Part 5

"That's a fact, too," he said. "Better wait till he gets back. I heared from the women you was on the way; and when the rain come up night before last, and again last night, I knowed there'd be tides, and you'd see trouble coming acrost. And this morning, knowing how mean the quicks is down Troublesome, I tuck a notion to ride down and see how things was."

"You are very kind," she said. "Although we've had rather a bad time, I've enjoyed every minute of it. You see, I love adventure, and something different, and I've certainly found it."

Her blue eyes shone, her hair blew about in golden-brown tendrils, her delicate skin was flushed.

"I'm proud you come in," he said, "and the women on the hill, they'll be proud, and everybody will, for now we can have a sight more singing and good times. Not that we hain't had 'em ever sence they come," he added.

"It must be very nice," she said.

"Hit beats anything ever was heared of. You see, the young folks in this country never seed no pleasure before, less'n hit was mean pleasure. We never knowed there was right pleasure. Them women don't fully sense what they're a-doing for us."

"I'm crazy to help them, and to see everything, and meet everybody. Life must be very interesting up here. I've read a lot, of course, about the feuds, and Uncle Adam tells me there is actually one right here on Troublesome Creek. Is that so?"

The young man flashed a searching glance into her face before replying, carelessly, "There has been some little trouble in past times."

"Do you know any of the people who carried it on?"

"Yes," he replied, indifferently.

"I do hope I shall meet them," she said; "it seems so romantic; just like living hundreds of years ago in _The Scottish Chiefs_, or some other old tale."

"War's bad, wherever you take hit," he remarked; "but sometimes hit's necessary. I seed something of hit down in Cuby year before last--though, of course, that wasn't much of a fight."

"Oh, you were there, were you?"

"In what little there was. You live down in the Blue Grass, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Hit's a sight different from this country, hain't hit,--all so level and pretty and smoothed-looking. But lonesome."

"Oh, you've been there?"

"I passed through hit one time on my way to Frankfort."

"I don't see anything lonesome about it."

"Don't you? Well, any level land looks lonesome to me; hit's more friendly-like to see the hills mustering clost about, and not all drawed off flat and distant, like they keered nothing about nobody. While we wait for Uncle Adam," he suggested, "you might maybe feel to sing a song-ballat; I heared you was a fine singer, and I do love hit."

"All right," said Isabel. "What kind of songs do you like best?"

"Oh, something that kindly hurts my feelings."

Isabel cast about in her mind for something plaintive, hit upon "The Rosary," and sang it in her lovely, clear soprano.

"That hain't all?" he asked in surprise, when she stopped.

"Yes, that's all."

"I allowed hit was just taking a start," he said. "Hit leaves the true lovers parted, don't hit?"

"Yes."

"Well, I hain't got no use for hit, then," he said, decidedly. "The true lovers oughtn't to be plumb parted, or kilt off, in the end. Don't you know nary 'nother?"

This time she tried "Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast," with its incomparable words and music.

"That's some better, though hit's too short, too," commented her hearer. "Don't you know no long ones, like we foller singing in this country?"

"I don't believe I do," she said. "Suppose you sing one yourself."

"No, I hain't no singer."

"Yes, I have a feeling that you are. I want to hear you."

"Well, anything to pass the time. I might try 'Turkish Lady.'"

He began a many-stanzaed ballad, having a robust tune with many queer, long-drawn notes--the story of an English lord who was captured by a Turkish one, and thrown into his deepest dungeon, to be released later by the Turk's lovely daughter, amid mutual vows of love and constancy. After "seven long years have rolled around," the Turkish lady "bundles up her finest clothing," and journeys to England, in search of her lagging lover. Arriving at his castle, and "tingling at the ring," she is informed by "the proud young porter" that his master is just bringing a new bride in. She gives him a message to take to his lord; and when he reports it, with the additional information,--

"There's the fairest lady standing yonder That my two eyes did ever see; She wears gold rings on every finger, And on one finger she has three. There's enough gay gold about her middle To buy half of Northumberlee,"--

the master, recognizing his old true love from the description, under the stress of returning passion breaks his sword in pieces three, packs off the new bride with little ceremony, and celebrates another wedding with the Turkish lady, to the general admiration and glee.

