Autumn Part 9

"Then," said Mr. Jeminy, "you believe in an after life, Mrs. Ploughman?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Ploughman firmly, directing her remarks to Mrs.

Crabbe, "I do. I believe there's a life hereafter, when our sorrows will be repaid us. There weren't all those hearts broke for nothing, Mrs. Crabbe, nor for what's going on here now, with strikes, and famine, and b.l.o.o.d.y murders."

"That's real edifying, Mrs. Ploughman," said Mrs. Crabbe, "real edifying. Yes," she exclaimed with energy, "these are terrible times.

Now they give me tea without sugar in it. For there's no sugar to be had. Well, I won't drink it. I spit it out, when n.o.body's looking."

And she plied her needles with vigor, to show what she thought of such an arrangement.

"As I was saying," said Mrs. Ploughman, "it's the young who get the old into trouble. And artful folk, who'd ought to know better, with the life they've had. I've had no peace in this life. But I'll have it hereafter."

At this reflection upon Mrs. Wicket, Mr. Jeminy rose to go. "You are right," he said; "no one will disturb you." And he went home to Mrs.

Grumble.

"Where have you been all day?" she demanded.

Mr. Jeminy smiled. He knew that Mrs. Grumble thought he had been spending the afternoon at Mrs. Wicket's. "I have been to call on Mrs.

Ploughman," he said. "There I met old Mrs. Crabbe."

Then Mrs. Grumble hurried out into the garden to pick a mess of young beans for supper, because Mr. Jeminy liked them better than squash.

The bowl of squash she returned to the ice box. "I'll eat it myself, to-morrow," she thought.

"Supper will be a little late," she said to Mr. Jeminy, "because the stove won't draw in wet weather."

VI

HARVEST

Mr. Jeminy, clad in a pair of brown, earthy overalls, a blue, cotton s.h.i.+rt, and a straw hat, full of holes, was helping Mr. Tomkins dig potatoes, up on Barly Hill. From the field on the slopes above the village, he could see the hills across the valley, misted in the sun.

Above him stretched the s.h.i.+ning sky, thronged with its winds, the low clouds of early autumn trailing their shadows across the woods. All was peace; he saw September's yellow fields, and felt, on his face, the cool fall wind, with its smoke of burning leaves, mingled with the odor of spaded earth, and fresh manure.

With every toss of his fork he covered with earth the little piles of straw and ordure which Mr. Tomkins had spread on the ground. As he advanced in this manner, small flocks of sparrows rose before him, and flew away with dissatisfied cries. "Come," he said to them, "the world does not belong to you. I believe you have never read the works of Epictetus, who says, 'true education lies in learning to distinguish what is ours, from what does not belong to us.' However, you have a more modern spirit; for you believe that whatever you see belongs to you, providing you are able to get hold of it."

He was happy; in the warm, noon-day drowse, he felt, like Abraham, the grace of G.o.d within him, and found even in the humblest sparrow enough to afford him an opportunity to discuss morals with himself.

"There'll be potatoes," said Mr. Tomkins, "enough to last all winter for the two of us. That's riches, Jeminy; where's your talk now of the world being poor?"

"Some of these potatoes," said Mr. Jeminy, bending over, "are rotted from the wet weather."

"To-morrow," said Mr. Tomkins, "I'll borrow a harrow from Farmer Barly.

And next spring I'll plant corn here on the hill. Table corn, that is.

Then we'll have a corn-husking, Jeminy; you and I, and the rest of the young ones." And he burst out laughing, in his high, cracked voice.

"Do you remember the last corn-husking?" asked Mr. Jeminy. "It was in the autumn before the war. Anna Barly and Alec Stove lost themselves in the woods. And Elsie Cobbler burned her fingers. How she cried and carried on; Anna came running back, to see what it was all about. But before the evening was over, she was off again, with Noel Ploughman."

