Mitch Miller Part 9

"Tut, tut," said grandpa, completely dazed like. I run up-stairs and hid, but I could hear. Then grandma came out and said: "Look here!

That's just a prank of our grandson. It's too bad! It's a shame. Sit down and rest and I'll bring you somethin'." Grandpa went off sommers; and pretty soon grandma came out with a gla.s.s clinkin' with ice, and after a bit I heard the peddler say, "Is this blackberry wine?" And grandma said, "Yes." And the peddler said: "Well, it's better'n beer, and I thank ye. You've saved my life. And if you advertised this here, you couldn't make enough of it." Then the peddler seemed to grow bolder somehow and finally he came back to the wine and he said, "I suppose your husband don't know you keep this." Grandma says: "There's certain medicines I believe in--for people that need 'em. And now you feel well enough to go on your way, and I wish you good luck."

So the peddler went off down the road.

And pretty soon grandma came up-stairs and said: "Your grandpa is awful vexed. He'd most pull your hair. And you'd better stay here, and I'll bring some supper to you after a bit, and we'll let this quiet down."

"Well, this is Thursday," says I, "and I'm goin' Sat.u.r.day anyway. And suppose I go to-night--I can walk in." Grandma says: "Your popie is comin' in the morning on the way to Havaner, and you stay and see him.

And if he says you can go, why all right. Or maybe he'll take you to Havaner with him." A thought went through my head! Why not go to Havaner and get the lay of the land, see the steamboats and get ready to go to Hannibal. So grandma brought me my supper, and I went to bed dreamin' of the steamboats.

CHAPTER XIV

While I was at my grandpa's this time, my Aunt Melissa and Uncle Lemuel came to visit on their way to Ohio. They lived in Iowa sommers and he was a preacher and awful smart. He had been married before and his wife died, and then he married my aunt. My pa said a preacher would never do without a wife, especially if he was a Methodist. Besides being lonely, my pa said Uncle Lemuel thought Aunt Melissa would inherit, and of course the time comes when a preacher can't preach and must either go to a preacher's home and be supported or else have help from his wife, because they can't lay up much.

Well, Uncle Lemuel was awful smart. He didn't know Greek or Latin, but he had read the translations and he knew the Bible from A to Z and he could sing in a deep voice, and when he preached he made you scared and ashamed. They petted me a lot--both Aunt Melissa and Uncle Lemuel. They held me on their laps and stroked my head, and asked me about Sunday School and whether I really loved Jesus or only just said so.

There was always a lot goin' on when they visited and I sat and watched.

In the first place, when they would come they had a lot of bags, carpet bags and boxes, and you had to be awful particular of 'em, and the hired man had to carry 'em to the house and Aunt Melissa would say be careful, and if he dropped anything, there was an awful scare about it.

This time they got here just before dinner; and grandma had a big dinner for 'em--lots of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, and you ought to see Uncle Lemuel eat, and Aunt Melissa, too. You'd almost think they didn't have food in Iowa.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Uncle Lemuel]

But first I noticed that grandpa always kind of shriveled when Uncle Lemuel came. His voice was high compared to Uncle Lemuel's, besides he didn't know so much, not even about the Bible, though grandpa hadn't read anything else for 50 years except the prohibition paper. Well, of course grandpa gave up to him the sayin' of grace, and Uncle Lemuel said it in a voice that made the dishes kind of tremble, just like low thunder, and we all looked down, except me. I looked out of one eye a little to see him, and watch my grandma, who was lookin' down of course, but with a look which said: "this is all very well, but here's the dinner which I got and which is to be et. There's real things here before us." Then after grace Uncle Lemuel would tell stories about darkies and things--no swear words, sometimes kind of a funny point, and grandpa would laugh, sometimes the hired man would laugh, sometimes grandma would--not much though. And Aunt Melissa would just smile--she'd heard it before, maybe. Then grandpa would ask Uncle Lemuel questions about politics and church and things, and ask him what he thought would happen. And Uncle Lemuel would talk and grandpa would say, "Yes," "Well, well," "You don't say so," and things like that sometimes, awful surprised. And all the time Uncle Lemuel would be eatin', and of course, bein' a son-in-law, he could have as much as he liked; and they kept pa.s.sin' the chicken to him until the bones was just piled around his plate.

