University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE FROLIC.

THE supper was soon dispatched; the huskers eating
with awkward embarrassment, as frontiermen
always do in company,—even in the company of each
other. To eat with decency and composure is the
final triumph of civilization, and the shuckers of Hissawachee
Bottom got through with the disagreeable performance
as hurriedly as possible, the more so that
their exciting strife had given them vigorous relish for
Mrs. Lumsden's “chicken fixin's,” and batter-cakes,
and “punkin - pies.” The quilters had taken their
supper an hour before, the table not affording room
for both parties. When supper was over the “things”
were quickly put away, the table folded up and removed
to the kitchen — and the company were then
ready to enjoy themselves. There was much gawky
timidity on the part of the young men, and not a little
shy dropping of the eyes on the part of the young
women; but the most courageous presently got some of
the rude, country plays a-going. The pawns were sold
over the head of the blindfold Mort Goodwin, who, as
the wit of the company, devised all manner of penalties
for the owners. Susan Tomkins had to stand up
in the corner, and say,

These lines were supposed to rhyme. When Aleck
Tilley essayed to comply with her request, she tried to
run like a turkey, but was stopped in time.

The good taste of people who enjoy society novels
will decide at once that these boisterous, unrefined
sports are not a promising beginning. It is easy
enough to imagine heroism, generosity and courage in
people who dance on velvet carpets; but the great
heroes, the world's demigods, grew in just such rough
social states as that of Ohio in the early part of this
century. There is nothing more important for an
over-refined generation than to understand that it has
not a monopoly of the great qualities of humanity,
and that it must not only tolerate rude folk, but
sometimes admire in them traits that have grown
scarce as refinement has increased. So that I may
not shrink from telling that one kissing - play took
the place of another until the excitement and merriment
reached a pitch which would be thought not
consonant with propriety by the society that loves
round - dances with roués, and “the German” untranslated—though,
for that matter, there are people old-fashioned
enough to think that refined deviltry is not
much better than rude freedom, after all.

Goodwin entered with the hearty animal spirits of
his time of life into the boisterous sport; but there
was one drawback to his pleasure — Patty Lumsden
would not play. He was glad, indeed, that she did
not; he could not bear to see her kissed by his companions.
But, then, did Patty like the part he was
taking in the rustic revel? He inly rejoiced that his

position as the blindfold Justice, meeting out punishment
to the owner of each forfeit, saved him, to some
extent, the necessity of going through the ordeal of
kissing. True, it was quite possible that the severest
prescription he should make might fall on his own
head, if the pawn happened to be his; but he was
saved by his good luck and the penetration which enabled
him to guess, from the suppressed chuckle of the
seller, when the offered pawn was his own.

At last, “forfeits” in every shape became too dull
for the growing mirth of the company. They ranged
themselves round the room on benches and chairs,
and began to sing the old song:

It is not very different from the little children's
play—an old rustic sport, I doubt not, that has existed
in England from immemorial time. McConkey took
the handkerchief first, and, while the company were
singing, he pretended to be looking around and puzzling
himself to decide whom he would favor with his

affection. But the girls nudged one another, and looked
significantly at Jemima Huddlestone. Of course,
everybody knew that Bill would take Jemima. That
was fore-ordained. Everybody knew it except Bill and
Jemima! Bill fancied that he was standing in entire
indecision, and Jemima — radiant peony! — turned her
large, red-cheeked face away from Bill, and studied
meditatively a knot in a floor-board. But her averted
gaze only made her expectancy the more visible, and
the significant titter of the company deepened the hue
and widened the area of red in her cheeks. Attempts
to seem unconscious generally result disastrously. But
the tittering, and nudging, and looking toward Jemima,
did not prevent the singing from moving on; and now
the singers have reached the line which prescribes the
kneeling. Bill shakes off his feigned indecision, and
with a sudden effort recovers from his vacant and
wandering stare, wheels about, spreads the “handkercher”
at the feet of the backwoods Hebe, and diffidently
kneels upon the outer edge, while she, in compliance
with the order of the play, and with reluctance
only apparent, also drops upon her knees on the handkerchief,
and, with downcast eyes, receives upon her
red cheek a kiss so hearty and unreserved that it
awakens laughter and applause. Bill now arises with
the air of a man who has done his whole duty under
difficult circumstances. Jemima lifts the handkerchief,
and, while the song repeats itself, selects some gentleman
before whom she kneels, bestowing on him a kiss
in the same fashion, leaving him the handkerchief to
spread before some new divinity.

This alternation had gone on for some time. Poor,
sanguine, homely
Samantha Britton
had looked smilingly
and expectantly
at each successive
gentleman who bore
the handkerchief;
but in vain. “S'manthy”
could never
understand why her
seductive smiles
were so unavailing.
Presently, Betty
Harsha was chosen
by somebody—Betty
had a pretty,
round face, and pink cheeks, and was sure to be
chosen, sooner or later. Everybody knew whom she
would choose. Morton Goodwin was the desire of
her heart. She dressed to win him; she fixed her
eyes on him in church; she put herself adroitly in
his way; she compelled him to escort her home
against his will; and now that she held the handkerchief,
everybody looked at Goodwin. Morton, for
his part, was too young to be insensible to the
charms of the little round, impulsive face, the twinkling
eyes, the red, pouting lips; and he was not averse
to having the pretty girl, in her new, bright linsey
frock, single him out for her admiration. But just
at this moment he wished she might choose some

[ILLUSTRATION]

PATTY AND JEMIMA.

