Chapter 3

"--O! yer so _innocent!_ hangin' yer head!-- (Drat ye! you'd _better_ git under the bed!) --Listen at that!-- He's tackled the cat!-- Hah, there! you little rip! come out o' that!-- Git yer blame little eyes scratched out 'Fore you know what yer talkin' about!-- _Here!_ come away from there!--(Let him alone-- He'll snap _you_, I tell ye, as quick as a bone!) _Hi_, Trip!--_Hey_, here!--What-a'-you-'bout!-- _Oo! ouch!_ 'Ll I'll be blamed!--_Blast ye!_ GIT OUT! ... O, it ain't nothin'--jist _scratched_ me, you see.-- Hadn't no idy he'd try to bite _me_! _Plague take him!_--Bet he'll not try _that_ agin!-- Hear him yelp.--(_Pore feller!_) Jane: Let him in."

THE LOEHRS AND THE HAMMONDS

"Hey, Bud! O Bud!" rang out a gleeful call,-- "_The Loehrs is come to your house!_" And a small But very much elated little chap, In snowy linen-suit and tasseled cap, Leaped from the back-fence just across the street From Bixlers', and came galloping to meet His equally delighted little pair Of playmates, hurrying out to join him there-- "_The Loehrs is come!--The Loehrs is come!_" his glee Augmented to a pitch of ecstasy Communicated wildly, till the cry "_The Loehrs is come!_" in chorus quavered high And thrilling as some paean of challenge or Soul-stirring chant of armied conqueror. And who this _avant courier_ of "the Loehrs"?-- This happiest of all boys out-o'-doors-- Who but Will Pierson, with his heart's excess Of summer-warmth and light and breeziness! "From our front winder I 'uz first to see 'Em all a-drivin' into town!" bragged he-- "An' seen 'em turnin' up the alley where _Your_ folks lives at. An' John an' Jake wuz there Both in the wagon;--yes, an' Willy, too; An' Mary--Yes, an' Edith--with bran-new An' purtiest-trimmed hats 'at ever wuz!-- An' Susan, an' Janey.--An' the _Hammonds-uz_ In their fine buggy 'at they're ridin' roun' So much, all over an' aroun' the town An' _ever_'wheres,--them _city_-people who's A-visutin' at Loehrs-uz!"

Glorious news!-- Even more glorious when verified In the boys' welcoming eyes of love and pride, As one by one they greeted their old friends And neighbors.--Nor until their earth-life ends Will that bright memory become less bright Or dimmed indeed.

... Again, at candle-light, The faces all are gathered. And how glad The Mother's features, knowing that she had Her dear, sweet Mary Loehr back again.-- She always was so proud of her; and then The dear girl, in return, was happy, too, And with a heart as loving, kind and true As that maturer one which seemed to blend As one the love of mother and of friend. From time to time, as hand-in-hand they sat, The fair girl whispered something low, whereat A tender, wistful look would gather in The mother-eyes; and then there would begin A sudden cheerier talk, directed to The stranger guests--the man and woman who, It was explained, were coming now to make Their temporary home in town for sake Of the wife's somewhat failing health. Yes, they Were city-people, seeking rest this way, The man said, answering a query made By some well meaning neighbor--with a shade Of apprehension in the answer.... No,-- They had no _children_. As he answered so, The man's arm went about his wife, and she Leant toward him, with her eyes lit prayerfully: Then she arose--he following--and bent Above the little sleeping innocent Within the cradle at the mother's side-- He patting her, all silent, as she cried.-- Though, haply, in the silence that ensued, His musings made melodious interlude.

In the warm, health-giving weather My poor pale wife and I Drive up and down the little town And the pleasant roads thereby: Out in the wholesome country We wind, from the main highway, In through the wood's green solitudes-- Fair as the Lord's own Day.

We have lived so long together. And joyed and mourned as one, That each with each, with a look for speech, Or a touch, may talk as none But Love's elect may comprehend-- Why, the touch of her hand on mine Speaks volume-wise, and the smile of her eyes, To me, is a song divine.

