are, I will throw my arms around you and take you to my home, knowing that at least I can shield you from harm, and indulge in the hope of winning in time some portion of what I crave."
She was still looking up to him with tearless eyes,
neither compassionate nor asking compassion. A lamb doomed then to bleed would have shown not more in nocence nor less apprehension. Her attitude, some ac cidental disarrangement of her dress exposing more of her exquisite figure than she was aware of, and thoughts of what he momentarily felt that he could make her be to him, filled him with ecstasy. He was putting forth his arm when she calmly took hold of it, and, bringing it down again to his side, said:
" No, Isaac ; no. There is nothing for me to fear at home. Brother knows, for I have told him so, that I believe as you do as to the recklessness of that killing; but there is no danger for me from any quarter. It was not to buy him off from prosecution nor myself from any apprehended new misfortune that I offered myself to you. It was from the poor hope of repairing
16

242 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
to some degree this unhappy breach. That hope has been shown to be vain, conditions being impossible. Good-by."
She did not give her hand, but turning away walked rapidly out, mounted her horse unassisted, and rode on home.
"That girl loves you, Cousin Ike," said Martyn, " and I am sorry you didn't take her offer promptly."
" Xo, Will, you are mistaken, and I don't know but that I ought to be thankful that it is so."
The Rountrees, following the counsel of Isaac, for bore to prosecute for the homicide. In the absence of testimony beyond the apparently frank admissions.of Kelsey, the grand jury could not but ignore the bill of presentment. These admissions were that at the inter view with James Rountree, when he had mentioned some items which he claimed should be left out of the division of the estate, the latter had called him a thief and a robber, whereupon he struck him with his fist, and after being assaulted with a stick he shot him. The few last words of Kountree were excluded at the trial, under the stringent rules of the law regarding dying declarations. "William Martyn publicly avowed his be lief that it was an unprovoked murder.
" Words like those," he said, " would never have come out of Jimmy Rountree's mouth for his wife's brother. It is simply a hell-born and hell-bound lie. Well, gentlemen, dead men can not talk; but that man, who was the very best I ever saw, left friends behind him, and my advice to Morgan Kelsey would be to lie low for the balance of his time."

III.
PUBLIC excitement gradually subsided more slowly, however, in the upper county, where the standing of the Koundtrees was very high. Yet men's minds, not en tirely satisfied, leaned toward compassion for the slayer when he seemed to regret serely the passion that had led to a result so unhappy. Never used to much going about, now he stayed at home more constantly than before. Grown more taciturn, he yet had become in his house and when abroad considerate in his demeanor toward others, and people were touched sometimes by tones and looks which seemed to appeal for forgiveness. His re lations with his mother continued the same as before; those with Susan grew more and more reserved. It would have been better for herself and for all if she had married Isaac Kountree immediately. Her brother, al though he had not said it, wished heartily that she had done so, and gone away. As time passed she Avas led to regret that she had extended the offer which she had made of herself in words which a man of honor could not accept. Isaac's rejection, accompanied by evidences of his passionate love for her, won her full admiration, and she grew to feel that if he had taken her she would have given him all that he could ask. Some times, when thinking of that rejection, there came over her a feeling almost of petulance. Why must it be demanded of her suddenly and in such emergency to bestow or promise to bestow what marriage inevitably would have won ? Isaac Rountree was obliged to know that in no circumstances could such an offer have been

244 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
made except to him, and therefore, although not then recognized by herself, it gave evidence of the incipience of what he desired, and if he had not been so proud and exacting he would have regarded it so. As it was, he must put his acceptance on the ground of her possible need of his protection. Yet such reflections habitually yielded to increased respect for his self-control under the pressure of powerful temptation. She did not be lieve that he ever would return, and at first she did not admit to herself that such belief was very disap pointing to her heart. Yet there were times when she sighed t6 think that she had not understood herself fully. In these times, if he had come, she would have fallen into his arms as an apple ripe upon the tree yields to the softest touch of the gatherer's hand. These several accidents wrought much upon her life. She strove to believe that her brother was not a delib erate assassin, but she strove more against regret that she had not become the wife of Isaac Rountree. Of a religious mind, she hoped that in all was a destiny whose wisdom and whose mercifulness would appear in time. The gayety of her girlhood ceased, but it was not followed by pining melancholy. She got from her family no support, but from those who now survived she never had gotten it. Since the burial of James Rountree and his wife no mention of their names had been made in her hearing. An isolated life it was, yet, besides virtue and religious faith, it was supported by memories of a period entirely happy, by reading, the cultivation of flowers, and such indoor work as she had always loved. If in time she grew to admit that she loved Isaac Rountree, recognizing that perhaps it was

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best for them to live apart, she hoped to become con tent with the conditions in which Heaven had cast her lot
Mrs. Kelsey aged fast. The death of her daughter, her affection for whom was more intense because she had never been accustomed to manifest it, was a great sorrow, but not-so anguishing as that of James Rountree. The necessity to subdue expression of her feelinga for the sake of her son made them prey upon her interior being. A believer in destiny, particularly of the sort that is awful and threatening, it was no relief to her mind when Morgan, yielding to solicitations, consented to go on this the first social visit since his misfortune.
The death of his brother and the disappointment of his affection for Susan made Isaac such as he was now. He never had seen her since that day at James's late home. They were members of the same religious de nomination, which held monthly meetings in the village that lay nearly between the mansions of the two fami lies ; but not once upon such occasions had he looked toward the women's side, and he had been seeming to give no attention when any one remarked that Susan was growing more beautiful constantly. Knowing well that he continued to love her as theretofore, William Martyn said to him one day :
" Cousin Ike, that girl loves you as much as you ever loved her. I saw her to-day looking at you for more than half an hour, and several times she put her handkerchief to her eyes and her cheeks changed color."
" It is most probable, "Will, that you were mistaken,

246 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
but it is impossible, yet I wish that nobody would ever mention to me or in my hearing Susan Kelsey's name."
He turned away. "My Lord!" exclaimed Will, "it's the all-firedest piece of bad luck that I ever knew or heard of. Hadn't been for Morgan Kelsey, that girl, the very finest in this world, would have been Ike's wife as she ought to be. I blame myself, and I always will, that I didn't shoot him down that day by Jimmy's dead body. If it hadn't been for Cousin Emily I'd have done it, and if it hadn't been for Ike I'd have done it since. I can't understand why he wouldn't let me or Tom Wyrick shoot the dog after all that he has put upon him. This thing of religion, I suppose, is good to have; but I don't believe that it was meant to come in between such a man and his revenge for an outrage like that. May be I'm wrong! but oh, the good it would do my eyes to see Morgan Kelsey die the death he put upon Jimmy Eountree! They ought to have seen it long ago!" Such words and others yet more bitter and menac ing he had often spoken in the hearing of the Rountrees and Wyricks, and Isaac more than once had warned him with most solemn earnestness. Therefore he and his mother felt much relief when he had de cided, as they believed, to go out of the neighborhood before the coming Christmas festivities. Yet these people were known to be manlike as brave. Nobody ever suspected that any one of them would resort to underhand vengeance. Therefore all, after the occurrence of the tragedy at Mr. Burge's, felt

additional .painful shock at the evidence which on the next day seemed to point to "William Martyn as the slayer.
IV.
THE news of Morgan .Kelsey's death traveled the faster because of the holidays. In the early morning it was known throughout the vicinity of the Burges, and at the court-house, fifteen miles distant. Mrs. Rountree at break of day heard it from her maid who came in to kindle a fire in her chamber. She rose instantly and rushed to Isaac's. This was separate from the mansion, connected by a corridor. He was already dressed, and kneeling before the open Bible resting upon his table. Rising, he said:
" Good-morning, mother dear. God send you a happy good Christmas! "
" O Isaac, Isaac! Somebody shot and killed Mor gan Kelsey last night at Mr. Burge's!"
" Mother ! mother!" he cried, lifting up his hands, " can that be possible ? Dead, you say ? "Was he shot dead?"
He moved about the room as if staggered by horror of the news.
" Dead !" answered his mother. " My God!" " That's the only cry for us to make, mother. Poor Morgan! poor Morgan! Would that it had pleased God to allow it to end otherwise! But it did not, as I always feared and believed, in spite of my continued beseeching prayers. I wouldn't wake the boys yet,

248 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
mother. They will know everything soon enough. I want to be by myself for a while. When breakfast is over (and I'll thank you to have it hurried), I must go to Mr. Burge's. Did Yiny say who was suspected ?"
"ISfo. One of the Burge negro men brought the news, and he told them that near a barrel on which the person who shot was supposed to be standing they had found a fine handkerchief that was dropped by him!"
" Ay ? Did he say whose they thought it was ?" "The man said that the men whispered among themselves, but he could not hear what they said. O Isaac, I don't want you or either of the boys to go there unless you are sent for." " The boys need not go, and perhaps had better not. But I must and as soon as possible. Do, mother, please, have made a pot of coffee. That is all the break fast I shall need." When she went out, he threw himself upon his knees, crying, " O Will, Will, Will!" There he re mained until called for the refreshment that he had asked for. Mr. Burge met him at the gate, thankful that he had come so promptly; for he had much respect, even affection, for him, particularly for the influence which he had tried to exert upon his family regarding the tragedy of the previous year. "My Lord, Iky! I know I'm glad you come! Ain't it tur'ble to open up Chris'mus this way ?" " What time did it occur, Mr. Burge ?" "The clock would have struck twelve in four minutes if the shot that went through poor Morgan's neck hadn't kept on to her and tore loose her pend'-

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249

lum. We. had all riz, except him, to consult one more taste o' eggnog. I never 'spected to live to such as that, and in my own house to boot. Look like I can't understand it, Iky."
" Does anything seem to indicate who fired the gun, Mr. Burge 1"
"Oh, my son, don't ask me. I'm actual afraid a'most to open my mouth. I know it'll hurt you; but you must ask somebody else. They'll tell you."
" Do tell me, Mr. Burge, before we go nearer," he insisted, turning paler.
" Well, they do say that the hank'cher they picked up outside by the winder have writ on it Will Martyn's name; but I can't but hope he never done it."
" It is impossible, Mr. Burge, it seems to me, for Will to have done such a thing in such a way. Be sides, I supposed, and so did all our family, that he had gone quite out of the neighborhood, even out of the county. He said three days ago that he was going, and he left the house as if prepared for a journey."
" Why, Iky Kountree, you couldn't hardly 'a' thought much more o' that boy than me and my wife, ruther wildish and rattlish as he were."
" Did death follow immediately, Mr. Burge ?" " Im-mejiant. He couldn't have knew what struck him. The shot were in a bag, and they went plum through his neck." Sighing deeply, Isaac proceeded to the house. He was saluted by all with respect. Looking closely into the face of each as he took his hand, he felt some re lief in reading sympathy with the awe that was upon his own mind. He spoke with reserve becoming his

250
relations to the dead man and Martyn. At the coro ner's inquest he deposed that in his opinion the name upon the handkerchief had been written by Martjn, and that the footprints were like his, although he would not undertake to say that he believed them to have been made by him. The jury rendered a verdict that the deceased had died by a gunshot wound, which they suspected to have been inflicted by William Martyn. Immediately afterward the body was carried home.
Few words were spoken between Mrs. Kelsey and Susan. The power to support each othei by long dis use had gone from each; so their griefs were indulged apart. The mother's was more painful, because after the first shriek she could not or would not weep aloud. In her dry eyes, and in the face to which one year had already added the wear of ten, the people at the funeral read only despair. Susan showed that, al though she had wept sorely in secret, there were re serves within her for the endurance of yet other suffer ings which might come and which she expected to come. Both had feared some such result, the mother more earnestly because, although not a church-member, she had a full belief in the threatenings of the Old Testa ment about retribution in this life for the shedding of blood. This had been always part of her creed, and since the death of James Rountree she had been living in dread of its operation within her family. She re called now with what degree of comfort was possible that, when Morgan had left home the last time, upon his face was the pleasantest smile and on his tongue the cheerfulest, assuringest words that these had known for more than a year.

