Queechy Volume I Part 2

"So I told him, Mr. Ringgan. I put it to him. Says I, 'Mr.

McGowan, it's a cruel hard business; there ain't a man in town that wouldn't leave Mr. Ringgan the shelter of his own roof as long as he wants any, and think it a pleasure, if the rent was anyhow.' "

"Well ? well!" said the old gentleman, with a mixture of dignity and bitterness, ? "it doesn't much matter. My head will find a shelter somehow, above ground or under it. ? The Lord will provide. ? Whey! stand still, can't ye! What ails the fool? The creature's seen years enough to be steady," he added, with a miserable attempt at his usual cheerful laugh.

Fleda had turned away her head and tried not to hear when the lowered tones of the speakers seemed to say that she was one too many in the company. But she could not help catching a few bits of the conversation, and a few bits were generally enough for Fleda's wit to work upon; she had a singular knack at putting loose ends of talk together. If more had been wanting, the tones of her grandfather's voice would have filled up every gap in the meaning of the scattered words that came to her ear. Her heart sank fast as the dialogue went on; and she needed no commentary or explanation to interpret the bitter little laugh with which it closed. It was a chill upon all the rosy joys and hopes of a most joyful and hopeful little nature.

The old mare was in motion again, but Fleda no longer cared or had the curiosity to ask where they were going. The bittersweet lay listlessly in her lap; her letter, clasped to her breast, was not thought of; and tears were quietly running one after the other down her cheeks and falling on her sleeve; she dared not lift her handkerchief nor turn her face towards her grandfather lest they should catch his eye. Her grandfather? ? could it be possible that he must be turned out of his old home in his old age? could it be possible? Mr.

Jolly seemed to think it might be, and her grandfather seemed to think it must. Leave the old house! But where would he go?

? Son or daughter he had none left; resources he could have none, or this need not happen. Work he could not; be dependent upon the charity of any kin or friend she knew he would never; she remembered hearing him once say he could better bear to go to the almshouse than do any such thing. And then, if they went, he would have his pleasant room no more where the sun shone in so cheerfully, and they must leave the dear old kitchen where they had been so happy; and the meadows and hills would belong to somebody else, and she would gather her stores of b.u.t.ternuts and chestnuts under the loved old trees never again. But these things were nothing, though the image of them made the tears come hot and fast, these were nothing in her mind to the knowledge or the dread of the effect the change would have upon Mr. Ringgan. Fleda knew him, and knew it would not be slight. Whiter his head could not be, more bowed it well might; and her own bowed in antic.i.p.ation as her childish fears and imaginings ran on into the possible future.

Of McGowan's tender mercies she had no hope. She had seen him once, and being unconsciously even more of a physiognomist than most children are, that one sight of him was enough to verify all Mr. Jolly had said. The remembrance of his hard, sinister face sealed her fears. Nothing but evil could come of having to do with such a man. It was, however, still not so much any foreboding of the future that moved Fleda's tears as the sense of her grandfather's present pain, ? the quick answer of her gentle nature to every sorrow that touched him.

His griefs were doubly hers. Both from his openness of character and her penetration, they could rarely be felt un- shared; and she shared them always in more than due measure.

In beautiful harmony, while the child had forgotten herself in keen sympathy with her grandfather's sorrows, he, on the other hand, had half lost sight of them in caring for her. Again, and this time not before any house but in a wild piece of woodland, the little wagon came to a stop.

"Aint there some holly berries that I see yonder?" said Mr.

Ringgan, ? "there, through those white birch stems? That's what you were wanting, Fleda, aint it? Give your bittersweet to me while you go get some, ? and here, take this knife, dear, you can't break it. Don't cut yourself."

Fleda's eyes were too dim to see white birch or holly, and she had no longer the least desire to have the latter; but with that infallible tact which a.s.suredly is the gift of nature and no other, she answered, in a voice that she forced to be clear, "O yes! thank you, Grandpapa;" ? and stealthily das.h.i.+ng away the tears, clambered down from the rickety little wagon, and plunged with a _cheerful_ step at least, through trees and underbrush to the clump of holly. But if anybody had seen Fleda's face! ? while she seemed to be busied in cutting as large a quant.i.ty as possible of the rich s.h.i.+ning leaves and bright berries. Her grandfather's kindness, and her effort to meet it had wrung her heart; she hardly knew what she was doing, as she cut off sprig after sprig, and threw them down at her feet; she was crying sadly, with even audible sobs. She made a long job of her bunch of holly. But when at last it must come to an end, she choked back her tears, smoothed her face, and came back to Mr. Ringgan smiling and springing over the stones and shrubs in her way, and exclaiming at the beauty of her vegetable stores. If her cheeks were red, he thought it was the flush of pleasure and exercise, and she did not let him get a good look at her eyes.

"Why, you've got enough to dress up the front room chimney,"

said he. "That'll be the best thing you can do with 'em, wont it?"

