THE WAY IT WUZ
Las' July – and, I persume,
'Bout as hot
As the old Gran'-Jury room
Whare they sot! —
Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff…
'Pears to me jest like as ef
I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing —
Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard
When they's nightmares on the wing
And a feller's blood's jes' friz!
Seed the row from A to Izzard —
'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
Tell you the way it wuz —
And I don't want to see,
Like some fellers does,
When they's goern to be
Any kind o' fuss —
On'y makes a rumpus wuss
Fer to interfere
When theyr dander's riz —
Might as lif to cheer!
But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
I wuz kindo' strayin'
Past the blame saloon —
Heerd some fiddler playin'
That old "Hee-cup tune!"
I'd stopped-like, you know,
Fer a minit er so,
And wuz jest about
Settin' down, when —Jeemses-whizz!—
Whole durn winder-sash fell out!
And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike
A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,
And both a-gittin' down to biz! —
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
I wuz the on'y man aroun' —
(Durn old-fogey town!
'Peared more like, to me,
Sund'y than Saturd'y!)
Dog come 'crost the road
And tuk a smell
And putt right back:
Mishler driv by 'ith a load
O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell —
Too mad, 'i jack!
To even ast
What wuz up, as he went past!
Weather most outrageous hot! —
Fairly hear it sizz
Roun' Dock and Mike – tel Dock he shot, —
And Mike he slacked that grip o' his
And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz
'Bout half up, a spittin' red,
And shuck his head…
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
And Dock he says,
A-whisperin'-like, —
"It hain't no use
A-tryin'! – Mike
He's jest ripped my daylights loose! —
Git that blame-don fiddler to
Let up, and come out here – You
Got some burryin' to do, —
Mike makes one, and, I expects,
'Bout ten seconds, I'll make two!"
And he drapped back, whare he'd riz,
'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,
Like a great big letter X! —
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
PAP'S OLD SAYIN'
Pap had one old-fashioned sayin'
That I'll never quite fergit —
And they's seven growed-up childern
Of us rickollects it yit! —
Settin' round the dinner-table,
Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps,
Er abusin' of our neghbors,
I kin hear them words o' Pap's —
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Pap he'd never argy with us,
Ner cut any subject short
Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip,
And wuz actin' as we ort:
But ef we'd git out o' order —
Like sometimes a fambly is, —
Faultin' folks, er one another,
Then we'd hear that voice o' his —
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin' —
Never hadn't much to say, —
Only, as I said, pervidin'
When we'd rile him thataway:
Then he'd allus lose his temper
Spite o' fate, and jerk his head
And slam down his caseknife vicious'
Whilse he glared around and said —
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin'
With a misery in his side,
And had hobbled in the kitchen —
Jest the day before he died, —
Laury Jane she ups and tells him,
"Pap, you're pale as pale kin be —
Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers
Hain't good fer ye?" And says he,
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow, —
Forty year', through thick and thin;
I've got best, – and I've got wors'ted,
Time and time and time ag'in! —
But I've met a-many a trouble
That I hain't run onto twice,
Haltin'-like and thinkin' over
Them-air words o' Pap's advice:
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
ROMANCIN'
I' b'en a-kindo' "musin'," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know
When we swore our first "dog-gone-it" sorto' solum-like and low!
You git my idy, do you? —Little tads, you understand —
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a man. —
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!
I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er dimonstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, —
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do! —
I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me;
And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set
Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!
Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the presunt, I kin see —
Kindo' like my sight wuz double – all the things that ust to be;
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren
Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum Now to Then!
The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,
Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune;
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag,
Seems ef they can't – od-rot 'em! – jest do nothin' else but brag!
They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,
And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day;
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush,
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!
They's music all around me! – And I go back, in a dream
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, – and in the stream
That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed,
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.
Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'! – And they's other fellers, too,
With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few
Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom,
As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.
I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,
With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"! —
I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,
And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.
I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,
And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still;
And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,
And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.
W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane
I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;
And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"
Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.
And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm
Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, – I de-clare
I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!
AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY
AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY
William Williams his name was – er so he said; – Bill Williams they called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills.
The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, fer I mind 'at old Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerssmen, and I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o' meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! Law!
Well, this-here Bills was a-workin' fer Ezry at the time – part the time a-grindin', and part the time a-lookin' after the sawin', and gittin' out timber and the like. Bills was a queer-lookin' feller, shore! About as tall a build man as Tom Carter – but of course you don't know nothin' o' Tom Carter. A great big hulk of a feller, Tom was; and as fur back as Fifty-eight used to make his brags that he could cut and putt up his seven cord a day.
