Chapter 4

The audience entire seemed pleased--indeed _Extremely_ pleased. And little Maymie, freed From her task of instructing, ran to show Her wondrous colored picture to and fro Among the company.

"And how comes it," said Some one to Mr. Hammond, "that, instead Of the inventor's life you did not choose The _artist's?_--since the world can better lose A cutting-box or reaper than it can A noble picture painted by a man Endowed with gifts this drawing would suggest"-- Holding the picture up to show the rest. "_There now!_" chimed in the wife, her pale face lit Like winter snow with sunrise over it,-- "That's what _I'm_ always asking him.--But _he_-- _Well_, as he's answering _you_, he answers _me_,-- With that same silent, suffocating smile He's wearing now!"

For quite a little while No further speech from anyone, although All looked at Mr. Hammond and that slow, Immutable, mild smile of his. And then The encouraged querist asked him yet again _Why was it_, and etcetera--with all The rest, expectant, waiting 'round the wall,-- Until the gentle Mr. Hammond said He'd answer with a "_parable_," instead-- About "a dreamer" that he used to know-- "An artist"--"master"--_all_--in _embryo_.

MR. HAMMOND'S PARABLE

THE DREAMER

I

He was a Dreamer of the Days: Indolent as a lazy breeze Of midsummer, in idlest ways Lolling about in the shade of trees. The farmer turned--as he passed him by Under the hillside where he kneeled Plucking a flower--with scornful eye And rode ahead in the harvest field Muttering--"Lawz! ef that-air shirk Of a boy was mine fer a week er so, He'd quit _dreamin'_ and git to work And _airn_ his livin'--er--Well! _I_ know!" And even kindlier rumor said, Tapping with finger a shaking head,-- "Got such a curious kind o' way-- Wouldn't surprise me much, I say!"

Lying limp, with upturned gaze Idly dreaming away his days. No companions? Yes, a book Sometimes under his arm he took To read aloud to a lonesome brook. And school-boys, truant, once had heard A strange voice chanting, faint and dim-- Followed the echoes, and found it him, Perched in a tree-top like a bird, Singing, clean from the highest limb; And, fearful and awed, they all slipped by To wonder in whispers if he could fly. "Let him alone!" his father said When the old schoolmaster came to say, "He took no part in his books to-day-- Only the lesson the readers read.-- His mind seems sadly going astray!" "Let him alone!" came the mournful tone, And the father's grief in his sad eyes shone-- Hiding his face in his trembling hand, Moaning, "Would I could understand! But as heaven wills it I accept Uncomplainingly!" So he wept.

Then went "The Dreamer" as he willed, As uncontrolled as a light sail filled Flutters about with an empty boat Loosed from its moorings and afloat: Drifted out from the busy quay Of dull school-moorings listlessly; Drifted off on the talking breeze, All alone with his reveries; Drifted on, as his fancies wrought-- Out on the mighty gulfs of thought.

II

The farmer came in the evening gray And took the bars of the pasture down; Called to the cows in a coaxing way, "Bess" and "Lady" and "Spot" and "Brown," While each gazed with a wide-eyed stare, As though surprised at his coming there-- Till another tone, in a higher key, Brought their obeyance lothfully.

Then, as he slowly turned and swung The topmost bar to its proper rest, Something fluttered along and clung An instant, shivering at his breast-- A wind-scared fragment of legal cap, Which darted again, as he struck his hand On his sounding chest with a sudden slap, And hurried sailing across the land. But as it clung he had caught the glance Of a little penciled countenance, And a glamour of written words; and hence, A minute later, over the fence, "Here and there and gone astray Over the hills and far away," He chased it into a thicket of trees And took it away from the captious breeze.

A scrap of paper with a rhyme Scrawled upon it of summertime: A pencil-sketch of a dairy-maid, Under a farmhouse porch's shade, Working merrily; and was blent With her glad features such sweet content, That a song she sung in the lines below Seemed delightfully _apropos_:--

SONG

"Why do I sing--Tra-la-la-la-la! Glad as a King?--Tra-la-la-la-la! Well, since you ask,-- I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing!

