Part 5

I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way, And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day! I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone!

I got to _thinkin'_ of her; and a-wundern what _she_ done That all _her sisters_ kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, And her without _no_ chances--and the best girl of the pack-- A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! And _Mother_, too, afore she died,--_she_ ust to jest take on, When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline!

I got to _thinkin'_ of her: In my great affliction she Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,-- She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- They'd sometimes _cry_ together--though, fer the most part, she Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt her bonnet on And say she'd railly _haf_ to be a-gittin' back to John!

I got to _thinkin'_ of her, as I say,--and more and more I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John-- You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife-- 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--and--It happened _thataway_.

A DOS'T O' BLUES

I' got no patience with blues at all! And I ust to kindo' talk Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall, They wuz none in the fambly stock; But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, That visitud us last year, He kindo' convinct me differunt Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here.

From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from, They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways; They'd come to him in the night, and come On Sundys, and rainy days; They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, And in harvest, and airly Fall,-- But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time, He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!

Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had-- The mumps, er the rhumatiz-- Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger--bad As ever the blame thing is!-- Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, Er a felon on his thumb,-- But you keep _the blues_ away from him, And all o' the rest could come!"

And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! Ner a spear o' grass in sight! And the whole woodpile's clean under snow! And the days is dark as night! You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- Lay down--stand up--ner set!" And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues Would double him jest clean shet!

I writ his parunts a postal-kyard He could stay tel Springtime come; And Aprile--_first_, as I rickollect-- Wuz the day we shipped him home! Most o' his _relatives_, sence then, Has eether give up, er quit, Er jest died off; but I understand _He's_ the same old color yit!

THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL

This is "The old Home by the Mill"--fer we still call it so, Although the _old mill_, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. The old home, though, and the old folks--the old spring, and a few Old cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!

Here, Marg'et!--fetch the man a _tin_ to drink out of! Our spring Keeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "_taste_" anything! She's kindo' _age_in', Marg'et is--"the _old_ process"--like me, All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.

Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago; The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know? One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; two other miller-boys In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise. The _oldest_ gyrl--the first that went--married and died right here; The next lives in Winn's Settlement--fer purt'-nigh thirty year! And youngest one--was allus fer the old home here--but no!-- Her man turns in and he packs _her_ 'way off to Idyho!

I don't miss them like _Marg'et_ does--'cause I got _her_, you see; And when she pines for them--that's 'cause _she's_ only jest got _me_! I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.--But talkin' sense, I'll say, When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed then t'other way! I hain't so favor'ble impressed 'bout _dyin'_; but ef I Found I was only second-best when _us two_ come to die, I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef _Marg'et_ died, you see,-- I'd jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!

THE WAY IT WUZ

Las' July--and, I persume, 'Bout as hot As the old Gran'-Jury room Whare they sot!-- Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff.... 'Pears to me jest like as ef I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing-- Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard When they's nightmares on the wing And a feller's blood's jes' friz! Seed the row from A to Izzard-- 'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em As me and you is!

Tell you the way it wuz-- And I don't _want_ to see, Like _some_ fellers does, When they's goern to be Any kind o' fuss-- On'y makes a rumpus wuss Fer to _interfere_ When theyr dander's riz-- Might as lif to _cheer_! But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em As me and you is!

I wuz kindo' strayin' Past the blame saloon-- Heerd some fiddler playin' That old "Hee-cup tune!" I'd _stopped_-like, you know, Fer a minit er so, And wuz jest about Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_-- Whole durn winder-sash fell out! And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like, And both a-gittin' down to biz!-- And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em As me and you is!

I wuz the on'y man aroun'-- (Durn old-fogey town! 'Peared more like, to me, _Sund'y_ than _Saturd'y_!) Dog come 'crost the road And tuk a smell And putt right back: Mishler driv by 'ith a load O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell-- Too mad, 'i jack! To even ast What wuz up, as he went past! Weather most outrageous hot!-- Fairly hear it sizz Roun' Dock and Mike--tel Dock he shot,-- And Mike he slacked that grip o' his And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz 'Bout half up, a spittin' red, And shuck his head.... And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em As me and you is!

And Dock he says, A-whisperin'-like,-- "It hain't no use A-tryin'!--Mike He's jest ripped my daylights loose!-- Git that blame-don fiddler to Let up, and come out here--You Got some burryin' to do,-- Mike makes _one_, and, I expects, 'Bout ten seconds, I'll make _two_!" And he drapped back, whare he'd riz, 'Crost Mike's body, black and blue, Like a great big letter X!-- And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em As me and you is!

PAP'S OLD SAYIN'

Pap had one old-fashioned sayin' That I'll never quite fergit-- And they's seven growed-up childern Of us rickollects it yit!-- Settin' round the dinner-table, Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps, Er abusin' of our neghbors, I kin hear them words o' Pap's-- "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

Pap he'd never argy with us, Ner cut any subject short Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip, And wuz actin' as we ort: But ef we'd git out o' order-- Like sometimes a fambly is,-- Faultin' folks, er one another, Then we'd hear that voice o' his-- "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'-- _Never_ hadn't _much_ to say,-- Only, as I said, pervidin' When we'd rile him thataway: Then he'd allus lose his temper Spite o' fate, and jerk his head And slam down his caseknife vicious' Whilse he glared around and said-- "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin' With a misery in his side, And had hobbled in the kitchen-- Jest the day before he died,-- Laury Jane she ups and tells him, "Pap, you're pale as pale kin be-- Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers Hain't good fer ye?" And says he, "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,-- Forty year', through thick and thin; I've got best,--and I've got _wors'ted_, Time and time and time ag'in!-- But I've met a-many a trouble That I hain't run onto twice, Haltin'-like and thinkin' over Them-air words o' Pap's advice: "Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"

ROMANCIN'

I' b'en a-kindo' "_musin'_," as the feller says, and I'm About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know When we swore our first "_dog-gone-it_" sorto' solum-like and low!