251
A solitary life was now led by each of these women. One would have tried if she had known how to obtain the consolation which comes from striving to receive and bestow it. The other, if it had been possible, would have imparted some portion of the strength by which she was upheld. To people's surprise, Mrs. Kelsey made no movement toward pursuit of the assassin. To Mr. Burge, who had asked what were her wishes in that behalf she answered:
" I have none, Cousin Redding. Two of my chil dren have been taken from me. Ever since the first went, I have been looking for the second to go as he has gone. It hasn't taken me by surprise, although I did have some hope that I would not live to see it. But things dont't come in that way. I am now so desolate that I don't feel a single throb of vengeance against that boy, although I've been expecting, from the oath he swore on that horrible day, that he was to be the one to do it. Now, as blood has gone for blood, I feel that it is time to stop. So far as my doings are concerned, it will stop. Of course, I know that the court will try to hunt up everything and expose it, but I shall have nothing to do with it. I will not go to the trial if any is had, unless I am forced by the sheriff, and then I will not answer to any question asked me. That boy has a mother, and if she's let live long enough she's got to go through what is on me now. Of that I haven't a doubt if he is the one, and I won't do or say anything to hasten it. Perhaps she tried harder than ever I did to raise her son aright, and may be blessed by being taken out of the way before his end comes to him. No, Cousin Redding, I want no

252 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
more blood to come upon me and mine, and I want you to promise that you won't repeat what I have said about that boy's threats. I oughtn't to have told them to you. Promise me, so help you God !"
" Why, Cousin Tilly, that's a-swearin' to it! Sup pose the court send me a suppeny and they call on me to tell everything I know about the case, when that's the only blessed thing I do howbeever, that'd be hear say evidence yes'm, yes, ma'am, I'll swear I won't 'peat what you say."
When he returned home his wife wanted to know all that he had seen and heard.
" Cousin Tilly, my dear, I found in a egzited con dition, like I expected, but also in a kind of a calm and forgivin' perdicament, as the sayin' is." *
" Forgivin', Mr. Burge ? What you mean by that ?" "Well, she seem to ruther wish she couldn't hear no more about it, but would ruther ricommend to drop it, as it's too late for it to be holp." "Didn't she say anything about how Will Martyn carried on and threatened that day when Morgan killed Jimmy Rountree ?" " Well, now, Sooky, if you expect me to 'member every single thing after my mind been through what it have been through at that buryin' which the good Lord know I were that oneasy about myself, and about you, and about everything; I I jus' come away soon as I could git away decent. And if you'd 'a' been there your very self I don't believe Cousin Tilly would have talked to you much more than she talked to me. You know she were always a silent, say-nothin' female, and she's goin' to keep on gettin' silenter till her time come,

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which between me and yon it ain't fnr off. Yon wouldn't know her, she have broke so. Bnt she told me to 'member her to you. That have jus' come to me. You see what a fix my mind have been in. Seein like what ric'lection I did have goin' to git clean away from me."
" Well, I've been told that Will Martyn that very day cussed and told Morgan to his face he would kill him. Howbeever, I'll try not to say anything against him until it's proved positive that he done it; for a prettier boy and a politer boy to females and old people I have never see, and it look strange that he would want to shoot down people in the night and in an inno cent house and skear a innocent female a mighty nigh ' out of all the senses she ever did have, that last night I made Mose and Jeff stay in the big room, and I made Ginny and Milly fetch in their mattress and put it down right by our bed, and hadn't been I knewed you wouldn't like it, I were not so mighty fur from gittin' down and gittin' what sleep I could between 'em, niggers as they wus, and don't the law have to pay for them winder-panes, and the shootin' o' that clock ? Mr. Burge, I declare the wonder to me is that I'm alive."
Thankful that her mind had been diverted to per sonal and economic concerns, Mr. Burge answered, as suring her of her own security against danger of any sort, and not doubting that all damages to the property would be footed to their entire satisfaction.

254: THE... PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Y.
THE judge and the solicitor-general for that judicial district resided at the court-house town of the county wherein the last homicide had occurred. A warrant was obtained at once, and soon thereafter a reward offered by order of the Governor of the State for the arrest of "William Martyn. Despite general belief in his guilt, much sympathy was felt for the misfortune into which he had been forced by his impulsive, revengeful tem per. These infirmities, well known, because never dis guised, had not hindered his being a favorite among his acquaintance. Besides, the public never had been sat isfied with the result of the investigation regarding the killing of James Rountree, to whom young Martyn was known to be devotedly attached. Among some there was the feeling, not uncommon in simple rural communities that, horrible as it was, infinite justice had gone in its own appointed way to the infliction of pun ishment inevitable. A few, more outspoken than the rest, intimated that they would not feel too much re gret if the youth should elude the officers in his pur suit. For a time it seemed as if he might do so. Be yond the Ocmulgee, sixty years ago, the country was much less densely settled than the region in which these things had occurred. Besides, postal communica tions were infrequent and slow, allowing to a fugitive chances of eluding pursuit much longer than is possi ble at present, with such facilities for the transmission of news and increased expertness among detectives. Two months had passed when it was heard at the court-

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house that Martyn, having been arrested at the house of a relative in the county of Pike, a hundred miles distant, was being brought back under guard, and might be expected about noon on the following day. This was a month before the opening of the spring term of the Superior Court.
By a friend in the village whom he had requested to be constantly on the lookout, Isaac Kountree was promptly informed of the news. The family and all the kindred were much concerned and all rallied to Isaac. Earnestly he admonished them against rashness in action and in speech. Thomas Wyrick was for or ganizing a band, going forth that night, intercepting the guard, and rescuing the prisoner.
" Never, Tom, never!" said Isaac, most feelingly. " That would never do t He would surely be rearrested, because the indignation of the public would be aroused, and nothing to that end would be left undone. Let us hope that Will, in spite of appearances, is not guilty. It does not look like Will Martyn to shoot a man in that way, purely out of revenge. Then to me it seems almost incredible that he should have thrust himself foremost in a matter that concerned himself less than the rest of us, whom he must have known to be capable of taking care of our own rights and feel ings. I shall act upon the idea, which the law always allows, that he is innocent. As the testimony will be all circumstantial, I suppose the judge will admit him to bail, and, if so, I shall be ready to risk on him all I
have." "Well," said Wyrick, "although the way of it
wasn't becoming a brave man, still I believe that Will

256 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
shot him, Ike, as I know he wanted to do, and as I wanted, and as one of us would have done before now, hadn't been for you. You see what your holding back has driven him to, poor fellow! "
" Oh, don't talk so, Tom. It was a terrible thing to do, and I wish in my heart that the good God had seen fit to prevent it."
" But you see he didn't. - He knew all about that first affair, and he pursued Morgan Kelsey until he overtook him. Of course, we'll all be ready to go Will's bail."
" Well, then, one among us ought to be chosen spokesman. Will you, Tom ?"
" ]$To, of course not. You're more fit for it than any body else. Besides, you're Jimmy's brother, although if I'd been, I couldn't have loved him any better."
" Do the rest of y/ ou say/, that ?" asked Isaac. They all answered " Yes." " Very well, then. God knows that I wish to save to Will whatever is possible from this time throughout. Let me go to town to-morrow alone. If the judge allows bail, and I find that my single name will not be sufficient to keep Will from going to jail even for an hour, I will send at once for some of you to come. A crowd of us there when he arrives would not look well. Some might regard it as defiant, or as if a rescue was intended. I'll go in early and see Charles Davison, to whom I have already spoken for the defense, and let him be getting ready to move for bail. There'll be a better chance to prevail before Judge Wilson thus than if we were to go there in force. Don't you think so, Tom"

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" Perhaps so, Ike. You can judge of such things

better than I can. But I want Will Martyn and I

want the Kelseys to know that I am for him, guilty or

not guilty, and that I stand ready to back him to the

full, extent of my property or anything else I've got."

" As for the Kelseys, my dear cousin, they are only

women, you know."

" Yes; I oughtn't to have named them. I was

thinking of all that might be against Will. Poor Mrs.

Kelsey! I pity her from my heart; and as for Miss

Susan my Lord! it makes me more angry when I

think of what Morgan Kelsey's conduct did for that

fine girl and for I won't say any more."

" That's right, Tom. I thank you."

On the next morning Isaac was in town by break

fast-time. Immediately afterward he held a-confer

ence with Davison, who, repairing to the judge's house,

obtained a promise to hear a motion for bail as soon as

possible after the arrival of the prisoner. About noon

the latter was brought into the public square. Isaac,

white with anxiety, was there to meet him. As Will

descended from the covered wagon he shuddered at the

sight of his manacles. These were removed at once by

the sheriff, and Isaac, as he took his cousin's hand,

looked searchingly into his face.

" Howdye, Cousin Ike ?" said Martyn, on whom was

not the shadow of a cloud.

" Howdye, Will ?" answered Isaac, coldly, holding

his hand, as his eyes continued their search. At length

he asked:

" How are you, Will ?"

" Oh, I'm all right now. I haven't had exactly the 17

258 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
pleasantest company for three days, and those wrist bands are not quite the style I like best. How is Aunt Julie, and John, and Joel, and Tom, and all the rest ?"
" They are well." Then addressing the sheriff, he said : " Gan I be allowed to have a few moments' conver sation with Mr. Martyn there by the court-house railing, Mr. Moore ? I give you my word of honor that I will neither ask of him nor say to him anything that in the circumstances would be improper." " Of course he will, Mr. Eountree," said the lawyer. " Moore, I'll be his security against any harm." " I don't want any security for Isaac's word," said the sheriff. " Take him over there to that bench under that chainy-tree, Isaac. I'll wait here for you if it's an hour, or-as long as you want." " Thank you, Mr. Moore. I shall not want him so long." " Meanwhile, Mr. Rountree," said the lawyer, " I will notify Judge Wilson of Mr. Martyn's arrival, and ask him to appoint an hour for us." " Do so, if you please, Mr. Davison." " Lookee here, Cousin Ike," said Martyn, " I'd like to have something to eat before we get to business. What I've had since I've been in the company of this new acquaintance hasn't been of the very best, and it's been inconvenient to get at it, such as it was." The sheriff, smiling, said : " Go on with your cousin, young man. I'll see that you get your dinner before the judge comes." As the two went off together, he said to the guard :

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYN&

259

" That boy don't talk nor he don't look like a mur

derer." " No, he don't," answered the man. " I never saw

anybody as appearent unconcerned as he's been all the way. I can't but hope he ain't guilty. Whenever I've

asked him a question about his case of course I never

asked anything that he'd hurt himself by answering

he'd say that that was a thing he didn't care to talk

/

-

o

about. He's as independent a fellow as ever I struck,

and he's conversonal, uncommon conversonal, when he

have the mind to be." When the cousins had been seated on the bench,

Isaac, again regarding him fixedly, said :

" Will, of course you know that I and all of us are

with you in any case; but it. is important that you tell

me frankly about this matter." " Why, Cousin Ike, I'll tell you every blessed thing

I know. It'll take a mighty little while to do that. When I heard that Morgan Kelsey was dead I tried my

best not to be glad of it, but I didn't make much head way on that line; not as much as I know you'd think I

ought. I was right anxious about it, as anybody must have been in the circumstances, and when I heard about

my handkerchief being picked up, and tracks of my

shoes being all around, I was very uneasy for a while

but, Cousin Ike, what makes you look so terribly hard at me ?"

"Go on, Will; go on, I beg you."

"There's nothing more to go on with. I've got to the end of my rope."

" Will, do you mean for me to conclude that

that is all you know about that case ? Consider, my

260 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
dear Will, and conceal nothing from me, I implore yon."
"That's exactly what I do mean, and I'm not trying to conceal one blessed thing, or one cussed thing, what ever is right to name it. I've answered all I know, and I didn't know that except from what the men who came to take me told me."
" Will," continued Isaac, as if he had not heard the last words, " don't you feel that you could.trust me after what I have said, knowing that I mean only to save you from harm if possible ?"
" Why, good gracious alive, Cousin Ike! of course I can trust you. God Almighty bears me witness that I've told you everything I know! Don't you believe me ? Is it possible that any of you suspected me of shooting Morgan Kelsey in any such way as that ?"
A smile came upon Isaac's face. Taking his hand again, he said:
" I believe you, Will; sorry as I am that you did not feel distress when you heard of it. The family have all been very anxious. What made you so, when you heard about the handkerchief ?"
" I was a little uneasy when I first heard about the killing, thinking in my mind that it might be Tom, knowing how fiery he is, especially when he's drinking, as, it being Christmas, I concluded that he was; but when they told me it was done at night and unbeknown, and that my handkerchief was picked up, then I didn't have a doubt as to who did it. Don't you know who I mean, Cousin Ike ?"
"I do not, Will. I have not the slightest con jecture."