"Why do I smile--Tra-la-la-la-la! Working the while?--Tra-la-la-la-la! Work like this is play,-- So I'm playing all the day-- I can not help but smile!

"So, If you please--Tra-la-la-la-la! Live at your ease!--Tra-la-la-la-la! You've only got to turn, And, you see, its bound to churn-- I can not help but please!"

The farmer pondered and scratched his head, Reading over each mystic word.-- "Some o' the Dreamer's work!" he said-- "Ah, here's more--and name and date In his hand-write'!"--And the good man read,-- "'Patent applied for, July third, Eighteen hundred and forty-eight'!" The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp-- His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp: "I see the p'int to the whole concern,-- He's studied out a patent churn!"

FLORETTY'S MUSICAL CONTRIBUTION

All seemed delighted, though the elders more, Of course, than were the children.--Thus, before Much interchange of mirthful compliment, The story-teller said _his_ stories "went" (Like a bad candle) _best_ when they went _out_,-- And that some sprightly music, dashed about, Would _wholly_ quench his "glimmer," and inspire Far brighter lights.

And, answering this desire, The flutist opened, in a rapturous strain Of rippling notes--a perfect April-rain Of melody that drenched the senses through;-- Then--gentler--gentler--as the dusk sheds dew, It fell, by velvety, staccatoed halts, Swooning away in old "Von Weber's Waltz." Then the young ladies sang "Isle of the Sea"-- In ebb and flow and wave so billowy,-- Only with quavering breath and folded eyes The listeners heard, buoyed on the fall and rise Of its insistent and exceeding stress Of sweetness and ecstatic tenderness ... With lifted finger _yet_, Remembrance--List!-- "_Beautiful isle of the sea!_" wells in a mist Of tremulous ...

... After much whispering Among the children, Alex came to bring Some kind of _letter_--as it seemed to be-- To Cousin Rufus. This he carelessly Unfolded--reading to himself alone,-- But, since its contents became, later, known, And no one "_plagued_ so _awful_ bad," the same May here be given--of course without full name, Fac-simile, or written kink or curl Or clue. It read:--

"Wild Roved an indian Girl Brite al Floretty" deer freind I now take *this* These means to send that _Song_ to you & make my Promus good to you in the Regards Of doing What i Promust afterwards, the _notes_ & _Words_ is both here _Printed_ SOS you *kin* can git _uncle Mart_ to read you *them* those & cousin Rufus you can git to _Play_ the _notes_ fur you on eny Plezunt day His Legul Work aint *Pressin* Pressing. Ever thine As shore as the Vine doth the Stump intwine thou art my Lump of Sackkerrine Rinaldo Rinaldine the Pirut in Captivity.

... There dropped Another square scrap.--But the hand was stopped That reached for it--Floretty suddenly Had set a firm foot on her property-- Thinking it was the _letter_, not the _song_,-- But blushing to discover she was wrong, When, with all gravity of face and air, Her precious letter _handed_ to her there By Cousin Rufus left her even more In apprehension than she was before. But, testing his unwavering, kindly eye, She seemed to put her last suspicion by, And, in exchange, handed the song to him.--

A page torn from a song-book: Small and dim Both notes and words were--but as plain as day They seemed to him, as he began to play-- And plain to _all_ the singers,--as he ran An airy, warbling prelude, then began Singing and swinging in so blithe a strain, That every voice rang in the old refrain: From the beginning of the song, clean through, Floretty's features were a study to The flutist who "read _notes_" so readily, Yet read so little of the mystery Of that face of the girl's.--Indeed _one_ thing Bewildered him quite into worrying, And that was, noticing, throughout it all, The Hired Man shrinking closer to the wall, She ever backing toward him through the throng Of barricading children--till the song Was ended, and at last he saw her near Enough to reach and take him by the ear And pinch it just a pang's worth of her ire And leave it burning like a coal of fire. He noticed, too, in subtle pantomime She seemed to dust him off, from time to time; And when somebody, later, asked if she Had never heard the song before--"What! _me?_" She said--then blushed again and smiled,-- "I've knowed that song sence _Adam_ was a child!-- It's jes a joke o' this-here man's.--He's learned To _read_ and _write_ a little, and its turned His fool-head some--That's all!"

