THE doctor was an old man; a
very nice, kind-looking old man
when I got him up. I told him
me and my brother was over on
Spanish Island hunting yesterday
afternoon, and camped on a piece
of a raft we found, and about
midnight he must a kicked his
gun in his dreams, for it went
off and shot him in the leg,
and we wanted him to go over
there and fix it and not say
nothing about it, nor let anybody
know, because we wanted to come
home this evening and surprise
the folks.
"Who is your folks?" he
says.
"The Phelpses,
down yonder."
"Oh," he says.
And after a minute, he says:
"How'd you
say he got shot?"
"He had a dream," I says, "and
it shot him."
"Singular dream," he
says.
So he lit up his lantern, and
got his saddle-bags, and we started.
But when he sees the canoe he
didn't like the look of her --
said she was big enough for one,
but didn't look pretty safe for
two. I says:
"Oh, you needn't
be afeard, sir, she carried
the three of
us easy enough."
"What three?"
"Why, me and
Sid, and -- and -- and THE
GUNS; that's what
I mean."
"Oh," he says.
But he put his foot on the
gunnel and rocked her, and shook
his head, and said he reckoned
he'd look around for a bigger
one. But they was all locked
and chained; so he took my canoe,
and said for me to wait till
he come back, or I could hunt
around further, or maybe I better
go down home and get them ready
for the surprise if I wanted
to. But I said I didn't; so I
told him just how to find the
raft, and then he started.
I struck an idea pretty soon.
I says to myself, spos'n he can't
fix that leg just in three shakes
of a sheep's tail, as the saying
is? spos'n it takes him three
or four days? What are we going
to do? -- lay around there till
he lets the cat out of the bag?
No, sir; I know what I'LL do.
I'll wait, and when he comes
back if he says he's got to go
any more I'll get down there,
too, if I swim; and we'll take
and tie him, and keep him, and
shove out down the river; and
when Tom's done with him we'll
give him what it's worth, or
all we got, and then let him
get ashore.
So then I crept into a lumber-pile
to get some sleep; and next time
I waked up the sun was away up
over my head! I shot out and
went for the doctor's house,
but they told me he'd gone away
in the night some time or other,
and warn't back yet. Well, thinks
I, that looks powerful bad for
Tom, and I'll dig out for the
island right off. So away I shoved,
and turned the corner, and nearly
rammed my head into Uncle Silas's
stomach! He says:
"Why, TOM!
Where you been all this time,
you rascal?"
"I hain't been nowheres," I
says, "only just hunting for
the runaway nigger -- me and
Sid."
"Why, where ever did you go?" he
says. "Your aunt's been mighty
uneasy."
"She needn't," I says, "because
we was all right. We followed
the men and the dogs, but they
outrun us, and we lost them;
but we thought we heard them
on the water, so we got a canoe
and took out after them and crossed
over, but couldn't find nothing
of them; so we cruised along
up-shore till we got kind of
tired and beat out; and tied
up the canoe and went to sleep,
and never waked up till about
an hour ago; then we paddled
over here to hear the news, and
Sid's at the post-office to see
what he can hear, and I'm a-branching
out to get something to eat for
us, and then we're going home."
So then we
went to the post-office to
get "Sid"; but just as I suspicioned,
he warn't there; so the old man
he got a letter out of the office,
and we waited awhile longer,
but Sid didn't come; so the old
man said, come along, let Sid
foot it home, or canoe it, when
he got done fooling around --
but we would ride. I couldn't
get him to let me stay and wait
for Sid; and he said there warn't
no use in it, and I must come
along, and let Aunt Sally see
we was all right.
When we got home Aunt Sally
was that glad to see me she laughed
and cried both, and hugged me,
and give me one of them lickings
of hern that don't amount to
shucks, and said she'd serve
Sid the same when he come.
And the place was plum full
of farmers and farmers' wives,
to dinner; and such another clack
a body never heard. Old Mrs.
Hotchkiss was the worst; her
tongue was a-going all the time.
She says:
"Well, Sister
Phelps, I've ransacked that-air
cabin over,
an' I b'lieve the nigger was
crazy. I says to Sister Damrell
-- didn't I, Sister Damrell?
