Summerfield / or, Life on a Farm

by Day Kellogg Lee

He insisted, however, that Troffater should go into the house, and see his folks, and take supper with them. The bolt of a galvanic battery could not have convulsed the little culprit with a more terrible shock than such a word; he looked as though he would slink through the floor, and actually craved a blow to brace up his nerves, and knit his joints, and rally his skulking spirit. He begged permission to be gone immediately. But no, he could not get off with so light a punishment. He must go in and see Mrs. Fabens and Fanny, and take supper with them. He dared not disobey, and he trudged sneakingly in like a whipped spaniel.

"O, it is Mr. Troffater come to see us!" said Mrs. Fabens, smiling a kind welcome as he entered the door. "We were wondering who it could be with Mr. Fabens in the barn-yard. How do you do, Mr. Troffater? How is Mrs. Troffater? and how are the family? It is such a pleasant evening, why did not Mrs. Troffater come over with you and spend the evening? She has not made me a visit in a long, long while."

"How are Ruth and Josephine? Did I not see them crossing our pasture towards Mr. Teezle's to-day? I hope they have not forgotten that they owe me a visit," said Fanny, with a voice more musical than the meadowlark's, and a smile more gentle and subduing than the moonlight melting on the wall.

But Troffater was silent. His throat was so dry, and his tongue so thick, he could utter nothing in return. His silence surprised them, and they feared he had been injured, or was in a fit, until a glance from Fabens checked their surprise and inquiries; and then they treated him as if he had joined in conversation, and nothing unusual had happened. A good supper was set before him, and a good family took seats around him, and Mrs. Fabens and Fanny more than once expressed the wish that Mrs. Troffater and the girls had come along. But Troffater enjoyed neither conversation, nor comfort, nor supper. He tried to eat, but he made a pig's mess of the fine and bountiful dishes they set before him. He crossed and recrossed his earthen eyes. He sweat, and hitched, and wheezed: he dropped his knife on the floor, and stuck his elbow in Fanny's butter; he attempted to sever a cold chicken's wing, and upset a plate full of biscuit and butter, apple, honey, and pie, in his lap; he blew his tea long after it was cool, and blew hot and cold drops into Mrs. Fabens' face; and mixed everything together as he ate. And then he ate but little; his throat was so dry he found it difficult to swallow.

After supper they returned to the barn, and there Fabens told him in private what he thought of his crime. He talked very frankly. He used neither oil nor honey with his words. He warned him against the wickedness of crime, and against its awful punishments. He cited a few warnings of the Scriptures against the wicked and the sinner. Yet he spoke kindly, and admonished him as a friend and brother.

Troffater went into convulsions of agony. Streams of fire seemed surging through all his arteries, burning up his heart, and covering his head and face with blisters. He hung his head, and knocked his knees together. He gasped, and hemmed, and groaned. Tears at last came to his relief, and he wept like a child. Fabens assured him, if he would promise upon honor, that he would, from that time, abandon criminal desires and acts, he would always treat him kindly, and never expose him. A pledge was given with more soul in its declarations than had ever before been extorted from the mischief.

Troffater, however, still begged for one mitigation of his punishment—a single one. He begged to empty the bag of wheat into the granary, and go home without a quart. But Fabens was inexorable. Troffater said it would choke him to eat the flour, after what had happened. But Fabens expressed no fear or pity. Troffater said he would give up trapping and hunting, and go right to work and earn some wheat. Fabens advised him to do it; but said he must take home that bag full, to keep them in bread till he could earn more. Troffater replied that they had enough for two or three bakings, and asked if he might not let the bag stand, and come to-morrow, and work till he had earned it, and then take it home. But Fabens was still inexorable. If Troffater would come to-morrow and help him three or four days, he would pay him in wheat; but that bag-full he was welcome to, and he must take it home that night.

"I ken not carry it," cried Tilly; "there's three bushels and a haff; and it'll break my back, if I try to tuck it hum."

"I did not think of that. It will be too heavy for one load; but I will tell you how you can manage it," said Fabens. "We will turn half of it into your other bag, that lies out there by the fence, and you can carry it half at a time, and then get it home before eleven o'clock."

Then came another scourge like molten lead upon him. He had hoped that Fabens would not discover the other bag; but now the worst was known; and taking the fiery chastisement, he submitted, insisting on coming to work, and declaring he would take no more pay for his work; while the Squire declared if he worked he should have his pay. He carried away the wheat, and never again was detected in crime committed after that night. It could hardly be expected by any man that his character would be completely changed, or his punishment entirely remitted at once. But he was a better neighbor, and more inclined to employment; and he abandoned his love of lying, law, and litigation.