Mothering on Perilous

<h2><SPAN name="chapter16" id="chapter16"></SPAN><abbr title="Sixteen">XVI</abbr><br/> FILIAL PIETY AND CROUP</h2> <h3>Saturday Bed-time.</h3> <p>This evening, while we were popping corn in the "fotch-on" poppers, Killis said he could recollect "capping" corn in a skillet under the still while he and his father made liquor.</p> <p>"You made liquor?" I exclaimed.</p> <p>"Can't remember when I didn't," he replied; "I holp paw from the time I could walk. I would go with him up the hollow, and gather wood for the fire, and then set and watch the singlings whilst he kep' a lookout for officers. And sometimes he would let me mix the doublings, too. And when the liquor was made, and folks would come to buy it, I would circle round up in the field where it was hid, to show 'em the place, and they would come up with their jugs and leave the money under a stump. Gee, I knowed so much about the business I could run it myself!"</p> <p>"I hope and pray you never will," I said, earnestly.</p> <p>"What you got again' it,&mdash;you haint no officer," he said.</p> <p>"No," I said, "but I think it is wrong." And I gave my reasons, which, however, failed to carry much conviction.</p> <p>"The marshal that kilt your paw," inquired Nucky, at last, "how long you aim to let him live?"</p> <p>"Till I'm good and ready for him," replied Killis; "I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time,&mdash;there's a band breast-high around it black with bullet-holes. Sometimes I shoot walking, and sometimes running, and sometimes I fetch a nag up and gallop around and shoot. When I get so I never miss, I'll ride over where he lives at and tell him 'I'm Steve Blair's boy,' and shoot him down like a dog, and revenge my paw, and do my duty."</p> <div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="image14" id="image14"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/image14.png"> <ANTIMG src="images/image14th.png" width-obs="230" height-obs="257" alt="Killis is aiming his gun at a tree, while galloping on a horse." title="'I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time.'" /></SPAN> <q class="caption">'I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time.'</q></div> <p>A murmur of quiet approval began with Nucky and passed around the circle.</p> <p>After the other boys went to bed, I finally extracted from Killis a solemn promise not to perform this "duty" before he was eighteen. It was the utmost I could accomplish,&mdash;long years of training must do the rest.</p> <h3>Monday.</h3> <p>The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence. On our walk up Perilous, they found drifts in which they dived and wallowed. Coming back I noticed that Jason was quite hoarse; and in the middle of the night I was awakened by strange and painful sounds, as if someone were choking to death. The night was cold, the bed warm; I lay and listened a moment longer. Then flinging on wrapper and slippers, I ran across the sitting-room to the upper bedroom. Jason was sitting up in bed, gasping for breath.</p> <div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="image15" id="image15"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/image15.png"> <ANTIMG src="images/image15th.png" width-obs="184" height-obs="310" alt="One boy is wallowing in the snow, another is diving, two are cheering them on. One is making a snowball, and another has one ready to fling. Two more are running to join the others." title="The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence." /></SPAN> <q class="caption">The first real snow yesterday, and the boys wild in consequence.</q></div> <p>"What is the matter with you?" I asked.</p> <p>"Croup," he croaked, between gasps.</p> <p>"Did you ever have it before?"</p> <p>"I follow havin' it."</p> <p>"Why didn't you tell me it was coming on?"</p> <p>"Afeared you'd whup me."</p> <p>I wrung my hands. "Cleo," I called back, "what in the world should be done for croup?"</p> <p>But for once her resources failed. "Some ties grease around their necks," she said.</p> <p>I have a maxim, "when in doubt try a hot-water-bag". Desperately stirring the fire in my grate, I put on water, and while it was heating spread vaseline on a handkerchief. Then flying back to Jason, I slapped first the handkerchief, then the hot bag, upon his chest. Apparently the child was choking to death,&mdash;I was terribly frightened,&mdash;the water may have been a little over-hot. At any rate, between chokes, my "little pet" raised the most roof-splitting yells. "Take it off! Take it off! Paw he gits me pole-cat-grease!" All the boys jumped out of their beds and came running. Jason fought me like a little tiger; but grabbing him by the hair, I held the bag on with all my might. His yells increased. "Oh, God, she's a-killing me! Oh, God, she's a-burning me up! Oh, God, gimme pole-cat-grease, pole-cat-grease, po&mdash;<em>ole</em>-cat-grease!" It was an awful moment; but I held my ground and the bag. In a few seconds, which seemed ages, the cries and chokes lessened, the breathing became quieter, the tense little frame relaxed, and danger was past.</p> <p>Half an hour later, when, weak but safe, my angel child lay quiet on his pillow, Philip, standing over him, remarked philosophically,</p> <p>"Son, you'd a-waited a right smart spell for pole-cat-grease,&mdash;better to lose a patch of your hide than die waiting for that!"</p> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />