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Watch yourself go by

by Al. G. Field · English · Gutenberg #20375 · 960,974 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Watch yourself go by

Author: Al. G. Field

Illustrator: Ben W. Warden


        
Release date: January 15, 2007 [eBook #20375]
                Most recently updated: November 28, 2022

Language: English

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Produced by Jacqueline Jeremy, Suzanne Shell and the Online
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[Illustration: AL. G. FIELD, COURT AND SCOTT]




WATCH
YOURSELF
GO BY

A BOOK BY
AL. G. FIELD

COLUMBUS, OHIO

1912




Copyrighted by Al. G. Field, 1912

Illustrated by Ben W. Warden




Introductory


WATCH YOURSELF GO BY

    Just stand aside and watch yourself go by;
    Think of yourself as "he" instead of "I."
    Note closely, as in other men you note,
    The bag-kneed trousers and the seedy coat.
    Pick the flaws; find fault; forget the man is you,
    And strive to make your estimate ring true;
    Confront yourself and look you in the eye--
    Just stand aside and watch yourself go by.

    Interpret all your motives just as though
    You looked on one whose aims you did not know.
    Let undisguised contempt surge through you when
    You see you shirk, O commonest of men!
    Despise your cowardice; condemn whate'er
    You note of falseness in you anywhere.
    Defend not one defect that shames your eye--
    Just stand aside and watch yourself go by.

    And then, with eyes unveiled to what you loathe--
    To sins that with sweet charity you'd clothe--
    Back to your self-walled tenements you'll go
    With tolerance for all who dwell below.
    The faults of others then will dwarf and shrink,
    Love's chain grow stronger by one mighty link--
    When you, with "he" as substitute for "I,"
    Have stood aside and watched yourself go by.

        S. W. GILLILAND, in _Penberthy Engineer_.

"To whom will you dedicate your book?" inquired George Spahr.

Well, I hinted to my wife and Pearl that I desired to bestow that honor
upon them. They did not exactly demur, but both intimated that I had
best dedicate it to some friend in the far distance who would probably
never read it, or to some dear friend who had passed away and had no
relatives living.

Several others approached did not seem to crave the honor, therefore I
herewith dedicate this book to Court; not that he is the best and truest
friend I ever possessed, but for the reason that should the book not be
received with favor he will respect me just the same. He will hunt for
me, he will watch for me, he will love me all the more devotedly, serve
me all the more faithfully, though the book were discredited. The more I
see of dogs, the better I like dogs.

It is claimed there is a kind of physiognomy in the title of a book by
which a skilful observer will know as well what to expect from its
contents as one does reading the lines. I flatter myself this claim will
be disproved in this book.

I am proud of the book, not that it contains much of literary merit, not
that I ever hope it will be a "best seller," but for the reason it has
afforded me days of enjoyment. In the writing of it I have communed with
those whom I love.

If those who peruse this book extract half the pleasure from reading its
pages that has come to me while writing them, I will be satisfied.

    AL. G. FIELD.

Maple Villa Farm,
  July 4, 1912.




WATCH YOURSELF GO BY

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY




CHAPTER ONE

    Trust no prayer or promise,
      Words are grains of sand;
    To keep your heart unbroken
      Hold your child in hand.


"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!!"

The last syllable, drawn out the length of an expiring breath, was the
first sound recorded on the memory of the First Born. Indeed, constant
repetition of the word, day to day, so filled his brain cells with
"Al-f-u-r-d" that it was years after he realized his given patronymic
was Alfred.

[Illustration: The Old Well]

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"--A woman's voice, strong and penetrating,
strengthened by years of voice culture in calling cows, sheep, pigs,
chickens and other farm-yard companions. The voice came in swelling
waves, growing in menace, from around the corner of as quaint an old
farm-house as ever sheltered a happy family. In the wake of the voice
followed a round, rosy woman of blood and brawn, with muscular arms and
sturdy limbs that carried her over grass and gravel at a pace that soon
brought her within reach of the prey pursued--a boy of four years, in
flapping pantalets and gingham frock.

The "boy" was headed for the family well as fast as his toddling legs
could carry him. Forbidden, punished, guarded, the child lost no
opportunity to climb to the top of the square enclosure and wonderingly
peer down into the depths of the well. To prevent his falling headlong
to his death--a calamity frequently predicted--was the principal concern
of all the family.

As the women folks were more often in the big kitchen than elsewhere,
it became, as a matter of convenience, the daily prison of the First
Born. The board, across the open doorway, and the eternal vigilance
of his guards, did not prevent his starting several times daily on a
pilgrimage towards the old well. The turning of a head, the absence
of the guards from the kitchen for a moment, were the looked-for
opportunities--crawling under or over the wooden bar, and starting
in childish glee for the old well.

Previous to the time of this narrative, the race invariably resulted in
the capture of "young hopeful" ere the well was reached. The shrill cry:
"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!" always closely followed by the young woman
who did the scouting for the other guards, brought him to a halt. He was
lifted bodily, thrown high into the air, caught in strong, loving arms
as he came down, roughly hugged and good-naturedly spanked, and carried
triumphantly back to his prison--the kitchen. Here, seated upon the
floor, he was roundly lectured by three women, who in turn charged one
another with his escape. It was never _his_ fault. Someone had turned a
head to look at the clock, or the browning bread in the oven, turning to
look at the cause of the controversy, not infrequently he was found
astride the prison bar, or scampering down the path.

That old well, or its counterpart, was surely the inspiration of "_The
Old Oaken Bucket_." However, their author was never imbued with
fascination as alluring as that which influenced the First Born in his
desire to solve the, to him, mystery of the old well.

The more his elders coaxed, bribed and threatened, the more vividly they
depicted its dangers, the more determined he became to explore its
darkened depths. The old well became a part of the child's life. He
talked of it by day and dreamed of it by night. The big windlass, with
its coil of seemingly never-ending chain, winding and unwinding,
lowering and raising the old, oaken bucket green with age, full and
flowing; the cooling water oozing between the age-warped staves,
nurturing the green grasses growing about the box-like enclosure. How
cooling the grass was to his feet as on tip-toes peeking over the top of
the enclosure down into that which seemed to his childish imagination a
fathomless abyss, so deep that ray of sun or glint of moon never
penetrated to the surface of the water. The clanging of the chain, the
grinding of the heavy bucket bumping against the walled circle as it
descended, and the splash as it struck the water, were uncanny sounds to
the boy's ears. The desire to look down, down into the old well's hidden
secrets became to him almost a frenzy. The echoes coming up from its
shadowy depths were as those of a haunted glen.

He reasoned that all men and women were created to guard the well and
that it was his only duty in life to thwart them.

Balmy spring, with its song birds, buzzing bees and sweet-smelling
blossoms, coaxed every living thing out of doors; everything, except the
First Born and his guards.

Such was the situation when the bees swarmed. The guards "pricked up
their ears," then, with eyes looking heavenward, and snatching up tin
pans which they beat with spoons, sleigh-bells and other objects, they
rushed from the kitchen to work the usual charm of the country folk in
settling the swarming bees.

Thus unguarded, the little prisoner, carrying a three-legged stool that
aided him in surmounting the bar across the kitchen door, trekked for
the old well. Planting the stool at one side of the square enclosure, he
looked down into the cavernous depths; leaning far over, reached for the
chain, with the intention of lowering the bucket, as he had often seen
his elders do.

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"

And the sound of hurrying feet only urged the boy on. He had caught hold
of the bucket and was leaning far over the dark opening when he felt a
heavy hand upon his shoulders, and himself lifted from his high perch,
only to be dropped sprawling on the ground with a shower of tin pans
rattling about his devoted head. Then the women, half fainting from
fright, fell upon him, each in a desperate effort to first embrace him
in thankfulness over his rescue from falling into the well.

When the women recovered their "shock" the First Born was lustily
yelling for papa. Mamma had him across her knee and was administering
the first full-fledged, unalloyed spanking of his childish existence. He
scarcely understood at first, then the full meaning of the threats the
guards had used to cure him of his one absorbing mania began sifting
into his brain through another part of his anatomy. He promised never,
never again to peep into the old well. The guards believed him and for
days thereafter he lived blissfully on their praises, while everyone,
directly or indirectly interested, conceded that mamma's "spanks" had
finally broken the charm of the old well for the boy.

However, the little prisoner was removed to another cell--the big, front
room upstairs--the door securely locked. A large, open window looked out
upon the front yard and below the window near the house was the old
well.

One evening the men, returning from the field, halted to slake their
thirst at the well, the up-coming of the old oaken bucket brought from
its depths a half-knit woolen sock and a ball of yarn. A strand of yarn
reaching to the window above told the story.

Later, a turkey wing, used as a fan in summer and to furnish wind for an
obdurate wood fire in winter, was found limply swimming in the bucket.
Indeed, for days thereafter, divers articles, missed from the big, front
room, accompanied the bucket on its return trips. When one of grandpap's
well-worn Sunday boots was brought to the surface, it was believed that
the last of the missing articles from the big room had been recovered.
However, the disappearance of grandma's little mantelpiece clock was
never explained.

Uncle Joe and Aunt Betsy stopped their old mare in front of the house
and in chorus shouted "Hello!" as was the custom of neighbors passing on
their way to or from town. The whole family, including "Al-f-u-r-d,"
betook themselves to the roadside to gossip. "Al-f-u-r-d," busy as
usual, clambered up over the muddy wheels into the vehicle. He was
praised by uncle and aunt for his obedience, and promised candy when
they returned from town. Clambering down he missed his footing and
narrowly escaped being trampled upon by the old mare who was vigorously
stamping and swishing her tail to keep off the flies.

Dragged from under the buggy he was soon out of the minds of the
gossiping group, curiosity drew him to the old well. Circling it at a
respectful distance, he said:

"Naughty ole well, don't thry to coax me 'caus I won't play with you,
nor look down in you never no more. There!"

Passing to the side farthest from the unsuspecting guards, the handle of
the windlass was within his reach. Instinctively the desire seized him
to lower the bucket, pulling out the ratchet that held it, the old oaken
bucket began its unimpeded descent. Slowly at first, gaining momentum
with each revolution of the windlass, down it fell, bumping against the
sides of the well, chain clanging and windlass whirring. It struck the
bottom with a splash that re-echoed, followed by a woman's scream so
piercing that the old mare started forward.

It flashed on the minds of all that at last their predictions were
verified. It was all up with "Al-f-u-r-d." They pictured him falling,
falling--down, down--his bruised, bleeding body sinking to the
bottomless depths of the old well.

[Illustration: Uncle Joe and Aunt Betsy]

Uncle Joe's feet caught in the handle of a market basket as he leaped
from the buggy and the greater number of his dozens of fresh eggs
reached the roadside a scrambled mass. The women guards gave vent to a
series of screams that brought the men hurrying from the fields.

"Al-f-r-u-d" was found, limp and apparently lifeless, his head tucked
under his body, clothes over his head, exposing the larger part of his
anatomy--a pitiable lump, lying in the sandy path twenty feet from the
well. The handle of the windlass had caught him across the shoulders,
sending him flying through the air. For days thereafter "Al-f-u-r-d" was
swathed in bandages and bathed with liniments; for a time, at least, the
family was free from the cares of guarding the old well.

The old well has given way to a modern pump, the old house has been
remodeled, but the impressions herein recorded are as clear to the
memory of the man today as they were to the child of that long ago.




CHAPTER TWO

    Trouble comes night and day,
      In this world unheedin',
    But there's light to find the way--
      That is all we're needin'.


"Al-f-u-r-d-!" "Al-f-u-r-d!" Al-f-u-r-d!"

Town life had not diminished the volume of Malinda Linn's voice. It was
far-reaching as ever. Malinda was familiarly called "Lin"--in print the
name looks unnatural and Chinese-like. Lin Linn was about the whole
works in the family. Her duties were calling, seeking and changing the
apparel of "Al-f-u-r-d", duties she discharged with a mixture of
scoldings and caresses.

When the family moved to town to live, Lin became impressed with the
propriety of bestowing the full baptismal name upon the First Born, and
to his open-eyed wonderment, he was addressed as "Alfred Griffith." But
when Lin called him from afar--and she usually had to call him, and then
go after him--it was always "Al-f-u-r-d!"

A bunch of misery, pale and limp, was lying in the family garden between
two rows of tomato vines, the earth about him disturbed from his
intermittent spasms. A big, greenish, yellowish worm was crawling over
his head, his tow-like hair whiter by contrast; upon his forehead great
drops of perspiration.

[Illustration: The First Cigar]

He heard Lin's calls but could not answer. He half opened his eyes as
she approached him. Berating him roundly for hiding from her, bending
over him, the pallor of his face frightened her. Her screams would have
abashed a Camanche Indian. Tenderly taking up the almost unconscious
boy, she hastened toward the house, frightened members of the family and
several nearby neighbors attracted by her screams.

Crowded around "Al-f-u-r-d" all busied themselves in assisting in
placing him in bed. His hands were rubbed, his brow bathed, the air
about agitated with a big palm-leaf fan while the doctor was summoned.

When the family doctor arrived "Al-f-u-r-d's" shirt-waist was opened in
front and a big, greenish, yellowish worm fell to the floor. This, and
that sickening smell of green tomato vines, assisted the good doctor in
his diagnosis. To know the disease is the beginning of the cure. Hot
water and mustard administered in copious draughts, the little
rebellious stomach, made more so by this treatment, began sending up
returns. Thus was relieved "the worst case of tomato poisoning that had,
up to that time, come under the doctor's observation."

At that time the tomato had not long been an edible. Indeed many persons
refused to consider them as such, growing them for merely ornamental
purposes, displaying them on mantels and window sills. Tomatoes were
commonly called "Jerusalem" or "Love Apples." On this occasion the
doctor dilated at length on its past bad reputation and the lurking
poison contained in vine and fruit.

The blinds were lowered and Alfred slept. The nurses tiptoed from the
room, to return, tip-toeing to the bed to see how he was resting, then
returning to the kitchen to advise the anxious ones there that he was
resting easy.

Poor Lin was "near distracted" no sooner was it announced that
"Al-f-u-r-d" was out of danger than she began gathering the "green
tomattisus" lying in irregular rows on various window sills to ripen in
the sun, giving vent to her pent-up "feelings" thus:

"Huh! Tomattisus! Never was made to eat. They ain't no good, no-way.
Pap's right. They're called Jerusalem apples 'caus they wuz first
planted by the Jews, who knowed their enemies would eat 'em an' git
pizened an' die of cancers, an' Lord knows what else."

She carried the offending fruit to the family swill barrel, where the
leavings of the table were deposited. As she raised one big tomato to
drop it into the barrel, her hand paused, as she soliloquized:

"No, If tomattisus will pizen pee-pul, they'll pizen hogs. They ain't
fit for hogs nohow. They ain't fit fer nuthin' but heathens an' sich
like, as oughter be pizened."

Turning to one of several neighbors, whose looks denoted disapproval of
wilful waste, she benevolently emptied the tomatoes into the woman's
upheld apron, remarking:

"Lordy. Yer welcome to 'em if yer folks like 'em an' ain't carin' much
when they die. Take 'em. Ye kin have 'em an' welcome."

While the father was yanking the noxious tomato plants out by the roots
and sprinkling the ground with lime, "Al-f-u-r-d" began showing symptoms
of returning life. After the nurses had tiptoed from the room,
supposedly leaving him in deep slumber, he threw back the linen sheets
and slid from the bed on the side farthest from the open door leading to
the kitchen. Cautiously creeping to where lay his trousers--inserting a
hand in the deep pocket, which had been put in by Lin by special
request--he drew out two long, dark, worm-like objects, holding them at
arm's length gagging anew at even the sight of them. Staggering to the
cupboard dropping them into a box half filled with similar worm-like
objects, he staggered back to bed as quickly as his weakened condition
would permit, suppressing another upheaval of his stomach with greatest
effort.

Notwithstanding the objects mentioned were Ed. Hurd's best
three-for-a-cent stogies, and "Al-f-u-r-d" had smoked less than four of
the six inches of one of the big, black cigars, the stub of which he had
buried near the spot where Lin found him, it was several days before he
took kindly to food, or, as was generally supposed, had wholly thrown
off the baneful effects of the tomato poisoning.

While convalescing, afternoon walks were taken near home, circling the
Episcopal Church, back through the old, green graveyard, or a little
lower down the hill where the village boys could be seen and heard
swimming and splashing in the river. To take part in this sport, to get
to the river, to plunge into its cooling depths, "Al-f-u-r-d" had a
soul-yearning, even more powerful than that of the old well. But he had
been sworn, bribed, placed upon his honor and threatened with dire
tortures, should he even venture nearer the river than the top of the
hill.

The yearning would not down. It grew in intensity. He would stand on the
front rail of his trundle bed, night and morning, with arms extended
above him, palms together, to dive, to split the imaginary water, take a
header into the soft, downy tick; then thresh his arms about in swimming
fashion as he had seen the big boys cavort in the river.

Nearer and nearer to the river his newest allurement carried him, until
one day he found himself on a strange path leading into a large yard in
which stood a neat, white house, with green blinds. Purling at his feet,
bubbling from an invisible source, was a brook of clear, cold water.
Very cold it felt to his bare feet as he waded up and down over it's
sandy, pebbly bed, the water reaching barely to his ankles. Wading
nearer to the fountain head, the depth gradually increased. Here was
young hopeful's long-sought-for opportunity to dive, swim and otherwise
disport himself as did the big boys. Off came pantalets, waist and
undercoverings, through the pure, cold water he waded. With teeth
chattering and flesh quivering, holding his hands above his head, under
he went.

He was having the time of his life, and so busy was he at it that his
attention was not attracted by the opening of a door in the nearby white
house and the sudden appearance of an elderly, grim-looking woman behind
a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles; brandishing a long, swinging buggy
whip, with broad, bright bands here and there along its length. Rushing
toward the boy, she angrily shouted:

"You little scamp, I'll skin ye alive!"

"Al-f-u-r-d," with a cry, bounded from the water, grabbed for his
clothes, missed them, and started on a race at a pace that left no doubt
as to the winner. A big dog and another elderly woman--the counterpart
of her-behind-the-spectacles--joined in the chase, the dog's deep bays
greatly accelerating the already beat-all-record-time of the terrified
"Al-f-u-r-d."

As he neared the parental roof, he let out a series of yells with
"Mother!" "Lin!" "Help!" "Murder!" sandwiched between. The nearer he
drew, the louder the yelps, for he knew he would need sympathy, even
though the gold-rimmed glasses and the other elderly pursuer had been
distanced by many lengths.

Lin said when she first heard the screams, she "thought it was only the
old crazy woman under the hill havin' another spell. But when they come
gittin' nearer an' nearer, she knew it was "Al-f-u-r-d" an' somethin'
turrible had happened." It was then Lin, mother and several neighboring
females rushed to the front door as "Al-f-u-r-d" flew in at the gate, up
the path and into his mother's outstretched arms, endeavoring to pull
her apron about his nudity.

"Where's your clothes?" demanded the frightened mother. "Where are
they?" "Who took them off you?"

"She did! She did!" howled "Al-f-u-r-d," jerking his head toward the
gate, just as the elderly woman behind the spectacles entered. Trembling
with fear she began to explain and apologize to Lin and the mother,
frequently turning to "Al-f-u-r-d" to entreat him to come to her,
assuring him that he need not fear her. But the big buggy whip, with the
silver bands, dangled above his head and the more she entreated the
louder his yells and the further he forced himself into his mother's
garments.

[Illustration: She Did! She Did!]

Lin grabbed his clothes from the spectacled lady berating both soundly,
giving them but little opportunity to explain. Others joined in the
wordy attack, much to the elderly woman's confusion and shame. The fact
that they were old maids, living alone and associating with but few of
their neighbors, lent bitterness to the invectives hurled at them, the
climax was reached with a parting shot from Lin:

"Drat ye!" she exclaimed, "if ye had yungins of yer own--which is lucky
for 'em that ye haven't--ye'd have some hearts in yer withered old
frames."

The spectacled maiden, apparently more frightened than the other, began
to feel what a monster she was, what an awful crime she had committed,
following an embarrassing pause, the effect of Lin's final shot, mother
again demanded the cause of "Al-f-u-r-d's" nudity.

"I s'pose I ought to have pulled down the blinds," she began
apologetically, "and let him have his swim out. Likely it wouldn't have
hurt the spring much. Still a body doesn't like to drink water out of a
spring that a boy's been swimmin' in, no matter if his folks are clean
about their house-keeping."

She was certainly sorry and so anxious to caress "Al-f-u-r-d" that she
and the mother made it up, then and there, and many an afternoon
thereafter did the two spend together bemoaning the evil spirit that had
prompted the boy to make a swimming hole of the family spring.

Kindly invitations nor the promise of sponge cake ever induced
"Al-f-u-r-d" to again visit the grounds, or the white house with green
blinds, a buggy whip with silver bands on it, a big dog and two old
maids who, according to Lin, "didn't know nuthin' 'bout children."




CHAPTER THREE

    In the heydey of youth
      He was awfully green,
    As verdant in truth
      As you have ever seen;
    But he soon learned to know beans
      So it seems.


"There's shorely sumthin' 'bout water that bewitches that boy," often
remarked Lin. "I never seen the like of it. I'll bet anything he'll be a
Baptis' preacher some day, jes' like Billy Hickman."

