CHAPTER IV
PIPPIN GOES TO CYRUS
Pippin always looked back on the weeks he spent in Kingdom as one of hisgood times. Folks were so everlastingly good to him; they couldn'thardly have been better, he thought, not unless they had been your own.Mrs. Baxter, the baker's wife, was like--well, call it an aunt. Yes, shesure was like a good aunt, and equally so was her uncle; as for Buster,the boy--well, that was Pippin's moral of a boy. Buster would grow up afine man, you see if he didn't. He'd _better_! As to looking for thegrace of God like he promised Elder Hadley, why, he didn't have to. Itstuck right out of 'em, like--like electric lights!
Pippin lodged with the Baxters and paid his board in work, lighting thefires in the morning, heating the ovens, sweeping out the shop, anddoing a "hand's turn" in many directions. Mrs. Baxter declaredProvidence sent him just at that time, when Father had caught his handin the oven door and lamed him so; she did not know what upon earth theywould have done without Pippin. Indeed he showed himself so handy thatafter the first week Mr. Baxter offered him a permanent job, declared hewould make him the smartest baker in the county. Pippin promised tothink it over. He loved the smell of new bread; he loved to handle thedough, and rake out the glowing coals; yes, it was a pleasant trade, itsure was; but yet--but yet--
Other offers came to him. Among the crowd who had gathered to hear himsing that first day were Father O'Brien of St. Bridget's and ElderStebbins, the Methodist Minister. Both were music-lovers. Both made itin their way to drop in at the bakery in the course of the next fewdays, and invite the young scissor-grinder to sing in their choir whilehe sojourned in their midst. Was he a Catholic? Father O'Brien asked.No? More was the pity, but let him come and sing in the church, and'twould be good for him and the rest besides. Pippin assented joyfully.He would be real pleased to come, and sing the best he knew how. Thencame Elder Stebbins, ostensibly to buy a coffee cake for supper. Was hisyoung friend a Christian? "You bet!" replied Pippin, wrapping up thecake with deft fingers. "I'd have to be, wouldn't I? Unless that theLord had seen fit to have me a Chinee, or like that, and I'm just asglad He didn't!"
Mr. Stebbins hoped his young friend was also a Methodist; but Pippinshook his head; he guessed not. They were all good, he guessed; hepresumed he belonged to every church there was, in a general way, youknow. Mr. Stebbins looked grave, and said that was not a very safedoctrine. He hoped his young friend would join their service of song onSunday evening; it might be helpful to him, and would assuredly ministerto the enjoyment of others. Pippin assented joyfully, after ascertainingthat service would be over in time for him to set his sponge to rise.
So on Sunday, and other happy Sundays, he went to St. Bridget's in themorning, and sang stately old Latin hymns and chants; inhaled incense(which he thought real tasty, but yet nothing to what the Lord could dowith a field of white clover), kneeled reverently with the rest,listened respectfully to Father O'Brien's excellent little sermon, andliked it all. And the evening found him behind the green moreenhalf-curtains in the Methodist meetinghouse, pouring out his soul ingospel hymns and assuring his hearers that they would meet beside theriver, the beautiful, the beautiful river, in such tones and with suchfeeling that every woman in meeting wept, and there was a mighty blowingup of nasal trumpets among the men. Elder Stebbins' discourse was ratherlong-winded and rambling, but when Pippin lost the thread, he would takerefuge in a psalm, or recall one of Elder Hadley's brief, pistol-shotaddresses, or think how the buttercups shone in the field that day hefound the Lord. And here, too, he loved it all, every bit, and came homein a glow of happiness and fervor that was enough to make the dough riseat the sight of him.
The baker was puzzled at first by his new assistant; as the good manhimself expressed it, he didn't get on to Pippin's curves. There werethings that jarred--for a time--on his sensibilities; as thus. They weretogether in the shop one evening, and a customer came in for his eveningloaf; the shoemaker it was, Jere Cargo, a man of dry, critical humor. Hecommented on the loaf; it was a shade deeper brown than usual.
"One minute more, young man, and that loaf would have been burnt, that'swhat!"