And then some one Of the loud-wrangling boys said--"_Course_ they's none No more, _these_ days!--They's Fairies _ust_ to be, But they're all dead, a hunderd years!" said he.

"Well, there's where you're _mustakened_!"--in reply They heard Bud's voice, pitched sharp and thin and high.--

"An' how you goin' to _prove_ it!"

"Well, I _kin_!" Said Bud, with emphasis,--"They's one lives in Our garden--and I _see_ 'im wunst, wiv my Own eyes--_one_ time I did."

"_Oh, what a lie_!" --"'_Sh!_'"

"Well, nen," said the skeptic--seeing there The older folks attracted--"Tell us _where_ You saw him, an' all _'bout_ him!'

"Yes, my son.-- If you tell 'stories,' you may tell us one," The smiling father said, while Uncle Mart, Behind him, winked at Bud, and pulled apart His nose and chin with comical grimace-- Then sighed aloud, with sanctimonious face,-- "'_How good and comely it is to see Children and parents in friendship agree!_'-- You fire away, Bud, on your Fairy-tale-- Your _Uncle's_ here to back you!"

Somewhat pale, And breathless as to speech, the little man Gathered himself. And thus his story ran.

BUD'S FAIRY-TALE

Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies _now_ No more yet!--But they _is_, I bet! 'Cause ef They _wuzn't_ Fairies, nen I' like to know Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell What Fairies _does_, an' how their _picture_ looks, An' all an' ever'thing! W'y, ef they don't Be Fairies anymore, nen little boys 'U'd ist _sleep_ when they go to sleep an' wont Have ist no dweams at all,--'Cause Fairies--_good_ Fairies--they're a-purpose to make dweams! But they _is_ Fairies--an' I _know_ they is! 'Cause one time wunst, when its all Summertime, An' don't haf to be no fires in the stove Er fireplace to keep warm wiv--ner don't haf To wear old scwatchy flannen shirts at all, An' aint no fweeze--ner cold--ner snow!--An'--an' Old skweeky twees got all the gween leaves on An' ist keeps noddin', noddin' all the time, Like they 'uz lazy an' a-twyin' to go To sleep an' couldn't, 'cause the wind won't quit A-blowin' in 'em, an' the birds won't stop A-singin' so's they _kin_.--But twees _don't_ sleep, I guess! But _little boys_ sleeps--an' _dweams_, too.-- An' that's a sign they's Fairies.

So, one time, When I ben playin' "Store" wunst over in The shed of their old stable, an' Ed Howard He maked me quit a-bein' pardners, 'cause I dwinked the 'tend-like sody-water up An' et the shore-nuff cwackers.--W'y, nen I Clumbed over in our garden where the gwapes Wuz purt'-nigh ripe: An' I wuz ist a-layin' There on th' old cwooked seat 'at Pa maked in Our arber,--an' so I 'uz layin' there A-whittlin' beets wiv my new dog-knife, an' A-lookin' wite up through the twimbly leaves-- An' wuzn't 'sleep at all!--An'-sir!--first thing You know, a little _Fairy_ hopped out there! A _leetle-teenty Fairy!--hope-may-die!_ An' he look' down at me, he did--An' he Ain't bigger'n a _yellerbird!_--an' he Say "Howdy-do!" he did--an' I could _hear_ Him--ist as _plain!_

Nen _I_ say "Howdy-do!" An' he say "_I'm_ all hunkey, Nibsey; how Is _your_ folks comin' on?"

An' nen I say "My name ain't '_Nibsey_,' neever--my name's _Bud_. An' what's _your_ name?" I says to him.