There never was a boy reared in Brownsville whose heart does not beat a
little faster, whose breath does not come a little quicker, whose cheeks
do not turn a little redder when his mind goes back to the old swimming
place near Johnson's saw-mill, where the big rafts of lumber were moored
seemingly for the pleasure and convenience of every boy in town. The big
boys had their spring-boards for diving on the outside where the current
was swifter, the water deeper, the little ones their mud slides and
boards to paddle about and float on in the shallow, still water between
the rafts and the bank.

There may have been factions and social distinctions as between the
inhabitants of the little town when garbed and groomed, but in the
nudity of the old swimming place there was a common level, and all met
on an equal footing.

James G. Blaine, Philander C. Knox, Professor John Brashear and many
others, who have climbed the ladder of Fame, were boys among boys in
this old swimming hole. It was here they were given their first lessons
in courage and self-reliance.

A balmy afternoon in late June the boys of the town were in swimming;
"Al-f-u-r-d" could plainly hear their shouts of glee as he sat in the
front yard at home. How he longed to participate in their sports. What
wouldn't he give to be free like other boys? Was there ever a boy who
did not feel that he was imposed upon, who did not imagine he was abused
above all others? Such was the feeling of "Al-f-u-r-d".

He had been subjected to a scrubbing. Lin had unmercifully bored into
his ears with a towel shaped like a gimlet at one corner, assuring his
mother he was "dirtier 'an the dirtiest coal digger in town." He was
arrayed in a clean gingham suit, topped with an emaculate white shirt,
flowing collar and straw hat. Lin spent a long time in curling his hair
despite protests. Those curls were "Al-f-u-r-d's" abomination. The more
he abominated them the longer they grew. They reached down to the middle
of his back. Arranged in a semi-circle, extending from temple to temple,
they made his head appear so abnormally large his slender body seemed
scarcely able to support it. He seemed top-heavy with his long curls.

[Illustration]

"Al-f-u-r-d" was to go alone to grandfather's and escort him home to
dinner. There was to be company, and Lin was determined that
"Al-f-u-r-d" and his curls should appear at their best.

The road of life starts the same for all of God's children. The innocent
babe, fresh fallen from heaven to blossom on earth, sees nothing but the
beautiful at the beginning of the journey. The road is strewn with
flowers and it is only when the prick of the thorn is felt that one
realizes one is on the wrong road.

For just one short block "Al-f-u-r-d," on the occasion referred to,
traversed the right road. There the right road turned abruptly to the
left. There was no road "straight ahead," but the river was there. The
sound of boys' voices shouting in high glee came floating up from the
old swimming place. School had let out and every boy in town was in
swimming. "Al-f-u-r-d" blazed a new trail to the river. Climbing over
the paling fence surrounding the burying ground, through back yards,
descending the steep hill, he found himself standing on the bank of the
river gazing at a spectacle that stirred his young blood--half a hundred
nude boys diving, splashing, swimming and shouting were in the river
below.

[Illustration: The New Boy in Town]

His appearance was greeted with yells and laughter. He was a "new boy"
in town. "Al-f-u-r-d" was abashed by the reception accorded him. Of all
the howling horde in the water below there was but one familiar face,
that of Cousin Charley.

"Take off your curls and come on in, Sissy," shouted one of the
swimmers. A dozen of them assured "Al-f-u-r-d" the water was "jest
bully." Entreaties of "Come on in," came from dozens of boys. Advice of
all kinds came from others.

The reference to the curls made "Al-f-u-r-d" wince. He had long felt
that those curls were the one great impediment in his life--the one
something that made him the butt of the jokes and gibes of other boys.
He hated those curls. His first swimming experience doubly intensified
his hatred for curls.

Evening was drawing near. The big yellow sun had dropped behind Krepp's
Knob, the shadows of the hills almost reached across the ruffled surface
of the river. The river bottoms at the base of the hills, with their
waving grasses and tassled corn, extending beyond the bend in the river
opposite Albany, the old wooden bridge farther up the river, the high
hills behind him, presented a scene of beauty all of which was lost upon
"Al-f-u-r-d." The boys in the river held him entranced. He was absorbed
in the scene, and, for the moment, he even forgot his curls.

Writers frequently refer to the Monongahela River as "murky"--but
where's the boy who ever basked in its cooling waves who will not
qualify the statement that its waters are the clearest, its depths the
most delightful, its ripples the softest and its shores the smoothest?

Jimmy Edmiston intimated to the writer that the Monongahela was only
clear during a "Cheat River Rise." (Cheat is the name of a small stream
of Virginia emptying into the Monongahela above Brownsville. Its waters
are never muddy, no matter how heavy or protracted the rains along its
course. When the Cheat River pours its transparent flood into the
Monongahela the latter rises without riling. Hence the expression:
"Cheat River rise.")

Jimmy has so long lived away from Brownsville that his memory is
defective. Associated with the muddy Missouri he labors under the
delusion that all rivers are muddy--even the Monongahela.

[Illustration: The Old Swimming Hole]

"Al-f-u-r-d" was rudely caught from behind by several boys, undressed in
less time than it took Lin to hang the hat on his curls. Nor had he
barely been reduced to a state of nudity when some unregenerate in the
river below let fly a lump of soft, mushy mud, large as a gourd. The mud
landed squarely on the broader part of his slight anatomy. With a yelp
he wiggled loose from his captors and bounded up the hill. His slender
legs and body, topped with the large crop of atmospherically agitated
curls, made him a figure so ludicrous that the boys yelled in ecstacy at
the sight.

"Al-f-u-r-d" was recaptured by two stout-armed boys, one on either side.
They carried him to the top of the "mudslide." "Slick 'er up," came the
cry from all sides. This had reference to the slide upon which fell a
veritable cloudburst of water splashed up from the river by the hands of
a dozen devilish youngsters.

"Al-f-u-r-d" was elevated to the height of the heads of his tormentors.
In chorus from the mob at the words, "One, two, three," he was dropped
to the slide, striking its soft, slick surface in an angular attitude,
with feet and legs waving a strenuous protest above his head. The fall
gave him a momentum that sent him over the slippery surface at a speed
that rushed him into the river with eyes and mouth wide open. With a
splash, under he went, forcing great gulps of water down his throat.
Strangling and choking, he came to the surface, spouting like a whale
calf.

[Illustration: The Slippery Slide]

What a shout of merriment went up from his tormentors. Barely had he
taken in a full breath than a bad boy--they were all bad, at least
"Al-f-u-r-d" so informed Lin afterwards--again forced his head under
water.

"Duck 'im agin!" someone shouted as his curls floated on the surface of
the water above his hidden body.

For the third time "Al-f-u-r-d" ducked--or rather, was ducked,
swallowing another quart or two of Monongahela. Coming up cork-like, he
tried to make his escape. Up the bank he ran choking and crying.
Unfortunately, he took the track of the slide. Half way up his feet flew
from under him, landing him upon his stomach. Back he slid, feet first,
his nose plowing up the soft mud, his mouth filling with the same
substance. Terrified beyond expression, under the water he went,
choking, strangling, struggling. He felt that his time had come.

Popping to the surface, one of the older boys stood him upon his feet,
washed the mud from his mouth and nose and, by sundry "shakes,"
partially emptied him.

Fearing they had gone too far with their hazing, some of the larger boys
led him further into the stream, handling him as tenderly as they had
roughly, assuring him of perfect safety. He was caused to lie on his
stomach and, with Cousin Charley holding his broad, calloused palm
against his chest, "Al-f-u-r-d" was given his first lesson in swimming.
One boy declared, even before "Al-f-u-r-d" had moved a muscle, that he
had already learned to swim.

It was the consensus of opinion that the only thing that prevented his
swimming was his curls. To overcome this handicap his hair was braided,
tied and cross-tied and his top-heaviness reduced to a dozen scattered
knobs and knots--knots pulled so tight they glaringly exposed the white
scalp between, and the tying of which brought tears to his eyes.

Even this rearrangement did not prevent his sinking time and again as
the lesson progressed and finally, the mischievousness of his
instructors appeased, he was led, half-dead, out of the water, up the
steep bank to where he had been disrobed. As he stooped to gather up his
rumpled garments a most welcome sound came to his ears:

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"

Contrary to his usual custom, the second syllable was not off the lips
of Lin until, in his loudest tone, he shouted: "Yes,'m!"

When he called for Lin to "come and get me," all the boys took a header
into the river, only their faces and hair-covered heads appearing above
the surface; they treaded water, or swayed around on the bottom. As
"Al-f-u-r-d" looked back on them they seemed like so many decapitated
heads floating in space, a sight that dwelt in his memory long
afterwards.

When "Al-f-u-r-d" gathered his garments into his arms, endeavoring to
hide his nudity, and started toward the voice, a laugh went up that made
the valley echo. Lin declared: "If the tarnel critters had been dressed,
she'd have thrown every last devil of 'em off the raft into the river."

Owing to conditions she hid behind Mrs. Hubbard's house and not until
"Al-f-u-r-d," in his unrecognizable appearance rounded it, did he come
face to face with his rescuer. Crying and sobbing he fell into Lin's
arms. Firing a volley of imprecations upon the horde that had wrought
the wreck before her, Lin kept up a continuous tirade against the boys
in the river; and addressing herself to "Al-f-u-r-d" between speeches,
she said:

"Fur gracious, goodness sake, ef you don't look like Granny Gadd with
yer hair braided over yer head like this; hyar ye air trapesin' through
town agin, mos' naked like ye did las' week. The hull town'll be talkin'
about ye. Ye'll give us all a bad name. Why didn't ye put on yer
clothes?"

"Al-f-u-r-d" sobbingly informed Lin of the cruelties heaped upon him in
which Cousin Charley had taken part. Lin's anger increased as the boy
talked. When he told of them throwing him down in the water times
without number, Lin's indignation burst all bonds. Shaking "Al-f-u-r-d"
violently she fairly yelled as she demanded to know what he was doing
while they were throwing him down. "Al-f-u-r-d" between sobs, answered:

"I wasn't doin' nuthin'; I was gettin' up all the time."

Lin's answer was a jerk that lifted the boy off the earth. As she
smacked her palms together, she defiantly hissed:

"Ef ye had my spunk, ye'd hev knocked hell's delight out of some of
'em."

The defiance of Lin, the thoughts of the cruelties practiced upon him,
or some other force, changed the boy's manner instantly from sobbing and
supplicating. He became screamingly aggressive. Flying to the roadbed,
which had a plentiful supply of loose stone on it, he began a fusillade
on the enemy below that drove the whole horde from the raft into the
river.

"Al-f-u-r-d" had practiced stone throwing since he wore clothes and,
like all boys of that period, his aim was most accurate, as several of
those in the old swimming hole on that eventful day will testify. A rain
of stones fell on the raft; one boy, more venturesome than the others,
started up the hill but "Al-f-u-r-d's" fire repulsed him.

Lin, hidden behind the house, had changed her manner and was now
pleading with "Al-f-u-r-d" to desist.

"Ye might crack some of their skulls and then they'd git out a warrant
and Rease Lynch (referring to the town constable), would be after ye."

"Al-f-u-r-d" left the line of battle only when exhausted. That first
swimming lesson and the fusillade of rocks that followed engendered
animosities that involved "Al-f-u-r-d" in many rough and tumble
encounters afterwards.

Lin, catching up the clothes the boy had dropped upon the ground, soon
discovered why he had not put them on. The sleeves of the waist were
dripping wet and tied in knots as tight as two big, strong boys could
pull them. The pantalets were first unraveled, reversed, pulled over the
sand-covered limbs of the boy, the waist wrapped about his shoulders,
(the knots in the sleeves could not be untied), his hat pushed down on
his head owing to the arrangement of his hair until it rested on his
ears.

The procession started homeward, up alleys, through back yards to
prevent being seen by the neighbors, until Lin hoisted the boy over the
fence at the lower end of the garden. The whole family had congregated
in the back yard, all greatly disturbed over "Al-f-u-r-d's" absence. As
he dropped into the garden from the top of the fence he began crying, as
was his wont, to create sympathy.

[Illustration: Lin and "Al-f-u-r-d"]

As he wended his way up the garden walk, the mother shouted:

"Lin, where on earth has he been?"

"In the river over his head. It's a wonder he wern't drowned to death."

The mother breathed a silent prayer that he had been preserved to them.
Father deftly slid his hand into his left side trouser's pocket and,
pulling forth a keen-bladed knife, cut a slender, but tough, sprout from
the black-heart cherry tree. Tenderly taking the boy by the arm, he
slowly led him to the cellar and introduced another innovation into the
fast unfolding life of the First Born.

The pilgrimages of father and son to the recesses of that dark, damp
cellar became frequent. The innovations of town life were so many,
"Al-f-u-r-d's" unknowing feet fell into so many pitfalls, the father,
affectionate, even indulgent, felt he was in duty bound to use the rod.

In fact, the old cellar, the rod, the boy and the father, were a cause
of comment among those familiar with the family. Uncle Jake said:

"John never asked what 'Al-f-u-r-d' had done when he returned home, but
simply asked, 'Where is he?' escorting him to the cellar and chastizing
him on general principles."

Lin said: "Habits will grow on peepul, and even when 'Al-f-u-r-d' does
nothin', he jes' goes to the cellar and waits to be whipped."




CHAPTER FOUR

    From the sweet-smelling Maryland meadows it crawled,
    Through the forest primeval, o'er hills granite-walled;
    On and up, up and on, till it conquered the crest
    Of the mountains--and wound away into the West.
    'Twas the Highway of Hope! And the pilgrims who trod
    It were Lords of the Woodland and Sons of the Sod;
    And the hope of their hearts was to win an abode
    At the end--the far end of the National Road.


Brownsville.

Do you not know where it is located? Do not ask any human being who ever
lived in Brownsville as to its location on the map--that is, if you
value his friendship. Your ignorance of geography will be exposed and
you will be plainly informed: "We do not want anything to do with a
person who does not know where Brownsville is located."

[Illustration: Market Street, Brownsville]

Strange as it may seem, though many excellent histories have been
written, there is none extant that has given any full and adequate
description of Brownsville's early days and people--quaint, curious,
serious, humorous, wise and otherwise--good people all.

Brownsville was the most important town on that "Modern Appian Way," the
National Road, or pike, extending from Baltimore, Maryland, to the Ohio
River, and lengthened beyond, in after years, to Cincinnati and
Richmond, Indiana.

Brownsville was founded soon after this country gained its independence,
although it had been an established frontier post long before known as
Red Stone Old Fort. It was the center of the Whiskey Insurrection,
during which George Washington gained his first military experience in
the West, experience that would have saved Braddock's defeat and death,
had he taken Washington's advice, and might have changed the entire
history of this nation. But that England should control the American
colonies is but repeating history.

England is the only country in the world that has successfully colonized
her foreign possessions. Therefore, Brownsville was founded, and mostly
settled, by the English, and to this day her foremost citizens are
Englishmen. This statement of facts does not detract from the estimable
qualities of the Low Dutch who have drifted in from Bedford and Somerset
Counties.

Brownsville outputs--"Monongahela Rye Whiskey" and Chattland's crackers
are world-famous food essentials.

Brownsville was at the head of navigation on the Monongahela River in
the palmy days of the old "pike."

Unlike the Appian Way, of which there is no connected history but only
glimpses of it in the Bible, the old "pike" is embalmed in history, in
poem and prose. It commemorates an epoch in history as fascinating as
any recorded. A highway so important, so largely instrumental in the
country's early greatness and development that it strengthened the ties
between the states and their peoples. Its legends so numerous, its
incidents so exciting that their chronicles read like fiction.

Brownsville grew and prospered while the old "pike" was at the height of
its greatness. It was here the travellers from the East or the West
either embarked or disembarked from the river steamers or the overland
stage coach.

In the year 1868 the writer spent four days and parts of as many nights
in a stage coach journey from Wheeling, West Virginia, to Baltimore,
Maryland, over the National Road. In August, 1910, the same distance was
covered in an automobile in a little over a day and a night, with many
stops and visits to historical spots marked by recollections of the old
days and nights of this King's Highway.

Brownsville, in the halcyon days of the National Pike, was of greater
commercial importance than Pittsburg, her banks ranking higher and her
manufactories more numerous. This supremacy was maintained from 1818 to
1852.

When the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad was opened to the West, the glories
of the old "pike" began to fade. The mechanical establishments,
especially the boat-building and marine engine shops, among the biggest
interests of Brownsville, kept in the lead until well into the days of
the Civil War.

Now, reader, will you not be a bit abashed to ask: "Where is
Brownsville?"

To Henry Clay belongs the credit of first urging Congress to appropriate
funds to build the National Road, but to Albert Gallatin, who was from
the Brownsville section and achieved great distinction while Treasurer
of the United States, belongs the honor of its conception. He was the
first to advocate the great benefits that would accrue to the country if
such a road were constructed.

Washington, when a mere youth, sent to England a report urging the
advisability of a military road from the coast to the Ohio River. He
suggested the Indian trail across the Allegheny Mountains. This trail
was afterwards named Braddock's Road. It should have been called
Washington's Road, as he, at the head of a detachment of Virginia
troops, traversed it one year before Braddock's disastrous invasion of
the West.

All roads led to Brownsville in those days.

Did you ever hear of Workman's Hotel in Brownsville? It stands today as
it did one hundred years ago, at the head of Market Street. It has
housed Jackson, Harrison, Clay, Sam Houston, Davy Crockett, James K.
Polk, Shelly, Lafayette, Winfield Scott, Pickens, John C. Calhoun, and
hundreds of others of less note.

James Workman, the landlord of this old house of entertainment, was
noted for his hospitality and punctuality. When "Old Hickory" Jackson,
on his way to Washington to be inaugurated President--for be it
remembered the old "pike" was the only highway between the East and
West--was Workman's guest, the citizens of Brownsville tendered the
newly elected President a public reception. The Presbyterian Church was
crowded, the exercises long drawn out. During their progress, Jimmy
Workman stalked down the middle aisle. Facing about, after passing the
pew in which General Jackson sat, he said, in a voice plainly heard all
over the church:

"General Jackson, dinner is ready and if you do not come soon it won't
be fit to eat."

So great was Workman's devotion to his guests that he imagined the
dinner was more essential than speeches or prayers, and such was the
respect for the famous landlord that the services were curtailed.

Brownsville and Bridgeport were boroughs separated by Dunlap's Creek,
spanned by the first iron bridge built in America. It is standing today
as solid as the reputation of the old burgs it joins together.
Brownsville had the first bridge that spanned the Monongahela River. In
fact Brownsville had a bridge long before Pittsburgh. While Bill Brown
and his progenitors were ferrying Pittsburgh inhabitants across the
river in a skiff, Brownsville folks were crossing on a "kivered"
bridge. And were it not for further humiliating Bill Brown, the
discoverer of Pittsburgh, still greater glories could be recalled for
Brownsville.

James G. Blaine was born on the west bank of the Monongahela River. The
land on which the Blaine house stood was the property of an Indian,
Peter by name. He sold the land to Blaine's grandfather, Neil Gellispie,
the price agreed upon being forty shillings an acre, payable in
installments of money, iron and one negro man, a slave. Ye gods! How did
the "Plumed Knight's" detractors in the "Rum-Romanism-and-Rebellion"
campaign overlook the fact that the Blaines once bought and sold slaves?

[Illustration: James G. Blaine's Home]

Philander C. Knox was born on the hill on the east side of the river.
Professor John Brashear was born on the western edge of the town.

Elisha Gray, the original inventor of the telephone, was from
Brownsville; as were John Herbertson, builder of the first iron bridge
in the United States; John Snowden, builder of two iron gunboats for the
Civil War, and Bishop Arnett, of Ohio.

Brownsville first promulgated a word of slang that has greatly
beautified the English language.

But let it be recorded to the old town's credit, the evil was propagated
without malice aforethought. Brownsville's borough limits show its shape
to be somewhat like that of a hot-air balloon--a big body with a neck;
and the narrow strip of land between the river and Dunlap's Creek
stretching toward Bridgeport from time out of mind has been designated
by the inhabitants of either side of the creek as the "neck."

Brownsville had a temperance revival. Strict observance of the liquor
laws was being enforced. Jack Beckley was haled to court on a dray, too
oblivious of everything to answer any charge. The burgess, before
committing him to the lock-up, questioned the watchman, Jim Bench, as to
where Jack got his liquor.

"Did he get it on the hill?"

The officer truthfully answered:

"No, he got it in the neck."

The town took up the phrase and thereafter any person who met with any
sort of mishap "got it in the neck."

[Illustration: A National Pike Freighter]




CHAPTER FIVE

    No wonder Cain went to the bad
      And left no cause to praise him;
    No neighbors, who had ever had
    Boys of their own, came telling Ad
      And Eve how they should raise him.


"Al-f-u-r-d" learned with his first swimming lesson that kinship does
not lend immunity; in fact, Lin asserted that Cousin Charley's kinship
was only a cloak of deception. However, the more Cousin Charley teased
the younger boy the greater "Al-f-u-r-d's" admiration and yearning for
his companionship.

Lin cautioned "Al-f-u-r-d" to shun Cousin Charley as he would a "wiper."
Lin could never pronounce her v's. When she went to the grocery and
asked for "winegar," the young clerk laughed outright. The next visit
Lin simply said:

"Smell the jug and gin me a quart."

When the mother admitted she feared Cousin Charley would ruin
"Al-f-u-r-d's" disposition, Lin followed with the declaration that
Cousin Charley "layed awake nights makin' up lies about "Al-f-u-r-d" to
git his pap to whup him."