Pippin scanned the loaf carefully. "Is that so?" he said. "Now! Why, Iwas pleased with this batch, I thought the Lord give me an elegant bakeon it: that's what I _thought_! But if folks likes 'em pale, why, paleit is!"
The shoemaker stared; Mr. Baxter coughed apologetically as heaccompanied him to the door, and--on a summoning jerk of thehead--followed him outside.
"What have you got there?" asked the shoemaker. "A preacher? Where'd youget him?"
"No, he isn't a preacher, though I dare say he might have been, if he'dhad education. He's just pious, that's all. It's his way of talking."
His tone was conciliatory, but the shoemaker sniffed.
"'Just pious!'" he repeated. "Look out for 'em, I say, when they're justpious. They'll bear watching. Where'd you say he come from?"
"He's traveling!" Mr. Baxter knew his customer, and had no idea oftelling him whence Pippin came. "He's a scissor-grinder by trade, and amaster hand at it. I hurt my hand last week, and he come along just inthe nick of time and has been helping me since. Real good help he is,too."
"Humph!" said Jere Cargo, shrugging his dry shoulders. "You look out forhim, that's all I say. Sharp-looking chap, I call that; he'll bearwatching."
Returning to the shop, Mr. Baxter coughed again, this time with his eyeon Pippin, who was arranging a tray of creamcakes with a lover's ardor.
"Ain't them handsome?" he cried. "I ask you, Boss, ain't them handsome?And dandy to eat--green grass! Mis' Baxter give me one. _They_ dropfatness all right, no two ways about that!"
Here Pippin broke into song, proclaiming joyously that he was a pilgrim,he was a stranger, he could tarry, he could tarry but a night.
"Do not detain me, For I am going--"
"Ahem!" said Mr. Baxter, "I was thinking, Pippin--"
Pippin came to attention instantly. "Yes, sir! You was thinkin'--"
"I was wondering--" the baker spoke slowly, in a tone half admonitory,half conciliatory, and wholly embarrassed--"whether maybe you--just in amanner, you understand, just in a manner--was in the habit of making amite too free with--with your Maker, so to speak."
Pippin's eye grew very round. "Meanin'--with the Lord?" he said.
"Yes! with--with--as you say, with the Lord!" Mr. Baxter was a godlyman, but his Deity lived in the meetinghouse and was rarely to bementioned except within its four walls. "For example," he went on, "Iwas wondering whether it was exactly a good plan to bring the--theAlmighty--into the bakeshop."
"Gorry!" said Pippin. "I'd hate to leave Him out of it!" His eyes, stillround and astonished, traveled slowly about the pleasant place. Threesides of it were filled with glass counters displaying a wealth of pies,pumpkin, apple, mince and custard, with cakes of every variety, from thewedding cake which was Mr. Baxter's special pride, to his wife'screamcakes, eagerly sought by the neighborhood for ten miles round.Behind the counter, on neat shelves, were stacked the loaves of bread,white and brown, the crisp rolls and melting muffins. The shop looked asgood as it smelled; "ther nys namoore to seye!"
"I'd hate to leave Him out of it!" repeated Pippin. "Dandy place likethis! Don't know as I get you this time, Boss!" He turned bewilderedbrown eyes on Mr. Baxter, who coughed again and reddened slightly.
"What I meant--" the baker ran his eye along a pile of loaves, andstraightened one that had slipped out of place--"isn't it making ratherfree with--ahem! what say?"
"Oh!" Pippin's face lightened. "I get you! Now I get you, sir! Lemmetell you! Lemme tell you just the way it is." Fairly stammering in hiseagerness, Pippin leaned across the counter, his eyes shining. "You see,sir, I was raised a crook!"
"Hush!" Mr. Baxter looked over his shoulder. "No need to speak out loud,Pippin. Just as well to keep that between ourselves, you know."
