I've Been Thinking Part 8

'Yes, sir,' was the ready answer. But the man addressed shook his head so significantly, and jerked the horse so rudely, as he turned him round, that if Mr. David, Junior, could have seen it, he would have understood that his exploit in driving was not much relished by others, if very agreeable to himself.

The elder Mr. Cross immediately led his son into a private room adjoining the store, and with much anxiety in his countenance waited for the result of the errand upon which he had been sent.

'Foster says, he has closed the bargain with old Ross; he is to give you a quit-claim deed for all his right and t.i.tle to the property in the barrens, for the sum you named.'

'That's good--did he say anything further?'

'He said something about my telling you that he was on the look out; that he would hunt like a cat for a mouse; but the old fool was afraid to tell me what he meant.'

'Michael Foster is no fool; but, I suppose, he thinks it best to be mum. Yet do you know Rutherford has been here?'

'No: has he?'

'Yes; and he refuses to make any contract this year; and I could see, by his management with the men, what he's at: but he'll miss it. He'll have to stoop his head yet, high as he holds it now.'

David made no reply; but, whistling a lively tune, walked away, and mingled with the men, who were again gathering around the counter.

The travellers experienced no difficulty in finding their way, and soon drew up before the humble residence of the widow.

'It looks better, my dear Mary, than I expected,' said Mr. Rutherford, as he alighted from the carriage. He was about to enter the dwelling, when Mrs. Brown appeared at the door. She was neatly dressed for one living in so poor a place--that is, her plain dark calico was put on with care, and she wore shoes and stockings--articles not often seen in the barrens. She wore no cap, for her light brown hair was not at all changed by age, and her countenance was as fresh and fair, almost, as at twenty-one. She seemed surprised for an instant-- 'Have you forgotten me, Aunt Mary?'

'This ain't Mr. George Rutherford?'

'Yes, it is--once your little Georgie.'

'Oh, dear! how glad I am to see you;' and the tears started to her eyes. 'And that is Mrs. Rutherford, and these are your dear little children. How they do look just as you used to look.'

'We are all well acquainted with you, Mrs. Brown; for my husband is continually talking about you.'

'Oh, dear! I never thought to see any of you again; for I did not suppose you would ever get so far out of the world as to come here. I cannot ask you to go into my poor house; but there are some seats under the trees, where your lady might sit down, and--'

'Oh, Mrs. Brown, you don't think that your Georgie, as you used to call him, has got a wife who would not go into a house many times worse than yours, to see one he thinks so much of; so, with your leave, we will all go in, for we have come on purpose to see you.'

'I am very happy, if he has got a lady who knows his worth.'

'Take care, Mrs. Brown, what you say; I am afraid you did a little towards spoiling him when a boy: he is not out of danger yet.'

The family now pa.s.sed into the cottage, while the widow and old Caesar had a few kind salutations to make, 'ere she followed and took her seat among them.

Many were the questions asked about the old homestead, for twelve years had pa.s.sed by since she was last there. Deaths, births, marriages, changes of circ.u.mstances, and relations, how they had acc.u.mulated during that period! and how often the tears would start, and the lip tremble, as the recital went on! Her own story was but a short one; for many things she was obliged to pa.s.s over, or touch lightly upon.

'But where is the little girl you had with you, when last at my father's? she must be almost grown up now.'

'Oh, no; she is but a little girl still; she is only sixteen now; but she is very obedient and kind-hearted.'

'Just like her mother.'

'Oh, I don't know as to that, ma'am; but she is an obedient child, and a great comfort to me--and the best of all is, I hope she is a Christian.'

'That is good,' exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford, at the same time.

'Ah--then you both love good things yourselves; don't you?'

'We hope we do.'

'The Lord be praised for his mercies. It seems to me always a great thing for the rich to be pious--they can do so much good.'

'Yes, if they have a heart to do good. Is your daughter at home, Mrs. Brown?'

'No, ma'am; but she will be here soon. She has gone to visit a neighbour a little south of us, among the farmers. We have but a poor neighbourhood around us; and you know young people want some one of their own age to be with and talk to.'

'Why is it, Mrs. Brown, that the people in the barrens are so poor, and apparently so degraded?--they get work enough, and are well paid for it. My husband is very anxious about the matter, and wishes to remedy it if he can.'

'Oh, well, ma'am; I don't know that I have got the right idea of things; but it has appeared to me these many years that there must be wrong management. Our men work hard, but are only able barely to live, as you see; and for so many people to be all poor together, is a great evil.'

'Do you think, Mrs. Brown, that they get their pay?'

'I think they do, ma'am, in a certain way. Mr. Cross settles with them every month, and keeps things square; but you know, ma'am, when a man gets so much power into his hands as Mr. Cross has, he may be tempted to do wrong because no one can bring him to account for it. The men are obliged to take the wages he sees fit to allow them, as there is no one in this region to give them employment.'

'And charges them what he pleases for the goods they must purchase?'