Lin said: "Why, he don't do a thing all the live-long day but git
'Al-f-u-r-d' in scrapes and muss his curls."

After the swimming hole experience "Al-f-u-r-d's" parent forbade Cousin
Charley the house. Uncle Bill, who was responsible for Cousin Charley's
being, also ordered Cousin Charley to seek a home elsewhere, enforcing
the order by advising Cousin Charley that he had done all that he
intended to do for him.

In forceful words Cousin Charley was told that he must "dig for
himself," that "he could not stay anywhere no matter how good the job,
that he always got into some kind of a scrape and his father was tired
of it."

"Go out in the world and dig for yourself like I did. Then you'll hold a
job when you get one."

Cousin Charley took genuine delight in being thus exiled. He endeavored
to work on the sympathies of all with whom he conversed, reporting that
Uncle John and Aunt Mary had driven him from their house and that his
father had driven him from home, advising him to dig for himself.

Charley dwelt so upon the phrase "dig for yourself" that it became a
sort of cant saying.

Cousin Charley called at "Al-f-u-r-d's" home to gather his essential
personal effects. His woe-begone looks so touched "Al-f-u-r-d" that
tears more than once filled his eyes as the elder boy continued his
preparations to leave. "Al-f-u-r-d's" sorrow so touched the mother that
she began to relent.

But Cousin Charley, like many other persons who have injured their
family when taken to task, felt a sort of pride in doing something he
imagined would cause them further pain. Cousin Charley was obdurate to
any overtures towards a reconciliation, or at least pretended to be. Go
he would. He had poor "Al-f-u-r-d" entirely miserable as he listened to
the recitation of the many wrongs he declared he had suffered.

"I've worked harder than any boy in Brownsville. I never knowed anything
but work. Pap lets Jim and George do as they durn please. If I crook my
fingers I ketch the devil. I kin go out and dig fer myself and they'll
be sorry for the way they have treated me."

"Al-f-u-r-d" clung to the bigger boy, begging him not to leave. The
sight affected both Lin and the mother, and the latter ventured the
prediction that she might prevail upon Pap to allow Cousin Charley to
remain if he would solemnly promise to be a better boy. Cousin Charley
was not to be mollified. He thanked the mother for her kindly interest
in him but added that he could not remain under Uncle Johns' roof after
the cruel manner in which he had been treated. (As a matter of fact his
treatment had always been of the kindest). Cousin Charley knew this full
well but he knew also that he had the sympathy of the two women excited
and he chose to work it to his evil nature's content.

Continuing, he added insinuatingly:

"You'll see. Wait 'til 'Al-f-u-r-d's' a little older. Uncle will keep on
whaling him in the cellar and some day you'll find him missing, curls
and all."

This reference to curls touched Lin's sympathy. The reference to
"Al-f-u-r-d" leaving home also touched the mother as the tantalizer
intended it should, and she further argued with the boy to remain at
home with his family.

"No I can't. I've made up my mind to dig fer myself. I'm goin' West.
You've always treated me right and I'll write you often and let you know
how I'm gettin' along and maybe if 'Al-f-u-r-d' is driven from home like
I've been I'll have a place fer him."

The mother turned a trifle resentful as she said spiritedly:

"Charley, you have not been driven from home. Your father has become
tired of your conduct and it would be better if you apologize for your
behavior and promise to become a better boy."

Cousin Charley hinted at some deep and dark wrong that would ever
prevent his approaching his father and he prepared to leave. Both women
entreated him to linger yet another day. But Cousin Charley began
bidding them good-bye, the crocodile tears coursing down his cheeks as
he sobbed:

"I'll never fergit you two. You've always been good to me." (As a matter
of fact, Lin threatened to scald him that morning.) "I know I may be
half starved to death before I git work but I'll stand it. And durn them
all, I'll show them I'm somebody afore they see me agin."

At the reference to starving, Lin rushed to the big kitchen cupboard.
The larger part of a roasted chicken, a dozen doughnuts, pickles,
rusks, enough to feed an ordinary man several times, was done up in a
neat package and handed to Charley by Lin as she pityingly remarked:

"Ef the bakin' was done I'd gin ye more fer I'll warrant it'll be a long
time 'fore ye'll eat cooking like ye've hed here. Fer vagrants never
know what they're eatin'."

Charley's leave-taking was most affecting. "Al-f-u-r-d" begged to be
permitted to accompany him a little ways on his journey. Five minutes
the boys walked hand in hand.

Into Sammy Steele's deserted tannery, through a long, dark room with
dust and rubbish covering the floor, into a smaller room, more dismal if
imaginable than the larger room but much cleaner.

[Illustration: The Exile]

Three boxes, the larger used as a table, the two smaller ones as seats,
made up the furniture in the room. A small blaze of fire in the
old-fashioned soft coal grate gave a faint light. Cousin Charley
whistled a time or two, and Lint Dutton, the son of the leading dry
goods merchant of the town; and Tod Livingston, the son of the dry goods
man's head clerk, put in an appearance.

It was not long until "Al-f-u-r-d's" sympathetic heart was touched with
the wrongs of the three exiles. It seemed the trio had all been driven
from home and were going out into the world to dig for themselves.
Charley explained there were many things to adjust ere the exiles
departed and the room in the old tannery would be their retreat until
they left the town for good.

To impress "Al-f-u-r-d" with the fact that provisions were the one thing
necessary, Lin's contribution was spread out on the larger box and all
proceeded to devour the viands. Even "Al-f-u-r-d" enjoyed the repast.

"Al-f-u-r-d" was sworn to secrecy as to the retreat of the exiles and
adjured to bring all the eatables he could secure. The sight of Cousin
Charley consuming a dried apple pie such as were made in those days,
plenty of lemon peel and cider to juice the apples; Charley holding the
pie in his hands, the juice running down his cheeks as he expatiated on
the wrongs that had been heaped upon him in general and by
"Al-f-u-r-d's" and his own father in particular, so worked on
"Al-f-u-r-d's" sympathy that nothing cooked or uncooked that was
eatable, that he could smuggle to the exiles, was too good for them.

For the first time since Lin came into the family the mother suspected
her of dishonest practices. A coldness sprang up between the women. This
unpleasantness almost drove the boy to confession, but the fear of the
exiles kept him from exposing them.

[Illustration: The Exile's Retreat]

The father set a watch on "Al-f-u-r-d." He was seen to fill his pockets
and a small basket, hide the basket in the coal shed until the shadows
of dusk. The father followed the smuggler to the exiles' camp. Several
other boys who had learned of the pies, pickles, preserves, doughnuts,
and other good things that "Al-f-u-r-d" carried to the old tannery, had
gone into exile and were always conveniently near when "Al-f-u-r-d"
appeared with his food contributions.

The father was close onto "Al-f-u-r-d" when he entered the larger room
of the old tan house. "Al-f-u-r-d" set the basket with the coarser food
in it on the box that served as a table while he began issuing the more
dainty contributions from his pockets. Handing Cousin Charley a doughnut
from one pocket he was in the act of pulling a handful of pickles from
another when the irate parent rushed into the little room. The exiles'
camp was broken up, and the exiles driven out into the cold world.
"Al-f-u-r-d" was escorted home then to the cellar where the seance was a
trifle more animated than usual, at least "Al-f-u-r-d's" cries so
denoted.

Lin's denunciations of those who had devastated her pantry of the coarse
as well as her daintiest cooking, was of the strongest. Lin was very
proud of her skill as a cook. When the truth came out and she learned
that "Al-f-u-r-d" was the culprit, she immediately began making excuses
for the boy, and when his screams from the cellar penetrated the
kitchen, Lin's sympathy was fully aroused. With the rolling pin in one
hand, flour to her elbows on her bare, muscular arms, she rushed into
the cellar, with flushed face and confronted the parent:

[Illustration: "Lin"]

"Hold on yer, hold on! Ye've whipped that boy enough and you're whippin'
him fer nothin'. Ef it hadn't bin fer them low, lazy skunks "Al-f-u-r-d"
a-never teched a thing in this house. They never had nothin' to eat at
home. Their folks is too lazy to fry a doughnut or put up pickles.
"Al-f-u-r-d" jes pitied 'em, that's why he took things to 'em to eat."

This reasoning mollified the parent, besides Lin had a gleam in her eyes
that intimidated him. Lin had threatened to skedaddle, as she put it,
several times of late, and one like her was not often found.

Therefore Lin's reasoning decided the father to wreak vengeance on those
who, through "Al-f-r-u-d's" generosity, had depleted the pickle barrel.
Grabbing his heaviest cane he stalked toward the door, vowing he would
wear out every last one of the boys who had made him so far forget
himself as to punish one whose age and inexperience made him their dupe.

[Illustration: Hold On! Hold On!]

The mother and Lin, thoroughly frightened at the anger displayed by the
man, used their strength and arguments to prevent him doing something
terrible. The mother pointed out the danger of the law and the disgrace
attached to an arrest by the borough constable.

Lin reminded him that he might do something rash, that all the boys had
papas and several men might jump on him if they caught him abusing their
off-spring. The father swore he could lick the daddies of all the boys
one at a time.

Meanwhile "Al-f-u-r-d" made his escape to the garret to ruminate upon
the unreasonableness of parents in general and his father in particular.

Uncle Bill was even more obdurate than when he first declared Charley
must "dig for himself." Cousin Charley was looking for work, fearing he
would find it, and secretly hoping his father, under pressure of the
mother, would soon open the door of home to him. But Cousin Charley was
compelled to look the world in the face in a serious manner for the
first time in his life.

Captain Lew Abrams, a retired steamboat man, big of frame, kind of heart
and fond of a joke, informed the exile that he would give him an
opportunity to follow his father's advice literally, namely, to dig for
himself.

"I have a big potato patch, the crop is a heavy one and it don't seem my
boys will ever get the potatoes dug. I will give you a job digging
potatoes by the bushel or on shares."

The Captain did not care to hire by the day. Cousin Charley figured
mentally that digging potatoes on shares, a custom prevalent in those
days, would bring quicker returns.

Charley began to "dig for himself" the very next day. After a long, hard
day's work, he presented himself at the back door of "Al-f-u-r-d's"
home, sunburnt and hands blistered, clothing torn, full of beggars-lice
and Spanish needles. He explained that the offer of Captain Abrams was
temptingly profitable and that he would remain in the neighborhood for a
few weeks longer digging potatoes on the shares.

Lin at first looked upon him with suspicion. But when she noted his
sunburnt face and blistered hands and when Charley carefully laid on the
table a half dozen big brown-colored potatoes with that peculiar purple
around the eyes, a color so highly prized by growers and consumers, Lin,
glancing sympathetically at Charley through the kitchen door as he ate
as only a hungry boy can, whispered to the mother:

"His pap's too hard on him. He's not so ornery as he's cracked up to be.
It's the devilish clique he runs with that's spiled him," and, with
this, carried another helping of food to the boy.

Half in earnest, half in fun, Lin said: "Durn ye, ye can be good ef ye
want to, but it jes' seems like ye don't want to. Ef ye ever do another
thing to 'Al-f-u-r-d' I'll scald all the hair off yer freckled head."

Cousin Charley laughed and chided Lin into further good humor, confiding
to her the interesting information that he was going to work from
daylight to dark. This declaration captured Lin. She highly regarded
anyone who labored.

Cousin Charley kept up a continual talk. Among other statements he said
that after he dug Captain Abram's potatoes, if he could effect as
advantageous arrangements with other farmers, he would soon be wealthy.
He even insinuated that he had over-reached the Captain in his contract
for digging potatoes but if the Captain showed any tendency to "back
out" he would hold him to it.

"A bargain's a bargain," said Charley and Lin nodded approvingly. She
never guessed that Cousin Charley possessed so much sense.

Charley picked up the largest of the potatoes he had deposited on the
table and requested that Lin roast it in wood ashes for breakfast.

"It'll jes' bust open and is as dry as powder. Sech taters you never et,
they melt in yer mouth."

It was then the mother was called in, Lin explaining it was a good
chance to buy potatoes cheap. Cousin Charley explained that his share of
the crop he was digging would be so big he would have to sell as he went
along even if he didn't get full price for them. He assured the women
that the samples were not culled: "Jes' took as they come."

[Illustration: Cousin Charley]

The mother bought several bushels at much less than the retail price at
Murphy's store. At the low price at which Cousin Charley sold potatoes
he had taken several orders before reaching "Al-f-u-r-d's" home. When
"Al-f-u-r-d's" mother purchased he suddenly concluded he'd better begin
delivering right away.

When the mother reminded him that it was almost night Cousin Charley met
her with the argument "Ef a feller wants to git along in this world he's
got to hump night and day. That's the way old Jeffries got rich."
Jeffries was the business competitor of "Al-f-u-r-d's" father.

Cousin Charley finally prevailed on the mother to loan him the horse and
wagon to deliver his potatoes. The father was out of town for the night,
and the mother consented reluctantly. Lin wanted the potatoes badly
after Charley's description. "Al-f-u-r-d," as usual, cried to go with
Cousin Charley. Cousin Charley's seeming industriousness had reinstated
him in Lin's good graces. After the boys had driven off, following Lin's
caution to the older boy to "Be keerful of 'Al-f-u-r-d'," she remarked
to the mother, referring to Charley:

"He'll fool old Bill yet. Some peepul may want Charley to dig fer 'em
'fore the winter's over. I'd thought more of old Bill ef he'd lathered
Charley good an' plenty stid of turnun' him out to dig fer himself. I do
hope he'll sell plenty pertaters."

Meanwhile, Cousin Charley, his delivery wagon, "Al-f-u-r-d" and all,
arrived at Captain Abram's house. The family were visiting a neighbor.

Cousin Charley was evidently an adept at loading potatoes as well as
digging. It was surprising the quantity he claimed for his share of the
day's digging.

"Al-f-u-r-d," Cousin Charley, and a load of potatoes soon arrived at
"Al-f-u-r-d's" home. Several large sacks were quickly carried into the
cellar, Lin assisting the boy. Lin took this excuse to inspect the goods
as her confidence in Cousin Charley was not entirely free from
suspicion. As Lin watched the boy carrying the heavy potato sacks she
half hated herself for doubting him. This feeling prompted Lin to accept
the potatoes.

"They're not zackly as big as the ones he fetched first but they're nice
taters, better'n we git at the store an' besides a body feels better
helpin' a poor devil that's workin' his head off to do right."

Jane McCune, Tommy Ryan and Jim Bench had bought potatoes while they
were cheap. These deliveries were soon made and Cousin Charley had money
to distribute. "Al-f-u-r-d" and Lin both came in for a nice piece of it.
As Lin remarked:

"Cousin Charley was not close when he was doin' well."

[Illustration: The Boys Had a Full Load]

The women invited Charley to remain all night but, showing the old exile
spirit, he declined, adding:

"I like you and Lin, but I'll never stay under Uncle John's roof until
he apologizes fer what he done to me. I'll dig fer myself. There's money
in this potato business fer me, I'll show them who I am."

The boy jingled the big coppers and little dimes in his pocket until
"Al-f-u-r-d's" eyes sparkled with admiration.

The next morning Captain Abrams clanged the big, old fashioned iron
knocker on the front door. The father started up stairs to answer the
knock, and "Al-f-u-r-d" and the other children whooped up the path
beside the house to peep at the early caller.

The door opened. "Howdys" and hand shakes. The Captain, puckering up his
funny little mouth, not unlike that of a sucker fish, addressing himself
to the father, inquired:

"John, where's Bill's Charley?"

The "I don't know" answer surprised the Captain.

Looking at "Al-f-u-r-d" in a quizzical manner, he said:

"I thought he was staying with you all."

The father replied spiritedly, and he seemed to be addressing himself to
"Al-f-u-r-d" as much as to the Captain:

"No, he ain't here any more. I wouldn't permit him to enter my house;
he's so infernal ornery that his father had to drive him out. Bill jes'
told him to go out and dig fer himself. We've washed our hands of that
boy. His end will be the House of Refuge."

"But John," and the Captain looked serious, "who sent Alfred and Charley
out on a foraging expedition last night with your old mare and wagon?"

Both men looked hard at "Al-f-u-r-d."

With a consciousness born of innocence, "Al-f-u-r-d" pulled himself up
to his full height, running his thumbs under his first pair of elastic
suspenders, a present from Cousin Charley, who had remarked as he
adjusted them: "None of my relations will run around here with one
gallus when I've got money."

"Yes, sir," chirped "Al-f-u-r-d," "we was out to your house but you
weren't at home. Cousin Charley went after his pertaters. He wanted to
bring mother hers and Jane McCune and Tommy Ryan."

The Captain was nodding his head approvingly at "Al-f-u-r-d,"
encouraging him to go on. The father was so confused he could not listen
longer, and casting a look at "Al-f-u-r-d" that boded him no good, the
mother and Lin were called into the room, and the Captain, in a half
apologetic manner explained:

"Charley came to me with a long story about his father driving him from
home and telling him he would have to go out and dig for himself. He
used the phrase, 'dig for himself' so often that I, in a half joking
way, arranged with Charley to dig potatoes on shares. He dug one day. I
don't know how many potatoes he dug as me and my folks were visiting the
Lenhearts. Afore we got home last night, Charley came out there with
your horse and wagon and hauled away all the potatoes he dug during the
day and all my boys had dug and sacked the past week. I don't know how
many he took but old man Bedler at the toll gate said the boys had on a
full load."

Then "Al-f-u-r-d" counting on his fingers, said: "Yes, mother got seven
bushels, Tommy Ryan got eight bushels and he's to get two more bushels
tomorrow night, and Jim Bench five bushels and will take all Cousin
Charley kin bring him. And Jane McCune got five bushels and she didn't
have the money. But Charley says if she don't pay him he'll steal her
dog."

The Captain was laughing heartily but politely. The father and mother
looked as if they had been convicted of larceny.

Lin jerked out: "Well, ef that don't beat the bugs. A-stealin'
pertaters. I'd as soon be ketched stealin' sheep. I tell ye now, that
Charley's headed fer the pinitentiary."

This speech seemed to crush the father and mother. They felt somehow as
if they were implicated. But Captain Abrams apologized in every way for
annoying them. They all seated themselves, the blinds pulled down and a
solemn compact entered into that the matter never be referred to again.
The father paid for the potatoes, taking "Al-f-u-r-d's" figures.
"Al-f-u-r-d" was warned if he ever mentioned the affair outside of home
that he would be sent to the House of Refuge.

The family felt that they were everlastingly disgraced. The mother felt
it most keenly. The father was half disposed to hold "Al-f-u-r-d" partly
responsible and a trip to the cellar was strongly threatened. But Lin
interfered by saying:

"Why, his mother and me is wus than 'Al-f-u-r-d'. Any grown body'd
knowed Charley couldn't dig that many pertaters in a week, let alone a
day."

Time wore on and the potato episode was seemingly forgotten. The family
felt that the disgrace had been lived down and all were thankful the
matter had not become the talk of the town.

Uncle Bill, Charley's father, was a good talker, fond of argument and
usually the center of a group, particularly when political or religious
subjects were under discussion. A long bench in front of Bill Isler's
tin shop, ranged close up to the building. The town pump stood across
the ten feet wide sidewalk opposite.

It was a pleasing sight to look upon this gathering of inequality of
rank and property and equality of intellect discussing all questions,
the affairs of their neighbors in particular.

[Illustration: Uncle Bill and the Boys]

There was a full bench: Joe Gibbons, Barney Barnhart, Jase Baker, Billy
Graham, Birney Wilkins, and George Muckle Fee. Fee was a peculiar
character, with an unusual deformity, since his neck was bent like a
huge bow, not unlike a limb with the knee bent, his face looking to the
ground. To look to either side he must turn his entire body. The only
human being he ever thought kindly of was his wife, Susan. He always
spoke of her respectfully. Some people he hated more intensely than
others. Uncle Bill was an especial mark of his vituperation. When they
passed on the street George would turn his body half way around to
mutter and curse him--however, not that Uncle Bill could hear.

George's usual position at the gathering in the evening was back against
the old pump facing those seated on the bench, with lowered face and
upturned eyes, looking from one speaker to another, scowling or smiling
as the remarks met with his approval or otherwise.

The subject under discussion was "boys." A number of boys of the town,
almost grown men, had been apprehended stealing scrap iron.

Uncle Bill, as usual, had the center of the stage. He had about
concluded a lengthy discourse as to the management of boys, bad boys in
particular, and as usual concluded by relating for the hundredth time,
how he managed his boys.

"I just called 'em up and says: 'Boys, I've raised you up to what you
are and I've done for you all a parent could do. You're strong and able
to do for yourselves and don't depend on me longer. Go out in the world
and dig for yourselves.'"

Fee, squirting a flood of tobacco juice with the words, said: "Yes, and
ef they'd all dig like Charley did, you'd had purtaters to last you a
life time."

The roars of laughter that went up were convincing proof that there are
no secrets sacred in a small town.




CHAPTER SIX.

      Blessings on thee, little man,
      Barefoot boy with cheek of tan;
    With thy turned-up pantaloons
    And thy merry, whistled tunes;
    With the sunshine on thy face
    Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;
      Outward sunshine, inward joy,
      Blessings on thee, barefoot boy.


Alfred's parents concluded it would be good for the boy to send him to
the country for a time, freeing him from the influence of town boys.
Therefore they sent him to Uncle Joe's, a prosperous farmer, a little
inclined to take too much hard cider or rye at sheep-washing or
hog-killing time, fond of fox chasing and hunting and shooting at a
mark.