There are many places that lure us:-- "The Old Wood Bridge" just west Of town we know--and the creek below, And the banks the boys love best: And "Beech Grove," too, on the hill-top; And "The Haunted House" beyond, With its roof half off, and its old pump-trough Adrift in the roadside pond.

We find our way to "The Marshes"-- At least where they used to be; And "The Old Camp Grounds"; and "The Indian Mounds," And the trunk of "The Council Tree:" We have crunched and splashed through "Flint-bed Ford"; And at "Old Big Bee-gum Spring" We have stayed the cup, half lifted up. Hearing the redbird sing.

And then, there is "Wesley Chapel," With its little graveyard, lone At the crossroads there, though the sun sets fair On wild-rose, mound and stone ... A wee bed under the willows-- My wife's hand on my own-- And our horse stops, too ... And we hear the coo Of a dove in undertone.

The dusk, the dew, and the silence. "Old Charley" turns his head Homeward then by the pike again, Though never a word is said-- One more stop, and a lingering one-- After the fields and farms,-- At the old Toll Gate, with the woman await With a little girl in her arms.

The silence sank--Floretty came to call The children in the kitchen, where they all Went helter-skeltering with shout and din Enough to drown most sanguine silence in,-- For well indeed they knew that summons meant Taffy and popcorn--so with cheers they went.

THE HIRED MAN AND FLORETTY

The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before, In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause His dextrous knife was balancing a bit Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.

At the glad children's advent--gladder still To find _him_ there--"Jest tickled fit to kill To see ye all!" he said, with unctious cheer.-- "I'm tryin'-like to he'p Floretty here To git things cleared away and give ye room Accordin' to yer stren'th. But I p'sume It's a pore boarder, as the poet says, That quarrels with his victuals, so I guess I'll take another wedge o' that-air cake, Florett', that you're a-_learnin_' how to bake." He winked and feigned to swallow painfully.--

"Jest 'fore ye all come in, Floretty she Was boastin' 'bout her _biscuits_--and they _air_ As good--sometimes--as you'll find anywhere.-- But, women gits to braggin' on their _bread_, I'm s'picious 'bout their _pie_--as Danty said." This raillery Floretty strangely seemed To take as compliment, and fairly beamed With pleasure at it all.

--"Speakin' o' _bread_-- When she come here to live," The Hired Man said,-- "Never ben out o' _Freeport_ 'fore she come Up here,--of course she needed '_sperience_ some.-- So, one day, when yer Ma was goin' to set The risin' fer some bread, she sent Florett To borry _leaven_, 'crost at Ryans'--So, She went and asked fer _twelve_.--She didn't _know_, But thought, _whatever_ 'twuz, that she could keep _One_ fer _herse'f_, she said. O she wuz deep!"

Some little evidence of favor hailed The Hired Man's humor; but it wholly failed To touch the serious Susan Loehr, whose air And thought rebuked them all to listening there To her brief history of the _city_-man And his pale wife--"A sweeter woman than _She_ ever saw!"--So Susan testified,-- And so attested all the Loehrs beside.-- So entertaining was the history, that The Hired Man, in the corner where he sat In quiet sequestration, shelling corn, Ceased wholly, listening, with a face forlorn As Sorrow's own, while Susan, John and Jake Told of these strangers who had come to make Some weeks' stay in the town, in hopes to gain Once more the health the wife had sought in vain: Their doctor, in the city, used to know The Loehrs--Dan and Rachel--years ago,-- And so had sent a letter and request For them to take a kindly interest In favoring the couple all they could-- To find some home-place for them, if they would, Among their friends in town. He ended by A dozen further lines, explaining why His patient must have change of scene and air-- New faces, and the simple friendships there With _them_, which might, in time, make her forget A grief that kept her ever brooding yet And wholly melancholy and depressed,-- Nor yet could she find sleep by night nor rest By day, for thinking--thinking--thinking still \ Upon a grief beyond the doctor's skill,-- The death of her one little girl.

