New Chronicles of Rebecca
Page 7
Seventh Chronicle. THE LITTLE PROPHET
I
"I guess York County will never get red of that Simpson crew!" exclaimedMiranda Sawyer to Jane. "I thought when the family moved to Acrevillewe'd seen the last of em, but we ain't! The big, cross-eyed, stutterin'boy has got a place at the mills in Maplewood; that's near enough tocome over to Riverboro once in a while of a Sunday mornin' and set inthe meetin' house starin' at Rebecca same as he used to do, only it'sreskier now both of em are older. Then Mrs. Fogg must go and bring backthe biggest girl to help her take care of her baby,--as if there wa'n'tplenty of help nearer home! Now I hear say that the youngest twin hascome to stop the summer with the Cames up to Edgewood Lower Corner."
"I thought two twins were always the same age," said Rebecca,reflectively, as she came into the kitchen with the milk pail.
"So they be," snapped Miranda, flushing and correcting herself. "Butthat pasty-faced Simpson twin looks younger and is smaller than theother one. He's meek as Moses and the other one is as bold as a brasskettle; I don't see how they come to be twins; they ain't a mite alike."
"Elijah was always called the fighting twin' at school," said Rebecca,"and Elisha's other name was Nimbi-Pamby; but I think he's a nice littleboy, and I'm glad he has come back. He won't like living with Mr. Came,but he'll be almost next door to the minister's, and Mrs. Baxter is sureto let him play in her garden."
"I wonder why the boy's stayin' with Cassius Came," said Jane. "To besure they haven't got any of their own, but the child's too young to bemuch use."
"I know why," remarked Rebecca promptly, "for I heard all about it overto Watson's when I was getting the milk. Mr. Came traded something withMr. Simpson two years ago and got the best of the bargain, and UncleJerry says he's the only man that ever did, and he ought to have amonument put up to him. So Mr. Came owes Mr. Simpson money and won'tpay it, and Mr. Simpson said he'd send over a child and board part of itout, and take the rest in stock--a pig or a calf or something."
"That's all stuff and nonsense," exclaimed Miranda; "nothin' in theworld but store-talk. You git a clump o' men-folks settin' roundWatson's stove, or out on the bench at the door, an' they'll make upstories as fast as their tongues can wag. The man don't live that'ssmart enough to cheat Abner Simpson in a trade, and who ever heard ofanybody's owin' him money? Tain't supposable that a woman like Mrs. Camewould allow her husband to be in debt to a man like Abner Simpson. It'sa sight likelier that she heard that Mrs. Simpson was ailin' and sentfor the boy so as to help the family along. She always had Mrs. Simpsonto wash for her once a month, if you remember Jane?"
There are some facts so shrouded in obscurity that the most skillful andpatient investigator cannot drag them into the light of day. There arealso (but only occasionally) certain motives, acts, speeches, lines ofconduct, that can never be wholly and satisfactorily explained, even ina village post-office or on the loafers' bench outside the tavern door.
Cassius Came was a close man, close of mouth and close of purse; and allthat Riverboro ever knew as to the three months' visit of the Simpsontwin was that it actually occurred. Elisha, otherwise Nimbi-Pamby, came;Nimbi-Pamby stayed; and Nimbi-Pamby, when he finally rejoined his owndomestic circle, did not go empty-handed (so to speak), for he wasaccompanied on his homeward travels by a large, red, bony, somewhattruculent cow, who was tied on behind the wagon, and who made thejourney a lively and eventful one by her total lack of desire to proceedover the road from Edgewood to Acreville. But that, the cow's tale,belongs to another time and place, and the coward's tale must comefirst; for Elisha Simpson was held to be sadly lacking in the manlyquality of courage.
It was the new minister's wife who called Nimbi-Pamby the LittleProphet. His full name was Elisha Jeremiah Simpson, but one seldom heardit at full length, since, if he escaped the ignominy of Nimbi-Pamby,Lishe was quite enough for an urchin just in his first trousers andthose assumed somewhat prematurely. He was "Lishe," therefore, to thevillage, but the Little Prophet to the young minister's wife.
Rebecca could see the Cames' brown farmhouse from Mrs. Baxter'ssitting-room window. The little-traveled road with strips of tuftedgreen between the wheel tracks curled dustily up to the very doorstep,and inside the screen door of pink mosquito netting was a wonderfuldrawn-in rug, shaped like a half pie, with "Welcome" in saffron letterson a green ground.
