Part 2

"He kilt two of 'em dead that day, and wounded five or six more pretty bad," resumed Nucky, "and the fighting it went on, off and on, all winter. Every now and then, of a moonlight night, the Cheever boys would start to tear down the fence and set it back up; but we kep' a constant lookout, and was allus ready for 'em. Finally they got discouraged trying to fight Blant in the open, and tuck to ambushing. Three of 'em laywayed Blant under a cliff one day in April, and Elhannon got kilt, and Todd and Dalt so bad wounded they left the country and went West. They are the youngest and feistiest of the lot,--t'other boys is mostly married and settled, and not anxious to risk their lives again' Blant's gun no more--and sence they went off, we have had a spell of peace."

"What do you do in the war?"

"Oh, I keep a lookout, and spy around, and stand guard over the fence with my gun."

"Gee, I wisht I had a war in my family!" sighed Philip, fervently.

_Thursday._

Two more nights of suffering,--Philip said to me this morning, "I heared you up a-fleaing four or five times in the night." When I found that several panels of the back fence had been washed away by the "tide" of week-before-last, and that neighborhood hogs were coming in and out at will, and making their beds under my very room, I did not wonder.

This morning at the breakfast table, Philip's face was so dingy that I inquired, "Have you washed your face?"

"Yes," was his reply.

Something moved me to inquire further, "When?"

"Day before yesterday," he replied, with perfect nonchalance.

This is dangerous,--already I can see that Philip is to be, like his illustrious namesake "the glass of fashion and the mold of form," and that the younger boys, will be only too ready to omit disagreeable rites if he does.

Poor Keats, who in the matter of beauty certainly lives up to his name, really seems inconsolable. While he cleans the chicken-yard in the mornings, my heart is wrung by hearing him chant the most dismal of songs,

Oh bury me not, on the broad pa-ra-a-ree, Where the wild ky-oats will holler over me!

and in the hour after supper, when the others play out of doors, he sits with me, telling about Nervesty and the four little children at home, and the spell of typhoid all the family had last year, when his father and little sister Dicey died, and how "Me 'n' Nervesty and Hen" have run the farm since then, tending fifteen acres of corn, besides clearing new-ground, and other labors. Poor little man, it is the knowledge that he is really needed at home, as much as homesickness, that preys on his mind,--his mother is making a noble sacrifice to let him stay in the school. It seems to comfort him somewhat to weep on a sympathetic bosom. Peppermint candy, too, is not without its efficacy.

To-day came Taulbee Bolling, a dignified boy of thirteen, with a critical eye, and later, Mr. Atkins again, with the "pure scholar" in tow. Iry is a thin, puny-looking mite of ten, much too small for his trousers. He said "Yes sir" and "No sir" most politely when speaking to me, and carried an old blue-back speller under one arm. So great was my curiosity that I opened the book at once. The result was amazing,--"genealogical" and "irreconcilable" were child's-play to him, "incomprehensibility," a bagatelle. It was interesting to see his scared little face brighten as he climbed up and down the hard words and beheld my growing astonishment.

This afternoon while I had the boys mending the back fence, Geordie, who had been left to scrub my floor with carbolic acid solution, came back to the stable-lot bringing a new boy, whom with a flourish of his brush he introduced as follows:

"Here's the boy that fit the marshal that kilt his paw. And one time he seed the world and rid on a railroad train. Killis Blair's the name he goes by." Killis is a handsome blonde boy of twelve, not unaware of his double importance.

To-night after study-hour there was another catechism by Geordie. "Tell about ridin' on the railroad train!" he ordered.

Killis began: "The month before paw got kilt last spring, the officers was a-watching him so clost he was afeared to sell any liquor round about home, so me and him we tuck a barrel acrost the mountains to Virginia, where there's mines, and it would fetch a good price. We loaded fodder on top. The going was awful sorry, and the steers was three days at it. When I got there, I seed men walking round with their hats afire, and went down to the railroad-train and rid on the engine."

"What did it look like?" demanded Philip, breathlessly.

"Sort of like a saw-mill sot up on wheels."