"I was raised," Pippin repeated in a lower tone, "a crook, and Iheard--and used--crooks' language. Nor it isn't only crooks
!" he cried,smiting the counter. "Where I was raised, 'most everybody had the nameof God on their tongues every hour in the day, but not in the way ofpraisin' Him; no, sir! There's plenty folks--good folks, too--they can'tname hardly anything, whatever be it, without 'God damn' before it. Youknow that, Mr. Baxter. You know what street talk is, sir." The bakernodded gravely. "Well, then! That's what I was raised to, and it run offmy tongue like water, till--till I come to know Elder Hadley. I'mtol'able noticin', sir; I expect crooks is, when they're all there; youhave to be, to get on. I noticed right off the way he spoke, clean andshort and pleasant, no damnin' nor cussin'; and I liked it, same as Iliked clean folks and despised dirty ones. That was all there was to itat first. But yet I couldn't stop all of a sudden; it took time, same asanything does, to learn it. Then--come to find the Lord, like I toldyou, sir, why--I dunno how to put it. I'd ben askin' Him all my life todamn everything, this, that, and the other, folks, and--everything, Isay; I didn't mean it, 'twas just a fool way of speakin', but what Ithought was, supposin' I was to ask Him to help right along, 'stead ofdamn, and _make_ it mean something! What say? You get my idea, Mr.Baxter, sir?"
Mr. Baxter nodded again. "I get it, Pippin. I won't say anything more."
"But yet--but yet--" Pippin was stammering again, and halfway across thecounter in his passion of eagerness. "I get you, too, Boss! I do, surething. You mean it brings some folks up short, like that gen'leman thatstepped in just now? He's no use for me, I see that right off; Iwondered why, and now 'tis clear as print. I'd oughter sized him upbetter. Take that kind of man, and he may be good as they make 'em,prob'ly is; but yet--well--you say the Lord's name _excep'_ in the wayof cussin'--I don't mean that he's that kind himself--but--_it's like hestubbed his toe on the Lord's ladder, see?_"
"You've got it! you've got it!" the baker was nodding eagerly in histurn. He laughed and rubbed his hands. "Stubbed his toe on--on theLord's ladder! I--I expect I stub mine a mite, too, Pippin, but I won'tsay another word."
"'Cause we're awful glad the ladder's there, ain't we, sir?" Pippin'svoice was wistful enough now.
"Ahem! Yes! yes!" The baker took out a clean red handkerchief and rubbedan imaginary spot on the shining glass. "That's all right, Pippin. Dowhat comes natural to you; only--what _are_ you doing now?"
There was a little stove in the shop, behind the middle counter, usedfor "hotting up" coffee or the like when people were in a hurry. Pippin,after a glance at the clock, had taken some pennies out of the till, andwas laying them carefully on the top of the stove, which glowed redhot.
"What are you doing?" repeated the baker. Pippin grinned.
"Tryin' an experiment!" he said. "There was a quarter missin' yesterday,Boss, you rec'lect, and ten cents the day before, and so along back."
"Yes!" Mr. Baxter looked serious. "I'm afraid, Pippin--"
"Don't be afraid, sir! Just watch me!" Pippin tested the penniescarefully and taking them up one by one on the blade of his jackknife,deposited them on the counter. "I've noticed along about this time everynight--there they come! Don't say a word, only watch!"
He retired behind the counter as the door opened and two children camein, a boy and a girl. They were poorly dressed, and there was somethingfurtive and slinking about their looks and manner, but they came forwardreadily, and the girl asked for a five-cent loaf of white bread, puttingat the same moment five pennies on the counter, close beside those whichalready lay there. As Pippin was tying up the bread, the girl began toask questions. How much was them cookies? Were they molasses or sugar?What was the price of the custard pie, and when was it baked?
"Baked this mornin'!" Pippin replied cheerfully. "Cost you a quarter,and worth a dollar. What--"
A piercing howl interrupted him. The tinkle of metal was heard, and theboy sprang back from the counter and danced about the shop, crying andspluttering, his fingers in his mouth. Pippin vaulted the counter in aninstant.
