CHAPTER I.
THE COMING OF THE SCHOOLMASTER
The spirit of Indian Summer, enveloped in a delicate bluish haze,pervaded the Kentucky forest. Through the treetops sounded a sighingminor melody as now and then a leaf bade adieu to the companions of itssummer revels, and sought its winter's rest on the ground beneath. On afallen log a redbird sang with jubilant note. What cared he for thelament of the leaves? True, he must soon depart from this summer home;but only to wing his way to brighter skies, and then return whenmating-time should come again. Near a group of hickory-trees a colonyof squirrels gathered their winter store of nuts; and a flock of wildturkeys led by a pompous, bearded gobbler picked through theunderbrush. At a wayside puddle a deer bent his head to slake histhirst, but scarcely had his lips touched the water when his head wasreared again. For an instant he listened, limbs quivering, nostrilsdilating, a startled light in his soft eyes; then with a bound he wasaway into the depths of the forest. The turkeys, heeding the tocsin ofalarm from their leader, sought the shelter of the deeper undergrowth;the squirrels dropped their nuts and found refuge in the topmostbranches of the tree which they had just pilfered; but the redbird,undisturbed, went on with his caroling, too confident in his own beautyand the charm of his song to fear any intruder.
The cause of alarm was a horseman whose approach had been proclaimed bythe crackling of dried twigs in the bridle-path he was traversing. Hewas an erect, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed young man with ruddycomplexion, clear-cut features, and a well-formed chin. A rifle layacross his saddle-bow, and behind him was a pair of bulky saddle-bags.He wore neither the uncouth garb of the hunter nor the plain homespunof the settler, but rather the dress of the Virginian cavalier of theperiod, although his hair, instead of being tied in a queue, was short,and curled loosely about his finely shaped head. The broad brim of hisblack hat was cocked in front by a silver boss; the gray traveler'scape, thrown back, revealed a coat of dark blue, a waistcoat ornamentedwith brass buttons, and breeches of the same color as the coat,reaching to the knees, and terminating in a black cloth band withsilver buckles.
He rode rapidly along the well-defined bridle-way, and soon emergedinto a broader thoroughfare. Presently he heard the high-pitched,quavering notes of a negro melody, faint at first and seeming as much apart of nature as the russet glint of the setting sun through thetrees. The song grew louder as he advanced, until, emerging into anopen space, he came upon the singer, a gray-haired negro trudgingsturdily along with a stout hickory stick in his hand. The negro doffedhis cap and bowed humbly.
"Marstah, hez you seed anythin' ob a spotted heifer wid one horn brokeoff, anywhars on de road? She's pushed down de bars an' jes' skippedoff somewhars."
"No, uncle, I've met no stray cows; but can you tell me how far it isto Major Hiram Gilcrest's? I'm a stranger in this region."
"Major Gilcrest's!" exclaimed the darkey. "You'se done pass de turnin'whut leads dar. Didn' you see a lane forkin' off 'bout a mile back byde crick, close to de big 'simmon-tree? Dat's de lane whut leads toMarstah Gilcrest's, suh."
"Ah, I see! but perhaps you can direct me to Mister Mason Rogers'house? My business is with him as well as with Major Gilcrest."
"I shorely kin," answered the negro, with a grin. "I b'longs to MarseMason; I'se his ole uncle Tony. We libs two mile fuddah down dis heahsame road, an' ef you wants to see my marstah an' Marstah Gilcrestbofe, you might ez well see Marse Mason fust, anyways; kaze whutevah hesay, Marse Hiram's boun' to say, too. Dey's mos' mighty thick."
The stranger turned his head to hide a momentary smile.