An'he Ist laugh an' say "'_Bud's_' awful _funny_ name!" An' he ist laid back on a big bunch o' gwapes An' laugh' an' laugh', he did--like somebody 'Uz tick-el-un his feet!

An' nen I say-- "What's _your_ name," nen I say, "afore you bust Yo'-se'f a-laughin' 'bout _my_ name?" I says. An' nen he dwy up laughin'--kindo' mad-- An' say "W'y, _my_ name's _Squidjicum_," he says. An' nen _I_ laugh an' say--"_Gee!_ what a name!" An' when I make fun of his name, like that, He ist git awful mad an' spunky, an' 'Fore you know, he ist gwabbed holt of a vine-- A big long vine 'at's danglin' up there, an' He ist helt on wite tight to that, an' down He swung quick past my face, he did, an' ist Kicked at me hard's he could!

But I'm too quick Fer _Mr. Squidjicum!_ I ist weached out An' ketched him, in my hand--an' helt him, too, An' _squeezed_ him, ist like little wobins when They can't fly yet an' git flopped out their nest. An' nen I turn him all wound over, an' Look at him clos't, you know--wite clos't,--'cause ef He _is_ a Fairy, w'y, I want to see The _wings_ he's got--But he's dwessed up so fine 'At I can't _see_ no wings.--An' all the time He's twyin' to kick me yet: An' so I take F'esh holts an' _squeeze_ agin--an' harder, too; An' I says, "_Hold up, Mr. Squidjicum!_-- You're kickin' the w'ong man!" I says; an' nen I ist _squeeze' him_, purt'-nigh my _best_, I did-- An' I heerd somepin' bust!--An' nen he cwied An' says, "You better look out what you're doin'!-- You' bust' my spiderweb-suspen'ners, an' You' got my woseleaf-coat all cwinkled up So's I can't go to old Miss Hoodjicum's Tea-party, 's'afternoon!"

An' nen I says-- "Who's 'old Miss Hoodjicum'?" I says

An'he Says "Ef you lemme loose I'll tell you."

So I helt the little skeezics 'way fur out In one hand--so's he can't jump down t' th' ground Wivout a-gittin' all stove up: an' nen I says, "You're loose now.--Go ahead an' tell 'Bout the 'tea-party' where you're goin' at So awful fast!" I says.

An' nen he say,-- "No use to _tell_ you 'bout it, 'cause you won't Believe it, 'less you go there your own se'f An' see it wiv your own two eyes!" he says. An' _he_ says: "Ef you lemme _shore-nuff_ loose, An' p'omise 'at you'll keep wite still, an' won't Tetch nothin' 'at you see--an' never tell Nobody in the world--an' lemme loose-- W'y, nen I'll _take_ you there!"

But I says, "Yes An' ef I let you loose, you'll _run!_" I says. An' he says "No, I won't!--I hope may die!" Nen I says, "Cwoss your heart you won't!"

An'he Ist cwoss his heart; an' nen I weach an' set The little feller up on a long vine-- An' he 'uz so tickled to git loose agin, He gwab' the vine wiv boff his little hands An' ist take an' turn in, he did, an' skin 'Bout forty-'leven cats!

Nen when he git Through whirlin' wound the vine, an' set on top Of it agin, w'y nen his "woseleaf-coat" He bwag so much about, it's ist all tored Up, an' ist hangin' strips an' rags--so he Look like his Pa's a dwunkard. An' so nen When he see what he's done--a-actin' up So smart,--he's awful mad, I guess; an' ist Pout out his lips an' twis' his little face Ist ugly as he kin, an' set an' tear His whole coat off--an' sleeves an' all.--An' nen He wad it all togevver an' ist _throw_ It at me ist as hard as he kin dwive!