Uncle Joe went to town at least once a week when Aunt Betsy accompanied
him. He observed the proprieties and respected his good wife's wishes.
Long had she labored to get him to join the church of which she was an
exemplary pillar. Thus far she had not succeeded.

A neighboring farmer, the leading member of the church, was the barrier.
Uncle Joe and this neighbor, "Old Bill Colvin," as Uncle Joe designated
him, had been at logger-heads for years over line fences and other
trifles that farmers find excuses to quarrel over.

[Illustration: Alfred at Nine]

Uncle Joe's prejudice was so strong that when questioned as to whether
he did not want to go to heaven, he defiantly informed the minister,
"Not if Old Bill Colvin is there."

If a cow strayed, hog died or turkey was lost, it was attributed to Old
Bill Colvin. When the bees swarmed and Uncle Joe with the fiddle
scraping out "Big John, Little John, Big John, Davy," Aunt Betsy beating
a tin pan with a spoon, poor old granny, bent with age, following slowly
jingling a string of sleigh bells, and in feeble, squeaky voice asked
Uncle Joe if the bees were going off, although no swarm had ever left
the place, Uncle Joe, vigorously scraping the fiddle, walking under the
cloud of circling bees, not heeding granny's query, would say:

"Look at 'em, look at 'em, they're leaving; we can't get 'em to settle.
There they go. Look at 'em, look at 'em. Dam 'em, headed for Old Bill
Colvin's."

Uncle Joe was noted for his honey, watermelons, peaches, turkeys,
maple-sugar and sweet potatoes and loud voice. He was the loudest voiced
man in Red Stone township. Every living creature on the farm stood in
fear of Uncle Joe's voice. If the stock jumped the fence into another
field, Uncle Joe's voice awed them into jumping back again. Fence rails,
hoes, rakes or anything that came handy had so often been wielded by his
powerful arms on them that his voice was sufficient almost any time to
frighten horse, cow or hog into seeking safety in flight when he
shouted.

The day for Alfred's going to the country arrived. Aunt Betsy had the
neuralgia and Uncle Joe came alone on horseback. Meeting former friends,
he tarried long at the Tavern. When under the influence of stimulants he
became even louder. John Rathmell, the town watchman, endeavored to
quiet him. Finally, he ordered Uncle Joe to go home or he would arrest
him.

Uncle Joe was riding Black Fan, his fox-hunting mare. She was seventeen
hands high, mostly legs, a natural pacer. She could jump over anything
under the moon. Her hind legs the longer,--they seemed to be the
propelling power and appeared to move faster than her front legs. When
at top speed she traveled sort of sideways. This seemed a wise
provision of nature as it prevented her running over herself, or like a
stern-wheel boat, with too much power going by the head.

Uncle Joe obeyed the order of the officer of the law. Tardily, leisurely
and tantalizingly mounting Black Fan, taking Alfred up behind him, he
headed the mare in the opposite direction from home. Alfred feared he
was going down the hill into the "Neck" to get more liquor and he almost
decided to get off and go back home.

[Illustration: "You Can All Go to H--ll"]

At a pace as respectable as ever a funeral cortege traveled, Uncle Joe
rode until opposite the old market house, there turning the mare around
heading her homeward. Straightening her out in the middle of the road,
rising in his stirrups to emphasize his contempt for the law in the
person of the watchman, Uncle Joe gave vent to a yell that brought
store-keepers to the doors, pedestrians to turn around and drivers to
pull to the side of the street.

He gave the mare her head. At the sound of the voice nearer and
consequently louder than ever before, she shot forward at a speed never
equalled on that street. At every revolution of her hind legs her body
under Alfred rose and fell like a toy boat on a ruffled bay. Uncle Joe
rose and fell with the movement and at every rise he yelled even louder
than before.

[Illustration: The End of the Ride]

The minion of the law and several idlers, always seeking an opportunity
to meddle, rushed to the middle of the street, but as well might they
have attempted to arrest the wind. The shoes of Black Fan struck the
flinty limestones on the pike, the sparks flew, and her trail was a
veritable streak of fire. As the mare rounded the turn at Workman's
Hotel, Uncle Joe, as a parting shot, yelled:

"You can all go to h--ll."

How Alfred maintained his hold he never knew nor did the mare slacken
pace greatly until home was reached. Alfred is of the opinion to this
day that Uncle Joe forgot he carried a handicap.

The corn-cob stopper in a large bottle which Uncle Joe, (as was the
custom of farmers in those days), carried in his right hand overcoat
pocket, came out, the contents splashed in Alfred's face and saturated
his clothing. Alfred was almost stupefied with the fumes of the liquor
and had the distance been further he surely would have fallen from his
seat.

As the mare halted, Uncle Joe vigorously threw his leg over her back to
dismount, sweeping Alfred from his seat as though he had been a
rag-doll. Down he fell head first and no doubt sustained bodily injury
had not Providence, or a kindly cow deposited a cushion as soft as
velvet for his reception, and curls. His yells and calls brought the
family to the rescue. Alfred was not received as courteously as on
former visits; however, after a bath in a tub of not overly warm water,
the family were a trifle less distant.

The wife was very much provoked over the husband's actions.

Reinforced by Billy Hickman, the preacher, and several church members,
renewed her efforts to have Uncle Joe ally himself with the church.
Uncle Joe assured one good brother that if sheep-washing time was
over--it was then September and sheep are washed in May or June--he
would join the church. He explained that he felt he must have a little
"licker" sheep-washing time or he would "ketch the rheumatiz."

The District Fair was on, Black Fan was entered in the free-for-all
pace. She was considered a joke by horsemen and the knowing ones. But
Alfred would have bet all he had that Black Fan was the fastest goer in
the world. Ike Bailey's Black Bess, John Krepps' Billy, John Patterson's
Morgan Messenger, were the other entries, all under saddle except Morgan
Messenger. Patterson drove him to a sulky, the only sulky in the county,
the wheels higher than the head of the driver. It was the idea of the
builder the larger the wheels the greater the speed.

Black Fan had much the worst of the get-away and it looked as if she
would be left in the stretch. It was a half-mile track. Twice around
completed the heats. The crowd laughed themselves hoarse at Uncle Joe's
entry and rider.

[Illustration: "Git Up, Fan!"]

The other riders leaning forward, holding their bridle reins close down
to the bit, seemed to lift their horses as they sped away from Black Fan
whose rider was leaning back holding the briddle reins at arm's length
as if he feared she would go by the head.

There was no grandstand, the populace standing thick along the track,
separated from it by a rough board fence.

As the horses neared the starting point on the first turn, Black Fan far
in the rear, Uncle Joe was seen pushing through the crowd, towering
above the multitude. He made his way to the side of the track, climbing
up on the fence-board next to the top, he stood erect.

The leaders flew by and, as Black Fan got opposite, he raised his arms
as if to throw a stone or club at her, at the same time, in stentorian
tones, yelling: "Git up! Git up! Git! Git out of that, you Black B----
h! Git up Fan. Gin her her head! Don't hold her, dam her! Let her go!
Scat!"

[Illustration: "Give Her Head! Don't Hold Her!"]

As the last yell left his lips over he went onto the dusty track
head-first. Black Fan surely imagined Uncle Joe was after her, she shot
forward, her hind legs going so fast she looked in danger of running
over herself, taking up nearly the width of the course. John Patterson
and his high-wheeled sulky were swept off the track. Black Bess jumped
the fence, ran off with her rider and was disqualified. Only John Krepps
kept his little horse on the track, but Black Fan had the race in hand.

Great confusion reigned. Several fights started, Uncle Joe being in the
midst of all of them. Everybody surrounded the judges, and the other
horse owners protested the race. As the judges were all farmers with the
usual fairness pervading decisions as between town folks and country
ones, Black Fan was given the race.

[Illustration: After the Race]

Uncle Joe led the mare all over the fair grounds with Alfred mounted on
her, and notwithstanding the boy was surfeited with ginger bread, cider
and other District Fair delicacies, he importuned the uncle for more.
Finally the uncle impatiently handed him two cents, "So there go eat
ginger bread till you bust." Uncle Joe celebrated his victory all
afternoon. When he advised Alfred that they would soon start home and
that he could ride behind him on Black Fan, Alfred slid down and
requested a neighboring farmer to permit him to ride home in his dead
axe wagon.

Uncle Joe did not get home until very late, claiming that he did not
know that Alfred had gone before and that he was searching the fair
grounds for him. Alfred's aunt gently chided him and advised that when
he went anywhere with his uncle thereafter he must remain until his
uncle came, but to urge his uncle to come early.

Uncle Joe was very sick the next day. Aunt Betsy said it served him
right. She hoped he'd "puke his innards out." Alfred was busy carrying
the afflicted man water by the gourdful from the spring. Uncle Joe would
not permit him to bring it in a pail: he wanted it cold and fresh.

"Dip her deep, son," he would say as he emptied the gourd and sent the
boy for more.

The sufferer grew worse and finally Aunt Betsy's womanly sympathy
impelled her to go to the sick man. She began by saying:

"I oughtn't to lift a hand to help you. Any man that will pour licker
down his stomach until he throws it up is a hog and nothing else."

Catching a whiff of that which had come up, she turned up her nose and
contemptuously continued:

"I don't see how any one can put that stuff down them."

She held her nose and turned her head in disgust. The sick man raised
his head and feebly answered:

"Well, it don't taste that way going down. Go away and let me die in
peace. I deserve to die alone; I don't want any of ye to pity me. Just
bury me is all I ask."

[Illustration: She Asked Him If He Were Not Afraid to Die]

The woman's sympathy entirely overcome her anger as the man well knew it
would. She begged to be permitted to do something for him. He was
obdurate. He was "not worthy of being saved"; all he desired was to "die
alone and be forgotten."

She asked him if he were not afraid to die.

"No, no" he answered, "I'm not afraid to die but I'm ashamed to."

Feeling his heart was softening, she begged to do something to relieve
him, a cold towel for his head or hot tea for his stomach. No, nothing
could do him any good, so he declared.

"If you don't have something done for you, you might die."

"Let me die, but if I ever get over this one, it's the last for Joe. I
hope every still house in Fayette County will burn down afore night and
all the whiskey ever made destroyed."

The wife exulted greatly at these words and renewed her entreaties to do
something for him.

"Well, if you insist on doing something for me", and he hesitated, "but
I know it will do no good--go down to the kitchen, fill a big coffee cup
half full of bilin' hot water, dissolve a lump of loaf sugar in it, drop
in a little lump of butter 'bout as big as a robin's egg. Then reach up
in the old cupboard in the hall, top shelf and way back in the corner,
you'll find a big, black bottle. Pour quite a lot out of this bottle
into the cup, fill it up. Grate a little nutmeg into it and fetch it up
yar."

Then holding his hands to his head as if suffering great pain, dropping
his voice to a faint whisper as if he were about to collapse, he said:

"Bring it up here and if I don't want to take it you jes' make me."

Not long afterwards the whole neighborhood was talking of the conversion
of Uncle Joe and the day of his baptism marked an epoch in that section.
The lion and the lamb were roaming together. Old Bill Colvin and Uncle
Joe were making cider on the shares. Many were the strange tales told
of how the conversion of Uncle Joe came about.

The day of baptism saw the largest gathering in the history of Red Stone
meeting house. Alfred, Cousin Charley and all the country folks round
about were there and many from town. Many were the conjectures made by
the idle gossipers as to whether Joe would hold out. Tom Porter
prophesied that the first time Joe got on a tear he would lick the
preacher. Billy Hickman, the preacher, was a mite of a man, while Uncle
Joe was a giant in comparison.

[Illustration: Alfred's Ride]

Uncle Joe had never been ducked or put under water but once, that the
writer knows of. It was sheep-washing time. The sheep in a pen on the
bank of the creek. Uncle Joe and another man in the creek up to their
middles washing the sheep. Alfred and another boy in the pen catching
the sheep dragging them to the bank as the workers called for another
sheep. There was one old bell-wether that was too strong for the boys.
After futile attempts to drag him to the creek Alfred decided to ride
him. Jumping astride of the animal it made frantic efforts to free
itself from the burden. Round the pen, bleating and panting it ran. It
started for the creek and from a height of several feet it plunged,
hitting Uncle Joe square between the shoulders.

[Illustration: They All Follow]

Its weight and Alfred's sent the powerful man under the water. Where one
sheep leads another will follow. As he attempted to rise, sheep after
sheep hit him on head or back. Under he went again as often as he arose
until the whole herd were out of the pen.

This experience probably accounted for Uncle Joe's actions the day of
the baptism. Grouped on the banks of the creek, in fence corners, some
lying on the grass under the red haw trees, were the rabble--all there
out of curiosity.

Standing near the creek, chanting a familiar hymn as only an earnest
congregation of good people can sing, were the church members. Walking
slowly from the church was the preacher and Uncle Joe, the disparity in
their size all the more marked as they waded into the water.

Uncle Joe seemed ill at ease and it appeared as though he was sort of
holding back. By the time the minister was in up to his middle, the
water only flowed about Uncle Joe's knees. The little preacher paused,
folded Uncle Joe's hands across his breast. Uncle Joe looked behind him
as much as to say:

"It's a long ways down to the water."

The minister began the solemn baptismal service. At the last word he
attempted to lay Uncle Joe back, immersing him in the usual manner but
Uncle Joe resisted. Alfred said afterwards he "knowed Uncle Joe was
skeered, that Hickman couldn't rise him up after he got him under."
Alfred explained that it was hard to keep from strangling when you went
down backwards. "That's the way I nearly drowned. They ought to baptize
'em forward," was his conclusion.

The silence was oppressive. The minister sort of squirmed around and
began the service over. At the last word he made another effort to
immerse the sinner. Again his strength was insufficient, both men
jostled around.

Sam Craft, who was watching the proceeding from a fence corner, at the
failure of the second attempt to dip the penitent, drawled in a voice
thick with hard cider:

"Trip--him--Bill--dam--him--trip--him."

Uncle Joe quickly took hold of his nose with thumb and finger; stooping,
he put his face under water to his ears, left the preacher standing in
the creek as he rushed out, not to the church members but to his old
cronies, until led to his proper place among the congregation.

The conversion of Uncle Joe made Aunt Betsy happy. Alfred had liberties
he never enjoyed previously. He rode Billy, the pony, when and where he
chose. He ran rabbits, chased through the woods until the scant wardrobe
he brought from home was in rags and tatters.

The great Civil War had just begun. All the country was marching
mad--soldiers passing and repassing along the pike. Aunt Betsy and Lacy
Hare, the hired girl, decided that Alfred should have a soldier's suit
that would surprise the natives. Neither had ever been blessed with
children, neither had ever attempted to make a garment such as they
fashioned in their minds for Alfred.

The original that Alfred's suit was patterned after was a military
uniform worn by John Stevenson in the War of 1848 between Mexico and the
United States.

As the faded garment was brought from the garret and Alfred, with
wood-ashes and vinegar brightened up the ornaments and medals, he
thought John had been a mighty general, judging from the medals he wore.
When he learned John was only a fifer his admiration for him greatly
increased and often he coaxed John to play the old tunes that cheered
the warriors on to victory in the many battles John graphically
described not recorded in history.

Lacy with a pair of sheep shears cut out the coat, while Aunt Betsy held
the pattern down on the heavy grey cloth. The goods were of the
home-made quality, known as "linsey-woolsey," a material worn by farmers
almost universally in those days. The household scissors were too dull
to cut it, hence the sheep shears were pressed into service by Lacy.

The coat cut, Alfred had to stand out in the entry while the women used
his nether garments to pattern by. The door a little ajar, Alfred
impatiently watched the two women cut out the pants. Lacy remarked,
after he had asked for his pants twice:

"Land sakes! Have a little patience. You climb trees, run through
thickets, till you're rags and tatters, and I hope when we get these
clothes done you'll settle down and save them to wear when you go
anywhar."

The women decided, or rather endeavored, to make the suit after the cut
of the uniforms worn by the soldiers. Lacy insisted that a blouse would
not look well on Alfred and it was decided to make him a jacket at the
bottom "close fittin'" as Lacy expressed it.

Nothing like this suit was ever seen before or after the war. Angles and
folds were, where should have been smoothness; too short at the bottom,
too high at the top, too tight where they should have been loose and
vice versa. The jacket was short in the waist and high in the neck. Lacy
remarked as they basted the thing that there seemed too much cloth in
some parts but she thought it would take up in the sewing. The surplus
cloth in the west side of the pants hung to the boy's calves, covering
the limbs that far down. Therefore, it was difficult to decide at a
distance where the jacket ended and the pants began. In fact, the boy,
from a backside view at a little distance, seemed to be wearing a
long-tailed coat.

Going from you, Alfred looked like a grown man; coming towards you he
looked more natural. Wherever there appeared a bunch or angle that
seemed out of place, Lacy endeavored to modify the over abundance by
tacking on one of the ornaments taken from the old uniform of which a
great number were used. The shoulders of the jacket seemed to fit to
suit Lacy, therefore she used the epaulets from the shoulders of the old
soldier's uniform elsewhere. The seat of the pants hanging so low, Lacy
said looked too bare, whereupon she tacked the epaulets on that part of
the pants, with the yellow and red fringe hanging down.

There was a very large lump resembling "Richard the Third's" hump; on
this Lacy perched a brass eagle with wings spread as if about to fly off
with the coat. Red and yellow stripes ran up and down the outside seam
of the pants.

Lacy said they "looked so purty it was a shame the folds of the cloth
kivered so much of the stripe"; she "allowed it was too bad that more of
the folds had not found their way into the seat of the pants cos it
wa'n't noticed there, the epaulets hid it."

Lacy had such a great quantity of this yellow and red material, she
insisted on running a double row around the cuffs of the coat and
around the bottom of the pants. Aunt Betsy gently dissented but Lacy
seemed the moving spirit in the project and the elder woman deferred to
her. The aunt said the only fear she had was that folks might think the
suit too gaudy. Aunt Betsy said she feared they had not sewed the braid
on straight or the pants wouldn't pucker so at the knees.

All the ornaments, space could not be found for elsewhere, were tacked
on the cap. The vizor or brim was the only disappointment to the women.
No stiff leather procurable, they used cardboard and blackened it with
shoe polish. This soon broke and crumpled. Lacy remarked:

"The blame rim spiles the whole outfit."

It dangled in Alfred's eyes all the time, hence he generally wore the
vizor behind.

The soldier clothes were to Alfred a thing of beauty and joy until he
went to town. Alfred collected all the country boys he could enlist and
called them the "Red Stone Blues." He found an old, rusty sword, its
scabbard a load, yet he carried it wherever he went. Others of his
company had corn cutters, old scythes and muskets.

Alfred attempted to drill the boys as he had seen the home guards and
Sam Graham's Zouaves do in town. Two old stove pipes were mounted on
wheels for cannon.

It was Alfred's ambition to ride at the head of his command as did the
commander of the Ringold Cavalry, but Lacy had attached the epaulets to
the seat of Alfred's trousers as they came from the shoulders of the old
coat, and the tin shape frames prevented Alfred assuming any attitude
while in the uniform than that of standing. When Alfred spoke to Lacy as
to the advisability of changing the location of the epaulets she
explained that they had nothing suitable to replace them. When Alfred
complained he could not sit down, Lacy said:

"Law sakes, you shouldn't think of it. Them 'air things are too purty to
kiver up."

The battle of Bull Run had been fought. The country was ablaze with
excitement, war and rumors of war, war stories, war talk. Everybody was
up in arms, soldiers moving everywhere, as the locality was not far from
where battles were soon expected.

Uncle Joe and Aunt Betsy went to town to hear the news. Alfred, left
alone, marshalled his hosts in battle array.

In the romance of Pierce Forrest, a young knight being dubbed by King
Alexander, he was so elated he galloped into the woods, cut and slashed
trees until he eased his effervescence and convinced the army he was a
most courageous soldier.

Alfred at the head of his army, strode down the column as Jupiter is
said to have strode down the spheres as he hurled his thunderbolts at
the Titans.

Alfred and his army charged and recharged, Uncle Joe's hedge fence. On
and on they charged, coming on the enemy standing ten deep in line,
asking or giving no quarter; the enemy fell bruised and bleeding. Every
stalk of Uncle Joe's broom corn patch lay on the ground, not one stalk
standing to tell the tale.

How vain are the baubles of war. Alfred standing in the midst of the
field of slaughter--he could not sit down--heard a roar that froze his
hot blood and scattered his army to the winds of anywhere and to the
thickets.

Uncle Joe, returning, had witnessed the slaughter of his broom corn from
the top of the hill by the big shell-bark hickory nut trees. His yells
not only struck terror to Alfred's heart but Black Fan and other stock
broke from the fields into the big road where they stood trembling.

[Illustration: Alfred's Redstone Blues]

Lacy said she hadn't heard Uncle Joe chirp since he was baptized. When
he hit his finger with a hammer she felt certain he would "break out,"
but he stuck to his religion.

As he crossed the apex of the hill and saw the broom corn falling before
Alfred and his minions, the roar that floated across the flat sounded
very much like:

"Whatinthehellanddamnationdoesthismean?"

When Alfred saw Ajax drawing nearer, his sword fell from his hand and
Alfred fell on the broom corn, an object of abject fear. Ajax grabbed
him by the nape of the neck and seat of his uniform, nearly ruining one
of the epaulets.

