eben holden-第32部分

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'What'll　I　do　with　it？'　Mrs　Brower　asked；　laughing　in　a　way　that　showed　a　sense　of　absurdity。　'I'd　a　been　tickled　with　it　thirty　years　ago；　but　now…folks　'ud　think　I　was　crazy。'

'Never　heard　such　fol　de　rol；'　said　Uncle　Eb。　'If　ye　move　t'　the　village　it'll　come　handy　t'　go　t'　meetin'in。'

That　seemed　to　be　unanswerable　and　conclusive；　at　least　for　the　time　being；　and　the　silk　was　laid　away。　We　sat　talking　until　late　bedtime；　Hope　and　I；　telling　of　our　studies　and　of　the　many　people　we　had　met　in　HilIsborough。

We　hung　up　our　stockings　just　as　we　had　always　done　Christmas　Eve；　and　were　up　betimes　in　the　morning　to　find　them　filled　with　many　simple　but　delightful　things；　and　one　which　I　treasure　to　this　day　…　the　locket　and　its　picrure　of　which　I　had　been　surreptitiously　informed。

At　two　o'clock　we　had　a　fine　dinner　of　roast　turkey　and　chicken　pie；　with　plenty　of　good　cider；　and　the　mince　pie；　of　blessed　memory；　such　as　only　a　daughter　of　New　England　may　dare　try　to　make。

Uncle　Eb　went　upstairs　after　dinner　and　presently　we　heard　him　descending　with　a　slow　and　heavy　foot　I　opened　the　stair　door　and　there　he　stood　with　the　old　bass　viol　that　had　long　lain　neglected　in　a　dusty　corner　of　the　attic。　Many　a　night　I　had　heard　it　groan　as　the　strings　loosened；　in　the　years　it　had　lain　on　its　hack；　helpless　and　forgotten。　It　was　like　a　dreamer；　snoring　in　his　sleep；　and　murmuring　of　that　he　saw　in　his　dreams。　Uncle　Eb　had　dusted　and　strung　it　and　glued　its　weaker　joints。　He　sat　down　with　it'　the　severe　look　of　old　upon　his　face；　and　set　the　strings　roaring　as　he　tuned　them。　Then　he　brought　the　sacred　treasure　to　me　and　leaned　it　against　my　shoulder。

'There　that's　a　Crissmus　present　fer　ye；　Willie；'　said　he。　'It　may　help　ye　t'　pass　away　the　time　once　in　a　while。'

I　thanked　him　warmly。

''S　a　reel　firs'…class　instrument；'　he　said。　'Been　a　rip　snorter　'n　its　day。'　He　took　from　his　bosom　then　the　old　heart　pin　of　silver　that　he　had　always　worn　of　a　Sunday。

'Goin'　t'　give　ye　thet；　too；'　he　said。　'Dunno's　ye'll　ever　care　to　wear　it；　but　I　want　ye　should　hev　sumthin'　ye　can　carry'n　yer　pocket　t'　remember　me　by。'

I　did　not　dare　trust　myself　to　speak；　and　I　sat　helplessly　turning　that　relic　of　a　better　day　in　my　fingers。

'It's　genuwine　silver；'　said　he　proudly。

I　took　his　old　hand　in　mine　and　raised　it　reverently　to　my　lips。

'Hear'n　'em　tell　'bout　goin'　t'　the　village；　an'　I　says　t'　myself；　〃Uncle　Eb；〃　says　I；　〃we'll　hev　t'　be　goin'。　'Tain'　no　place　fer　you　in　the　village。〃'

'Holden；'　said　David　Brower；　'don't　ye　never　talk　like　that　ag'in。　Yer　just　the　same　as　married　t'　this　family；　an'　ye　can't　ever　git　away　from　us。'

And　he　never　did　until　his　help　was　needed　in　other　and　fairer　fields；　I　am　sure；　than　those　of　Faraway　…　God　knows　where。