An' when I weach to ketch him, an' 'uz goin' To give him 'nuvver squeezin', _he ist flewed Clean up on top the arber!_--'Cause, you know, They _wuz_ wings on him--when he tored his _coat_ Clean off--they _wuz_ wings _under there_. But they Wuz purty wobbly-like an' wouldn't work Hardly at all--'Cause purty soon, when I Throwed clods at him, an' sticks, an' got him shooed Down off o' there, he come a-floppin' down An' lit k-bang! on our old chicken-coop, An' ist laid there a-whimper'n' like a child! An' I tiptoed up wite clos't, an' I says "What's The matter wiv ye, Squidjicum?"

An'he Says: "Dog-gone! when my wings gits stwaight agin, Where you all _cwumpled_ 'em," he says, "I bet I'll ist fly clean away an' won't take you To old Miss Hoodjicum's at all!" he says. An' nen I ist weach out wite quick, I did, An' gwab the sassy little snipe agin-- Nen tooked my topstwing an' tie down his wings So's he _can't_ fly, 'less'n I want him to! An' nen I says: "Now, Mr. Squidjicum, You better ist light out," I says, "to old Miss Hoodjicum's, an' show _me_ how to git There, too," I says; "er ef you don't," I says, "I'll climb up wiv you on our buggy-shed An' push you off!" I says.

An nen he say All wight, he'll show me there; an' tell me nen To set him down wite easy on his feet, An' loosen up the stwing a little where It cut him under th' arms. An' nen he says, "Come on!" he says; an' went a-limpin' 'long The garden-path--an' limpin' 'long an' 'long Tel--purty soon he come on 'long to where's A grea'-big cabbage-leaf. An' he stoop down An' say "Come on inunder here wiv me!" So _I_ stoop down an' crawl inunder there, Like he say.

An' inunder there's a grea' Big clod, they is--a awful grea' big clod! An' nen he says, "_Roll this-here clod away!_" An' so I roll' the clod away. An' nen It's all wet, where the dew'z inunder where The old clod wuz,--an' nen the Fairy he Git on the wet-place: Nen he say to me "Git on the wet-place, too!" An' nen he say, "Now hold yer breff an' shet yer eyes!" he says, "Tel I say _Squinchy-winchy!_" Nen he say-- Somepin _in Dutch_, I guess.--An' nen I felt Like we 'uz sinkin' down--an' sinkin' down!-- Tel purty soon the little Fairy weach An' pinch my nose an' yell at me an' say, "_Squinchy-winchy! Look wherever you please!_" Nen when I looked--Oh! they 'uz purtyest place Down there you ever saw in all the World!-- They 'uz ist _flowers_ an' _woses_--yes, an' _twees_ Wiv _blossoms_ on an' _big ripe apples_ boff! An' butterflies, they wuz--an' hummin'-birds-- An' _yellow_birds an' _blue_birds--yes, an' _red!_-- An' ever'wheres an' all awound 'uz vines Wiv ripe p'serve-pears on 'em!--Yes, an' all An' ever'thing 'at's ever gwowin' in A garden--er canned up--all ripe at wunst!-- It wuz ist like a garden--only it 'Uz _little_ tit o' garden--'bout big wound As ist our twun'el-bed is.--An' all wound An' wound the little garden's a gold fence-- An' little gold gate, too--an' ash-hopper 'At's all gold, too--an' ist full o' gold ashes! An' wite in th' middle o' the garden wuz A little gold house, 'at's ist 'bout as big As ist a bird-cage is: An' _in_ the house They 'uz whole-lots _more_ Fairies there--'cause I Picked up the little house, an 'peeked in at The winders, an' I see 'em all in there Ist _buggin_' wound! An' Mr. Squidjicum He twy to make me quit, but I gwab _him_, An' poke him down the chimbly, too, I did!-- An' y'ort to see _him_ hop out 'mongst 'em there! Ist like he 'uz the boss an' ist got back!-- _"Hain't ye got on them-air dew-dumplin's yet?"_ He says.

An' they says no.