Isabel listened, inexpressibly charmed. "Do you realize," she inquired, "that that ballad goes way back to the time of the Crusades, and is probably seven or eight hundred years old? Where did you learn it?"

"I never heared nothing of hits history," he said, "but hit's what I call a right ballat--hit turns out proper. My granny, she teached hit to me; she used to foller singing the night through on song-ballats."

"Oh, will you take me to see her?" asked Isabel.

"Sartain."

"And your voice is good, too; you'll be a great help to me in the singing classes."

Uncle Adam, another man, and the two teams came splashing up behind.

"I see you hain't been lonesome," remarked Uncle Adam.

"I allowed hit would be a bad time for you, getting acrost, and rid down to see how things was," explained the young man, with dignity. "I axed the singing woman to get up behind and ride in, but she said she felt to wait for you."

"Take her on along," said Uncle Adam. "We got to hitch the teams to the hind eend and pull out back'ards, if we do pull out, and hit'll be a couple hours at best, and I take hit she wants to see t'other women. Jump up behind, sis, and go in with him, and tell the women not to get out of heart, that I'm a-coming some time!"

The young man rode close alongside, took off his coat and spread it behind him, on the nag's back, and Isabel jumped from the wagon-seat and lit in the proper place. As she firmly grasped the hantle of the saddle, her fingers just grazed a pistol that protruded from her rescuer's pocket.

"Far'well till I come," called Uncle Adam, as they started up the creek. "Take keer of her, Fult!"

Isabel started violently at the name. Was it possible that the youth sitting before her on the saddle, in all his dashing beauty, was the young feud leader? He had certainly mentioned both Frankfort and Cuba. Thrilled through and through, and consumed with curiosity, she could not endure the suspense a moment longer.

"My name's Isabel Gwynne," she said. "What's yours?"

"Fult Fallon," he replied, gently touching the nag with his spur.

V

THE WIDOW-MAN

On the Thursday afternoon of the week following the quare women's Fourth-of-July picnic, a hollow-eyed, disheveled-looking man drew up before Uncle Lot Pridemore's gate, fell rather than dismounted from his mule, dropped his bridle over a paling, and stumbled into the yard and up on the porch.

Aunt Ailsie appeared from the rear of the house. "Jeems Craddock!" she exclaimed; "I had plumb give you out! But what ails you, Jeems? Here, set down, quick!"

She pushed a chair under him, and he slumped down in it on his backbone, long legs stretching across the porch, arms hanging lifelessly at his sides, chin dropped forward on his bosom.

Aunt Ailsie ran for a gourd of water. Jeems gulped it feebly.

"You look sick to death," she said, anxiously. "Maybe you better have something stronger."

She returned this time with a cup half full of a liquid that looked like water, but was much more eagerly drunk by Jeems.

"Eh law,--that's what I need; good corn-liquor, to holp me up a little."

"Hit's good, too," replied Aunt Ailsie; "hit's some Fulty fotched me t'other day; he allus keeps me in hit."

She waited for the corn-liquor to get in its work--until Jeems's chin was lifted from his breast, his hollow cheeks were flushed, his eyes had lost their dull stare.

"Now tell about hit, Jeems," she said, sympathetically.

He began in a weak voice, which gained strength as he proceeded.