Never was warrior so ignobly driven or dragged from a field of victory.
Aunt Betsy could find no excuse for Alfred. Broom corn was a necessity
in the household work. Every farmer made his own brooms.

After a very short trial by court martial it was decided that the
country was too quiet for Alfred and that he should be transferred to
town at once.

Although tried and found guilty, Alfred, to his delight, was permitted
to retain his side-arms and wear his uniform. The next day, standing
between Aunt Betsy and Uncle Joe in the old buggy driving the old mare,
he began the journey home. He was arrayed in full regimentals, the brim
of the cap turned behind, his yellow hair hanging in strings, (it had
never been curled since he went to the country).

Everyone they met cast admiring glances at Alfred's uniform. The aunt
was proud of the attention attracted. Passing through Sandy Hollow, Sid
Gaskill, the roughest girl in the neighborhood, motioned the buggy to
stop. As Sid inspected Alfred she requested him to turn around. Looking
him over she asked:

"Who made 'em?" referring to the uniform.

Alfred promptly replied:

"Lacy Hare helped Aunt Betsy make 'em."

The aunt's face showed her satisfaction. Not even when Sid inquired if
the clothes were made to wear in a show did the aunt's pride in Alfred's
suit diminish, although the inference is that it was the military
character of the clothes rather than the cloth or fit, she was proud of,
as Aunt Betsy was very patriotic.

All the way to town she was picturing what a surprise the suit would be
to Mary and John, and it was.

Alfred was driving the old mare as she had not been driven in years.
Uncle Joe made him slow down. Uncle Joe sometimes exceeded the speed
limit leaving town but usually went in at a respectable gait.

Alfred's desire to see the loved ones at home was so strong that he
jumped out of the buggy as they entered the town. Running ahead of the
buggy he passed Uncle Bill's: Waving a welcome to Martha and Hester, who
stood in the front yard, he regarded their laughter as evidence of their
pleasure at seeing him back home again.

When Martha shouted, "What devilment are you up to now?" he never
imagined it was his appearance that so amused the girls.

Over the fence, across lots to the rear of the house he scampered. Lin
was out mopping the floor of the back porch. Perched on the top of the
fence he caught sight of her.

"Hello, Lin? How-dye?"

Lin heard the voice. She did not recognize the speaker at once.

"Hello, Lin?" he shouted again.

Lin shaded her eyes, gazed hard at the boy, dropped the mop, and Alfred
heard her call:

"My Gawd, Mary! Come out here, quick!"

The mother appeared as Alfred neared the house. Looking curiously at
him, she covered her face with her apron and began to laugh. Lin ran
into the house screaming and laughing. The boy stood abashed. The mother
motioned him to approach her, pushing him into the house. She obtained a
view of the rear of the warrior's uniform and a fresh outburst of
laughter prevented her even speaking to him. Lin and the mother clasped
each other in their arms as they swayed, weakened with laughter. Lin was
the first to recover her speech. The boy's feelings were hurt.

"Where's your regular clothes?" Lin first asked, "you bin in a-swimmin'
agin and lost 'em, I reckon."

The children came romping home from school, Sister Lizzie rolled on the
floor as she caught sight of the boy and asked Lin, between screams:
"Who dressed brother Al up like that?"

The mother ordered him to remain in the room until they got other
clothes for him. They did not want the neighbors to see him dressed as
he was.

The boy's spirit began to assert itself.

"Laugh, if you feel like it. Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy made me these
clothes, they're regular soldier clothes. I'll bet if you laugh at them
when Aunt Betsy comes she will tell you something. I don't see nothin'
to laugh at."

"Landsakes," spoke up Lin, "step in the parlor and look at yerself. Ef
you don't laugh you're not the kind I took ye fer."

Alfred did laugh and he got out of the clothes mighty quickly. Lin was
delegated to explain to Aunt Betsy why they changed Alfred's clothes so
quickly.

Aunt Betsy informed them:

"The boy had jes' romped until he was most naked. They didn't want to
send to town for clothes for him, so Lacy and her jes' banded together
and made him the suit. They had plenty of time and they concluded to
make him a suit different from any other boy's. And it warn't much
trouble to trim it up and make it nice rather than to make it plain. It
took two days more to trim it than it did to make it."

Lin told the good, honest soul they could not think of Alfred wearing
the clothes every day in town. "We'll keep 'em off him 'til the next
battle and when the peepul are all sad over their friends that's been
killed, we'll dress him up and send him down the street."

Many years afterwards, the writer, rummaging through the garret of the
old home, the odd garments fashioned by Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy were
discovered. Recollections of the mirth they aroused when first brought
to the notice of the family, prompted the carrying of the old musty
outfit to the sitting room below.

But somehow the odd looking suit failed to excite any merriment. It was
rather regarded with reverence. The sight of it sent the thoughts of all
traveling back to other and happier days. The mother thought of those
whose kindly hands had fashioned the fantastic garments; of an elder
sister who had filled a mother's place in the family. She remembered a
happy home, its like unknown in all the country about, where hospitality
was liberally dispensed, visitors always welcome. She thought of the
first wife's passing, the coming of another to the big house. The
lowering of the family name by the second marriage. The shunning of the
old home by friends and relatives; of the rapid decline of the master;
evil associates whom he preferred to those who had honored and loved
him; the estrangement of family and friends.

In her mind she could see in him a bent old man, prematurely old,
leaving his home to seek shelter with strangers, lost to the sight of
former friends, his whereabouts known only when the final summons came
to him; his identity made known by his last request:

"I have left money with George Gallagher to bury me. Bury me beside
Betsy."

And in her mind she saw two graves side by side, one with a marker
reading "My Beloved Wife," the other unmarked.

The mother softly said as she folded the coat and nether garments:

"Put them away again."




CHAPTER SEVEN

    Backward, turn backward, oh, time in your flight,
    Make me a child again, just for tonight.


"Help is mighty skeerse an' ye got to take what ye kin git," was Lin's
answer to the query of a neighbor as to why they had re-employed Cousin
Charley after the confusion he had created in the family of Alfred.

Cousin Charley was sent to the country on an errand that was supposed to
consume a couple of hours.

It was Circus day. The head of the family gave the boys sufficient money
to pay their way from side-show to concert.

That they might not miss any of the sights of Circus day, Charley
arranged with Lin to serve breakfast by 5 a. m., to give him an early
start, enabling him to return by 8 o'clock and take Alfred to the circus
grounds to remain all day, the custom of the country folk in those days.

Many families brought their lunch with them and picnicked on the show
grounds. Among them was Abner Linn, a large man noted for his appetite
and great strength. Abner was making his way through the crowd on Circus
day, clearing a path, as it were, for his delicate little wife and more
than half a dozen children. The frail little woman carried a large
basket filled with eatables. The basket was more than a load and the
little woman struggled to keep near her muscular husband. Glancing back
and noticing the wife faltering, he relieved her of the basket and
started forward at a faster walk than before.

Gentle Harry Mason admiringly complimented him by saying:

"Abner, that was very kind and thoughtful of you to carry that heavy
basket for your wife."

Ab, with a leer, said: "Gosh, I was afeard she'd get lost."

Alfred cried to go to the country with Charley. Lin said:

"Ye'll be so tired ye can't enjoy the show ef ye walk out thar an' back
so early in the mornin'."

Go Alfred would. Up Town Hill, through Sandy Hollow, through the old
toll gate to Thornton's Lane where the boys were to turn off the old
pike. But they did not turn off. They lingered under the big locust
trees throwing stones at birds and against the high fence surrounding
the Fair Grounds where Black Fan had won her famous race. The circus was
coming in on the old pike from Uniontown. All circus travel was overland
in those days.

Cousin Charley argued if they did not see the show come in they'd miss
one of the big sights of the day: they had plenty of time. The show
would pass that way soon and Alfred was only too willing to linger.

The dew, sparkling like diamonds as it lay on grass and plant, had
disappeared; a summer's sun was pouring its direct rays on the old pike.
Cousin Charley prevailed on the younger boy to continue the journey
further eastward on the pike until they met the wagons. Cousin Charley
explained that he was familiar with a short cut to their destination,
and as they crossed the creek they would have a swim.

This met with the hearty approval of Alfred. The boys walked out the old
highway, passing Captain Abram's fine farm where Charley had dug
potatoes on the shares, on beyond Uncle Jack's big stone house, nearly
to Redstone School-house ere the circus wagons were met. As the wagons
rolled by, the boys conjectured as to what each contained. There were no
animal vans as the menagerie had not combined with the circus in those
days. The big, gold-mounted band wagon, followed by a dozen passenger
wagons, buggies and hacks, a half dozen led ring horses and ponies,
passed, and the cavalcade was lost in the dust.

Striking across the fields the boys were soon on the banks of Dunlap's
Creek. Instead of the gently flowing stream in which they expected to
bathe their heated bodies, they found a raging, muddy torrent, fast
flowing, spreading over bottom lands, water half way up the stalks of
the growing corn.

Cousin Charley declared the water too muddy for bathing purposes; but he
would undress, construct a raft of the plentiful rails that had lodged
along the banks of the creek, and seating Alfred on the raft, he would
swim, pushing the raft across the creek.

Cousin Charley began constructing the raft near the creek bank proper,
where the water was backed into the field. He dragged the rails through
the water, sometimes lying down and swimming, at other times diving
under the water. Alfred could not resist the temptation to undress and
assist with the raft.

[Illustration: The Life Raft]

When completed, Cousin Charley seated Alfred on the top of the raft, the
clothing of both boys being piled on his lap that they might not get
wet. The raft was pushed off, Cousin Charley insisting that he was a
stern wheel tow boat, kicking his feet out of the water to imitate the
splash of the wheel. The boat did not make great headway but backed and
went ahead as the raft floated down the creek. The banks were steeper on
either side, therefore, the tow boat decided to go down the stream a
little further ere landing. In fact, the towboat was having such a good
time he did not fully realize the current was carrying his tow rapidly
towards the old mill dam. Neither did the passenger on the raft realize
this until he noticed a changed expression on the face of the tow boat.
He further realized that the tow boat was laboring powerfully.

In rounding a bend in the stream the tow actually swung around in the
current, the tow boat not having power to prevent it. The younger boy
for the first time noticed the roaring of the old dam, a fact the boy
doing the towing had been aware of and terribly worried over for some
time.

In his excitement, the younger boy stood up on the raft.

"Set down! Set down!" frantically yelled the boy in the water.

Another alarming fact presented itself at this juncture. Several of the
under rails had worked out and were only connected to the raft by one
end. This caused the raft to settle on the port side and the younger boy
could no longer keep his seat, fearing he would tumble off backwards
into the stream.

The boys became more and more excited, the roar of the old dam grew
nearer and nearer. Louder and louder came the noise of the waters
tumbling over it. Both boys pictured themselves being swept over the dam
into the whirlpool below. No victim of Niagara's treacherous tides ever
neared his doom with greater terror. Down, down, floated rails and
cargo; Cousin Charley struggling as he never did before; Alfred
screaming as he never did before or since.

When Cousin Charley began shouting for help, the younger boy became
hysterical. The roar of the rushing water seemed to drown all other
sounds and Cousin Charley's voice, though he shouted at the top of his
lungs' strength, sounded to Alfred's ears like a voice in the distance.

"Set down! Set down! For God's sake, set down! You'll fall off. Set
down!" yelled Cousin Charley.

Instead of obeying, Alfred clambered higher and higher on the rails,
waving his shirt frantically and shouting for help. The shirt served as
a signal of distress.

Morg Gaskill was in the field above the Young House. He saw the shirt
waving. The roar of the waters drowned the boys' voices. Gaskill,
rushing to the saw-mill, grabbed a log hook and ran up the banks of the
creek.

The boys could see the break of the water as it rushed over the crest of
the dam and the white, foamy splashes as it bounded up from where it
fell below. Cousin Charley was barely holding on to the tow; Alfred was
sinking down on the almost disintegrated raft.

Gaskill, muscular and active, rushed into the water up to his middle,
shot the pole out. The hook caught over the rails, but they pulled out.
Alfred fell on them as the raft drifted apart. Down went all of
Charley's wearing apparel excepting his big straw hat and one shoe which
Alfred clutched unconsciously in one hand. As Alfred fell forward on the
rails he grabbed the hook or pole and held on for dear life as Gaskill
pulled him ashore, more dead than alive.

The elder boy was floated off holding onto two rails. It was but a
moment until the strong young man had both lads ashore. They dragged the
hook along the bottom of the creek but not a vestige of the clothes of
either could be found. Charley had one shoe and a large straw hat.
Alfred had a shirt, rather long, and a hat.

Explanations were gone into. Gaskill went into the house, returning with
an old rubber boot, a calico shirt and a pair of corduroy pants. Many
patches made their original material a matter of doubt. He explained
that was the best he could do for Charley and said:

"I don't know what we will do for the chap," scanning Alfred, "unless he
wears one of Hannah's dresses," which Cousin Charley endeavored to
persuade Alfred to do.

Alfred declared he would sneak home as best he could with only the
shirt. The boy realized that Cousin Charley would never cease teasing
him if he wore the dress.

Alfred's body was covered with mud, Cousin Charley insisted that he go
down to the water's brink and wash the mud from his body but Alfred
could not be prevailed upon to go near the creek.

A large pail of very cold water was fetched from the well. With a
mischievousness little short of cruelty, the water was poured on
Alfred's head, streaming down over his body, his teeth chattered, his
lips turned blue.

The women folks of the house were coming, so Alfred ran into the high
grass to hide; while Cousin Charley and Gaskill renewed their search of
the creek for the lost clothes. The house had been searched and nothing
suitable to clothe Alfred could be found. There were no boys in the
family.

There was a whispered consultation and one of the women hastened to the
house. Returning, she handed Gaskill a white linen garment. He walked
towards Alfred, his face distorted, endeavoring to suppress his
laughter.

Gaskill, unrolling the something made of muslin, commanded Alfred to get
into it. As he put one foot through the upheld opening, he caught sight
of Cousin Charley's face and his attempted concealment of laughter. This
so exasperated Alfred that he did not notice the garment he was being
encased in. He upbraided Cousin Charley for his unseemly levity:

"Yes, laugh, you durn big fool! Laugh! You was skeered more than I was.
Dog-gone ye, it was all your fault. If we had drowned you would have
been to blame, then I reckon you'd laughed tuther side of your mouth.
You big fool, you."

By this time Gaskill had the muslin garment fastened on Alfred. The
waistband, which was too wide, Gaskill doubled over and pinned it. The
legs were the same size all the way down, extending only a little below
the knees. The seat seemed to have a surplus similar to the uniform
Lacy Hare had fashioned, although this part of the garment stood off
from his person, not clinging like the heavy material of the military
clothes.

Alfred, surveying himself as they walked towards the house where Mr.
Young had invited them to have a bite of dinner, "after their skeer,"
began to realize that the linen garments he wore were similar to those
that Lin washed last and never hung on the line in the front yard where
the men came in. This discovery did not prevent him laughing at himself.

[Illustration: "I Won't Go Through Town with Them Things On"]

Alfred hesitatingly entered the house. Gaskill and Cousin Charley were
tittering and laughing. Gaskill inquired: "Well, how are you going to
git home?"

Charley replied: "I reckon I'll have to hide him out 'til after dark or
send him on ahead for, by the eternal, I won't go through town with him
with them things on."

Old Mrs. Young, gently leading the abashed boy to the table, spoke words
of assurance, reproving the men for their levity.

The Youngs were of the Dunkard faith, a religious sect numerous in the
vicinity.

On their way home Alfred was the more hilarious of the two. In a spirit
of bravado he declared he intended to walk right down the main street
crowded as it would be on circus day. He further declared his intention
to tell Pap and Mother the whole story--just how it happened.

Alfred seemed to have the better of the bigger and older boy. In fact,
during the past year Alfred had been gradually gaining the mastery of
Cousin Charley insofar as mind was concerned.

It has been said that each mind has its own method, no two reason and
think alike. Alfred seemed to think quicker than Cousin Charley and
often turned the tables on the older boy in a mental contest. On this
occasion Cousin Charley finally gained the mastery by his threats not to
take the younger boy to the circus.

It was agreed that Cousin Charley should tell the folks of the day's
adventure. As they neared home their mirth diminished as their fears
increased: how to run the gauntlet, as it were. So far they had avoided
the highways, skulking through thicket and fields. As they neared the
old Smouse place, now occupied by Mart Massie as a dairy farm, the
milkman was hitching up preparatory to making his usual rounds.

Cousin Charley, perhaps feeling it would be a good rehearsal, recounted
the story he had concocted to relate to Alfred's parents. The milkman
was greatly interested in the thrilling narrative and consented to store
the boys in the back end of the milk wagon, delivering them when he
delivered the milk to their folks. The boys thought it a very long milk
route. Alfred had Cousin Charley as nearly nervous as his nature would
permit by more than once threatening to get out and walk home.

When they neared home, passing through Church Street, Alfred made a move
to leave the wagon, crawling over the end gate backwards, his limbs
dangling outside, his head and body hid by the closely drawn curtains.
Cousin Charley, after struggling, pulled him into the wagon under cover.

[Illustration: "If Ye Ain't Lyin' About This and I'm Hopin' Ye Air"]

Several women had caught sight of the limbs and the unmentionable
garments. While the driver was entirely ignorant of the cause, he was
forever disgraced on this part of his route. An old Scotch lady declared
to several of her neighbors the "shameless hussy was bare to the kilt."

Arriving in front of Alfred's home, Cousin Charley hustled him into the
house the front way as Lin came up the path from the back part of the
house in answer to the bell of the milkman, who was of the gossiping
kind, and managed to give Lin the outlines of Cousin Charley's story as
he drew the milk and cream from his large cans.

Lin could scarcely wait until he poured the milk into her pitcher.
Giving the milk vendor a withering look, she slammed the gate and
hissed:

"I'll bet a fippennybit that's another of Charley's durn lies."

Hurrying into the kitchen she seized a rolling pin, her favorite weapon.
Two stairs at a time she bounded, reaching the room where Cousin Charley
had related about half of the harassing details of the rescue of Alfred.
This was his story:

"He had stopped to rest. Alfred got out of his sight in some way. He
heard screams from the creek. He saw Alfred floating down the stream on
a log which he had been paddling around in the shallow water. It was but
the work of a moment to disrobe. Plunging into the raging torrent he had
to swim for dear life to overtake the fast floating boy on the log. He
had just managed to land him before the dam was reached. A moment later
and they would both have been carried over the dam to certain
destruction."

The mother was faint with nervousness and sadly shook her head as she
said:

"That boy will be the death of me yet. His disobedience is something I
cannot understand. No wonder his father is out of patience with him."

Lin was watching Charley closely, occasionally casting side glances at
Alfred. She had a gleam in her eyes that made Charley falter more than
once in his narration.

Charley was still in the details when Lin interrupted him with:

"Durn yer pictur', ye nivir take this boy anywhar yer not back with a
cock and bull story. Next ye'll be fightin' Injuns or gypsies to save
Alfurd and it all amounts to Alfurd gittin' whupped an' somethin, fer ye
to laff over."

Here she brandished the rolling pin over Charley, raising herself higher
as the boy shrank from her threatening motions.

"Ef ye ain't lyin' 'bout this, an' I'm hopin' ye air, we ought to be
mighty thankful to ye. But I'm boun' to hev the truth. Set down, or I'll
knock ye down."

"'Al-f-u-r-d,' I want ye to stan' up like a little man. Ye nivir tol' me
a lie 'cept when ye stol' us hungry carryin' vittles to this houn'," as
she pointed to the thoroughly frightened Charley, who whined:

"That's all the thanks I git for risking my life."

"Shet up," Lin almost yelled, "ye'll not tell one word of this to Mr.
Hatfield."

"Stan' up 'Al-f-u-r-d' an' look this helgrimite in the face an' shame
the devil. Didn't he push ye in the creek?"

"No, ma'am," falteringly. "I went in myself."

Charley began to look triumphant.

"Did he pull you out?"

"No, ma'am, Morg Gaskill pulled us both out."

Lin fairly hissed: "I knowed ye was lyin'."

Thus encouraged, Alfred graphically related the adventures of the day,
not omitting any of the details save the dangling of his limbs out of
the milk wagon.

Charley was taken aback and thereafter his credibility was destroyed in
so far as the mother and Lin were concerned. He pouted and endeavored to
deny portions of the younger boy's recital but was met with such
positive assertions from Alfred that he retired entirely discomfited.

Lin's only comment was: "Durn ye; I'd be afeard to put my head in a
circus, much less a church." Lin looked upon one with as much reverence
as the other.

The boys missed the afternoon performance but were there early for the
night show. At the opening note of the hand organ in the side-show
Cousin Charley and Alfred were inside. The orator had eloquently
described the curiosities pictured on the long line of banners in front
of the side-show. But the most alluring object had not been mentioned,
namely, a long show case filled with jewelry, symbolic numbers, bank
notes of all denominations. A dice box on top of the glass-covered case
was the means by which the yokels were assured they could extract the
jewelry, bank notes, etc.

The father had given Charley ample funds to cover admission fees to all
shows and a liberal allowance for refreshments. Alfred was very much
interested in the big snake and the lady whom the lecturer introduced as
a snake charmer.

The lecturer announced that the performance was over, but another would
be given in fifteen minutes. All those wishing to remain for the next
performance were privileged to do so. Those congregated around the show
case whereon the dice rattled were the only ones to remain.

