38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SCARING A HAWK.
JONAS was thoroughly alarmed. He exaggerated
the harm that Humphreys might do to
August, now that he knew where he was. August,
on his part, felt sure that Humphreys would
not do anything against him; certainly not in the
way of legal proceedings. And as for the sale of Samuel
Anderson's farms, that did not disturb him. Like almost
everybody else at that time, August Wehle was strongly impressed
by the assertions of the Millerites, and if the world
should be finished in the next month, the farms were of
no consequence. And if Millerism proved a delusion, the loss
of Samuel Anderson's property would only leave Julia on his
level, so far as worldly goods went. The happiness this last
thought brought him made him ashamed. Why should he
rejoice in Mr. Anderson's misfortune? Why should he wish
to pull Julia down to him? But still the thought remained
a pleasant one.
Jonas would not have it so. He had his plan. He went
home from the Adventist meeting that very night with Cynthy
Ann, and then stood talking to her at the corner of the
porch, feeling very sure that Humphreys would listen from
above. He heard his stealthy tread, after a while, disturb a
loose board on the upper porch. Then he began to talk to
Cynthy Ann in this strain:
“You see, I can't tell no secrets, Cynthy Ann, even to
your Royal Goodness, as I might say, seein' as how as you
a'n't my wife, and a'n't likely to be, if Brother Goshorn can
have his way. But you're the Queen of Hearts, anyhow.
But s'pose I was to hint a secret?”
“Sh—sh—h-h-h!” said Cynthy Ann, partly because she felt
a sinful pleasure in the flattery, and partly because she felt
sure that Humphreys was above. But Jonas paid no attention
to the caution.
“I'll gin you a hint as strong as a Irishman's, which they
do say'll knock you down. Let's s'pose a case. They a'n't
no harm in s'posin' a case, you know. I've knowed boys
who'd throw a rock at a fence-rail and hit a stump, and then
say, `S'posin' they was a woodpecker on that air stump,
wouldn't I a keeled him over?' You can s'pose a case and
make a woodpecker wherever you want to. Well, s'posin'
they was a inquisition or somethin' of the kind from the
guv'nor of the State of ole Kaintuck to the guv'nor of the
State of Injeanny? And s'posin' that the dokyment got lodged
in this 'ere identical county? And s'posin' it called fer the
body of one Thomas A. Parkins, alias J. W. 'Umphreys?
And s'posin' it speecified as to sartain and sundry crimes committed
in Paduky and all along the shore, fer all I know?
Now, s'posin' all of them air things, what
would Clark township
do to console itself when that toonful v'ice and them air
blazin' watch-seals had set in ignominy for ever and ever?
Selah! Good-night, and don't you breathe a word to a livin'
soul, nur a dead one, 'bout what I been a-sayin'. You'll know
more by daylight to-morry 'n you know now.”
And the last part of the speech was true, for by midnight
the Hawk had fled. And the sale of the Anderson farm to
Humphreys was never completed. For three days the end of
the world was forgotten in the interest which Clark township
felt in the flight of its favorite. And by degrees the story
of Norman's encounter with the gamblers and of August's recovery
of the money became spread abroad through the confidential
hints of Jonas. And by degrees another story became
known; it could not long be concealed. It was the story of
Betsey Malcolm, who averred that she had been privately
married to Humphreys on the occasion of a certain trip they
had made to Kentucky together, to attend a “big meeting.”
The story was probably true, but uncharitable gossips shook
their heads.
It was only a few evenings after the flight of Humphreys
that Jonas had another talk with Cynthy Ann, in which he
confessed that all his supposed case about a requisition from
the governor of Kentucky for Humphreys's arrest was pure
fiction.
“But, Jonas, is—is that air right? I'm afeard it a'n't right
to tell an ontruth.”
“So 'ta'n't; but I only s'posed a case, you know.”
“But Brother Hall said last Sunday two weeks, that anything
that gin a false impression was—was lying. Now, I
don't think you meant it, but then I thought I orto speak to
you about it.”
“Well, maybe you're right. I see you last summer a-puttin'
up a skeercrow to keep the poor, hungry little birds of the
air from gittin' the peas that they needed to sustain life. An'
I said, What a pity that the best woman I ever seed should
tell lies to the poor little birds that can't defend theirselves
from her wicked wiles! But I see that same day a skeercrow,
a mean, holler, high-percritical purtense of a ole hat
and coat, a-hanging in Brother Goshorn's garden down to the
cross-roads. An' I wondered ef it was your Methodis' trainin'
that taught you sech-like cheatin' of the little sparrys and
blackbirds.”
“Yes; but Jonas—” said Cynthy, bewildered.
“And I see a few days arterwards a Englishman with a
humbug-fly onto his line, a foolin' the poor, simple-hearted
little fishes into swallerin' a hook that hadn't nary sign of a
ginowine bait onto it. An' I says, says I, What a deceitful
thing the human heart is!”
“Why, Jonas, you'd make a preacher!” said Cynthy Ann,
touched with the fervor of his utterance, and inly resolved
never to set up another scarecrow.
“Not much, my dear. But then, you see, I make distinctions.
Ef I was to see a wolf a-goin' to eat a lamb, what
would I do? Why, I'd skeer or fool him with the very fust
thing I could find. Wouldn' you, honey?”
“In course,” said Cynthy Ann.
“And so, when I seed a wolf or a tiger or a painter, like
that air 'Umphreys, about to gobble up fortins, and to do some
harm to Gus, maybe, I jest rigged up a skeercrow of words,
like a ole hat and coat stuck onto a stick, and run him off.
Any harm done, my dear?”
“Well, no, Jonas; I ruther 'low not.”
Whether Jonas's defense was good or not, I can not say, for
I do not know. But he is entitled to the benefit of it.