"You jes' ride straight on," continued Uncle Tony, pointing northwardwith his stick; "fus' you comes to a big log house wid de shettahs allbarred up, settin' by itse'f a leetle back frum de road, wid a woodsall roun' it--dat's Cane Redge meetin'-house. Soon's you pass it, youcomes to de big spring, den to a dirty leetle cabin whar dem pore whitetrash, de Simminses, libs. Den you strikes a cawnfiel', den a orchid.Den you'se dar. De dawgs an' chickens will sot up a tur'ble rumpus, butyou jes' ride up to de stile an' holler, 'Hello!' an' some demno-'count niggahs'll tek yo' nag an' construct you inter Miss CynthyAnn's presence. I'd show you de way myse'f, on'y Is'e bountah fin' datheifer; but you carn't miss de way."
With this he hobbled off down the road in search of the errant heifer.Meanwhile our traveler rode steadily forward until, in anotherhalf-hour, he came in sight of a more prosperous-looking clearing thanany he had seen since leaving Bourbonton. To the right of the road somelong-horned cattle and a mare and colt were grazing in a woodlandpasture; to the left, in a field, several negroes were gathering theyellow corn from the shock and heaping it into piles. In an orchardadjoining the cornfield a barefooted, freckled-faced little girl wasstanding under an apple-tree with her apron held out to catch the fruitwhich another barefooted, freckled-faced little girl in the branchesoverhead was tossing down to her. In the center of a tree-shaded yardstood the house, a spacious, two-story log structure, with a huge rockchimney at each end.
As the stranger drew rein at the stile, he was greeted by a chorus ofdogs, followed instantly by the cries of a number of half-clad,grinning little darkeys who came running forward from the negroquarters in the rear.
"Doan be skeered o' Ketchum, Mistah; he shan't tech you," called thelargest of them, a bright-skinned mulatto, quieting the snarling dogwith a kick.
"Reckon Marse Mason's somewhars 'roun' de place, suh," added the darkeyin answer to the traveler's inquiry. "Miss Cynthy Ann she's in desettin'-room. Jes' walk in dar tru de passage-way, an' knock at de fustdoor you comes to. I'll tek yo' hoss, suh."
The stranger crossed the low, clapboard-covered porch and entered awide, dusky hall running through the entire length of the house. Thehum of a spinning-wheel guided him to a side door, at which he knocked.In answer to a loud "Come in," he stepped into a large room madecheerful by a gay rag carpet on the floor. A comely, middle-aged womansat at a side window, at work with her needle on some coarse homespunmaterial. Near her a bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl, clad in short,linsey dress and homespun apron, had charge of the spinning-wheel inthe center of the room. In one corner a negro girl was carding wool;and on the wide rock hearth two little boys were parching corn in askillet.
"Glad to see you, suh," exclaimed Mrs. Rogers heartily, hasteningtoward the stranger with outstretched hand. "Susan," she said to thespinner, who came forward with a modest courtesy and a shy "Goodevenin'," "set a cheer an' tek the gentleman's hat. Rache"--to thenegro--"put by yer cardin' an' tek thet spinnin'-wheel out to theloom-room. Tommy an' Buddy, stop litt'rin' up the h'arth, an' run washyer faces. Heah, tek this skillet with you, an' then see ef you kinfind yer pap. He's down whar they're geth'rin' cawn, I reckon."
Seizing a split broom as she spoke, she brushed the hearth, then gave atap with her foot to the smouldering logs, which broke into a blaze andsent a shower of sparks up the wide chimney.
"The days is gittin' cooler, 'spesh'ly ez night comes on. Draw up tothe fire, suh--an', heah, tek this cheer; it's comf'tabler thenthat'n'," she said hospitably, ejecting a big tortoise-shell cat fromthe depths of a cushioned rocker which she pulled forward.
"My name is Dudley, madam; Abner Dudley," said the guest as heexchanged the straight, split-bottom chair for the rocker. "I learnedfrom Squire Osborne, of Bourbonton, that a teacher was wanted in thisneighborhood. I had intended going to Major Gilcrest's to-night, butmade the wrong turning, and then met your old servant, who directed mehere."