"Pore thing!" Floretty sighed, and with the turkey-wing Brushed off the stove-hearth softly, and peered in The kettle of molasses, with her thin Voice wandering into song unconsciously-- In purest, if most witless, sympathy.--

"'Then sleep no more: Around thy heart Some ten-der dream may i-dlee play. But mid-night song, With mad-jick art, Will chase that dree muh-way!'"

"That-air besetment of Floretty's," said The Hired Man,--"_singin_--she _inhairited_,-- Her _father_ wuz addicted--same as her-- To singin'--yes, and played the dulcimer! But--gittin' back,--I s'pose yer talkin' 'bout Them _Hammondses_. Well, Hammond he gits out _Pattents_ on things--inventions-like, I'm told-- And's got more money'n a house could hold! And yit he can't git up no pattent-right To do away with _dyin'_.--And he might Be worth a _million_, but he couldn't find Nobody sellin' _health_ of any kind!... But they's no thing onhandier fer _me_ To use than other people's misery.-- Floretty, hand me that-air skillet there And lem me git 'er het up, so's them-air Childern kin have their popcorn."

It was good To hear him now, and so the children stood Closer about him, waiting.

"Things to _eat_," The Hired Man went on, "'s mighty hard to beat! Now, when _I_ wuz a boy, we was so pore, My parunts couldn't 'ford popcorn no more To pamper _me_ with;--so, I hat to go _Without_ popcorn--sometimes a _year_ er so!-- And _suffer'n' saints!_ how hungry I would git Fer jest one other chance--like this--at it! Many and many a time I've _dreamp_', at night, About popcorn,--all busted open white, And hot, you know--and jest enough o' salt And butter on it fer to find no fault-- _Oomh!_--Well! as I was goin' on to say,-- After a-_dreamin_' of it thataway, _Then_ havin' to wake up and find it's all A _dream_, and hain't got no popcorn at-tall, Ner haint _had_ none--I'd think, '_Well, where's the use!_' And jest lay back and sob the plaster'n' loose! And I have _prayed_, what_ever_ happened, it 'Ud eether be popcorn er death!.... And yit I've noticed--more'n likely so have you-- That things don't happen when you _want_ 'em to."

And thus he ran on artlessly, with speech And work in equal exercise, till each Tureen and bowl brimmed white. And then he greased The saucers ready for the wax, and seized The fragrant-steaming kettle, at a sign Made by Floretty; and, each child in line, He led out to the pump--where, in the dim New coolness of the night, quite near to him He felt Floretty's presence, fresh and sweet As ... dewy night-air after kitchen-heat.

There, still, with loud delight of laugh and jest, They plied their subtle alchemy with zest-- Till, sudden, high above their tumult, welled Out of the sitting-room a song which held Them stilled in some strange rapture, listening To the sweet blur of voices chorusing:--

"'When twilight approaches the season That ever is sacred to song, Does some one repeat my name over, And sigh that I tarry so long? And is there a chord in the music That's missed when my voice is away?-- And a chord in each heart that awakens Regret at my wearisome stay-ay-- Regret at my wearisome stay.'"

All to himself, The Hired Man thought--"Of course _They'll_ sing _Floretty_ homesick!"

... O strange source Of ecstasy! O mystery of Song!-- To hear the dear old utterance flow along:--

"'Do they set me a chair near the table When evening's home-pleasures are nigh?-- When the candles are lit in the parlor. And the stars in the calm azure sky.'"...

Just then the moonlight sliced the porch slantwise, And flashed in misty spangles in the eyes Floretty clenched--while through the dark--"I jing!" A voice asked, "Where's that song '_you'd_ learn to sing Ef I sent you the _ballat_?'--which I done Last I was home at Freeport.--S'pose you run And git it--and we'll all go in to where They'll know the notes and sing it fer ye there." And up the darkness of the old stairway Floretty fled, without a word to say-- Save to herself some whisper muffled by Her apron, as she wiped her lashes dry.