"Why, it was nobody in this wide world but Abe,
my Abe!" " Do you really think so, Will ?" Then he drew a
long breath of relief. " Think so ? I just know it." " On what do you found your suspicion ?" " No suspicion about it; I tell you I know it. The
handkerchief was mine, doubtless. I'm not going to deny that. Then my shoes fit Abe's foot well enough, and he is very proud of wearing them, poor fellow. In fact, all he ever wears is what he picks up after I've worn them awhile. You know that he understands all about handling a gun, and, more than that, he's heard me say a hundred times, more or less, that I wish some body would shoot Morgan Kelsey. What is more than all, he himself hated him as much as anybody else could. Once, while I was at Jimmy's, he went over to the Kelseys one night to see one of the girls there. He knew that I wouldn't give him a pass, and so he stole off without it. Morgan Kelsey caught him in one of the houses, and he had no more feeling than to strip hun and give him such a beating as the meanest over seer wouldn't put upon a negro's back. I declare it made me cry when I saw how he had been abused. Jimmy cried too, bless his heart! but he begged me to keep it from Cousin Emily, and not to raise a fuss with Morgan. Hadn't been for that I'd have gone right over there and given him the cursing that he deserved, and if he had dragged out his pistol he'd have found that he was not the only one that knows how to shoot !But now let me tell you, Cousin Ike, Abe comes of a family of good, honest, affectionate negroes; but not one of

262 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
them ever knew what the word forgiveness means. Yes, sir; Abe shot that fellow with my gun that I left at Aunt Julie's, and then he ran for life. That was what I was most anxious about, and if I had known all I'd never have had to be arrested, glad as I was that suspi cion pointed at me. But I'd have come so as to get him out of the way, which I'm going to do if the judge will let me give bail. He will, don't you think so, Cousin Ike ? If not, I'm ready to lie there for Abe, if they won't chain me to the floor, and if they'll give me air enough and such victuals as I can relish."
Isaac looked at him affectionately and said: ""Will Martyn, you are the very incarnation of generous courage. I don't think that there's much doubt of the judge's allowing bail. I have been seeing to that. It would hurt me more than I can tell to see you go inside of a jail." " There's some I'd be willing to go there for, Cousin Ike, and Abe is one of them." After other brief conversation they returned to where the sheriff and Davison were waiting, when the former took the prisoner to dinner. " Mr. Davison," said Isaac, " I feel much relieved by the conversation which I have had with my cousin. I urged him, for the sake of his own safety, to tell me the truth. He avows his innocence, and I am much in clined to believe him." " I am gratified to hear it, Mr. Rountree." " Will it be necessary, in the application for bail, to state to the judge my opinion ? If not, I would rather not, for a reason that I may tell you of hereafter." " It will not be necessary,-Mr. Rountree. The judge

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.

263

would expect the accused to maintain his innocence. I will make a brief statement of our confidence in the case from the uncertainties of the evidence which thus far has been developed. I don't think that the State's counsel will seriously oppose the motion. You know him, don't you ?"
" Yes; I know Mr. Wakefield, and think he may possibly know who I am. I was about to pass him on the street this morning, but I decided that perhaps he would not care to be accosted by me, and so I turned into Alexander's store."
" He wouldn't have minded it. Still, it might have been embarrassing."
"When Davison had made his statement, the judge, who the while had been looking studiously at the young man, asked the solicitor if he had anything to say why an order should not be passed in accordance with the application. He answered:
" Nothing, may it please the Court. I submit the case to your Honor's discretion, and I do so more readily because of the respectable standing of the relatives and friends of the accused."
Then the judge said : " The law, as you know, my brother Davison, is cau tious in the allowing bail for cases of murder, especially one that, from what is known of this, seems to have been peculiarly atrocious. But as the record of the jury of inquest discloses circumstantial evidence only, the Court has little doubt that it is a case wherein it may properly use its discretion. The Court takes into consideration the youth of the accused, and it must say that his appearance and his demeanor lead to the hope

264
that lie may be able to acquit himself of the great crime of which he is charged. The clerk will see to the exe cution of a recognizance in a penalty of five thousand dollars, after which the sheriff will deliver the accused to his bail."
Isaac signed the bond, and said if required he would send word to his brother John, his cousin, Thomas Wyrick, and others of his kindred to come at once and sign. If not, he would see that they came on the next day.
"All right, Mr. Rountree," answered the clerk, " your name would be enough; but the others can come in when i suits their convenience."
Shortly afterward Isaac, hiring a horse at the liveryetable, took his cousin along with him to his home.
YI.
THE controlling thought of Martyn now was to shield the boy Abram. Such an effort would have been under taken by any master whose slave had run such risk part ly in his behalf, and in such undertaking he would have been urged little by consideration of the loss of prop erty. None but those familiar with the domestic rela tions in the Southern States can fully understand the affection between respectable white people and their slaves. For this boy, with little thought of his value in the market, "William Martyn would have dared as far as for any others, including himself. So he determined to take him across the Chattahoochee without delay, and place him with his own kindred there, or in the State of

THE PURSUIT OF THE MABTYNS..

265

Mississippi. On the way that afterno&n he said to Isaac that he should not ask Abe any questions about the
homicide. "I want to get him out of the State as quickly as
possible, and before it is generally known what my de fense is to be. As soon as I say openly that I am not the one who shot Morgan Kelsey, people will begin to inquire who is. That might scare Abe into betraying himself, at least to me, and I'll have to witness against him which, for ten times his value, I wouldn't do if
I could help it." "But let us see now, Will," said Isaac, gravely,
" would such action be perfectly right even if it were dealing with entire fairness toward yourself ?"
" Why, what do I care about suspicion when I am innocent and can prove it ? Let suspicion of me go to the devil! I beg your pardon, Cousin Ike, for using such a word. As for the right or the wrong of the tiling, I'm not thinking about either. I'm thinking about saving Abe."
" Well, that part of it is your own affair, Will, which I can not aid you in, but which I will not try to hinder. I counsel you, however, to let nobody else know of your thoughts or intentions. If the public, convinced of your innocence, begins to suspect Abe, and then finds that you have run him off, what then 1"
" * What then' may take care of itself. One thing is certain: they'll never get Abe. They might as well look for a pin in*8 the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. I don't see any wrong in it either that is, on my part. I'm the only friend the poor negro has. He loves me better than he does or ever did love anybody else, and,

266 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
by George, I love him mighty nigh as well; and when I think of the beating that Morgan Kelsey gave him for the triflingest sort of offense, I however, I've made up my mind, and there's no use in-talking about it. Yet I will say that, in my opinion, there are some rights and claims for redress when they are violated that belong to all men alike, negroes as well as white folks."
"All right, then, "Will. The responsibility must rest with you. In the circumstances I will offer no dther counsel than repeat the need of secrecy for the present at least."
The youth was received by his kinsmen for the most part with much cordiality. Mrs. Kountree's demeanor was reserved, but she made no indication by words of what she thought or felt, being more than willing to act upon Isaac's advice to avoid allusions to his case, and be specially careful "of questions put to him. The negro met his master with a greeting which showed that, whatever were his own thoughts, he was delighted to see his face again. Kot a word or look of suspicion was be stowed upon him, and he capered with joy when told that they were going upon a visit to their home. It was given out that Martyn had taken the boy away in order to sell him for the purpose of raising money for the fee of his counsel. Yet some suspected that his bail had decided to forfeit their bond and let him escape. After he was gone, Isaac deported himself with his usual discretion. Having little to say to Martyn during the few days of his stay, he said less about him after. Whenever a neighbor referred to the case he expressed the rather confident hope that the charge would be disproved. A good point was scored for the defendant when, a week

THE PURSUIT OF THE MABTYNS.

267

before the spring term of the court was to open, he re turned. Isaac exhibited much cheerfulness, consider ing his serious temper, and to every one whom he met avowed now entire confidence.
" At first," he said^ " I was quite uneasy about Will; for, wild as he is, I have a warm affection for him, and I would be deeply pained by any misfortune that would put upon him severe suffering. Now I have little doubt that he will be able to clear himself entirely. He has an impetuous temper, and he loved poor Brother JameS very dearly; but it was not easy for me to believe that he would put himself before so many others who, as he well knew, must feel that loss more painfully than him self ; and then I could hardly believe that he could have been driven to do a thing like that in such a way."

YIL
BY agreement of counsel the trial was set for "Wednesday. On Tuesday morning Martyn and his friends repaired to the village and took rooms at the tavern, bespeaking another for one who was expected. As the afternoon waned Martyn began to show some impatience, and several times spoke in low tones with Isaatf, who, though evidently anxious himself, answered as if trying to reassure him. The sun was about half an hour high when Martyn cried sud denly :
" Yonder, he comes! " Then he rapidly descended the steps of the tavern

268 THE PRIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.
piazza and met a person who had just reached there on horseback.
" Glad to see you, Mr. "Wicker! Good as your word."
" What's the use of havin' of a word if it ain't good ? Besides, there was the suppeny ; but I didn't have that to fetch me. How's all your healths ?"
" Simply splendid." He was a small man, boyish in his face and move ments, and rather gaudy in attire. " Yes, sir," after dismounting he continued, " a fel low with any blood in his bones is. bound to come on such a arrant. Then I wanted to see the country. A man never learns anything new staying at home all the time. Besides," poking liis ribs, " I feel like I owe you some more boot for this horse." Will had already laid his hand upon the mane of the beast, which turned its head and whinnied affec tionately. "I'm glad you're satisfied with your trade, Mr. Wicker. How did you leave your good wife and children ?" " All alive and kickin'. My wife, she were ruther sollomcholy when I come away to go on sech a journey. I've been a-countin' up, and it's nigh on to forty-five mile I've come; the ruther biggest travelin' I've ever done. And then the solemity of the thtog, comin' among people you don't know and they don't know you, and havin' to tell what a man know about the killin' o' people when he don't know a everlastin' red cent. Such as that, I tell you, is sollum, Mr. Martyn, you may say-what you please about it."

- THE PURSUIT OP THE MARTYNS.

269

. The small gentleman was much pleased at the in terest his constant association with Martyn excited among the people. He was dressed in what were evi dently his best things, and it was certain from his man ner that he intended to make as wide an impression as
possible. At ten o'clock, the hour named, the judge called the
case. The State versw William Martyn. Both par ties announced themselves ready. The court-room was soon filled with spectators, among whom was remarked the little interest taken by Davison in the selection of a jury, making not one of the peremptory challenges to which his client was entitled. All except the judge and Isaac Rountree could not but exhibit some amuse ment at the testimony of Mr. Burge, who, intending to be accurate as possible, and elicit sympathy for him self, told with much circumstantiality of the1 meeting at his house, and delivered some of his views upon the comparative harmlessness of chicken-fighting, particu larly on an occasion time-honored as Christmas. For, indeed, religious sentiment was growing more stringent regarding that and similar sports. At last, brought to the only issue before the jury, after many circumlocu tions, he deposed about thus :
" When my wife that is, my second present wife I'm a-meanin' of (for, as my neighbors in gen'l knows, I have been married of twice in my time), she say that as it is a mighty nigh on to midnight, a not'ithstandin' that our clock never struck it, nor hain't struck yit, not cler like she used to, but she said it were time fur hon est people to go to bed, and then she said she'd have fotch in one more waiter o' nog to them that wanted it;

270
and it bein' the last, everybody jined exception of Mor gan Kelsey. And so we all ris, exception of him, and it seem like whosever shot Morgan Kelsey that were what he been waitin' for. I don't say who that was, because I don't know, so help me God, a-bein' on my oath. All I know about that I can tell in a few words. We all left Morgan Kelsey by the fire, where he were in a settin' p'sition; next time I see him he were in a fallin' p'sition, and the next time I see him he were in a fell-<lown p'sition on the flo', dead as a herrin'. And while I am not a man that I'm so monst'ous pow'ful easy to git skeared, 'I acknowledge that I were mighty nigh flung inter a duck fit, and my wife she say she hain't got over her'n yit, ner don't expect to long as she have breath in her body; but I tell her sech accidents is lia ble to happen to anybody, though I can't but think that me and her have had our sheer, but as for who shot that gun, I don't know no more'n you do, gentl'men of the jury."
He came down with evident reluctance, as there were a great many other interesting things which he would have been thankful to tell.
When the handkerchief was produced, Davison, after it had been inspected by the accused, said :
" We admit that is, or at one time was, the property of defendant."
Murmurs were heard among the crowd. The hostile language, that was proved, contained no definite threat, and the solicitor's looks, when he closed the case, showed that vhe had little confidence. Davison, after slight allusion to the finding of the handkerchief, as if most probably it had gotten there by accident,

THE PURSUIT OP THE MARTYNS.
saying that he would at once produce evidence of un doubted innocence, cried:
" Will you please go to the stand, Mr. Wicker ?" At the call of his name that gentleman arose, stood a moment looking blandly all around, then walked toward where he was invited with grace such as he might have exhibited in moving toward a lady for the purpose of soliciting her hand for a dance. " Who is that frisky little chap ?" was questioned in a whisper. " Blamed if I know. He looks like he knows a thing or two and wants to tell it," were the answers. The judge looked at him studiously for a moment or so, then, as if recollectingly, smiled and leaned back. The witness, after condescendingly kissing the book, began toying with the tags of his spotted cravat as if he would call attention to how well it became him. " What is your full name, Mr. Wicker ?" asked Davison. " Did you ask what my full name was, sir ?" he re peated in a loud, shrill tone, looking toward the extreme end of the room as if he kindly desired that none should miss a word of what he was about to say. Then, not waiting for an answer to his question, he answered: " The full name of the subscriber, sir, is Wilson Blazenberry Wicker. I got my name of Wilson from my father who moved from Putman County in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and thirteen, as I have freckwent heerd him say in his lifetime, and I rid by yisterday where he moved away from on my way to this appointed place; but of course that is hear-

272 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
say evidence, being of before my day, and therefore I couldn't swear to it."
He glanced briefly at the judge as if to assure him that there need be no apprehension that he would not keep himself within the strict rules of evidence.
" The Blazenberry part of my name I got from my mother, she being of a Blazenberry before she got mar ried to my father, and when on that interesting occa sion* she dropped the Blazenberry part and swibstichuted the Wicker which she fancied more better. Yes, sir, that is my name in the fullest extents of it. I understand that were the upshot of your remarks, sir?"
" It was, sir," said Davison, repressing a smile, " and you have answered it with entire satisfaction. I will now ask you, Mr. Wicker, to be kind enough to tell the court and jury where you live."
" You mean my residence, I presume, sir, if I may be allowed to ask the question ?"
" Precisely so, sir." " Of course, sir," politely waving his hand, " I have no objection to the above even if I weren't on the wit ness-stand. My residence, sir, at the present time and have been for four year, at which time I begun gethering in my wild oats and jined to myself a wife and kimpanion and never has been sorry, for the residence, sir, in general it's in Jasper County in this present State of Georgie. If I was to go into p'tick'lars I should say that it lays on the road from Whitfield's to Mounterceller, which I presume it is knew that Mounterceller is the county site of Jasper County as aforesaid, and about half-way, though I may be some nigher Mountereeller

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.

