Sonny, a Christmas Guest Part 11

It does make me see clairer, I vow it does, either the nutmeg or the sperit, one.

There's Sonny's step, now. I can tell it quick ez he sets it on the back steps. Sence I'm sort o' laid up, Sonny gits into the saddle every day an' rides over the place an' gives orders for me.

Come out here, son, an' shake hands with the doctor.

Pretty warm, you say it is, son! An' th' ain't nothin' goin' astray on the place? Well, that's good. An', doc', here, he says thet his bill for this visit is a unwarranted extravagance 'cause they ain't a thing I need but to start on the downward way thet leads to ruin. He's got me all threatened with the tremens now, so thet I hardly know how to match my p.r.o.nouns to suit their genders an' persons. He's give me fully a tablespoonful o' the reverend stuff in one toddy. I tell him he must write out a prescription for the gold cure an' leave it with me, so's in case he should drop off befo' I need it, I could git it, 'thout applyin'

to a strange doctor an' disgracin' everybody in America by the name o'

Jones.

Do you notice how strong he favors _her_ to-day, doctor?

I don't know whether it's the toddy I've took thet calls my attention to it or not.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "When I set here by myself on this po'ch so much these days an' think."]

She always seemed to see me in him--but I never could. Far ez I can see, he never taken nothin' from me but his sect--an' yo' name, son, of co'se. 'Cep'in' for me, you couldn't 'a' been no Jones--'t least not in our branch.

Put yo' hand on my forr'd, son, an' bresh it up'ards a few times, while I shet my eyes.

Do you know when he does that, doc', I couldn't tell his hand from hers.

He taken his touch after her, exact--an' his hands, too, sech good firm fingers, not all plowed out o' shape, like mine. I never seemed to reelize it tell she'd pa.s.sed away.

That'll do now, boy. I know you want to go in an' see where the little wife is, an' I've no doubt you'll find her with a wishful look in her eyes, wonderin' what keeps you out here so long.

Funny, doctor, how seein' him and little Mary Elizabeth together brings back my own youth to me--an' wife's.

From the first day we was married to the day we laid her away under the poplars, the first thing I done on enterin' the house was to wonder where she was an' go an' find her. An' quick ez I'd git her located, why, I'd feel sort o' rested, an' know things was all right.

Heap of his ma's ways I seem to see in Sonny since she's went.

An' what do you think, doc'? He's took to kissin' me nights and mornin's since she's pa.s.sed away, an' I couldn't tell you how it seems to comfort me.

Maybe that sounds strange to you in a grown-up man, but it don't come no ways strange to me--not from Sonny. Now he's started it, seems like ez ef I'd 've missed it if he hadn't.

Ez I look back, they ain't no lovin' way thet a boy could have thet ain't seemed to come nachel to him--not a one. An' his little wife, Mary Elizabeth, why, they never was a sweeter daughter on earth.

An' ef I do say it ez shouldn't, their weddin' was the purtiest thet has ever took place in this county--in my ricollection, which goes back distinc' for over sixty year.

Everybody loves little Mary Elizabeth, an' th' aint a man, woman, or child in the place but doted on Sonny, even befo' he turned into a book-writer. But, of co'se, all the great honors they laid on him--the weddin' supper an' dance in the Simpkins's barn, the dec'rations o'

the church that embraced so many things he's lectured about an' all that--why they was all meant to show fo'th how everybody took pride in him, ez a author o' printed books.

You see he has give' twelve lectures in the academy each term for the last three years, after studyin' them three winters in New York, each year's lectures different, but all relatin' to our own forests an' their dumb population. That's what he calls 'em. Th' ain't a boy thet has attended the academy, sence he's took the nachel history to teach, but'll tell you thess what kind o' inhabitants to look for on any particular tree. Nearly every boy in the county's got a cabinet--an'

most of 'em have carpentered 'em theirselves, though I taught 'em how to do that after the pattern Sonny got me to make his by--an' you'll find all sorts o' specimens of what they designate ez "summer an' winter resorts" in pieces of bark an' cobweb an' ol' twisted tree-leaves in every one of 'em.

The boys thet dec'rated the barn for the dance say thet they ain't a tree Sonny ever lectured about but was represented in the ornaments tacked up ag'inst the wall, an' they wasn't a s.p.a.ce big ez yo' hand, ez you know, doctor, thet wasn't covered with some sort o' evergreen or berry-branch, or somethin'.

An' have you heerd what the ol' n.i.g.g.e.r Proph' says? Of co'se he's all unhinged in the top story ez anybody would be thet lived in the woods an' e't sca'cely anything but herbs an' berries. But, anyhow, he's got a sort o' gift o' prophecy an' insight, ez we all know.