"Ever sence Mallie tuck'n died in Aprile, hit's been the same old story--every night me up'n down all night with the babe, a-fixing hits suck-bottle or a-walking hit for colic, and then getting up before day, maybe without ary wink of sleep, to cook breakfast, with likely the babe a-yelling all through, and t'other eight young-uns all a-squirming underfoot so bad hit makes me dizzy-headed. Then a-trying to get 'em all fed up, and them a-fighting and a-snatching all the time like wildcats, and not able to eat none myself for worriment and dyspepsy. Then a-starting the little gals on the dishes, and the oldest chaps on the firewood, whilst I go out to feed the property and milk the cow-brutes, and them cow-brutes so sot again' having a man-person come a-nigh 'em they do more devilment than all the young-uns. Then maybe, when I get back in, the babe has fell off the bed and nigh cracked hits head, and the young-uns is piled on the floor in a gineral fight, if they hain't sot the house afire playing with light-wood. And then I got to get 'em all onraveled again, and the fire put out, and the babe peaceified with a sugar-teat; and then sweep the main gorm of dirt out of the house, and spread the beds, whilst the chaps goes out again to dig 'taters and pick the beans for dinner. Which then I have to put 'em in the pot,--I give you my word, Aunt Ailsie, I hain't had time to string ary bean this summer,--and mix up a pone of bread and fix hit on the hairth where hit won't cook too hard. And all this before the day's work is raelly begun. And then hit's gether up every one of the nine,--babe, suck-bottle, and all, because I wouldn't dairst leave ary one behind,--and climb the hill to tend the crap; though there hain't but four of the young-uns, Miles and Joe and Minty and Phœbe, is nigh big enough to hold a hoe. T'other four has to take turns minding the babe, and not let hit fall off the hill or play with rattlesnakes. Then we work all morning, and when the sun-ball gets high, all hands comes down again to dinner, and then pull back up again and work till sundown, with the babe a-laying on a quilt between the rows, to take what naps of sleep hit gets, and t'others so drug-out and ill and feisty, they keep a-drapping their hoes and running off to hunt ground-hogs and 'possums, or quiling up somewheres and going to sleep too--and which I wisht they'd all sleep all the time, for then I'd see a little grain of peace. And then all down again to cook supper and feed the young-uns and t'other creeturs,--mules and hogs and chickens,--and milk them devilish cow-brutes again, and then get all hands off to bed, and me dead for a nap of sleep myself, but maybe not nary two hours hand-running all night long, what with the babe's manœuvres, and my dyspepsy--for no kind of food won't set on my stummick no more. And next day the whole thing all over again, if not wusser, with maybe washing or churning throwed in--and all the time the same old story--jest a hip-and-a-hurrah, and a rare-and-a-pitch, and a hoove-and-a-set, from one day's eend to t'other, till hit's the God's truth, Aunt Ailsie, I don't actually know whether I'm a-living in a turrible nightmare, or dead and gone to hell for my sins--and don't care, neither!"

Aunt Ailsie laid a compassionate hand on his arm. "Pore Jeems, pore creetur," she said; "things is wusser with you than I suspicioned, though I allowed they'd be bad enough when I heared Mallie was gone, and you with so many of a size, and nary one big enough to help. I've thought of you time and again, and wished I lived a-nigh you, so's I could do things for you. You allus was sech a good, diligent, working boy, the right son of your maw, that was my best friend when I was a young gal. Yes, I shore have pitied you in my heart; and that's the reason I sont you the word about these here fotched-on women; I allowed, in the bunch of 'em, you could find one to your notion, and pick you out a good wife. But that's neither here nor yander now; you air a sick man, Jeems, and not in no fix even to talk about courting; and what I aim to do is to put you to bed this minute."

"I would have started soon as the word come," groaned Jeems; "but first I had to lay the corn by; and then Jasper, one of the three-year-old twins, tuck a spell of the croup; and then Clevy, the five-year-old, chopped his big toe off, and Jemimy, the two-year one, was a-licking the milk out of the top aidge of the churn and went in head-foremost, and was black in the face and appeariently gone when we pult her out. And then seemed like I couldn't no way on earth persuade nobody to come there and stay with them young-uns whilst I got away a couple of days--not nary neighbor wouldn't no way consent to hit; and I had to go clean yan side the mountain atter a widow-woman, Cindy Swope, with six of her own, that tuck pity-sake on me and come over, with the six, a-yesterday. And me so bad off by then I couldn't hardly set my nag to get here."

"Pore Jeems--don't worry no more; you're here now, and in plenty of time, too; none of the quare women hain't stepped off yet. You get along there into t'other house, and shuck off, and lay down in the fur bed you laid in when you was here two year gone,--pore creetur, you look like a grandpaw now to the man you was then,--and I'll fetch you in a leetle hot snack that I'll gorrontee to set on your stummick, and then you'll take that nap of sleep you been dying for sence Aprile."

