Mothering on Perilous Part 21

"Explain yourself," I said.

"I heared the Cheevers had set the fence back, and went over, and there it was, built good and strong, on our land. I knowed I couldn't do nothing myself; but I said, 'This will wake Blant; he will break prison and come back to us now, like I been a-begging him. He can clean out the jail and make his escape in ten seconds with his forty-five.' So I got it, and brung it over, and tuck it down to the jail this evening at the time I knowed Joe would begin to take the boys off to their cells for the night. I never went in, but talked to Blant at the window, and told him the Cheevers had the fence sot up, and how bad everything was at home. Then Joe he begun to take the boys off, and soon as he turnt his back, I slipped the forty-five through the bars to Blant. 'Shoot him down when he comes back,' I says, 'and take the keys and run out,--it haint no trouble at all!' Blant he sort of jumped when he seed it; then he heared Joe a-coming, and turnt around with his back again' the window, 'Joe,' he says, solemn, 'you and t'other boys here never believed me when I said I had shot my last shoot,--you thought I was just a-talking. Now I will prove it to you. Nucky here has just brung me word that the Cheevers has sot up the fence on our land again; he has begged me to make my escape and settle 'em; he has also brung me the means of doing it. Joe,' he says, 'when you stepped in the door there, I could have shot you dead with my forty-five.' He stepped aside from the window, where the pistol was laying. 'Take it, Joe,' he says, 'I refuse to touch it; I have shot my last shoot!' Joe come acrost the room white as a sheet. 'That's mighty fair of you, Blant,' he says, putting it in his pocket; 'you held my life in your hand.' 'If it was the life of my worst enemy,--if it was all the Cheevers put together--it would be the same,' says Blant; 'I am cured of killing; Rich's death has showed me the terribleness of it; I shoot no more!' And then seemed like I would choke if I looked at him another minute, and I run off. And now nothing haint no use,--Blant's lost his senses, and nothing can't bring him to 'em!" Again he beat the floor despairingly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Take it, Joe, I refuse to touch it, I have shot my last shoot!'"]

"So far from losing his senses," I said, "he has just come to them. It took the terrible death of his friend to show him the sacredness of human life, and the worthlessness of pride, freedom, or land in comparison with it. This is hard for you to understand, Nucky; but be sure that this evening Blant has done the greatest, most heroic act of his life."

The storm of disappointment and anger was too great, however; it continued to sweep him until he heard the boys coming and hurried away to bed.

XXVII

TRANSFORMATION

_Wednesday._

Sad news again from Trigger about the babe. "Nothing but a pitiful little pa.s.sel of bones," said the mail-boy; "purely dying for lack of Blant."

Blant's refusal to use his gun last night has spread abroad, and creates great excitement. "Trojan fotch him his revolver and he wouldn't tech it or use it," is the talk flying about among the boys. "Aiming to let the Cheevers keep his land." "Done give up the war." "Haint going to make no effort to break prison." "Never heared tell of no hero doing such a way!" "Achilles wouldn't," "Nor Hector, neither." Evidently they feel bitter disappointment. They do not dare show it before Nucky, however, or even broach the subject in his presence. I called them in to-night and talked to them about the superiority of moral courage to physical,--with, I fear, no great result. How terribly true are Paul's words, "First the natural man, then"--after what awful birth-pangs, sometimes as cruel as those Blant is experiencing!--"the spiritual".

_Sat.u.r.day._

More and more distressing accounts of the babe. "Minervy Saxby says it won't hold out till the trial." "Just lays and pines and moans." "You can count every bone in its body". Poor Blant! When he hears this, as he certainly will, will he regret that he did not use the revolver? The trial is only ten days off; but if the two-years' penitentiary sentence is to follow, as everybody says it will, there will be no chance whatever for the babe--even a two-weeks' sentence would be too long. I had hoped that Blant's refusal to use his gun on the keeper might turn the tide of public sentiment in favor of an acquittal; but that seems not to be so much as thought of. Nucky has apparently lost all hope and courage, and goes about in miserable, despairing silence. Probably it is as well for him that he is to leave school the end of next week and shoulder the hard work and heavy responsibilities at home,--action may relieve his suffering of mind. But it is harder than I can say for me to let him go, and to know that I am giving him up for at least two years,--probably forever. Indeed, when I think of the whole situation,--the desperate condition of the Marrs family, the dying state of the babe, the tragedy of a boy of Nucky's wonderful promise having to give up schooling and bow his shoulders under a man's burden at twelve years old, I am tempted to wish that in some way, not of bloodshed, Blant could have managed to escape.