Rebecca liked Mrs. Cassius Came, who was a friend of her Aunt Miranda'sand one of the few persons who exchanged calls with that somewhatunsociable lady. The Came farm was not a long walk from the brick house,for Rebecca could go across the fields when haying-time was over, andher delight at being sent on an errand in that direction could not bemeasured, now that the new minister and his wife had grown to be such aresource in her life. She liked to see Mrs. Came shake the Welcome rug,flinging the cheery word out into the summer sunshine like a brightgreeting to the day. She liked to see her go to the screen door a dozentimes in a morning, open it a crack and chase an imaginary fly from thesacred precincts within. She liked to see her come up the cellar stepsinto the side garden, appearing mysteriously as from the bowels of theearth, carrying a shining pan of milk in both hands, and disappearingthrough the beds of hollyhocks and sunflowers to the pig-pen or thehen-house.
Rebecca was not fond of Mr. Came, and neither was Mrs. Baxter, norElisha, for that matter; in fact Mr. Came was rather a difficult personto grow fond of, with his fiery red beard, his freckled skin, and hisgruff way of speaking; for there were no children in the brown house tosmooth the creases from his forehead or the roughness from his voice.
II
The new minister's wife was sitting under the shade of her great mapleearly one morning, when she first saw the Little Prophet. A tiny figurecame down the grass-grown road leading a cow by a rope. If it had been asmall boy and a small cow, a middle-sized boy and an ordinary cow, or agrown man and a big cow, she might not have noticed them; but it was thecombination of an infinitesimal boy and a huge cow that attracted herattention. She could not guess the child's years, she only knew that hewas small for his age, whatever it was.
The cow was a dark red beast with a crumpled horn, a white star on herforehead, and a large surprised sort of eye. She had, of course, twoeyes, and both were surprised, but the left one had an added hint ofamazement in it by virtue of a few white hairs lurking accidentally inthe centre of the eyebrow.
The boy had a thin sensitive face and curtly brown hair, short trouserspatched on both knees, and a ragged straw hat on the back of his head.He pattered along behind the cow, sometimes holding the rope with bothhands, and getting over the ground in a jerky way, as the animal lefthim no time to think of a smooth path for bare feet.
The Came pasture was a good half-mile distant, and the cow seemed in nohurry to reach it; accordingly she forsook the road now and then,and rambled in the hollows, where the grass was sweeter to her way ofthinking. She started on one of these exploring expeditions just as shepassed the minister's great maple, and gave Mrs. Baxter time to call outto the little fellow, "Is that your cow?"
Elisha blushed and smiled, and tried to speak modestly, but there was aquiver of pride in his voice as he answered suggestively:
"It's--nearly my cow."
"How is that?" asked Mrs. Baxter.
"Why, Mr. Came says when I drive her twenty-nine more times to pasturethout her gettin' her foot over the rope or thout my bein' afraid, she'sgoin' to be my truly cow. Are you fraid of cows?"
"Ye-e-es," Mrs. Baxter confessed, "I am, just a little. You see, I amnothing but a woman, and boys can't understand how we feel about cows."
"I can! They're awful big things, aren't they?"
"Perfectly enormous! I've always thought a cow coming towards you one ofthe biggest things in the world."
"Yes; me, too. Don't let's think about it. Do they hook people so veryoften?"
"No indeed, in fact one scarcely ever hears of such a case."
"If they stepped on your bare foot they'd scrunch it, wouldn't they?"
"I know; but p'raps there is free-will cows, and if they just WOULD doit you couldn't help being scrunched, for you mustn't let go of the ropenor run, Mr. Came says.
"No, of course that would never do."
"Where you used to live did all the cows go down into the boggy placeswhen you drove em to pasture, or did some walk in the road?"
"There weren't any cows or any pastures where I used to live; that'swhat makes me so foolish; why does your cow need a rope?"
"She don't like to go to pasture, Mr. Came says. Sometimes she'd drutherstay to home, and so when she gets part way she turns round and comesbackwards."
"Dear me!" thought Mrs. Baxter, "what becomes of this boy-mite if thecow has a spell of going backwards?--Do you like to drive her?" sheasked.
