“that was roselle upman that hollered,” remarked janey wilcox, breaking the agitated silence which had fallen upon the supper table. “you can tell it’s him because he’s had all his front teeth pulled out.”
“i wasn’t born in the woods to be skeert by an owl!” replied abner, with a great show of tranquillity, helping himself to another slice of bread. “miss, you ain’t half makin’ out a supper!”
but this bravado could not maintain itself. in another minute there came a loud chorus of angry yells, heightened at its finish by two or three pistol-shots. then abner pushed back his chair and rose slowly to his feet, and the rest sprang up all around the table.
“hurley,” said the farmer, speaking as deliberately as he knew how, doubtless with the idea of reassuring the others, “you go out into the kitchen with the women-folks, an’ bar the woodshed door, an’ bring in the axe with you to stan’ guard over the kitchen door. i’ll look out for this part o’ the house myself.”
“i want to stay in here with you, abner,” said m’rye.
“no, you go out with the others!” commanded the master with firmness, and so they all filed out with no hint whatever of me. the shadow of the lamp-shade had cut me off altogether from their thoughts.
perhaps it is not surprising that my recollections | of what now ensued should lack definiteness and sequence. the truth is, that my terror at my own predicament, sitting there with no covering for my feet and calves but the burdock leaves and that absurd shawl, swamped everything else in my mind. still, i do remember some of it.
abner strode across to the bookcase and took up the gun, his big thumb resting determinedly on the hammers. then he marched to the door, threw it wide open, and planted himself on the threshold, looking out into the darkness.
“what’s your business here, whoever you are?” he called out, in deep defiant tones.
“we’ve come to take you an’ paddy out for a little ride on a rail!” answered the same shrill, mocking voice we had heard at first. then others took up the hostile chorus. “we’ve got some pitch a-heatin’ round in the backyard!”
“you won’t catch cold; there’s plenty o’ feathers!”
“tell the irishman here’s some more ears for him to chaw on!”
“come out an’ take your copperhead medicine!”
there were yet other cries which the howling wind tore up into inarticulate fragments, and then a scattering volley of cheers, again emphasized by pistol-shots. while the crack of these still chilled my blood, a more than usually violent gust swooped round abner’s burly figure, and blew out the lamp.
terrifying as the first instant of utter darkness was, the second was recognizable as a relief. i at once threw myself out of the chair, and crept along back of the stove to where my stockings and boots had been put to dry. these i hastened, with much trembling awkwardness, to pull on, taking pains to keep the big square old stove between me and that open veranda door.
“guess we won’t take no ride to-night!” i heard abner roar out, after the shouting had for the moment died away.
“you got to have one!” came back the original voice. “it’s needful for your complaint!”
“i’ve got somethin’ here that’ll fit your complaint!” bellowed the farmer, raising his gun. “take warnin’—the first cuss that sets foot on this stoop, i’ll bore a four-inch hole clean through him. i’ve got squirrel-shot, an’ i’ve got buckshot, an’ there’s plenty more behind—so take your choice!”
there were a good many derisive answering yells and hoots, and some one again fired a pistol in the air, but nobody offered to come up on the veranda.
emboldened by this, i stole across the room now to one of the windows, and lifting a corner of the shade, strove to look out. at first there was nothing whatever to be seen in the utter blackness. then i made out some faint reddish sort of diffused light in the upper air, which barely sufficed to indicate the presence of some score or more dark figures out in the direction of the pump. evidently they had built a fire around in the back yard, as they said—probably starting it there so that its light might not disclose their identity.
this looked as if they really meant to tar-and-feather abner and hurley. the expression was familiar enough to my ears, and, from pictures in stray illustrated weeklies that found their way to the corners, i had gathered some general notion of the procedure involved. the victim was stripped, i knew, and daubed over with hot melted pitch; then a pillow-case of feathers was emptied over him, and he was forced astride a fence-rail, which the rabble hoisted on their shoulders and ran about with. but my fancy balked at and refused the task of imagining abner beech in this humiliating posture. at least it was clear to my mind that a good many fierce and bloody things would happen first.
apparently this had become clear to the throng outside as well. whole minutes had gone by, and still no one mounted the veranda to seek close quarters with the farmer—who stood braced with his legs wide apart, bare-headed and erect, the wind blowing his huge beard sidewise over his shoulder.
“well! ain’t none o’ you a-comin’?” he called out at last, with impatient sarcasm. “thought you was so sot on takin’ me out an’ havin’ some fun with me!” after a brief pause, another taunt occurred to him. “why, even the niggers you’re so in love with,” he shouted, “they ain’t such dod-rotted cowards as you be!”
a general movement was discernible among the shadowy forms outside. i thought for the instant that it meant a swarming attack upon the veranda. but no! suddenly it had grown much lighter, and the mob was moving away toward the rear of the house. the men were shouting things to one another, but the wind for the moment was at such a turbulent pitch that all their words were drowned. the reddened light waxed brighter still—and now there was nobody to be seen at all from the window.
“hurry here! mr. beech! we’re all afire!” cried a frightened voice in the room behind me.
it may be guessed how i turned.
the kitchen door was open, and the figure of a woman stood on the threshold, indefinitely black against a strange yellowish-drab half light which framed it. this woman—one knew from the voice that it was esther hagadorn—seemed to be wringing her hands.
