University of Virginia Library

2. II.

“Ah, Zeb, is that you?” said a good-natured voice, in a familiar
tone; and a young man, driving in a rattling cart, drew up
before the gate, and followed the salutation with an oath and an
inquiry as to Zeb's being at home, when there was “such
almighty attraction abroad.”

Zeb came indolently forward, remarking that his friend was
insensible to that great attraction as well as himself.

“Oh, Jehu!” answered the young man, laughing boisterously,
“I hope you do n't think I was invited. Gracious me! you
do n't expect a wood-chopper like me could get into such a
place as Molly Blake's house?” And he laughed again, saying,
“Zeb, my dear boy, how very verdant you are!”

The man in the cart was, as he said, a wood-chopper—a most
genial and amiable fellow, notwithstanding some buffetings of
adverse fortune—for he had been cast loose on the world at an
early age, and had faced scorn and hunger, laughing all the
time. “Come, come, Zeb,” he said, seeing the moping mood
of the young farmer—“climb into my coach, and allow me to
give you an airing by the light of the moon. In with you! I
can fight down the bluest devils that ever got hold of a chap.”

We are apt to imbibe the spirit of whomever we associate
with, and Zeb affected a liveliness at first which he presently

felt, and joined in the wild chorus which the chopper every now
and then pealed out:

They drove rapidly, and talked mirthfully, and soon reached
their destination, the ball-room of the Clovernook tavern, in
which that night a political speech was to be made. It was
late and raining when the meeting broke up, and a portion of
the assemblage adjourned to the bar-room, to wait for the rain
to slack, and to talk off their excitement and prejudice.

“Well, boys,” said our Jehu, who was moved to the highest
pitch of his best humor by the politician's speech, which chanced
to “meet his ideas exactly,” “I feel as if a little drop of something
would do me good; and besides I want you to jine me in
drinking the health of the apple-cutters. Here!” he continued,
exhibiting a bottle to the circle about him, “who of you will
take off the head of this `Lady Anne?”'

But one bottle did not suffice, nor two, nor three; the spirits of
the company rose higher and higher; strong and stronger drinks
were called for—the wood-chopper protesting that he could stand
a treat as well as another, and especially urging the liquor upon
his friend Zeb, topping off each proffer with, “Darn the expense,
old feller; drink, and forget your sorrows, and Molly into the
bargain.” Zeb declined at first, replying that he did n't care
anything about Molly: but it would not do; he was asked if he
feared to vex the proudy, and had so soon surrendered his
manhood to her caprice. At last he yielded to the current so
strongly set against him, and, swearing a great oath, drank off
more brandy than might safely be taken by the most habitual
tippler. But it is not necessary that I linger on that dreadful
night. Alas, for poor Zeb! it was a night that for him had
never any ending.

The sun was struggling up, and the mists were rising out of
the ground like hot steam, when the wood-chopper again drew up

his cart before the old farm-house; and arousing his companion
from the straw in which he lay in a fevered and maddened sleep,
assisted him to the ground, balancing him on his feet as one
might a little child, and steadying him as he tried to walk—for
he staggered feebly one way and the other, telling the chopper
he did n't care a damn who saw him, that he was just as good
as any man, and that Molly Blake was the prettiest girl in the
world, and he would fight anybody who said she was not.

“Come, Zeb,” said his companion, “have more pluck; do n't
talk so like a fool;” and passing his arm around him, he continued,
“be like me—be a man!” And with such encouragement,
he brought his friend as near the house as he dared, and
left him to make his entrance alone.

“Zebulon Sands,” said his father, meeting him at the door,
and giving the severest expression to a naturally severe countenance,
“are you not ashamed to show your face to me? I
wish you had died before I saw this day. I do n't want to see
nor speak to you,” he continued, “till you can behave yourself
better.” Ruth stood by, speaking not a word, but looking her
contempt and indignation, while Zeb staggered against the wall,
and with downcast eyes picked the straws out of his hair and
from off his coat. He heard her laugh derisively, saw her turn
away, and when he called her, she did not come—perhaps she
did not hear him. In a moment all the imbecility of drunkenness
was gone—he knew what he had done, and felt a self-condemnation
bitterer than a thousand curses.

The rain came on again after an hour or two, and continued
throughout the day, and Zeb, creeping into the barn, listened to
its falling on the roof, half wishing that some dread accident
would come upon him, whereby a reconciliation with his father
and sister might be brought about. But hour after hour went by,
and the dull and dreary beating of the rain was all he heard;
no gleam of sunshine broke the gloom that was about him; no
voice but the still, reproving one of conscience, met his listening;
so the day faded, and the night fell. At last, worn down physically,
and exhausted mentally, he slept, waking not till the break
of day. The rain had ceased, and the wind was whistling chillily
from the north. He remembered what his father had said to

him, and the contemptuous laugh of his sister rang in his ears.
If they had looked kindly on him, his heart would have been
melted; he would have asked their forgiveness, and perhaps
would never again have yielded to temptation, made even
stronger by his transient weakness. But they had met him with
no kindly admonitions, and he had too much pride to seek an
opportunity of humbling himself; so giving one sorrowful look to
the old farmhouse, he pulled the torn hat over his eyes, thrust
his hands in his pockets, and in a few minutes the hills of home
were lost to him forever.

Zeb whistled as he went, not for want of thought, but to drown
it, and he walked fast, in a vain effort to get away from himself.
The sun was scarcely risen when he found himself in the suburbs
of the city, friendless and penniless. I need not describe his
efforts to find employment: of course he understood nothing but
the work to which he had been used, and his rustic manners and
anxious credulity made him liable to constant impositions.