“Light or dark, I don’t ask your help,” replied Reuben, emphatically. “I would’nt help you out of the bog, the other day, when you asked me.”
“The trouble I had in relieving my poor oxen teaches me to sympathize with others in the same situation,” answered Simeon. “Don’t let us waste words about it, neighbour. It is impossible for me to go home and leave you here in the bog, and night coming on.”
The team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and his men went away, without waiting for thanks. When Reuben went home that night, he was unusually silent and thoughtful. After smoking a while, in deep contemplation, he gently knocked the ashes from his pipe, and said, with a sigh, “Peg, Simeon Green has killed me!”
“What do you mean?” said his wife, dropping her knitting with a look of surprise.
“You know when he first came into this neighbourhood, he said he’d kill me,” replied Reuben; “and he has done it. The other day, he asked me to help draw his team out of the bog, and I told him I had enough to do to attend to my own business. To-day, my team stuck fast in the same bog, and he came with two yoke of oxen to draw it out. I felt sort of ashamed to have him lend me a hand, so I told him I didn’t want any of his help; but he answered, just as pleasant as if nothing contrary had ever happened, that night was coming on, and he was not willing to leave me there in the mud.”
“It was very good of him,” replied Peggy. “He is a pleasant-spoken man, and always has a pretty word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a nice neighbourly body, too.”
Reuben made no answer; but after meditating a while, he remarked, “Peg, you know that big ripe melon down at the bottom of the garden? you may as well carry it over there, in the morning.” His wife said she would, without asking him to explain where “over there” was.
But when the morning came, Reuben walked back and forth, and round and round, with that sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, and by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and don’t know what to run after. At length, the cause of his uncertain movements was explained, by his saying, in the form of a question, “I guess I may as well carry the melon myself, and thank him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in the marsh, I did’nt think to say I was obliged to him.”
He marched off toward the garden, and his wife stood at the door, with one hand on her hip, and the other shading the sun from her eyes, to see if he really would carry the melon into Simeon Green’s house. It was the most remarkable incident that had happened since her marriage. She could hardly believe her own eyes. He walked quick, as if afraid he should not be able to carry the unusual impulse into action if he stopped to reconsider the question. When he found himself in Mr. Green’s house, he felt extremely awkward, and hastened to say, “Mrs. Green, here is a melon my wife sent you, and we reckon it’s a ripe one.” Without manifesting any surprise at such unexpected courtesy, the friendly matron thanked him, and invited him to sit down. But he stood playing with the latch of the door, and without raising his eyes said, “May be Mr. Green ain’t in, this morning?”
“He is at the pump, and will be in directly,” she replied; and before her words were spoken, the honest man walked in, with a face as fresh and bright as a June morning. He stepped right up to Reuben, shook his hand cordially, and said, “I am glad to see you, neighbour. Take a chair. Take a chair.”