Part 3

"It reminds one of the spirit of the old Roman judge, who sentenced his two wicked sons to death," said Virginia. "I must tell you how I admire it in you, and how sincerely I agree with you."

Uncle Lot seemed to be overcome with astonishment at their speeches. "Women," he said after a moment, "you are the first people, women or men either, less'n hit is old Uncle Ephraim Kent, that ever upholt me in my principles, or tuck the measure of my char-_ac_-ter. The folks in these parts can't noways see the jestice in nothing their own is consarned in. Ailsie here has helt hit again' me every time I holp to indict Fult, or spoke a word again' his wrong-doing. And as for Cynthy, his maw, she won't hardly speak to me; and, though she is my offspring, is the bitter-heartedest and keen-tonguedest woman hit ever was my lot to meet up with. But for her agging him on, hit is my belief Fulty never would have rid up and shot Rafe that day he was eighteen, and the war hit would long sence have been forgot. Yes, the women-folks has holp not a little to foment the trouble and keep hit a-going. And when I see women that is able to take a right and a jest view, hit purely surprises me so I hain't able to express hit. But this much I can say, and feel to say, that I am downright beholden to you, and have maybe jedged you a leetle hairsh and onkind, being prejudyced in my mind again' strange women by Solomon's counsel."

"I told you them was right women, paw, from the start," said Aunt Ailsie, triumphantly, "and you wouldn't noways take my word for hit. But hit's a-getting along time for all hands to lay down; and whenever you gals feel to, say so."

They expressed their readiness, and Aunt Ailsie brought a stick of light-wood from the kitchen fire, and, followed by the guests, Ruthena, and the eight "young-uns," went into the big bedroom. One end of the stick was fastened in a chink in the wall, and Aunt Ailsie, Ruthena, and the eight settled themselves expectantly on beds and chairs. After waiting some time for them to pass out, Amy and Virginia began in desperation to get ready for the night. Sitting on the edge of the burying-sheet, they first took down their hair and brushed and plaited it.

"Now what do you do that for?" inquired Aunt Ailsie; "I never heared of folks combing their hair of a night."

"It feels better to sleep with smooth hair."

Then began the embarrassing experience of undressing before the fascinated gaze of ten persons. First, the gingham dresses came off, then nightgowns were slipped over heads and bodies, while further disrobing proceeded. The pieces of under-wear, as they were handed forth, one by one, were eagerly examined by Aunt Ailsie and Ruthena.

"Never seed so much pretty needle-work in all my days," declared both. "But them stiff-boned waists, what air they?"

"Corsets," replied the women.

The corsets were passed around, with many exclamations of interest and surprise. "'Pears like hit would be mighty trying to walk around all trussed-up that way," commented Aunt Ailsie.

But Ruthena was other-minded. "Maw, I aim to have some myself, right off," she said.

"Now, women, them shifts you have got pulled over your heads now--what is the reason for them? I see you tuck off the ones you had been a-wearing."

"They are nightgowns."

"I sleep in the same I wear of a day."

"We like to go to bed in something fresh--it is better for health."

"Never heared tell of that before. Do you allus strip off everything you wear of a day?"

"Yes."

"'Pears like you're a sight of trouble to yourself."

"I aim to make me a nightgown, maw, but I won't know how to make no pretty one, like them," sighed Ruthena.

"Oh, yes, you will; we'll show you how, and help you," said Amy.

The two, being at last undressed, knelt by the bedside to say their prayers. Aunt Ailsie tipped excitedly out of the door and clutched Uncle Lot's arm.

"You allowed them was wrong women, and runaway wives," she whispered, "Come watch at 'em down on their knees a-praying, as pretty as angels."

She drew him to the door, and he looked on, evidently much impressed. Once or twice he shook his head.

Then Aunt Ailsie and Ruthena took off their shoes and heavy, home-knitted stockings, and went to bed in the rest of their clothing; while the three least ones, being barefooted, turned in, just as they were, with their mother, and the five older ones reluctantly departed to kitchen and loft. Uncle Lot then sauntered in, threw out the stick of light-wood, and, shedding brogans, socks, and trousers, took his place beside Aunt Ailsie, all conversing casually meanwhile. Evidently the process of "laying down" was not regarded as one requiring privacy, or to be accompanied by any self-consciousness or false modesty.