"You're welcome, I'm shore, 'spesh'ly ef you're a schoolmastah. We'dbegun to think we warn't to hev no school a'tall this wintah. Folks'roun' heah air beginnin' to tek big stock in schoolin'," she went onas she resumed her seat and began to sew.
"So Squire Osborne told me," answered Dudley. "I'm glad the people areinterested in educational matters."
"Yes; Mr. Rogers, Hirum Gilcrest an' John Trabue air plum daft aboutit. Preachah Stone said last time he preached fur us thet we sartainlyair progressin', an' I'm glad on it, too, though I n
ever hed edvantigesmyse'f. When I wuz a little gal down in Car'liny, I went to school long'nough to l'arn my a-b-c's. Then the redskins broke up the school, an'we didn't hev no more tell I wuz a big gal an' 'shamed to go an' l'arnmy a-b abs 'long with the little shavers. When I wuz 'bout sixteen,'long comes Mr. Rogers, an' I didn't keer nothin' more 'bout school.You know, when a gal gits marryin' in her haid, thar ain't no room leftin it fur book-l'arnin'. Mason he wuz a sprightly, well-sot-up youngfellah, an' soon's I laid eyes on him (it wuz at a house-raisin'party), I wuz ready to say 'snip' ez soon ez he'd say 'snap.' Folksthem days didn't fool 'way much time a-courtin'. A man'd see a likelygal, an' soon's he'd got a piece o' ground cl'ared an' a cabin raised,they'd be ready to splice. So Mason an' me wuz married, an' moved up toKaintuck. Thet fust wintah, while we wuz a-livin' in the fort, Mason hebroke his laig out huntin', an' while he wuz laid up a spaill, hel'arned me to read an' write an' ciphah some. I reckon ef it hadn't 'a'been fur thet crippled laig o' his'n, I'd nevah l'arned even thetmuch." She dropped her work for a moment as she reviewed this incidentof her early married life.
"Doubtless, madam, you underrate your stock of learning. I dare say youmade rapid progress," said Dudley, politely.
"Oh, I l'arned the readin' an' writin' all right, but, la! I nevah hedno haid fur figgahs. I jogged 'long purty brisk with the addin' an'subtractin', but them multiplyin' tables floored me. To this day Iallus staggers at the nines, an' ef you wuz to ax me how much wuz seventimes nine, I'd haf to count on my fingahs before I could tell whuthahit made forty-eight or fifty-seven--though I know it's one or tuthah.But times is changed, an' I want my childurn edicated in all theaccompaniments."
"How many children have you?"
"Six livin'. We lost our fust two. Henry is goin' on seventeen, an' hejes' natch'ally teks to books--knows more'n his pap now, I reckon. Why,he kin figgah ez fast ez I kin ravel out a piece o' knittin', an' Inevah in my borned days heard nobody, 'cept mayby Preachah Stone, whutcould read lak him. He kin run 'long ovah them big names in the papahan' them generalgies in the Bible lak a racin' pony. Susan, our eldestgal, is a little the rise o' fourteen, an' wuz counted the best spellahin the school last wintah. The twins, Lucindy an' Lucy, air real peart,too, fur ther age, jes' turned intah ther ninth year. Tommy, he's onlyfive, but his pap'll sign him, too; fur we want him brung 'long fast inhis books befoh he's big 'nough to holp with the wuck."
"That leaves only your youngest, I believe," said Dudley. "What is hisname?"
"His real name is Barton Warren Stone, aftah our preachah. Mason hesets a big store by Preachah Stone--says he's the godliest man to be sosmart an' the smartest man to be so godly he evah seen; an' you knowthem two things don't allus jump togethah."
"No, indeed," acknowledged Dudley; "they're not so often found incompany as one might wish."