273

*
than Whitfield's. Is that sufficient for the infimation

you wish to git at, sir ?"

" It is sir, on that line; and now I'll ask whether

or not you happened to be at home on the night of the

twenty-fourth day of last December ?"

" I understand you to be a-illudingj if I am not mis

taken, to last Chris'mus-eve, sir; all so be, you don't

use them words ?"

" Your understanding is entirely correct, Mr.

Wicker."

" Well, sir, I haven't the slightest hisitation to say

that I were. Haven't been anywhere else but home on

a Chris'mus-eve but once't since I been married, and

that were two year ago when my wife's mother wanted

her whole gineration of children and grandchildren to

gether at her house, which they done, and she afterward

died on the twenty-nine o' the next comin' March. Yes,

sir, I was there certain that night and no mistake, at my

own residence in the county of Jasper, in said State."

Everybody, always, excepting Isaac, laughed almost

aloud when the witness looked upon the audience as if

pleased with having settled to their satisfaction this

important historic fact.

"Thank you, Mr. Wicker." And Mr. Wicker

bowed politely, accepting the acknowledgment.

"Now, sir," continued Davison, "I will ask you

yet another question: were, any persons there on that

occasion besides your own family ?"

" You mean, I should suppose, a-including of the

undersigned subscriber, myself ?"

" Certainly, sir, including yourself, that family's

head." 18

274 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Oh, ha! ha! Thank you for the compliment! I beg pardon of your Honor," he said immediately with profound seriousness to the judge, " I did I ah was rather ah "
" Proceed with your testimony, if you please, Mr. "Wicker," said the dignitary, with as much gravity as he could assume.
"Well, sir begging pardon genilly for the int'rruption I answer that request with the word yes, or more proper, yes, sir; although I never expected then, nor not till lately, to be called on to swear to that occa sion. Yes, sir, there were another person there on that same interestin' Chris'mus-eve, if the expression may be allowed under oath. I could not forgit it for the reason whereof, ef no more, I hold in my hand at the present time."
Looking cordially at the prisoner, with his right hand he took hold of one of the tags of his cravat, and with a finger of the left pointed significantly at the other. ' He had threatened to his wife, when leaving home, that, before getting off the witness-stand he would make that people know who "Wilson Blazenberry Wick er was.
" Who was that person, sir ?" He watched with great content as the people leaned eagerly ^forward. For a moment or so he seemed searching with his eyes among them for the guest who had been honored by his hospitality, then, point ing at the accused, answered, lifting his voice yet higher: " At the present hour, the guest of my residence in the interesting circumstances, if I am not mistaken, is

THE PURSUIT OF THE MAETYNS.

275

Betting by your side, and he give in his name to me as "William Martyn!"
A murmur of relief went throughout as Davison
said: " The witness is with you, Brother Wakefield." " Mr. "Witness!" said the solicitor, and paused. " Sir ! You behold me here, I presume, sir." " Yes, sir; yes, sir. I see you. Everybody sees
you, Mr. "Wicker. You say, * if you are not mistaken.' You mean by that there is some want of certainty upon your mind regarding the "
" Ko, sir; not by no means, sir! I used the word as a clause in rhet'ric, sir. Kothing else. It were pine blank that man thar. As for being of mistakened in him, I couldn't be any more than in the horse I rid here yistiday and this here kervat, which I am at present a-feelin' of, and which it have writ on it the name he give in to me when he come to my residence and I traded with him out of both. For I have a fanchy to his horse, and when I have got him down from sixty dollars to forty he asked to boot betwix his'n and mine, I says to him, ' Mr. Martyn, ef you'll fling in that kervat you got on, it's a trade'; for because I have took a fanchy also to that on account of its spottled dots, and he said he would, and then we lumped; and I brung it along with me a not knowing how many unuseless questions I might be asked."
" Silence! " cried the sheriff. Then the judge, calling to him the solicitor^ whis pered : ."Don't you see that you have no case? I know who that man is, and with all his levity he is respecta-

276 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
ble and reliable. I told you I didn't believe the boy was guilty."
The officer, descending, said: " I've no further question for the witness and noth ing to say to the jury." " Kor I," said Davison. . " Hand the presentment to the jury," said the judge, and when this was done he continued: " Gentlemen, if * you believe jthe testimony of the last witness, which you are required to do when not impeached nor denied, you are bound to acquit the defendant. Retire and consider your verdict." * Within not more time than was taken in writing it, they returned, answering, " Not guilty." The crowd lifted shouts. Only Isaac bowed his head in his hand. " O Will, Will!" he said, " you don't know how it pained me to think of your suffering." " It was nothing, Cousin Ike, and it is all over now." " I wish it were," he answered in a whisper. Mr. Wicker stayed during the remainder of the day, and with pleasure, in successive knots, let himself be admired for accuracy and eloquence with which he re peated the testimony, dwelling always with fondness on the cravat with the spottled dots. In spite of some homesickness^ he felt reluctance in leaving the people to whom he had made himself so interesting. Slowly riding through the village next morning, he graciously bowed and waved adieus to all, and, after emerging, put his new steed into a steady pace for Jasper County.

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.

277

Tin.

THE question by whom Morgan Kelsey had been

shot became as grave if not as pressing as at the be

ginning. The fact of a citizen of an adjoining county,

while visiting peacefully at the house of a relative in

this, being assassinated under cover of night, was pain

ful to the whole community. Aware of this, and espe

cially noting the anxiety on Isaac Rountree's mind,

Martyn went away. Not that Isaac had thus advised,

for he had never mentioned the negro's name since the

day when informed of his master's suspicions regarding

him. But Martyn well knew the embarrassment which

a man so serious and so reputable must feel at the idea

of giving even tacit assent to hiding from public jus

tice the perpetrator" of such" a crime, and so he with

drew and returned to his people.

" Your name is Joe, now," he said to the negro,

" and it's a case of life and death to drop Abe."

" Dat so, Marse Will ? Well, den I draps her. My

name Joe from dis out."

All except Isaac among the friends were pleased

with the condition in which the case now stood. A far

more thoughtful and scrupulous man than any of them,

he felt keenly that the imputation of murder committed

by revenge must cling to his family, vague as it might

be. One day, while giving to Thomas Wyrick expres

sion of this feeling, the latter said:

:

" Ike, such a notion as that is utterly absurd, so it

strikes me. Will Martyn said that he told you who

shot Morgan Kelsey."

278 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
Did Will tell you also ?" " He did, the night before he left." " I knew he would tell somebody. The fellow can't keep a secret. Did you agree with his suspi cions ?" " Why, I haven't a doubt. The fact is, I suspected as soon as I found that Will didn't do it. When I saw that he intended to run Abe, then I knew it, and didn't need his telling." " But there it is, Tom. People have no doubt that the action was done by some one among the near friends of James Rountree. They don't suspect Abe, and I tell you now that if Abe did it he ought to suffer for it, as I intimated to Will. As he is gone, and doubt less will be out of the way for good, I am not sure 'but that it ought to be believed, at least suspected, so as to take off suspicion from the whole family, and allow the law, if it can find him, the penalty that he deserves if indeed he is guilty." . "Deserves! Ike Kountree, you're the strangest man I do believe in this blessed world. Joining the church or something else has made of you a kind of crank, if you'll excuse me, or if you won't. That poor negro has upon his back and will carry to the grave the scars left by Morgan Kelsey's cowhide for the trifiingest, pitifulest offense that ever was committed. By blood! if he was to be tried for killing him, and I was on the jury, I'll swear that I'd hang there from July to eternity before I'd go for convicting him; and there's many another man in this county would do the same. As for the people suspecting Abe, they are certain to do it after a while. Such things as that can't

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be kept down always, and I don't care how soon it is done as they'll never find him in this wooden world, and I thank God Almighty for it!"
" Ah, Tom, you go on the idea of revenge! That is just what the Infinite Being whose name yon invoke does not allow even for great injuries, no more than the law of the land does. Oh me ! " he said with great bitterness, " the whole thing has been a continued series of misfortunes."
" But who started them ? My Lord! Ike Eountree, who started them? To say nothing of that humble slave, who I repeat that I am thankful has gone where no sheriff or constable can ever find him, with his flesh keeping witness to the meanest brutality that a white man can commit, what am I to say about Jimmy shot down like a dog in that man's horse-lot, and about his wife and child that the same bullet killed \ Ike, you almost make ine mad sometimes by the way you talk and behave."
" You don't understand me, Tom. You know noth ing at all about me. The death of my brother affected me more painfully than anybody else, not, I really be lieve, excepting mother; for it destroyed a double hope. But my sense of most binding obligations has made .me strive to subdue all resentment for that first murder; for that it was a murder most foul I say to you now what I did not say in that man's lifetime, I do say now and only to you, I fully believe. But but but "
He looked up toward heaven with crimson cheek, then extending his hand as if in deprecation, said :
" You made me say too much, Tom. I ought not

280 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
to have uttered those words, especially on Susan's ac count. I charge you not to repeat them."
After a few moments he continued, softly: " Poor dear Jimmy! He had built many fair hopes, and I had begun to indulge myself in one which, after his death, when it was too late, I found to have had a promise that I had not known or believed. With him was fruition, brief though it was: with me was only a dream. The blasting of these, in its inscrutable pur poses, was permitted by Divine Providence. I have striven to submit, and to some degree have succeeded, at what sacrifice is known, outside of my own breast, to God alone. It has been hard for a nature like mine not to resist, when resistance would seem to have led me, if even temporarily, to a bliss as exquisite as that of my poor dear brother's had been. God knows how the strife is to end. !Now, that suspicion has been taken off Will, for which I am profoundly thankful, and cast upon Abram, I feel bewildered sometimes to know what is becoming an honorable, God-fearing man to do, or not to do." " I can tell you what is becoming for you to do, Ike, if you'll listen to me. Will you ?" " I'll listen, Tom, certainly; but be careful what you say." He was almost trembling as he said these words, looking away from his companion. " Go and realize your dream which ought to have been realized a year ago. Susan Kelsey has been wait ing and waiting for you to come, and you owe it to her as well as to yourself to " " Stop, Tom, stop I I can't bear to have my own

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counsels in that matter disturbed by words of another. Some time, I can not say when, I am going down there. As for the result but I will say no more. Don't allude to the subject in my hearing any more, I beg you, Tom. Let the public suspect whom it may. One thing is cer tain, and more steadfast than the everlasting hills it is God's destiny! I have been waiting, and I will wait longer, some longer if I die!"
Then he went away slowly. "There goe^" said "Wyrick, "a very king among men; but, my Lord! by what notions is he beset! He tries to persuade himself that that negro ought to be hung, when he knows he oughtn't, and would spend his last dollar to prevent it, and then be eaten by remorse for doing it. He loves that girl with all his soul, and is obliged to know that he can get her for just another asking; but his pride or his religion makes him prefer the misery it is to him to live without her. I have no patience with a religion that pulls a good man to pieces in that way! Such as that can't last without his losing his balance. Indeed, I'm afraid it is tottering already." Before many weeks had passed suspicion, as Wyrick had predicted, did attach itself to the negro, when men began to reproach themselves for not so deciding im mediately after the trial. Yet none doubted that his disappearance was to be perpetual. In time public anxiety subsided with the dissolving of the mystery, and, hearing what wrong the boy had suffered, did not complain severely of his escape. General expectation now awaited the marriage of Isaac and Susan. Even Mr. Burge was anxious for it. "Them two is jes the two finest young people I

282 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
know in all my acquaintance, and it's to be hoped that it won't be long before they'll congeal together, and let things that can't be holp, and is dead and buried, stay dead and buried. If it have been me but everybody ain't alike, I suppose."
IX.