In the morning, before sunrise, the guests were awakened by a blast of the gourd-horn, calling the men in from the stables; and jumping into their clothes, they washed their faces on the back porch, smoothed their hair, and hurried in to breakfast.

The table was again loaded with fried chicken, fried eggs, string beans, potatoes, cucumbers, biscuits, corn-bread, three kinds of pie, and six varieties of preserves. Uncle Lot himself was almost pleasant. Aunt Ailsie took advantage of the thaw to say, when the meal was nearly over:--

"Uncle Ephraim Kent is a-getting larning, paw. Amy here is a-teaching him, and he is going through the primer fast, and allows to read his grandsir's old Bible afore the summer's over."

Uncle Lot nodded approval. "That's good work for the old man," he said.

"Paw," continued Aunt Ailsie, "the women allow I might larn to read myself; that I hain't too old or senseless--that is, if you was agreeable."

Uncle Lot considered deeply before replying. "Hit has allus been my opinion," he said, "that women-folks hain't got no use for larning. Hit strains their minds, and takes 'em off of their duty. Paul, he says, 'the man is the head of the woman'; and though I hain't got no great of larning, I have allus believed I was all the head-piece needed in the family."

"Yes, that is true--the man should be the head of the family," agreed Virginia. "But in another place, you know, we are told to search the scriptures; and also Paul says, 'There is neither bond nor free, male nor female, in Christ Jesus'; and it does seem that everyone, whether male or female, ought to have the comfort of reading the Bible."

"Well, there's something in that--I hain't never thought on hit in jest that light. I'll study on hit careful, women, and try to do jestice on all sides, and spend my opinion on you when I reach hit."

"We are sure you'll do what is right. And one more thing we want to ask you before we go--won't you come in to our Fourth-of-July picnic on the hill Wednesday? We've sent word throughout the county for everybody to come to a basket picnic that day, and we hope to have a pleasant time. But people tell us we are doing a dangerous thing, and running a risk; and it will be most desirable to have the presence of a law-loving man like yourself."

"Hit is dangerous," pronounced Uncle Lot. "There hain't no known way to keep liquor out of sech a crowd; and there never is a gethering without drinking and shooting. And if the two sides was to meet there, hit's untelling where the trouble would end."

"We think that we're making things safe," said Amy. "But still, it would be best to have a man of your opinions and influence present."

"Well, I'll study on hit."

"Women," said Aunt Ailsie, "what is a 'Fourth-of-July'?"

"It's the day our nation was founded, a hundred and twenty-four years ago."

"The time we fit out the British, hain't it?" inquired Uncle Lot.

"Yes."

As Amy and Virginia started down the rocky, winding branch,--for they had to leave early to help with the work on the hill,--Uncle Lot turned to Aunt Ailsie and said, weightily: "Them women may be quare and furrin and fotched-on, but, in my opinion, they hain't runaway wives. And, in my jedgment, if Solomon was here, he would allow they hain't _strange_ women, neither."

III

THE FOURTH OF JULY

On Tuesday noon, Uncle Lot announced to Aunt Ailsie that he would go to the quare women's Fourth-of-July picnic the following day, and would take her along.

"Hit appears to be my duty, as a law-loving man, like they said, to be thar on the hill in case of trouble, which is nigh-about sartain to come, there not being hardly a gethering in two year, be hit election or court or funeral-meeting or what not, that hain't been shot up, and sometimes broke up, ginerally by Fult and his crowd."

"O paw, you allus a-faulting Fulty, and him your own grandchild, and the picter of you when you was young!"

"Picter or no picter, I hain't proud of daddying no sech, and don't uphold none of his doings. And if Darcy's crowd is there, too, which hit will be, with all the county a-mustering, then hit's unknowing what the day may bring forth."