"What's the matter, Bo?" he asked kindly. "Hurt your finger? Lemme see!"The boy clenched his fist, but Pippin forced the fingers open, notungently. "Why, you've burnt 'em!" he announced. "My! my! that _must_hurt! How in the name--why, you must have made a mistake and took upsome of Mr. Baxter's pennies. Yes, sir, that's what you done. Didn't youknow that bakeshop pennies was hot? They be, sure thing! There goesSissy!" as the girl, seizing her loaf, slipped noiselessly out of thedoor. "Now you foller her, Bo, and go home and tell your ma what I say._Bakeshop pennies is hot!_ Think you'll remember that? Here's somethingto help your mem'ry!"
Leading the boy to the door, he gave him a carefully modulated kick, andwith a friendly, "So long, Bo!" returned to the shop.
"I've had my eye on them kids for two three days!" he explained. "Smartkids! If I met 'em in the city, I should say they was in trainin'. I'llset Father O'Brien on 'em; they go to his gospel shop. I see 'em there."
"I never should have thought it!" said the baker, and he shook his headsadly. "Those little kids! Why, the boy doesn't look to be more thaneight years old, and the girl only a year or so older."
"That's the time to start 'em!" Pippin spoke with emphasis. "If you'reaimin' to make a first-rate crook, you've got to start in early withhim. But Father O'Brien'll see to 'em; he's smart as a jimmy, FatherO'Brien is."
"We won't tell the wife!" said Mr. Baxter. "She is nervous, and 'twouldha'nt her, and keep her awake nights. One comfort, they're not Kingdomborn, those kids. They belong to them French folks over by the dump,down Devildom way."
Weekday mornings Pippin spent mostly in the bakery, working, singing,whistling, all with a hearty will. After dinner he would take his wheeland go his way through the pretty shady streets of the country town, orout along the green roads that led from it in various directions. Whenhe came to a promising looking corner with houses set within comfortablereach of one another, he would stop, and leaning on his wheel, would putup his shingle, as he called it: in other words, sing his grinding song.He had made it up, bit by bit, as the wheel turned, humming, under hishands. Here it is: but you should hear Pippin sing it!
Knives and scissors to grind, oh! Have 'em done to your mind, oh! Large and small, Damaged and all, Don't leave any behind, oh!
Knives and scissors to grind, oh! Every specie and kind, oh! Bring 'em to me, _And_ you will see Satisfaction you'll find, oh!
"Yes, sir, made it my own self!" he replied to Elder Stebbins' questionson the song. "I don't know how I done it. I expect it was a kind ofmiracle. I sang the first line through two three times, and lo ye! thenext one turned right up matchin' of it. Now that isn't nature, youknow, but yet it's _right_, and it fits straight in. When a thing comeslike that, I call it a miracle. What say?"
"Very interesting, my young friend! Do you--a--might it perhaps bebetter to substitute 'species' for 'specie'? The latter means, as youdoubtless are aware, current coin; and--"
"Great!" said Pippin. "Current coin is what I'm after every time, so Iget it honest. Specie'll do for me, Elder!"
Before he had sung the song through once, doors and windows would beopening, housewives peering out, children running to gather round themagic wheel, listening open-mouthed to the singer. It was all play toPippin; wonderful, beautiful play.
"I tell you," he would say, "I tell you, seems though just to breathewas enough to keep gay on. Over there to Shoreham--I dunno--I expect theair got discouraged, some way of it. They'd open the windows, but theoutside air was shy of comin' in--like the rest of us! But out here inthe open--and things lookin' like this--green grass! I'm happy, anddon't you forget it!"
Sometimes he got a lift on his way. Solitary drivers, plodding along theroad, and seeing the trim, alert figure ahead stepping out briskly withits wheel, were apt to overhaul it, and after a glance at Pippin's facewould most likely ask, "Goin' along a piece? Like a lift?" and Pippin,with joyous thanks, would climb eagerly in, all ready to begin a newchapter of human intercourse.
Once, so clambering, he found himself beside a tall man, brown-eyed a
ndbrown-haired, who drove a brown horse. Pippin's eyes were brown, too,but they danced and sparkled like running water; the stranger's eyeswere like a quiet pool under shady trees, yet there was light in them,too.
"Goin' far?" he asked. His voice was grave, and he spoke slowly.