Well, what give Bills this queer look, as I was a-goin' on to say, was a great big ugly scar a-runnin' from the corner o' one eye clean down his face and neck, and I don't know how fur down his breast – awful lookin'; and he never shaved, and there wasn't a hair a-growin' in that scar, and it looked like a – some kind o' pizen snake er somepin' a-crawlin' in the grass and weeds. I never seed sich a' out-and-out ornry-lookin' chap, and I'll never fergit the first time I set eyes on him.
Steve and me – Steve was my youngest brother; Steve's be'n in Californy now fer, le' me see, – well, anyways, I rickon, over thirty year. – Steve was a-drivin' the team at the time – I allus let Steve drive; 'peared like Steve was made a-purpose fer hosses. The beatin'est hand with hosses 'at ever you did see and-I-know! W'y, a hoss, after he got kindo' used to Steve a-handlin' of him, would do anything fer him! And I've knowed that boy to swap fer hosses 'at couldn't hardly make a shadder; and, afore you knowed it, Steve would have 'em a-cavortin' around a-lookin' as peert and fat and slick!
Well, we'd come over to Ezry's fer some grindin' that day; and Steve wanted to price some lumber fer a house, intendin' to marry that Fall – and would a-married, I reckon, ef the girl hadn't a-died jist as she'd got her weddin' clothes done – and that set hard on Steve fer a while. Yit he rallied, you know, as a youngster will; but he never married, someway – never married. Reckon he never found no other woman he could love well enough – 'less it was – well, no odds. – The Good Bein's jedge o' what's best fer each and all.
We lived then about eight mil'd from Ezry's, and it tuck about a day to make the trip; so you kin kindo' git an idy o' how the roads was in them days.
Well, on the way over I noticed Steve was mighty quiet-like, but I didn't think nothin' of it, tel at last he says, says he, "Ben, I want you to kindo' keep an eye out fer Ezry's new hand" – meanin' Bills. And then I kindo' suspicioned somepin' o' nother was up betwixt 'em; and shore enough there was, as I found out afore the day was over.
I knowed 'at Bills was a mean sort of a man, from what I'd heerd. His name was all over the neighberhood afore he'd be'n here two weeks.
In the first place, he come in a suspicious sorto' way: Him and his wife, and a little baby on'y a few months old, come through in a kivvered wagon with a fambly a-goin' som'ers in The Illinoy; and they stopped at the mill, fer some meal er somepin', and Bills got to talkin' with Ezry 'bout millin', and one thing o' nother, and said he was expeerenced some 'bout a mill hisse'f, and told Ezry ef he'd give him work he'd stop; said his wife and baby wasn't strong enough to stand trav'lin', and ef Ezry'd give him work he was ready to lick into it then and there; said his woman could pay her board by sewin' and the like, tel they got ahead a little; and then, ef he liked the neighberhood, he said he'd as lif settle there as anywheres; he was huntin' a home, he said, and the outlook kindo' struck him, and his woman railly needed rest, and wasn't strong enough to go much furder. And old Ezry kindo' tuk pity on the feller; and havin' house-room to spare, and railly in need of a good hand at the mill, he said all right; and so the feller stopped and the wagon druv ahead and left 'em; and they didn't have no things ner nothin' – not even a cyarpet-satchel, ner a stitch o' clothes, on'y what they had on their backs. And I think it was the third er fourth day after Bills stopped 'at he whirped Tomps Burk, the bully o' here them days, tel you wouldn't a-knowed him!
Well, I'd heerd o' this, and the facts is I'd made up my mind 'at Bills was a bad stick, and the place wasn't none the better fer his bein' here. But, as I was a-goin' on to say, – as Steve and me driv up to the mill, I ketched sight o' Bills the first thing, a-lookin' out o' where some boards was knocked off, jist over the worter-wheel; and he knowed Steve – I could see that by his face; and he hollered somepin', too, but what it was I couldn't jist make out, fer the noise o' the wheel; but he looked to me as ef he'd hollered somepin' mean a-purpose so's Steve wouldn't hear it, and he'd have the consolation o' knowin' 'at he'd called Steve some ornry name 'thout givin' him a chance to take it up. Steve was allus quiet-like, but ef you raised his dander onc't – and you could do that 'thout much trouble, callin' him names er somepin', particular' anything 'bout his mother. Steve loved his mother – allus loved his mother, and would fight fer her at the drap o' the hat. And he was her favo-rite– allus a-talkin' o' "her boy, Steven," as she used to call him, and so proud of him, and so keerful of him allus, when he'd be sick or anything; nuss him like a baby, she would.