ALL pitied the life that had been led by Susan during these trials with more earnestness arid respectfulness be cause of the beauty of character which enabled her to endure them without exhibition of the suffering which they knew she was obliged to feel. To her mother in her swift decline she devoted herself with tenderest assi duity, and it consoled her much to note with what affec tionate gratitude at last this was accepted. Mrs. Kelsey, as she had said, did not take any interest in the trial of William Martyn. Supposing him to have been guilty, she regarded his action as done in obedience to the in evitable fate which she had believed herself to foresee. If not entirely indifferent to the coming trial, she re garded it not only useless, but as no part of her duty, to interfere in any manner. When told of the acquittal, after sincere expressions of gratulation, she felt as be fore regarding the negro upon whom the charge had de scended, with no concern that he had made his escape, thankful only that suspicion had been removed from the family and friends of James Kountree. She was deeply impressed by what was told her of the honorable con duct of Isaac throughout, and it became her earnest wish

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that lie and Susan might be united in marriage. In this time confidence grew between mother and daughter, bringing to each much regret that it came so late. For each knew wgll that, except for this delay, that mar riage would have taken place soon after the deaths of
James and Emily. One day, when they had been talking together for
some time, Mrs. Kelsey said : ." O my child, why had we to wait so long for this
confidence ?" As soon as she had learned of what had passed be
tween Isaac and Susan, and the latter had confessed the feeling for him that rose afterward, she proposed to send for Isaac, but Susan could not get her own consent. Without waiting for answer, the mother con-
timied: " If you had only told Isaac that day that you loved
him, or that you could learn to love him, what it might have saved to all! Not to your brother, I mean; no, not to him! For he, poor, poor Morgan, was under a bond which could not be broken nor avoided. I was just as sure that that bond would be paid as I am now that it has been. But for yourself, for Isaac, who, as everybody says, is cast down with melancholy, and not so much for the death of his brother as for the loss of you; and then yes, how much better for me, poor me! Why, why didn't you, O my darling Susan?"
" I wish I had done so; but, mother, then I knew not that I loved Isaac." Her cheeks crimsoned at the confession, even in that sacred presence. Continuing,
she said: " I told Isaac that I would be his wife, and I have

284 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
thought since that he ought to have known that I did love him, otherwise I could not have uttered those words. I had not known it myself until I felt that he was gone from me."
" I wish I had known it! Oh, that I had known it! But I had never won my daughters' confidence as I ought to have done. Your father used to say I was wrong in not trying harder than I did to win it. But somehow it always seemed as if I didn't know how. God knows that I loved you both as much as Morgan, who was so different. Many and many a time have I wished that, like you and Emily, he had inherited his father's open nature instead of taking mine, which never could express what I felt, especially when it was affec tionate and fond. Nobody knows what losses befall such natures, nor how sorely they are felt. Still, I wish from my heart that I had known how it stood with you and Isaac, who, even before that first dreadful day,. I hoped would be my son-in-law, although not knowing that he wanted to be. I could have done what in the cir cumstances you believed that you could not, but what, for the sake of you both, ought to Tiave been done. And I tell you solemnly, Susan, that it ought to be done now. Oh, may a merciful God forgive all my neglect!"
Intent upon answering these self-reproaches, Susan said: " Mother dear, neither I nor Emily ever doubted your affection. Father, if we had, would have reassured us. He spoke to us often of how devotedly you loved all your children. Emily, you remember, confided to you her love for Jimmy. As for me, alas \ I did not know until too late that I had any to confide, and even that was when you were utterly prostrate with grief.

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My precious mother, I beg you not to accuse yourself of what you were never in the least degree guilty."
" "Well, well, my child, I will not, at least in words." She lay awhile in silence. " Susan," at length she said, " I want to see Isaac before I go, and I tell you now that my remnant is shorter than the doctor or anybody else believes. I want to talk with him about another .' matter. You know how I've made my will. Won't you be willing for me to send for him ?"
After some .waiting, Susan answered : " Mother, if you feel that you ought to see Isaac, or if such is your earnest wish, I make no further objection to your sending him a request to come. It has seemed to me that at least he might have sent a messenger to inquire about the condition of your health. Still, they say that he seldom goes from home, and perhaps he thinks that such a message would not be expected of him. Send for him, mother, if you wish; but I hope that you will not make to him any allusion to the feel ing that I have confessed; that is, unless he will have said either to you or to me that that which he had for me is unchanged!" " Certainly, my child. That would be entirely proper. That it is unchanged I have not a doubt. I do wish to see him about my business, and that will easily open the door to him. Cousin Redding Burge said to us last week, you remember, that Isaac had told him of his intention to come before very long. Now I feel better. If it could please God, I'd love to live, if only a little longer." She became silent, but her face lit up with a cheer fulness that Susan never had seen upon it before. In

286 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
this happy state, and before she had framed her mes sage, she died. It was just a year after the death of her son. Her very last words were:
" Send for Isaac, and tell him I say " The rest was an inaudible whisper. A widowed relative had been staying in the house for several weeks, and it was now decided that for the present she would make it her home. As had been ex pected, none of the Rountree family were at the funeral; but Mr. Burge told Susan that in all his life he had never seen one so much affected as Isaac was when he informed him of the news. Indeed, it was a heavy blow. Often when alone he cried: " I ought to have gone there! Oh, I ought to have gone there !" " Won't you go to the funeral, my son ? I think I would. Some of us ought, it seems to me." "No, no, mother! I .can't go there now, and I'd rather that none of the family went. They would ex pect me, if any, and I think they can hardly expect me. When my feelings can get somewhat composed I will go. It was my intention to do so before now, but I kept putting it off. Perhaps it is as well that I did not, but I will go before long, if I live." Yet, to her great disappointment, he continued to delay. A month later a letter was brought to him from the mail. Exhibiting much agitation, he looked for some time at the address before opening. It read thus:
" WHITE OAK, January SO, 18S2.
" DEAR MB. ROTTNTRKE : I suppose that you may not have heard that my mother left a will in which you are

appointed executor. Her wish was to have some con

ference with you about the property, and she was about

to send a message to you when, quite unexpectedly to

us, she suddenly came to her end. The paper is in my

possession. Whenever it may suit your convenience to

call for it I shall be ready to resign it into your hands.-

" Very respectfully,

SUSAN KELSEY.

" ME. ISAAC EOUNTEEE."

He was reading in his Bible when the letter was brought. When he had finished perusing it lie rose suddenly, laid the open book upon the table, and looked as if he were appalled. Several times he read it over, in the intervals absorbed in reflection. Occasionally he got upon his knees and seemed to be anguishing with prayer, frequently crying in a low tone: " How long, O Lord! how long!" It was late in the afternoon. Once he rose and went to the meadow below the spring; but hardly had he reached it than he suddenly stopped, turned, and walking. rapidly back, entered his room, closed the door, and threw himself again upon his knees, while he searched and read several passages from the Old Testament. When they sent to call him for supper, he rose, and, after bathing his face and readjusting his clothes, went into the house. His conversation while at the supper-table was little different from the usual. Only his mother, who had become very anxious about him, noticed the slightly deeper shadow upon his face, but, knowing that he so preferred, endeavored to ignore it. With her younger sons she sought to enliven him with cheerful conversation. Occasionally he smiled, from affectionateness, but for the most part ate his sim-

288 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
pie meal in silence. When it was over he returned to his chamber.
"Did brother tell you, mother, from whom came the letter he received this evening ?" asked John. ,
" No, my eon; but that or something else has made him seem rather more serious than common. Do you
know?" " I think it is from Miss Susan Kelsey. "When Jim
brought it from the post-office I looked to see to whom it was addressed. It was in a female hand, and had on it the indorsement of the post-office there."
f "I doubt if it came from Susan. If it is, she must have written something that gave him pain. I hope that this letter will take him down there. If he and Susan can once get together, I shall feel confident that they will soon come to an understanding. I've always regretted that he and she didn't marry soon after the death of poor Jimmy. Old Mr; Burge tells people that Mrs. Kelsey felt the same way about it. It might and I've no doubt would have prevented but it is not worth while to talk about that now. Isaac has a pecul iar nature, and he has to be left to work out the case for himself if it is ever to be worked out at all. But for the uncommon seriousness upon his face to-night I should feel in better hope, provided the letter was from Susan. The dear child for a year has been behaving toward me whenever we have met as if she had some thing that she would be glad to tell me. As it is now I feel that the matter is in s much uncertainty as ever. Do not, either of you, allude to the letter in his hear ing."
This counsel was needless. His brothers never so

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289

much as mentioned before him the name of any one of the Kelsey family.
His was indeed a peculiar case. His affection for Susan had grown with the intensity which silence always imparts to the love of such a man. For some months had he been believing that he was loved by her, and many a time had he regretted that he had not taken her when she made of herself an offering to him. At other times his pride, more than that, his religious scruples, made him feel as if he ought rather to glory in the sacrifice which he was making, as well for his own sake as that of the memory of his brother. A daily reader and student of the Bible, known to be used to earnest, devoted prayer, yet he would never consent to be made a deacon of the church, nor take any public part in its congregated worship, even when with only a few gathered at a prayer-meeting. He had grown more and more reserved in intercourse both abroad and at home. A man of extraordinary business qualities, he had be gun to devolve upon his next younger brother the general management of plantation affairs, sometimes, when giving advice asked for, lapsing into indifference or .absence of mind that put much anxiety on his mother. He had heard with deep regret of the decline of Mrs. Kelsey. He believed that he understood her character better than it had become known to her children, and therefore had sympathized in all her grief. He had de cided that at some time he would go to her and open all his heart, as afterward he opened it to Susan; for, al ways having high respect for her, he had been much affected by her forbearance in the case of William Martyn. It has been seen what a shock her death had
19

290 THE PEIMES AND THEIE NEIGHBORS.
put upon him. Nothing could have surprised him more than being told that she had named him executor of her last will and testament. He regretted then more ear nestly that he had not gone to her. A sense, not of re morse, but of something akin to it, rose within him which led to the shedding of many tears. He knew now that she had desired his union with Susan, and he believed that by devolving upon him such a 'trust she had died with this thought upon her mind. It seemed to him that in her very dying article she had made this delicate appeal to him to take into his arms her last sur viving child, and thus consummate, if oblivion was im possible, condonement of all the past. It made him feel for Susan a yearning so fond, so eager that, whether on his bed or upon his knees, he was awake wrestling with fiercest tearings of his passion. He decided to go to Susan, but not quite yet. He felt himself to be in a frame not yet fit for such a meeting. He waited three days, and would have waited longer, but, knowing that the Court of Ordinary in the lower county was to sit in the ensuing week, and recognizing the importance of probate of Mrs. Kelsey's will, and the grant of letters testamentary, he decided on Friday evening that he would go the next day. Then came to him the calm ness which a thoughtful mind feels when, after painful necessary vacillation, its resolution has become fixed.

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291

X.
IN this while no word about the Kelseys passed between him and his mother. At breakfast she saw his riding horse led to the gate, and she noticed that he was dressed with more care than usual. As he was about to leave he said :
" Mother, I am going down to see Miss Susan Kelsey to-day. In a letter which I received from her on Tuesday are mentioned some matters of business con cerning the estate left by her mother, about which she wishes, and it is proper for us, to confer. I expect to return to-night, but it may be late. If I am not here by the usual bedtime, I beg that neither you nor either of the boys will sit up for me. Please insist upon that with them, won't you, mother ?"
" Certainly, Isaac. I am glad that you are going there, my son ; indeed I am."
" I have been thinking for some time of doing so, and I wish I had gone before Mrs. Kelsey's death. Perhaps it is best that I did not. Such things for their happening or not depend upon influences that we can not always control. Does it surprise when I tell you that Mrs. Kelsey appointed me sole executor of her will ? It did so to me, very much."
" Somewhat, Isaac. Not very much. She knew of your capacity for business and your integrity. Then she preferred Susan to have your counsel and assist ance rather than those of any other, feeling convinced, I suppose, what everybody else believes, that you love each other."