"Four Corners was what I'd aimed at," said Pippin, "but if you ain'tgoin' that way--?"
"Goin' right past it, on my reg'lar route! I do business there to thestore. I see you carry your trade with you, same as I do!" He jerked hishead backward toward a neat arrangement of drawers and tiny cupboardswhich half filled his roomy wagon. "Nice trade, I expect?"
Pippin laughed his joyous laugh. "Real nice, only it isn't mine, not forkeeps, I would say. 'Twas a--well, you might call it a legacy, and youwouldn't be far wrong. It come right to my hand when I was lookin' for ajob, and I took it up then and there. Yes, sir, 'tis a good trade, and aman might do well at it, I don't doubt, but yet I don't feel it to be myown trade that I was meant for. So I go about seekin' for that one, andworkin' at this one, and helpin' in the bakery--Baxter's to Kingdom; I'mboardin' there--helpin' there mornin's an' evenin's."
The brown eyes studied him carefully.
"About twenty-one years old, son? Twenty-two? I thought about there!Well, what have you been doin' up to now?"
Pippin told him, much as he had told Jacob Bailey. The brown manlistened attentively, murmuring, "Sho!" or "Ain't that a sight!"occasionally to himself.
"So you see," Pippin concluded, "I want to be right down sure I've gotthe real thing before I settle down."
"Sure!" the other assented. "That's right!"
"And I keep feelin' at the back of my head that what I want is work withmy hands; not this way, but farmin', or like that. The smell of theearth, and to see things growin', and--don't you know?"
The stranger assented absently.
"Elegant!" he said. "Farmin's elegant, when you've got the gift,but--ever thought of goin' to sea?" he asked; an eager look came intohis face.
Pippin shook his head. "Not any!" he said. "I see the sea once, an'honest, it give me the creeps. Cold water mumblin' over the stones, likeit wanted to eat 'em; and brown--kind o' like hair it was, floatin'about; and every now and then a big wave would come _Sssss!_ up on theshore--well, honest, I run! I was a little shaver, but I've never wantedany more sea in mine!"
The brown man laughed. "You'd feel different, come to get out in bluewater!" he said. "Smell the salt, and get the wind in your face,and--gorry! I'm a sea-farin' man," he said simply. "I spent good part ofmy life at sea. I'm runnin' a candy route at present--have a pep'mint!Do! 'Twon't cost you a cent, and it's real good for the stummick--butwhere I belong is at sea. Well! you can't do better than farmin',surely. Would you like a temp'ry job pickin' apples? I dunno but Sam--"
"There's more to it than that!" Pippin was speaking absently now; therewas a wistful look in his eyes. "There's all that, the smell of theground, and--and buttercups and--things; but there's more to it. There!You seem so friendly, I'll say it right out. I want to help!"
"That's right!" murmured the brown man. "Help! that's the stuff!"
"I want to help them that needs help. I want there shouldn't be so manykids in cellars, nor so many boys go wrong. Green grass! Tell you what!"Pippin's eyes were shining now, and his hands clenched. "I've beensayin' along, this month past, I'd forget all that time when I was akid; I'd forget everything up to where I found the Lord. I kind o' thinkthere was where I was wrong, mister--?"
"Call it Parks!" said the brown man. "Calvin Parks is what I waschristened, and I'd like to know your name, son."
"Pippin!"
"Meanin'--?"
"Just Pippin!"
"Christian name or surname?"
"All the name there is!"
"But Pippin ain't no given name; it's an apple!"
"That's right! But it's all the name I've got. Fur back as I remember,Granny Faa called me it, and Dod Bashford called me 'pup' or 'snipe.'That's all I have to go by, so you see how 'tis!"