_Thursday._

Marbles is still in full sway,--I have never seen the boys so fascinated by any game,--they spend at least three-fourths of their playtime making money to buy marbles to play with the other fourth,--for they continue to lose incredible numbers of them. I gave Jason a dime to buy his tenth set to-day.

Geordie informed me as he started to bed a few minutes ago that he had enough money laid by now to take that trip to Virginia this summer and see his mother and the world and the railroad-train. In spite of his talents, I wonder that he has managed to get that much together.

Vacation is just a little over a month distant now, and Keats and Hen are already making great plans as to the work they will perform for Nervesty during the summer, and all the others who have homes are looking forward eagerly. A few,--all my motherless ones, I hope--will remain here with me to attend to the gardening during the summer. I had of course planned for Nucky to stay with me; but pain takes the place of the pleasure I had antic.i.p.ated.

_First Sunday in April._

To-day Philip was a living monument to the transforming power of love.

Very clean, very much combed and brushed and collared and tied, with a large handkerchief, soaked in my cologne, held prominently in one hand, and an expression as decorous and pious as any ever achieved by Geordie Yonts, he sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction of his thoughts being indicated by an occasional ardent glance across the aisle, where Dilsey, fairer, more saint-like than ever, kept serious eyes on the preacher. As I looked, I asked myself, Can this be the boy who a few short months ago declined to perform the most rudimentary rites of the toilet, gloried in tatters, declared that "when a man steps in the door, looks flies up the chimley", denominated "polite" a "lick-spittle", a.s.serted that he would rather take off his hat to a cow than a woman, and p.r.o.nounced the story of his chivalric namesake a "slander"?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction of his thoughts indicated by an occasional ardent glance across the aisle."]

This afternoon, however, came the grand climax. After the dish-was.h.i.+ng, the cottage boys and ten wash-girls came quietly over to the cottage yard and seated themselves on back steps and walk. As Hen ran through to join them I inquired, "What's going on?"

"Philip he's aiming to give a treat, and done axed all us boys and wash-girls to it," he replied in an astonished voice, hurrying on. I, too, remembering the consistent selfishness following upon the declaration that "generous never put no bread in my belly", was astonished. A few moments later I stepped to the open window and looked out upon a surprising scene. Philip, as suave, knightly and beautiful as his famous namesake could ever have been in the days when he sighed for Stella and all other women for him, was pa.s.sing around a large "poke" of crackers, and another of brown sugar, and saying with graceful flourishes and insistent politeness,

"Eat all you can, now, everybody,--I got more still when you git through this. There, Jason, wait till the girls is helped,--ladies first, son,--haint you got no manners? Take some, Nancy, eat a-plenty, Rosabel, don't hold back, Narcissa, here's a good lump, Dilsey. Now, boys, pitch in,--you little fellows, Iry, Hen, Jason, take your pick first,--the big boys waits till after you,--I don't aim to see you run over. Don't be afeared, take all you need! Now Taulbee, Killis, Hose, Keats, everybody,--dive in! Just eat all you can hold, and fill up your bel--stummicks. I love to see folks eat and enjoy theirselves. No thank you, I wouldn't choose none myself,--'druther see the rest eat! I spent thirty cents on them crackers, and thirty-five on that 'ere sugar,--dag gone, I reckon a man't works hard for his money's got the right to spend it to suit him! Some folks haint fitten to live,--wants to eat up all they git theirselves; but I like to pa.s.s around mine, I do,--it makes me happy. What's the use of livin' if you can't make folks see a good time? Gee-oh, I aim to make me a big grain of money this summer, so's I can give a treat onct a month come next school; and I want every man-jack of you, and ladies too, to come every time. Dad burn ole Heck, generous never ruint n.o.body!"

