Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

"I aint a sayin' as they is, an' I aint a swarin' thet they aint. Mebby you mout o' heard uv Lige Tummun?"

"Yes, I have heard that he is a trifling fellow," said the young 'squire's mother. "I hope there is no way he can get Sabriny's little pension.

"I aint a sayin' nothin' agin' Lige," said Jeb, with wily inflection which said all things against that luckless wight. "I aint sayin' nothing' agin' Lige, an' I aint sayin' thet he wants ter git hole uv Sabriny fer ter git her proppity; but he hev drawed up a paper, an' she bev sign hit, fer ter live with him an' his ole 'oman the res' er her days fer, an' in consideration, uv the hull uv thet back pension down, en half

er as near half as $2.11 kin be halft, every month whilse she live; an' he bines hisself fer ter feed, an' cloth, an pervide fer her so long as they both do live, by an' accordin' ter the terms uv thet theer paper he hed draw'd up and Sabriny hev sign.

[ocr errors]

"Too bad, too bad," said the young 'squire's mother; “but the judge will appoint you, don't you think, since she is weak-minded, and Lige is so unreliable? Poor Sabriny would have very little comfort in that torn-down hut I'm afraid. Did the judge say he would see to it?"

Jeb took the straw from between his teeth, and his lip resumed its normal position. He turned and twisted, seated himself on the lower step, and readjusted his hat on his knee. Then he went on:

Thet

"I aint sayin' I want ter be 'pinted her gyardeen. air fer the jedge ter say, pervided somebody er other fetch the needcessity ter his mine befo' all thet proppity air squandered. I haint sayin' that Sabriny air weak-minded, nuther

thet is weak mindeder then thet she air a-she hev the mine uv a female, an' nachully not able ter hannel proppity. An' I haint sayin' she aint gettin' mighty well took keer uv by Lige, nuther. The last time I war theer she war roolin' the roost. She slep' in the bes' bed, an' et offen the bes' plate, an' had the bes' corn dodger an' shote; but what I airthat is what some air thinkin' about air whence Lige onct gits the hull er thet proppity in bulk, air hit goin' ter be thet away? Mine you, I aint asten this yer question; but they is them thet does, an' whilse they does hit do seem only right an' proper fer hit ter be looked inter by the proper 'thorities. Now I tole the young 'squire thet I'd lay the

hull caste befo' the jedge las' cote day, but the fack air that whence I git theer I met up with a few er my bisness erquaintainces an' on reflection I made up my mine thet I bes' thes say nothin' to the jedge. Thet's what I kem ter tell the young 'squire so's he won't ercuse me in his mine er lyin' ter 'im whence he fine out thet I never tole the jedge. They was reasons numbrous and gineral reasons fer me ter refleck an' retrack my plan."

He reflected for a moment now, and then lifting his hat by the peak, turned it around, raised it high over his head, carried it back and put it on; then from its mutilated front just above his eyebrow he snipped off, with a deft jerk, another straw and started down the steps.

"They is some thet say Sabriny hev a temper thet don't stop ter be lit up, Miss Brady, but lawsy, I haint sayin' nothing agin' Sabriny's temper, ner agin' Lige, ner nobody. Some folks will talk thet away. You can't stop 'em long es they's 'live en kickin'; but I got mighty little ter say. There was a long pause. Then with studied indifference

of inflection he continued:

[ocr errors]

"I reckon my leetle bisness with the young 'squire kin wait without mouldin' over night. I thes reckon hit wouldn't be edzackly bes' fer ter discuss hit with nobody else," and he inserted the straw between his teeth with great care and precision, and took his high stepping way toward the Ridge, secure in his self-esteem and approbation in that not even the wiles of a lady of the position of the young_squire's mother could betray him into divulging his secret. For, after all, she was but a woman, and — well — this whole matter was a question of "proppity," and therefore quite beyond her capacity.

As he disappeared over the hill, his straw havelock flapping gently in the wind, and his vest spread wide against his pendent arms, the young 'squire's mother laughed gently and said:

-

6

"Poor Sabrina, she is a little weaker minded than Jeb, and Jeb is a kind soul in his way. We must let the judge know the trouble, and see if some honest and capable person cannot be found to handle that proppity' and not squander, too recklessly, the two dollars and eleven cents in the months that are to come. The life of an heiress is, indeed, beset with pitfalls even among the Ridgers."

THE BROOK.

BY P. II. S.

I LOVE the gentle music of the brook,
Its solitary, meditative song.
On every hill

Some stream has birth,
Some lyric rill,

To wake the selfish earth,

And smile and toss the heavens their shining look,
Repeat and every flash of life prolong.
In spite of play,

Along its cheerful way

It turns to rest beneath some sheltering tree
In richer beauty;

Or at call of duty

Leaps forth into a cry of ecstacy,

And sings that work is best,

In brighter colors drest

Runs on its way,

Nor longer wills to stay

Than but to see itself that it is fair,

Thou happy brook, true brother to the air.

I fear the steady death-roar of the sea,
Its sullen, never-changing undertone;
Round all the land

It clasps its heavy strength,
A liquid band

Of world-unending length,

And ever chants a wild monotony,

A change between a low cry and a moan.
The earth is glad,

The sea alone is sad;

Its swelling surge it rolls against the shore
In mammoth anger;

Or, in weary languor,

Beaten, it whines that it can rage no more,
And sinks to treacherous rest,

While from the happy west

The sun is glad;

The sea alone is sad.

Its voice has messages nor words for me,
All, all is pitched in one low minor key.

Then take my heart upon thy dancing stream,
O tiny brook, thou bearest my heart away.
Run gently past

The breaking of the stones,
Nor yet too fast;

And on thy perfect tones

Bear thou my discord life that I may seem
A harmony for one short hour to-day.
Why wilt thou, brook,

Not check thy forward look?

Why wilt thou, brook, not make my heart thine own? The wild commotion

Of the frantic ocean

Will madden thee and drown thy sorry moan,

And none will hear the cry;

Then run more slowly by

Nay, for this nook

Was made for thee, my brook,

Stay with me here beneath this silver shade
And think this day for thee and me was made.

Thy present sweetness will be turned to brine;
Thou'lt hardly make one petty, paltry wave.
Lovest thou the sun?

He will not know thee there.

Is't sweet to run,

Know thine own whence and where?

"Tis here thy joy, thy love, thy life are thine; There thou wilt neither be, nor do, nor have. The mighty sea

Will blindly number thee

To bear the ships, send thee to shape the shore
That thou art scorning;

Or some awful morning,

Set thee to pluck some sailor from his oar

And drink his weary life;

O fear this chance of strife!

Or what may be

Else, dead monotony.

Give o'er thy headlong haste, dwell here with me,
Why lose thyself in the vast, hungry sea?

These thoughts I cast into the wiser stream,
And lay and heard it run the hours away;
And then above

The beauty and the peace,

It sang of love;

And in that glad release

I knew my thoughts had run beyond my dream, Had seen the laboring river and the bay. ""Tis joy to run!

Else life would ne'er be done,

I ne'er should know the triumphing of death,
Nor its revealing;

Nor the eager feeling

Of fuller life, the promise of the breath
That fleets the open sea:

All this was given to me
Once as I won

My first great leap; the sun

I knew my king, and laughed, and since that day I run and sing; he wills, and I obey.”

« ZurückWeiter »