How should you remember anything more, Pippin? You were a baby whenGranny Faa, then still able to travel, living in and out of the tiltcart which was home to her, found you by the roadside with your dyingmother. The woman was almost past speech. "Don't roof me!" she muttered,flinging her arms out as the old gypsy lifted her. "Don't roof me!" andso died. Granny Faa felt no responsibility for the corpse. She rifledthe body methodically, but found nothing of value. The shoes were betterthan her own, so she put them on. As for the baby, she took it partlybecause it smiled in her face and made something stir in that witheredregion where her heart was still alive, but more because her son wishedit. Gypsy Gil (short for Gilbert), bent over the child delightedly; hesnapped his fingers, and the baby crowed and jumped in the withered armsthat held it. "Hell! ain't he a pippin?" said Gil. "Say, kid, ain't youa pippin?" "Goo!" said the baby. That was all. It was very simple.During the week Gil had still to live, he was "wrop up," as his mothersaid, in the child, and declared twenty times a day, with a new oatheach time, that it was a pippin sure enough. Then, a knife thrust in adrunken scuffle sent Gil wherever he was to go; but he had named thebaby. The old woman, mourning like a she-wolf, tended the child grimlybecause Gil had liked it; called it, for the same reason, by thename-that-was-no-name which he had given it. It was all simple enough,you see, had Pippin but known.
"That's mighty queer!" the brown man ruminated. "I don't know as ever Iheard of any one without two names to him, and yet it sounds all right,too. Pippin! Well--well, son, I will say you look it. And now, here weare at the Poor Farm, and I'm goin' in here in my reg'lar way."
"Poor Farm! is this a Poor Farm?"
Ever since it came in sight, Pippin had been looking with a lover's eyeat the broad low house of mellow brick, standing back from the roadunder its giant elms, its neat garden skirts gathered round it, itsprim, trim gravel path leading to its white steps and green fan-lighteddoor.
"This a Poor Farm!" he repeated.
"Sure! Jacob Bailey's idea of one, and I wish there was more like it."
"Jacob Bailey!" cried Pippin. "Why, green grass! Why--why, ain't thisgreat? He's a gentleman I'm acquainted with; he asked me to come and seehim, and I promised I would. Well, if this ain't a leadin', I never seeone. Mr. Parks, I'm pleased enough at meetin' up with you, just your ownself; but add on your bringin' me here--why, I don't know how to thankyou, sir!"
"Nothin' at all! nothin' at all!" said Calvin Parks. "I'm just aspleased myself. Think of your knowin' Jacob! Well! well! He's pure fruitand cane sugar, Jacob is, not a mite of glucose in his make-up. Here hecomes this minute!"
Such a welcome as they had! Good Mr. Bailey, coming out to welcome hisold friend, was quite overcome with pleasure and amazement at findinghis new one, too. He had been telling the woman about him ever sincethat day, he assured Pippin. Only this morning he had said he wishedthat young feller would turn up, and she had said she wished to goodnesshe would for there was nothing in the house that would cut except AuntMandy's tongue.
"One of the inmates!" he explained. "Poor old lady! M' wife was a miteworked up, and she _is_ cuterin', times when her rheumatism ketches her.Come in! Come in, the two of ye! Make ye welcome, Pippin, to Cyrus PoorFarm!"
He led them through the neat vestibule, through--with a glance ofpride--the chilly splendor of the parlor, with its embossed plushrockers and lace curtains, into the kitchen.
"We'll find the woman here!" he said. "Kitchen's home, I always say."
It was a large, brick-paved room, with four broad windows facing southand east. Most of one side was taken up by a black cavern of afireplace, which sheltered grimly the shining trimness of a moderncookstove. There was plenty of room for the settles on either side, andwarm though the day was, two or three old people were sitting there,rubbing their chilly knees and warming their poor old hands. Theylooked up, and their faces sharpened into lively curiosity at sight ofthe visitors; but the girl who sat at the window never glanced at them,only crooned to the cat
in her lap. The blind man in the corner, weavingwillow baskets, listened, and his face lightened at the sound of thebrown man's voice.
"Howdy, folks!" he said. "Well, I am a stranger, as you were saying. Saywe have a pep'mint all round, what? Or a marshmallow? Uncle Ammi, I'vegot a treat for you, come all the way from Cyrus!"
While he gossiped cheerily with the old people, a sweet-faced woman camefrom an inner room and was introduced by Jacob Bailey as "m' wife."
"This is the young man I was tellin' you about, Lucy!" he said. "Cur'ushe should happen along to-day, what say?"