So when Bills hollered, Steve didn't pay no attention; and I said nothin', o' course, and didn't let on like I noticed him. So we druv round to the south side and hitched; and Steve 'lowed he'd better feed; so I left him with the hosses and went into the mill.
They was jist a-stoppin' fer dinner. Most of 'em brought ther dinners – lived so fur away, you know. The two Smith boys lived on what used to be the old Warrick farm, five er six mild, anyhow, from where the mill stood. Great stout fellers, they was; and little Jake, the father of 'em, wasn't no man at all – not much bigger'n you, I rickon. Le' me see, now: – There was Tomps Burk, Wade Elwood, and Joe and Ben Carter; and Wesley Morris, John Coke – wiry little cuss, he was, afore he got his leg sawed off; – and Ezry, and – Well, I don't jist mind all the boys – 's a long time ago, and I never was much of a hand fer names. – Now, some folks'll hear a name and never fergit it, but I can't boast of a good rickollection, 'specially o' names; and fer the last thirty year my mem'ry's be'n a-failin' me, ever sence a spell o' fever 'at I brought on onc't – fever and rheumatiz together: – You see, I went a-sainin' with a passel o' the boys, fool-like, and let my clothes freeze on me a-comin' home. W'y, my breeches was like stove-pipes when I pulled 'em off. 'Ll, ef I didn't pay fer that spree! Rheumatiz got a holt o' me and helt me there flat o' my back fer eight weeks, and couldn't move hand er foot 'thout a-hollerin' like a' Injun. And I'd a-be'n there yit, I rickon, ef it hadn't a-be'n fer a' old hoss-doctor, name o' Jones; and he gits a lot o' sod and steeps it in hot whiskey and pops it on me, – and I'll be-switched-to-death ef it didn't cuore me up, fer all I laughed and told him I'd better take the whiskey in'ardly and let him keep the grass fer his doctor bill. But that's nuther here ner there! – As I was a-sayin' 'bout the mill: As I went in, the boys had stopped work and was a-gittin' down their dinners, and Bills amongst 'em, and old Ezry a-chattin' away – great hand, he was, fer his joke, and allus a-cuttin' up and a-gittin' off his odd-come-shorts on the boys. And that day he was in particular good humor. He'd brought some liquor down fer the boys, and he'd be'n drinkin' a little hisse'f, enough to feel it. He didn't drink much – that is to say, he didn't git drunk adzactly; but he tuk his dram, you understand. You see, they made their own whiskey in them days, and it wasn't nothin' like the bilin' stuff you git now. Old Ezry had a little still, and allus made his own whiskey, enough fer fambly use, and jist as puore as worter, and as harmless. But now-a-days the liquor you git's rank pizen. They say they putt tobacker in it, and strychnine, and the Lord knows what; ner I never knowed why, 'less it was to give it a richer-lookin' flavor, like. Well, Ezry he'd brought up a jug, and the boys had be'n a-takin' it purty free; I seed that as quick as I went in. And old Ezry called out to me to come and take some, the first thing. Told him I didn't b'lieve I keered about it; but nothin' would do but I must take a drink with the boys; and I was tired anyhow and I thought a little wouldn't hurt; so I takes a swig; and as I set the jug down Bills spoke up and says, "You're a stranger to me, and I'm a stranger to you, but I rickon we can drink to our better acquaintance," – er somepin' to that amount, and poured out another snifter in a gourd he'd be'n a-drinkin' coffee in, and handed it to me. Well, I couldn't well refuse, of course; so I says "Here's to us," and drunk her down – mighty nigh a half pint, I rickon. Now, I railly didn't want it, but, as I tell you, I was obleeged to take it, and I downed her at a swaller and never batted an eye, fer, to tell the fact about it, I liked the taste o' liquor; and I do yit, on'y I know when I' got enough. Jist then I didn't want to drink on account o' Steve. Steve couldn't abide liquor in no shape ner form – fer medicine ner nothin', and I've allus thought it was his mother's doin's.