“hurry! hurry!” she cried again, and i could see now that the little passage was full of gray luminous smoke, which was drifting past her into the living-room. even as i looked, it had half obscured her form, and was rolling in, in waves.
abner had heard her, and strode across the room now, gun still in hand, into the thick of the smoke, pushing esther before him and shutting the kitchen door with a bang as he passed through. i put in a terrified minute or two alone in the dark, amazed and half-benumbed by the confused sounds that at first came from the kitchen, and by the horrible suspense, when a still more sinister silence ensued. then there rose a loud crackling noise, like the incessant popping of some giant variety of corn.
the door burst open again, and m’rye’s tall form seemed literally flung into the room by the sweeping volume of dense smoke which poured in. she pulled the door to behind her—then gave a snarl of excited emotion at seeing me by the dusky reddened radiance which began forcing its way from outside through the holland window shades.
“light the lamp, you gump!” she commanded, breathlessly, and fell with fierce concentration upon the task of dragging furniture out from the bedroom. i helped her in a frantic, bewildered fashion, after i had lighted the lamp, which flared and smoked without its shade, as we toiled. m’rye seemed all at once to have the strength of a dozen men. she swung the ponderous chest of drawers out end on end; she fairly lifted the still bigger bookcase, after i had hustled the books out on to the table; she swept off the bedding, slashed the cords, and jerked the bed-posts and side-pieces out of their connecting sockets with furious energy, till it seemed as if both rooms must have been dismantled in less time than i have taken to tell of it.
the crackling overhead had swollen now to a wrathful roar, rising above the gusty voices of the wind. the noise, the heat, the smoke, and terror of it all made me sick and faint. i grew dizzy, and did foolish things in an aimless way, fumbling about among the stuff m’rye was hurling forth. then all at once her darkling, smoke-wrapped figure shot up to an enormous height, the lamp began to go round, and i felt myself with nothing but space under my feet, plunging downward with awful velocity, surrounded by whirling skies full of stars.
there was a black night-sky overhead when i came to my senses again, with flecks of snow in the cold air on my face. the wind had fallen, everything was as still as death, and some one was carrying me in his arms. i tried to lift my head.
“anyhow!” came hurley’s admonitory voice, close to my ear. “we’ll be there in a minyut.”
“no—i’m all right—let me down,” i urged. he set me on my feet, and i looked amazedly about me.
the red-brown front of our larger hay-barn loomed in a faint unnatural light, at close quarters, upon my first inquiring gaze. the big sliding doors were open, and the slanting wagon-bridge running down from their threshold was piled high with chairs, bedding, crockery, milk-pans, clothing—the jumbled remnants of our household gods. turning, i looked across the yard upon what was left of the beech homestead—a glare of cherry light glowing above a fiery hole in the ground.
strangely enough this glare seemed to perpetuate in its outlines the shape and dimensions of the vanished house. it was as if the house were still there, but transmuted from joists and clap-boards and shingles, into an illuminated and impalpable ghost of itself. there was a weird effect of transparency about it. through the spectral bulk of red light i could see the naked and gnarled apple-trees in the home-orchard on the further side; and i remembered at once that painful and striking parallel of scrooge gazing through the re-edified body of jacob marley, and beholding the buttons at the back of his coat. it all seemed some monstrous dream.
but no, here the others were. janey wilcox and the underwood girl had come out from the barn, and were carrying in more things. i perceived now that there was a candle burning inside, and presently esther hagadorn was to be seen. hurley had disappeared, and so i went up the sloping platform to join the women—noting with weak surprise that my knees seemed to have acquired new double joints and behaved as if they were going in the other direction. i stumbled clumsily once i was inside the barn, and sat down with great abruptness on a milking-stool, leaning my head back against the haymow, and conscious of an entire indifference as to whether school kept or not.
the feeble light of the candle was losing itself upon the broad high walls of new hay; the huge shadows in the rafters overhead; the women-folk silently moving about, fixing up on the barn floor some pitiful imitation, poor souls, of the home that had been swept off the face of the earth, and outside, through the wide sprawling doors, the dying away effulgence of the embers of our roof-tree lingering in the air of the winter night.
abner beech came in presently, with the gun in one hand, and a blackened and outlandish-looking object in the other, which turned out to be the big pink sea-shell that used to decorate the parlor.
again it was like some half-waking vision—the mantel. he held it up for m’rye to see, with a grave, tired smile on his face.
“we got it out, after all—just by the skin of our teeth,” he said, and hurley, behind him, confirmed this by an eloquent grimace.
m’rye’s black eyes snapped and sparkled as she lifted the candle and saw what this something was. then she boldly put up her face and kissed her husband with a resounding smack. truly it was a night of surprises.
“that’s about the only thing i had to call my own when i was married,” she offered in explanation of her fervor, speaking to the company at large. then she added in a lower tone, to esther: “he used to play with it for hours at a stretch—when he was a baby.”
“‘member how he used to hold it up to his ear, eh, mother?” asked abner, softly.
m’rye nodded her head, and then put her apron up to her eyes for a brief moment. when she lowered it, we saw an unaccustomed smile mellowing her hard-set, swarthy face.
the candle-light flashed upon a tear on her cheek that the apron had missed.
‘“i guess i do remember!” she said, with a voice full of tenderness.
then esther’s hand stole into m’rye’s and the two women stood together before abner, erect and with beaming countenances, and he smiled upon them both.
it seemed that we were all much happier in our minds, now that our house had been burned down over our heads.