You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand-- Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a _man_.-- Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er _dim_onstrate Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,-- But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!--

I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree, Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me; And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!

Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _presunt_, I kin see-- Kindo' like my sight wuz double--all the things that _ust_ to be; And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum _Now_ to _Then_!

The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June, Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune; And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag, Seems ef they can't--od-rot 'em!--jest do nothin' else but brag!

They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, And that sassy little critter jest a-_peckin'_ all the day; They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush, And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!

They's music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,--and in the stream That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed, I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.

Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--And they's other fellers, too, With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom, As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.

I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out, With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"!-- I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.

I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill, And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still; And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe, And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.

W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk" Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.

And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time, When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--I de-clare I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!

AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY

AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY

William Williams his name was--er so he said;--Bill Williams they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills.

The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, fer I mind 'at old Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerssmen, and I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_

Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer Ezry at the time--part the time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as tall a build man as Tom Carter--but of course you don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom was; and as fur back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and putt up his seven cord a day.

Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down his face and neck, and I don't know how fur down his breast--awful lookin'; and he never shaved, and there wasn't a hair a-growin' in that scar, and it looked like a--some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a-crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-and-out ornry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on him.

Steve and me--Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in Californy now fer, le' me see,--well, anyways, I rickon, over thirty year.--Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time--I allus let Steve drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you _did_ see and-I-know! W'y, a hoss, after he got kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do anything fer _him_! And I've knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick!

Well, we'd come over to Ezry's fer some grindin' that day; and Steve wanted to price some lumber fer a house, intendin' to marry that Fall--and would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got her weddin' clothes done--and that set hard on Steve fer a while. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never married, someway--never married. Reckon he never found no other woman he could love well enough--'less it was--well, no odds.--The Good Bein's jedge o' what's best fer each and all.

We lived _then_ about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day to make the trip; so you kin kindo' git an idy o' how the roads was in them days.

Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Ben, I want you to kindo' keep an eye out fer Ezry's new hand"--meanin' Bills. And then I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and shore enough there was, as I found out afore the day was over.

I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His name was all over the neighberhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks.

In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: Him and his wife, and a little baby on'y a few months old, come through in a kivvered wagon with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the mill, fer some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his wife and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into it then and there; said his woman could pay her board by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as lif settle there as anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; and havin' house-room to spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; and they didn't have no things ner nothin'--not even a cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped 'at he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you wouldn't a-knowed him!

Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills was a bad stick, and the place wasn't none the better fer his bein' here. But, as I was a-goin' on to say,--as Steve and me driv up to the mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed Steve--I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, but what it was I couldn't jist make out, fer the noise o' the wheel; but he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's Steve _wouldn't_ hear it, and _he'd_ have the consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called Steve some ornry name 'thout givin' him a _chance_ to take it up. Steve was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc't--and you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his mother--allus loved his mother, and would fight fer her at the drap o' the hat. And he was her favo-_rite_--allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful of him allus, when he'd be sick or anything; nuss him like a baby, she would.

So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and _I_ said nothin', o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv round to the south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better feed; so I left him with the hosses and went into the mill.

They was jist a-stoppin' fer dinner. Most of 'em brought ther dinners--lived so fur away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where the mill stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the father of 'em, wasn't no man at all--not much bigger'n you, I rickon. Le' me see, now:--There was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben Carter; and Wesley Morris, John Coke--wiry little cuss, he was, afore he got his leg sawed off;--and Ezry, and--Well, I don't jist mind _all_ the boys--'s a long time ago, and I never was much of a hand fer names.--Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; and fer the last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' fever 'at I brought on onc't--fever and rheumatiz together:--You see, I went a-sainin' with a passel o' the boys, fool-like, and let my clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. W'y, my breeches was like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay fer _that_ spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps it in hot whiskey and pops it on me,--and I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up, fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor bill. But that's nuther here ner there!--As I was a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away--great hand, he was, fer his joke, and allus a-cuttin' up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts on the boys. And that day he was in particular good humor. He'd brought some liquor down fer the boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, enough to feel it. He didn't drink much--that is to say, he didn't git drunk adzactly; but he tuk his dram, you understand. You see, they made their own whiskey in them days, and it wasn't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as harmless. But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they putt tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. Well, Ezry he'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out to _me_ to come and take some, the first thing. Told him I didn't b'lieve I keered about it; but nothin' would do but I must take a drink with the boys; and I was tired anyhow and I thought a little wouldn't hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down _Bills_ spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and I'm a stranger to you, but I rickon we can drink to our better acquaintance,"--er somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter in a gourd he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I couldn't well refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and drunk her down--mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I railly didn't want it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her at a swaller and never batted an eye, fer, to tell the fact about it, I liked the taste o' liquor; and I do _yit_, on'y I know when I' got enough. Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve couldn't abide liquor in no shape ner form--fer medicine ner nothin', and I've allus thought it was his mother's doin's.

Now, a few months afore this I'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' fer their liquor there--fer I'd fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, and pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry was a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make money a-sellin' it fer half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about his liquor--and it was a good article--fer new whiskey,--and jist then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't drink _that_ whiskey wasn't no man at all! So, of course, when they ast _Steve_ to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills was kindo' tuk down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and says he, "I reckon you ain't no better'n the rest of us, and _we've_ be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve didn't let on like he noticed Bills at all, and retch and shuk hands with the other boys and ast how they was all a-comin' on.