Alfred heard the man behind the case saying: "Try your luck again, young
man. You were within one number of the capital prize. You can't win it
every time. Try again."

Charley did try again and again. He did not win the capital prize but in
lieu of $4 he had two brass rings, a pair of brass cuff buttons and a
lead pencil with a sharpener on the end of it.

The shades of night were falling. The lights in the big tent could be
seen over the side wall. Hundreds of candles on a pyramid-shaped
candelabra made of boards. Think of it, ye modern Ringlings, candles the
only lights!

The band playing, Alfred imagined the show going on: the horses going
around. All the glories and beauties he had been anticipating for weeks
would be lost to him. He implored Cousin Charley to hurry up and
purchase their tickets.

Hundreds were buying tickets. The big red wagon was open, the ticket
seller handling the pasteboards with lightning-like rapidity. It was Ben
Lusbie. He was the lightning ticket seller of the circus world. Such was
his dexterity that Forepaugh afterwards lithographed him as an
attraction.

Alfred's urgent appeals to "hurry and get our tickets" were lost upon
Cousin Charley. He was seemingly dazed. The man at the big door shouted:
"Everybody hold their own ticket; all must have tickets."

The hustle and confusion made Alfred still more impatient. He gave the
older boy's arm a rough jerk as he urged him to get their tickets.
Cousin Charley seemed to wake up and the awful truth was
revealed--Cousin Charley had been robbed. Alfred must stand right there
until he took the jewelry back to the side show and recovered his money.

Alfred stood right there. Hundreds passed him, laughing and crowding
into the big show. The longer Alfred waited the more miserable he
became. Despair came over him. He waited, Cousin Charley did not come.
The crowd thinned out; deeper and deeper Alfred's heart sank within him.

Anger began to take the place of disappointment. He would beat Cousin
Charley black and blue with the first thing he could lay his hands on.
He would expose all he had been concealing in a hundred mean things
Charley had been guilty of.

The band played louder in the big tent. The feeling that he was missing
all came back to him stronger than ever, bringing the hot tears to his
eyes. They rolled down his cheeks until it seemed they would dampen the
earth at his feet.

Alfred saw a large man pushing his way to the ticket wagon. It was
Doctor Bob Playford, the biggest whole-souled friend any boy ever had.
When the circus came, it was the custom of Bob Playford to wait until
the crowd got in, then, collecting all the boys on the lot who could not
command the price of admission, make a contract with the door-keeper and
put them all in the show.

There are scores of men now, boys then, whose prayers have gone up that
kind hearted Bob Playford found it as easy to enter the gates above as
he made it for them to enter that heaven to a boy below--the circus.

Alfred knew full well that Doctor Playford would buy him a ticket but
his pride would not permit him to ask this.

Accompanying the Doctor were Willie Playford, his son, and Bob Kennedy,
his nephew. The boys, recognizing Alfred, asked if he were going in the
show. Endeavoring to swallow a big lump in his throat, his voice choked
as he answered: "No."

"Were you there this afternoon?"

Again Alfred answered: "No."

No longer able to restrain himself he told of Charley's folly. The
Doctor, approaching, Alfred's story was repeated, as it progressed,
Alfred's sobbing and crying increased.

The Doctor, giving him a sympathetic look and a rough shake, said: "Now
stop crying, stop crying, you dam little fool. When the circus comes to
town you always come to me and I'll see that you get in."

The big Doctor, Alfred and the boys were seated long before the
performance began, Alfred forgetting Cousin Charley, the raft, the
garments he had dangled out of the milk wagon; in fact all the trials
and tribulations of life were as fleeting dreams. Happiness lingered
within his whole being. The sights and wonders, the clowns were all
flitting before him. The evening was one of bewilderment and enchantment
to the boy.

The old clown was his especial delight. He fairly shouted at his quips
and antics. When the mules were brought in and $5 offered to the boy or
man who could ride one of them, Alfred was tempted to make the trial. He
felt certain he could do better than those who were being cast off like
babies by the agile animals.

The show over, they started with the crowd toward the door. A whistle
sounded, the walls of the tent fell as if by magic. The Doctor and the
boys stood a long time watching the tents lowered.

As they passed up the narrow passage leading from the show lot to the
street, Cousin Charley met them, his appearance evidencing his shame and
disappointment. The Doctor began chiding him.

Charley, in his illuminating way, explained that he went into the side
show, and the man coaxed him to shake the dice. He shook and came within
one every time he shook of winning the capital prize. He left the game,
was induced to go back and shake again and the first dash out of the box
he won the capital prize. They refused to give it to him, grabbed the
money he had in his hand and put him out of the tent. He had been up on
the hill to see Squire Wilkinson to swear out a warrant for their arrest
but the Squire was at prayer-meeting. (They always have prayer meeting
when the circus comes to town). He ran back to find the man who took his
money.

"If I'd found him, I'd licked him or he'd licked me," concluded Charley.

The big Doctor playfully straightened out his powerful arm, pushing
Charley backwards. Gazing at him in a humorously contemptuous manner as
he said:

"Look here, my boy, you lie. You were gambling? No one but a country
Jake would try to beat that game. I lost two dollars on that eight dice
case myself. Now let me give you a little advice: 'Don't bet on another
man's game unless you have money at home, for you are sure to lose all
you have with you.'"

Alfred and Cousin Charley wended their way home Alfred endeavored to
express his sympathy in detailing the wondrous sights he had witnessed
in the circus. Alfred was sorry for Cousin Charley and while his
intentions were commendable his descriptions of the circus only added to
the disappointment and chagrin of the elder boy.

That night Alfred dreamed of heaven in his happiness. He dreamed that
heaven was one big circus, with angels in pink tights and clowns
capering on the golden streets. Peanuts and candy were heaped in piles
invitingly, free to all. He dreamed of a big, blue-eyed man who stood at
the Golden Gates and passed all the boys in free and when they
did not come of their own accord he beckoned to them. He seemed to enjoy
the happiness of the boys more than the boys themselves.

Next morning at breakfast the wonders of the circus were gone over
again. Alfred did not breathe a word as to Cousin Charley's loss of the
money at the gaming table.

Since the night of the circus Alfred had busied himself preparing to
give his first show. The costumes and a place to give the exhibition
seemed to worry him more than the entertainment he was to offer.

Lin was his assistant. It might be more proper to state that Lin was the
prime mover, and the director of the proposed exhibition, although Lin
kept her activity concealed from the other members of the family. She
explained her participation in the coming show thusly:

"Well, it's better fer a body to keep yer yungins to hum even ef it does
clutter up the house to hev their fun. Alfurd's mos' crazy 'bout bein' a
circus clown an' ye'd die laffin' to see the little cuss cuttin' didoes.
I'd rather see him doin' it than hev him trapesin' the streets like
Bill's Charley."

Lin never lost an opportunity to cast a reflection on Charley.

Alfred, Lin and the mother were seated at the breakfast table,
discussing Alfred's show. Ways and means were the subjects. The mother
was an interested listener, although a quiet dissenter. She could not
understand how Alfred, even with Lin's aid, could offer anything in the
way of a show to entertain even children.

The price of admission was to be two ten-penny nails. The boat building
industry was thriving and the boys often went aboard a new boat picking
up the nails the carpenters let fall in their work. The nail idea was
Lin's and we must accord her some degree of originality.

"Pins had always been the equivalent for cash for admission to amatoor
shows." Lin said "our show." She always said "our show" when talking to
the neighbors. When the show was referred to at home it was "Alfred's
show."

Costumes were the perplexity of Alfred. He desired "purty" clothes: it
made the acting look better.

Lin added: "Purty duds makes a lot in a show, or in meetin'," meanwhile
looking mischievously at the mother. She said to Alfred: "Ye've got a
tolerable good start fur as ye're concerned yerself, with the two suits
ye fetched hum lately--the soldier suit Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy made ye
an' the one Mrs. Young lent ye."

Morg Gaskill had requested the return of the latter mentioned garments
but Alfred's climbing of fences, running through briar patches and
dangling out of milk wagons had pretty well used the garments up. The
mother therefore in return sent similar garments.

Alfred insisted that the unmentionables Mrs. Young loaned him should be
the basis of his clown suit. Although Alfred has worn many grotesque
costumes since, none ever more strongly appealed to the risibilities of
an audience than did those same garments. Lin said they were "the
funniest fit she ever seed an' she wondered to gawd who they ever wuz
made fer. Two meal sacks fastened together would fit jes' as well."

The show passed off as amateur shows generally do, with a great many
hitches, accidents and quarrels. The night was a stormy one, without and
within. The audience all came early and stood around the kitchen stove
while Alfred and the other performers robed themselves, for there were
no dressing rooms. Lin commanded the audience to turn their faces and
look toward the stove while the actors were dressing.

The audience were compelled to go through the kitchen to gain entrance
to the place of exhibition, the cellar. On Lin would fall the labor of
cleaning up next day; therefore, as each auditor appeared at the kitchen
door, Lin shouted: "Wipe yer feet 'fore ye come in."

That the show might go on without hindrance, or for some other reason,
the father and mother visited a neighbor that night. This was a great
relief to Alfred and Lin.

Lin said: "Ef Mary ever sees this kitchen afore I git at it in the
mornin' she'll hev a fit of the conniptions."

The show was very unsatisfactory to Alfred. He was dissatisfied with his
company and declared they "couldn't do nuthin'." One or two weakened at
the last moment. When looked for to take their place in the ring they
were found seated or standing among the audience and no persuasion from
the manager or the audience could induce them to go on with their part
of the performance. This was exasperating to Alfred. He either enacted
their roles or explained the part they were expected to perform.

Lin went wild over his impersonations of Daniel Boone, Santa Anna and
Davy Crockett. Lin said: "I tell ye what, Lacy Hare's soldier suit come
in jes' right."

Young Bill Colvin, a nephew of Uncle Joe's neighbor, was seated near the
ringside. He plucked at one of the epaulets while Davy Crockett was
supposed to be holding the cabin door against the wolves. This ruffled
the temper of Davy to such an extent that he smote Bill. Bill smote
back. Over and over they rolled on the cellar floor. Davy might have
been a mighty man pitted against the wolves, but Bill Colvin was getting
the better of him until Lin rushed to the rescue.

Parting the combatants, young Colvin was rushed to the door, flung half
way across the street by Lin and the door slammed in his face. Lin was
more loudly applauded than any other part of the show.

She made a speech:

"Ef there's any other freckled faced willun here thet's goin' to do
anythin' to bust up this show, now's the time fer 'em to wade in while
I'm het up. Huh, Bill Colvin thinks caus' his daddy's rich he kin do
anythin' he wants to, but he'll find he's up agin a stump when he starts
a fuss in this shanty."

Lin's sunny disposition was rarely crossed by shadows, but she was
terribly angry and the best of order was maintained for the remainder of
the evening.

Although there was no visible evidence of the mud and dirt tracked into
the kitchen by the audience, the next morning the mother forever put the
ban on future shows in so far as the cellar or kitchen were concerned.

Lin had constructed a rude candelabra after the style of the one in the
circus. It was left hanging in the cellar. Lin lit them up when Aunt
Betsy came on Saturday to show her how "purty" they were. Afterwards, in
the absence of Lin, the mother confidentially imparted the information
to Aunt Betsy that "Lin was crazier over such things than Alfred, and it
was pretty much all her doings."

       *       *       *       *       *

Lin had been busy for weeks, in fact, ever since the show in the cellar,
patching, sewing, and putting together old rag carpet, canvas, heavy
with paint, that had been ripped from the hurricane deck of an old
steamboat.

Alfred was to give another show, this time on Jeffries' Commons and
under canvas, or rather, inside of canvas. Since the night the side wall
fell as Dr. Playford and he were leaving the tent, the boy had been
revolving this plan in his mind. He felt certain he could collect, with
the aid of the boys, sufficient material to encircle the ring which had
been long constructed and used to practice in. A center pole with side
poles planted in the ground like fence posts. A top for the tent was out
of the question but nearly sufficient material had been collected to
encircle the poles, making a sidewall nearly ten feet high.

Lin had announced the price of admission at one cent and had so
extensively advertised the show by word of mouth that the children were
already visiting Alfred's home to buy tickets of admission. This
aggravated the mother more greatly than even the cellar show. The mother
feared the neighbors would think that she was interested in the show,
financially.

Lin said: "Let 'em think what they durn please. Some of 'em's in a
mighty big hurry to pay fur their tickets. Ef they'd pay back the
saleratus, salt, sugar, tea, coffee, an' sich they've borryed from us
we'd be better off. But some peepul will spend money quicker fer fun
than they will fer vittles or religion."

It was the night before the show. A consultation was held in the tent
between Alfred and his aids. There was an opening of at least ten feet
in length in the side of the tent and no canvas or other material to
close it up. Turkey Evans had brought the last strip of an old rag
carpet he had taken surreptitiously from an unused room of his home. The
two old quilts Tom White had stolen from Betsy Smart were in place with
half moons, hearts, diamonds, and sunflowers worked on them in raised
figures. They gave the tent the appearance of an Indian tepee.

Win Scott had contributed all the coffee, grain or salt sacks he could
secure by rummaging every building on Stable Street. Some of the boys
had even appropriated the aprons worn by Nimrod Potts, the shoemaker. As
Mr. Potts was of goodly size the two aprons from his shop went a long
ways toward making a partition between the tent and the dressing room.
Spliced to the bed tick Bindley Livingston had thrown out of the third
story window of his father's house, the aprons closed up the opening
completely.

But the big opening near the door was still a gaping void. After all had
confessed to their inability to furnish another yard of material, Alfred
advised that in the garret of his grandfather's home there was a large
cedar chest filled with whitest linen, three pieces of which would close
up the opening but he knew grandpap would not let him take it "caus' he
was a Baptis' and agin shows."

Win Scott argued that it would be no harm to take the linen. The fact
that it had lain there unused was proof positive they would never miss
it. Just as soon as the show was over they would take it back and no one
would ever know it but themselves.

Alfred being entirely familiar with grandfather's house it was planned
he should creep upstairs, open a window and throw sufficient of the
linen out of the garret into old man Morehouse's back yard where the
others would station themselves, carry the linen to the old school house
and secrete it until the following morning.

Alfred's limbs trembled so he could scarcely stand as he opened the back
door of the big stone house. Up the long flight of stairs he crept, the
creaking of a loose board startling him so he nearly fainted. Although
not a light burned in that part of the house, so familiar was he with
its interior that he had no difficulty in finding his way.

As he reached the top of the stairs leading to the garret, still on
hands and knees, the old furniture, odds and ends piled around
indiscriminately, took on the grotesqueness of imps, demons and other
fantastic figures. So wrought up was his imagination that nothing but
the fear of ridicule from his confederates forced him on. Crawling along
the dirty, sooty, begrimed floor, he soon located the old cedar chest.

Raising the lid, the aroma of camphor and rose leaves nearly overcame
him. Even in the dark he could discern the folds of whitest linen.
Counting out five pieces, he tiptoed to the window. With the signal--a
soft whistle--down floated the first sheet, caught by one of the boys
ere it touched the ground. The next sheet hit the brick pavement with a
thud. Partly unfolding the next two Alfred followed their fluttering
course to the earth with his gaze. He could see the white objects moving
off like specters floating through space.

They appeared so ghost-like the sight almost paralyzed him. Shaking with
nervousness, the last sheet left his hands accidently catching on the
window fastening. It spread out like a great, white bird with flapping
wings and slowly fluttered to the earth.

A door opened below. Alfred nearly collapsed. Tip-toeing across the room
he stumbled over an object on the floor causing a great racket. Falling
on the floor he crawled behind a number of old quilting frames and lay
there ever so quiet expecting momentarily to hear some of the family
ascending the stairs.

Crawling slowly to the stairs he softly descended, opened the door and
shot out into the darkness of the night. The perspiration streaming down
his face. Wiping it away with his soot begrimed hands, so blackened his
countenance his companions scarcely recognized him when he reached the
rendezvous, the old school-house on the commons.

When the last sheet fluttered down from the garret, Win Scott stepped
under it. Tommy Morehouse's back door opened. With the sheet fluttering
about him, Scott ran down the garden path and out through the barn into
Stable Street.

Nearly opposite the stable from which he had just emerged was the big
stable of the Marshall House, a tavern kept by Isaac Vance, the uncle of
Ike Stribeg, the afterwards noted circus agent.

Baggy Allison and Hughey Boggs, characters of the town, were seated on a
bench outside the door of the big stable. Scott, pulling the sheet more
closely about him and waving his arms wildly, quickly crossed the street
towards the two worthies, thinking to have some fun with them. Both
caught sight of him at the same instant. One corner of the sheet,
fluttering high in the air, it certainly was a skittish looking object
that floated down upon the two superstitious men. Over went the bench, a
chair or two, Allison stepped in a tin pail as he arose, his foot
entangled in it. The clattering of Baggy's foot in the pail added ten
fold to the terror of Hughey. He swore afterwards he could feel the
clutch of the long, bony fingers of the ghost on his neck.

[Illustration: He Could Feel the Clutch of Long, Bony Fingers on Him]

The hostlers flew, both trying to enter the narrow door of the tavern.
Wedged in the doorway, each thought the other holding him. Fighting,
cussing, scratching, they were pulled into the big tap room filled with
guests. All imagined the two hostlers were fighting and endeavored to
separate them.

Baggy Allison was very slow of speech; Hughey Boggs stuttered painfully.
After they were separated they kept up their clawing and waving.

Baggy, pointing toward the stable, blurted out: "Ghost! Ghost! Ghost
after us! Ketch it! Ketch it!"

Hughey stuttering more terribly, owing to his fright had, only got to
"Gh--gh--gh--gh," when Baggy had finished explaining the cause of their
fright.

Bud Beckley, old Johnny Holmes and Jim Hubbs, the town constable, were
the first to run towards the stable, but nothing was to be seen in any
direction. Baggy and Hughey were unmercifully scored for their
cowardice, and were ridiculed for days afterward.

Win Scott was as badly frightened as the two hostlers. The flight of the
men caused him to redouble his speed. On down Stable Street to
Playford's Alley, out along the high stone wall enclosing Nelson
Bowman's castle, on to Jeffries' Commons, formerly an old graveyard.

Here, according to report, the spook sank into a sunken grave. Albert
Baker's mother saw the apparition as did Sammy Honesty, one of Bowman's
servants.

       *       *       *       *       *

Saturday morning, the day of the show, was one of those days that nature
often bestows on Brownsville: not the fleck of a floating cloud in the
firmament above. Even the winds slept that they might not ruffle the
tranquility of the scene or Alfred's tent.

Lin was greatly disturbed over the opening in the tent. She declared:
"Every dadratted, stingy critter in the neighborhood would jes' stan'
outside and peek in fer nuthin'; and jes' to think, we got all the other
places kivered only that plague-goned old hole right by the door."

When Win Scott arrived with the white linen sheets, Lin was greatly
surprised. She feared they were not come by honestly. The boys assured
her they had borrowed them, promising to return them as good as they
came.

Lin was finally persuaded to tack and sew the sheets on the tent. When
completed, she surveyed her work for a moment and said: "We're all
hun-ki-dora now"--a slang phrase in those days signifying "all right."

Jeffries Commons swarmed with children. So impatient was Alfred to open
the circus that he refused to eat dinner. Lin fetched him a pie which he
devoured as he worked.

Win Scott was the door-keeper and treasurer. Lin had a wordy war with
the treasurer soon after the doors opened. Willie Shuman, who was lame,
wanted to sit on the treasurer's seat, a soap box near the main
entrance. Win objected solely on the grounds that real shows did not
permit patrons to sit where they pleased but made them stand around. Lin
secured another soap box and Willie was given the kind of seat he
desired "up high," as Lin expressed it, "so nobody could stan' in front
of him."

Lin insisted on counting the receipts several times while the audience
was assembling and when they reached sixty-eight cents, she concluded it
was too much money to entrust to any one connected with the show.
Emptying the pennies in her pocket, she pinned it up, remarking: "Ef
there's no trouble comes up about them there new linen sheets, we'll
give another show tonight. I hev all the lights hangin' in the cellar
ready."

The ghost seen the night before had been the talk of the town and that
it disappeared on the old commons near the tent was whispered about
among those in attendance at Alfred's show. Lin heard whispers of the
reports and somehow she could not entirely dispossess her mind of the
idea that the new linen sheets were connected in some way with the
ghosts. However, so deeply interested was she in the manifold duties she
had imposed upon herself that ghosts and linen sheets were, for the
time, forgotten.

Sitting on a soap box holding two children on her lap, so they could see
it all, Lin was calling on Alfred to come back into the ring and repeat
a twisting about trick he had just performed. Lin said the children
wanted to see him do it "agin."

Encores were numerous from Lin, no matter whether the major portion of
the audience desired them or not; if the children expressed a wish to
see any feat repeated Lin simply commanded that it be done and if the
performer hesitated to take a recall, Lin sat the children off her lap
and marched the performer out and compelled him to comply with the
children's wishes.

Although it was balmy spring, there was a tinge of chill in the air that
touched one. Many of the boys were compelled to undress to don their
costumes, and Joe Sandford's costume especially was not conducive to
comfort and warmth.

Alfred had strongly impressed it upon all who participated in the
performance that they must have real show clothes. Many and surprising
were the costumes. Tom White's father had been a member of the Sons of
Malta. Young White wore his father's regalia, a cross between the
make-up of Captain Kidd and Rip Van Winkle.

