Part 10 (2/2)
Sonora took off her hood, when her eyes fell upon me. ”So, this your man?
I'd hearn tell on him, but never see'd him afore, near by--and there are the children! and that is your big looking-gla.s.s they tell'd about! The dear ma.s.sy on us,” she exclaimed, ”how nice!”
”Why, Mrs. Brown,” said I, ”you must recollect me: I was a juryman on the trial between Filkins and Beadle.”
”Come to take a good look at you, and so you was; but I was so frustered that day that I didn't know which eend I stood on. How pesky sa.s.sy them 'turneys-at-la' are!” continued Mrs. Brown, as she seated herself in the big rocking-chair.
”Mrs. Brown, have you lived long in this country?” I asked.
”Why, bless your soul, yes! Didn't you know that? We come in from the 'Hio twenty years ago, and lived her 'fore there was anybody, nor nothing but bears and catamounts.”
”How, in the world, did you manage to get through the country twenty years ago?” I asked.
”Well, it _was_ a pretty orful time,” said the old lady; ”it almost brings the tears into my eyes now to think on't. There was my husband and four children--Lem and Jim, and Molly and Bessy. Lem was about twenty, and Jim about fifteen, and Molly and Bessy ten and twelve; and we were all piled inter a big cover'd wagon, drawn by two yoke of cattle, with what little furniter we had; and in this kinder way we started for--I didn't know where.”
”Where did you eat and sleep?” inquired I.
”We bunk'd in the wagon nights, and camp'd out to eat; and so we travelled for two months.”
”But you got through all safe?” I said.
”No, we didn't,” said she, heaving a sigh; ”little Bessy died” (she wiped away a tear); ”she got the measles somewhere on the road; and everybody was afraid of catchin' on 'em; and n.o.body would come near us, and so we had to stop and take care of her in the wagon the best way we could. We done all we could think of, but she kept growin' worse and worse, 'till one mornin'
she died.”
”She died!” I repeated, feeling sad.
”And we had to bury her in a strange place--a high knoll in the woods by the road-side--and go away and leave her there alone. O, Mr. ----,” she exclaimed, ”I've dream'd a thousand times of that spot in the woods: what wouldn't I give if I could go and find it!”
”What did you do when you first arrived here?” I inquired.
”Why, it was all trees all over, everywhere, then. There warn't any houzens, nor any roads to travel on, nor no white folks but Venison Styles, and some other hunters who are gone away now; nor anything to live on; and nothin' to be heard nights but the varmints screamin',” said Mrs. Brown, laying down her knitting-work, and shoving up her spectacles with a convulsive twitch, for she was getting eloquent. ”There warn't a pound of meat for fifty miles round--no pork for love nor money--and so we cut down a place, and built a log shanty, and liv'd on deer meat, for deers were as thick as hops all over.”
”And what then?” said I.
”The next spring,” she continued, ”we cleared a couple of acres, and put it into taters, turnips, beets, and all kind-er garden sa.s.s; and then we girdled the trees on ten or twelve acres more, and in the fall we put this inter wheat, and in a year or so we began to live.”
”And that large farm you live on, Mrs. Brown, is _the_ spot you first settled? Where are your children now?”
”They are round yet,” said Sonora. ”Jim teaches school, and spec'lates, and fiddles some, and _can_ doctor if he likes. Jim is the only genus in our family: he's as smart as _litenin'_; Lem is more staid and sober-like. He allers took to hum ch.o.r.es, fod'ring cattle, and such like-er things. He married Squire Nolet's darter; and they are pretty big folks--got carpets in their bed-rooms, and all _over_ the house--and he is now settled on a farm out on Horse-Neck Plains; and Jim is now doin' fust-rate.”
”What became of Molly?”
”Molly made a bad go on't. She married a trav'ling singing-master--and I _do_ suppose,” she exclaimed, ”he is one of the most good-for-_nothin'
dogs_ in the whole settlement. I don't see how in _airth_ Molly ever took a notion to him: he hain't got no larnin'--he won't work--and _I_ don't like his _singin'_. I don't see what such critters are made for.” (The old lady heaved a long sigh.)
There was a rap at the door, and Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Beagle, and Mrs. Snipes came in. These three ladies were inseparable. They visited together, and warred, as we have seen, upon the ”up-street aristocracy” together. Mrs.
Bird, who was, as I have stated, a great sozzle about home, was now decked out with as many ribbons and streamers as a Maypole. She had mounted on her back a most tremendous bustle, and she bowed, and bobbed, and twitched about, as she saluted my wife, with all the airs and friskiness of a young girl. Mrs. Beagle was quite reserved.
”Why, bless you, Mrs. ----, how cold 'tis!” said Mrs. Bird. ”My dear husband couldn't hardly think of lettin' me go out. Bird is _so_ particular, and allers so scared for fear'd sunthin' will happen to me.
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