"N-no, not erzackly; but you see, it'll be my cow if I drive hertwenty-nine more times thout her gettin' her foot over the rope andthout my bein' afraid," and a beaming smile gave a transient brightnessto his harassed little face. "Will she feed in the ditch much longer?"he asked. "Shall I say Hurrap'? That's what Mr. Came says--HURRAP!' likethat, and it means to hurry up."
It was rather a feeble warning that he sounded and the cow fedon peacefully. The little fellow looked up at the minister's wifeconfidingly, and then glanced back at the farm to see if Cassius Camewere watching the progress of events.
"What shall we do next?" he asked.
Mrs. Baxter delighted in that warm, cosy little 'WE;' it took her intothe firm so pleasantly. She was a weak prop indeed when it came to cows,but all the courage in her soul rose to arms when Elisha said, "Whatshall WE do next?" She became alert, ingenious, strong, on the instant.
"What is the cow's name?" she asked, sitting up straight in theswing-chair.
"Buttercup; but she don't seem to know it very well. She ain't a mitelike a buttercup."
"Never mind; you must shout 'Buttercup!' at the top of your voice, andtwitch the rope HARD; then I'll call, 'Hurrap!' with all my might atthe same moment. And if she starts quickly we mustn't run nor seemfrightened!"
They did this; it worked to a charm, and Mrs. Baxter lookedaffectionately after her Little Prophet as the cow pulled him down ToryHill.
The lovely August days wore on. Rebecca was often at the parsonageand saw Elisha frequently, but Buttercup was seldom present at theirinterviews, as the boy now drove her to the pasture very early in themorning, the journey thither being one of considerable length and hermethod of reaching the goal being exceedingly roundabout.
Mr. Came had pointed out the necessity of getting her into the pastureat least a few minutes before she had to be taken out again at night,and though Rebecca didn't like Mr. Came, she saw the common sense ofthis remark. Sometimes Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca caught a glimpse ofthe two at sundown, as they returned from the pasture to the twilightmilking, Buttercup chewing her peaceful cud, her soft white bag of milkhanging full, her surprised eye rolling in its accustomed "fine frenzy."The frenzied roll did not mean anything, they used to assure Elisha; butif it didn't, it was an awful pity she had to do it, Rebecca thought;and Mrs. Baxter agreed. To have an expression of eye that meant murder,and yet to be a perfectly virtuous and well-meaning animal, this was acalamity indeed.
Mrs. Baxter was looking at the sun one evening as it dropped like a ballof red fire into Wilkins's woods, when the Little Prophet passed.
"It's the twenty-ninth night," he called joyously.
"I am so glad," she answered, for she had often feared some accidentmight prevent his claiming the promised reward. "Then tomorrow Buttercupwill be your own cow?"
"I guess so. That's what Mr. Came said. He's off to Acreville now, buthe'll be home tonight, and father's going to send my new hat by him.When Buttercup's my own cow I wish I could change her name and call herRed Rover, but p'r'aps her mother wouldn't like it. When she b'longs tome, mebbe I won't be so fraid of gettin' hooked and scrunched, becauseshe'll know she's mine, and she'll go better. I haven't let her getsnarled up in the rope one single time, and I don't show I'm afraid, doI?"
"I should never suspect it for an instant," said Mrs. Baxterencouragingly. "I've often envied you your bold, brave look!"
Elisha appeared distinctly pleased. "I haven't cried, either, when she'sdragged me over the pasture bars and peeled my legs. Bill Petes's littlebrother Charlie says he ain't afraid of anything, not even bears. Hesays he would walk right up close and cuff em if they dared to yip;but I ain't like that! He ain't scared of elephants or tigers or lionseither; he says they're all the same as frogs or chickens to him!"
Rebecca told her Aunt Miranda that evening that it was the Prophet'stwenty-ninth night, and that the big red cow was to be his on themorrow.
"Well, I hope it'll turn out that way," she said. "But I ain't a mitesure that Cassius Came will give up that cow when it comes to the point.It won't be the first time he's tried to crawl out of a bargain withfolks a good deal bigger than Lisha, for he's terrible close, Cassiusis. To be sure he's stiff in his joints and he's glad enough to havea boy to take the cow to the pasture in summer time, but he always hashired help when it comes harvestin'. So Lisha'll be no use from thison; and I dare say the cow is Abner Simpson's anyway. If you want a walktonight, I wish you'd go up there and ask Mis' Came if she'll lend mean' your Aunt Jane half her yeast-cake. Tell her we'll pay it back whenwe get ours a Saturday. Don't you want to take Thirza Meserve with you?She's alone as usual while Huldy's entertainin' beaux on the side porch.Don't stay too long at the parsonage!"