This time they didn't bring their boy Archie. They had just one child, and he was supposed to be awful bad, but they was givin' him a Christian rearin' and expected to make a good man of him. My grandma said that one time when they was here he forgot to say his prayers and sa.s.sed Aunt Melissa when she spoke to him about it, and that Uncle Lemuel made her get a strap and strop him. Uncle Lemuel stood at the head of the stair and said to Aunt Melissa, "A little more, Melissa, a little harder." And so they whipped him good, and after that he prayed and thanked G.o.d for parents that wouldn't let him forget his prayers but made him say 'em.

And onct there was a Dutch boy that came over to play with Archie and Archie got him out in the ice house and got a rope around his neck and pulled him up. Archie was playin' hangin' and this Dutch boy was the criminal and was bein' hanged for a crime. And grandma kind of heard a noise or suspected somethin', so she came into the wood house and found this here Dutch boy clawin' at the rope and kind of purple in the face, and Archie standin' by pretendin' to hold a watch and be the sheriff.

Well, this time Uncle Lemuel whipped Archie with the strap; and after that they made him pray, and put him in a dark room and kept him on bread and water for a day. Then they let him out and he kissed his pa and his ma and said he loved 'em and loved G.o.d and was all right now and would never commit another sin while he lived.

But to come back to eatin' chicken, if you've ever seen bricks piled, kind a thrown down in a pile around a mortar box, that's the way the chicken bones looked around Uncle Lemuel's plate; and all the time there was a lot of talk about the evil of intemperance and the curse of strong drink, and grandpa said that he'd seen slavery abolished, and the time would come when strong drink would be abolished too.

Then in the afternoon we generally had singin' and music; and Uncle Lemuel played the piano and sang "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" in a terrible deep voice, and all the rest joined as well as they could. And then after while everybody would get to cryin' and Uncle Lemuel would say that beyond the weepin' and the wailin' here there was a land of pure delight where we would all be. And Uncle Lemuel would put his hand on my head and ask me if I didn't believe it, and I said yes, I did, though so far as my thoughts went, I didn't know much about it, and I kept thinkin' of heaven as a place where dead folks suddently made alive went around in their night-gowns not doin' very much, except just smilin' sweet on each other and saying soft words.

Grandma always seemed kind of apart at these times, as if she believed everything maybe, and approved of it, but kind of as if there was other things which she had to think of and which kept her from takin' part as much as Uncle Lemuel and Aunt Melissa, and even grandpa, who didn't have anything else to do. For grandma always had the meals to get and the cows to milk, and so much business like that to run; and she never shed any tears except when she was really sayin' good-by to some one, or maybe when she'd get to talkin' about some of the children which had died and which she loved so much.

Of course there was always prayers at night, and in the morning prayers, and readin' from the Bible, which Uncle Lemuel carried on, grandpa standin' back for him. And I came in for a lot of talk about bein' a good boy and man and never touchin' liquor or tobacco, or dancin' or goin' to bad theaters and such like. And Uncle Lemuel talked to me about this treasure huntin', for he'd heard it somehow. And he said to me to lay up treasure in heaven where moths don't come nor thieves; and he said that riches was nothin' because they could be lost so easy; but if a man improved his character and learnt things, he couldn't lose 'em, and no one could take your knowledge away from you, and you couldn't lose it. And onct, while he was talkin' this away, he was tryin' to remember the place in the Bible where there was a text he wanted to say to me, and he couldn't remember the place; and he asked grandpa where it was and grandpa couldn't remember, for you see grandpa was pretty old.

Grandpa had been kind of dozin' while Uncle Lemuel was talkin' to me, but he woke up when Uncle Lemuel asked him where that text was and when grandpa couldn't remember, he says to Uncle Lemuel: "I can't remember like I used to, Lemuel, and a lot of it has gone out of my mind, which I remember when somebody says it to me, maybe, but except for that, it's gone. And sometimes I don't know folks that I've known always, and I forget my specs, and leave my bank book in the wrong place, and make mistakes adding up figures; for you see, as the good book says, things change with us, the grinders become fewer, we lose our teeth; those that looks out of the window are darkened, and we have to get stronger specs; and the truth is we become children again, and if we had to live our life over from that point, we'd have to learn a lot of things over again, if not everything." And Uncle Lemuel said it was true, and for that reason it proved G.o.d's mercy and love to take people to 'im when they got this a way and not let 'em go on forever stumbling about in this sad world.

