 | CHAPTER XIII.
THE EMPTY BIRD'S-NEST. Oldtown folks |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE EMPTY BIRD'S-NEST.
THE next morning showed as brilliant a getting up of gold
and purple as ever belonged to the toilet of a morning.
There was to be seen from Miss Asphyxia's bedroom window a
brave sight, if there had been any eyes to enjoy it, — a range of
rocky cliffs with little pin-feathers of black pine upon them, and
behind them the sky all aflame with bars of massy light, — orange
and crimson and burning gold, — and long, bright rays, darting
hither and thither, touched now the window of a farm-house,
which seemed to kindle and flash back a morning salutation;
now they hit a tall scarlet maple, and now they pierced between
clumps of pine, making their black edges flame with gold; and
over all, in the brightening sky, stood the morning star, like a
great, tremulous tear of light, just ready to fall on a darkened
world.
Not a bit of all this saw Miss Asphyxia, though she had looked
straight out at it. Her eyes and the eyes of the cow, who, with
her horned front, was serenely gazing out of the barn window on
the same prospect, were equally unreceptive.
She looked at all this solemn pomp of gold and purple, and
the mysterious star, and only said: “Good day for killin' the
hog, and I must be up gettin' on the brass kettle. I should like
to know why Sol ain't been a stirrin' an hour ago. I 'd really
like to know how long folks would sleep ef I 'd let 'em.”
Here an indistinct vision came into Miss Asphyxia's mind of
what the world would be without her to keep it in order. She
called aloud to her prime minister, who slept in the loft above,
“Sol! Sol! You awake?”
“Guess I be,” said Sol; and a thundering sound of cowhide
boots on the stairs announced that Sol's matutinal toilet was
complete.
“We 're late this morning,” said Miss Asphyxia, in a tone of
virtuous indignation.
“Never knowed the time when we wa' n't late,” said Sol, composedly.
“You thump on that 'ere child's door, and tell her to be lively,”
said Miss Asphyxia.
“Yaas 'm, I will,” said Sol, while secretly he was indulging in
a long and low chuckle, for Sol had been party to the fact that
the nest of that young bird had been for many hours forsaken.
He had instructed the boy what road to take, and bade him “walk
spry and he would be out of the parish of Needmore afore daybreak.
Walk on, then, and follow the road along the river,” said
Sol, “and it 'll bring you to Oldtown, where our folks be. You
can't miss your victuals and drink any day in Oldtown, call at
what house you may; and ef you 's to get into Deacon Badger's,
why, your fortin 's made. The Deacon he 's a soft-spoken man
to everybody, — white folks, niggers, and Indians, — and Ma'am
Badger keeps regular poor-man's tavern, and won't turn even a
dog away that behaves himself. Ye could n't light on wus than
ye have lit on, — for Old Crab 's possessed of a devil, everybody
knows; and as for Miss Asphyxia, she 's one of the kind of sperits
that goes walkin' through dry places seekin' rest and findin' none.
Lordy massy, an old gal like her ain't nobody to bring up a child.
It takes a woman that 's got juice in her to do that. Why, that
'ere crittur 's drier 'n a two-year-old mullen-stalk. There ain't no
sap ris in her these 'ere thirty years. She means well; but,
lordy, you might jest as well give young turkey chicks to the old
gobbler, and let him stram off in the mowin' grass with 'em, as
give a delicate little gal like your sister to her to raise; so you
jest go long and keep up your courage, like a brave boy as ye be,
and you 'll come to somethin' by daylight”; — and Sol added to
these remarks a minced pie, with a rye crust of a peculiarly solid
texture, adapted to resist any of the incidents of time and travel,
which pie had been set out as part of his own last night's supper.
When, therefore, he was exhorted to rap on the little girl's
door, he gave sundry noisy, gleeful thumps, — pounding with
both fists, and alternating with a rhythmical kick of the cowhide
you 's up. Miss Sphyxy 's comin' down on ye. Better be
lively! Bless me, how the gal sleeps!”