"Jes' so," assented Mrs. Rogers. "Well, ez I was a-sayin', BrothahStone hed been preachin' fur us onct a month at Cane Redgemeetin'-house 'bout a year when our youngest wuz borned; an' nothin'would do Mason but he must be called fur the preachah. It's awell-soundin' name, I think myse'f. So we writ it down in the bigBible, but, la! he might ez well be called aftah Ebenezer or Be'lzebubor any the rest o' them Ole Testament prophets. 'Bart,' or 'Barty,' isall he evah gits o' his big name, an' most times it's jes' 'Sonny' or'Buddy.' But I reckon you're nigh 'bout starved, aftah ridin' so fur,"she added, folding her sewing and rising briskly. "Heah, you kin lookovah last week's paper tell the men folks gits in. We air mighty proudo' that paper. It's the fust evah printed in Kaintuck. Mason an' Henrysets up tell nigh onto nine o'clock readin' it, the fust night aftah itcomes. It's printed at Lexin'ton by John Bradford. He usetah live outheah, but, ten or twelve year ago, he moved intah Lexin'ton an' startedup the 'Gazette,' an' I reckon it's 'bout the fines' paper whut evahwuz; leastways, it makes mighty fine trimmin's fur the cup'od shelves."
When his garrulous hostess had departed, Dudley, instead of reading thepaper, looked about him. The chinked log walls of the room and thestout beams overhead were whitewashed, and the four tiny windows werecurtained with spotless dimity. The high-posted bedstead was furnishedwith a plump feather bed, a bright patchwork quilt, and fat pillows incoarse but well-bleached slips. Underneath the four-poster was atrundle-bed with a blue and white checked coverlet. In an angle by thefireplace was a three-cornered cupboard, and between the front windowsstood a chest of drawers with glass knobs. On the chest lay a bigBible, a hymn-book, and several more well-thumbed volumes. A large dealtable with hinged leaves, a rude stand covered with a towel, severalrush-bottomed chairs, and the rocker constituted the chief items offurniture. On the tall mantel, beside a loud-ticking clock, shoneseveral brass candlesticks, flanked by a china vase, a turkey wing, anda pile of papers. Suspended from a row of pegs near the bed werevarious garments, and over the back doorway a pair of buck hornssupported a rifle, near which hung a powder-horn.
Presently a heavy step was heard on the loose boards of a back porch."Lucy," called a loud voice from without, "fotch some hot watah and thenoggin o' soap. Lucindy, find me a towel." Further commands were lostin a loud splashing and spluttering; and in a few minutes Mason Rogers,red-faced, red-haired, and huge of frame, entered the room, pullingdown the sleeves of his coarse shirt as he came.
"Howdy? howdy? Glad to see you, suh," he exclaimed, extending his hand."My wife says you're a schoolmarster; and you air ez welcome ez rain toa parched cawnfield. Whar'd you say you hailed frum?" He seated himselfas he spoke, tilting his chair against the mantel.
"From Virginia, sir."
"From Virginny! Then you're twict ez welcome. I wuz borned an' raisedin the old State myse'f; and I'll allus hev a sneakin' fondness furher, though she wouldn't loose her holt on us ez soon ez she oughter,an' she hain't treated us egzactly fair 'bout thet Transylvany Collegebus'ness, nuther."
"Oh," Dudley said pleasantly, "Virginia's the mother State, you know,and Kentucky a favorite child whom she grieved to have leave theparental roof."
"Well, hev it your own way, suh," answered Rogers, genially, drawingfrom the pocket of his butternut jeans trousers a twist of tobacco andhelping himself to a generous chew. "'Pears to me, though, she actedmore lak a stepmother--couldn't manidge us herse'f, but wuz jealous uvus settin' up fur ourse'ves. Still, that's all past an' gone. We gotour freedom ez soon ez it wuz good fur us, I reckon; so I shan't holdno gredge agin her--'spesh'ly ez it won't mek a mite o' diffruns to heref I do. Whut part o' Virginny air you frum, suh?"