"That's right! Only I should call it providential myself, Jacob. Beseated, won't you, Mr.--now Jacob told me your name!--Pippin--to besure! Be seated, Mr. Pippin. We'll be having supper soon, and you'll setright down with us, I hope."
"Thank you, ma'am! If there was some knives I could be sharpenin', toearn my supper, sort of, I should be tickled to death to stay. Or ifthere's anything else you'd rather--what I aim at is to please, you see.Them scissors the young lady has in her lap don't appear to be what I'dcall real sharp, now."
Mrs. Bailey laid her hand gently on the girl's fair head.
"Flora May can't have sharp scissors!" she said. "She's good as gold,but she's a little wantin', and she might cut off her lovely hair,mightn't you, Flora?"
The girl raised a sweet, vacant face. "I might cut off my lovely hair!"she repeated in a musical singsong. "My lovely, lovely hair! My--" Thequiet hand touched her again, and she was silent.
"After supper we'll have some singin'!" she said. "Flora May admires tosing."
"Does she?" Pippin looked earnestly at the young face, pure and perfectin form and tint. "It's like a lamp when you've blown it out!" hethought.
Now Mrs. Bailey brought an apronful of knives and scissors. Pippinretreated to the yard where he had left his wheel, and was soon grindingand singing away, oblivious of all else save flying wheel and shiningsteel. Glancing up after a while, he saw all the inhabitants of the PoorFarm gathered in the doorway, listening; he paid little heed; folksalways listened. That was the way the Lord had given him, to pay folksfor bein' so pleasant to him as they always was. He was real thankful.
"Look at the aidge on this knife, will you? Hardly you can't tell whichis it, and which is air; see?"
He broke out into a wild, sweet air:
"Oh! carry me 'long! Dar's no more trouble for me. I's gwine away to a better land, Where all de niggers am free. Long, long hab I worked, I'b handled many a hoe; I'll turn my eye before I die, And see de sugar cane grow."
Something moved near him. He glanced down and saw the girl Flora May.She had crept nearer and nearer, till now she was almost at his feet.She sat, or rather crouched, on the ground, graceful as a creature ofthe woods, her blue print gown taking the lovely lines of her figure,her masses of fair hair, neatly braided, wound round and round her head.Such a pretty head! Just a little too small, poor Flora May! not forgrace, but for other things. Looking at her, Pippin saw, and wondered tosee, the face which he had likened to a dead lamp, now full of light,the pale cheeks glowing, the red lips parted, the blue eyes shining.
Yet somehow--what was the matter? They did not shine as other eyesshone; those brown ones, for instance, of the brown man towering in thedoorway, or the twinkling gray eyes of Jacob Bailey.
"The lamp's burnin'," said Pippin, "but yet it's went wrong, some ways,but even so--green grass! she's a pictur!"
Coming to the end of his song, he smiled and nodded at the upturnedface.
"Sing more for Flora May!" cried the girl. "Sing more!"
"Sure!" said Pippin. "Wait till I get a start on this aidge, Miss FloraMay--Now! Here's what'll please you, I expect:
"Joseph was an old man, An old man was he; He married sweet Mary, The Queen of Galilee.
"As they went a-walking In the garden so gay, Maid Mary spied cherries Hanging over yon tree.
"Mary said to cherry tree, 'Bow down to my knee, That I may pluck cherries By one, two, and three.'"
A long way back to the cellar, and Granny Faa crooning over her blackpot--in her best mood, be sure, or she would not be singing the CherryTree Carol. A far longer way back to an English lane in early summer,the gypsy tilt halted under a laden cherry tree, the gypsy mothersinging to her little maid as she dangled the cherries over her head. Along, long road to go, and yet as yesterday, as a watch in the night.
"O eat your cherries, Mary, O eat your cherries now, O eat your cherries, Mary, That grow upon the bough."--
"Now, Mr. Pippin," called Mrs. Bailey from the doorway, "it's plain tobe seen there'll be no supper in this house till you give over singin'.I'm full loath to ask you to stop, but my cakes have to be eat hot, orthey're no good."