Now, a few months afore this I'd be'n to Vincennes, and I was jist a-tellin' Ezry what they was a-astin' fer their liquor there – fer I'd fetched a couple o' gallon home with me 'at I'd paid six bits fer, and pore liquor at that: And I was a-tellin' about it, and old Ezry was a-sayin' what an oudacious figger that was, and how he could make money a-sellin' it fer half that price, and was a-goin' on a-braggin' about his liquor – and it was a good article – fer new whiskey, – and jist then Steve comes in, jist as Bills was a-sayin' 'at a man 'at wouldn't drink that whiskey wasn't no man at all! So, of course, when they ast Steve to take some and he told 'em no, 'at he was much obleeged, Bills was kindo' tuk down, you understand, and had to say somepin'; and says he, "I reckon you ain't no better'n the rest of us, and we've be'n a-drinkin' of it." But Steve didn't let on like he noticed Bills at all, and retch and shuk hands with the other boys and ast how they was all a-comin' on.
I seed Bills was riled, and more'n likely wanted trouble; and shore enough, he went on to say, kindo snarlin'-like, 'at "he'd knowed o' men in his day 'at had be'n licked fer refusin' to drink when their betters ast em"; and said furder 'at "a lickin' wasn't none too good fer anybody 'at would refuse liquor like that o' Ezry's, and in his own house too" – er buildin', ruther. Ezry shuk his head at him, but I seed 'at Bills was bound fer a quarrel, and I winks at Steve, as much as to say, "Don't you let him bully you; you'll find your brother here to see you have fair play!" I was a-feelin' my oats some about then, and Steve seed I was, and looked so sorry-like, and like his mother, 'at I jist thought, "I kin fight fer you, and die fer you, 'cause you're wuth it!" – And I didn't someway feel like it would amount to much ef I did die er git killed er somepin' on his account. I seed Steve was mighty white around the mouth, and his eyes was a-glitterin' like a snake's; yit Bills didn't seem to take warnin', but went on to say 'at "he'd knowed boys 'at loved their mothers so well they couldn't drink nothin' stronger'n milk." – And then you'd ort o' seed Steve's coat fly off, jist like it wanted to git out of his way and give the boy room accordin' to his stren'th. I seed Bills grab a piece o' scantlin' jist in time to ketch his arm as he struck at Steve, – for Steve was a-comin' fer him dangerss. But they'd ketched Steve from behind jist then; and Bills turned fer me. I seed him draw back, and I seed Steve a-scufflin' to ketch his arm; but he didn't reach it quite in time to do me no good. It must a-come awful suddent. The first I rickollect was a roarin' and a buzzin' in my ears, and when I kindo' come a little better to, and crawled up and peeked over the saw-log I was a-layin' the other side of, I seed a couple clinched and a-rollin' over and over and a-makin' the chips and saw-dust fly, now I tell you! Bills and Steve it was – head and tail, tooth and toe-nail, and a-bleedin' like good fellers! I seed a gash o' some kind in Bills's head, and Steve was purty well tuckered and a-pantin' like a lizard; and I made a rush in, and one o' the Carter boys grabbed me and told me to jist keep cool – 'at Steve didn't need no he'p, and they might need me to keep Bills's friends off ef they made a rush. By this time Steve had whirlt Bills, and was a-jist a-gittin' in a fair way to finish him up in good style, when Wesley Morris run in – I seed him do it – run in, and afore we could ketch him he struck Steve a deadener in the butt o' the ear and knocked him as limber as a rag. And then Bills whirlt Steve and got him by the th'oat, and Ben Carter and me and old Ezry closed in. – Carter tackled Morris, and Ezry and me grabs Bills – and as old Ezry grabbed him to pull him off, Bills kindo' give him a side swipe o' some kind and knocked him – I don't know how fur! And jist then Carter and Morris come a-scufflin' back'ards right amongst us, and Carter th'owed him right acrost Bills and Steve. Well, it ain't fair, and I don't like to tell it, but I seed it was the last chance and I tuk advantage of it: – As Wesley and Ben fell it pulled Bills down in a kindo' twist, don't you understand, so's he couldn't he'p hisse'f, yit still a-clinchin' Steve by the th'oat, and him black in the face. – Well, as they fell I grabbed up a little hick'ry limb, not bigger'n my two thumbs, and I struck Bills a little tap kindo' over the back of his head like, and, blame me! ef he didn't keel over like a stuck pig – and not