292 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" Neither, of these have I known except in so far as my own feelings have been concerned. Of whsfc are Miss Susan's I shall endeavor to satisfy myself very soon, perhaps during this visit. It may be as.well that none except yourselves should know whither I am going. However," he added, after a moment's reflection, " it matters not."
He was apparently calm, as if a question that long had been of incertitude was nearing a decision.
" I've no doubt," said the mother, cheerfully, " that all will end rightly. Nothing has been needed but for you to go there. It makes me happier than I have felt in two years. Give Susan my love, and tell her I long tell her what you think best in the circumstances."
"I'll do both, mother. But meanwhile don't let your heart become fixed too fondly upon upon any wish connected with me. It has been in the will of the Almighty that these two families .should suffer sore dis appointments. That these are not ended I fear. I have been afraid to pursue happiness in the ways in which other men are wont to seek it, since the fate of James and Emily. But I will not anticipate what to-day or the brief future will bring forth. I hope to be guided whither it entirely comports with the destiny of God for me to go, into whose hands, not without shuddering reluctance, a year ago I resigned myself. You, dear mother, have practiced the fortitude that was becoming a spirit innocently smitten, and I never have a doubt that you will be securely supported, whatever is to be tide others. I go this morning feeling as if I would leave everything to God. He knows it, and I hope that he will point out to me my way. I have often

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sighed that I had not your hopefulness, knowing the wliift that such a feeling was vain and most probably sinful. As well might a raven complain because it was not made a dove. I try to believe that I have never wantonly hurt any person. My resentments, which you know have been strong, I think I have repressed and been content to leave redress for wrongs done to my family to the certain, inevitable retribution of Heaven, I could not tell you all that it has cost to put myself in such a "frame. I am talking to you with more freedom than for a long time past, because an epoch has come in my life which, cheerful as it leads you to feel, is to me full of solemnity. I am going to see Miss Susan Kelsey to-day, and, if she will, we shall speak to each other heart to heart. Another, the-main reason, why I thus talk with you is this: It may be that when we are to gether again I shall be subjected to a great temptation; I can't say that I fear it with very painful intensity. Three days ago I did. Meditation and other resorts that I am in the habit of consulting have brought calmness. Still, I do not feel entirely secure, and what I want of you is to pray for me often to-day. I don't say formally and to the laying aside of any of your accustomed work, but in the midst of it lift up petitions that if I am sorely tempted I may endure submissively. I know you will, my precious mother." .
He went to her and kissed her cheek reverently. " My darling Isaac!" she said with tears, " I can not imagine any temptation to come to you when in the presence of that dear girl except to be overjoyed at the thought of making her your wife. It is all that you need to get out of the gloom that has overshadowed you

294: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
so long. I look for you to come back bright as dear Jimmy was wlien lie returned with Emily's pledgdi?
He smiled sadly, then, without other word, went away. She was anxious, yet she believed that, scrupu lous as he had become, he was frightened with the ex cess of his delight in expectation of being about to realize what she knew to be the choicest wish of his life. Yet she was anxious, and during the rest of that day yearned like Monica over the beloved Augustine.
He rode along at his usual gait, stopping for a chat with one and another of his acquaintances whom he met, pleased even to thankfulness with the consideration which all loved to bestow upon him. To those who in quired whither he was journeying he answered directly, as if it were a matter of too little importance to lead him to shun the gratification of simple curiosity. As he drew near the end of his journey he diverged from the main road and went to the house that last had been occupied by his brother. A man named Ryals, who was the general overseer, now dwelt there with his family. It was near their hour for dinner, and Isaac was invited to partake of it. With the unstudied graciousness that had made him beloved of all in hum ble conditions, he answered:
" Thank you, Mr. Ryals, I will It occurred to me that, as I was on my way to the house beyond, I would ride by to see, and, with your good wife's permission, enter once again the house wherein my brother spent his last few months. You know how we all are about such things, Mr. Ryals."
" Cert'nly, Mr. Rountree, I know all about that. It's a pleasure to me to this day to go by where my father's

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295

father was shot down by the Injuns .when they was ascootin' acrost the 'Conee River; yes, sir; but one of our men see the varmint when he fired, and he up, he did, with his rifle, and he fotch him down in his same tracks. Somehow, I allays wished it have been me that done it, though that were onpossible, because it were many a year before I were even borned. Come in ; come in. You'll have to put up with pot-luck. But I know you ain't above poor folks, nor your brother weren't neither. Evybody set a heap o' stow by him. I were always sorry for the accident. It seem a pity they couldn't compermise."
Isaac entered, and saluted the wife with accustomed politeness. During the meal, in the intervals of chat ting with the hosts, he let his eyes wander about the room. After dinner he spent more than an hour walk ing around with Mr. Byals, and answering his many in quiries. At length said the latter:
" Miss Susan have been a rather a-expectin' you to come down for three or four days. I put a letter in the office she writ to you last last Saddy I think it were. Yes, it were last Saddy, as I went by thar on my way to the blacksmith-shop to have some scooters p'inted. I 'lowed you'd git it about a Monday, or may be not tell a Chuesday, and if so be, you'd come down a "We'nesday or a Thursday if it were convenant. She said it were on business about the prop'ty. I no doubts that you heern of Missis Kelsey a ap'intin' you as her eg'zector, and wiliin' you half what she left."
Aghast, Isaac stopped suddenly. " What do you say, Mr. Ryals ? Did Mrs. Kelsey bequeath any of her property to me ?"

296 TfiE PRIMES AND THEIB NEIGHBORS.
" Why, yes, sir, Mr. Rountree, I thought yon must a knowed it, else I'd a left it for Miss Susan to tell you. Why, cert'nly, Miss Susan told me so with her own mouth, I think it's been three weeks ago, and my wife say she told her that she were glad her mother have done it. For I do think she's jes the onselfishest and the finest young 'oman I ever see in my born days, and my wife say the same, make no odds who she is nor whar she live. And it's a monst'ous nice pieca o' prop'ty, and if the 'state owe ary single dollar, exceptin' for her ma's coffin, Miss Susan say she don't know it, and I got the money now to pay that the first time I come up with Jimmy Pullum, that he made it, and I don't know when I see a nicer coffin, which Miss Susan she jes would see to the tackin' on the cloth, inside and out, and she had it linded with satin that come out of her ma's weddin' frock, which Missis Kelsey have left them directions, and I never see a calmer nor a nicer corpse, and as for Miss Susan, I do think she were the whitest and beautifulest, which it seem to me she have jes come down from heaven to see her ma put away, and a-waitin' when the buryin' were over to go back. Yes, sir, Mr. Rountree, Missis Kelsey have left you half the prop'ty, well as 'pi'ntin' you eg'zector. No doubts about that, nor them."
" I bid you good-day, Mr. Ryals," said Isaac, who extended his hand before the man had finished his last speech. "Make my respects to your wife, if you please."
Remounting his horse, he rode slowly away. In stead of proceeding to the mansion, he, after brief de liberation, returned to the highway from which he had

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diverged. This added news seemed to have stunned him even more than the first. Several times he lifted his dry eyes toward heaven, as if appealing against what had befallen him so unexpectedly, and imploring guid ance. ' Then he cast them down as if he felt that both his appeal and his prayer had been made in vain. "When he had reached the highway he paused and, wheeling his horse several times, looked back toward his home and forward toward the house of the Kelseys. At last, turning in the direction of the latter, and tight ening the reins, he said in a loud voice:
"It has to be done, and the sooner the better." Then, spurring deep, he dashed furiously on until with in a few rods of the gate, when, reining in, he advanced at becoming pace.

XI.
SUSAN was looking for him with great longing. She knew more of his life than he had supposed. JS6ver distrusting the continuance of his passion, she pitied the sufferings endured by him in the long silence which peculiar conditions had imposed, and the more because of the gush with which the modestest woman, when one dear love has departed, accepts the return of another far sweeter. Anticipating his relief when told of the dying wish of her mother, she meant to ignore the em barrassment which both were to feel after so long ab sence, and let him see that now she had nothing but love to exhibit. When he alighted, she was standing

298 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
in the door with her companion, who immediately with drew into the house. When he had come within a few steps, she descended and advanced to meet him. Her white face was lit with pink, as, not quite steady in her step, she moved'with hands extended.
" O Isaac!" she said with trembling voice, " I am so glad to see you again!"
She quivered slightly as one of his cold hands took hers, and he looked sadly into her face. More embar rassed than she had expected to be, because of his con straint, she said:
"I rather looked for you to come sooner. Have you not been well 2"
"I've been well, Susan, but I could not get away until to-day."
Turning, she put herself by his side and they went into the house, he assisting her to ascend the steps as he would have done with any other woman. When they were seated, looking at her with sorrowful intensity, he asked about her health.
" I am quite well, Isaac, very well." Turning his eyes about the room he said: "Will our conversation be within hearing of any one else but ourselves? I ask on your account mainly. I have something to say that perhaps you might prefer that none others should hear. And you have some things to say to me, have you not ?" " Yes, when you have spoken yours and would like to hear them. Wait a moment, please." She arose and entered an adjoining chamber. Pres ently she returned, and, resuming her seat, said: "My friend who is staying with me has gone out of

THE PURSUIT OF THE MABTYNS.

299

the house, so has my maid, and neither will return un til I call."
She noted how he was remarking her sweet beauty, and in spite of some disappointment in his greeting her eyes shone with the happiness that the sight im parted.
" I haven't yet asked how are your mother and your brothers."
" Well, all well. Mother asked me to give you her love. She began upon another message, but, perhaps thinking it might embarrass me to deliver it along with the first, did not finish, but said I might tell you from her what I thought proper." He smiled faintly and added, " She loves you very much, as much,. I suspect, as she loved our sister Emily."
" It is very, very kind of her. I love her dearly." " I am glad to hear you say so, though I believed so. Dear mother has been needing all the support of that sort that she could get, and will so continue. I know that she will be much gratified when I report to her what you have said. I came down partly to confer with you about the business of which you wrote me; but mainly on another which concerns myself, at least, more nearly. I had wished and so intended to come to see your mother, and I think I would have done so, but that her decline was more rapid than I knew of. I had been hoping'to see you both together. It surprised me much to hear that I had been named executor of her will, but much more so an hour ago when, having come by the place where James and Emily lived, Mr. Uyals informed ine of the legacy which she had bequeathed to me."

300 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
" I don't know that either should have greatly sur prised you, Isaac."
" Did she know of the feeling that once I had de clared to have for you 2 If she did, of course she was obliged to know that it must have continued."
" She knew all that had ever passed between us. I told her of everything."
" You knew, I suppose, of her intended action in my behalf?"
" Certainly, and approved it cordially." " Then you knew also that the feeling I had for you yet remained." " I believed so, Isaac ; I hoped so." Quickly, as if to ignore her deeper blushing, he said: "It is true 1 have continued to love you, perhaps with increased earnestness, if such were possible." " My belief was founded upon knowing the persist ence of your character, not upon anything that I have seen or heard of your saying or doing. I hoped so, be cause after our last meeting I found that my feelings responded to yours entirely. In the confidence that necessarily rose between mother and myself after so many misfortunes, our hearts were opened to each other, and I reproached myself both for not having studied myself more carefully and for not sending for you and confessing what I felt." " O Susan, Susan, Susan!" he said, with sudden animation, " why did you not ? Why did you not un til now, when when " His voice quivered, and his eyes were moist with the emotion by which he was stirred.

THE FUBSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.

301

"But not yet, not quite yet! Your mother, then, would have approved our marriage ?"
" Yes, yes indeed. It had heen the great desire of her heart; but she never told me of it until after the death of Brother Morgan. She hoped that you would come to see her, assured that you must know how grate ful she was for your forbearance in circumstances so try ing. As you did not, she had planned to send for you, but it was then too late. Her very last words were an incomplete message to you.".
" What was it ? " he asked, quickly. " The words were, f Send for Isaac, and tell him I say ' I know what she would have said if her strength had not become exhausted." "Do you?" "Yes; she would have told you what I have just done. She would have thanked you, and, commending me to your love, exhorted us to endeavor to blot from our minds every unhappy recollection. She died in full belief that her wishes would be fulfilled." They sat in silence for several moments, looking at each other. She expected him to draw nearer and at least take her hand. Still, knowing his natural reserve, and bethinking of the things through which he had passed, she resolved to ignore the disappointment. Moving her chair closer, she took one of his hands in hers and said: " Isaac, I am very happy." He smiled sadly and said: " I suppose I ought to be, with my hand in the hand of my dearest love." " And are you not ?"

302 THE PEIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
She was leaning near, so near that he could feel her sweet breath. The pink on her cheeks had turned to the red of first conjugal passion. ~No newly made bride, sending her maids away and left alone with her bridegroom in bower, was ever more transported with fearful ecstasy. His eyes were filled with her loveli ness, and for a moment he looked as if he would be overcome tinder the excess of his emotion. Feebly he answered:
" Yes, I will allow to my heart this single brief in dulgence, and, looking upon you, feel that our separate beings have become one with all the blessings that im plies to a man wedded to such a woman. I yes, I think I am entitled to that much after what I have sac rificed. Susan, in your beauty, in all your beauty, I let my senses exult and be ravished in the sweetness of fruition. Be silent while in this frame I look "upon you."
Awed by words so sad and mysterious, the color, in spite of his longing gaze, began to fail from her cheeks as she sat still and silent. After some moments, turn ing away his face and sighing heavily, he said:
" There, that must do ; it is all! " Then he covered his face with his hands, and she saw the tears slowly coursing down. " Isaac!" now alarmed, she exclaimed. " Wait a moment, Susan. Please don't say anything to me yet." Yery soon withdrawing his hands, he rose, and with handkerchief drying his face, said, as if resign edly: " It is over. Now I can say what I came to say."