"Culpeper County, near----"
"Culpeper County!" ejaculated Rogers, bringing his chair to a levelwith a bang and planting a hand on each knee. "Why, thet's my county,an' thar ain't another lak it on the livin' airth. Cynthy Ann," hecalled, striding to the back door, "you an' Dink skeer up somethin'extry fur suppah, can't you? This young feller's frum CulpeperCounty.--Hi, thar, Eph, give the gentleman's hoss a rubbin' down an' aextry good feed, an' let him have the best stall--Whut you say? Dandyan' Roan in the best stalls? Turn 'em out, then. Don't stand tharscratchin' yer haid an' grinnin' lak a 'possum, but stir yer stumps'bout thet hoss!" Returning to his chair and resuming his formerattitude, he said in a milder tone: "I 'low you b'long to thelawyer-makin' class o' schoolmarsters; all the teachers we've had yitb'longed to one o' two kinds. Either they wuz jes' school-keepers, kazethey wuz too 'tarnal lazy to do anythin' else, or they wuz ambitiousyoung fellers whut aimed to mek the schoolmarster's desk asteppin'-stone to the jedge's bench. Now, you don't look lak one o' thelazy kind; so I reckon you air a sproutin' lawyer, hey?"
"No, sir, I've no ambition of that kind. My intention is to look about,while teaching, for a good tract of land. I want to settle in Kentucky,not as a lawyer, but as a farmer."
"Now you're talkin' sense! Lawyers an' perfessionals air gittin' ezthick in Bourbon an' Fayette ez lice in a niggah's haid. Ev'ry othahyoung fellah you see, ef he hez any book-l'arnin', thinks he's a secondPatrick Henry or John Hancock. But whut we need hain't more lawyers an'sich lak, but more farmahs an' carpentahs an' shoemaka
hs. An', ez furland, thar's a track uv 'bout three hundurd acres back thar on HinksonCrick whut ole man Lucky, I heah, will sell fur one dollah an' two bitsa acre--lays well, is well watered an' well timbered, an' the silefairly stinks with richness. All it needs is cl'arin' up. I've beencastin' longin' eyes on it myse'f, but I couldn't manidge no more landjes' now, I reckon. So my advice fur you is to buy uv Lucky right away.An', I tell you whut, ef you hain't got money 'nough by you jes' now,I'll lend it to you, an' tek a morgitch on the land. I tell you this isthe fines' country in the univarse--healthy climit, sile thet'll growanything, an', to cap all, the fines' grazin' in the world. Nevah seednothin' lak it! Talk 'bout yer roses an' honeysuckles! they can't holda candle to the grass 'roun' heah. It has a sortah glisten to it an' abluish look when it heads out thet beats any flower thet blows furpurty. I hain't no Solomon, nor yit among the prophets; but, mark myword, in twenty year from now, this'll be the gairden spot o' creation.A clock-tinkah frum Connecticut, whut wuz heah last spring, got sortahriled at us, an' said we Kaintucks wuz ez full o' brag ez ef we wuzfust cousins to the king of England; but, Lawd! hain't we got reason tobrag? Hain't ourn a reasonabler conceit then thet uv them ole'ristercrats 'roun' Lexin'ton an' Bourbonton, allus talkin' o' therpedergrees, an' ez proud ez though they wuz ascended frum the Sultan o'Asia Minor or the Holy Virgus hisse'f?"
"Indeed, you have reason to be proud," agreed Dudley, warmly; "in onlya few years you have made a howling wilderness to blossom as the rose."
"You may well say this wuz a howlin' wilderness. Why, suh, jes' twentyyear ago, in the spring o' 1780, when Dan'l Boone come to Kaintuck frumCar'liny, 'bout fifty uv us frum thet State come with him, throughCumberlan' Gap by the ole Wilderness road, an' we fit Injuns an'painters an' copperhaids all 'long the way."
"Did you settle at Boonesborough first?"