any too soon, nuther, – fer he had Steve's chunk as nigh putt out as you ever seed a man's, to come to agin. But he was up th'reckly and ready to a-went at it ef Bills could a-come to the scratch; but Mister Bills he wasn't in no fix to try it over! After a-waitin' a while fer him to come to, and him not a-comin' to, we concluded 'at we'd better he'p him, maybe. And we worked with him, and warshed him, and drenched him with whiskey, but it 'peared like it wasn't no use. – He jist laid there with his eyes about half shet, and a-breathin' like a hoss when he's bad sceart; and I'll be dad-limbed ef I don't believe he'd a-died on our hands ef it hadn't a-happened old Doc Zions come a-ridin' past on his way home from the Murdock neighberhood, where they was a-havin' sich a time with the milk-sick. And he examined Bills, and had him laid on a plank and carried down to the house – 'bout a mil'd, I reckon, from the mill. Looked kindo' cur'ous to see Steve a-he'ppin' pack the feller, after his nearly chokin' him to death. Oh, it was a bloody fight, I tell you! W'y, they wasn't a man in the mill 'at didn't have a black eye er somepin'; and old Ezry, where Bills hit him, had his nose broke, and was as bloody as a butcher. And you'd ort a-seed the women-folks when our p'session come a-bringin' Bills in. I never seed anybody take on like Bills's woman. – It was distressin'; it was, indeed. – Went into hysterics, she did; and we thought fer a while she'd gone plum crazy, fer she cried so pitiful over him, and called him "Charley! Charley!" 'stid of his right name, and went on, clean out of her head, tel she finally jist fainted clean away.
Fer three weeks Bills laid betwixt life and death, and that woman set by him night and day, and tended him as patient as a' angel – and she was a' angel, too; and he'd a-never lived to bother nobody agin ef it hadn't a-be'n fer Annie, as he called her. Zions said there was a 'brazure of the – some kind o' p'tuber'nce, and ef he'd a-be'n struck jist a quarter of a' inch below – jist a quarter of a' inch – he'd a be'n a dead man. And I've sence wished – not 'at I want the life of a human bein' to account fer – on'y, – well, no odds – I've sence wished 'at I had a-hit him jist a quarter of a' inch below!
Well, of course, them days they wasn't no law o' no account, and nothin' was ever done about it. So Steve and me got our grindin', and talked the matter over with Ezry and the boys. Ezry said he was a-goin' to do all he could fer Bills, 'cause he was a good hand, and when he wasn't drinkin' they wasn't no peaceabler man in the Settlement. I kindo' suspicioned what was up, but I said nothin' then. And Ezry said furder, as we was about drivin' off, that Bills was a despert feller, and it was best to kindo' humor him a little. "And you must kindo' be on you guard," he says, "and I'll watch him, and ef anything happens 'at I git wind of I'll let you know," he says; and so we putt out fer home.
Mother tuk on awful about it. You see, she thought she'd be'n the whole blame of it, 'cause the Sunday afore that her and Steve had went to meetin', and they got there late, and the house was crowded, and Steve had ast Bills to give up his seat to Mother, and he wouldn't do it, and said somepin' 'at disturbed the prayin', and the preacher prayed 'at the feller 'at was a-makin' the disturbance might be forgive'; and that riled Bills so he got up and left, and hung around till it broke up, so's he could git a chance at Steve to pick a fight. And he did try it, and dared Steve and double-dared him fer a fight, but Mother begged so hard 'at she kep' him out of it. Steve said 'at he'd a-told me all about it on the way to Ezry's on'y he'd promised Mother, you know, not to say nothin' to me.
Ezry was over at our house about six weeks after the fight, appearantly as happy as you please. We ast him how him and Bills was a-makin' it, and he said firstrate; said 'at Bills was jist a-doin' splendid; said he'd got moved in his new house 'at he'd fixed up fer him, and ever'thing was a-goin' on as smooth as could be; and Bills and the boys was on better terms'n ever; and says he, "As fur as you and Steve's concerned, Bills don't 'pear to bear you no ill feelin's, and says as fur as he's concerned the thing's settled." "Well," says I, "Ezry, I hope so; but I can't he'p but think they's somepin' at the bottom of all this"; and says I, "I don't think it's in Bills to ever amount to anything good"; and says I, "It's my opinion they's a dog in the well, and now you mark it!"
