STAGE III.—IN WHICH CRICKET PROCEEDS WITH HEAVIER BAGGAGE
HAT evening there came a rap at our door, and when I opened it who should walk in upon us but Sam—the apprehensive and affectionate Sam.
I presented him to my mother and sister, and he removed his cap and coat and sat down with us. In his Sunday suit and manners Sam was neither cheerful nor communicative. I tried to talk with him of the days we had known together, but he only smiled and shook his head with, now and then, a timid exclamation. When my mother and sister had gone to bed he nudged my leg and whispered:
“Le' 's go outdoors.”
We went down the road together, and he turned to me and said:
“I'm up a stump.”
“What's the matter?” I asked.
“Deviltry, which is a caution,” said he.
“Married life?”
“The Colonel,” said Sam.
“Why don't you leave him?”
“Can't,” he answered.
“Why not?”
“It's my duty to stan' it, an' I'll have to. Don't have much to do but sleep with the Colonel, an' that's a man's work. It takes an uncommon kind of a man, too. You have to praise his strength an' look at his wounds an' hear him sing an' be shoved around the bedroom an' get your head thumped on the wall, an' run for your life when he chases ye. He wants to rassle an' pull fingers about every night. Sometimes he comes home drunk an' sets an' sings like a bird at two o'clock in the morning. I have to get up an' pull his boots off an' let him shove me around. It ain't an easy job, but it's better than some, an' we can't leave Jo alone with him. I've got to put up with it. One night he drove me all over the place with a kind of a spear. I didn't know but he was goin' to stick me with it. By-an'-by I see that he wasn't vicious.
“One evenin' a young feller come there when the Colonel was away, an' behaved himself improper. Jo told Fannie, an' I went an' kicked him out o' the house. The Colonel was wild when he heard of it. He wouldn't allow a boy on the place after that. The first one that come he grabbed a sword off the wall an' made for him. The boy run like a scairt deer, an' the Colonel chased him acrost the door-yard an' half-way to the bridge.
“One day the Colonel found a letter from you to Jo. He see that you was in love with her, an' flew mad an' forbid her to write to you, an' I come to tell ye. He won't let her go on the street alone, which is agoin' too fur—altogether. Jo is a lady—don't you forget it. There's only one man that comes to the house, an' he's a friend o' the Colonel. I guess he's a gentleman.”
Jo's silence had worried me, and now this attitude of her father filled me with alarm.
“Do you—do you think she cares for me?” I asked.
“You bet I do,” he answered, promptly. “There's every sign of it. She promised him that she wouldn't write to you—she had to do it, I guess, an' she wanted me to come an' bring you this.”
He paused and gave me a small package.
“The Colonel has had a fortune come to him,” my friend went on. “He's goin' to move to the old homestead in Merrifield, an' it ain't over twenty mile from here. They'll move in the spring—soon as the snow's off—an' maybe things 'll change by then, so you can come an' see us.”
“You write me when to come, and I'll be there if it's a possible thing,” was my answer..
Sam questioned me as to my work and pay, and I gave him all the particulars.
“You'll have to get into bigger business,” he suggested. “Jo's a lady. I ain't goin' to tell 'em that you're smoothin' rocks. It don't fit ye—someway.”
“It's respectable,” I said, “and I've been studying every day.”
I didn't have the courage to speak of my discharge, and I hoped, too, that Mr. Crocket would soon take me back.
“You've got to be a big gun if you're goin' to fit her, there ain't any two ways about that. You'd better go to school, an', if you need it, I'll lend you a little money.”
I thanked the big-hearted fellow, and said that I would consult my mother about it.
“You set down an' write her a letter,” said he, “an' I'll see that she gets it.”
“But the Colonel—” I began.
“He ain't forbid you to write, has he?” Sam went on. “You write her a good, long, high-toned letter, such as a lady ought to get. You know how to do it. Don't speak o' the rocks. I've told 'em that you was a gentleman, an' very partic'lar fine in every way, shape, an' manner, an' I guess she b'lieves it. She can marry the best chap in the land if she wants to.”
I took his hard hand in mine. “Sam, you're a friend worth having,” I said.
“You done me a favor once,” he went on, “an' I ain't forgot it, an' never will, an' I'm goin' to help you in any way that I can. Do you remember when I was married? She just took hold o' my bit an' give me a slap on the side, an' walked me up to the neck-yoke where I belonged, an', old boy, I'd go through fire an' water for her.”
“I shall not write to Jo at present,” I said. “It wouldn't be fair to the Colonel. We must win him over.”
We climbed the hanging stair, and I conducted Sam to the spare room.
“Thank God,” Sam exclaimed, “I ain't got to hear about battles or the last rose o' summer, an' prob'ly I won't have to jump out an' rassle in the dead o' the night!”
I took the little package Sam had given me to my room, and when it was undone there lay the horruck, wrapped in a sheet of paper which contained these words:
I have read the delightful message of the horruck. I send it back, and it will do for a letter.
I sat for hours trying to solve the riddle, and fell asleep in my chair by-and-by. When I awoke the horruck was gone. It had dropped from my hand, no doubt, but, although I looked high and low, I was not able to find it. Had Lizzie McCormick returned in my sleep and taken it away? The thing had left me as mysteriously as it came.
I went to bed and lay awake, hearing the roar of the falling water, and the thought came to me that my own life was like a river now, creeping over the flats. Maybe it would gather power and go on with a rush by-and-by.