Mr. Tomkins nodded his head. Timid in the presence of Mr. Jeminy's books, he was happy and hearty in his own potato patch. "I remember,"

he said. "I remember more than you do, Jeminy. I can look back to the first husking bee I ever was at. That was in '62. A year later I shouldered a gun, and went off with the drafts of '63. Your speaking of Noel put me in mind of it.

"When I got home again," he continued, "there was nothing for me to do.

In those days folks did their own work. Then there was time for everything. But the days are not as long as they used to be when I was young. Now there's no time for anything.

"But Noel was a good man. He was handy, and amiable. He could lay a roof, or mend a thresher, it was all the same to him. What do you think, Jeminy? Anna Barly won't forget him in a hurry--heh?"

"No," said Mr. Jeminy; "no, Anna won't forget him in a hurry. That is as it should be, William. She believes that she has suffered. And if she fools herself a little, I, for one, would be inclined to forgive her."

"She won't fool herself any," said Mr. Tomkins; "not Anna. Wait and see."

The shadows of late afternoon stretched half across the field when Mr.

Jeminy laid down his fork, and started to return home. As he followed Mr. Tomkins down the hill, he saw the tops of the clouds lighted by the descending sun, and heard, across the valley, the harsh notes of a cow's horn, calling the hands on Ploughman's Farm in from the fields.

He stopped a moment at a shadowy spring, hidden away among the ferns, for a cup of cold, clear water. Holding the cup, made of tin, to his lips, he observed:

"Thus, of old, the farmer stooped to refresh himself. When he was done, he gave thanks to the rustic G.o.d, who watched his house, and protected his flocks. They were the best of friends; each was modest and reasonable. To-day G.o.d is like a dead ancestor; there is no way to argue with him."

"I'm glad," said Mr. Tomkins, "that the minister isn't here to listen to you. Come along now; I've plenty still to do before supper. The widow Wicket's gate is down. But I've promised to set a fence for Farmer Barly first."

"You need help, William," remarked Mr. Jeminy thoughtfully; "you need help. I must see what I can do." And he went home, down the hill, after Mr. Tomkins.

The next day he started out early in the morning. When Mrs. Grumble asked him where he was going, he replied, "I must step over to Mr.

Tomkins, to help him with something."

From Mr. Tomkins he borrowed a saw, a plane, a hammer, and a box of nails. Then he hurried off to mend Mrs. Wicket's gate. On the way he stopped to gather an armful of goldenrod for his friend, and also to pick a yellow aster for himself, from Mrs. Cobbler's garden.

When he arrived at Mrs. Wicket's cottage, the widow's pale face and listless manner, filled him with alarm. "I've been up with Juliet,"

she said. "The child has a touch of croup. It's nothing. She's better this morning." And she gave him her hand, still cold with the chill of night.

"Good heavens," exclaimed Mr. Jeminy; "I am sure Mrs. Grumble would have been glad to keep you company."

Mrs. Wicket smiled. But she did not answer this declaration, which Mr.

Jeminy knew in his heart to be untrue.

Putting down his tools, he began to examine the gate. "Hm," he said.

"Hm. Yes, I'll soon have this fixed for you." Mrs. Wicket stood watching him with a gentle smile. "You're very kind," she said. "It's very kind of you, Mr. Jeminy. Most folks are too proud to turn a hand for me, no matter what was to happen."

"Tut," said Mr. Jeminy.

"Well, it's a fact," said Mrs. Wicket gravely. "I've never felt loneliness like I do here. Not ever. Because I've had trouble, Mr.

Jeminy, and known sorrow, folks leave me alone. I'd go away . . . only where would I go?"

"Sorrow," said Mr. Jeminy, "is a good friend, Mrs. Wicket. Sorrow and poverty are close to our hearts. They teach the spirit to be resolute and indulgent.

"One must also learn," he added, "to bear sorrow without being vexed by it."

"I've never had sorrow without being vexed by it," said Mrs. Wicket.

"To my way of thinking, sorrow comes so full of troubles, it's hard to tell what's one, and what's the other."