University of Virginia Library

6. VI.
THE REMOVAL.

Adsly and his men disappeared also, to return with
Cap'en Slade and his tackle on the morrow. Then Joe
began to dance and scream like a little devil.

“Have a ride! have a ride! O mammy! they 're
gunter snake th' ole house through the village to-morrer,
an' we 're all gunter have a ride! free gratis for nothin'!
'thout payin' for 't neither! A'n't we, Bill?”

Mrs. Williams sits right down, overcome by the surprise.

“Now I want to know if that 'ere 's so?”

“That 's what 't looks like now,” says Mr. Williams.
“We 're goin' to be sot opposite Mr. Gingerford's.”

“'Ristocratic!” cries Joe, putting on airs. “That 's
what 'll tickle Bill!”

“O, laws!” exclaims Mrs. Williams, with humorous
sadness, — “what a show th' ole cabin 'll make, stuck
down there 'mongst all them fine housen!”

“I don't know 's I quite like the notion,” says her husband,
with a good-natured expansion of his serious features.
“I 'm 'fraid we sha' n't be welcome neighbors down there.
'T a'n't so much out o' kindness to us as it is out o' spite
to the Gingerfords, that the house is to be moved instid o'
tore down.”

“That 's the glory of the Lord! Even the wrath of
man shall praise him!” utters the old grandmother, devoutly.

“Won't it be jimmy?” crows Joe. “He 's a jolly ole
brick, that Frisbie! I 'm a-gunter set straddle on the
ridge-pole an' carry a flag. Hooray!”

“I consider that the situation will be very much preferable
to this,” observes Gentleman Bill, polishing his hat
with his coat-sleeve. “Better quarter of the town; more
central; eligible locality for establishing a tailor-shop.”

“Legible comicality for stablin' a shailor-top!” stammers
Joe, mimicking his brother.

Upon which Bill — as he sometimes did, when excited —
relapsed into the vulgar but expressive idiom of the family.

“Shet yer head, can't ye?” And he lifted a hand
with intent to clap it smartly upon the part the occlusion
of which was desirable.

Joe shrieked and fled.

“No quarrellin' on a 'casion like this!” interposes the
old woman, covering the boy's retreat. “This 'ere 's a
time for joy and thanks, an' nuffin' else. Bless the Lord,
I knowed he 'd keep an eye on to th' ole house. Did n't
I tell ye that boy 'd bring us good luck? It 's all on his
account the house a'n't tore down, an' I consider it a
mighty Providence from fust to last. Was n't I right,
when I said I guessed I 'd have faith, an' git the washin'
out? Bless the Lord, I could cry!”

And cry she did, with a fulness of heart which, I think,
might possibly have convinced even the jocund Frisbie
that there was something better than an old, worn-out,
spiteful jest in the resolution he had taken to have the
house moved, instead of razed.

And now the deaf old patriarch in the corner became
suddenly aware that something exciting was going forward;
but being unable clearly to comprehend what, and
chancing to see Fessenden's coming in, he gave expression
to his exuberant emotions by rising, and shaking the lad's
passive hand, with the usual highly polite salutation.

“Tell him we 're all a-gunter have a ride,” said Joe.

But as Fessenden's could n't tell him loud enough, Joe
screamed the news.

“Say?” asked the old man, raising a feeble hand to his
ear, and stooping and smiling.

“Put th' ole house on wheels, an' dror it!” shrieked
Joe.

“Yes, yes!” chuckled the old man. “I remember!
Six hills in a row. Busters!” — looking wonderfully
knowing, and with feeble forefinger raised, nodding and

winking at his great-grandchild, — as it were across the
dim gulf of a hundred years which divided the gleeful boyhood
of Joe from the second childhood of the ancient
dreamer.

The next day came Adsly and his men again, with
Cap'en Slade and his tackle, and several yokes of oxen
with drivers. Levers and screws moved the house from
its foundations, and it was launched upon rollers. Then,
progress! Then, sensation in Timberville! Some said it
was Noah's ark sailing down the street. The household
furniture of the patriarch was mostly left on board the
antique craft, but Noah and his family followed on foot.
They took their live stock with them, — cow and calf, and
poultry and pig. Joe and his great-grandfather carried
each a pair of pullets in their hands. Gentleman Bill
drove the pig, with a rope tied to his (piggy's) leg. Mr.
Williams transported more poultry, — turkeys and hens,
in two great flopping clusters, slung over his shoulder,
with their heads down. The women bore crockery and
other frangible articles, and helped Fessenden's drive the
cow. A picturesque procession, not noiseless! The bosses
shouted to the men, the drivers shouted to the oxen, loud
groaned the beams of the ark, the cow lowed, the calf
bawled, great was the squawking and squealing!