About eight o'clock Wednesday morning, the two started down the branch--Uncle Lot, a tall, grizzled figure in dark homespun and black slouch hat, leading, on Tom-mule; Aunt Ailsie following on old fat flea-bitten Darb. Profiting by the quare women's example, she had discarded the hot brown-linsey dress in favor of an everyday one of blue cotton; but she still clung to the black sunbonnet and light-print apron--inevitable badges of the respectable married woman.

When they arrived at The Forks, the one street was lined with nags,--they could scarcely find two palings to which to tie Tom and Darb,--and a stream of people was zigzagging up the steep hill behind the court house. Uncle Lot went on up, while Aunt Ailsie stopped at the hotel for her daughter, Cynthy Fallon, whom she found in the kitchen frying chicken, while three or four of the girls packed baskets. Cynthy was complaining:--

"Fulty, he allus has so many to feed, jest pine-blank like his paw--all them boys that runs with him, and then a big gang more he's sartain to ax to eat. I allow to feed anyhow fifty."

"You go wash and dress and I'll fry what's left," insisted Aunt Ailsie.

Half an hour later, the two started up with their heavy baskets. Cynthy, too, wore a black sunbonnet and print apron; and from their appearance it would have been impossible to say which was mother, which daughter. If anything, Aunt Ailsie looked the younger, Cynthy's face being so lined and drawn from the troubles she had had as Fighting Fult's wife and widow.

The first thing they saw, as they toiled up past the deserted tents, was a tall pole, with the great flag which usually hung in the large tent flying before the breeze. It was set beside the flat rock, just at the top of the ascent, which the women had named Pulpit Rock. Beyond, on the level top of the spur, were numbers of seats made by laying saplings across logs; and here elderly folk and mothers with babies were tightly packed, while hundreds wandered about, or sat under the trees, or against the small, latticed grave-houses; for the spur-top was also a burying-ground.

The two women, Virginia and Amy, who sat on a puncheon-bench beside the rock, with Uncle Ephraim Kent between them, beckoned for Aunt Ailsie and Cynthy to join them. A phalanx of young people, whom Aunt Ailsie recognized as the singing class, stood beneath the flag, all wearing sashes of red, white, and blue across shoulders and breasts. Fult was in the front line, beside Lethie.

Aunt Ailsie leaned forward and said anxiously: "Lot, he's sartain there'll be trouble; he says some of the boys will get liquor, shore, and then--"

"I'm not very much afraid," replied Amy. She turned to little John Wes, Cynthy's four-year-old, who was perched on the rock behind her. "Tell Fult to step here," she said.

He came forward, looking very handsome, his dark beauty set off by the bright colors of his sash.

"Your grandparents fear drinking and trouble here to-day," Amy said.

Fult drew himself up. "I have give my word," he said, "not only that there won't be no drinking and trouble on the hill to-day by me and my friends, but that nary drap of liquor shall be fotched up here by nobody. Me and t'other boys have been scouting around all morning, meeting folks as they rid in, and going into saddlebags and coat-pockets, and warning all hands that we aim to have peace on the hill to-day if hit takes cold steel to get hit. And Charlie Lee and two more boys air still spying around for hit, whilst I sing."

This astonishing transformation of peace-breakers into peace-compellers laid Aunt Ailsie's fears. A little later, however, when she saw Darcy Kent, Fult's archenemy, come up with the pretty young woman who presided over the cooking-tent, and sit down not twenty feet from Fult, anxiety again awoke.

"Hit gives me a spell to see them two so nigh together," she whispered to Cynthy.

The latter cast a glance of cold, withering hatred at Darcy. "'Pears like he's trying to get him a fotched-on gal," she sneered.

But the programme was already beginning, with the singing of the "Star-Spangled Banner" by the class, Fult's rich voice leading. Then followed a prayer by Uncle Lemmy Logan, an Old Primitive preacher. Then the reading of the Declaration of Independence by Giles Kent, the school-teacher, and a song and march by fifty little kindergartners, who aroused more enthusiasm than any of the performers; then Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, read, somewhat haltingly but most impressively, by Uncle Lot. Then more patriotic songs by the class, and an oration, "The Founding of Our Nation," by Lawyer Nathe Gentry.