-- s'I, he's crazy, s'I -- them's
the very words I said. You all
hearn me: he's crazy, s'I; everything
shows it, s'I. Look at that-air
grindstone, s'I; want to tell
ME't any cretur 't's in his right
mind 's a goin' to scrabble all
them crazy things onto a grindstone,
s'I? Here sich 'n' sich a person
busted his heart; 'n' here so
'n' so pegged along for thirty-seven
year, 'n' all that -- natcherl
son o' Louis somebody, 'n' sich
everlast'n rubbage. He's plumb
crazy, s'I; it's what I says
in the fust place, it's what
I says in the middle, 'n' it's
what I says last 'n' all the
time -- the nigger's crazy --
crazy 's Nebokoodneezer, s'I."
"An' look at that-air ladder
made out'n rags, Sister Hotchkiss," says
old Mrs. Damrell; "what in the
name o' goodness COULD he ever
want of --"
"The very words
I was a-sayin' no longer ago
th'n this minute
to Sister Utterback, 'n' she'll
tell you so herself. Sh-she,
look at that-air rag ladder,
sh-she; 'n' s'I, yes, LOOK at
it, s'I -- what COULD he a-wanted
of it, s'I. Sh-she, Sister Hotchkiss,
sh-she --"
"But how in
the nation'd they ever GIT
that grindstone IN there,
ANYWAY? 'n' who dug that-air
HOLE? 'n' who --"
"My very WORDS,
Brer Penrod! I was a-sayin'
-- pass that-air
sasser o' m'lasses, won't ye?
-- I was a-sayin' to Sister Dunlap,
jist this minute, how DID they
git that grindstone in there,
s'I. Without HELP, mind you --
'thout HELP! THAT'S wher 'tis.
Don't tell ME, s'I; there WUZ
help, s'I; 'n' ther' wuz a PLENTY
help, too, s'I; ther's ben a
DOZEN a-helpin' that nigger,
'n' I lay I'd skin every last
nigger on this place but I'D
find out who done it, s'I; 'n'
moreover, s'I --"
"A DOZEN says
you! -- FORTY couldn't a done
every thing that's
been done. Look at them case-knife
saws and things, how tedious
they've been made; look at that
bed-leg sawed off with 'm, a
week's work for six men; look
at that nigger made out'n straw
on the bed; and look at --"
"You may WELL
say it, Brer Hightower! It's
jist as I was
a-sayin' to Brer Phelps, his
own self. S'e, what do YOU think
of it, Sister Hotchkiss, s'e?
Think o' what, Brer Phelps, s'I?
Think o' that bed-leg sawed off
that a way, s'e? THINK of it,
s'I? I lay it never sawed ITSELF
off, s'I -- somebody SAWED it,
s'I; that's my opinion, take
it or leave it, it mayn't be
no 'count, s'I, but sich as 't
is, it's my opinion, s'I, 'n'
if any body k'n start a better
one, s'I, let him DO it, s'I,
that's all. I says to Sister
Dunlap, s'I --"
"Why, dog my
cats, they must a ben a house-full
o' niggers
in there every night for four
weeks to a done all that work,
Sister Phelps. Look at that shirt
-- every last inch of it kivered
over with secret African writ'n
done with blood! Must a ben a
raft uv 'm at it right along,
all the time, amost. Why, I'd
give two dollars to have it read
to me; 'n' as for the niggers
that wrote it, I 'low I'd take
'n' lash 'm t'll --"
"People to
HELP him, Brother Marples!
Well, I reckon you'd
THINK so if you'd a been in this
house for a while back. Why,
they've stole everything they
could lay their hands on -- and
we a-watching all the time, mind
you. They stole that shirt right
off o' the line! and as for that
sheet they made the rag ladder
out of, ther' ain't no telling
how many times they DIDN'T steal
that; and flour, and candles,
and candlesticks, and spoons,
and the old warming-pan, and
most a thousand things that I
disremember now, and my new calico
dress; and me and Silas and my
Sid and Tom on the constant watch
day AND night, as I was a-telling
you, and not a one of us could
catch hide nor hair nor sight
nor sound of them; and here at
the last minute, lo and behold
you, they slides right in under
our noses and fools us, and not
only fools US but the Injun Territory
robbers too, and actuly gets
AWAY with that nigger safe and
sound, and that with sixteen
men and twentytwo dogs right
on their very heels at that very
time! I tell you, it just bangs
anything I ever HEARD of. Why,
SPERITS couldn't a done better
and been no smarter. And I reckon
they must a BEEN sperits -- because,
YOU know our dogs, and ther'
ain't no better; well, them dogs
never even got on the TRACK of
'm once! You explain THAT to
me if you can! -- ANY of you!"
