"Sorter throwin' off on you, ain't he, Mr. Doggett?" Bunch palliated.

"Yes, sir, Bunch," admitted Mr. Doggett pleasantly: "yes, sir, 'taint no use denyin' hit, I've sh.o.r.e been to the pen."

"Somethin' that happened a right smart while back when you'd had a dram too much?" suggested Trisler, who was eager for the tale, in a tone of apology.

"Yes, sir, Bunch, you've hit the nail on the head. Hit wuz when I lived in Bourbon, sixteen years ago, come two weeks afore Christmas."

"I'd love to hear you tell hit," Bunch invited.

"Hit's too late this evenin'": Mr. Doggett was mindful of the afternoon slowness of Bunch's hands, when his ears were actively employed: "less git done the terbaccer we got out, and come extry early in the mornin', and I'll tell you how 'twuz."

CHAPTER IV

A COMPACT

"Come Philomenus: let us instant go, O'erturn his bowers and lay his castle low."

Trisler did not make his appearance at the stripping-house the next morning, but came limping in at noon, giving his sore feet as his excuse for his failure to do a whole day's work. Late in the afternoon Mr.

Doggett's promise of the day before occurred to him, and he insisted on its fulfillment.

"I 'lowed hit'd 'a' went out o' your mind by this time, Bunch,"

confessed Mr. Doggett, "but I reckon I'll have to tell you, bein's you're so pressin'.

"Hit wuz a Sat.u.r.day night hit happened. The old lady and the chillern (wuzn't none of 'em grown then), they went to bed _soon_, plumb wore out from buryin' cabbage. Hit'd been a mighty reasonable fall--least cold weather I ever seed up to that time, and we'd left the cabbage a standin' 'tel then. I'd been to Paris a collectin' a leetle a man owed me thar, and come home late: didn't git in ontel ten o'clock, me and the old lady's cousin, Trosper Knuckles.

"Trosper, he lived up on Maple Ridge, and seein' me pa.s.sin', he hollered to me to wait and he'd go home with me, which I did. Trosper wuz one them kind o' fellers that'll hit the pike ever' time they git a new shirt, jest to show hit off, and this time he'd sold his place fer seven hunderd dollars more'n he give fer hit, and wuz jest on the p'int o'

movin', and he wuz crazy fer me and the old lady to hear about hit, bein's we lived in another neighborhood.

"We got in, two o' the hongriest fellers you ever seed. I says, 'Trosper, you jest go 'long into the kitchen while I 'tend to the hoss', and when I come in, he'd done laid a few sticks on the coals and had a good fire a goin'. The old lady, she'd set up victuals in the cupboard fer me, and we got 'em out and et hearty. When we got through eatin', Trosper, he tuck out a quart bottle, plumb full, and says, 'Eph, don't that look somepin' like hit?'

"I says, and I'd ort to 'a' knowed better, fer, though Trosper wuz a good, clever feller, the cleverest feller you ever seed, sober, he wuz mighty mean when he got a leetle too much, and he wuz one o' them kind o' fellers that never stops when he gits a taste 'tel he does git too much,--I says, 'Less have a taste, Trosper,' and he retcht up in the cupboard, and got two leetle tumblers, er mugs they wuz, Lem and Jim's Christmas mugs, and poured 'em about a quarter full, and we sot that fer a good while a talkin',--him a pourin' out more and more ontell thar wuzn't skeercely enough left in the bottle to keep the stopper damp!

"The old lady says she waked up hearin' a mighty noise in the kitchen, and Lem, and Jim, them and her, they run out (the kitchen wuz one them old log ones built sorter off from the house) and the fust she heerd when she got in the yard wuz two shots might' night' together, and when the leetle fellers busted the door open, fust she seed wuz Trosper a layin' crumpled up 'crost the hearth, a clinchin' a smokin' gun in his stiffenin' hand, and me a standin' gazin' at him, a clinchin' a smokin'

gun in _my_ hand.

"I never knowed how we got to fussin' ner nothin', but when I seed a leetle ball o' white yarn that'd got knocked offen the fireboard, a turnin' red whar somethin' creepin' acrost that old limestone hearth-rock teched hit, and heerd the old lady screamin', I come sober mighty quick, I tell you, Bunch, but hit wuz too late, then."

A shade of burning regret crossed Mr. Doggett's face and some heavy drops came on his forehead.

"The jury jest give you four years, didn't they?" asked Bunch, speaking in cheerful haste.

"Six years wuz my sentence--fer manslaughter they sent me--but I jest staid twenty months, and two weeks, and one day, up thar."

"How'd you git off before your time wuz out?" asked Bunch, curiously.

"They's a paper a hangin' on the wall at my house, got John Young Brown's name to hit, and a eighteen carat gold seal on hit, that'd tell you better'n I could ef you could see hit. The old lady, she would have my pardon framed, bein's. .h.i.t had a tasty and ornymental look.

"I wuzn't at Frankfort more'n a month afore they made me a trusty, on account o' purty behavior, the guards said, and afore long, Mr.

Miller--whar we'd been a livin' seven year, he got up a part.i.tion to git me out, and I put in my application fer a pardon. The old lady and Callie, and the boys, they worked and done tollable well them two year, but hit wuz mighty hard on her and the leetle fellers--yes, sir, hit wuz!