All had gone finely so far. Everybody was reassured by seeing Fult and Darcy in such conspicuous and peaceable proximity, and attention was rapt, even the scores of babies being quiet. Then, when everybody hung breathless upon the orator's words, and he was just launching into his peroration, three loud pistol-shots were fired in the immediate rear of the crowd. Instant panic fell. Women, without a word, seized their smaller children and scuttled down the hill like rabbits; men sought the shelter of trees, all save a compact group, headed by Darcy and Uncle Lot, which made for the scene of the trouble. Aunt Ailsie wrung her hands.

"I seed Fulty leave the singers a little grain ago," she said; "I'll warrant hit's him!"

It was. They found Fult bending, pistol in hand, over a prostrate young man. "Hit's Charlie Lee, my best friend," he said. "He holped me sarch all comers for liquor this morning, and then I left him and two more to patrol the hill whilst I sang. First thing I knowed, I seed him behind a tree tipping a bottle, and gethered that he was drinking some he had tuck off of somebody, and, knowing his weakness, I felt sartain he'd never stop till he was crazy drunk. I had give my hand to the women there would be no drinking on the hill, and there wasn't but one thing to do--take hit away from him. When I come back to do so, he already had enough in him to be mean, and refused to give hit up; and when I tried to take it anyhow, he drawed on me. I seed then the onliest thing to do was to shoot the pistol out of his hand, which I done, scaring him pretty bad, and maybe grazing two-three of his fingers, but not hurting him none to speak of. Hit was the only way."

Sure enough, while Charlie's hand was bleeding profusely, it was found that there was not even a bone broken.

"Where's the fotched-on nurse-woman?" was the cry.

But she was already at hand, with a small first-aid outfit; the fingers were quickly bandaged, and Charlie, sobered by the shock and extremely shamefaced, was soundly berated by Fult for his faithlessness.

And now arose a dilemma. By rights Darcy, being sheriff, should have placed both disturbers of the peace under arrest. He made no move, however. A hand was placed upon his arm, and Uncle Ephraim whispered:--

"Don't do nothing at all; hit would start a battle that would never eend."

Then the old man stepped forward, and spoke authoritatively.

"Fult here desarves a vote of thanks from the citizens of this county for keeping the peace here on this hill to-day, and not having hit broke up by even his best friend. In the name of the people, and the women, I thank him."

He solemnly offered a hand to the boy, who took it, flushing.

Uncle Lot also stepped forward. "I hain't never in life seed you do nothing I tuck pride in afore," he said to his grandson; "but you done hit to-day when you went pine-blank again' your feelings and your friendship to maintain the peace."

He also put forth his hand, which Fult accepted as one in a daze.

In fifteen minutes the women and children were all back, relieved and smiling, and the lawyer was completing his peroration. There was then a slight pause in the proceedings, while everybody talked of the panic and its happy ending.

Then, very slowly, Uncle Ephraim Kent, a notable figure, with his mane of white hair, his crimson hunting-jacket, his linen trousers and moccasins, his tall, lean body very little bent by the passing of eighty-two years, mounted the pulpit-rock and faced the audience.

"Citizens and offsprings," he began, "hit were not in my thoughts to speak here in this gethering to-day, even though the women axed and even begged me so to do. I never follered speaking, nor enjoyed listening at the sound of my own voice, the weight of no-larning allus laying too heavy upon me. But sarcumstances has riz and sot up lines of thought that calls for the opening of my mind to you, and I will therefore do the best I am able.

"And firstways I will say how I rej'ice that them shots that brung fear to our hearts to-day was good shots, and not bad ones, fired to keep the peace by one that has too often follered breaking hit. And I'll say furder that, in my opinions, he never would have broke hit that first time but for old, ancient wrongs, done afore he seed the light: sins of the fathers, visited down on the children, and ketching 'em in a quile they can't hardly onravel."

The audience, well knowing that the old man referred to the killing of his son, Rafe, by Fult, and to the previous warfare between Kents and Fallons, listened breathless.