III
Rebecca was used to this sort of errand, for the whole village ofRiverboro would sometimes be rocked to the very centre of its being bysimultaneous desire for a yeast-cake. As the nearest repository was amile and a half distant, as the yeast-cake was valued at two cents andwouldn't keep, as the demand was uncertain, being dependent entirely ona fluctuating desire for "riz bread," the storekeeper refused to ordermore than three yeast-cakes a day at his own risk. Sometimes theyremained on his hands a dead loss; sometimes eight or ten persons would"hitch up" and drive from distant farms for the coveted article, only tobe met with the flat, "No, I'm all out o' yeast-cake; Mis' Simmonstook the last; mebbe you can borry half o' hern, she hain't much of abread-eater."
So Rebecca climbed the hills to Mrs. Came's, knowing that her dailybread depended on the successful issue of the call.
Thirza was barefooted, and tough as her little feet were, the long walkover the stubble fields tired her. When they came within sight of theCame barn, she coaxed Rebecca to take a short cut through the turnipsgrowing in long, beautifully weeded rows.
"You know Mr. Came is awfully cross, Thirza, and can't bear anybody totread on his crops or touch a tree or a bush that belongs to him. I'mkind of afraid, but come along and mind you step softly in between therows and hold up your petticoat, so you can't possibly touch the turnipplants. I'll do the same. Skip along fast, because then we won't leaveany deep footprints."
The children passed safely and noiselessly along, their pleasure atrifle enhanced by the felt dangers of their progress. Rebecca knew thatthey were doing no harm, but that did not prevent her hoping to escapethe gimlet eye of Mr. Came.
As they neared the outer edge of the turnip patch they paused suddenly,petticoats in air.
A great clump of elderberry bushes hid them from the barn, but from theother side of the clump came the sound of conversation: the timid voiceof the Little Prophet and the gruff tones of Cassius Came.
Rebecca was afraid to interrupt, and too honest to wish to overhear. Shecould only hope the man and the boy would pass on to the house as theytalked, so she motioned to the paralyzed Thirza to take two more stepsand stand with her behind the elderberry bushes. But no! In a momentthey heard Mr. Came drag a stool over beside the grindstone as he said:
"Well, now Elisha Jeremiah, we'll talk about the red cow. You say you'vedrove her a month, do ye? And the trade b
etween us was that if youcould drive her a month, without her getting the rope over her foot andwithout bein' afraid, you was to have her. That's straight, ain't it?"
The Prophet's face burned with excitement, his gingham shirt rose andfell as if he were breathing hard, but he only nodded assent and saidnothing.
"Now," continued Mr. Came, "have you made out to keep the rope fromunder her feet?"
"She ain't got t-t-tangled up one s-single time," said Elisha,stuttering in his excitement, but looking up with some courage from hisbare toes, with which he was assiduously threading the grass.
"So far, so good. Now bout bein' afraid. As you seem so certain ofgettin' the cow, I suppose you hain't been a speck scared, hev you?Honor bright, now!"
"I--I--not but just a little mite. I"--
"Hold up a minute. Of course you didn't SAY you was afraid, and didn'tSHOW you was afraid, and nobody knew you WAS afraid, but that ain't theway we fixed it up. You was to call the cow your'n if you could driveher to the pasture for a month without BEIN' afraid. Own up square now,hev you be'n afraid?"
A long pause, then a faint, "Yes."
"Where's your manners?"
"I mean yes, sir."
"How often? If it hain't be'n too many times mebbe I'll let ye off,though you're a reg'lar girl-boy, and'll be runnin' away from the catbimeby. Has it be'n--twice?"
"Yes," and the Little Prophet's voice was very faint now, and had adecided tear in it.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Has it be'n four times?"
"Y-es, sir." More heaving of the gingham shirt.
"Well, you AIR a thunderin' coward! How many times? Speak up now."
More digging of the bare toes in the earth, and one premonitory teardrop stealing from under the downcast lids, then,--
"A little, most every day, and you can keep the cow," wailed theProphet, as he turned abruptly and fled behind the shed, where he flunghimself into the green depths of a tansy bed, and gave himself up tounmanly sobs.
