man did honestly believe there was a fortune in that black gummy oil that
stews out of the bank Si says is coal; and he refined it himself till it
was like water, nearly, and it did burn, there’s no two ways about that;
and I reckon he’d have been all right in Cincinnati with his lamp that he
got made, that time he got a house full of rich speculators to see him
exhibit only in the middle of his speech it let go and almost blew the
heads off the whole crowd. I haven’t got over grieving for the money
that cost yet. I am sorry enough Beriah Sellers is in Missouri, now, but
I was glad when he went. I wonder what his letter says. But of course
it’s cheerful; he’s never down-hearted–never had any trouble in his
life–didn’t know it if he had. It’s always sunrise with that man, and
fine and blazing, at that–never gets noon; though–leaves off and rises
again. Nobody can help liking the creature, he means so well–but I do
dread to come across him again; he’s bound to set us all crazy, of
coarse. Well, there goes old widow Hopkins–it always takes her a week
to buy a spool of thread and trade a hank of yarn. Maybe Si can come
with the letter, now.”
And he did:
“Widow Hopkins kept me–I haven’t any patience with such tedious people.
Now listen, Nancy–just listen at this:
“‘Come right along to Missouri! Don’t wait and worry about a good
price but sell out for whatever you can get, and come along, or you
might be too late. Throw away your traps, if necessary, and come
empty-handed. You’ll never regret it. It’s the grandest country–
the loveliest land–the purest atmosphere–I can’t describe it; no
pen can do it justice. And it’s filling up, every day–people
coming from everywhere. I’ve got the biggest scheme on earth–and
I’ll take you in; I’ll take in every friend I’ve got that’s ever
stood by me, for there’s enough for all, and to spare. Mum’s the
word–don’t whisper–keep yourself to yourself. You’ll see! Come!
–rush!–hurry!–don’t wait for anything!’
“It’s the same old boy, Nancy, jest the same old boy–ain’t he?”
“Yes, I think there’s a little of the old sound about his voice yet.
I suppose you–you’ll still go, Si?”
“Go! Well, I should think so, Nancy. It’s all a chance, of course, and,
chances haven’t been kind to us, I’ll admit–but whatever comes, old
wife, they’re provided for. Thank God for that!”
“Amen,” came low and earnestly.
And with an activity and a suddenness that bewildered Obedstown and
almost took its breath away, the Hawkinses hurried through with their
arrangements in four short months and flitted out into the great
mysterious blank that lay beyond the Knobs of Tennessee.
CHAPTER II.
Toward the close of the third day’s journey the wayfarers were just
beginning to think of camping, when they came upon a log cabin in the
woods. Hawkins drew rein and entered the yard. A boy about ten years
old was sitting in the cabin door with his face bowed in his hands.
Hawkins approached, expecting his footfall to attract attention, but it
did not. He halted a moment, and then said:
“Come, come, little chap, you mustn’t be going to sleep before sundown”
With a tired expression the small face came up out of the hands,–a face
down which tears were flowing.
“Ah, I’m sorry I spoke so, my boy. Tell me–is anything the matter?”
The boy signified with a scarcely perceptible gesture that the trouble
was in the, house, and made room for Hawkins to pass. Then he put his
face in his hands again and rocked himself about as one suffering a grief
that is too deep to find help in moan or groan or outcry. Hawkins
stepped within. It was a poverty stricken place. Six or eight middle-
aged country people of both sexes were grouped about an object in the
middle of the room; they were noiselessly busy and they talked in
whispers when they spoke. Hawkins uncovered and approached. A coffin
stood upon two backless chairs. These neighbors had just finished
disposing the body of a woman in it–a woman with a careworn, gentle face
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