Well, so it would be after a few days that Uncle Lemuel and Aunt Melissa would have to go; for they always had important things to do in teaching religion; and Uncle Lemuel had to lecture, and this time they was goin'

as far east as Ohio. And after singin' "G.o.d be with us till we Meet Again" and prayers and everybody cryin' but grandma, they got ready to go. Grandpa come up with the carriage and the white horses and grandma was in the kitchen makin' up a box of lunch--fried chicken and brown bread and preserves and cake, because Uncle Lemuel didn't like the lunch counters along the way. And finally grandma came with the box, and Uncle Lemuel and Aunt Melissa was standin' by the door waitin' and ready. So she handed the box to 'em and kissed 'em, and Aunt Melissa cried some more and so they went.

I stood at the door with grandma until they drove off, and then grandma said to me: "Go put on your boots, Skeet, and we'll go over into the woods and look for flowers. I need a change." So we did, and grandma acted like a wild young girl, laughin' and tellin' stories and makin' a lovely bouquet.

CHAPTER XV

The next mornin' when I got down to breakfast, everybody had et and grandpa had gone down the road where the tenant was buildin' a fence. So I took my kite and went way into the middle of the pasture and sent her up. Then I lay on the gra.s.s and watched her sail and drift and looked over at the Mason County Hills, that seemed so mysterious and quiet and never ending. By and by I thought I heard somebody callin' me--and there was. It was grandma. So I hollered back and drew in my kite, and went to the house. And there was my pa. He looked so powerful, and his voice was so deep, and he was so full of fun. You'd never thought he was the same man who was beside hisself over Little Billie. And he was awful glad to see me, and took me on his knee and pulled out a knife he had brought me for a present. Of course grandpa wouldn't say anything about that sign in front of my pa--it warn't the place and didn't fit in. But, anyway, grandpa seemed himself again. So I sat down and listened to 'em talk.

Before they had got very far my grandpa said he'd seen slavery abolished and the time warn't far off when hard drink would be done away with. I was eyein' my pa close, for I knew he drank a beer now and then, and I wanted to see what he'd say. But he didn't say nothin'. He just looked calm, and as grandpa went right on talkin', it would have been interruptin' if my pa did say anything. So he got over that place in the conversation without any trouble. Later, just before dinner, I saw grandma give pa a drink of blackberry wine and take a little herself.

She came from a different part of Kentucky from what grandpa did. And yet they lived happy. It was because she was so smart and like a piece of oiled leather that bends and don't crack.

Well, as I said, I sat listenin' to my pa and grandpa talk--awful interesting too. Pa was tellin' about "Pinafore"; but grandpa kind o'

smiled in a forced way, because he didn't believe in shows. But pretty soon it came out that Joe Rainey had been killed the night before, and Temple Scott had killed him, which boarded at their house. And so I knew there was another case. And I said to myself, it's lucky I was here, for if I'd been in town, most likely Mitch and me would have been around sommers and been witnesses, and got into another tangle, to keep us from goin' to see Tom Sawyer.

It was this a way, as pa told it. Joe Rainey was drinkin' and he and Temple Scott was always the best of friends, but when he was drinkin' he always quarreled with Scott and threatened him. Then my pa says: "His threats came to nothin'. He wouldn't harm a child. He's threatened me a hundred times. I never paid any attention to him. Every one knows he was harmless."

They were practicin' "Pinafore" at Joe Rainey's house--my pa, my ma, and just as my pa was singin':

The merry, merry maiden, the merry, merry maiden, The merry, merry maiden and the tar,

all of a sudden they heard a shot, and then another shot, and somebody opened the door, and there was Joe Rainey lyin' on the porch, almost dead--unconscious, and bleedin'. And Temple Scott had stood his ground and said that Rainey had threatened to kill him, and had drawn his pistol first, and that he shot him in self-defense. My grandpa interrupted to talk about the sin of drink and what it makes people do.

Then pa went on to say that they searched Joe Rainey's pocket and couldn't find his pistol; that later they searched the house and his office and couldn't find his pistol, and the wonder was where it was.

And pa said he didn't believe he had a pistol, at least with him at the time. But Mrs. Rainey said that her husband had come into the house earlier in the evening and got the pistol. But pa said that Mrs. Rainey was too sweet on Temple, and he didn't believe her, and he intended to prosecute Temple Scott as hard as he could and hang him. Then he said that this broke up the practicin' of "Pinafore," that Mrs. Rainey was goin' to play Josephine, but now that her husband was killed, she couldn't. That they all went home, and that the town was full of talk over it, and where the pistol was if Joe Rainey ever had one.