Well, Proph', he sez that while the weddin' march was bein' played in the church the night o' Sonny's weddin' thet he couldn't hear his own ears for the racket among all the live things in the woods. An' he says thet they wasn't a frog, or a cricket, or katydid, or nothin', but up an' played on its little instrument, an' thet every note they sounded fitted into the church music--even to the mockin'-bird an' the screech-owl.

Of co'se, I don't say it's so, but the ol' n.i.g.g.e.r swears to it, an' ef you dispute it with him an' ask him how it come thet n.o.body else didn't hear it, why he says that's because them thet live in houses an' eat flesh ain't got the love o' Grod in their hearts, an' can't expect to hear the songs of the songless an' speech of the speechless.

That's a toler'ble high-falutin figgur o' speech for a n.i.g.g.e.r, but it's thess the way he expresses it.

You know he's been seen holdin' conversation with dumb brutes, more 'n once-t--in broad daylight.

Of co'se, we can't be sh.o.r.e thet they was rejoicin' expressed in the underbrush an' the forests, ez he says, but I do say, ez I said before, thet Sonny an' the little girl has had the purtiest an' joyfulest weddin' I ever see in this county, an' a good time was had by everybody present. An' it has made me mighty happy--it an' its results.

They say a son is a son till he gets him a wife, but 't ain't so in this case, sh.o.r.e. I've gained thess ez sweet a daughter ez I could 'a' picked out ef I'd 'a' had the whole world to select from.

Little Mary Elizabeth has been mighty dear to our hearts for a long time, an' when wife pa.s.sed away, although the weddin' hadn't took place yet, she bestowed a mother's partin' blessin' on her, an' give Sonny a lot o' private advice about her disposition, an' how he ought to reg'late hisself to deal with it.

You see, Mary Elizabeth stayed along with us so much durin' the seasons he was away in New York, thet we got to know all her crotchets an'

quavers, an' she ain't got a mean one, neither.

But _they're there_. An' they have to be dealt with, lovin'. Fact is, th' ain't no other proper way to deal with nothin', in my opinion.

We was ruther glad to find out some little twists in her disposition, wife an' me was, 'cause ef we hadn't discovered none, why we'd 'a' felt sh.o.r.e she had some in'ard deceit or somethin'. No person can't be perfec', an' when I see people always outwardly serene, I mistrust their insides.

But little Mary Elizabeth, why, she ain't none too angelic to git a good healthy spell o' the pouts once-t in a while, but ef she's handled kind an' tender, why, she'll come thoo without havin' to humble herself with apologies.

It depends largely upon how a pout is took, whether it'll contrac'

itself into a hard knot an' give trouble or thess loosen up into a good-natured smile, an' the oftener they are let out that-a-way, the seldomer they'll come.

Little Mary Elizabeth, why, she looks so purty when she pouts, now, that I've been tempted sometimes to pervoke her to it, thess to witness the new set o' dimples she'll turn out on short notice; but I ain't never done it. I know a dimple thet's called into bein' too often in youth is li'ble to lay the foundation of a wrinkle in old age.

But takin' her right along stiddy, day in an' day out, she's got a good sunny disposition an' is mighty lovin' and kind.

An' as to character and dependableness, why, she's thess ez sound ez a bell.

In a heap o' ways she nears up to us, sech, f' instance, ez when she taken wife's cook-receipt book to go by in experimentin' with Sonny's likes an' dislikes. 'T ain't every new-married wife thet's willin' to sample her husband's tastes by his ma's cook-books.

They seem to think they 're too dictatorial.

But, of co'se, wife's receipts was better 'n most, an' Mary Elizabeth, she knows that.

She ain't been married but a week, but she's served up sev'al self-made dishes a'ready--all constructed accordin' to wife's schedule.

Of co'se I could see the diff'ence in the mixin'--but it only amused me.

An' Sonny seemed to think thet, ef anything, they was better 'n they ever had been--which is only right and proper.

Three days after she was married, the po' little thing whipped up a b'iled custard for dinner an', some way or other, she put salt in it 'stid o' sugar, and poor Sonny--Well, I never have knew him to lie outright, befo', but he smacked his lips over it an' said it was the most delicious custard he had ever e't in his life, an' then, when he had done finished his first saucer an' said, "No, thank you, I won't choose any more," to a second helpin', why, she tasted it an' thess bust out a-cryin'.

But I reckon that was partly because she was sort o' on edge yet from the excitement of new housekeepin' and the head o' the table.

Well, I felt mighty sorry to see her in tears, an' what does Sonny do but insist on eatin' the whole dish o' custard, an' soon ez I could git a chance, I took him aside an' give him a little dose-t o' pain-killer, an' I took a few drops myself.