It was morning when I opened my eyes again. We children looked accusingly at each other while eating breakfast. Then we had to be washed and dressed in our best clothes to go to meeting. When the wagon was at the door and we were ready to start I had doughnuts and bread and b.u.t.ter in every pocket of my coat and trousers. I got in quickly and pulled the blanket over me so as to conceal the fullness of my pockets.
We arrived so late I had no chance to go to the dog before we went into meeting. I was wearing boots that were too small for me, and when I entered with the others and sat down upon one of those straight backed seats of plain, unpainted pine my feet felt as if I had been caught in a bear trap. There was always such a silence in the room after the elder had sat down and adjusted his spectacles that I could hear the ticking of the watch he carried in the pocket of his broadcloth waistcoat. For my own part I know I looked with too much longing for the good of my soul on the great gold chain that spanned the broad convexity of his stomach. Presently I observed that a couple of young women were looking at me and whispering. Then suddenly I became aware that there were sundry protuberances on my person caused by bread and b.u.t.ter and doughnuts, and I felt very miserable indeed. Now and then as the elder spoke the loud, accusing neigh of some horse, tethered to the fence in the schoolyard, mingled with his thunder. After the good elder had been preaching an hour his big, fat body seemed to swim in my tears. When he had finished the choir sang. Their singing was a thing that appealed to the eye as well as the ear. Uncle Eb used to say it was a great comfort to see Elkenah Samson sing ba.s.s. His great mouth opened widely in this form of praise and his eyes had a wild stare in them when he aimed at the low notes.
Ransom Walker, a man of great dignity, with a bristling moustache, who had once been a schoolmaster, led the choir and carried the tenor part.
It was no small privilege after the elder had announced the hymn, to see him rise and tap the desk with his tuning fork and hold it to his ear solemnly. Then he would seem to press his chin full hard upon his throat while he warbled a scale. Immediately, soprano, alto, ba.s.s and tenor launched forth upon the sea of song. The parts were like the treacherous and conflicting currents of a tide that tossed them roughly and sometimes overturned their craft. And Ransom Walker showed always a proper sense of danger and responsibility. Generally they got to port safely on these brief excursions, though exhausted. He had a way of beating time with his head while singing and I have no doubt it was a great help to him.
The elder came over to me after meeting, having taken my tears for a sign of conviction.
"May the Lord bless and comfort you, my boy!" said he.
I got away shortly and made for the door. Uncle Eb stopped me.
"My stars, Willie!" said he putting his hand on my upper coat pocket"
"what ye got in there?"
"Doughnuts," I answered.
"An" what"s this?" he asked touching one of my side pockets.
"Doughnuts," I repeated.
"An" this," touching another.
"That"s doughnuts too," I said.
"An" this," he continued going down to my trousers pocket.
"Bread an" b.u.t.ter," I answered, shamefacedly, and on the verge of tears.
"Jerusalem!" he exclaimed, "must a "spected a purty long sermon.
"Brought "em fer ol" Fred," I replied.
"Ol" Fred!" he whispered, "where"s he?"
I told my secret then and we both went out with Hope to where we had left him. He lay with his head between his paws on the bed of gra.s.s just as I had seen him lie many a time when his legs were weary with travel on Paradise Road, and when his days were yet full of pleasure. We called to him and Uncle Eb knelt and touched his head. Then he lifted the dog"s nose, looked a moment into the sightless eyes and let it fall again.
"Fred"s gone," said he in a low tone as he turned away. "Got there ahead uv us, w.i.l.l.y."
Hope and I sat down by the old dog and wept bitterly.
Chapter 10
Uncle Eb was a born lover of fun. But he had a solemn way of fishing that was no credit to a cheerful man. It was the same when he played the ba.s.s viol, but that was also a kind of fishing at which he tried his luck in a roaring torrent of sound. Both forms of dissipation gave him a serious look and manner, that came near severity. They brought on his face only the light of hope and antic.i.p.ation or the shadow of disappointment.
We had finished our stent early the day of which lam writing. When we had dug our worms and were on our way to the brook with pole and line a squint of elation had hold of Uncle Eb"s face. Long wrinkles deepened as he looked into the sky for a sign of the weather, and then relaxed a bit as he turned his eyes upon the smooth sward. It was no time for idle talk. We tiptoed over the leafy carpet of the woods. Soon as I spoke he lifted his hand with a warning "Sh--h!" The murmur of the stream was in our ears. Kneeling on a mossy knoll we baited the hooks; then Uncle Eb beckoned to me.