Almost unable to believe my eyes and ears, I stood, murmuring to myself, "And they say the day of miracles is past!"

Nucky alone was absent from the feast, visiting Blant. On his return, there was a surprising change in his demeanor. He appeared to have shed several years of age and care, played boisterously about the yard, got into two or three fights, and a short while after we began reading to-night leaped from his chair to the table, where he executed a wild war-dance. All of which distressed me not a little, and seemed perfectly unaccountable. The thought that he was sitting beside me, and leaning his head on my shoulder, for probably the last time, was eating into my heart; and his carelessness of the fact hurt me deeply. But of course parting means little to the very young.

XXVIII

"KEEPS"

_Tuesday._

Going to the village on an errand after breakfast, when I reached the deep mudholes where we always have to walk the fence some distance, I was delighted to see a gang of men at work on the road, and to recognize in them Blant and the other prisoners. They were picking the shale from the mountain side, and shovelling it into the bottomless holes, and all, save Blant, were hilariously happy to be out in the spring suns.h.i.+ne and fresh air, and talked gaily with me and other pa.s.sers-by, the keeper, who leaned on his rifle, entering amiably into the conversation. He says that every spring the prisoners are brought out to work on the roads,--that it does them good, and the county too. I had not seen Blant for quite a while. It seemed to me that the sadness and sternness of his face were a little relaxed, and I rejoiced to know that time was doing something toward making his sorrow for Rich less poignant. I hope that the news I had Sat.u.r.day about the babe,--that it is nothing but a feather, and must soon blow away--has not reached him.

_Wednesday Night._

For two days the boys, especially Nucky, have made every excuse to run down the road and exchange words with the road-gang, who continue to work toward us. These frequent glimpses of Blant seem to maintain Nucky's spirits at the same high pitch manifested Sunday. While I am in the lowest depths over losing him in three more days, and while it seems to me his grief over Blant's trial and probable departure for Frankfort next week, and the almost certain loss of the babe, should hang more heavily than ever upon him, he is out shouting at marbles, or chasing the other boys about,--indeed, I never saw him in such spirits.

_Thursday Night._

Nucky brought in word to-day that the mudholes are nearly filled, and the prisoners are preparing to-morrow to blast out rock and widen the road at the narrow place where our school-grounds begin.

What was my pained astonishment when, in the afternoon, the heads sent for me and said, "We have just heard down in the village that this school is a notorious gambling-place; that the boys do nothing but play keeps; and that some of yours are the ringleaders."

After supper I called the twelve around the sitting-room table, and laid the matter before them. "To think," I said, "that you could deceive me in this way, and play this game for more than six weeks when you have been told over and over that all gambling is forbidden here! Now, are you all guilty, or is there by chance one who has had the self-respect and moral courage not to play?"

All heads hung limp except Geordie's. Both his head and his hand went up. "I never," he said, "I haint toch my hand to a game of keeps this whole school."

"Thank heaven," I said, surprised but grateful.

But Taulbee was slowly rising in his chair, eyes glued on Geordie, finger pointing. "'F you never played no keeps, where'd you git all them marvles you been a-selling us right along?" he demanded.

"I made 'em," replied Geordie.

"I know you made 'em at first, in that mill we broke up for you under the stable-lot fence. But you sold all them out the first week,--I seed you sell the last. Where'd you get t'others you been selling sence? I bought four sets off of you, and Philip six, and Killis and Keats about nine apiece, and Jason I reckon a dozen, and all the rest of the boys and the day-schools has been running to you a month, and sweating to get money to pay you for marvles. Where'd they come from?"

"Did you ever see me play ary keep this school?" inquired Geordie.

"Don't know as I did; but I seed you hangin' round all the time."

Geordie turned to Philip: "Didn't you see me git beat every time I played last summer?" he inquired.

"Yes, I did," replied Philip.