THE PURSUIT OF THE MARTYNS.

3Q3

N
Resuming the seat, which he had removed some what farther apart, in a calm tone he continued thus :

" Susan, my dear child, I want you to remain silent

while I tell you some things which you must know. When about to leave home to-day I said to mother that I should be subjected to a sore temptation, and I asked

her to pray earnestly that I might endure it. I have

not a doubt that she has been doing so, often with words, in spirit continuously. The temptation has been more trying than I had foreseen. The sight of you again, so completely fashioned for all the comforting

purposes of which I once dreamed, would otherwise have overturned me quite. I submit and I resign. To

a man of courage it is some support when he can do these in exigencies so extreme. And now, my beloved Susan, I want you to listen and be still until I have finished what I have to say. Do not interrupt me, I beg of you."

Pausing a moment, it seemed that he was intent upon framing the words in which to speak. Again he rose; his attitude was as of a lawyer entering upon the pleading of his one great cause.

" At the hands of your brother, my brother and his wife, your sister, met their death by what I have always believed a ruthless assassination. If such a thing were ever possible, that deed, humanly speaking, might have been condoned by your becoming my wife. If God had not forbidden, you would have been on that day,

the last time that until now I-have seen your face,

when, standing before me, you presented yourself an offering toward peace and reconciliation. Had you or

had I then known that you had, or were likely to have,

304: THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
the affection for me without which a man of honor dare not take to wife one even as fair and lovely as you are, we would have been joined before the going down of that day's sun. For I loved you then as I have loved you since, and as I love you now. It was not the will of God, and when you had gone I saw it as plainly as I saw your departing form. His fiat had gone forth as in the case of Joab and Shimei and many another, that upon the head of the slayer should return the blood of the innocent who were slain. Not even his oath which King David sware to Shimei could keep back the vengeance decreed of Heaven, nor could the very horns of the altar defend Joab, who had fallen upon those more righteous than he,, from the sword drawn by Solo mon to take away the innocent blood from himself and from the house of his father. Indeed, I will own to you, Susan, that after I had parted from you that day I soon came to believe that,- although you knew it not, your heart was beginning to respond to mine; for both James and Emily had so thought, and I could not think that a passion so ardent as that within my breast was without one pulsation of return. When I became con vinced of this I had no doubt, no shadow of doubt, of the vengeance that was to be wreaked for the slaughter of those innocents, and that by some member of my family. Heaven knows how I prayed that if it must come it might .come from some other source! I feared not my brothers, but I did fear Thomas Wyrick,- and more, William Martyn. In either case there would have been another assassination, which, prompted by human resentment, could not b\ innocent before Heaven, and therefore it would turn its wrath upon my mother's

THE PURSUIT OP THE MARTYNS.

305

house. O Susan! in the midst of these tumults of my being, I wished a thousand times that I had taken you, even without the love which I so eagerly coveted. I tried to fly to you and say, * Come, let us flee far, far away,' but my feet would not bring me. Sometimes I have felt as if I were a dead man upon the earth."
He paused, almost breathless from the emotion into which he had been wrought, and walked several times forth and back before the fireplace. Susan sat appalled as, without looking, but extending his hand toward her, he warned her to continued silence. Again standing, he proceeded:
" The end came. I knew it was coming as soon as I was told of the expected gathering at Mr. Burge's on that Christmas-eve. Does it not seem strange that joy ous beginnings of new seasons are marked often with retribution to offenders of the old? How often a young king, newly come to the throne, marks his ac cession by slaughter among the enemies of his father's dynasty! How past finding out are these ways of Di vine Providence! At the very hour when the glad day was about to begin, when pleasant dreamings were visit ing young children and the innocent, the end came! The public suspected William Martyn. The pain I suf fered from that suspicion was, of its kind, most intense; yet that, like the rest, was unavoidable. He was ac quitted. Then people's minds went and they are now in pursuit of his servant. If he is ever found and brought back to trial he also will be found not guilty, for he is as innocent as his master. There is but one person upon the earth that knows who fired that shot. His name, written by his own hand, upon a paper
20

306 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
which ever since that eventful night I have been carry ing in my pocket, is "
Susan sprang to her feet and backed as if she would retreat from a fiery serpent. It was only a step. The instant after, rushing to him, she put her hand upon his lips and swooned upon his breast. Lifting her in his arms, he bore her to a lounge near by, and kneeling down, took both her hands in his, and several times eagerly kissed her lips. When her consciousness re turned she rose into a sitting posture, and, as if not aware of his presence, lifting upward her eyes and out stretching her hands, moaned:
"O good God! And was I to endure this last, also? Brother, sister, again a brother, mother, and now one whom I have loved more than all must I lose him also \ "
" Yes, spotless lamb, yes! Beyond human ken, the divine economy often puts expiation for wrong-doings upon the innocent. Yet this it is by which so many lives have been sacrificed, and "
" Isaac !" she cried, rising to her feet, and extending her hand as if with authority irresistible, " give me that paper I"
Taking it from his breast pocket, he handed it to her. It was in a sealed envelope which was addressed to her. Rushing to the fire she threw it upon the blaz ing wood. In it had been written a circumstantial ac count of the killing of Morgan Kelsey. The slayer had used the disguise in order to cast upon "William Martyn a suspicion that he knew would be removed in time. He implored and claimed his pardon for having to re sort to duplicity, which in the circumstances seemed to

THE PURSUIT OP THE MARTYNS.

,307

him unavoidable. He pleaded full justification for the act, which had been committed without any feeling of revenge, but as a reluctant instrument of Divine Provi dence, whose intent was thus mercifully to forefend its vindictive perpetration by one or another of the kins men of his brother; that in submission to be thus em ployed he had sacrificed all his hopes of earthly happi ness, one of which had been second only, if indeed second, to the hope of heaven. This admission, as he named it, he declared to have been made in order, in case of his own death, to secure from punishment any who might be charged with the homicide. It was written and signed in his well-known bold hand.
After the destruction of the paper Susan came back. He had risen from the floor and was sitting upon a chair. Standing before him, she said:
" Isaac, God knows, and so do you, that I would rather have died the most painful death than lived to hear the disclosure which I hindered you from com pleting. And now, even now, such is the love I have for you, that if you were to demand of me to marry you I would not have strength to resist, notwithstanding the foresight that both of us would have that nothing but curses and misery could follow such a union. Isaac, torn thus asunder as utterly as if one of us were dead, I, as if I -were your wife, make of you a demand for compliance with which I want a promise as binding as human words and oaths can make it. Will you give it? I have a right to command it of you. If you refuse, I will be your wife, and take the curses and the miseries! Like the ruined women of Judah foretold by the prophet, who, eating their own bread and wearing

308 THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
their own apparel, seized upon a man, beseeching only to be called by his name to take away their reproach, I will cling to you by day and by night, only to keep your lips sealed above that deed, the wretchedest of all! Do you promise?"
Advancing one foot, she looked as if she were awaiting his answer before springing upon him.
" I know what you would ask, Susan," he answered, calmly looking up, the expression upon his face show ing that he was sustained by the consciousness of hav ing overcome in the fiery struggle through which he had combated, " and I will give the promise, upon a condition which you must admit to be necessary to make full security against harm to the innocent in any possible contingency."
" Yes," she said, smiling bitterly, " you know what promise I seek, and that now the last anxiety of my heart is of danger to you."
"That," he answered with something like disdain, "I've never ^given a thought to, except partly for mother's sake, chiefly for yours. To me the hangman's rope has no more terror than the paltriest, playfulest fetter of a little child. If I believed that it was the supplementary part of what God has demanded of me, I would yes, Susan Kelsey, now when I have lost you I would accept it thankfully, and upon the scaffold hang it as a garland or a chain of gold around my neck. But I have not so read my commission. Heaven seemed as if it would spare, to you two especially, such a humilia tion. Therefore I promise that I will not disclose to any other what I have done before you, unless for the purpose which I have indicated; but this is with the

THE PURSUIT OF THE MAETYNS.

309

proviso that, in case of my death, you will do for my
memory what you forbid me to do before for myself." "This I solemnly promise. Indeed, I would be so
bound without a promise." Both knew that they dared not delay the separation.
They neither joined hands nor spoke a parting word. Taking his hat, he bowed low; then, leaving the house and walking rapidly to the gate, he remounted and gal loped away. When he reached the public thorough fare, letting down the fence on the farther side, he passed into the adjoining woods. Through these and others and through fields he traveled slowly until he reached his home long after the rest had retired for the night Taking his horse to the stable he gave it food and currying, then repaired noiselessly to his chamber. The next morning, when they went to call him to break fast, he answered so incoherently that his mother, re pairing to him in haste, and seeing his flushed face, ran' back and sent for a physician. On his arrival he at once decided that Isaac had fever of the brain. He spoke not except to call often the name of Susan, and implore her to remember the promise which she had given him. In the afternoon, at his mother's request, John rode down in order to ascertain, if possible, from Susan wliatever might lead to discovery of the cause of so sudden prostration. She made haste to return with the messenger, and, when arrived, begged that she might go in to Isaac alone. Entering, she advanced to his bed, kneeled upon the floor, took his hand, and said:
" Howdye, Isaac ? I heard you were sick, and came to see you."
Looking at her for a moment, he turned his head

THE PRIMES AND THEIR NEIGHBORS.
slowly away. This was done several times, as if fur tively. At last lie said:
" Susan, I I forget. Have you been here all the time ? I all thought you had gone away somewhere and left me left me by myself, and that you forgot forgot "
" No, no, darling, I am here." " You promised, you know, Susan." " That I did, and I will perform with the help of God!" " That's right. That's all all right." He lay thus for a week, never recovering his under standing, yet always, when awake, following Susan with his eyes. She watched and tended him most of all, lying, when obliged to sleep, upon a bed that had been placed near by. One day, after he had been looking at her with much fondness as she sat upon the bed near him, he said: " Susan, they told me that you would kiss me to-day." " That I will, my beloved, that I will! I will kiss you now, if you want me." He slowly raised his hand. She bent toward it, and when it had touched her cheek it fell heavily back by his side. Then she kissed him, and, laying herself down with her arm across his breast, mourned with the mourn ing of a widow. In her breast his secret was to lie as still as it lay in his grave.
THE END.

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43. COUNTESS LORELEY. From the German of RUDOLF MBHGEB.
"An exciting novel, the scene of which is laid principally in Germany just before and after the Franco-Prussian War. The characters, which embrace be sides the two principal ones a Breton duelist, a lion-hearted Englishman, a Russian diplomat, and others, are presented in a spirited manner." .Boston Gazette.
44. BLIND LOVE. By WILKIK COLLWS. With a Preface by WALTER BESANT.
This posthumous novel was unfinished at the time of Mr. Collins's death, although in coarse of serial publication. By means of the ample notes left by the author, Mr. Besant was enabled to complete it along the lines laid down by the author. "The plot of the novel," says Mr. Beeant."every scene, every situation, from beginning to end, is the work of Wilkie Collins."
45. THE DEAN'S DAUGHTER. By SOFHIB F. F. VEITCH.
"The passages in U which deal with the morally distorted and tragr_ic- pa.s..s_i_o.n_ of Vera Dormer recall to some extent the vanished hand of the author oi f'Jane Eyre.'" The Academy.
46. COUNTESS IRENE. A Romance of Austrian Life. By J. FOOKRTT.
" This is a charming story, interesting and moweemente, with some highly dramatic incidents. . . . The pictures of Viennese life and manners are admira ble, and the descriptions of Austrian country-house life amid the magnificent scenery of the Salzkammergnt are most attractive." Westminster Review.
12mo, paper cover. Price, 5O cents each.
New York: D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1,3, & 5 Bond Street.