Joe Sanford's costume made Alfred slightly jealous. Lin had trimmed the
garments loaned Alfred by Mrs. Young. She had made him a body dress from
an old patch quilt, the figures worked in yellow and red. Yet the colors
were not as bright as those in the costume of Joe.

It was spring time, house-cleaning and wall-papering time. Mrs. Sanford,
being of an inventive turn of mind, collected the wall paper scraps,
particularly the red border paper. Fashioning a suit out of the paper,
she pasted it together. The costume was after the style of Napoleon, as
we have seen him in pictures. Joe was without clothing of any kind
except the pasty wall paper suit, stripes on the trousers running up and
down and on the jacket encircling. As Joe walked about the dressing room
to keep warm the paper suit rustled and swished. He was the admiration
of all the performers.

Although Joe was not to appear until later he insisted that he be
permitted to perform his feats at once, that he was almost frozen. Lin
was advised of this fact and said: "Oh, well, let him do his showin'. Ef
he ketched cold he would hev the tisic, (phthysic)." Joe was subject to
this affliction.

Joe's part of the performance was hanging on a horizontal pole a little
higher than his head, skinning the cat, then sitting upright on the bar,
clasping his knees with his hands, revolve around the pole. Joe had
performed this feat a thousand times. But he had never attempted it in a
show costume constructed of wall paper.

[Illustration: Joe's Wall Paper Duds]

The wall-paper suit began to give along the pasted seams even while Joe
was skinning the cat. Lin said afterwards: "He was so durned skeered and
a wheezin' with the tisic he didn't know whether he was a-foot or
a-horseback. I seed the rips openin' every time he stirred."

Joe was evidently uncertain as to the strength of his show clothes.
Despite a parting of seams he squirmed upon the horizontal bar, gripped
his knees with his hands. Thus doubled up the strain on the wall paper
was greater than ever. Joe ducked his head forward. The first
revolution, the greater part of the wall paper suit was scattered over
the saw-dust ring. Joe started on the second revolution but when he got
under the bar he hung there swinging backwards and forwards. Lin said:
"He jus' clung thar doubled up like a toy monkey on a stick, jus'
swinging like the pendulum of a stoppin' clock."

The red flowered belt and a sort of collar around the neck remained. Joe
had on very white stockings; however, they only reached below the knee.
As he had lost his hat at the beginning of his stunt he was almost
devoid of clothes. The vast audience giggled and shouted "accordin' to
their raisin'" as Lin expressed it afterwards.

Joe, through shame or stage fright, made no effort to release himself.
The situation became embarrassing to the few grown ones present. Mothers
took occasion to look down at their children, smoothing their hair or
straightening their clothing. The big girls looked another way but the
greater part of the audience yelled with delight.

Lin "jus' couldn't stan' it any longer." Dropping the children, she
rushed to poor Joe's rescue. She was compelled to unclasp Joe's hands
from the bar. In his fright and confusion he had a vise-like grasp on
it. In the position in which he hung his face was hidden. Lin said that
"his old wall-paper duds was all off him" and she reckoned "long as his
face was kivered he'd hung thar 'til he fainted or fell."

When Lin stood the poor fellow on his feet after relieving him from his
perch, he was confused. Instead of going into the dressing room where
all the boys were yelling with laughter, poor Joe ran out of the tent
across the commons and crawled into Jeffries' coal house.

The door-keeper, Win Scott, hurried his regular clothes to him, but Joe
left for home and never thereafter did he essay to become an actor.
Every child carried home as a souvenir a remnant of Joe's wall-paper
show suit.

Meanwhile, Alfred was changing the clown suit for Lacy Hare's military
uniform in which he always appeared as Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone.

Someone called to him: "Alf, here comes all yer grandpap's family."

Alfred peered through a hole in Mrs. Evans' rag carpet and his blood
froze in his veins. Heading the procession was grandpap, wide flowing,
white collar, hat in hand. He appeared to Alfred an avenging nemesis.
Following closely, came Uncle Ned, stern, and solemn Aunt Sarah. Cousin
Charley and old Tommy Moorehouse brought up the rear of the advancing
column.

Alfred felt the tent swaying as if in a gale. The tent swayed again. Lin
sat the children down quickly, "thinkin' it was some of the tarnel brats
that had pestered the show tent ever since Alfred started it." At the
door she came face to face with the angry grandfather.

"You're more to blame than the boy" was all Alfred remained to hear.
Half naked, half dazed--for Alfred feared his grandfather's wrath
greatly--down the big hill the boy fairly flew, through the Jimson
weeds, their prickly pods stinging his bare breast and arms until the
blood flowed. Nor did he slacken his pace until the old coal road was
reached. Then along the dusty road to Krepp's coal bank; into the dark
tunnel penetrating the hill, nor did he stop until so far under ground
that the opening to the coal mine, although large enough to admit a
horse and cart, appeared to the sight as a ring of daylight no larger
than an eye.

Realizing that the white and red clown paint Lin had smeared on his face
would be difficult to explain to the miners should he encounter them,
Alfred endeavored to remove it by washing it with the yellow sulphur
water standing in the cart tracks where it had dropped from the damp
sides of the old mine. He only spread it with the yellow water; his face
presented a sight similar to an Indian's in full war paint.

His fears subsiding, he retraced his steps towards the entrance. The
opening darkened and he could discern a figure standing out against the
sky beyond.

Hastening on he whistled shrilly. The answering whistle he recognized as
that of his treasurer, Win Scott. When they met, Win gave Alfred the
particulars of the wrecking of the tent by Uncle Ned and imparted the
information that all Grandpap's family, with the linen sheets, had gone
home excepting the grandmother, and he had a message requesting that
Alfred come to her at once, with the assurance that he would not be
punished.

The grandmother had frequently interceded in Alfred's behalf and he was
greatly pleased to receive her message. He felt so good over the turn of
affairs that he could scarcely walk up the long hill so weak was he with
laughter over Joe's wall-paper circus clothes, nor did his good humor
forsake him until they approached the spot where the tent, the work of
many weeks, lay on the ground teetotally wrecked.

Win gave Alfred a graphic description of Uncle Ned's wrecking of the
tent, the escape of the audience, of Lin's offering to pay for the
sheets and her subsequent anger. Lin endeavored to appease Uncle Ned's
wrath. "But the more she talked the wuss he raved."

When Alfred entered the kitchen, Lin's face was still red from anger and
weeping. Looking angrily at Alfred, she began:

"Why did ye run? By golly, I'd stood my ground ef they'd all piled on
me. Ef it hadn't been fur grandmother, I'd licked Ned myself."

Alfred explained that if he'd been dressed he'd stayed, but being "mos'
naked he jus' knowed Uncle Ned would pull the tent down caus' he always
wants to tear things up by the roots. I didn't want to be ketched naked
like Joe."

At the thought of Joe's mishap his laughter broke out again. Lin's good
nature began to assert itself. Suppressing her smiles she placed her
fingers on her lips which implied silence. Jerking her head toward the
sitting room door she informed the boy his grandmother was "thar waitin'
fer ye," adding: "Ye needn't be skeered, she's got more religion and
more sense than the whole caboodle of 'em put together. Go on in."

Softly approaching the door leading to the room he heard voices, his
father's among them. He was half inclined to flee again. Timidly rapping
on the door he heard footsteps leaving the room. Lin took him by the arm
and led the boy into the large room.

It was growing dark. His grandmother sat alone. They halted in front of
the gentle lady, Lin addressing Alfred in an encouraging manner, said:
"'Al-f-u-r-d,' tell grandmother the truth. Don't stan' up and lie like
Cousin Charley does, caus' he allus gits ketched up in it."

The boy looking into the kindly face of the quiet old lady felt no fear;
however, his shame was most intense. Drawing the abashed boy nearer to
her, she put her arm about him, softly saying: "I greatly fear you have
been led by those older than yourself to do things you would not have
done had you had proper advisors. I fear you will get into serious
trouble if you do not follow your father's and mother's advice. Now,
Alfred, listen to every word grandmother says to you. You will not be
punished for taking the sheets more than your conscience reproves you.
You are a good boy and everyone loves you. It is only your father's love
for you that influences him to be severe with you at times. Your playful
spirit, your mischievousness leads you into many actions that pain us
all greatly but I am sure you do not intend to be bad. You are not
vicious, only mischievous. Now tell me, Alfred, who prompted you to take
the linen out of the chest?"

"No one. I was all to blame. Lin has sixty-eight cents and I have nearly
three dollars Uncle Joe gave me and I'm going to give it all to Uncle
Ned to pay for any tearing of the sheets and Lin will wash and starch
them. They'll be as good as new."

With this speech the boy broke down completely. Kneeling, he buried his
face in the old lady's lap. She stroked his head gently, and in a tone
more soft and quiet than heretofore, she asked the contrite boy if he
was aware of the reverence in which the family held the linen contained
in the old chest.

The boy assured her that he supposed the old chest and its contents were
cast off or unused articles the same as other goods stored away in the
garret.

When the grandmother informed the boy the family held the contents of
the old chest as almost sacred, that the linen was the last winding
sheets of those of his family who had gone to the great beyond, his
shame brought a flood of tears that nothing the grandmother could say
would stop.

It was the custom that persons who died in those days were covered with
whitest linen and this linen was ever afterwards preserved by the family
as sacred.

The grandmother in gentle tones reminded the boy of loved ones whom he
held in sweetest remembrance, and when he fully realized that the linen
in the old chest had been their last covering the tears of the boy and
the aged woman mingled as he solemnly promised to so conduct himself in
the future that his behavior would never wound her feelings more.
Thereafter the boy always found a loyal defender in the grandmother when
troubles came to him.

"I'll jes be durned ef ol' gran'muther ain't got more sense in a minute
than her son Ned will have ef he lives twict es old es Jehu Adams," said
Lin, referring to the oldest man in the neighborhood. "Why, jes' see
what she hes dun fer that boy. He's a perfec' little angel since she
hauled him over the coals. Bet he'd never teched them sheets ef he'd
knowed they wus fer layin' out dead peepul in. He'd got others somehow,
an' I'd been sort a lazy like 'bout sewin' 'em on the tent ef I'd knowed
what they'd bin used fur. It's no wonder Baggy Allison and Hughey Boggs
got skeered. Durned ef they warn't purty near ghosts, enny how."

"Ef it had been left to gran'muther she'd let the show go on es long es
we had the sheets hung up. They warn't hurtin' nobody. No, by golly,
it's jes' like Ned; he's jes' like his daddy an' the other Baptusses.
They don't hev any fun and they hate to hear a body laugh. Huh, ef it
had been a prayer meetin' or somethin' mournful for the Baptusses'
meetin' house to git money fur, Ned ud never tore down the tent. Durn
him! His heart ain't bigger'n a rat pellet and it's twict es hard. He
don't know nuthin' but to eat an' pray. Let him kum yere fer another
meal of vittles and I'll not cook it fur him; I'll jes' tell Mary and
John so. Why, grandmother's talkin' to him done Alfurd more good than
all the whippin's he ever got in his born life."

"It jes' worries Ned to deth to see a boy, a boy. He gets a heap of
pleasure out of not havin' any fun in life."




CHAPTER EIGHT

    Though the road be long and dreary,
      And the end be out of sight,
    Foot it bravely, strong or weary,
      Trust in God and do the right.


The realities of life are continually changing. Persons can retain a
hobby or an illusion for a time or for all time. An illusion may live in
our minds, even become a part of our lives. Life is but thought.
Pleasant illusions are, as a rule, weapons against meanness and
littleness. Illusions, when based upon the sensible and material things
of this life, are uplifting.

It is said genius and common sense never dwell in the same mortal. The
lives of all of those of genius of whom the world has been informed have
been governed to a very great extent by illusions not fanatical fads,
not an illusion that impels one to endeavor to solve improbable
problems.

The centralization of ideas on some particular project or profession
that appeared impracticable at first, often leads to an inspiration, the
enthusiasm created by the illusions leading to success. Illusions have
side-tracked many life-failures.

You may endeavor to persuade yourself that you have no illusions. Search
your mind. Is there not a recollection of something you have worked and
hoped for? You may not have attained that which you aimed at, yet the
illusion enriched your imagination. Is there not something that you
dreamed of in youth, forgotten for years, that has come to you later on?

Hug your illusions if they are pleasant. Treasure them, they make you
cheerful, they sun your soul.

The father and mother of Alfred had different ideas of the boy's future.
The father was wedded to his calling and fondly hoped the boy would
follow in his footsteps in mechanical pursuits. It was the mother's hope
that the son would become a medical practitioner. The grandfather prayed
that the boy would embrace the ministry as had two of his sons.

Consequently, when Alfred seriously announced that he had determined to
become a clown in the circus, the family were greatly shocked, but the
boy's declaration was regarded as a harmless illusion. This idea had
taken complete control of his boyish imagination. Urged on by illusory
hopes he was constantly practicing tricks and antics that led him into
many heartbreaking escapades that made the cellar sessions more
frequent. But nothing could suppress his good nature and innate love of
fun.

There was but one human being in the world thoroughly in sympathy with
the boy's ambitions. She it was who bought the rouge and red that
painted his face in his first attempts to become a clown. She it was who
cut up one of her best red skirts to complete the costume of which Mrs.
Young furnished the foundation in the garments Alfred was sent home in
the day of the rescue from the raft. And it is a fact that to this day
the costumes of clowns and near-clowns have been patterned after those
self-same garments and they are as strikingly funny to spectators today
as they were in the days Alfred first wore them, a tribute to Lin's
ingenuity.

Lin often remarked: "Alfurd will come to town some day a real clown in a
circus and the whole country will turn out to see him, and Litt Dawson
(the Congressman) won't be so much when Alfurd gits a-goin'. Why, he kin
sing eny song and do ent cut-up antik eny of 'em kin. He's the cutest
boy I ever seed. They'll never whup his devilishness out of him."

Lin was always an appreciative audience for Alfred. When he learned to
do head-sets, hand-springs and the like she urged him on to greater
acrobatic achievements. When he attempted to walk on his hands she
followed his zig-zag course, steadying him when he threatened to topple
over.

When Bent Wilgus, a Bridgeport boy, came up to Jeffries' Commons and
entered the ring that was once enclosed by Alfred's tent, and performed
a dozen feats that Alfred had never even witnessed, thereby winning the
applause of the crowd of boys, both Lin and Alfred remained silent. When
he did a round off a flip-flap and a high back somersault, a row of
head-sets across the ring, finishing by doing heels in the mud, Alfred
turned green with envy. He felt his reputation slipping away from him
and realized he was deposed as the boys' and girls' idol, as an actor.

Lin felt like driving the usurper off the commons. Later, she consoled
Alfred with the statement that Bent Wilgus had gum in his shoes that
made him bounce so. "His daddy keeps a shoe store an' thet's where he
gits bouncin' shoes from. I'll git ye a pair ef I hev to send to
Filadelphy fur 'em."

The Quaker City was the metropolis of the world to the good people of
the town in those days. New York City was never considered in the same
breath with old Philly.

Brownsville had but one representative in the show profession so far as
any one knew. He had left the town many years before and it was reported
had become a great actor. Alfred had never heard the word actor save in
connection with a circus performer. He had never witnessed or even heard
of a dramatic actor. He had gotten his idea for his impersonation from a
rider, who, standing on a broad pad on a horse's back in the circus
ring, impersonated noted characters such as Richard III, Daniel Boone,
Davy Crockett and a shepherd boy.

The reputation of Tony Bailles, the only actor Brownsville ever
produced, was folklore in his native place. Tony had never appeared in
his home town. And that which greatly enhanced the reputation of the
great actor in the minds of the people in his home was the oft repeated
stories of his prowess as a fighter.

In those days every man and boy was judged by his personal courage.
Courage was the supreme test by which all males were gauged. The man or
boy who did not have the bravery to uphold his dignity with his fists
was not worthy.

In the tales told of Tony Bailles' great prowess with his fists and
feet, it was asserted that he more often used his feet than his fists
and that his adversary rarely got near him. As they advanced upon him
Tony kicked them under the chin just once. One kick and all the fight
was out of them.

Tony was one of Alfred's illusions. He desired to imitate him, travel
all over the land and become a great actor, a greater actor than even
his heroic model, as Alfred had never heard Tony's great feats
described. The kick under the chin was Tony's only feat impressed
strongly enough on Alfred's mind to have him imitate.

Tommy White, Lash Hyatt and Jim Campbell were either housed up or
walking about with stiff necks and swollen jaws ere it was discovered
that Alfred was imitating Tony Bailles. Lash Hyatt's folks, feeling sure
the boy had the mumps, sent for the doctor. It was then revealed that
Alfred did not fight fair but "kicked you under the chin before you
could raise a hand," as the boys described it.

Alfred tried the Tony Bailles' high kick on big, husky George
Herbertson. The kick started as it had with the other boys but instead
of reaching the chin at which it was aimed, a big, husky blacksmith's
helper checked it. Alfred sat down so suddenly he imagined the earth had
"flew" up and hit him. While the blacksmith helper held his leg aloft
Alfred, as he lay on his back, saw a big fist coming straight for his
face. He has no distinct recollection of when it reached its landing
place.

Uncle Ned Snowden assisted Alfred home, where he remained in doors
several days with two parti-hued eyes.

While housed up, Alfred promised Lin he would always thereafter fight
fair. Consequently, he thereafter carried two big limestones, one in
each coat pocket for George Herbertson. Somehow the blacksmith boy was
always too quick for Alfred and the next time they met, which was on the
Bridgeport wharf, the blacksmith boy trimmed Alfred again. And thus it
was that the old iron bridge, the first of its kind constructed in the
United States and built by John Herbertson, the father of George, became
the dead line between the boys of the two towns.

If a boy from one town was found in the other he was compelled to fight
or flee.

[Illustration: The First Iron Bridge Built in the U. S.]

The word "actor" to the good people of those days always referred to a
circus performer as mentioned previously. It is related of Joseph
Jefferson, the dean of the dramatic profession, that while visiting his
plantation near New Iberia, Louisiana, he walked over the grounds
accompanied by an old, colored field hand. He talked in his usual manner
with the old negro telling him of the many cities in which his contracts
compelled him to act ere he would again visit his beautiful southern
home.

The old negro said he was sorry "kase all de folks, white uns an' black
uns, was jes mos' crazy for to see massa Joe ak." As they walked and
talked the old negro informed Mr. Jefferson that Dan Rice's circus was
"dere a while back, jes on the aidge ob kane cuttin' time, an' dey had
some mighty fine actuhs but nuthin' like de actin' ob Massah Joe."

The old fellow, growing more confidential at the pleased manner in which
Mr. Jefferson received his compliments, added that he would gladly walk
to New Orleans to see him act. When the great actor advised the old
fellow that he would not appear in New Orleans that year, the old fellow
said: "Now des look at dat. I'll nevah git to see you ak, Massa Joe."

The actor assured him that at some time in the future he would have that
pleasure. The old negro said: "No, no, I'm an ole man. I ain't got much
futhah to go, an' I des doan wan' to die fo' I see you ak."

Mr. Jefferson assured the earnest old negro that he would be glad to
arrange some plan whereby not only he but all of his friends in the
parish might witness him act.

The old negro began in an entreating tone: "Massa Joe, I knows you'd
like to ak fer all ob us but Lor' only knows when it'll be. I'se mos'
f'raid to ax ye but de grass out yar is so sof' an 'nice I jes' thought
maybe ye'd ak out a little fer me. Jes' twist about an' turn a couple of
summah-saults fer dis pooh ol' nigger."

This was the only idea Alfred had of acting. He longed to see Tony
Bailles act, that he might catch an idea. He felt it would be so much
easier for him to learn to act by seeing Bailles than it would be to see
others, that Bailles was more like himself, not a superior being, as
other actors were regarded.

Cousin Charley was even more elated than Alfred when they read and
re-read the joyous announcement, to them, that Van Amburg's Great Golden
Menagerie and Zoological Institute was headed for Brownsville.

The startling news was spread that Tony Bailles was with the show.
Alfred scanned the bills, no names appearing on them or descriptions of
the great feats their owners performed, and his youthful mind could not
comprehend this omission in advertising. Animals of all species were
pictured but the graceful bare-back rider, high in the air above the
horse's back, throwing a back somersault through a paper balloon, was
not there. The lady rider on the back of a fast flying steed, one foot
pointing to six o'clock, the other to high noon, was searched for in
vain.

Alfred finally arrived at this explanation of the oversight in not
advertising the circus actors--that the menagerie was so immense the
circus was a secondary consideration. He argued that they never
advertised the side-show but it was always there.

Circus day dawned, the crowds came, the old town was a scene of bustle
and activity. The town people were all agog, all the older ones seemed
to be seeking Tony Bailles. Alfred and Charley followed his brother Joe
up through Bridgeport to the new show grounds. The advertisements gave
it that the old bottom, the usual show grounds, was too small for the
big show.

When the grounds were reached a large man with a very red nose announced
from the top of a wagon the program of the day:

First, Mlle. Carlotta De Berg would ascend a slender wire from the
ground to the apex of the grand pavilion. After this thrilling free
exhibition the Grand Annex containing one thousand animate and inanimate
wonders would throw open its doors. As this was a new name for the
side-show, Cousin Charley and Alfred began to get their money ready.
(Alfred carried his own money this show day).

But when the front of the tent was reached and the same old gaudily
painted pictures swayed in the breeze, both boys involuntarily halted as
they realized the Grand Annex was that deadfall known as the side show.
Cousin Charley swore he "seen the same feller standing in the door of
the tent that swindled him and so many others at the last show." Cousin
Charley said: "He dodged back when he seen me."