Gentleman Bill was sick of the business before they had
gone half-way. He wished he had stayed in the shop, instead
of coming over to help the family, and make himself
ridiculous. There was not much pleasure in driving that
stout young porker. Many a sharp jerk lamed the hand
that held the rope that restrained the leg that piggy
wanted to run with. Besides (as I believe swine and
some other folks invariably do under the like circumstances),
piggy always tried to run in the wrong direction.
To add to Gentleman's Bill's annoyance, spectators soon

became numerous, and witty suggestions were not wanting.

“Take him up in your arms,” said somebody.

“Take advantage of his contrariness, and drive him
t' other way,” said somebody else.

“Ride him,” proposed a third.

“Make a whistle of his tail, an' blow it, an' he 'll foller
ye!” screamed a bright school-boy.

“Stick some of yer tailor's needles into him!” “Sew
him up in a sack, and shoulder him!” “Take up his
hind-legs, and push him like a wheelbarrer!” And so
forth, and so forth, till Bill was in a fearful sweat and
rage, partly with the pig, but chiefly with the uncivil
multitude.

“Ruther carry me on your back, some rainy night, had
n't ye?” said Fessenden's, in all simplicity, perceiving his
distress.

“You did n't excruciate my wrist so like time!”
groaned Bill. And what was more, darkness covered that
other memorable journey.

As for Joe, he liked it. Though he was not allowed to
ride the ridge-pole and wave a flag through the village, as
he proposed, he had plenty of fun on foot. He went
swinging his chickens, and frequently pinching them to
make them musical. The laughter of the lookers-on did n't
trouble him in the least; for he could laugh louder than
any. But his sisters were ashamed, and Mr. Williams
looked grave; for they were, actually, human! and I suppose
they did not like to be jeered at, and called a swarm
of niggers, any more than you or I would.

So the journey was accomplished; and the stupendous
joke of Frisbie's was achieved. Conceive Mrs. Gingerford's
wonder, when she beheld the ark approaching! Fancy
her feelings, when she saw it towed up and moored in

front of her own door, — the whole tribe of Noah, lowing
cow, bawling calf, squawking poultry, and squealing pig,
and so forth, and so forth, accompanying! This, then,
was the meaning of the masons at work over there since
yesterday. They had been preparing the new foundations
on which the old house was to rest. So the stunning truth
broke upon her: niggers for neighbors! What had she
done to merit such a dispensation?

What done, unhappy lady? Your own act has drawn
down upon you this retribution. You yourself have done
quite as much towards bringing that queer craft alongside
as yonder panting and lolling oxen. They are but the
brute instruments, while you have been a moral agent in
the matter. One word, uttered by you three nights ago,
has had the terrible magic in it to summon forth from the
mysterious womb of events this extraordinary procession.
Had but a different word been spoken, it would have
proved equally magical, though we might never have
known it; that breath by your delicate lips would have
blown back these horrible shadows, and instead of all this
din and confusion of house-hauling, we should have had
silence this day in the streets of Timberville. You don't
see it? In plain phrase, then, understand: you took not
in the stranger at your gate; but he found refuge with
these blacks, and because they showed mercy unto him
the sword of Frisbie's wrath was turned aside from them,
and, edged by Stephen's witty jest, directed against you
and yours. Hence this interesting scene which you look
down upon from your windows, at the beautiful hour of
sunset, which you love. And, O, to think of it! between
your chamber and those golden sunsets that negro-hut
and those negroes will always be henceforth!

But we will not mock at your calamity. You did precisely
what any of us would have been only too apt to do

in your place. You told the simple truth, when you said
you did n't want the ragged wretch in your house. And
what person of refinement, I should like to know, would
have wanted him? For, say what you will, it is a most
disagreeable thing to admit downright dirty vagabonds into
our elegant dwellings. And dangerous, besides; for they
might murder us in the night, or steal something! O,
we fastidious and fearful! where is our charity? where is
the heart of trust? There was of old a Divine Man, who
had not where to lay his head, — whom the wise of those
days scoffed at as a crazy fellow, — whom respectable people
shunned, — who made himself the companion of the
poor, the comforter of the distressed, the helper of those in
trouble, and the healer of diseases, — who shrank neither
from the man or woman of sin, nor from the loathsome
leper, nor from sorrow and death for our sakes, — whose
gospel we now profess to live by, and —

But let us not be “soft.” We are reasonably Christian,
we hope; and it shows low breeding to be ultra. (Was the
Carpenter's Son low-bred?)