Cassius Came gave a sort of shamefaced guffaw at the abrupt departureof the boy, and went on into the house, while Rebecca and Thirza madea stealthy circuit of the barn and a polite and circumspect entrancethrough the parsonage front gate.
Rebecca told the minister's wife what she could remember of theinterview between Cassius Came and Elisha Simpson, and tender-heartedMrs. Baxter longed to seek and comfort her Little Prophet sobbing in thetansy bed, the brand of coward on his forehead, and what was much worse,the fear in his heart that he deserved it.
Rebecca could hardly be prevented from bearding Mr. Came and openlyespousing the cause of Elisha, for she was an impetuous, reckless,valiant creature when a weaker vessel was attacked or threatenedunjustly.
Mrs. Baxter acknowledged that Mr. Came had been true, in a way, to hisword and bargain, but she confessed that she had never heard of so crueland hard a bargain since the days of Shylock, and it was all the worsefor being made with a child.
Rebecca hurried home, her visit quite spoiled and her errand quiteforgotten till she reached the brick house door, where she told heraunts, with her customary picturesqueness of speech, that she wouldrather eat buttermilk bread till she died than partake of food mixedwith one of Mr. Came's yeast-cakes; that it would choke her, even in theshape of good raised bread.
"That's all very fine, Rebecky," said her Aunt Miranda, who had apin-prick for almost every bubble; "but don't forget there's two othermouths to feed in this house, and you might at least give your aunt andme the privilege of chokin' if we feel to want to!"
IV
Mrs. Baxter finally heard from Mrs. Came, through whom all informationwas sure to filter if you gave it time, that her husband despised acoward, that he considered Elisha a regular mother's-apron-string boy,and that he was "learnin'" him to be brave.
Bill Peters, the hired man, now drove Buttercup to pasture, thoughwhenever Mr. Came went to Moderation or Bonnie Eagle, as he often did,Mrs. Baxter noticed that Elisha took the hired man's place. She oftenjoined him on these anxious expeditions, and, a like terror in boththeir souls, they attempted to train the red cow and give her some ideaof obedience.
"If she only wouldn't look at us that way we would get along real nicelywith her, wouldn't we?" prattled the Prophet, straggling along by herside; "and she is a splendid cow; she gives twenty-one quarts a day, andMr. Came says it's more'n half cream."
The minister's wife assented to all this, thinking that if Buttercupwould give up her habit of turning completely round in the road to rollher eyes and elevate her white-tipped eyebrow, she might indeed be anenjoyable companion; but in her present state of development her societywas not agreeable, even did she give sixty-one quarts of milk a day.Furthermore, when Mrs. Baxter discovered that she never did any of thesereprehensible things with Bill Peters, she began to believe cows moreintelligent creatures than she had supposed them to be, and she wasindignant to think Buttercup could count so confidently on the weaknessof a small boy and a timid woman.
One evening, when Buttercup was more than usually exasperating, Mrs.Baxter said to the Prophet, who was bracing himself to keep from beingpulled into a wayside brook where Buttercup loved to dabble, "Elisha, doyou know anything about the superiority of mind over matter?"
No, he didn't, though it was not a fair time to ask the question, for hehad sat down in the road to get a better purchase on the rope.
"Well, it doesn't signify. What I mean is that we can die but once, andit is a glorious thing to die for a great principle. Give me that rope.I can pull like an ox in my present frame of mind. You run down on theopposite side of the brook, take that big stick wade right in--youare barefooted,--brandish the stick, and, if necessary, do more thanbrandish. I would go myself, but it is better she should recognize youas her master, and I am in as much danger as you are, anyway. She maytry to hook you, of course, but you must keep waving the stick,--diebrandishing, Prophet, that's the idea! She may turn and run for me, inwhich case I shall run too; but I shall die running, and the ministercan bury us under our favorite sweet-apple tree!"
The Prophet's soul was fired by the lovely lady's eloquence. Theirspirits mounted simultaneously, and they were flushed with a splendidcourage in which death looked a mean and paltry thing compared withvanquishing that cow. She had already stepped into the pool, but theProphet waded in towards her, moving the alder branch menacingly. Shelooked up with the familiar roll of the eye that had done her such goodservice all summer, but she quailed beneath the stern justice and thenew valor of the Prophet's gaze.