[Description: 554EAF. Page 025. In-line engraving of two women, one seated, the other standing behind her.] one else. For Patty Lumsden, now that all her guests
were interested in the play, was relieved from her
cares as hostess, and was watching the progress of the
exciting amusement.
She stood
behind Jemima
Huddleston, and
never was there
finer contrast
than between the
large, healthful,
high-colored Jemima,
a typical
country belle, and
the slight, intelli
gent, fair-skinned
Patty, whose
black hair and
eyes made her complexion seem whiter, and whose
resolute lips and proud carriage heightened the refinement
of her face. Patty, as folks said, “favored” her
mother, a woman of considerable pride and much refinement,
who, by her unwillingness to accept the rude
customs of the neighborhood, had about as bad a reputation
as one can have in a frontier community. She
was regarded as excessively “stuck up.” This stigma
of aristocracy was very pleasing to the Captain. His
family was part of himself, and he liked to believe
them better than anybody's else. But he heartily
wished that Patty would sacrifice her dignity, at this
juncture, to further his political aspirations.

Seeing the vision of Patty standing there in her
bright new calico—an extraordinary bit of finery in
those days—Goodwin wished that Betty would attack
somebody else, for once. But Betty Harsha bore
down on the perplexed Morton, and, in her eagerness,
did not wait for the appropriate line to come—she did
not give the farmer time to “stomp” his foot, and
clap his hands, much less to whirl around and view
his lands—but plumped down upon the handkerchief
before Morton, who took his own time to kneel. But
draw it out as he would, he presently found himself,
after having been kissed by Betty, standing foolishly,
handkerchief in hand, while the verses intended for
Betty were not yet finished. Betty's precipitancy,
and her inevitable gravitation toward Morton, had set
all the players laughing, and the laugh seemed to
Goodwin to be partly at himself. For, indeed, he was
perplexed. To choose any other woman for his “true
love” even in play, with Patty standing by, was more
than he could do; to offer to kneel before her was
more than he dared to do. He hesitated a moment;
he feared to offend Patty; he must select some one.
Just at the instant he caught sight of the eager face
of S'manthy Britton stretched up to him, as it had
been to the others, with an anxious smile. Morton
saw a way out. Patty could not be jealous of S'manthy.
He spread the handkerchief before the delighted
girl, and a moment later she held in her hand the
right to choose a partner.

The fop of the party was “Little Gabe,” that is to
say, Gabriel Powers, junior. His father was “Old

Gabe,” the most miserly farmer of the neighborhood.
But Little Gabe had run away in boyhood, and had
been over the mountains, had made some money, nobody
could tell how, and had invested his entire capital
in “store clothes.” He wore a mustache, too, which,
being an unheard-of innovation in those primitive times,
marked him as a man who had seen the world. Everybody
laughed at him for a fop, and yet everybody admired
him. None of the girls had yet dared to select
Little Gabe. To bring their linsey near to store-cloth
—to venture to salute his divine mustache—who could
be guilty of such profanity? But S' manthy was morally
certain that she would not soon again have a
chance to select a “true love,” and she determined to
strike high. The players did not laugh when she
spread her handkerchief at the feet of Little Gabe.
They were appalled. But Gabe dropped on one knee,
condescended to receive her salute, and lifted the
handkerchief with a delicate flourish of the hand
which wore a ring with a large jewel, avouched by
Little Gabe to be a diamond — a jewel that was at
least transparent.

Whom would Little Gabe choose? became at once
a question of solemn import to every young woman
of the company; for even girls in linsey are not free
from that liking for a fop, so often seen in ladies
better dressed. In her heart nearly every young woman
wished that Gabe would choose herself. But Gabe
was one of those men who, having done many things
by the magic of effrontery, imagine that any thing can
be obtained by impudence, if only the impudence be

[ILLUSTRATION]

LITTLE GABE'S DISCOMFITURE.

[Description: 554EAF. Page 028. In-line engraving of a man kneeling at a standing woman's feet; her back is turned to him. Four or five standing figures look on in the background.] sufficiently transcendent. He knew that Miss Lumsden
held herself aloof from the kissing-plays, and he
knew equally that she looked favorably on Morton
Goodwin; he had divined Morton's struggle, and he
had already marked out his own line of action. He
stood in quiet repose while the first two stanzas were
sung. As the third began, he stepped quickly round
the chair on which Jemima Huddleston sat, and stood
before Patty Lumsden, while everybody held breath.
Patty's cheeks did not grow red, but pale, she turned
suddenly and called out toward the kitchen:

“What do you want?
I am coming,” and then
walked quietly out, as
if unconscious of Little
Gabe's presence or purpose.
But poor Little
Gabe had already begun to kneel; he had gone too far

to recover himself; he dropped upon one knee, and got
up immediately, but not in time to escape the general
chorus of laughter and jeers. He sneered at the departing
figure of Patty, and said, “I knew I could
make her run.” But he could not conceal his discomfiture.

When, at last, the party broke up, Morton essayed
to have a word with Patty. He found her standing
in the deserted kitchen, and his heart beat quick with
the thought that she might be waiting for him. The
ruddy glow of the hickory coals in the wide fire-place
made the logs of the kitchen walls bright, and gave
a tint to Patty's white face. But just as Morton was
about to speak, Captain Lumsden's quick, jerky tread
sounded in the entry, and he came in, laughing his
aggravating metallic little laugh, and saying, “Morton,
where 's your manners? There 's nobody to go
home with Betty Harsha.”

“Dog on Betty Harsha!” muttered Morton, but not
loud enough for the Captain to hear. And he escorted
Betty home.