Returning, with a letter, which she laid Upon the kitchen-table while she made A hasty crock of "float,"--poured thence into A deep glass dish of iridescent hue And glint and sparkle, with an overflow Of froth to crown it, foaming white as snow.-- And then--poundcake, and jelly-cake as rare, For its delicious complement,--with air Of Hebe mortalized, she led her van Of votaries, rounded by The Hired Man.

THE EVENING COMPANY

Within the sitting-room, the company Had been increased in number. Two or three Young couples had been added: Emma King, Ella and Mary Mathers--all could sing Like veritable angels--Lydia Martin, too, And Nelly Millikan.--What songs they knew!--

_"'Ever of Thee--wherever I may be, Fondly I'm drea-m-ing ever of thee!_'"

And with their gracious voices blend the grace Of Warsaw Barnett's tenor; and the bass Unfathomed of Wick Chapman--Fancy still Can _feel_, as well as _hear_ it, thrill on thrill, Vibrating plainly down the backs of chairs And through the wall and up the old hall-stairs.-- Indeed young Chapman's voice especially Attracted _Mr. Hammond_--For, said he, Waiving the most Elysian sweetness of The _ladies_' voices--altitudes above The _man's_ for sweetness;--_but_--as _contrast_, would Not Mr. Chapman be so very good As, just now, to oblige _all_ with--in fact, Some sort of _jolly_ song,--to counteract In part, at least, the sad, pathetic trend Of music _generally_. Which wish our friend "The Noted Traveler" made second to With heartiness--and so each, in review, Joined in--until the radiant _basso_ cleared His wholly unobstructed throat and peered Intently at the ceiling--voice and eye As opposite indeed as earth and sky.-- Thus he uplifted his vast bass and let It roam at large the memories booming yet:

"'Old Simon the Cellarer keeps a rare store Of Malmsey and Malvoi-sie, Of Cyprus, and who can say how many more?-- But a chary old so-u-l is he-e-ee-- A chary old so-u-l is he! Of hock and Canary he never doth fail; And all the year 'round, there is brewing of ale;-- Yet he never aileth, he quaintly doth say, While he keeps to his sober six flagons a day.'"

... And then the chorus--the men's voices all _Warred_ in it--like a German Carnival.-- Even _Mrs_. Hammond smiled, as in her youth, Hearing her husband--And in veriest truth "The Noted Traveler's" ever-present hat Seemed just relaxed a little, after that, As at conclusion of the Bacchic song He stirred his "float" vehemently and long.

Then Cousin Rufus with his flute, and art Blown blithely through it from both soul and heart-- Inspired to heights of mastery by the glad, Enthusiastic audience he had In the young ladies of a town that knew No other flutist,--nay, nor _wanted_ to, Since they had heard _his_ "Polly Hopkin's Waltz," Or "Rickett's Hornpipe," with its faultless faults, As rendered solely, he explained, "by ear," Having but heard it once, Commencement Year, At "Old Ann Arbor."

Little Maymie now Seemed "friends" with _Mr. Hammond_--anyhow, Was lifted to his lap--where settled, she-- Enthroned thus, in her dainty majesty, Gained _universal_ audience--although Addressing him alone:--"I'm come to show You my new Red-blue pencil; and _she_ says"-- (Pointing to _Mrs._ Hammond)--"that she guess' You'll make a _picture_ fer me."

"And what _kind_ Of picture?" Mr. Hammond asked, inclined To serve the child as bidden, folding square The piece of paper she had brought him there.-- "I don't know," Maymie said--"only ist make A _little dirl_, like me!"

He paused to take A sharp view of the child, and then he drew-- Awhile with red, and then awhile with blue-- The outline of a little girl that stood In converse with a wolf in a great wood; And she had on a hood and cloak of red-- As Maymie watched--"_Red Riding Hood!_" she said. "And who's '_Red Riding Hood'?_"

"W'y, don't _you_ know?" Asked little Maymie--

But the man looked so All uninformed, that little Maymie could But tell him _all about_ Red Riding Hood.