When Uncle Lot came in from work an hour later, snores were rising loudly and rhythmically from "t'other house." Aunt Ailsie simply said that Jeems Craddock, having a little business on Troublesome, had come to take the night; and, seeing he was sick, she had put him to bed at once--an explanation which satisfied Uncle Lot's stern but hospitable soul.

At supper Uncle Lot announced; "Atter studying on hit a week, careful, Ailsie, like I told you coming from the picnic I aimed to do, I have made up my mind to lend a cow to them women on the hill for the time they're here. We air commanded to remember the stranger that is within our gates, and hit appears like I feel to do that much for 'em, even if they have got a sight of wrong idees--sech as holding Sunday School for young-uns, when hit hain't once even spoke of in Scripter, and giving an overweight of larning to women-folks, and the like. And on that last line, too, I have been a studying, like I promised the women; and hit's true we air commanded to sarch the Scripters, and likewise that Paul says there hain't neither male nor female in Christ Jesus. Which, having clear Bible for, I am willing that you should larn jest enough from them women for you to be able to read Scripter, and no more, believing in my soul that larning in gineral is too much for a woman's mind."

"O paw, do you raelly mean you aim to let me get larning, same as Uncle Ephraim?" asked Aunt Ailsie, breathlessly.

"As fur as I told you," qualified Uncle Lot.

"Oh, praise the Lord!" exclaimed Aunt Ailsie. "O paw, I feel like I can't wait to take my first lesson! When can I start in?"

"I allow you can go in maybe a-Saturday," permitted Uncle Lot, graciously.

"And I'll drive the cow in then to the women, too. Which one do you want to lend 'em, paw, Old Pied, or the pieded heifer? Both has calves ready to wean, and both is milking fine--the heifer a leetle grain the best."

"Let 'em have her, then; I don't do nothing halfway. And there's five of them, and not but two of us."

But Aunt Ailsie did not have to take the cow in herself. Next morning, which was Friday, Fult dashed up the branch.

"I'm on my way down Troublesome a piece," he called, "and allowed I'd ride up and just say how-d'ye, and see how you was."

Aunt Ailsie ran down to the fence. "S-sh--don't talk so loud; there's a sick man a-laying in there asleep," she said. "I'm proud you come, for your grandpaw has tuck a notion to lend them quare women a cow, and you can drive her back with you. And, another thing, Fulty, he has studied on hit and made up his mind to let me get larning,--enough to read Scripter, anyway,--and which I'm a-coming in to-morrow to take my first lesson!"

"I'm glad for you, granny," said Fult, heartily, "and I'd take the cow right back, now, but I'm on my way to see what has happened to the singer the women sont out for, that ought to have got in last night. But the rains have been so bad I allow traveling is pore, and Uncle Adam's wagon is maybe stalled in a quick down Troublesome, and I told the women I'd ride down a piece and see. But I'll come for the cow later in the day--soon as dinner's over, maybe."

Returning to the house, Aunt Ailsie tiptoed into the room where Jeems slept, and came out with a large armful of his clothes over her arm. These she threw on a chair in the kitchen-house, then held up the coat and trousers, with a deep sigh.

"Hain't hit a pyuore pity, now, for a man-person to start out a-courting in sech gear?" she exclaimed. "Pore creetur, the babe has puked up hits milk all over him from head to foot, and the dust has got kotched in the spots, till nobody wouldn't be able to tell the color of his coat and breeches. And them fine linsey, too, that Mallie weaved herself out of black sheep's wool for him."

She went to work with hot water and soft soap, repeatedly sousing the coat and trousers and socks, and rubbing them with her hands (washboards were an unknown luxury). Then, having cleansed and rinsed them, she hung them out in the July sun to dry, and turned her attention to the hat, which was the usual broad-brimmed black felt of the mountain man.

"Eh law, hain't hit a picter of misery!" she said, holding it out: "the brim all a-flopping, like hits ambition was plumb gone."

She scrubbed and cleaned it, and then took a flatiron and pressed the brim carefully while it was still damp, until it took on quite a jaunty stiffness.

Then came the shoes. The deeply caked mud was scraped and washed off, and a mixture of lard and soot generously applied.

By ten o'clock the suit was sufficiently dry to be pressed, and a truly artistic job was made of it.