I came to him on tiptoe.
"See thet there foam "long side o" the big log?" he whispered, pointing with his finger.
I nodded.
"Cre-e-ep up jest as ca-a-areful as ye can," he went on whispering.
"Drop in a leetle above an" let "er float down."
Then he went on, below me, lifting his feet in slow and stealthy strides.
He halted by a bit of driftwood and cautiously threw in, his arm extended, his figure alert. The squint on his face took a firmer grip.
Suddenly his pole gave a leap, the water splashed, his line sang in the air and a fish went up like a rocket. As we were looking into the treetops it thumped the sh.o.r.e beside him, quivered a moment and flopped down the bank He scrambled after it and went to his knees in the brook coming up empty-handed. The water was slopping out of his boot legs.
"Whew!" said he, panting with excitement, as I came over to him.
"Reg"lar ol" he one," he added, looking down at his boots. "Got away from me--consarn him! Hed a leetle too much power in the arm."
He emptied his boots, baited up and went back to his fishing. As I looked up at him he stood leaning over the stream jiggling his hook. In a moment I saw a tug at the line. The end of his pole went under water like a flash. It bent double as Uncle Eb gave it a lift. The fish began to dive and rush. The line cut the water in a broad semicircle and then went far and near with long, quick slashes. The pole nodded and writhed like a thing of life. Then Uncle Eb had a look on him that is one of the treasures of my memory. In a moment the fish went away with such a violent rush, to save him, he had to throw his pole into the water.
"Heavens an" airth!" he shouted, "the ol" settler!"
The pole turned quickly and went lengthwise into the rapids. He ran down the bank and I after him. The pole was speeding through the swift water.
We scrambled over logs and through bushes, but the pole went faster than we. Presently it stopped and swung around. Uncle Eb went splashing into the brook. Almost within reach of the pole he dashed his foot upon a stone, falling headlong in the current. I was close upon his heels and gave him a hand. He rose hatless, dripping from head to foot and pressed on. He lifted his pole. The line clung to a snag and then gave way; the tackle was missing. He looked at it silently, tilting his head. We walked slowly to the sh.o.r.e. Neither spoke for a moment.
"Must have been a big fish," I remarked.
"Powerful!" said he, chewing vigorously on his quid of tobacco as he shook his head and looked down at his wet clothing. "In a desp"rit fix, ain"t I?"
"Too bad!" I exclaimed.
"Seldom ever hed sech a disapp"intment," he said. "Ruther counted on ketchin" thet fish--he was s" well hooked."
He looked longingly at the water a moment "If I don"t go hum," said he, "an" keep my mouth shet I"ll say sumthin" I"ll be sorry fer."
He was never quite the same after that. He told often of his struggle with this unseen, mysterious fish and I imagined he was a bit more given to reflection. He had had hold of the "ol" settler of Deep Hole"--a fish of great influence and renown there in Faraway. Most of the local fishermen had felt him tug at the line one time or another. No man had ever seen him for the water was black in Deep Hole. No fish had ever exerted a greater influence on the thought" the imagination, the manners or the moral character of his contemporaries. Tip Taylor always took off his hat and sighed when he spoke of the "ol" settler". Ransom Walker said he had once seen his top fin and thought it longer than a razor.
Ransom took to idleness and chewing tobacco immediately after his encounter with the big fish, and both vices stuck to him as long as he lived. Everyone had his theory of the "ol" settler". Most agreed he was a very heavy trout. Tip Taylor used to say that in his opinion "twas nuthin" more"n a plain, overgrown, common sucker," but Tip came from the Sucker Brook country where suckers lived in colder water and were more ent.i.tled to respect.
Mose Tupper had never had his hook in the "ol" settler" and would believe none of the many stories of adventure at Deep Hole that had thrilled the township.
"Thet fish hes made s" many liars "round here ye dimno who t" b"lieve,"
he had said at the corners one day, after Uncle Eb had told his story of the big fish. "Somebody "t knows how t" fish hed oughter go "n ketch him fer the good o" the town--thet"s what I think."
Now Mr Tupper was an excellent man but his incredulity was always too bluntly put. It had even led to some ill feeling.
He came in at our place one evening with a big hook and line from "down east"--the kind of tackle used in salt water.
"What ye goin" t" dew with it?" Uncle Eb enquired.
"Ketch thet fish ye talk 5" much about--goin" t" put him out o" the way."