Well, he said he wasn't jist easy, but maybe he'd come out all right; said he couldn't turn the feller off – he hadn't the heart to do that, with that-air pore, dilicate woman o' his, and the baby. And then he went on to tell what a smart sorto' woman Bills's wife was, – one of the nicest little women he'd ever laid eyes on, said she was; said she was the kindest thing, and the sweetest-tempered, and all – and the handiest woman 'bout the house, and 'bout sewin', and cookin', and the like, and all kinds o' housework; and so good to the childern, and all; and how they all got along so well; and how proud she was of her baby, and allus a-goin' on about it and a-cryin' over it and a-carryin' on, and wouldn't leave it out of her sight a minute. And Ezry said 'at she could write so purty, and made sich purty pictur's fer the childern; and how they all liked her better'n their own mother. And, sence she'd moved, he said it seemed so lonesome-like 'thout her about the house – like they'd lost one o' their own fambly; said they didn't git to see her much now, on'y sometimes, when her man would be at work, she'd run over fer a while, and kiss all the childern and women-folks about the place, – the greatest hand fer the childern, she was; tell 'em all sorts o' little stories, you know, and sing fer 'em; said 'at she could sing so sweet-like, 'at time and time agin she'd break clean down in some song o' nother, and her voice would trimble so mournful-like 'at you'd find yourse'f a-cryin' afore you knowed it. And she used to coax Ezry's woman to let her take the childern home with her; and they used to allus want to go, tel Bills come onc't while they was there, and they said he got to jawin' her fer a-makin' some to-do over the baby, and swore at her and tuk it away from her and whirped it fer cryin', and she cried and told him to whirp her and not little Annie, and he said that was jist what he was a-doin'. And the childern was allus afeard to go there any more after that – 'feard he'd come home and whirp little Annie agin. Ezry said he jist done that to skeer 'em away – 'cause he didn't want a passel o' childern a-whoopin' and a-howlin' and a-trackin' round the house all the time.
But, shore enough, Bills, after the fight, 'peared like he'd settled down, and went 'bout his business so stiddy-like, and worked so well, the neighbers begin to think he was all right after all, and railly some got to likin' him. But fer me, – well, I was a leetle slow to argy 'at the feller wasn't "a-possumin'." But the next time I went over to the mill – and Steve went with me – old Ezry come and met us, and said 'at Bills didn't have no hard feelin's ef we didn't and 'at he wanted us to fergive him; said 'at Bills wanted him to tell us 'at he was sorry the way he'd acted, and wanted us to fergive him. Well, I looked at Ezry, and we both looked at him, jist perfectly tuk back – the idee o' Bills a-wantin' anybody to fergive him! And says I, "Ezry, what in the name o' common sense do you mean?" And says he, "I mean jist what I say; Bills jined meetin' last night and had 'em all a-prayin' fer him; and we all had a glorious time," says old Ezry; "and his woman was there and jined, too, and prayed and shouted and tuk on to beat all; and Bills got up and spoke and give in his experience, and said he'd be'n a bad man, but, glory to God, them times was past and gone; said 'at he wanted all of 'em to pray fer him, and he wanted to prove faithful, and wanted all his inemies to fergive him; and prayed 'at you and Steve and your folks would fergive him, and ever'body 'at he ever wronged anyway." And old Ezry was a-goin' on, and his eyes a-sparklin', and a-rubbin' his hands, he was so excited and tickled over it, 'at Steve and me we jist stood there a-gawkin' like, tel Bills hisse'f come up and retch out one hand to Steve and one to me; and Steve shuk with him kindo' oneasy-like, and I – well, sir, I never felt cur'oser in my born days than I did that minute. The cold chills crep' over me, and I shuk as ef I had the agur, and I folded my hands behind me and I looked that feller square in the eye, and I tried to speak three or four times afore I could make it, and when I did, my voice wasn't natchurl – sounded like a feller a-whisperin' through a tin horn er somepin'. – And I says, says I, "You're a liar," slow and delibert. That was all. His eyes blazed a minute, and drapped; and he turned, 'thout a word, and walked off. And Ezry says, "He's in airnest; I know he's in airnest, er he'd a-never a-tuk that!" And so he went on, tel finally Steve jined in, and betwixt 'em they p'suaded me 'at I was in the wrong and the best thing to do was to make it all up, which I finally did. And Bills said 'at he'd a-never a-felt jist right 'thout my friendship, fer he'd wronged me, he said, and he'd wronged Steve and Mother, too, and he wanted a chance, he said, o' makin' things straight agin.