Then Aunt Ailsie went in and waked Jeems. "You've put in seventeen hours good sleep," she said, "and I allow your stummick needs a leetle comfort next. You got plenty of time to get ready for dinner. I fotched you in a pan of warm water and soap and a towel and wash-rag, allowing you might feel to take a good wash-off. Then you can put on this here clean shirt of Lot's,--I couldn't get yourn off'n you to wash hit,--and these here breeches I washed for you, and clean socks and shoes, and then come in the kitchen-house and take you a shave with Lot's strop and razor, and then I'll crap your hair,--hit looks like hit hain't seed scissors sence Mallie died,--and then you'll begin to feel more like yourself."

An hour later, Jeems, washed, dressed, shaved, shingled, and combed, was indeed a transformed man--the hollow look gone from eyes and cheeks, twenty years from his age.

"If you could meet up with yourself, Jeems, you wouldn't never know hit was the same man rid up here a-yesterday," said Aunt Ailsie, proud of her handiwork. "You look now about what you air--thirty-two come September; I ricollect your birth, you and Link being nigh of an age. You look fitten now to start out a-courting to-morrow. Not," she added hastily, seeing an awakening gleam in Jeems's eye, "not to court young gals, of course, but to court them of an age with you. Of course, you'll never be what you once was, in those fur-off young days when me 'n' your maw used to take pride in your looks."

"Hit seems to me like two or three weeks sence yesterday," remarked Jeems, who appeared to be in a kind of daze. "I don't noways feel like the same man."

"You hain't," pronounced Aunt Ailsie. "You was in a pure franzy for sleep. And now you got hit, hit has wropt up your narves, and swaged down your feelings, and knit up your faculties, till you're in some fix to look around you and get things kindly straightened out in your mind, and take counsel about what you come for--the job of getting you a wife.

"Now I knowed in reason you'd be a-seeing troubles, though I never tuck the full measure of 'em, or drempt how nigh crazed and drove you was. But when these here furrin women come in, and I seed how smart and pretty they was, and all the way from twenty-three to twenty-eight year old, and nary a man to their name, seemed like hit went through me like a knife, I felt so bad for sech sweet creeturs to be old maids. And then I thought right off of you, and how scand'lous bad you needed a wife, and your young-uns a maw, and how proud you'd be doing yourself to get one of these fine, fotched-on women; and I jest put two and two together, Jeems, and sont you word immediate, afore any more widow-men could get in ahead of you; for you know they's allus several round about, all on the look, and I knowed when they seed these women they'd be atter 'em hot-foot. And when you didn't come sooner, I begun to get right scared for your chances. But I hope you hain't too late yet.

"Now, Jeems, hit's plain enough you can't live no longer a widder--you'll sartain be dead if you do. And the pint is, what kind of a woman do you need? That's what you want to study on, and study keerful. You hain't had no show sence Mallie died, to get out and look around none, or do much thinking either, I allow. But hit don't take much studying to know you need, first and foremost, a woman that can tame down and civilize young-uns."

"That's hit," Jeems agreed, fervently.

"All them furrin' women knows how to handle young-uns to the queen's taste," continued Aunt Ailsie. "You'd never believe how civil all them feisty, briggaty boys and gals at The Forks has got to be."

"Hit's a sight how a woman-person can swage 'em down," said Jeems, wonderingly. "Now, Cindy Swope hadn't been in the house a hour afore she had my nine and her six all a-working peaceable and biddable."

"And the next thing you want, Jeems, with your dyspepsy, and all that mess of young-uns, is somebody can cook good."

"Eh, law, that's what I want, too! I'm plumb beat out with my own cooking; that air supper Cindy cooked when she come in was the first meal of vittles had sot on my stummick for three month'."

"I don't rightly know," continued Aunt Ailsie, "which one of them quare women is the best cook, but, from the table they set, I allow they all air. Now there's one that's sort of extry fine on vittles and larns the gals how to make all manner of new-fangled things, and hain't but twenty-three, and got mighty pretty crow's-wing hair, and blue eyes. But ricollect, she hain't for you, Jeems, and wouldn't so much as look at a old widow-man with nine young-uns. And, anyhow, Darcy Kent's a-talking to her. So don't you waste no thoughts there.