"I'd sooner die as not to see one!" sighed Philip.

"I aim to see one when I'm a perfessor," remarked Taulbee.

"I bet I see a hundred when I go to be a soldier," said Nucky.

"I'd ruther see a railroad-train as to eat!" declared Geordie, and this appeared to be the prevailing sentiment, except with Keats, who said dismally that he didn't crave to see anything that would take him fifty mile' from Nervesty and home. After reflection, Hen agreed with him.

"Listen at them two homesicks!" remarked Philip, cuttingly.

Geordie folded his fat hands. "Now you might tell about your paw gettin' kilt," he said.

Killis said that the officers had been spying around on his "paw" a long time for "stilling" liquor, but that he was too smart for them, and moved the still about, and made liquor by night, and also frightened them by sending word to the marshal he would never be taken alive. That one night they had just "drug" the still up to a new place in the hollow, and he and his father and uncles were sitting around the fire, when there was a yell, and the marshal and a deputy burst in, shooting as they came. That his uncles returned the fire, but before his father could do so, he fell, with a dreadful wound through the stomach. That he himself, when he saw his father fall, snatched a hunting-knife and cut the marshal in the forearm with it as he was running out.

The last item he told without bragging, and quite as a matter of course. The other boys gave him looks of approval and envy, all save Nucky. "By Heck, I wouldn't have stopped with his arm," he declared.

"I haint," replied Killis, quietly.

Evidently I have two heroes on my hands!

_Saturday Night._

Moses and Zachariah, two more runaways, were returned this morning, and this afternoon arrived my twelfth boy,--the last, since they cannot sleep more than three in a bed! Jason is a beautiful child of seven, very funny in his little long trousers. I wanted him at sight, but hesitated on account of his youth. When I heard from his father, however, that he had no mother now, I took him at once. Before leaving, Mr. Wyatt said that Jason was right pyeert about learning, and, he added candidly, about meanness too, and he hoped I would not spar' the rod. The rod indeed,--I threw a protecting arm around the angelic-looking child at the word.

Indeed, not a few of the parents have warned me against wild and warlike tendencies in their offspring,--Mr. Marrs, for instance, said that Nucky was a master scholar when he could leave off fighting long enough to study his books, and others have admonished me to hold a tight rein. Their warnings are needless,--everything so far has gone with surprising smoothness, confirming my theory that in an atmosphere of love and gentleness the martial traits will be atrophied.

To-day things were more tumultuous, Saturday being combined wash-and-cleaning-day at the school, and a hard time for all hands. Ten of the girls came over from the big house to our back yard, and there, assisted by one of my boys, who kept up fires under the big kettles and carried water from the well, did the washing for the entire school; while in every building on the place cleaning, scrubbing and window-washing were in full blast. I was sorry to have to punish little Hen to-night for calling it a "hell of a day."

IV

WAR, NOT PEACE

_Monday Noon._

Yesterday morning I accompanied my boys to Sunday-school in the village. They showed a good deal of restlessness before the service was over,--not surprising considering that only two had ever heard of a Sunday-school before.

After dinner I undertook to cheer and entertain them by reading Robinson Crusoe, out in our yard, beginning in the thick of the story, where the hero is in sight of his island. What was my chagrin to see one pair after another of bright, roving eyes dull and close, one head after another roll over in the grass, Nucky Marrs holding out longest, and murmuring wearily, as his head settled back against a tree, "Didn't he never get into no fights, or kill nobody?"

Discouraged, I sat for a long while gazing upon the twelve sleepers, and wondering what if anything would be the proper literary milk for my babes.

When the boys at last awoke from their naps, I gave them permission to play mumble-peg very, very quietly--the heads had told me to keep them quiet on Sundays--and they made a desperate effort to do so. But probably behavior so far had been impossibly good, and this was the last straw. At any rate, when we were gathered in the sitting-room after supper for ten minutes of Sunday-school lesson, the storm broke. Nucky kicked Killis on the shin; Killis called him a smotch-eyed polecat; the two grappled; Philip flew to Nucky's assistance, Joab to Killis's; Keats, Hen and Moses rushed in on the Marrs side, Taulbee, Zachariah and Iry on the Blair, little Jason flew joyously into the fray, impartially attacking both sides, and Geordie prudently retired under the table.

