Part 17 (1/2)
”The poor creature!” exclaimed Miss Tewksbury. ”I am truly sorry for her--truly sorry.”
”Ah! so am I,” said Helen. ”I propose to see more of her. I am interested in just such people.”
”Well, ma'am,” said Mrs. Haley dryly, ”if you like sech folks it's a thousand pities you've come here, for you'll git a doste of 'em. Yes'm, that you will; a doste of 'em that'll last you as long as you live, if you live to be one of the patrioks. And you nee'nter be sorry for Emma Jane Stucky neither. Jest as you see her now, jesso she's been a-goin'
on fer twenty year, an' jest as you see her now, jesso she's been a-lookin' ev'ry sence anybody around here has been a-knowin' her.”
”Her history must be a pathetic one,” said Miss Tewksbury with a sigh.
”Her what, ma'am?” asked Mrs. Haley.
”Her history, the story of her life,” responded Miss Tewksbury. ”I dare say it is very touching.”
”Well, ma'am,” said Mrs. Haley, ”Emma Jane Stucky is like one of them there dead pines out there in the clearin'. If you had a stack of almanacs as high as a hoss-rack, you couldn't pick out the year she was young and sappy. She must 'a' started out as a light'd knot, an' she's been a-gittin' tougher year in an' year out, till now she's tougher'n the toughest. No'm,” continued Mrs. Haley, replying to an imaginary argument, ”I ain't predijiced ag'in' the poor creetur'--the Lord knows I ain't. If I was, no vittels would she git from me--not a scrimption.”
”I never saw such an expression on a human countenance,” said Helen.
”Her eyes will haunt me as long as I live.”
”Bless your soul and body, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Haley; ”if you're going to let that poor creetur's looks pester you, you'll be worried to death, as certain as the world. There's a hunderd in this settlement jest like her, and ther' must be more'n that, old an' young, 'cause the children look to be as old as the'r grannies. I reckon maybe you ain't used to seein' piny-woods Tackies. Well, ma'am, you wait till you come to know 'em, and if you are in the habits of bein' ha'nted by looks, you'll be the wuss ha'nted mortal in this land, 'less'n it's them that's got the sperrit-rappin's after 'em.”
IV
MRS. STUCKY, making her way homeward through the gathering dusk, moved as noiselessly and as swiftly as a ghost. The soft white sand beneath her feet gave forth no sound, and she seemed to be gliding forward, rather than walking; though there was a certain awkward emphasis and decision in her movements altogether human in their suggestions. The way was lonely. There was no companions.h.i.+p for her in the whispering sighs of the tall pines that stood by the roadside, no friendliness in the constellations that burned and sparkled overhead, no hospitable suggestion in the lights that gleamed faintly here and there from the windows of the houses in the little settlement. To Mrs. Stucky all was commonplace. There was nothing in her surroundings as she went toward her home, to lend wings even to her superst.i.tion, which was eager to a.s.sert itself on all occasions.
It was not much of a home to which she was making her way--a little log-cabin in a pine thicket, surrounded by a little clearing that served to show how aimlessly and how hopelessly the lack of thrift and energy could a.s.sert itself. The surroundings were mean enough and squalid enough at their best, but the oppressive shadows of night made them meaner and more squalid than they really were. The sun, which s.h.i.+nes so lavishly in that region, appeared to glorify the squalor, showing wild pa.s.sion-flowers clambering along the broken-down fence of pine poles, and a wistaria vine running helter-skelter across the roof of the little cabin. But the night hid all this completely.
A dim, vague blaze, springing from a few charred pine-knots, made the darkness visible in the one room of the cabin; and before it, with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, sat what appeared to be a man. He wore neither coat nor shoes, and his hair was long and s.h.a.ggy.
”Is that you, Bud?” said Mrs. Stucky.
”Why, who'd you reckon it wuz, maw?” replied Bud, looking up with a broad grin that was not at all concealed by his thin, sandy beard. ”A body'd sorter think, ef they 'uz ter ketch you gwine on that away, that you 'spected ter find some great somebody er nuther a-roostin' in here.”
Mrs. Stucky, by way of responding, stirred the pine-knots until they gave forth a more satisfactory light, hung her bonnet on the bedpost, and seated herself wearily in a rickety chair, the loose planks of the floor rattling and shaking as she moved about.
”Now, who in the nation did you reckon it wuz, maw?” persisted Bud, still grinning placidly.
”Some great somebody,” replied Mrs. Stucky, brus.h.i.+ng her gray hair out of her eyes and looking at her son. At this Bud could contain himself no longer. He laughed almost uproariously.
”Well, the great Jemimy!” he exclaimed, and then laughed louder than ever.
”Wher've you been?” Mrs. Stucky asked, when Bud's mirth had subsided.
”Away over yander at the depot,” said Bud, indicating Little Azalia.
”An' I fotch you some May-pops too. I did that! I seed 'em while I wuz a-gwine 'long, an' I sez ter myself, sezee, 'You jess wait thar tell I come 'long back, an' I'll take an' take you ter maw,' sezee.”
Although this fruit of the pa.s.sion-flowers was growing in profusion right at the door, Mrs. Stucky gave this grown man, her son, to understand that May-pops such as he brought were very desirable indeed.
”I wonder you didn't fergit 'em,” she said.
”Who? me!” exclaimed Bud. ”I jess like fer ter see anybody ketch me fergittin' 'em. Now I jess would. I never eat a one, nuther--not a one.”