Well, Joe Rainey had died about one o'clock that mornin', beggin' every one not to let him fall asleep for fear he wouldn't wake up no more.

They had give him ether or somethin' and so he kept gettin' drowsier and drowsier, and finally died in his sleep.

So my pa and grandpa talked till noon--most wonderful talk; and then we had dinner and grandma told more funny stories than you ever heard, and had the best time in the world. And after dinner, grandpa hitched up the horses and drove pa to Atterberry to catch the train for Havaner. But pa wouldn't take me. He says, "No, sir, you stay here and get well, and mind your grandma and help her. If you don't, I'll whale you. And I'll come for you a week from Sat.u.r.day, maybe."

That settled that, I was afraid. "Well, then," I said, "will you tell Mitch that I'll be back a week from Sat.u.r.day?" He said he would, and I made up my mind to it.

What do you suppose, when we got to Atterberry, there was Willie Wallace in charge of a freight train which had side-tracked for the pa.s.senger goin' to Havaner. You can't imagine how funny it seemed to see him talkin' to the conductor and everything; and how funny it seemed that I knowed him so well, since I had seen him plow and drive a team and all that on the farm.

"How do you like it?" says I to Willie.

"No more farm for me," says Willie.

"Ain't you afeard? Ain't it dangerous?"

"Yes, it's dangerous," says he. "But look at the pay. And then look at the fun. One night it's Springfield, the next night Peoria--always somethin' new."

Just then the pa.s.senger train whistled, and Willie got up and began to motion to the engineer on his train. I went back to the platform and said good-by to pa. And then we drove back to the farm.

CHAPTER XVI

When we got back to the farm, who do you suppose was there? My ma and Myrtle. She said she was just tired stayin' alone all the time--that pa was always away; and now that Little Billie was dead, she couldn't stand it. She said she never seed such a town as Petersburg was, that she had half a mind to go back to Boston where she was born and raised. That she didn't believe there was such characters in the whole world as Doc Lyon and dozens of others in Petersburg, Joe Pink, and the hoodlums and roughs, and she was afeard all the time some of 'em would kill pa for bein' States Attorney. That it was just one murder after another, that even she'd lost confidence in Mrs. Rainey, who had been her friend, and couldn't understand the talk about Joe Rainey having a pistol when there was no pistol. Then she said that's one part of the town; and the other part was narrow as a knife blade, that they were talkin' of churchin'

Mr. Miller and drivin' him out of the pulpit and for nothin' except sayin' that G.o.d was in everything, and that there wasn't room enough in the world for anything but G.o.d. Sometimes Mr. Miller when he was preachin', got to dreamin' and would wander way off. He had done this when talkin' about G.o.d and give hisself away--that's what they said. And what was he goin' to do with so many children and nothin' saved because he never made nothin', and nothin' to do if he couldn't preach? Grandpa said, "Well, where does that doctrine put old Satan?" And ma says, "Of course it puts him out of the world, which I don't believe; there's too much sin in the world to believe that; but anyway a man has a right to his opinions without bein' persecuted for 'em."

All the time Myrtle was leanin' against ma, just like a cat, actin', I thought. She did make me terrible mad sometimes. Grandpa couldn't see through her. He petted her and went out and saddled a horse and put her on it and led the horse around the lot for 'bout an hour, right in the sun. And then she came in and began to honey around grandma and get things. I saw the game was spoiled for me, and wanted the time to go by so I could get away, or for somethin' to happen. Then about eleven o'clock grandma came into the settin' room with apples to peel, and ma helped her and they began to talk--and it was wonderful to listen, for it was about Mitch and Zueline. Ma said she'd never seed such children, such a boy as Mitch, that he would be a musician or a poet like Longfellow when he grew up; that he was dreamin' all the time and believed in fairy stories, and made everything real to hisself. Then she said that Mitch thought so much of Zueline that it was enough to scare a body; that if anything happened to her Mitch would go out of his head, and if they was separated it would kill him, and she thought they would be separated. That Mrs. Ha.s.son thought of takin' a trip, and takin'

Zueline, but was keepin' it quiet. Grandma said it was silly for two children to act that a way, or at least for Mitch to act that a way.