"The Governor sometimes he'd walk through the pen, and onct, several months after I'd put in my application, I ketcht him a lookin' at me, like he wuz a sizin' me up--tryin' to make out the kind o' feller I wuz--but he never said nary a word.

"Then one day when we wuz in the cheer-factory a workin' whar the dust wuz a flyin' like the pike onder a drove o' sheep in summer, a gyuard come to me and says: 'You're wanted, Doggett, in the Governor's office,'

and he marched me up thar. Sorter oneasy I wuz, although I knowed I hadn't done nothin'. Thar wuz a man settin' at a desk a writin', and when he heerd me come in, he never turned his head, but jest said, 'Be seated, Doggett.' I sot down and he writ, and he writ. Finally he turned his whirlin'-cheer facin' me and begun a questionin' me, and a talkin'

to me jest like a father.

"He says: 'Doggett, you're a free man now and I don't want you to never do nothin' to lose your freedom ag'in. Don't you never let me peck up a paper and see wher' you've been in some sc.r.a.pe that'll make people say, Look at Doggett now: John Young Brown made a mistake when he pardoned him!'"

"And you've done like he told you, ain't you, Mr. Doggett?" Bunch remarked in a tone of flattery, at this juncture.

"Well, I hain't never kept no gun about me sence," Mr. Doggett agreed with a half-smile.

"Ner drunk none," suggested Gran'dad.

Mr. Doggett grinned easily. "Well, Pap, I jest drink a leetle now and then,--at Christmas times, and New Years, and Thanksgiving, and Fourth o' July."

"And at Ground-hog day, and old Abe Linkern's and George Washington's birthdays in February, and at Deceration day in the spreng, and 'long about Labor day in the fall, and between times whenever you're needin' a leetle medicine, and whenever my darter Ann goes away visitin' fer a day er two," amended Gran'dad, with a leer.

"He don't git out and hoe, and cut cord wood, and do sech like work all week, like an old feller o' your and my acquaintance, Gran'dad, and then go up town ever' Friday evenin' and let them big lawyer fellers that loves. .h.i.t, git friendly with him, and git him to treat away ever' cent o' his week's earnin's on 'em!" Jim, who never drank at all, spoke pointedly. Gran'dad colored hotly.

"This here room's hotter'n a ginger mill!" he stuttered, making a dash at the door of the stove; but in his flurry the poker fell clattering.

Dock giggled disrespectfully at his crestfallen grandparent, but Bunch, seeing the old man's discomfiture, hastened to change the subject.

"How's Mr. Lindsay a gittin' along at Jeemeses now?" he asked.

Bunch lived two miles away, but managed to keep in reasonable touch with the affairs of the neighborhood on lower Silver Run creek.

"Mighty well, hit 'pears to me!" Dock's wizened little face lighted up knowingly. "He give Miss Lucy a purty box Chris'mus. Hit wuz a sortie blue lookin' box--got a purty white-backed lookin'-gla.s.s (one them with a handle you hold in your hand) and a white comb and bresh in hit!"

"When a bacheler-man gits to givin' a lady Christmas presents,"

sentiently remarked Gran'dad, who had recovered his equanimity, "somethin's up besides cherity. Ef Miss Lucy'll have Lindsay, he'll have her, I can tell that by his actions."

"And ole Zeke, their ole shepherd," continued Dock, "he hain't been able to walk none sence 'long in the summer, on account o' ole age. They kep'

him at the barn all the time, and he'd done quit barkin', but, sence Mr.

Lindsay's been thar, he's been a carryin' him to the yard in the daytime, and puttin' him on a bed o' leaves in the corner whar the back porch jines the front o' the house, and then a packin' him back to the barn ag'in at night. Old Zeke's a barkin' peert ag'in, and Miss Lucy, she says she jest knows he wouldn't 'a' never barked no more, hadn't 'a'

been fer Mr. Lindsay!"

"I dunno as I'd keer to take that much trouble on myse'f to humor an old wuthless dog," declared Gran'dad, "but I've knowed many a courtin' man to do more worrisome thengs. Bein' in love'll make most ever' feller tromple his own inclinations, ef hit'll pleasure her."

"I dunno whuther Mr. Lindsay's in love er not," interposed Dock, "but when I went up to Mr. Jeemeses, a Friday night, wuz a week, to take back his shoe-last, and they wuz all a settin' in the settin'-room, Miss Lucy wuz a braggin' about pickin' on some sence Mr. Lindsay's tuck all her work away from her, and she didn't have to fetch in no coal, ner make fires, ner feed the stock none, ner milk, and tellin' about Miss Nancy never havin' to carry in a stick o' stove wood, ner cobs from the barn, and hevin' the water allus ready drawed. Mr. Jeemes, he looked at Mr.

Lindsay as agreeable as Ma's old sow used to when she'd see Ma comin'

with a bucket o' slop, and he said: 'I dunno what we'll do to pay you, Lindsay, fer the trouble you've been a takin' fer us, onless we pick you out a sweetheart sommers. Don't you reckon maybe I could hunt up somebody down hyonder that'd suit you?'

"And Mr. Lindsay he answered Mr. Jeemes, but he looked straight acrost the fire whar Miss Lucy wuz a knittin' on the other side o' the hearth, and he said with his eyes sorter twinklin': 'Hain't ther' no nice woman a livin' nowher' closter than Wayne, you could pick out fer me, Mr.

Jeemes?'"