"Some did; but me an' Cynthy Ann (we wuz jes' married then) an' theHoustons an' Luckys an' Finleys an' Trabues pushed on up to wharBourbonton is now. We built a fort near a big spring, an' called it an'the crick near by aftah ole Matt Houston. Thar wuzn't anothah house inthis region, 'cep' at Bryant Station; and look at us now! Lexin'ton,nearly two thousand population--the biggest town in the State--an'Bourbonton a-treadin' right 'long on her heels--ovah four hundurdpeople now, an' a-growin' lak a ironweed. But in them ole days the onlyroad wuz a big buffalo trail whut hez sence been widened an' wucked upinter 'Smith's wagon road,' runnin' 'long nigh Fort Houston; an' wesettlers would kill buffalo an' sich like, an' tan the hides. Then'long in 1784 some uv us concluded, ez the Injun varmints hed 'bout allbeen kilt or skeered away, that we'd open up farms. Boone come 'longagin, an' we axed him whar to settle--you know, he'd roamed all ovahthese parts, an' knowed all the best places. He told us to come out tothis redge whut sep'rates the waters o' Hinkson an' Stoner Cricks; an'he named it Cane Redge, fur, ez he said, the biggest cane an' thebiggest sugar-trees in Kaintuck growed on it. So we come; an' arough-an'-tumble life it wuz at fust." He crossed the room and drewback the curtain from one of the windows. "Thet ole smoke-house outthar undah the buckeye-tree wuz my fust home heah, suh. Until aftah thefust craps wuz in, none o' the settlers' cabins hed anythin' but dirtfloors.
"Cissy," he said to Susan, who had just entered, "tell yer ma to gitout the boughten table-cloth an' them blue chaney dishes--an' say,honey, you must set the table in heah. I hain't gwineter sot Mr. Dudleydown to eat in the kitchen the fust night he breaks bread with us.
"Welt, ez I wuz a-sayin'," he continued to Dudley, resuming his seat,"our cabins hed dirt floors, an' the walls warn't chinked; an' ez furwinder glass, why, bless yer soul, we hardly knowed thar wuz sich athing. The only cheers we had wuz stools made o' slabs sot on threelaigs. Our table wuz made the same, an' our bed wuz laid on slabs whutrested on poles at the outsides, with the othah eends o' them let inbetween the logs o' the hut. Henry wuz a baby then, an' he wuz rockedin a sugar-trough cradle. But, pshaw! heah my tongue's a-runnin' lak abell clappah; I reckon these ole 'membrances don't intrust you much,an'----"
"Indeed they do. It is more interesting than a romance. But tell me,how did you acquire so many negroes? You surely didn't bring them withyou?"
"Lawd, no! Why, we wuz pore ez Job's turkey, an' hardly owned a shut toour backs, let 'lone niggahs. Aftah the country wuz more cl'ared up,folks moved in frum Virginny an' even Pennsylvany, an' brought slaveswith 'em. Then the Yankee dealers begun to fotch 'em in an' sell 'em atLexin'ton an' Louisville an' Limestone. Rube an' Dink wuz the fust Iowned--bought 'em o' ole Jake Bledsoe in the spring o' '87. Now I ownnigh on to twenty darkeys, big an' little. The place is fairly runnin'ovah with the lazy imps, an' it keeps me an' Cynthy Ann on the tightjump frum sun-up tell dark lookin' aftah 'em."
"How long have you owned Uncle Tony? He talks like a Virginia darkey."
"So he is. He's not only frum my own State, but frum my county an'town--ole Lawsonville. Cynthy Ann 'lows Tony's done got the measure o'my foot, an' thet I spile him dreadful. I reckon I hev got a sneakin'likin' fur his ole black hide; but whut could you expaict when he's theonly pusson, black or white, I've laid eyes on frum Lawsonville sence Irun away to Car'liny nigh thirty year ago? I'll tell you sometime how Ihappened on Tony; hain't time now, fur I smell the bacon a-fryin', an'I reckon suppah'll be dished up in no time now."
"Did I understand you to say Uncle Tony was from Lawsonville?"