In that moment perhaps she felt ashamed of the misery she had caused thehelpless mite. At any rate, actuated by fear, surprise, or remorse,she turned and walked back into the road without a sign of passion orindignation, leaving the boy and the lady rather disappointed at theireasy victory. To be prepared for a violent death and receive not even ascratch made them fear that they might possibly have overestimated thedanger.
They were better friends than ever after that, the young minister's wifeand the forlorn little boy from Acreville, sent away from home heknew not why, unless it were that there was little to eat there andconsiderably more at the Cash Cames', as they were called in Edgewood.Cassius was familiarly known as Uncle Cash, partly because there was adisposition in Edgewood to abbreviate all Christian names, and partlybecause the old man paid cash, and expected to be paid cash, foreverything.
The late summer grew into autumn, and the minister's great maple flunga flaming bough of scarlet over Mrs. Baxter's swing-chair. Uncle Cashfound Elisha very useful at picking up potatoes and apples, but the boywas going back to his family as soon as the harvesting was over.
One Friday evening Mrs. Baxter and Rebecca, wrapped in shawls and"fascinators," were sitting on Mrs. Came's front steps enjoying thesunset. Rebecca was in a tremulous state of happiness, for she hadcome directly from the Seminary at Wareham to the parsonage, and as theminister was absent at a church conference, she was to stay the nightwith Mrs. Baxter and go with
her to Portland next day.
They were to go to the Islands, have ice cream for luncheon, ride ona horse-car, and walk by the Longfellow house, a programme that sounsettled Rebecca's never very steady mind that she radiated flashesand sparkles of joy, making Mrs. Baxter wonder if flesh could betranslucent, enabling the spirit-fires within to shine through?
Buttercup was being milked on the grassy slope near the shed door. Asshe walked to the barn, after giving up her pailfuls of yellow milk,she bent her neck and snatched a hasty bite from a pile of turnips lyingtemptingly near. In her haste she took more of a mouthful than would beconsidered good manners even among cows, and as she disappeared in thebarn door they could see a forest of green tops hanging from her mouth,while she painfully attempted to grind up the mass of stolen materialwithout allowing a single turnip to escape.
It grew dark soon afterward and they went into the house to see Mrs.Came's new lamp lighted for the first time, to examine her last drawn-inrug (a wonderful achievement produced entirely from dyed flannelpetticoats), and to hear the doctor's wife play "Oft in the StillNight," on the dulcimer.
As they closed the sitting-room door opening on the piazza facingthe barn, the women heard the cow coughing and said to one another:"Buttercup was too greedy, and now she has indigestion."
Elisha always went to bed at sundown, and Uncle Cash had gone to thedoctor's to have his hand dressed, for he had hurt it is some way inthe threshing-machine. Bill Peters, the hired man, came in presently andasked for him, saying that the cow coughed more and more, and it mustbe that something was wrong, but he could not get her to open her mouthwide enough for him to see anything. "She'd up an' die ruther 'n obleegeanybody, that tarnal, ugly cow would!" he said.
When Uncle Cash had driven into the yard, he came in for a lantern, andwent directly out to the barn. After a half-hour or so, in which thelittle party had forgotten the whole occurrence, he came in again.
"I'm blamed if we ain't goin' to lose that cow," he said. "Come out,will ye, Hannah, and hold the lantern? I can't do anything with my righthand in a sling, and Bill is the stupidest critter in the country."
Everybody went out to the barn accordingly, except the doctor's wife,who ran over to her house to see if her brother Moses had come home fromMilltown, and could come and take a hand in the exercises.
Buttercup was in a bad way; there was no doubt of it. Something, oneof the turnips, presumably, had lodged in her throat, and would moveneither way, despite her attempts to dislodge it. Her breathing waslabored, and her eyes bloodshot from straining and choking. Once ortwice they succeeded in getting her mouth partly open, but before theycould fairly discover the cause of trouble she had wrested her headaway.
"I can see a little tuft of green sticking straight up in the middle,"said Uncle Cash, while Bill Peters and Moses held a lantern on each sideof Buttercup's head; "but, land! It's so far down, and such a mite of athing, I couldn't git it, even if I could use my right hand. S'pose youtry, Bill."
Bill hemmed and hawed, and confessed he didn't care to try. Buttercup'sgrinders were of good size and excellent quality, and he had no fancyfor leaving his hand within her jaws. He said he was no good at thatkind of work, but that he would help Uncle Cash hold the cow's head;that was just as necessary, and considerable safer.