MAYMIE'S STORY OF RED RIDING HOOD

W'y, one time wuz a little-weenty dirl, An' she wuz named Red Riding Hood, 'cause her-- Her _Ma_ she maked a little red cloak fer her 'At turnt up over her head--An' it 'uz all Ist one piece o' red cardinal 'at 's like The drate-long stockin's the store-keepers has.-- O! it 'uz purtiest cloak in all the world An' _all_ this town er anywheres they is! An' so, one day, her Ma she put it on Red Riding Hood, she did--one day, she did-- An' it 'uz _Sund'y_--'cause the little cloak It 'uz too nice to wear ist _ever'_ day An' _all_ the time!--An' so her Ma, she put It on Red Riding Hood--an' telled her not To dit no dirt on it ner dit it mussed Ner nothin'! An'--an'--nen her Ma she dot Her little basket out, 'at Old Kriss bringed Her wunst--one time, he did. And nen she fill' It full o' whole lots an' 'bundance o' good things t' eat (Allus my Dran'ma _she_ says ''bundance,' too.) An' so her Ma fill' little Red Riding Hood's Nice basket all ist full o' dood things t' eat, An' tell her take 'em to her old Dran'ma-- An' not to _spill_ 'em, neever--'cause ef she 'Ud stump her toe an' spill 'em, her Dran'ma She'll haf to _punish_ her!

An' nen--An' so Little Red Riding Hood she p'omised she 'Ud be all careful nen an' cross' her heart 'At she wont run an' spill 'em all fer six-- Five--ten--two-hundred-bushel-dollars-gold! An' nen she kiss her Ma doo'-bye an' went A-skippin' off--away fur off frough the Big woods, where her Dran'ma she live at.--No!-- She didn't do _a-skippin'_, like I said:-- She ist went _walkin'_--careful-like an' slow-- Ist like a little lady--walkin' 'long As all polite an' nice--an' slow--an' straight-- An' turn her toes--ist like she's marchin' in The Sund'y-School k-session!

An'--an'--so She 'uz a-doin' along--an' doin' along-- On frough the drate big woods--'cause her Dran'ma She live 'way, 'way fur off frough the big woods From _her_ Ma's house. So when Red Riding Hood She dit to do there, allus have most fun-- When she do frough the drate big woods, you know.-- 'Cause she ain't feared a bit o' anything! An' so she sees the little hoppty-birds 'At's in the trees, an' flyin' all around, An' singin' dlad as ef their parunts said They'll take 'em to the magic-lantern show! An' she 'ud pull the purty flowers an' things A-growin' round the stumps--An' she 'ud ketch The purty butterflies, an' drasshoppers, An' stick pins frough 'em--No!--I ist _said_ that!-- 'Cause she's too dood an' kind an' 'bedient To _hurt_ things thataway.--She'd _ketch_ 'em, though, An' ist _play_ wiv 'em ist a little while, An' nen she'd let 'em fly away, she would, An' ist skip on adin to her Dran'ma's.

An' so, while she uz doin' 'long an' 'long, First thing you know they 'uz a drate big old Mean wicked Wolf jumped out 'at wanted t' eat Her up, but _dassent_ to--'cause wite clos't there They wuz a Man a-choppin' wood, an' you Could _hear_ him.--So the old Wolf he 'uz _'feared_ Only to ist be _kind_ to her.--So he Ist 'tended like he wuz dood friends to her An' says "Dood-morning, little Red Riding Hood!"-- All ist as kind!

An' nen Riding Hood She say "Dood-morning," too--all kind an' nice-- Ist like her Ma she learn'--No!--mustn't say "Learn," cause "_Learn_" it's unproper.--So she say It like her _Ma_ she "_teached_" her.--An'--so she Ist says "Dood-morning" to the Wolf--'cause she Don't know ut-tall 'at he's a _wicked_ Wolf An' want to eat her up!

