The William Henry Letters Part 33

We had a delightful "supper-time," Grandmother, of course, piling Billy's plate with everything good.

"I see," said Mr. Carver, "that whatever boys eat at home grandmothers expect will agree with them!"

The happy "young rascal" meanwhile bore the separation from his studies with amazing fort.i.tude! Told no end of funny stories about the boys, and about parties, and about the Two Betseys. And twice, during supper, he exclaimed, "I do hope nothing has happened to those cars. They were such good cars!"

My visits to the farm were always delightful, but during that supper-time, and during that evening, I grudged every moment as it flew away.

Uncle Jacob was in high glee, and insisted on being taught "the graces,"

and on having his wife taught "the graces." Then Lucy Maria "set her foot down" that every one should stand in the row, and Billy should be Mr. Tornero. And, being a girl of resolution, she coaxed every one into line, except Grandmother, who said her rheumatism should do her some service then, if never before.

"The graces" were then taught, and learned, amid shouts of laughter, Cousin Joe playing for us, and I'll venture to say that had Mr. Tornero been present, he would have been astonished at our steps, and also at the music!

Afterwards we had the dwarf shown off, Cousin Joe being the showman. He declared after looking over the "Narrative," that Empskutia was a place well known to him, and that he had often sailed up the "river Phlezzra,"

to trade with the natives. Lucy Maria dressed him in a large-figured red and green bedspread, pinned on to look like a loose robe, with flowing sleeves, and girded about the waist with cords and ta.s.sels taken from Aunt Phebe's parlor curtains. He wore an immense lace collar, and a turban made of a white muslin handkerchief (one that was Grandmother's mother's) and besprinkled with artificial flowers. His face was tattooed with a lead-pencil, and dark circles drawn around his eyes. He held in his hand a slender rod, or wand.

The dwarf was a young cousin of William Henry's (not Tommy), and he did his part well, whistling, bowing, dancing, sneezing, rising, sitting, with a perfectly sober face.

The showman then read the "Narrative," adding thereto such ridiculous incidents, and such comical remarks, that the audience were convulsed with laughter, and the face of the dwarf twitched alarmingly. These twitchings, he (the showman) said, were not unusual, and were the effects of the sad occurrence then being narrated. The closing portions of the story were declaimed in a powerful voice. He "acted out" the "pole" and the "span," and at the third line, "I must be measured by my _soul_," laid his hand upon his heart in the most impressive manner, and remained in that position till the curtain fell.

After this "John Brown" was sung, and William Henry was permitted to roar out that "Glory Hallelujah" as loudly as he pleased.

The following letter must have been written some time after William Henry met with the _affliction_ which was so touchingly alluded to by Uncle Jacob, as above related, and which that wretched youth felt could only be endured in the bosom of his family! In the interval it appears that he had been removed from the Crooked Pond School, and that Dorry had left also, to finish preparing himself for college in some higher seminary of learning.

_William Henry's Letter after leaving School._

DEAR DORRY,--

I didn't know I was going to come away from school so soon after you did, but there was a new High School begun in our town about a mile and a half off, and my father thought I could learn there, and learn to farm it some too. But I don't think much of farming it. Course 't is fun to see things grow, after you've planted the seeds, and then watched 'em all the way up. My grandmother says my father likes his corn so well, that he pities it in a dry time, and when a gale blows it down he pities it as much as if he'd been blown down himself. Weeds are enough to make a feller mad, coming up fast as you kill 'em and sucking all the goodness out of the ground that don't belong to them. Suppose they think 't is as much theirs as anybody's.

I suppose you are studying away for college. I don't know whether I wish I could go or not. I guess my head wouldn't hold all 't would have to be put into it before I went, and in all that four years too! Now I want to know if a feller can remember all that? I mean remember the beginning after all the other has been piled top of it? I don't know what I shall be yet. For there is something bad about everything, Grandmother says, and I believe it. Now I don't want to be a farmer, because 't is hard work and poor pay,--in these parts. I guess I should like to go to Kansas. But there are the Indians after your scalp, and fever and ague, and gra.s.shoppers, and potato-bugs, and bean-bugs, and army-worms to eat up everything, and droughts to dry up everything, and floods to wash it away, and hurricanes to blow it down, and Uncle Jacob says if a man comes through all these alive, with a few grains of corn, the man that wants to buy 'em is a hundred miles off! But my father says, what is a man good for that don't dare to go to sail without 't is on a mill-pond!

For smooth water can't make a sailor. And if a man is scared of lions, how will he get through the woods. So I don't know yet what I shall be.

What should you, if you did n' go to college? Go into a store? I tell you, Dorry, that if I was a dry-goods clerk, fenced in behind a counter, I do believe I should ache to jump over and _put_ for somewhere and go to doing something. But my father says you can't always tell a man by what his business is. For you've got to allow for head work. And because he sells shoe-strings, 't is no sign he hasn't got anything in his head but shoe-strings; and because a man drives nails, 't is no sign he hasn't got anything but nails in his head. "Now suppose," says he, "that a man sells dry goods all day, can't he have some thoughts stowed away in his brains that he got out of books, or got up himself? And when he's walking along home and back, and evenings, can't he out with 'em and be thinking 'em over?" I s'pose 't isn't time for me to have thoughts yet, s'pose they'll be dropping along in a year or two, "or three at the most," as Lord Lovell said. One thing I mean to have, and that is a good house with all the fixings, and money to spend, and money to give away if I want to. So whatever I get started on, I mean to pitch in and shove up my sleeves, and go at it. Father says I must be thinking the matter over, and not make my mind up right off. They say going to sea is a dog's life. I should like to go long enough to see what Spain looks like, and China, and other places. Maybe I shall learn a trade. Now, for instance, a carpenter's. That don't seem much of a trade. Mostly pounding. But they say if you keep on, and are smart at it, why, you get to taking houses, and then you are not a carpenter any longer, but a "builder," and money comes in.