"Well, it does
beat --"
"Laws alive,
I never --"
"So help me,
I wouldn't a be --"
"HOUSE-thieves
as well as --"
"Goodnessgracioussakes,
I'd a ben afeard to live in
sich
a --"
"'Fraid to LIVE! -- why, I
was that scared I dasn't hardly
go to bed, or get up, or lay
down, or SET down, Sister Ridgeway.
Why, they'd steal the very --
why, goodness sakes, you can
guess what kind of a fluster
I was in by the time midnight
come last night. I hope to gracious
if I warn't afraid they'd steal
some o' the family! I was just
to that pass I didn't have no
reasoning faculties no more.
It looks foolish enough NOW,
in the daytime; but I says to
myself, there's my two poor boys
asleep, 'way up stairs in that
lonesome room, and I declare
to goodness I was that uneasy
't I crep' up there and locked
'em in! I DID. And anybody would.
Because, you know, when you get
scared that way, and it keeps
running on, and getting worse
and worse all the time, and your
wits gets to addling, and you
get to doing all sorts o' wild
things, and by and by you think
to yourself, spos'n I was a boy,
and was away up there, and the
door ain't locked, and you --" She
stopped, looking kind of wondering,
and then she turned her head
around slow, and when her eye
lit on me -- I got up and took
a walk.
Says I to myself,
I can explain better how we
come to not be
in that room this morning if
I go out to one side and study
over it a little. So I done it.
But I dasn't go fur, or she'd
a sent for me. And when it was
late in the day the people all
went, and then I come in and
told her the noise and shooting
waked up me and "Sid," and the
door was locked, and we wanted
to see the fun, so we went down
the lightningrod, and both of
us got hurt a little, and we
didn't never want to try THAT
no more. And then I went on and
told her all what I told Uncle
Silas before; and then she said
she'd forgive us, and maybe it
was all right enough anyway,
and about what a body might expect
of boys, for all boys was a pretty
harum-scarum lot as fur as she
could see; and so, as long as
no harm hadn't come of it, she
judged she better put in her
time being grateful we was alive
and well and she had us still,
stead of fretting over what was
past and done. So then she kissed
me, and patted me on the head,
and dropped into a kind of a
brown study; and pretty soon
jumps up, and says:
"Why, lawsamercy,
it's most night, and Sid not
come yet!
What HAS become of that boy?"
I see my chance; so I skips
up and says:
"I'll run right up to town
and get him," I says.
"No you won't," she says. "You'll
stay right wher' you are; ONE'S
enough to be lost at a time.
If he ain't here to supper, your
uncle 'll go."
Well, he warn't there to supper;
so right after supper uncle went.
He come back about ten a little
bit uneasy; hadn't run across
Tom's track. Aunt Sally was a
good DEAL uneasy; but Uncle Silas
he said there warn't no occasion
to be -- boys will be boys, he
said, and you'll see this one
turn up in the morning all sound
and right. So she had to be satisfied.
But she said she'd set up for
him a while anyway, and keep
a light burning so he could see
it.
And then when I went up to
bed she come up with me and fetched
her candle, and tucked me in,
and mothered me so good I felt
mean, and like I couldn't look
her in the face; and she set
down on the bed and talked with
me a long time, and said what
a splendid boy Sid was, and didn't
seem to want to ever stop talking
about him; and kept asking me
every now and then if I reckoned
he could a got lost, or hurt,
or maybe drownded, and might
be laying at this minute somewheres
suffering or dead, and she not
by him to help him, and so the
tears would drip down silent,
and I would tell her that Sid
was all right, and would be home
in the morning, sure; and she
would squeeze my hand, or maybe
kiss me, and tell me to say it
again, and keep on saying it,
because it done her good, and
she was in so much trouble. And
when she was going away she looked
down in my eyes so steady and
gentle, and says:
"The door ain't
going to be locked, Tom, and
there's the
window and the rod; but you'll
be good, WON'T you? And you won't
go? For MY sake."
Laws knows I WANTED to go bad
enough to see about Tom, and
was all intending to go; but
after that I wouldn't a went,
not for kingdoms.
But she was on my mind and
Tom was on my mind, so I slept
very restless. And twice I went
down the rod away in the night,
and slipped around front, and
see her setting there by her
candle in the window with her
eyes towards the road and the
tears in them; and I wished I
could do something for her, but
I couldn't, only to swear that
I wouldn't never do nothing to
grieve her any more. And the
third time I waked up at dawn,
and slid down, and she was there
yet, and her candle was most
out, and her old gray head was
resting on her hand, and she
was asleep.
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