Nen old Wolf smile An' say, so kind: "Where air you doin' at?" Nen little Red Riding Hood she says: "I'm doin' To my Dran'ma's, 'cause my Ma say I might." Nen, when she tell him that, the old Wolf he Ist turn an' light out frough the big thick woods, Where she can't see him any more. An so She think he's went to _his_ house--but he haint,-- He's went to her Dran'ma's, to be there first-- An' _ketch_ her, ef she don't watch mighty sharp What she's about!

An' nen when the old Wolf Dit to her Dran'ma's house, he's purty smart,-- An' so he 'tend-like _he's_ Red Riding Hood, An' knock at th' door. An' Riding Hood's Dran'ma She's sick in bed an' can't come to the door An' open it. So th' old Wolf knock _two_ times. An' nen Red Riding Hood's Dran'ma she says "Who's there?" she says. An' old Wolf 'tends-like he's Little Red Riding Hood, you know, an' make' His voice soun' ist like hers, an' says: "It's me, Dran'ma--an' I'm Red Riding Hood an' I'm Ist come to see you."

Nen her old Dran'ma She think it _is_ little Red Riding Hood, An' so she say: "Well, come in nen an' make You'se'f at home," she says, "'cause I'm down sick In bed, and got the 'ralgia, so's I can't Dit up an' let ye in."

An' so th' old Wolf Ist march' in nen an' shet the door adin, An' _drowl_, he did, an' _splunge_ up on the bed An' et up old Miz Riding Hood 'fore she Could put her specs on an' see who it wuz.-- An' so she never knowed _who_ et her up!

An' nen the wicked Wolf he ist put on Her nightcap, an' all covered up in bed-- Like he wuz _her_, you know.

Nen, purty soon Here come along little Red Riding Hood, An' _she_ knock' at the door. An' old Wolf 'tend Like _he's_ her Dran'ma; an' he say, "Who's there?" Ist like her Dran'ma say, you know. An' so Little Red Riding Hood she say "It's _me_, Dran'ma--an' I'm Red Riding Hood and I'm Ist come to _see_ you."

An' nen old Wolf nen He cough an' say: "Well, come in nen an' make You'se'f at home," he says, "'cause I'm down sick In bed, an' got the 'ralgia, so's I can't Dit up an' let ye in."

An' so she think It's her Dran'ma a-talkin'.--So she ist Open' the door an' come in, an' set down Her basket, an' taked off her things, an' bringed A chair an' clumbed up on the bed, wite by The old big Wolf she thinks is her Dran'ma.-- Only she thinks the old Wolf's dot whole lots More bigger ears, an' lots more whiskers, too, Than her Dran'ma; an' so Red Riding Hood She's kindo' skeered a little. So she says "Oh, Dran'ma, what _big eyes_ you dot!" An' nen The old Wolf says: "They're ist big thataway 'Cause I'm so dlad to see you!"

Nen she says,-- "Oh, Dran'ma, what a drate big nose you dot!" Nen th' old Wolf says: "It's ist big thataway Ist 'cause I smell the dood things 'at you bringed Me in the basket!"

An' nen Riding Hood She say "Oh-me-oh-_my_! Dran'ma! what big White long sharp teeth you dot!"

Nen old Wolf says: "Yes--an' they're thataway," he says--an' drowled-- "They're thataway," he says, "to _eat_ you wiv!" An' nen he ist _jump_' at her.--

But she _scream_'-- An' _scream_', she did--So's 'at the Man 'At wuz a-choppin' wood, you know,--_he_ hear, An' come a-runnin' in there wiv his ax; An', 'fore the old Wolf know' what he's about, He split his old brains out an' killed him s'quick It make' his head swim!--An' Red Riding Hood She wuzn't hurt at all!

An' the big Man He tooked her all safe home, he did, an' tell Her Ma she's all right an' ain't hurt at all An' old Wolf's dead an' killed--an' ever'thing!-- So her Ma wuz so tickled an' so proud, She divved _him_ all the dood things t' eat they wuz 'At's in the basket, an' she tell him 'at She's much oblige', an' say to "call adin." An' story's honest _truth_--an' all _so_, too!

LIMITATIONS OF GENIUS