"Egzactly! Do you know the place?"
"Why, it's my native town," said Dudley.
"Whut!" exclaimed Rogers. "Shake agin, suh," striding over to Dudley,who also had risen. "Then you're jes' lak my own kin frum this time on.Frum Lawsonville!" he repeated, a tear on each swarthy cheek as hegrasped the young man's hand.
"Say," he continued eagerly, after a moment's silence, "is the oleforge whut stood at the crossroads, jes' on the aidge o' the town,still thar? And the little brown house jes' behind it with the bigmulberry-tree in the yard? That's whar I wuz borned, an' many's thehoss I've shod at the ole forge.--Tommy." addressing the little boy whowas passing the door of the room, "run to the spring-house branch an'fotch some mint, an' then a gourd o' watah. We'll celebrate with atoddy, I reckon, suh," he said to Dudley, as he went to the cupboardfor a glass, sugar, and a demijohn of whiskey. "Tell me, is ole JeemsLittle still livin'? He usetah keep the red tavern in the middle uv thetown. An' say, whut's become o' Si Johnson an' Mack Truman? We wuz boystogether, an' many's the game we've--Good Lawd!" he broke off joyfullyas he mixed the toddy, "I hain't been so happy sence the day I wuzconvarted an' chased the devil outen the persimmon-tree!"
Presently the family and their guest were seated at the supper tablebedecked in all the splendor of the "boughten cloth" and "blue chaney"dishes, and loaded with corn dodgers, roasted potatoes, bacon, hominy,pickled cabbage leaves and honey. Just as the others were taking theirplaces, Henry Rogers entered, and, after bashfully greeting thestranger, took his place at the table. He was a tall, raw-boned,sandy-haired lad of seventeen, with stooping shoulders, slouchingfigure, big feet and toilworn hands. His large-featured, freckled facewas kept from commonplaceness by its frank gray eyes, broad brow, firmchin and refined mouth.
"Try an' mek out yer suppah, suh," Mrs. Rogers urged as she handedDudley a cup of steaming coffee. "I'm feared thar ain't much fittin' toeat. Ef we'd knowed in time, we might hev killed a shoat."
"Try some o' this middlin'," chimed in Rogers on the other side,passing the dish. "Tilt up the plattah an' git some gravy; it'sbetter'n the meat. Wish 'twuz time fur 'possum. My mouth fa'rly watahsfur a taste o' possum meat. 'Tain't jes' a fashionable dish now, Ireckon," he continued, reaching out for a potato; "Susan heah kindahturns up her nose et 'possum, an' I reckon Mar'm Gilcrest would dieaway et the sight uv 'possum meat on her table, but----"
The mention of Mrs. Gilcrest acted as a challenge to Mrs. Rogers. "JaneGilcrest's a fine somebody to turn up her nose et 'possum! A purty messher table'd be, fur all its silver spoons an' fine chaney, ef she hedthe settin' uv it.--Tommy, don't spill thet gravy on the tablechoth.I'l
l send you'n' Buddy to the kitchen ef you can't eat lak whitefolks!--She puffs herse'f on bein' a Temple, an' claims they wuz uv thebluest blood in Virginny. Frum the way she spouts 'bout hergeneralgies, her fambly tree must be ez fine an' big ez thet ole elmdown thah by the spring-house; but be thet ez it may, she's a pore limboffen any fambly tree, with her sheftless ways.--Rache, fotch in somemoah hom'ny.--Gilcrest's got the finest house in these parts, and----"
"Yes," interrupted her husband, "the logs is weathahboa'ded an' thewalls plarstahed, an' thah's big porches with pillahs an' lots o' finefixin's 'roun' the cornish. The weathahboa'din' an' shingles an' dooran' windah frames wuz brung frum Pittsburg to Limestone on flatboats,an' wagoned through frum thah. Sam Carr did the wag'nin'! 'Twuz a bigundahtakin', but he made money on it."