In the verdancy of his suckerdom, Charley imagined the fakir who had
done him had preserved as keen a recollection of the transaction as
himself. He learned afterwards that there is a sucker born every minute
and the crop of fakirs is nearly as great.

A tall, black-haired man, with rather a heavy face, black velvet vest,
stood at the door. A long gold watch chain was around his neck and
running across the velvet vest it made the chain appear the most
conspicuous thing about the man. Of course he wore other articles of
clothing but the above description stands out in Alfred's mind to the
exclusion of his other apparel unless it be the flat-top hat and the
white bow tie. The hat and tie gave the wearer a sort of clerical
appearance. He had the appearance of a respectable gambler, such as were
on river steamers in those days.

And this was Tony Bailles, the actor-athlete of Alfred's dreams and
talks. Alfred was simply bewildered. His hero stood aloft pacing to and
fro on an elevated platform, describing the wonders of the great moral
exhibition especially for ladies and children.

Alfred argued to Charley that this was Tony's home and his oratory would
appeal more strongly to the people than a stranger's and he was only of
the side show for the day. He disliked to have the hero of his dreams
discredited so prematurely and he still hoped to see his idol in
spangled tights in the big show performing all kinds of wonderful feats.

But the big show was an animal show, pure and simple, not an actor, not
a clown, not a rider, not a horse, not even a ring. Two ponies and a
little cart introduced in the show could not dispel the gloom that had
settled over the disappointed gathering in the big tent.

The only excitement of the day was when Bill Gaskill, Mart Claybaugh, Ab
Linn, and two or three Washington County men engaged in a fight. When
Tony Bailles rushed in to quell the disturbance and did not kick one or
more of the combatants under the chin, the boy's admiration gradually
turned to disgust and he was ready to leave the tent although all were
admonished that the most astounding and greatest treat in natural
history was about to be brought to their notice. The mammoth of
mammoths, the behemoth of Holy Writ was about to be exhibited, the only
one in captivity, something to tell your children and your children's
children of. The hippopotamus was brought from his cage and waddled into
the roped enclosure in the center of the tent. Bob Ellingham, the
lecturer, talked long and learnedly on the habits and capture of the
animal. The name hippopotamus was mentioned at least twenty times in the
lecture as a dramatic climax. Ellingham rubbed a piece of white paper
over the animal's back. Standing on a stool above the heads of the
multitude he held the once spotless sheet of paper in his left hand,
pointing his right forefinger at the paper, now discolored with the
matter that oozed from the animal's body, he dramatically exclaimed: "He
is truly the behemoth of Holy Writ. See, he sweateth blood!"

As he stood motionless, still holding the paper aloft, Old man Hare,
Lacy's father, who had stood a most interested listener during the
lecture, looked up into the lecturer's face and, in a querulous tone
asked: "What fer animal did ye say it was?"

"A guinea pig, you dam old fool," flashed back Ellingham, as he stepped
off the stool, while the crowd yelled, "Bully for Hare."

The old fellow felt greatly grieved although the shouts of approval from
the crowd partially appeased him. How he talked back to the show man
made him quite a hero among the country folks for a long time
afterwards.

It is safe to assert that a more disappointed audience never left an
exhibition than filed out of the big tent. Even the ministers, and they
were all admitted free, were not satisfied. Bob Playford did not gather
up the boys on the lot and pay their way in.

As the audience filed out the man with the big red nose stood on top of
the wagon and invited everybody into the tent where Christy's Original
Minstrels were about to offer the good people of Brownsville the same
choice and amusing performance they had won fame with in the principal
theatres in New York City. Songs, glees, choruses, banjo solos, pathetic
ballads, side-splitting farces, the whole concluding with a grand walk
around by the entire company.

Bob Playford and Dan French made all manner of fun of the big man with
the red nose. Playford laughingly shouted: "Pay no attention to him, he
don't belong to the show, he lives out in the country. He's a neighbor
of old man Hare's."

Cousin Charley and Alfred were won by the man's eloquence or the
twanging of the stringed musical instruments that could be heard in the
tent. They were soon inside. A platform on a wagon served as a stage,
and a curtain with a cabin and woods as a background hung at the rear of
the stage. The entire company of seven persons attired in shirts and
trousers made of bed-ticking material, were seated in a semi-circle on
the improvised stage.

This was Alfred's first sight of a minstrel first part. "Gentlemen, be
seated." The opening chorus was not half over before Alfred was laughing
as heartily as ever boy laughed. The antics of the fellow with the
tambourine who hit the singer sitting next to him on the head with it in
time with the pattering of the sheepskin on his knees, hands and head,
the assumed anger of the singer as he again hit him a resounding thwack,
the finish, where the man with the bones and tambo worked all over the
small stage and seemed in danger of upsetting it with their antics, had
the crowd wild with their enthusiasm.

[Illustration]

The songs, the jokes, the final farce, "Handy Andy," pleased Alfred so
greatly that he remained for the next performance as did Lin and her
beau, Cousin Charley and several of Alfred's friends. He bought a song
book containing only the words. He caught several of the airs and sang
them all the way home.

It was difficult to convince Alfred that the performers were white men
blacked up. At supper Van Amberg's Great Moral Menagerie received a
lambasting that boded no good for its future in Brownsville. Lin said:

"It was jes a show for Baptusts and sich and they was all thar. Huh,
they let the preachers in free gratis, an' they ought to let everybody
in fer nuthin' caus it warn't wuth nuthin'. Durned ef I walk to the
grounds to see seven shows like it. The niggers in the side show beat
the big show all holler."

Alfred declared that outside of the animals _his_ show was better than
Van Amberg's. Lin added: "Yes, ef Joe Sanford's wall-paper suit wus out
of it."

The supper was not over ere Lin and Alfred were in the parlor with the
melodeon endeavoring to sing the songs of the minstrels. They had the
book and hot were the arguments as to whether they had the tune right or
not.

Lin, Cousin Charley, Alfred, Billy Woods, and Bill Hyatt decided to go
back to the minstrels at night. Alfred sang the songs under his breath.
He drank in every word of the jokes and the farce he committed to
memory.

When they reached home the melodeon was started up again, and its
strains swelled out on the night air until the father closed the
rehearsal abruptly by ordering all to bed.

The seed had been sown; even the chaff had taken root. The clown
illusion still clung to Alfred but the minstrel idea seemed nearer
realization. Did ever a party of amateurs decide to assault the public
that they did not use a minstrel performance as their weapon?

Despite the protests of the parents, the old melodeon, notwithstanding
its age and other infirmities, was worked overtime. Alfred sang and
resang the songs they had learned or deceived themselves into believing
they had learned at the minstrels.

Billy Woods had a good ear for tunes. As Lin put it, Billy caught more
of the tunes than any of the others. Billy became a nightly visitor.
Billy's flute and the melodeon did not harmonize as the melodeon had
only three notes left in it. Lin just waited when a note was missing
until the next measure and then "ketched up" as she expressed it.

Amity Getty was another addition to the little band. He was really a
good performer on the guitar. Alfred's especial favorite in the
minstrels was the fellow who handled the tambourine. The mother said
there was not a pie pan in the house they could bake in, Alfred had them
so battered and dented thumping them on his knees, head and elbows.

"I declare, I believe the boy is going crazy; I don't know what we will
do with him," often said the mother.

Cousin Charley was of an inventive turn of mind. He had become greatly
interested in the nightly singing and fashioned a tambourine out of an
old cheese box by cutting it down. Dennis Isler put tin jingles in it
and put on a sheepskin head.

The instrument in Alfred's hands became a terror to the household. He
was banished to the commons where, surrounded by the children of the
neighborhood, he did his practicing to the delight and danger of his
audience as he persisted in finishing his antics by thumping one of the
audience on the head with his instrument of torture, which generally
sent the recipient of his thwack home, holding his head and crying. This
usually brought a complaint from the victim's parents and Alfred's
visits to the cellar accompanied by his father became so frequent that a
boy with less ardor would surely have lost interest in his instrument.

Alfred repeatedly advised Lin that they never could be minstrels if they
did not have bones. He selected Billy Storey to perform on these
necessary adjuncts to the minstrels. When Lin brought home from John
Allison's meat shop a rib roast, the mother, astonished at the size of
it, said: "My goodness, Lin, that roast is big enough for any tavern in
town."

The fact was Lin had not closely studied the bone player's instruments.
She was of the opinion it required eight bones instead of four, hence
the magnitude of the roast.

The little band made the big front room the mecca for pilgrims nightly.
The mother was nearly frantic; after every concert of the embryotic
minstrels she solemnly admonished Lin and Alfred that that would be the
last.

Lin in turn would accuse Alfred of being the cause of all the din and
racket. "Ef it hadn't been fer Cousin Charley makin' Alfurd thet
infernal head drum (Lin could never say tambourine), Mary would never
sed a word as she jus loves music es well es eny body else."

Lin asserted that "the durn jingling contraption, jes spiled the hull
thing and ye don't make good music with it nohow." Lin's deductions
could not be controverted. Alfred did not make good music with his
tambourine but it is a fact that he succeeded in drowning a great deal
of bad.

It was a night never to be forgotten; one of those nights that will
linger long in fondest remembrance by any who have enjoyed them. It was
the night of one of those old time parties, one of those healthful,
pleasure giving affairs, an old fashioned family party. Relatives, near
and distant, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins and friends,
came by invitation to the old home.

Games and recitations, blind-man's buff, button, button, who's got the
button, Uncle Joe, blindfolded, pursuing the prettiest girl at the
frolic, brought roars of laughter from everyone but Aunt Betsy. Lin,
sitting on a crock endeavoring to pass a linen thread through the eye of
a cambric needle; Uncle Jack, blindfolded trying to pin the tail on the
proper place on the paper donkey stuck against the wall. When he stuck
the pin in the keyhole of the parlor door the laughter shook the sash in
the windows.

The young folks formed in a circle holding hands, slowly revolving
around a bashful young man standing in the center of the circle. As they
circled they sang that old ditty so dear to the youth of those days:

    "King William was King George's son,
    And from a royal race he sprung;
    And on his breast he wore a star,
    That marked his bravery in the war.
    Go choose your East, go choose your West,
    Go choose the one that you love best."

Here the young man tagged the girl of his choice. Of course, the girl
broke from the circle and ran but was easily captured. She was led to
the center of the circle which again revolved and the song continued:

    "Down on this carpet you must kneel,
      Just as the grass grows in the field;
    Salute your bride and kiss her sweet,
      And you may rise unto your feet."

When the bashful young man received a thumping thwack from the girl of
his choice in return for the kiss he planted on her rosy cheek, the
laughter was renewed tenfold.

All this may look cold in print to the young folks of today but it made
the hot blood of the boys and girls of those good old days flow faster
than the patter of their feet to the tune of the songs they sang.

Sis Minks sang "Barbara Allen" with such telling effect that the
assembled multitude became "as subdued as a Quaker meetin'" as Lin
described it.

Sis was an old maid and lived in the country; her dog had followed her
to the party. The standing of every family in those parts was rated by
the number of dogs they possessed. Sis's people had stood high for many
years but their canine possessions had decreased. When questioned by a
neighbor as to the number of dogs in his possession, the father of Sis
ruefully replied: "Wall, I hev a house dog, a coon dog, a fox dog an' a
'feist'--it just seems like I can't git a start in dogs again." It was
the house dog that had followed Sis.

Sis always sang "Barbara Allen" with her eyes shut. Lin said: "Becaus'
she'd furgit it ef she looked."

Sis was in the midst of Barbara's woes when someone opened the door
slightly. Her dog slipped in. Seeing his mistress before him and hearing
her voice, the dog instinctively crept towards her. As her voice grew
more tremulous describing Barbara's sad fate, the dog, encouraged by the
kindly tones, crept nearer. Rising on his hind legs he drew his long,
red tongue across her face and mouth. Sis opened her eyes and sat down
in confusion and no entreaties could induce her to continue. Lin said:
"I'll bet a fippennybit she thought she'd bin kissed by some feller."

Alfred did not greatly enjoy the party. He whispered to Lin: "Let's
practice."

[Illustration: Sis Opened Her Eyes and Sat Down]

Lin ran her fingers over the keys of the melodeon. The others wanted to
be coaxed as amateurs always do. There is no backwardness that requires
as much persuasion to appear before an audience as that of an amateur,
but when once persuaded there is no cheerfulness that exceeds that of an
amateur in responding to an encore.

It was not long before the little band began their concert. As they had
been rehearsing for several weeks, the opening chorus, with musical
accompaniment, was rendered with such vim that the assembled guests were
carried off their feet. Alfred's antics with the tambourine, Storey's
manipulation of the bones, the singing, the instrumentation, were a
revelation to the good people.

Alfred's reputation as an actor was known to all the guests. Urgent
requests were made that he should don his costumes and perform his
feats. Alfred and Lin hastened to his room, returning soon, Alfred in
his clown make-up, Mrs. Young's lowers and Lin's body dress. Prolonged
laughter and applause greeted his appearance.

First he essayed to sing a clown song entitled "The Song of All Songs"
which runs thusly:

    "The subject of my song you have seen I dare say,
    As you've walked along the streets on a fine summer's day;
    On fences and railings wherever you go,
    You will see the penny ballads pasted up in a row.
    I noted them down as I read them along,
    And I've put them together to make up my song.
    There was Abraham's daughter going out on a spree
    With old Uncle Snow in the cottage by the sea.
    Do they think of me at and I'll be easy still,
    Give us back our old commander with the sword of Bunker Hill."

There was a great deal more of this jingle of words, ringing in the
titles of all the songs of the day. Notwithstanding, Alfred had sung it
without pause or hesitation night after night with only his associates
as an audience, yet at "the sword of Bunker Hill" his voice faltered and
a stage fright that could not be conquered overtook him. The words of
the song had left his mouth, the tongue was paralyzed.

As many an older actor has done before and since, Alfred endeavored to
conceal his confusion by stalling. It was really Alfred's first
appearance before a heterogenous audience.

Alfred learned even at that early age that there is a difference in
audiences. Notwithstanding his failure, with the density of perception
that usually pervades an amateur's mind, Alfred changed his costume to
Lacy Hare's military togs. He mistook the shouts of laughter aroused by
this suit as approval of his acting. Lin relieved the situation by
leading Alfred out of the room ere he had presented half of his famous
impersonations.

Lin said afterwards: "I don't know what got inter thet boy. Why I allus
said he had brass enuf in his face to act afore a protracted meetin' but
be durned ef he warn't es bad es Joe Sanford when he stuck on the pole.
I never been more cut up in my life, fur I would a swore he was too
spunkey to git skeered."

The remainder of the program was more than successful. Everyone
acquitted themselves creditably excepting Alfred. Lin sang the pathetic
ballad:

    "Out in the cold world, out in the street,
    Asking a penny of each one I meet;
    Shoeless I wander about through the day,
    Wearing my young life in sorrow away.
    No one to help me, no one to love,
    No one to pity me, none to caress,
    Fatherless, motherless, sadly I roam;
    A child of misfortune, I'm driven from home."

Lin had a deep, sweet voice, almost a baritone. She was full of
sentiment and magnetism. Deeply in earnest she sang the song with
telling effect. A tear, a heartfelt tear, came from the eyes of more
than one of the sympathetic group.

Uncle Joe and Uncle Jack and one or two of the elder men had been led to
the cellar several times during the evening, for a more pleasant purpose
than Alfred generally went there for. The hard cider was kept in the
cellar, the sweet cider upstairs. Uncle Joe was as mellow as a pippin.
At the end of Lin's first chorus he threw her a handful of change. The
other men threw coppers or small silver pieces. Lin, like a true artist,
stood unmoved and continued her song. Alfred picked up the money and
handed it to her. She disdained to receive it. How the fires of jealousy
burned within Alfred's breast as he noted the triumph of Lin. How the
men could become so affected as to throw her money he could not
comprehend.

Before the next song, Lin lectured Alfred before the entire company,
saying: "The fellur with the head drum (tambourine) in the circus
minstrels never beat it in the sad tunes, only in the comic ones. Es
long as ye've bin showin', a body'd think ye knowed thet much."

This calling down further humiliated Alfred.

Bill Storey followed in a tuneful baritone, singing:

    "Oh, the old home ain't what it used to be, de banjo and de fiddel
        am gone,
    An' no more you'll hear the darkies singing among de sugar cane
        an' corn.
    Great changes hab come to de poor colored man, but dis change
        makes him sad an' forlorn,
    For no more we hear de darkies singing among de sugar cane an'
        corn."

Then all sang the chorus:

    "No, the old home ain't what it used to be, (etc.)"

This number met with great approval. Professional jealousy surged
through Alfred's breast. He hated everyone who had been successful.
Thoughts of all kinds of revenge ran through his mind. He would tell
mother that the ten pound rib roast was bought only to get eight bones
for Bill Storey and four bones was all he could rattle on at one time.
Alfred felt that the whole company had conspired against him, that they
were the cause of his not being appreciated.

Supper was announced. Yes, supper, and they all sat down to a table;
none of your society lunches, juggled on your knees, as served at the
fashionable functions of today. When Uncle Wilse called down blessings
upon all, even those sitting around the fire in the other room, who
could not find places at the first table, bowed their heads reverently.

Cold roast chicken, pickles, sweet preserves, doughnuts, jellies, fine
and red, cold claw, beets, hot mince pie, pound cake, layer cake,
apples, tea, coffee and cider.

It took mother and Lin all day to prepare the repast. Fun and jokes were
passed at and upon one another and everybody was happy, everybody but
Alfred. With jealousy gnawing his vitals he sat between two big,
grown-up men, unnoticed save when he requested some edible passed to
him. He almost made up his mind to forsake the amusement profession and
take his mother's advice to study to become a doctor.

Supper over, good nights were said. Guest after guest departed. One
garrulous gentleman remained; he was noted for his staying qualities. He
would visit a family in the country near his home and keep them up until
after midnight, which was a terrible breach of etiquette in those days
when country folks went to bed with the chickens and town people who
stayed up after eleven were looked upon with suspicion.

The mother had caught herself nodding several times, the father was
yawning, Lin could scarcely keep her eyes open, and Alfred had taken two
or three naps. The prolonged visit had become almost unbearable to all
except the lone guest who kept up a commonplace conversation, just
sufficiently animated to keep him awake. In the middle of one of his
dryest sentences Lin jumped up and said:

"Come on folks, let's go to bed, I expect Uncle Wilse wants to go
home."




CHAPTER NINE

    Never mind the pain
      For gladness will outlive it.
    When your neighbor needs a smile
      Don't hesitate to give it.


Then came sorrow into the life of Alfred. The father was ill for many
months; war came with its blighting influences, bringing ruin to many,
prosperity to a few.

The father's family were Virginians, the mother's Marylanders. True to
their traditions they believed in the people of the South, not favoring
secession, however. In the white heat of continued controversy relatives
became enemies.

To add to their troubles Brownsville was visited by the most disastrous
fire in its history. Alfred's folks lost everything, even to their
wearing apparel. Alfred was the most fortunate member of the family. He
entered and re-entered the burning home after he had been warned not to
do so. At every return from the blazing house he carried some of his
boyish belongings.

Lin, in recounting the thrilling scenes of the night of the fire, said:
"Ef the men hed hed any sense all the things could hev been got out. Jim
Lucas and Tom Brawley jes piled the bedsteads, bureaus, looking glasses
and arm-cheers out of the third story winders an' durn ef I didn't see
Tom Brawley kum out of the house with a arm load of pillurs wrapped up
in a blanket. Hit takes a fire or a dog fight to show whuther peepul hev
got eny judgment or not."

On his last trip out of the house Alfred carried his dog "Bobbie," two
pet frizzly chickens, the uniform Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy fashioned,
Mrs. Young's part of his clown suit and the head-drum or tambourine.

Lin fairly snorted when she saw the boy approaching; "Now look at the
dratted, fickle boy, leavin' his Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes to perish
fur them ole show duds. Hit beats the bugs jes to think thet boy 'ud run
into thet house blazin' like a lime kiln from top to bottom. A body'd
thot he'd tried to save somethin' thet would a done us good. But no; all
he thinks about is them ole show things. It's a wonder he didn't try to
get the melodeon out eny way."

The condition of the family was changed in one night from prosperity to
near-poverty. The mother resolutely refused all proffered aid from
relatives with whom relations had been strained. To Uncle Joe's and
Betsy's offer she returned the message: "If we were Southern
sympathizers before the fire, we are not beggars now."

Lin was as defiant as the mother: "Huh, yes. Ef we'd let 'em help
us now, the fust election kum up they'd throw it up to us. Uncle
Billy is a candidate fer county jedge, I reckon he wants a few
votes. The Lord will purvide a way." She added: "Jus tell Joe an'
Betsy an' all the rest of 'em thet we'll hoe our own row yit a
while. No siree-horse-fly-over-the-river-to-Green-County, we don't
want no abolishunist to help us."

Alfred could not fully comprehend the feelings that influenced the
members of the family in the stand they took, but anything his mother
said or did always met with his loyal support.

The proud, strong-minded mother guided the destinies of the family
through the troublesome times that followed. The strictest economy was
practiced in all things. Brownsville has ever been noted for the
hospitality of its people and the plenteous supplies found on the tables
of all. Therefore, when the usual good things were missing from the
table and the mother explained that it would not be for long but 

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