hopper by the fence, and an iron pot, for soft-soap-boiling, near it.
This dwelling constituted one-fifteenth of Obedstown; the other fourteen
houses were scattered about among the tall pine trees and among the corn-
fields in such a way that a man might stand in the midst of the city and
not know but that he was in the country if he only depended on his eyes
for information.
“Squire” Hawkins got his title from being postmaster of Obedstown–not
that the title properly belonged to the office, but because in those
regions the chief citizens always must have titles of some sort, and so
the usual courtesy had been extended to Hawkins. The mail was monthly,
and sometimes amounted to as much as three or four letters at a single
delivery. Even a rush like this did not fill up the postmaster’s whole
month, though, and therefore he “kept store” in the intervals.
The Squire was contemplating the morning. It was balmy and tranquil,
the vagrant breezes were laden with the odor of flowers, the murmur of
bees was in the air, there was everywhere that suggestion of repose that
summer woodlands bring to the senses, and the vague, pleasurable
melancholy that such a time and such surroundings inspire.
Presently the United States mail arrived, on horseback. There was but
one letter, and it was for the postmaster. The long-legged youth who
carried the mail tarried an hour to talk, for there was no hurry; and in
a little while the male population of the village had assembled to help.
As a general thing, they were dressed in homespun “jeans,” blue or
yellow–here were no other varieties of it; all wore one suspender and
sometimes two–yarn ones knitted at home,–some wore vests, but few wore
coats. Such coats and vests as did appear, however, were rather
picturesque than otherwise, for they were made of tolerably fanciful
patterns of calico–a fashion which prevails thereto this day among those
of the community who have tastes above the common level and are able to
afford style. Every individual arrived with his hands in his pockets;
a hand came out occasionally for a purpose, but it always went back again
after service; and if it was the head that was served, just the cant that
the dilapidated straw hat got by being uplifted and rooted under, was
retained until the next call altered the inclination; many’ hats were
present, but none were erect and no two were canted just alike. We are
speaking impartially of men, youths and boys. And we are also speaking
of these three estates when we say that every individual was either
chewing natural leaf tobacco prepared on his own premises, or smoking the
same in a corn-cob pipe. Few of the men wore whiskers; none wore
moustaches; some had a thick jungle of hair under the chin and hiding the
throat–the only pattern recognized there as being the correct thing in
whiskers; but no part of any individual’s face had seen a razor for a
week.
These neighbors stood a few moments looking at the mail carrier
reflectively while he talked; but fatigue soon began to show itself,
and one after another they climbed up and occupied the top rail of the
fence, hump-shouldered and grave, like a company of buzzards assembled
for supper and listening for the death-rattle. Old Damrell said:
“Tha hain’t no news ’bout the jedge, hit ain’t likely?”
“Cain’t tell for sartin; some thinks he’s gwyne to be ‘long toreckly,
and some thinks ‘e hain’t. Russ Mosely he tote ole Hanks he mought git
to Obeds tomorrer or nex’ day he reckoned.”
“Well, I wisht I knowed. I got a ‘prime sow and pigs in the, cote-house,
and I hain’t got no place for to put ’em. If the jedge is a gwyne to
hold cote, I got to roust ’em out, I reckon. But tomorrer’ll do, I
‘spect.”
The speaker bunched his thick lips together like the stem-end of a tomato
and shot a bumble-bee dead that had lit on a weed seven feet away.
One after another the several chewers expressed a charge of tobacco juice
and delivered it at the deceased with steady, aim and faultless accuracy.