It all happened in a flash,--before I could catch my breath the table was overturned, chairs were flying, bedlam had broken loose. In vain I commanded, implored, threatened,--I might as well have spoken to the raging sea.

Dreadful moments followed, during which I could only dodge chairs and wring my hands wildly. Worse was to come, however,--when I saw Killis grab the shovel, Nucky the poker, and Keats the tongs, while Philip wrested off a table-leg, and Taulbee and others either smashed chairs to pieces for weapons, or seized remaining table-legs, then indeed I felt that death was imminent for all concerned, and, running to the door, shrieked for Howard and the big boys over the workshop. Returning, I plucked the broom from Iry, and rushed with it, straw end foremost, into the thick of the fight. I was lammed on the head by a shovel, on the shoulder by a table-leg, on the elbow by something,--it is not safe to say what might have been the outcome had not Howard opportunely arrived, snatched the broom from me, and, with the handle-end, beaten and whacked the boys mercilessly until they finally surrendered their weapons and retired, bloody but happy, from the "battle."

I lay long awake last night, not from fleas, but nursing bruises and reconstructing theories. I see now that love and gentleness need to be backed up by good muscle, and that to be a success in my undertaking here I require, not the small body I actually possess, but the physique of an Amazon. Of course it is all a mistake, and I must give it up, even sooner than I had anticipated. But I am sorry,--the boys are most attractive, and time spent with them passes with lightning swiftness,--incredible as it seems, for seven whole days I have not had a chance to think of myself, my grief, my loneliness. Undoubtedly this is the Lethe I need,--but if its waves buffet me to bits, what then?

_Later._

Inspiration came when I visited the loom-house this morning, and saw Cleo Royce, the head-weaving-girl, at her work. She is so large and handsome and strong,--a young Juno, with glorious muscle. The heads are to let her come to the cottage and occupy a cot in my room,--I am determined to stay out my month.

_Wednesday._

For two days I have taken away their scanty playtime from the boys in punishment of their fighting Sunday night. Yesterday I talked to them very solemnly on the subject. "Why, it's just an accident you didn't kill one another or me," I said, "and then how should you have felt?"

"I'd hate right smart to kill a woman," replied Nucky Marrs; "but gee, I wouldn't mind laying out a few boys. I got to begin somewheres,--a man haint nobody till he's kilt off a few!"

To-night when I announced that regular twice-a-week baths must begin at once, and that four of the boys must get ready to wash themselves, a shout of delight went up, "Whoopee! We git to go in the creek,--git to go in Perilous!"--and every boy demanded to be one of the lucky four. When I explained that I did not mean go in the creek, but that they must heat water in the kettles in the yard, and carry it to the tubs in the wash-house, and bathe there, howls of indignation succeeded. "We haint no women!", "I'll go home first!", "Dad burn if I'll do it!", "Creeks is for men!", and Philip remarked scathingly, "Nobody but quare women would wash in a house when there's a creek handy!" It was only by Cleo's splendid strength that four were finally corralled in the wash-house.

_Friday._

This has been an anxious week. The ice once broken by the fight Sunday night, every boy has felt free to be himself again. Nucky has fought every boy of his size and larger at the cottage, and, I hear, most of the hundred day-school boys; Killis, though not so aggressive, is quite as warlike; and the others, with the sole exception of Geordie, are not much behind. It is almost impossible for me to get garden-work done, so much of my time must be spent breaking up fights.

Even at meals (fortunately the boys and I have a table to ourselves in the dining-room at the big house) behavior is far from being what it should. Tuesday at breakfast, when Geordie undertook to instruct the new boys in table manners, and informed Killis it was not proper to eat with his knife, he was silenced by a jab of the knife in his direction and a threat to cut out his liver; at dinner Wednesday, when Philip snatched a corn-dodger from Keats's plate, he received a spoonful of "sop" (gravy) full in the face; yesterday when Taulbee made disparaging remarks about Trigger Branch, Nucky plunged the prongs of a steel fork so deeply into his scalp that he had to receive attention from the trained nurse. It is difficult to eat with one's mind so distracted; but distraction is far better than desolation.