"But," continued Uncle Ephraim, "let me leave that sorrowful tale for a spell, and go back to the good old days when there wa'n't no sech things as wars betwixt friends and neighbors--the days when our forbears first rid acrost the high ridges from Old Virginny or North Cyar'liny and along these rocky creeks, and tuck up land in these norrow valleys. A rude race they was, but a strong, with the blood of old England and bonny Scotland in their veins, and in their hearts the fear of naught; a rude race, but a free, chasing the deer and the b'ar and the wild turkey and the Indian, tending their craps with a hoe in one hand and a gun in t'other; a rude race, but a friendly, banding together again' all foes, helping one another in all undertakings. Some of 'em, like my grandsir, the old cap'n, come in to live on land that was granted 'em because they had fit under Washington; t'others jest wandered in and tuck up what pleased 'em.

"Well, atter they settled theirselves in this rugged, penned-in land, then what happened to 'em? Well, right there was the trouble--_nothing_ never happened. Here they was, shut in for uppards of a hunderd year, multiplying fast, spreading up from the main creeks to the branches and hollows, but never bettering their condition--you might say, worsening hit. For before long the game was all kilt off, and life become the turrible struggle hit still is, jest to keep food in our mouths--raising craps on land that's nigh straight-up-and-down, like we have to. And while a many of the first settlers, like my grandsir, had been knowledgeable men, with larning, their offsprings growed up in the wilderness without none, because there wa'n't no money to send the young-uns out to school, or to fotch larning in to 'em. And the second crap, of which I was one, was wusser and ignoranter still, being raised up maybe, like me, eighty mile from a schoolhouse or church-house; and the third was wusser and meaner yet; and so on down to now, when they hain't no better, though there is a few pindling destruct schools here and yan.

"And about the onliest times in all them years our folks found out there was a world outside these mountains was when the country sont in a call to fight hits battles. Then we allus poured forth, rejoicing--like when there was trouble again with the British, and we mustered under Old Hickory behind them cotton-bales and palmetty-logs at New Orleens; and then later, when Mexico got sassy; and then when the States tuck sides and lined up, you know how we fit through them four year--mostly for the Union; this here stiff right arm I fotched back remembers me of hit; then there's this here leetle war in Cuby, too, not long finished.

"All of which proves we air a brave and fighting race. And if the fighting had stopped with wars for our country, all would have been well. But, citizens and offsprings, hit never stopped there. You all know how, when there wa'n't no outside wars to keep us peaceified, there was allus them amongst us, for thirty year and more, that couldn't take no satisfaction in life onless they was starting wars amongst theirselves.

"And right here you will say to me, 'Uncle Ephraim, begin at home.' Which is but true and just. For well I know the part my offsprings has bore in the troubles of this country, and that the Kents, which used to be a peaceable gineration, has come down to be a mean one. But, friends, hit never was with my counsel or consent. I have loved peace and pursued hit. But all in vain. War hit raged hither and yan; battles was fit all over the county; and here at The Forks many was kilt--three of my sons amongst 'em--and many a more wounded, and sorrow was brung to many hearts. Hit was not until Fighting Fult and my son Rafe was both kilt, that we had a taste of peace. Then, for a spell, whilst young Fult was down at Frankfort, and fighting in Cuby, we rested; and oh, what a joyful rest hit was!

"Then young Fult come back, and sad times begun again--not that I am faulting him for hit, for Darcy, being older, ought to have knowed better than to sarve them warrants on him in the first place. Hit was like throwing fire in gunpowder. In my opinion, if the boy had been let alone a spell, to kindly work off his youth and sperrits, he'd 'a' soon settled down. But he wa'n't, and the war hit flamed up again, and for nigh two year we have seed trials on top of tribulations. As I said afore, I hain't blaming neither boy--both was bitter-hearted from the family hate which they had drawed in, you might say, with their mothers' milk; both had loved their paws; both had lost them; revenge was naetural. But if ever a people was wore out with wars and troubles, we air them people; if ever folks yearned and pined and prayed for peace, we air them folks.

"Yes, many's the time, walking the ridge-tops, standing up yander on the high rocks, I have looked down on the valley of Troublesome and agonized in sperrit over hit, calling upon the God of Israel to send us help and peace. Many's the time, too, up there, I have dreamed dreams and seed visions.