"The front room chimney! No, indeed I wont, Grandpa. I don't want 'em where n.o.body can see them, and you know we are never in there now it is cold weather."

"Well, dear! anyhow you like to have it. But you ha'n't a jar in the house big enough for them, have you?"

"O, I'll manage ? I've got an old broken pitcher without a handle, Grandpa, that'll do very well."

"A broken pitcher! that isn't a very elegant vase," said he.

"O you wouldn't know it is a pitcher when I have fixed it.

I'll cover up all the broken part with green you know. Are we going home now, Grandpa?"

"No, I want to stop a minute at uncle Joshua's."

Uncle Joshua was a brother-in-law of Mr. Ringgan, a substantial farmer, and very well to do in the world. He was found not in the house, but abroad in the field with his men, loading an enormous basket wagon with corn-stalks. At Mr.

Ringgan's shout he got over the fence, and came to the wagon- side. His face showed sense and shrewdness, but nothing of the open n.o.bility of mien which nature had stamped upon that of his brother.

"Fine morning, eh?" said he. "I'm getting in my corn-stalks."

"So I see," said Mr. Ringgan. "How do you find the new way of curing them answer?"

"Fine as ever you see. Sweet as a nut. The cattle are mad after them. How are you going to be off for fodder this winter?"

"It's more than I can tell you," said Mr. Ringgan. "There ought to be more than plenty; but Didenhover contrives to bring everything out at the wrong end. I wish I was rid of him."

"He'll never get a berth with me, I can tell you," said uncle Joshua, laughing.

"Brother," said Mr. Ringgan, lowering his tone again, "have you any loose cash you could let me have for six months or so?"

Uncle Joshua took a meditative look down the road, turned a quid of tobacco in his cheek, and finally brought his eyes again to Mr. Ringgan and answered.

"Well, I don't see as I can," said he. "You see, Josh is just a going to set up for himself at Kenton, and he'll want some help of me; and I expect that'll be about as much as I can manage to lay my hands on."

"Do you know who has any that he would be likely to lend?"

said Mr. Ringgan.

"No, I don't. Money is rather scarce. For your rent, eh?"

"Yes, for my rent! The farm brings me in nothing but my living. That Didenhover is ruining me, brother Joshua."

"He's feathering his own nest, I reckon."

"You may swear to that. There wa'n't as many bushels of grain, by one fourth, when they were threshed out last year, as I had calculated there would be in the field. I don't know what on earth he could have done with it. I suppose it'll be the same thing over this year."

"May be he has served you as Deacon Travis was served by one of his help last season ? the rascal bored holes in the granary floor and let out the corn so, and Travis couldn't contrive how his grain went till the floor was empty next spring, and then he see how it was."

"Ha! ? did he catch the fellow?"

"Not he ? he had made tracks before that. A word in your ear ?

I wouldn't let Didenhover see much of his salary till you know how he will come out at the end."

"He has got it already!" said Mr. Ringgan, with a nervous twitch at the old mare's head; "he wheedled me out of several little sums on one pretence and another, ? he had a brother in New York that he wanted to send some to, and goods that he wanted to get out of p.a.w.n, and so on, ? and I let him have it!

and then there was one of those fatting steers that he proposed to me to let him have on account, and I thought it was as good a way of paying him as any; and that made up pretty near the half of what was due to him."

"I warrant you his'n was the fattest of the whole lot. Well, keep a tight hold of the other half, brother Elzevir, that's my advice to you."

"The other half he was to make upon shares."

"Whew! ? well ? I wish you well rid of him; and don't make such another bargain again. Good-day to ye!"

It was with a keen pang that little Fleda saw the down-hearted look of her grandfather as again he gave the old mare notice to move on. A few minutes pa.s.sed in deep thought on both sides.

"Grandpa," said Fleda, "wouldn't Mr. Jolly perhaps know of somebody that might have some money to lend?"

"I declare!" said the old gentleman, after a moment, "that's not a bad thought. I wonder I didn't have it myself."

They turned about, and without any more words measured back their way to Queechy Run. Mr. Jolly came out again, brisk and alert as ever; but after seeming to rack his brains in search of any actual or possible money-lender, was obliged to confess that it was in vain; he could not think of one.

"But I'll tell you what, Mr. Ringgan," he concluded, "I'll turn it over in my mind to-night and see if I can think of anything that'll do, and if I can I'll let you know. If we hadn't such a nether millstone to deal with, it would be easy enough to work it somehow."

So they set forth homewards again.

"Cheer up, dear!" said the old gentleman, heartily, laying one hand on his little granddaughter's lap; "it will be arranged somehow. Don't you worry your little head with business. G.o.d will take care of us."

"Yes, grandpa!" said the little girl, looking up with an instant sense of relief at these words; and then looking down again immediately to burst into tears.