Appletons' Town and Country Library.
47. ROBERT BROWNING'S PRINCIPAL SHORTER POEMS.
Browning was so voluminous a writer that his complete works are practically in accessible to many readers. The present collection includes everything by which he is best known, except the dramas and very long poems.
48. FROZEN HEARTS. A Romance. By G. WEBB APPIETON.
"A. well-laid plot, strong characters, and striking situations, give the story an absorbing interest throughout.1' Baltimore American,
"it is a clever, well-written, interesting story of Paris in the earlier days of the Orleans succession, rich in Waterloo, the Napoleonic and Bourbon reminiscence, and as clean as clever French authors can make the same subjects unclean." Brooklyn Eagle.
49. DJAMBEK THE GEORGIAN. A Tale of Modern Turkey. Prom the German of Ton Suttner, by H. M. JEWETT.
A romance in a new field, affording some novel pictures of life, social and political, Interwoven with and subordinated to a stirring and romantic love-story.
" -Djambek the Georgian 1 strikes us as altogether a spirited and probablyfaithful presentation of conditions which existed prior to the last Busso-Turkish War, and which have certainly been changed for the better since then, though not through Turkish reforms of any kind." New York Tribune.
50. THE CRAZE OF CHRISTIAN ENGELHART. By HESBT FAULK NER DARNELL.
" A novel of more than ordinary quality and strength is ' The Craze of Christian Engelhart.' It is marked by vigorous action, original types of character, and a mystic atmosphere enveloping some of the most remarkable passages. As an in tellectual effort it deserves high praise." New York Sun.
61. LAL. By WILLIAM A. HAMHOXD, M. D.
* It possesses the great merit of being interesting from beginning to end. The characters are striking, and several of them have an element of originality ; the in cidents are abundant and effective." Neu> York Tribune.
62. ALINE. A Novel. By HENRY GREVILLK.
63. JOOST AVELINGH. A Dutch Story. By MAARTEN MAARTENS.
"No novel superior to this has appeared in the Town and Country Ubrary, of which it is No 53. ... The story surprises the notion readers of the world. . . . The story at times rises into the intense, and descends at last into the ' vale of peace. . . . The story is realistic in a very high degree, and is beautiful as a picture of Holland with its life and politics. ... To read the story is like passing through all kinds of dangerous roads, with storms, precipices, and raging streams, to come out at last upon a high, central table-land where the sun shines in beauty, the air is full of charm, and the soul dwells in safety and high endeavor for evermore." Public Opinion.
12mo, paper cover. Price, 5O cents each.
New York: D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 3, & 6 Bond Street.

Apple-tons' Town and Country Ltbrtury.
64. KATY OF CATOCTIN; or, The Cham-Breakers. By GEORQB ALFRED TOWNSEND.
" I think the historical value of' Katy of Catoctin' is great and permanent" The Hon. JAMKS G. BLAINB.
" Katy is a beautiful character, and as a heroine preserves her piety, sincerity, and pure and loving nature to the cad." Brooklyn Eagle.
"Much that passes for authentic history is not more literally true than this novel, and is certainly not half as readable." Journal of Commerce.
65. THROCKMORTON. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
u The plot of the story is excellent-^full of quick turns and surprises. .. . The way in Which Judith fulls in love with the hero, notwithstanding the uncanny barrier that lies between the two, and the way that barrier disintegrates and fades away, in the end, is well worked out, and in a fashion to charm ail who believe that the course of true love ought, at least, to run smooth." The Commercial Advertiser.
"Taken as a whole, it is an entertaining picture of Southern family life, and as such recommends itself to lovers of romance, and is an excellent addition to Appletons' Town and Country Library." The Springfield Republican,
66. EXPATRIATION. A Novel. By the author of " Aristocracy."
u This skit on the bad manners of the titled Briton and his American imitator is animated and biting. . . . The story will have a short h'fe and a merry one; and it deuerves commendation in so far as it preaches a sturdy Americanism and ridicules the Anglomaniac's effort to seem other than he is." The New York Tribune.
"'Expatriation 1 . . . is a bright and clever novel by an author whose former work attracted considerable attention for its bitin?, sometimes almost violent satire. It is a book which somehow carries on its face testimony that convinces us that its satire U deserved, and so it makes us blush for ourselves." The Chicago limes.
67. GEOFFREY IIAMPSTEAD. A Novel By THOMAS S. JAEVIS.
"There are so many vivid pictures in 'Geoffrey Hampstead' . . . that it is hard to pick out a chief one among them in the matter of narrative, emphasis, or of tragic force; and, after all the passages of intenser character have been considered, it is still difficult to determine whether they are not all made secondary by the great interest of the philosophical discussions in which this strong and versatile book abounds." The New York Sun.
"'Geoffrey Hampstsad' ... is a novel of much ingenuity and force. While it is a story of incident, it presents several keen, analytic studies of character also, and the novelist makes the incident illustrate the characters without going into lung, tiresome analysis and description." The Chicago Times.
68. DMITRL By F. W. BAIN, M. A.
"The story of thejmpostor Dmitri, the wandering monk who learned soldiering from the Cossacks of the Dnieper, and, pretending to be the son of Ivan the Terrible, overthrew Boris and Feodor Godrunoff, and reigned for a while in their stead, is one of the most remarkable chapters in Kussian history, and might well be taken as the framework of an historical novel." The Saturday Seeiew.
"He has got a capital subject the story of the false Czar and he has treated it with freshness and spirit. 'Dmitri 1' is a decidedly promising first effort." The Athenaeum.
12mo, paper cover. Price, SO cents each.
New York: D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 8, & 6 Bond Street

Appletons' Town and Country Lfbr&ry,
69. PART OF THE. PROPERTY. By the author of "The Awakening of Mary Fenwick," BEATRICE WHITBY.
"The romance ia pleasingly developed, and certain scenes are described with un common skill. The story is entertaining throughout, and shows marks of consci entious workmanship." --Boston Transcript.
"' Part of the 1'roperty' is a clever and interesting1 English novel. . . . The dia logue is sprightly and natural, and the plot well sustained." Providence Journal.
" The author is a woman of world-wide knowledge and esprit. She has written one of the cleverest of recent English novels that have lately been reprinted in this country." Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.
" It is not for a moment contended that Miss Whitby is entitled as yet, at any rate to take equal rank with Mr. Uowells. . . . Still, there is resemblance enough between the two writers to justify a comparison."--London Academy.
60. BISMARCK IN PRIVATE LIFE. By A Fjxtow SIUDMTT. Au thorized Translation. With Portraits.
" Although European history has been lull of Bismarck for mote than a quarter of a century, and many books have been written about the power behind the German throne, this . . . volume of anecdote and personal description will probably be more read than the ablest essay on the political life of the man of blood and iron." New York Herald.
"A very readable book. . . . The passages relating to Bismarck's social, diplo matic, and administrative powers are equally "interesting." Brooklyn Eagle.
* A. delightful book of anecdotes and reminiscences." Newark Advertiter. "The book will no doubt be one of great popularity, and will be often alluded to and quoted from." Indianapolis Sentinel. ' The general interest fa Bismarck's personality will Insure & welcome for this enterprising book." Minneapolis Tribune,
61. IN LOW RELIEF. A Tale of Bohemia. By MORLEY ROBBBTS. A story of life among the younger artists and literary men of London. "The effect produced by the heroine is also something to be remarked. She can
hardly be described, tor she creates her own atmosphere, moves in it, and carries it with her from studio to studio. But to discern how modest, pure, and charming a woman may be, even without the ordinary conventions and safeguards which society imposes, the reader must go to the book itself." Philadelphia American.
"It is a strange story; strange for its absolute reparation from the ordinary world of men and women. ... It is fascinating for all this strangeness, and it is charmingly though sometimes brusquely written, and few reader* are likely Jo leave it unfinished." --Chicago Times.
"There is much beauty of sentiment in this eloquent little story, and the author has a delightful scorn for all sorts of individual meanness and social Wgotry; and to those whose habitual mental subsistence te English fiction ' In Low Belief5 will have a very welcome flavor of novelty." Boston Beacon.
12mo, paper cover. Price, ISO cents each.
New York: D. APPLBTON & CO., Publishers, 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.

62. THE CANADIANS OF OLD. An Historical Romance. AUBKKT DE GASPE. Translated by CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS.

"... The product of a happy and graceful leisure. . . . A most picturesque and vivid epitome of life among the Seigneurs and habitant of the Dominion in the Jast century. The narrative, while swift, direct, and exciting, digresses here and there into fascinating cross channels of highly colored tradition, and lingers among the eddies of the now pathetic and inspiring songs of the old Canadian patriots . . . full of dra matic episodes. Stories of adventures with the Indians, of adventures of the chase, of adventures by water, and of adventures on land, abound throughout the book . . . a ^ascinating book a book which, thooeh new to the United States, has long teeo ea eemed a classic in Canada." New York Tribune.

' . . . A book which may be read with interest anywhere for its pictures of art less, homely characters and of scenes' which have passed away." New York Herald.

" It is not only a careful and instructive historical sketch, . . . but a graphic, inter* eating, and vivaciously written romance as well. It abounds in stirring scenes by flood and field, and also in humorous colloquy." --Brooklyn Eagle.

" A story that reproduces the life of a past era with a picturesque accuracy that to

fairly fascinating" Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.

,

" A treasure-house of legendary lore, while at the name time it appeals to the dull est fancy by the vivacity of its style and the romantic glow." Boston Beacon.

"This Canadian classic, . . . containing pictures of life in the olden time delight

fully painted." Buff(do Courier.

" A book not only of interest, bat of value." San Francisco Bulletin.

63. A SQUIRE OF LOW DEGREE. By LILT A. LONG.
' " A very pretty love story, related with marked skill and in a graceful literary stylethat wins the reader at the very outset and exerts its charm to the end. The senti ment of the story is refined, the characters are admirably drawn and contrasted, and the bright and unconventional spirit that animates the narrative throughout makes the book especially pleasant reading.'1 Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
" A tale of absorbing interest. The dialogue is bright and crisp, and the dramatic situations very intense and exceedingly original"--Philadelphia Item.
"A most interesting book." Buffalo Commercial, " A powerfully written story. . . . Miss Long has too much latent ability to rest after writing this one novel. She will be heard from again." Minneapolis Journal. "A touching and interesting story." Charleston News. u Miss Long sees with her own eyes, and she has not even borrowed a microscope from any master's workshop; she speaks with her own voice, and there is no trick of expression or plot of which the reader can say that it reminds him of any other hand, ... It U a good proof of the. sueeess of the story that it srows more and more intereating toward the end; . . . moreover, it is thoroughly wholesome, and leaves an im pression of pure air and clear skies." St. Paul Pioneer-Press.
"' A Squire of Low Degree 1 is a title chosen for a most interesting book." Boston Traveller.
"This interesting story relates how the fanner's son, 'The Squire of Low Degree,1 working his way upward, proved himself by his noble self-sacrifice and magnanimity one of nature's noblemen,11 Providence Journal.

12mo, paper cover. Price, BO cents each. New York: D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 8, & 5 Bond Street

64. A. FLUTTERED DOVECOTE. By GKOROK MAHVHJUC FMJS. With Illustrations by GORDON BROWNS.
" ... Is a clever little etory. Any one with an eye for the ludicrous, and an appreciation for the artistic in light story-telling, will get a great deal of enjoyment oat of its pages."-- Chicago Times.
" The book is thoroughly enjoyable in the reading." Bogfon Saturday Even ing Gazette.
"The book ia written in a sprightly vein, and contains numerous amusing incidents." Sugfo.i Herald.
" Of course, a love adventure forms part of the tale, and the whole ia fasci natingly told.'.' Ohio State Journal.
"The book is illustrated, and will find many appreciative readers." .Boston Traveller.
' George Manville Fenn is one of the happiest of English novelists. His stories almost seem to tell themselves. One would almost suspect him of being a woman on reading ' A Fluttered Dovecote ' ; it would scarcely appearpossible for a man to so naturally picture the goings-on at a fashionable girls* boarding-school."
Tolato Sowing Bee.
65. THE NUGENTS OF CARRICONNA. An Irish Story. By TIGOT
HOPKINS.
4VThe Nugents of Csrriconna' . . . is an extremely racy Irish story, . . . and one of the best things of the kind for several years/' Springfield Republican.
'"The Nugents of Carriconna,' . . . an Irish Story, ... is among the most anjoyable novels of the season." Chicago Inter- Ocean.
"This is a thoroughly good tale of Irish life. The character studies are eicellent." Philadelphia Ledger.
" . . . Is a charming book, not only in its bright and interesting plot and Its lifelike characters, but in the refreshing naturalness and crisp literary style, that set it apart from the bulk of fiction that pours from the press in an endless stream. Its tone is refined. . . . The animation of the story never flags, its humor is fine, and its pathos sweet and true. We have not read a more attractive novel for many a day." Boston Saturday Everting Gazette.
" . . .One of the best Irish stories that we ever read." -.Boston Borne Journal. "It is a novel well worth reading. The author's style is of an order both fascinating and profitable to the reader. Mr. Hopkins has the true kind of wit and a good deal of it."--Boston Times. " One of the most attractive books of the season. "--Boston Traveller. " A very fresh and humorous story." Pall Matt Gazette. "Host of the people in the bock are human, natural, and individual to an un common degree, and their talk is like them." The Athenaeum.
66. A SENSITIVE PLANT. A New Novel. By E. AMD D. GEBAUD, Joint authors of "Reata," " The Waters of Hercules," etc.
12mo, paper oover. Price, SO oens each.
New York: D. APFLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 8, ,5 Bond Street