Part 15 (2/2)

”I wish you'd step into Lihu's--such a poor, sufferin' creetur as he is--with these,” said Grandma, appearing from the pantry with some eggs in her ap.r.o.n. ”I wish you could take the consolations of religion with you, Madeline,” she continued gravely, as Mrs. Philander was closing the door.

”Lord, ma! my pocket's full now!” exclaimed Madeline. ”Besides, they might break the eggs!” And the latch fell down with a click.

”I wish Madeline was a believer,” Grandma sighed, purposely rattling about the cover of the stove to wake up Grandpa, who had fallen asleep in his chair.

Grandpa looked at me, and smiled feebly, then roused himself to meet this supposed challenge like a man.

”Believer, ma?” said he; ”why ain't I a believer? As old Cap'n Gates said to me on his last voyage”--Grandpa yawned alarmingly (poor old man!

he was but half awake), as this unlucky reminiscence of his sea-faring life flitted through his brain--”says he, 'I read my almanick and my Bible, both, Bijonah;' says he, 'I read 'em both, and I believe there's a great deal o' truth in both on 'em.'”

”Thar, pa!” said Grandma, solemnly, ”you'd _better_ go to sleep! you'd _better_ close your eyes, Bijonah Keeler! What if you should never open 'em again on earthly scenes, and them words on your lips,--and you a perfessor!”

Grandpa scratched his head in drowsy bewilderment, pa.s.sed his hand once or twice over the coa.r.s.e stubble on his face, and again committed himself helplessly to the sweet obliviousness of slumber.

I drew my chair up confidentially close to Grandma Keeler's, and rested my arms on the table as I looked into her face.

”Grandma!” I said, for I knew that she was better pleased to have me call her that; ”I begin to think that I ought never to have come to Wallencamp on a mission, that perhaps it would be just as well if I had never come to Wallencamp at all, I mean. I didn't think. At first, it seemed more than anything else, like something very new to entertain myself with. I didn't think enough of the responsibility. Then, perhaps, I thought too much of it. I don't know. I wish I were out of it all. Grandma, I never tried to do the right thing so hard before in my life. I never worked so hard before--and I don't mind that; but I meant it all for the best, and it's no use, it's just like all the rest. I'm tired. I wish I were out of it.”

”Wall, thar' now, darlin',” said Grandma, employing to the full her tone of infinite consolation. ”You ain't the first one as mistook a stump for livin' creetur in the night, and don't you talk about givin' up nor nothin' like it, darlin', for we couldn't do without you noways--nor you without us, for yet a while, I'm thinkin', though it does seem strange--and never you mind one straw for what Madeline said, for she was kind o' out to-night, anyway, not having got no letter from Philander, I suppose. But then she ought not to feel so. Why, there was time and time agin that I didn't git no letter from Bijonah Keeler when he was voyagin', and to be sure, they wasn't much better than nothin' when they did come; for pa”--Grandma cast a calmly comprehensive glance at her unconscious mate--”pa was a man that had a great many idees in general, but, when he set down to write a letter, somehow he seemed to consider that it wasn't no place for idees, a letter wasn't--seemed as though he managed a'most a purpose not to get none in.”

”Grandma,” I said, leaning forward, laughing, and folding my hands in her lap, ”you're the best comforter I know of.”

”Wall, thar',” said she; ”it's a good deal in feelin's, and Madeline ain't r'al well, so she kind o' allows 'em to overcome her sometimes.”

”And what did she mean by saying that about Rebecca?” I asked.

”Oh, she just meant girls will be girls, that's all!” replied Grandma; ”why, mercy! I know all about that. I don't feel like nothin' much more than a girl myself, half the time; and we all have to have our experiences, to be sure. They ain't n.o.body else can wear 'em for us, but, dear me! the Lord ain't going to let our experiences hurt us; they're for our betterin'.”

”And Lute Cradlebow, Grandma?” I said; ”what did she mean about him?”

”Oh, she just meant boys will be boys, that's all--especially big ones--but thar'! I've known 'em to get over it a hundred times and not hurt 'em none. If you're always lookin' at human natur' on the dark side, it seems kind o' desp'rit. My first husband, he wasn't a fretful man, but he was always viewin' the dark side o' things. I suppose one reason was he didn't have no father nor mother, and so he kind o' begun life as a took-in boy, but Pollos Sloc.u.m, he done very well by him, for he hadn't no children of his own, but his brother--that was Daniel Sloc.u.m--he had six. There was two boys and four girls. Mary, she came fust. She was born February nineteenth”----

I was sorry that Grandma's thoughts had drifted into this hopeless and interminable channel.

I had considered carefully what Madeline had said, and determined on a little new advice for my friend, Rebecca. So, the next time we were alone in my room together, I directed the conversation with a view to this end.

”And I wouldn't trust any one, my dear,” I said with cheerful earnestness; ”then if people prove true, why, it's all the more delightful; and if not, one isn't disappointed; so you can hold the scales quite indifferently in your own hand, and are always master of the situation. Oh, I wouldn't trust people! It would be very nice if this were the sort of world that you could do it in, but it isn't. It's a very deceitful world.”

”But I can trust you, can't I?” Rebecca held me with her gravely questioning eyes.

”Well, I don't know;” I began with the determination to be severely true to my text, but the look in Rebecca's eyes hurt me.

”Oh, yes! little girl,” I continued, falling into the half-tender, half-playful tone that it was always easiest to a.s.sume with her; ”of course, you must trust me I Haven't I been a good teacher to you, so far?” And I sought by smiling in the girl's face, to chase the grieved expression away from it. ”What I meant was that I wouldn't trust people generally, because it's a selfish world, and such is the depravity of the human mind that if it appears at all convenient, we are apt, you know, to sacrifice other people to our own interests; so, with all the little kindnesses and politenesses which are current in society, it is still the common practice--and if is best that it should be so--to keep, in the main, a sharp look out for 'Number One!'”

Having proceeded so far, it occurred to me that the occasion was favorable for the discharge of another duty which I had been meditating in regard to Rebecca.

”You are what Grandma Keeler calls a believer, are you not, dear?” I said, with the same composedly dictatorial manner: ”in distinction from a professor, I mean.”

Rebecca gave a little gasp, and turned her head away, for an instant.

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