V

GETTING BETTER ACQUAINTED

_Sunday Night._

I have been hunting Sunday clothes in the barrels sent us by kind friends,--the garments the children bring with them must be saved for hard, every-day wear. This morning, when I eagerly exhibited the Sunday things to the boys, I was doomed to disappointment. They expressed boundless contempt for the short trousers, flouted the knickerbockers as "meal pokes," and declined to wear the pleated and belted coats. Even the little sailor suit I had found for Jason was refused with scorn, as not being "for men." White shirts most of them accepted, but collars and ties were different,--Taulbee argued that even preachers didn't wear those, so why should he?

I was non-plussed for five minutes; then my eyes chanced to rest on Killis, the noted traveller. Sending the others from the room, I handed him a dark-blue suit, very little worn, and requested him to get into my closet and put it on, just for my pleasure. He did so, and when I had fastened a collar and a soft red tie on him, I invited him to look in my glass. He was frankly delighted. "By dogs, now, did you ever see anybody look as good as me?" he inquired.

"I think I never did," I replied with entire truth.

"If these breeches was just long, I'd keep these here clothes and wear 'em," he said.

"Short breeches," I assured him, "are the very latest style out in the level country; and," I added, "a boy who has seen the world and ridden on a railroad train is the very one to set new styles here,--the others would all follow what you did."

"Dad burn my looks, then, if I don't keep these and wear 'em!"

"Very well," I said, carelessly; "go along now and let me dress."

My dress was half-way over my head when the entire dozen burst into my room without knocking. Taking refuge in the closet, I let them examine the "new-styles," and fight it out over disputed garments. Later, having pinned all the collars, tied all the ties, parted all the hair, and at the last moment washed difficult cracks in all the ears, I set forth with my family for the "church-house," swelling more and more with pride at every step. Never anywhere have I seen such an aristocratic-looking set of boys.

After dinner, made wise by experience, I took them for a long walk up Perilous, to a beautiful, retired glen where they could play, fight (without weapons) and make all the noise they needed to.

On the way back, we met several women and girls on nags, and I was pained to see that my boys did not remove their hats. When I told them they must do so, Philip demanded why.

"To show the respect you feel for women," I replied.

"But I haint got none," he answered candidly; "they never done nothing for me. I'd ruther take off my hat to a cow,--I git something back from her!"

This from the namesake of the Pattern of Chivalry! Philip is very much of a man, and a prodigious worker,--in the shop he does better work than most of the grown-up boys, and is actually permitted to make walnut furniture for the big house--but he certainly lacks minor virtues, such as courtesy and cleanliness.

After supper I happened to ask Killis about his name, and told him I thought he must be named for Achilles, a hero who lived several thousand years ago, and was the greatest fighter of his time. There were unanimous demands to hear all about him, and perforce I started in telling tales of the Trojan War. This time there was no drowsiness, but, as one great combat followed another, intense interest, and howls of remonstrance when I tried to stop.

I have found acceptable literary food for my babes,--but alas, what they want is not milk at all, but blood!

_Wednesday Bed-time._

Jason, my "little pet" as the others call him, resents any allusion to the fact that he is small, and burns to play the man. In our garden work, he seizes shovels and mattocks almost as large as himself from the bigger boys, and whacks away joyously with them. To-day while we were making gravel walks, I caught him wheeling Geordie's barrow, while Geordie made feeble passes at the gravel-bank in the creek with Jason's little broken-handled pick. Geordie explained,

"That 'ere little Jason says he's aiming to leave if you give him little-boy jobs,--he wants big ones. I told him he could take my wheel-borrow awhile,--that I were willing to trade jobs with him, to favor him."

"I don't doubt you were," I said, sharply,--I begin to fear that Geordie's energy and talent reside mostly in his tongue.