"The furnicher's ez fine ez the house," went on Mrs. Rogers. "Thar is aboughten cairpit in the parlor, an' mahog'ny sofy an' cheers.--Lucindy,wipe yer knife on yer bread befoh he'pin' yo'se'f to buttah. Can't Inevah l'arn you no mannahs?"
"They have a big music-piece with ivory keys, and Miss Abby's teachingBetsy to play on it," said Susan, forgetting her shyness, and her blueeyes shining at the recollection of this wonder.
"Yes, it's all mighty fine, an' I'm shore I don't begrudge any uv it:an' now thet Miss Abby hez come to live thar an' Betsy's gittin' to bea big gal, things is bettah looked aftah," Mrs. Rogers conceded. "Theheft o' manidgment falls on Betsy an' Miss Abby, fur Jane hain't nomore faculty then a grasshopper.--Lucy, don't eat with yer fingers laka niggah. Whut's yer knife fur, ef it ain't to eat with?--I wuz ovahthere last spring, 'long in April or May, an' axed Jane ef she'd gother soap grease made up. She looked et me onconsarned lak, an' says shereally didn't know; ole Dilsey allus looked aftah sich things. Think onit! a wife an' mothah an' housekeepah not knowin' ef the year's soapgrease wuz wucked up--an' it late on in spring, too. Jane she knitssome, an' she kin do a lot o' fine herrin'-bonin' an' tattin' an'tambour wuck; but spinnin' an' weavin' an' mekin' candles an' soap, an'sich useful emplements, she don't consarn about no more'n my Lucindyan' Lucy.--Henry, ef you eat any more o' thet bacon, you'll besquealin' lak a pig, befoh mawnin'. Hev some more honey, MistahDudley."
After supper was over, the table cleared, and the two little boysstowed away in the trundle-bed, the rest of the family gathered aboutthe broad hearth.
"Heah." Mrs. Rogers said to the twins, "you don't go to the kitchen toplay. You fooled 'way so much time out in the orcha'd this evenin' thetyer stent hain't nigh done. Set right down on them stools, an' don'tlet me heah a word outen you tell them socks is ready to hev the heelsot. Ha'f a finger length more you've both got to knit." She measuredthe unfinished socks, and then handed each little girl her task."Henry, you'll put yer eyes out readin' by thet fire, an' me an' Susanneeds all the candle-light fur our wuck. 'Pears lak you ain't nevahhappy 'less you've got yer nose in some book. Heah, Cissy, thembritches' laigs is ready to seam up. Mek yer stitches good an' tight,else you'll haf to rip it all out an' do it ovah. Snuff the candle,fust, an' hand me thet hank o' thread an' the shears, befoh you setdown."
"Le's see," said Rogers to his guest, taking a corncob pipe from themantel and lighting it with a fire coal. "This is Friday, an' schooloughtah begin Monday. Bettah draw up a subscription paper to-night, an'ride 'roun' with it airly to-morrow. I'll send Henry 'long to show youthe way. Set right down heah by the table an' draw up yer writin's.Henry, light anothah candle." As he spoke, he went to the tall chest ofdrawers and took out paper, a bottle of pokeberry ink, and a bunch ofquills.
"I see you kin mek a pen," he continued, as Dudley took out his knife,selected a quill, and proceeded in a businesslike way to point it."Now, whut kind uv a fist do you write? Hope you kin mek all theflourishes; ha'f the folks in Bourbon County jedge a man's bookl'arnin' by the way he writes. That's hunkey-dorey!" he exclaimed,looking over the writer's shoulder. "Thet'll fetch 'em!"
When the clock pointed to half-past eight, Mrs. Rogers rolled up herwork, declaring it time for all honest folks to be abed. "Thar's lotso' wuck to be did to-morrow, an' the only way to git it did, is to teka good holt on the day at the start, an' set it squarely on its laigs."
Crestlands: A Centennial Story of Cane Ridge Page 4
