Part 27 (1/2)
In winter, when the mercury would creep down fifteen degrees below zero, and the cold was nearly severe enough to freeze the inside of Vesuvius solid to the centre of the globe, Pitman would sit out on my fence and exclaim, ”By gracious, Adeler! did you ever see sich weather as this? I like an atmosphere that freezes up yer very marrer. It helps the coal trade an' gives us good skeetin'. Don't talk of summer-time to me. Gimme cold, and give it to me stiff.”
When there was a drought, Pitman used to meet me in the street and remark, ”No rain yet, I see! Magnificent, isn't it? I want my weather dry, I want it with the dampness left out. Moisture breeds fevers and ague, an' ruins yer boots. If there's anything I despise, it's to carry an umbreller. No rain for me, if you please.”
When it rained for a week and flooded the country, the judge often dropped in to see me and to observe, ”I dunno how you feel about this yer rain, Adeler, but it allers seems to me that the heavens never drop no blessin's but when we have a long wet spell. It makes the corn jump an' cleans the sewers an' keeps the springs from gittin' too dry. I wouldn't give a cent to live in a climate where there was no rain. Put me on the Nile, an' I'd die in a week. Soak me through an' through to the inside of my bones, and I feel as if life was bright and beautiful, an' sorrer of no account.”
On a showery day, when the sun shone brightly at one moment and at the next the rain poured in torrents, the judge has been known to stand at the window and exclaim, ”Harriet, if you'd've asked me how I liked the weather, I'd've said, just as it is now. What I want is weather that is streaked like a piece of fat an' lean bacon--a little s.h.i.+ne an' a little rain. Mix 'em up an' give us plenty of both, an' I'm yer man.”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The judge is always happy in a thunder-storm, and one day, after the lightning had knocked down two of his best apple trees and splintered them into fragments, and the wind had torn his chimney to pieces, I went over to see him. He was standing by the prostrate trees, and he at once remarked, ”Did you ever know of a man havin' sich luck as this? I was goin' to chop down them two trees to-morrer, an' as that chimney never draw'd well, I had concluded to have it rebuilt. An' that gorgeous old storm has fixed things just the way I want 'em. Put me in a thunder-storm an' let the lightnin' play around me, an' I'm at home. I'd rather have one storm that'd tear the bowels out of the American continent than a dozen of yer little dribblin' waterin'-pot showers. If I can't have a rippin' and roarin' storm, I don't want none.”
They say here in the village, but I do not believe it, that one day the judge was upon his roof fixing a s.h.i.+ngle, when a tornado struck him, lifted him off, carried him a quarter of a mile, and dashed him with such terrible force against a fence that his leg was broken. As they carried him home, he opened his eyes languidly and said, ”Immortal Moses! what a storm that was! When it does blow, it suits me if it blows hard. I'd give both legs if we could have a squall like that every day.
I--I--” Then he fainted.
If contentment is happiness, then the life of Pitman is one uninterrupted condition of bliss.
CHAPTER XVIII.
TROUBLE FOR THE HERO AND HEROINE--A BROKEN ENGAGEMENT AND A FORLORN DAMSEL--BOB PARKER'S SUFFERING--A FORMIDABLE ENCOUNTER--THE PECULIAR CONDUCT OF A DUMB ANIMAL--COOLEY'S BOY AND HIS HOME DISCIPLINE--A STORY OF AN ECHO.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
We had been talking of asking the Magruders to come to take tea with us, so that the two families, which were now to be brought into close relations, might become better acquainted. But one evening, just as I had settled myself for a comfortable perusal of the paper, Miss Magruder was ushered into the room by the servant. It was plainly evident from her appearance that she was in distress from some cause. We should have guessed from her visit at such an hour unaccompanied by any one that all was not right, even if her countenance had not manifested extreme agitation. After the usual salutation she asked,
”Is Mr. Parker not at home?”
”He has not yet returned from the city,” I said. ”I suppose he has been detained for some reason. It is probable that he will be here presently.”
”I wanted to see him,” she said, hesitatingly. ”I am afraid you'll think it very queer for me to come here at such a strange time; but--but”--and here her voice quavered a little--”but oh, something dreadful has happened--something very, very dreadful.”
Then the tears began to come into her pretty brown eyes, and the little maid, after striving desperately to restrain them and to retain her composure, buried her face in her hands and began to sob. There was a woman by her side in a moment to comfort her and to seek her confidence; but it was very awkward for me. I was not quite certain whether I ought not to fly from the room and permit the two to be alone. But I remained with mingled feelings of sympathy and curiosity, and with an indistinct notion that the forlorn damsel before me regarded me as a flinty-hearted brute because I didn't express violent indignation at her ill-treatment.
I should have done so if I had had any conception of the nature of the wrong endured by her. At last, when she had obtained relief in a good cry--and it is surprising how much better a troubled woman feels when she has cried and wiped her weeping eyes--Bessie told us the story.
”Father came to me to-day,” she said, ”and told me that he had heard some dreadful things about Robert; and he said he could not consent to my marriage with such a man, and that our engagement must be broken off.”
”What kind of things?” indignantly demanded Mrs. Adeler, whose family pride was aroused; ”what did he hear?”
”Oh, something perfectly awful!” exclaimed Bessie, looking up with fresh tears in her eyes. ”He said Robert drank a great deal and that he was very often intoxicated.”
”What an outrageous falsehood!” exclaimed Mrs. Adeler.
”I told father it was,” said Bessie; ”but he said he knew it was true, and, worse than that, that Robert not only kept very bad company in the city, but that he was an atheist--that he only came to church in order to deceive us.”
If the late Mr. Fahrenheit had had to indicate the warmth of Mrs.
Adeler's indignation at this moment, he would have given 215 as the figure. ”I declare,” she said, ”that is the wickedest falsehood I ever heard. I will call upon Mrs. Magruder to-morrow morning and tell her so.”
”And father insisted,” said Bessie, ”that I should write a formal note to Robert, breaking our engagement and asking him to discontinue his visits to our house. I did so, but I could not bear to have him think me so heartless, and I felt as if I must come here and tell him about it before the note reached him. Please don't think it strange that I came, and don't let any one know it.” Then Bessie began to sob again.