Amos Judd

by John Ames Mitchell

The older man smiled at the earnestness with which this sentence was uttered. “I am afraid, Mr. Amos Judd, you are not a Christian. Take my advice and join a bible-class before the devil gets his other hand upon you.”

After a few words on other matters, Amos called his mare, and departed.

As the hour of six drew near, Mr. Cabot made a point of realizing that he was a free agent and could do whatever he wished, and he resolved that no guess, based on a probability, should prove correct. To assure himself that there was no compulsion or outside influence of any nature, he started first for the barn to execute a fantastic resolve, then as an additional proof that he was absolutely his own master, suddenly changed his mind, turned about, and went upstairs.

Going along a back passage with no definite intention, he paused at a half-open door, looked in, and entered. The blinds were closed, but between the slats came bars of light from the western sun, illumining the little room, an unused chamber, now serving as a storehouse for such trunks and sundry relics as had failed to reach the attic. Mr. Cabot noticed a rocking-horse in one corner and his eyes sparkled with a new idea. After closing the door he dragged the steed from its resting-place, planted it in the middle of the floor, and looked at his watch. It lacked four minutes of six. As he prepared to mount he saw the legs of a rag-baby projecting over a shelf, and pulling her down, could not restrain a smile as he held her in his arms. A large, round, flat, and very pale but dirty face was emphasized by fiery cheeks, whose color, from a want of harmony with the coarse material of her visage, had only lingered in erratic blotches. With this lady in his arms he mounted the horse, and, while gently rocking with both feet on the ground, he again took out his watch and found he was just on the minute of six o’clock. But he kept his seat for a moment longer, judging the situation too good to be trifled with, and too unusual for any ordinary guess. Carelessly he rocked a little faster, when a front foot of his overladen steed slipped from its rocker and Mr. Cabot nearly lost his balance. The damage, however, he easily repaired; the rag-baby was replaced upon her shelf, and when he left the little room and returned to his own chamber there was an expression upon his face that seemed indicative of an amiable triumph. Some minutes later, with a similar expression, he took from his pocket the slip of paper on which Amos had written, read it once with some haste, then a second time and more carefully.

The Hon. James Cabot, one of the most respected residents of Daleford, attempted at six o’clock to elope with an obscure maiden of the village. But his horse, an animal with one glass eye and no tail, broke down before they had fairly started and went lame in his off front foot.

Gently rocking with both feet on the ground

For several minutes he stood looking down at the paper between his fingers, occasionally drawing a hand across his forehead. Then he refolded the paper and placing it in his pocket, took his hat and went out into the orchard, to think, and to be alone.

On questioning Amos he found no more light was to be expected from that quarter, as the young man had already expounded his only theory, which was that these visions were but optional warnings of the inevitable: that all was fore-ordained: that there could be no variations in the course of Fate. His mind was not philosophical; his processes of reason were simple and direct, and he listened with profound interest to Mr. Cabot’s deeper and more scientific attempts at reaching a consistent explanation. Little progress, however, was made in this direction, and the lawyer admitted that the evidence, so far, contradicted in no detail his friend’s belief. He also found that Amos, although deeply concerned in the subject when once opened, rarely introduced it himself or referred to it in any way; and that he never employed his power except in the rarest emergencies.

Moreover, the lawyer understood how such a faculty, although of value in certain cases, would, in the great majority, be worse than useless, while it could not fail of an overpowering influence on the being who employed it. He respected the strength of purpose that enabled the young man to keep it in the background, and he felt that he had discovered at least one reason for the restless pleasures of his youth. Now, happily, he was securing a calmer and a healthier diversion from a life in the open air. As his neighbor became the object of a deeper study it was evident the conflicting qualities that seemed to give such varying colors to his character were the result of these extraordinary conditions. His occasional recklessness and indifference were now easily explained. His disregard for religious observances was in perfect harmony with an insight into the workings of a stupendous fate, immeasurably above the burning of candles and the laws of ecclesiastical etiquette. His love of exercise, of sunshine, of every form of pleasure and excitement, were but the means of escape from the pursuing dread of an awful knowledge. And the lavish generosity that often startled his friends and bewildered Daleford was a trivial matter to one who, if he cared to peruse in advance the bulletins of the stock exchange, could double his fortune in a day.