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Mothering on Perilous

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<h2><SPAN name="chapter27" id="chapter27"></SPAN><abbr title="Twenty-Seven">XXVII</abbr><br/> TRANSFORMATION</h2> <h3>Wednesday.</h3> <p>Sad news again from Trigger about the babe. "Nothing but a pitiful little passel of bones," said the mail-boy; "purely dying for lack of Blant."</p> <p>Blant's refusal to use his gun last night has spread abroad, and creates great excitement. "Trojan fotch him his revolver and he wouldn't tech it or use it," is the talk flying about among the boys. "Aiming to let the Cheevers keep his land." "Done give up the war." "Haint going to make no effort to break prison." "Never heared tell of no hero doing such a way!" "Achilles wouldn't," "Nor Hector, neither." Evidently they feel bitter disappointment. They do not dare show it before Nucky, however, or even broach the subject in his presence. I called them in to-night and talked to them about the superiority of moral courage to physical,—with, I fear, no great result. How terribly true are Paul's words, "First the natural man, then"—after what awful birth-pangs, sometimes as cruel as those Blant is experiencing!—"the spiritual".</p> <h3>Saturday.</h3> <p>More and more distressing accounts of the babe. "Minervy Saxby says it won't hold out till the trial." "Just lays and pines and moans." "You can count every bone in its body". Poor Blant! When he hears this, as he certainly will, will he regret that he did not use the revolver? The trial is only ten days off; but if the two-years' penitentiary sentence is to follow, as everybody says it will, there will be no chance whatever for the babe—even a two-weeks' sentence would be too long. I had hoped that Blant's refusal to use his gun on the keeper might turn the tide of public sentiment in favor of an acquittal; but that seems not to be so much as thought of. Nucky has apparently lost all hope and courage, and goes about in miserable, despairing silence. Probably it is as well for him that he is to leave school the end of next week and shoulder the hard work and heavy responsibilities at home,—action may relieve his suffering of mind. But it is harder than I can say for me to let him go, and to know that I am giving him up for at least two years,—probably forever. Indeed, when I think of the whole situation,—the desperate condition of the Marrs family, the dying state of the babe, the tragedy of a boy of Nucky's wonderful promise having to give up schooling and bow his shoulders under a man's burden at twelve years old, I am tempted to wish that in some way, not of bloodshed, Blant could have managed to escape.</p> <h3>Thursday.</h3> <p>Marbles is still in full sway,—I have never seen the boys so fascinated by any game,—they spend at least three-fourths of their playtime making money to buy marbles to play with the other fourth,—for they continue to lose incredible numbers of them. I gave Jason a dime to buy his tenth set to-day.</p> <p>Geordie informed me as he started to bed a few minutes ago that he had enough money laid by now to take that trip to Virginia this summer and see his mother and the world and the railroad-train. In spite of his talents, I wonder that he has managed to get that much together.</p> <p>Vacation is just a little over a month distant now, and Keats and Hen are already making great plans as to the work they will perform for Nervesty during the summer, and all the others who have homes are looking forward eagerly. A few,—all my motherless ones, I hope—will remain here with me to attend to the gardening during the summer. I had of course planned for Nucky to stay with me; but pain takes the place of the pleasure I had anticipated.</p> <h3>First Sunday in April.</h3> <p>To-day Philip was a living monument to the transforming power of love. Very clean, very much combed and brushed and collared and tied, with a large handkerchief, soaked in my cologne, held prominently in one hand, and an expression as decorous and pious as any ever achieved by Geordie Yonts, he sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction of his thoughts being indicated by an occasional ardent glance across the aisle, where Dilsey, fairer, more saint-like than ever, kept serious eyes on the preacher. As I looked, I asked myself, Can this be the boy who a few short months ago declined to perform the most rudimentary rites of the toilet, gloried in tatters, declared that "when a man steps in the door, looks flies up the chimley", denominated "polite" a "lick-spittle", asserted that he would rather take off his hat to a cow than a woman, and pronounced the story of his chivalric namesake a "slander"?</p> <div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="image22" id="image22"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/image22.png"> <ANTIMG src="images/image22th.png" width-obs="176" height-obs="282" alt="A number of people sitting in the church pews, most of them looking straight ahead, the notable exception being Philip who is looking across the aisle at Dilsey. A small boy is leaning against Miss Loring, sleeping." title="He sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction of his thoughts indicated by an occasional ardent glance across the aisle." /></SPAN> <q class="caption">He sat in church the very picture of elegance, the real direction of his thoughts indicated by an occasional ardent glance across the aisle.</q></div> <p>This afternoon, however, came the grand climax. After the dish-washing, the cottage boys and ten wash-girls came quietly over to the cottage yard and seated themselves on back steps and walk. As Hen ran through to join them I inquired, "What's going on?"</p> <p>"Philip he's aiming to give a treat, and done axed all us boys and wash-girls to it," he replied in an astonished voice, hurrying on. I, too, remembering the consistent selfishness following upon the declaration that "generous never put no bread in my belly", was astonished. A few moments later I stepped to the open window and looked out upon a surprising scene. Philip, as suave, knightly and beautiful as his famous namesake could ever have been in the days when he sighed for Stella and all other women for him, was passing around a large "poke" of crackers, and another of brown sugar, and saying with graceful flourishes and insistent politeness,</p> <p>"Eat all you can, now, everybody,—I got more still when you git through this. There, Jason, wait till the girls is helped,—ladies first, son,—haint you got no manners? Take some, Nancy, eat a-plenty, Rosabel, don't hold back, Narcissa, here's a good lump, Dilsey. Now, boys, pitch in,—you little fellows, Iry, Hen, Jason, take your pick first,—the big boys waits till after you,—I don't aim to see you run over. Don't be afeared, take all you need! Now Taulbee, Killis, Hose, Keats, everybody,—dive in! Just eat all you can hold, and fill up your bel—stummicks. I love to see folks eat and enjoy theirselves. No thank you, I wouldn't choose none myself,—'druther see the rest eat! I spent thirty cents on them crackers, and thirty-five on that 'ere sugar,—dag gone, I reckon a man't works hard for his money's got the right to spend it to suit him! Some folks haint fitten to live,—wants to eat up all they git theirselves; but I like to pass around mine, I do,—it makes me happy. What's the use of livin' if you can't make folks see a good time? Gee-oh, I aim to make me a big grain of money this summer, so's I can give a treat onct a month come next school; and I want every man-jack of you, and ladies too, to come every time. Dad burn ole Heck, generous never ruint nobody!"</p> <p>Almost unable to believe my eyes and ears, I stood, murmuring to myself, "And they say the day of miracles is past!"</p> <p>Nucky alone was absent from the feast, visiting Blant. On his return, there was a surprising change in his demeanor. He appeared to have shed several years of age and care, played boisterously about the yard, got into two or three fights, and a short while after we began reading to-night leaped from his chair to the table, where he executed a wild war-dance. All of which distressed me not a little, and seemed perfectly unaccountable. The thought that he was sitting beside me, and leaning his head on my shoulder, for probably the last time, was eating into my heart; and his carelessness of the fact hurt me deeply. But of course parting means little to the very young.</p> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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