'It is pretty much so, ma'am. They must have the necessaries of life you know, ma'am; and although they purchase only such things as their families absolutely need, yet it is so managed, that they are brought a little in debt at each settlement. Some think that he charges almost double what the goods cost him; but, situated as they are, no one dares complain, and so they go on from year to year.'

'This is slavery I think, Mary, with a vengeance,' said Mr. Rutherford, looking at his wife.

'It is just as we expected, my dear.'

'Well, I hope, Mr. Rutherford, that I have not done injustice to Mr. Cross. He has been good to me and mine. Perhaps, after all, the people think hard of him without sufficient cause.'

'You have only confirmed my suspicions of the state of things here. You know that I own a large part of these barrens; and, therefore, it is my duty to look into matters, and not suffer evils to exist, if I can remedy them.'

Mr. Rutherford then proceeded to touch upon matters more immediately relating to the widow's personal interests, and which, in fact, had been one of the objects of his visit. It was in reference to her removal from this region, so dest.i.tute of privileges, to her former home, beneath his own roof, where her children could be usefully employed, and herself made comfortable.

It was some time before she could make any reply to this generous offer.

'You must not hesitate, Mrs. Brown, to accept this offer; for I a.s.sure you, that I heartily join with my husband in it.'

'Oh, I thank you, ma'am; I believe you are sincere, and are acting from the kindest motives, and perhaps you will think it strange that I should hesitate a moment about accepting it.'

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Hettie. Her appearance surprised Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford--the fine glow on her cheek, the raven blackness of her hair and eyes, the pleasant smile that immediately lighted up her countenance, the simple curtsey that she dropped, all so pretty and so natural--they had not expected to meet so lovely a flower in such a waste; and the widow must not be blamed if she indulged some little pride as she presented her to their friend. Hettie was her bright star; hope always rose when she appeared. An increasing interest was excited in the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford, and the subject of her removal again introduced.

'You cannot tell,' replied the widow, 'how much I feel the kindness of your offer; and were only the interest of myself and Hettie to be consulted, I should not long hesitate. But, oh! Mrs. Rutherford, you cannot yet tell how a mother feels towards a wayward son. William is not just what I could wish he was, but he still clings to me. I know he will not be willing to leave these parts, unpromising as they are: for me to separate from him, and allow him to go without restraint in the midst of so many temptations, would be like giving him up to ruin; and I cannot but hope he will one day be different from what he now is; the Lord, you know, has many ways to bring back the wanderer.'

Her friends could urge no further the whole of their request, but ventured to say-- 'Will you not, Mrs. Brown, let us have Hettie? We will do for her as well as we can.'

This proposal was one that she felt it her duty to accept, however trying to be separated from one she loved so dearly.

After a short consultation with her daughter it was decided that she should accompany them. Wis.h.i.+ng to give them an opportunity to make some little preparation, Mr. Rutherford concluded to drive into the open country, which lay a little to the south of the widow's cottage--the scene where our story commenced.

It was with an united exclamation that they first met the view which opened to them, as they emerged from the pines.

'Ah, how beautiful!'

It was, indeed, a striking contrast to the region through which they had been travelling.

The country was little varied by hill and dale, and in no wise improved by the hand of man: for the houses which could be seen were but unsightly buildings, and all the enclosures of the rudest kind; yet common-place as was the face of the land, in connection with the extensive water view, there was much to justify the exclamation--it was a panorama delightful to those who had been so long riding amid the dark monotony of a pine-forest.

On either side of the strip of country which lay immediately before them, and around the whole view in front, was water: first a clear river stealing down on the right, and then another on the left, each hastening to mingle their waters in the beautiful bay, ere they rolled to the ocean; in the distance, a long line of land stretching towards the east, as far as the eye could reach, encircling an immense bay, and losing itself where sky, and earth, and water are mingled in one; while beautifully breaking the wild expanse of water, a strip of land ran out into the bay, over whose crest could be seen, in the distance, the white sail winging its way to the broad ocean.

Even old Caesar felt the animating influence of the scenery; and urging on his horses by a cheering word, the carriage rolled along as fast as was becoming such a stately concern.

'Whoa-a, whoa-up--whoa there.'

'Oh, Caesar! what's the matter?'

There was, at the same time, a fearful leaning to one side.

'Nuttin', missus; only de wheel c.u.m off.'

It was, to be sure, nothing else; but that of itself was sufficient to prevent any farther progress for the time being. Caesar and his master were soon down; the horses detached from the carriage, and the wheel picked up and brought to its place.

"Tis all right, Ma.s.sa George, only de linch-pin is gone; may be me find um.'

And very diligent was the search for the lost pin, but to no purpose; the prospect, indeed, was not the most agreeable; for a long road must be retraced ere home could be reached.

A young man from an adjoining field, seeing their dilemma, hastened to offer his aid. Very soon rails were procured, and by means of them the heavy coach was raised, and the recusant wheel replaced; and then the young man who showed much readiness to a.s.sist, as well as ingenuity, procuring a bit of hard wood, began whittling it into the shape of a pin.

'Mister, what a' yo goin' to do wid dat 'tick?'

'I'm making a pin for you, daddy.'

'My golly! you no t'ink dat hold dem big wheel on. No blacksmith nowhere here?'

'Yes; there is one not far off; but you want something to keep your wheel on until you can get the carriage there.'

'Why me no bring him here when he makes de pin?'

'Why, you see, daddy, he will want the measure of the hole to make it by; and the old man does not like to walk very much, as he is fat and clumsy. It will be as much as we can do to get him to make the pin at all; he don't like to work such hot weather.'

'Ay, ay. Well, den; you right, bubby.'

With that Caesar prepared to attach the horses to the carriage, while the family walked on towards the little low building with a high chimney, which was pointed out to them.

As the carriage drove up, a very fleshy person was seen waddling towards the door, and putting one arm out on each side, supported himself in the doorway. He looked at the coach, and the horses, and the driver, alternately, in great astonishment. He saw the old black smile, but took no notice of it; and fixed his eye at length on the long sweeping braces, as though wondering where such powerful springs were made.

'Ma.s.sa Cutter forget me.' The old man cast his eye up.

'Ma.s.sa Cutter no 'member Caesar?'

'Caesar--Caesar--what, not Caesar Rutherford? No--yes--so it is--why, you old rascal, how do you do? Give us your fist. I thought, when you showed your teeth at me, that I'd seen you before. But you grow old, man--your head is all getting white.'

'Ha, ha, ha; Ma.s.sa Cutter growin' old, too, and big! My! what a sight! Good livin' I 'tink here, Ma.s.sa Cutter.'

'Good living--there's no living at all--it's too hot to live; nothing but salamanders could stand it. But what's brought you here?'

'Oh, you see, Ma.s.sa Cutter, me lose de linch-pin; so dis young gemman tell me de blacksmith close by; but I no 'spect to see Ma.s.sa Cutter--ha, ha, ha!'

'And you want me to make a new one, do you?'

'If you please.'

'Here, Bill Andrews, since you have been so helpful to these folks, and helped them here, you may just come and help me; so take hold of them 'tarnal old bellows, and blow for your life.'

'That I will, Uncle Sam.'

The old man, although reluctant to move about much, made expeditious work with his hammer; the pin was soon made and fitted to its place, and the carriage ready for another start. Before this, however, Mr. Rutherford had reached the shop, having left Mrs. Rutherford and the children to enjoy a fine shade at a little distance. As Mr. Cutter had been acquainted with his father, it afforded the former an opportunity of making many inquiries about events long transpired, some of which, being connected with Mr. Cutter's removal to his present house, occasioned, on his part, very long and heavy sighs, and serious shakes of the head. At length he could hold in no longer.

'Oh, dear, oh, dear! it makes me feel bad all over to hear you talk about them places and things;--to think what an old fool I've been to come to such a place as this.'

'It does not look like a very thriving place, Mr. Cutter.'

'Thriving! there's nothing thrives here but rum and deviltry. Thriving!--I tell you what, the old 'un thrives here, no one else, and a great haul he'll have--he's fixing for it. No schools, no meetin'-houses, and no nothing that's good;--the men most all drunk and lazy, and the boys going to the d----l, if I must say so, asking your pardon, as fast as they can.'

'This is a poor account of your place, Mr. Cutter. What do you suppose has caused such a state of things?'

'It is beyond me to say, sir; there seems to be a kind of curse on the place; and it is my candid opinion, if something ain't done here soon--some preaching, or something else of that sort--we're a gone case;--even a dumb Quaker would be better than nothing. He might walk round in his square coat, and frighten the old 'un a little.'

Mr. Rutherford could not restrain a smile at the earnestness of the old man, and the singularity of his idea.

'From your description, Mr. Cutter, you are not much better off here than our people in the barrens.'

'Not much to boast on, I tell you, sir. Only they can't raise nothing, and must depend upon old Cross for work to buy their bread with, and he charges them just what he pleases; and if they should grumble, or ask for their money to spend elsewhere, he would turn them off entirely, and then they might live on huckle berries and pine knots.'

'They are badly off, I believe, sir; but I hope to be able to make some change in things there. The people are, no doubt, imposed upon, and I shall not allow it to be so if I can help it.'

'Bless your young heart for saying so; but you must look out for Cross; he's a precious villain--I tell you.'

'I believe he is no better than he should be; but I shall try to manage it, so as not to injure the poor folks, at any rate.'

'Well, I'm glad on it, for there are some clever people among them. There's the widow Brown; why you must know her? she used to live in your father's family.'

'Oh, yes, I know her well, Mr. Cutter; and part of my errand down was to see her. Her daughter, I hope, will go home with me to live.'

'What! Hettie! Hettie ain't going away--and yet she ought to go out of such a hole as this. She is too pretty and too good to be round here. What's the matter, Bill? Where's the use of keeping the old bellows creaking, when there's no iron in the fire?'

'Oh, I didn't think. You are done, ain't you?'

'Yes, I hope so. I've pounded myself all in a heat. But what makes you look so pale, man?'