"He's able to do it all right," continued Geordie, imperturbably. "By dogs, you ought to have seed him fight out two of them little day-schools at a time yesterday! Any boy can fight like that ought to labor some, and would have to if he weren't a pet!"

This evening while Keats gave me a glowing description of Nervesty's vinegar-pies (it would appear that his affection for her has no few of its roots in his stomach) and the other boys played numble-peg outside my window, what were my grief and surprise to hear the most fearful oaths I ever listened to issue from the sensitive lips of the "pure scholar." Of course all the boys swear; but this was the worst ever. Where can he have learned it, and his father such a perfect gentleman? When I called him in and rebuked him, he was much downcast,--said he didn't aim to cuss, but he had been at it so long he couldn't quit. I told him the only way was to keep on trying, and how very, very happy it would make me when he should succeed; and he promised to try and _try_, "because," he added, almost in a whisper, "I like you." "And I _love_ you," I said, gathering his thin little body to my heart. How happy his words made me,--they are the first to indicate that any of the boys care for me. They have a great deal of reserve, and are hard to get acquainted with, especially Nucky. But at least they are not leaving as they did.

VI

A TRADE AND OTHER MATTERS

_Saturday Night._

Mrs. Salyer came in Thursday bringing some large pokes of beans, a gift to the school, and a saddle-bag full of apples for her boys. Next morning while supervising bed-making, I happened to glance into the box on the wall where Keats had put the apples the night before, and, to my surprise, saw that they were all gone. "We et half of 'em off'n'on in the night, and Keats traded t'other half off to Geordie before we got up," explained Hen,--the three occupy the same bed.

On my idle inquiry as to what Geordie gave for them, Keats produced with pride a mangy little purse, about the size of a dollar, looking as if it had been well-chewed.

"Why, that wasn't a fair trade," I said, "one apple would have been all that purse was worth. I must speak to Geordie about that."

Of course in the rush later I forgot it. Moses and Zachariah having departed without farewells later in the day, I gave Geordie permission next morning to go to an uncle's over on Bald Eagle and bring back his elder brother, Absalom, to the school. Before leaving, he "gave me his hand" to be back "before the sun-ball draps this evening." The sun-ball drapped and rose and drapped again, however, before he returned; and last night as the boys were starting to bed, Philip asked me if I knew how much Geordie had made on those apples he traded Keats out of. "He sold seven to the day-schools for a cent apiece, and six to the manimal trainer for a dime, and three to Taulbee for a big gingercake he brung with him, and I give him a good taw for a couple more, and he traded the two little wormy ones that was left to Keats for a purse."

"What purse?" I inquired.

"That 'ere one Keats swapped him all the apples for at first,--the one you said weren't worth more'n one apple. Keats told him you said so, and he said he would prove it were by giving Keats two-down for it, if he wanted; and Keats was glad to make the trade."

"Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that Geordie made seventeen cents, a gingercake, a taw _and_ the purse, out of that trade, and Keats lost everything but two wormy apples?"

Philip scratched his head thoughtfully. "By grab, he skinned the little Salyer, didn't he? Gee, I wisht I was a born trader like him, dag gone his ole soul!"

When Geordie returned to-night with Absalom, his jaw was tied up in a red bandana, he wore a look of patient suffering, and explained that he had had such a sorry time with toothache he could not return yesterday, indignantly repudiating Philip's suggestion that he had just wanted to stay and see a big time with the Yontses and drink their moonshine. Later, when, while filling a hot-water bag for him, I regretfully spoke to him on the subject of cheating in trades, he was deeply hurt, said he had traded the apples back to Keats only to favor him, and confided in me that he aimed to be a preacher when he growed up.

_Sunday Night._

During the ear-washing this morning, I had another round with Philip, whose ears are always the grimiest, hair the most unkempt, clothes the most tattered. "Philip," I said, with a groan, "you could be the handsomest boy on the place if you only would!"

He replied contemptuously, "Handsome never earnt his salt; when a man steps in the door, looks flies up the chimley!"