I'm going to let her rest a spell. Though I'm so old I can't help looking ahead some sometimes, to see where I'm coming out.

Didn't you feel homesick any when you were coming away from school? I did,--"quite some," as W. B. used to say. I went round to all the places, and paddled in the pond, and lay down on the gra.s.s to take one more drink out of the brook, and climbed up in the Elm, and ran up and down our stairs much as half a dozen times, without stopping, for I thought I never should again.

I whittled a great sliver off the base-ball field fence to fetch away; didn't we use to have good times there? Bubby Short gave me his pocket-book, and I gave him mine. They had about equal, inside. I went to bid Gapper good-by, day before I came off, and gave Rosy my little penknife.

Then I went to bid the two Betseys good-by, and they wiped their eyes, and seemed about as if they'd been my grandmothers, and said I _must_ come to eat supper with them that afternoon. So I went. Me all alone!

Had a funny kind of a time. We sat at that round, three-legged stand, and I'll tell you what we had. Bannock and b.u.t.ter, sausages, flapjacks, and scalloped cakes. All set on in saucers, for there wasn't much room.

They had about supper enough for forty. For they said they knew their appet.i.tes were nothing to judge a hungry boy by, and I must eat a good deal and not go by them, and kept handing things to me, and every once in a while they'd say, "Now don't be scared of it, there's more in the b.u.t.tery?" George! Dorry, I wish you could have seen that punkin-pie they had! 'T was kept in a chair, a little ways off. I don't see what 't was baked in. The Other Betsey said that was just such a kind of a pie as her mother used to make. I out with my ruler, and asked if I might measure it. 'T was about two feet across, and about four inches thick.

She said she thought 't was a good time to make one, when they were going to have company. When I took my piece I had to hold my plate in my hand, for there wasn't room on the stand. They wished you'd been there, and so did I, and so would you, if you'd seen that pie. They didn't take down their best dishes, that we had that other time, but called me one of the family and used the poor ones. I had to look out about lifting up the spoon-holder, because the bottom had been off, once, and mind which sugar-bowl handle I took hold of, for one side it was glued on. But everything held. I can't bear tea, but they said 't was very warming and resting, and I'd better. I guess they put in about six spoonfuls of sugar! They wanted to know all about you, and said you were a smart fellow.

They wanted me to take some little thing out of the store, to remember them by. So I looked and looked to find something that didn't cost very much, and at last I pitched upon a pocket-comb. The Other Betsey put on her gla.s.ses and scratched a B. on it, and said it could stand for the two of 'em. But I told her she better make two B.'s, for that would seem more like the Two Betseys, and she did. Lame Betsey said one B. ought to go lame, and the Other Betsey said she guessed they both would, for she had poor eyesight, and her hand shook, and nothing but a darning-needle to scratch with. If I do break the comb I shall keep the handle, for I think the Two Betseys are tip-top. I wish they could come and see my grandmother. Wouldn't the three of 'em have a good time!

Send a feller a letter once in a while, can't ye? Say, now, you Dorry, don't get too knowing to write to a feller?

Your friend,

WILLIAM HENRY.

At this point the correspondence properly closes. As a faithful editor, I have endeavored to let it tell its own story, but must frankly acknowledge that at times, the pleasant memories recalled by these Letters have tempted me, too far, perhaps, beyond editorial bounds. This fault I freely confess, hoping to be as freely forgiven. Were it known how much I have left unsaid, while longing to say it, I should receive not only forgiveness but praise.

In closing, I cannot do better than to add to the collection an extract from a letter written to Mr. Carver by the Princ.i.p.al of the Crooked Pond School.

It seems that William Henry's new teacher proposed his taking up Latin, and that Mr. Carver being somewhat undecided about the matter, wrote to the Princ.i.p.al of the Crooked School, asking his opinion. The Princ.i.p.al's reply, in as far as it discusses the Latin question, would scarcely be in order here. But the closing portion will, I know, be read with pleasure by all who have taken an interest in William Henry. He speaks of him thus:--

.... Allow me, sir, in concluding, to congratulate you on the many good qualities of your son. He is one of the boys that I feel sure of. We regret exceedingly his leaving us, and I a.s.sure you that he carries with him the best wishes of all here,--teachers, pupils, and townspeople. I shall watch his course with deep interest. A boy of his manly bearing, kind disposition, and high moral principle will surely win his way to all hearts, as he has done to ours.

With regard to his studies, though not, perhaps, a remarkably brilliant scholar, he has, on the whole, done well. For the first few months, it is true, we rather despaired of awakening an interest. He was too fond of play, too unwilling to come under our pretty strict discipline.

Observing how heartily he entered into all games, and that he excelled in them, it occurred to us, that if the same ambition and pluck shown on the playground could be aroused in the schoolroom, our object would be gained. This, by various means, we have tried to accomplish, and I am happy to add, with good success. Your son, sir, is a boy to be proud of.

Very truly yours,

It so happened that I called at the Farm the very day on which this reply was received, and just as Grandmother had finished reading it.

As I entered the room she looked up, and without speaking handed me the letter. Tears stood in her eyes, and I saw that something had touched her deeply.

"Any bad news?" I asked.

"No," she answered, in a tremulous voice. "But to think of that schoolmaster's finding out what was in that child!"