“Don't take the door off the hinges,” said Miss Asphyxia,
sweeping down stairs. “Let me come; I 'll wake her, I guess!”
and with a dipper of cold water in her hand, Miss Asphyxia
burst into the little room. “What! — what! — where!” she
said, looking under the bed, and over and around, with a dazed
expression. “What 's this mean? Do tell if the child 's re'lly
for once got up of herself afore I called her. Sol, see if she 's
out pickin' up chips!”
Sol opened the door and gazed out with well-affected stolidity
at the wood-pile, which, garnished with a goodly show of large
chips, was now being touched up and brightened by the first rays
of the morning sun.
“Ain't here,” he said.
“Ain't here? Why, where can she be then? There ain't nobody
swallowed her, I s'pose; and if anybody 's run off with
her in the night, I guess they 'd bring her back by daylight.”
“She must 'a' run off,” said Sol.
“Run! Where could she 'a' run to?”
“Mebbe she 's gone to her brother's.”
“I bet you,” said Miss Asphyxia, “it 's that 'ere boy that 's
the bottom of it all. You may always know that there 's a boy
at the bottom, when there 's any deviltry up. He was here
yesterday, — now wa' n't he?”
“Wal, I reckon he was,” said Sol. “But, massy, Miss
Sphyxy, ef the pigs is to be killed to-day, we can't stan' a talkin'
about what you nor me can't help. Ef the child 's gone, why
she 's somewhere in the Lord's world, and it 's likely she 'll keep,
— she won't melt away like the manna in the wilderness; and
when the pigs is killed, and the pork salted down and got out o'
the way, it 'll be time enough to think o' lookin' on her up. She
wa' n't no gret actual use, — and with kettles o' hot water round,
it 's jest as well not to have a child under yer feet. Ef she got
scalded, why, there 's your time a taking care on her, and mebbe
a doctor to pay; so it 's jest as well that things be as they be.
breeches by means of a tug at his suspenders, which gesture
was his usual indication that he was girding up the loins of his
mind for an immediate piece of work; and, turning forthwith,
he brought in a mighty armful of wood, with massive back-log
and fore-stick, well grizzled and bearded with the moss that
showed that they were but yesterday living children of the
forest.
The fire soon leaped and crackled and roared, being well fed
with choice split hickory sticks of last year, of which Sol kept
ample store; and very soon the big brass kettle was swung over,
upon the old iron crane, and the sacrificial water was beginning
to simmer briskly, while Miss Asphyxia prepared breakfast, not
only for herself and Sol, but for Primus King, a vigorous old
negro, famed as a sort of high-priest in all manner of butchering
operations for miles around. Primus lived in the debatable land
between Oldtown and Needmore, and so was at the call of all
who needed an extra hand in both parishes.
The appearance of Primus at the gate in his butcher's frock,
knife in hand, in fact put an end, in Miss Asphyxia's mind, to
all thoughts apart from the present eventful crisis; and she
hastened to place upon the table the steaming sausages which,
with her usual despatch, had been put down for their morning
meal. A mighty pitcher of cider flanked this savory dish, to
which Primus rolled delighted eyes at the moment of sitting
down. The time had not yet dawned, in those simple, old New
England days, when the black skin of the African was held to
disqualify him from a seat at the social board with the men whom
he joined in daily labor. The strength of the arm, and the skill
of the hand, and the willingness of the mind of the workman,
in those days, were his passport to equal social rights; and old
Primus took rank, in the butchering season, as in fact a sort of
leader and commander. His word was law upon all steps and
stages of those operations which should transform the plethoric,
obese inhabitants of the sty into barrels of pink-hued salt-pork
or savory hams and tenderloins and spareribs, or immense messes
of sausage-meat.
Concerning all these matters, Primus was an oracle. His fervid
Ethiopian nature glowed with a broad and visible delight, his
black face waxed luminous with the oil of gladness, while he
dwelt on the savory subject, whereon, sitting at breakfast, he
dilated with an unctuous satisfaction that soothed the raven down
of darkness in Miss Asphyxia's perturbed mind, till something
bearing a distant analogy to a smile played over her rugged features.
| CHAPTER XIII.
THE EMPTY BIRD'S-NEST. Oldtown folks | |