Moses was more inclined to the service of humanity, and did his best,wrapping his wrist in a cloth, and making desperate but ineffectual dabsat the slippery green turnip-tops in the reluctantly opened throat. Butthe cow tossed her head and stamped her feet and switched her tailand wriggled from under Bill's hands, so that it seemed altogetherimpossible to reach the seat of the trouble.
Uncle Cash was in despair, fuming and fretting the more because of hisown crippled hand.
"Hitch up, Bill," he said, "and, Hannah, you drive over to Milliken'sMills for the horse-doctor. I know we can git out that turnip if we canhit on the right tools and somebody to manage em right; but we've got tobe quick about it or the critter'll choke to death, sure! Your hand's soclumsy, Mose, she thinks her time's come when she feels it in her mouth,and your fingers are so big you can't ketch holt o' that green stuffthout its slippin'!"
"Mine ain't big; let me try," said a timid voice, and turning round,they saw little Elisha Simpson, his trousers pulled on over hisnight-shirt, his curly hair ruffled, his eyes vague with sleep.
Uncle Cash gave a laugh of good-humored derision. "You--that's afraidto drive a cow to pasture? No, sir; you hain't got sand enough for thisjob, I guess!"
Buttercup just then gave a worse cough than ever, and her eyes rolled inher head as if she were giving up the ghost.
"I'd rather do it than see her choke to death!" cried the boy, indespair.
"Then, by ginger, you can try it, sonny!" said Uncle Cash. "Now thistime we'll tie her head up. Take it slow, and make a good job of it."
Accordingly they pried poor Buttercup's jaws open to put a wooden gagbetween them, tied her head up, and kept her as still as they couldwhile the women held the lanterns.
"Now, sonny, strip up your sleeve and reach as fur down's you can! Windyour little fingers in among that green stuff stickin' up there thatain't hardly big enough to call green stuff, give it a twist, and pullfor all you're worth. Land! What a skinny little pipe stem!"
The Little Prophet had stripped up his sleeve. It was a slender thing,his arm; but he had driven the red cow all summer, borne her tantrums,protected her from the consequences of her own obstinacy, taking (as hethought) a future owner's pride in her splendid flow of milk--grown fondof her, in a word, and now she was choking to death. A skinny littlepipe stem is capable of a deal at such a time, and only a slender handand arm could have done the work.
Elisha trembled with nervousness, but he made a dexterous and dashingentrance into the awful cavern of Buttercup's mouth; descended upon thetiny clump of green spills or spikes, wound his little fingers in amongthem as firmly as he could, and then gave a long, steady, determinedpull with all the strength in this body. That was not so much in itself,to be sure, but he borrowed a good deal more from some reserve quarter,the location of which nobody knows anything about, but upon whicheverybody draws in time of need.
Such a valiant pull you would never have expected of the Little Prophet.Such a pull it was that, to his own utter amazement, he suddenly foundhimself lying flat on his back on the barn floor with a very slipperysomething in his hand, and a fair-sized but rather dilapidated turnip atthe end of it.
"That's the business!" cried Moses.
"I could 'a' done it as easy as nothin' if my arm had been a leetle mitesmaller," said Bill Peters.
"You're a trump, sonny!" exclaimed Uncle Cash, as he helped Moses untieButtercup's head and took the gag out.
"You're a trump, Lisha, and, by ginger, the cow's your'n; only don't youlet your blessed pa drink none of her cream!"
The welcome air rushed into Buttercup's lungs and cooled her parched,torn throat. She was pretty nearly spent, poor thing, and bent her head(rather gently for her) over the Little Prophet's shoulder as he threwhis arms joyfully about her neck, and whispered, "You're my truly cownow, ain't you, Buttercup?"
"Mrs. Baxter, dear," said Rebecca, as they walked home to the parsonagetogether under the young harvest moon; "there are all sorts of cowards,aren't there, and don't you think Elisha is one of the best kind."
"I don't quite know what to think about cowards, Rebecca Rowena," saidthe minister's wife hesitatingly. "The Little Prophet is the thirdcoward I have known in my short life who turned out to be a hero whenthe real testing time came. Meanwhile the heroes themselves--or the onesthat were taken for heroes--were always busy doing something, or beingsomewhere, else."