An' nen he says "_Better git at 'em nen!_" he says, "_wite quick-- 'Cause old Miss Hoodjicum's a-comin'!_"

Nen They all set wound a little gold tub--an' All 'menced a-peelin' dewdwops, ist like they 'Uz _peaches_.--An', it looked so funny, I Ist laugh' out loud, an' _dwopped_ the little house,-- An' 't busted like a soap-bubble!--An't skeered Me so, I--I--I--I,--it skeered me so, I--ist _waked_ up.--No! I _ain't_ ben _asleep_ An' _dream_ it all, like _you_ think,--but it's shore Fer-certain _fact_ an' cwoss my heart it is!

A DELICIOUS INTERRUPTION

All were quite gracious in their plaudits of Bud's Fairy; but another stir above That murmur was occasioned by a sweet Young lady-caller, from a neighboring street, Who rose reluctantly to say good-night To all the pleasant friends and the delight Experienced,--as she had promised sure To be back home by nine. Then paused, demure, And wondered was it _very_ dark.--Oh, _no!_-- She had _come_ by herself and she could go Without an _escort_. Ah, you sweet girls all! What young gallant but comes at such a call, Your most abject of slaves! Why, there were three Young men, and several men of family, Contesting for the honor--which at last Was given to Cousin Rufus; and he cast A kingly look behind him, as the pair Vanished with laughter in the darkness there.

As order was restored, with everything Suggestive, in its way, of "romancing," Some one observed that _now_ would be the chance For _Noey_ to relate a circumstance That _he_--the very specious rumor went-- Had been eye-witness of, by accident. Noey turned pippin-crimson; then turned pale As death; then turned to flee, without avail.-- "_There!_ head him off! _Now!_ hold him in his chair!-- Tell us the Serenade-tale, now, Noey.--_There!_"

NOEY'S NIGHT-PIECE

"They ain't much 'tale' about it!" Noey said.-- "K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me 'Ud kindo' browse round town, daytime, to see What neighbers 'peared to have the most to spare 'At wuz git-at-able and no dog there When we come round to git 'em, say 'bout ten O'clock at night when mostly old folks then Wuz snorin' at each other like they yit Helt some old grudge 'at never slep' a bit. Well, at the _Pars'nige_--ef ye'll call to mind,-- They's 'bout the biggest grape-arber you'll find 'Most anywheres.--And mostly there, we knowed They wuz _k'tawbies_ thick as ever growed-- And more'n they'd _p'serve_.--Besides I've heerd Ma say k'tawby-grape-p'serves jes 'peared A waste o' sugar, anyhow!--And so My conscience stayed outside and lem me go With Tubb, one night, the back-way, clean up through That long black arber to the end next to The house, where the k'tawbies, don't you know, Wuz thickest. And t'uz lucky we went _slow_,-- Fer jest as we wuz cropin' tords the gray- End, like, of the old arber--heerd Tubb say In a skeered whisper, 'Hold up! They's some one Jes slippin' in here!--and _looks like a gun_ He's carryin'!' I _golly!_ we both spread Out flat aginst the ground!

"'What's that?' Tubb said.-- And jest then--'_plink! plunk! plink!_' we heerd something Under the back-porch-winder.--Then, i jing! Of course we rickollected 'bout the young School-mam 'at wuz a-boardin' there, and sung, And played on the melodium in the choir.-- And she 'uz 'bout as purty to admire As any girl in town!--the fac's is, she Jest _wuz_, them times, to a dead certainty, The belle o' this-here bailywick!--But--Well,-- I'd best git back to what I'm tryin' to tell:-- It wuz some feller come to serenade Miss Wetherell: And there he plunked and played His old guitar, and sung, and kep' his eye Set on her winder, blacker'n the sky!-- And black it _stayed_.--But mayby she wuz 'way From home, er wore out--bein' _Saturday!_

"It _seemed_ a good-'eal _longer_, but I _know_ He sung and plunked there half a' hour er so Afore, it 'peared like, he could ever git His own free qualified consents to quit And go off 'bout his business. When he went I bet you could a-bought him fer a cent!