Part 38 (1/2)
From Maggie then--long afterwards--I learned the details.
My father sat down after smiting the table, gasped once or twice; pulled off and wiped his spectacles; put them on again, and, laying strong constraint on himself, read the whole through, aloud, and without a word of comment till he reached the end, when he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed--”in-con-ceivable!” laid the letter down, and, looking up, glared at the cat. As that creature took no notice of him he incontinently flung his napkin at it, and swept it off the table. Then he gave vent to a prolonged ”wh-s.h.!.+” burst into a fiendish laugh, and gave a slap to his thigh that shattered the cat's peace of mind for the remainder of that morning, after which he re-opened the letter, spread it carefully out on the table, and, in the most intensely cynical tones, began a disjointed commentary on it as follows:--
”Your `dear father,' indeed! That's the first piece of humbug in your precious letter. Very `dear' I am to you, no doubt. And _you_--you--a chit--a mere boy (he forgot that several years had elapsed since I left him). Oh! no--I'm neither surprised nor displeased--not at all. The state of my mind is not to be expressed by such phraseology--by no means! And you were always such a smooth-faced, quiet little beggar that--well--no matter. `Couldn't help it!' indeed. H'm. `Quite a lady!' Oh! of _course_. Necessarily so, when you condescended to fall in love with her! `Humility!' well! `Given up the service,' too!
`Colorado!' `One of the wildest parts'--as if a tame part wouldn't have done just as well! A `farmer!' Much _you_ know about farming! You don't tell all this `defiantly.' Oh! no, certainly not, but if you don't _do_ it defiantly, I have misunderstood the meaning of the word self-will till I am bald. Why didn't you `consult' me, then? Much _you_ care for my blessing--and `the thing is fixed!'”
Exasperation was too much developed at this point to permit of blowing off steam in the form of sarcastic remark. My poor father hit the table with such force that the cream spurted out of its pot over the cloth-- and my father didn't care! The cat cared, however, when, at a later period, it had the cleaning up of that little matter all to itself!
This last explosion caused so much noise--my cousin told me--as to attract the attention of my father's only domestic, who bounced into the room and asked, ”did 'e ring.” To which my father returned such a thundering ”No!” that the domestic fled precipitately, followed by the cat--rampant.
”_Your_ `Eve!' indeed,” said my father, resuming the sarcastic vein.
”`Mother an Indian'--a Hottentot, I suppose, or something of that sort-- short skirt of peac.o.c.k feathers; no upper part worth mentioning, flat nose and lips, and smeared all over with fat, I dare say. Charming mother-in-law. Calculated to create some impression on English society.
No wonder you've chosen the _wilds_ of Colorado! Ah, now, as to `my Eve herself'--just let us have it strong, my boy--h'm, `sweet'--yes, yes--`amiable,' exactly, `fair hair and blue eyes'--ha, you expect me to swallow _that_! oh, `graceful,' ha! `perfection,' undoubtedly.
`Forgive' you! No--boy, I'll _never_ forgive you. You're the most arrant a.s.s--idiot--but this caps all--`come out here and live with us!'
They'll give me one quarter of the wigwam, I suppose--curtained off with birch-bark, _perhaps_, or deerskin. `Your affectionate'--dolt! wh-why-- what do you glare like _that_ for?”
This last question was put to my small cousin, who, in the horror of her belief that my father had gone mad, had agitated the window-curtain and revealed herself!
My poor dear father! I can imagine the scene well, and would not have detailed it so minutely here if--but enough. I must not forecast.
The afternoon on which this letter was despatched Big Otter returned to Sunny Creek cottage with a haunch of fat venison on his l.u.s.ty shoulders.
He found us all grouped round the rustic table in front of the door, enjoying a cup of fragrant tea, and admiring the view. Eve was sitting on a low stool at the feet of Mrs Liston, engaged in ornamenting a bright blue fire-bag with bead and quill work of the most gorgeous colouring and elegant design. The design, of course, was her own. Mrs Liston was knitting small squares of open cotton-work, of a st.i.tch so large that wooden needles about the size of a goose-quill were necessary. It was the only work that the poor old lady's weak eyesight and trembling hands could accomplish, and the simple st.i.tch required little exercise of mind or muscle. When Mrs Liston completed a square she rolled it away. When sixteen squares were finished, she sewed them together and formed a strip about eight feet long and six inches broad.
When sixteen such strips were completed, she sewed them all together and thus produced a bed-quilt. Quilts of this sort she presented periodically, with much ceremony and demonstration of regard, to her most intimate friends. In that region the old lady had not many intimate friends, but then it luckily took much time to produce a quilt.
The quilt then in hand--at that time near its completion--was for Eve.
”Thank you _so_ much for your venison,” said Mrs Liston, as the hunter, with an air of native dignity, laid the haunch at her feet. ”Take it to the kitchen, dear,” she added to Mrs Temple, who was pouring out the tea.
”It has just come in time,” said Mrs Temple, with a pleasant nod to Big Otter; ”we had quite run out of fresh meat, and your friend Muxbee is such a lazy boy that he never touches a gun. In fact I don't know how to get him out of the house even for an hour.”
As this was said in English, Big Otter did not understand it, but when he saw the speaker stoop to pick up the venison, he stepped quickly forward and antic.i.p.ated her. ”Thank you, carry it this way,” said Aunt Temple (as I had begun to style her), leading the Indian to the pantry in rear of the cottage.
”Well, Big Otter,” said I, when they returned, ”now do you find the country round here in regard to game?”
”There is much game,” he answered.
”Then you'll make up your mind to pitch your wigwam here, I hope, and make it your home.”
”No, Big Otter's heart is in his own land in the far north. He will go back to it.”
”What! and forsake Waboose?” said Eve, looking up from her work with an expression of real concern.
With a gratified air the Indian replied, ”Big Otter will return.”
”Soon!” I asked.
”Not very long.”