Chapter　19

Tip　Taylor　was；　in　the　main；　a　serious…minded　man。　A　cross　eye　enhanced　the　natural　solemnity　of　his　countenance。　He　was　little　given　to　talk　or　laughter　unless　he　were　on　a　hunt；　and　then　he　only　whispered　his　joy。　He　had　seen　a　good　bit　of　the　world　through　the　peek　sight　of　his　rifle；　and　there　was　something　always　in　the　feel　of　a　gun　that　lifted　him　to　higher　moods。　And　yet　one　could　reach　a　tender　spot　in　him　without　the　aid　of　a　gun。　That　winter　vacation　I　set　myself　to　study　things　for　declamation　…　specimens　of　the　eloquence　of　Daniel　Webster　and　Henry　Clay　and　James　Otis　and　Patrick　Henry。　I　practiced　them　in　the　barn；　often；　in　sight　and　hearing　of　the　assembled　herd　and　some　of　those　fiery　passages　were　rather　too　loud　and　threatening　for　the　peace　and　comfort　of　my　audience。　The　oxen　seemed　always　to　be　expecting　the　sting　of　the　bull　whip；　they　stared　at　me　timidly；　tilting　their　ears　every　moment；　as　if　to　empty　them　of　a　heavy　load；　while　the　horses　snorted　with　apprehension。　This　haranguing　of　the　herd　had　been　going　on　a　week　or　more　when　Uncle　Eb　and　I；　returning　from　a　distant　part　of　the　farm；　heard　a　great　uproar　m　the　stable。　Looking　in　at　a　window　we　saw　Tip　Taylor；　his　back　toward　us；　extemporising　a　speech。　He　was　pressing　his　argument　with　gestures　and　the　tone　of　thunder。　We　listened　a　moment；　while　a　worried　look　came　over　the　face　of　Uncle　Eb。　Tip's　words　were　meaningless　save　for　the　secret　aspiration　they　served　to　advertise。　My　old　companion　thought　Tip　had　gone　crary；　and　immediately　swung　the　door　and　stepped　in。　The　orator　fell　suddenly　from　his　lofry　altitude　and　became　a　very　sober　looking　hired　man。

'What's　the　matter？'　Uncle　Eb　enquired。

'Practicin'；'　said　Tip　soberly；　as　he　turned　slowly；　his　face　damp　and　red　with　exertion。

'Fer　what？'　Uncle　Eb　enquired。

'Fer　the　'sylum；　I　guess；'　he　answered；　with　a　faint　smile。

'Ye　don'　need　no　more　practice；'　Uncle　Eb　answered。　'Looks　t'　me　as　though　ye　was　purty　well　prepared。'

To　me　there　was　a　touch　of　pathos　in　this　show　of　the　deeper　things　m　Tip's　nature　that　had　been　kindled　to　eruption　by　my　spouting。　He　would　not　come　in　to　dinner　that　day；　probably　from　an　unfounded　fear　that　we　would　make　fun　of　his　flight　…　a　thing　we　should　have　been　far　from　doing　once　we　understood　him。

It　was　a　bitter　day　of　one　of　the　coldest　winters　we　had　ever　known。　A　shrieking　wind　came　over　the　hills；　driving　a　scud　of　snow　before　it　The　stock　in　the　stables；　we　all　came　in；　soon　after　dinner；　and　sat　comfortably　by　the　fire　with　cider；　checkers　and　old　sledge。　The　dismal　roar　of　the　trees　and　the　wind…wail　in　the　chinney　served　only　to　increase　our　pleasure。　It　was　growing　dusk　when　mother；　peering　through　the　sheath　of　frost　on　a　window　pane；　uttered　an　exclamation　of　surprise。

'Why！　who　is　this　at　the　door？'　said　she。　'Why！　It's　a　man　in　a　cutter。'　Father　was　near　the　door　and　he　swung　it　open　quickly。　There　stood　a　horse　and　cutter；　a　man　sitting　in　it；　heavily　muffled。　The　horse　was　shivering　and　the　man　sat　motionless。

'Hello！'　said　David　Brower　in　a　loud　voice。

He　got　no　answer　and　ran　bareheaded　to　the　sleigh。

'Come；　quick；　Holden；'　he　called；　'it's　Doctor　Bigsby。'

We　all　ran　out　then；　while　David　lifted　the　still　figure　in　his　arms。

'In　here；　quick！'　said　Elizabeth；　opening　the　door　to　the　parlour。　'Musn't　take　'im　near　the　stove。'

We　carried　him　into　the　cold　room　and　laid　him　down；　and　David　and　I　tore　his　wraps　open　while　the　others　ran　quickly　after　snow。

I　rubbed　it　vigorously　upon　his　iace　and　ears；　the　others　meantime　applying　it　to　his　feet　and　arms；　that　had　been　quickly　stripped。　The　doctor　stared　at　us　curiously　and　tried　to　speak。

'Get　ap；　Dobbin！'　he　called　presently；　and　ducked　as　if　urging　his　horse。　'Get　ap；　Dobbin！　Man'll　die　'fore　ever　we　git　there。'

We　all　worked　upon　him　with　might　and　main。　The　white　went　slowly　out　of　his　face。　We　lifted　him　to　a　sitting　posture。　Mother　and　Hope　and　Uncle　Eb　were　rubbing　his　hands　and　feet。

'Where　am　I？'　he　enquired；　his　face　now　badly　swollen。

'At　David　Brower's；'　said　I。

'Huh？'　he　asked；　with　that　kindiy　and　familiar　grunt　of　interrogation。

'At　David　Brower's；'　I　repeated。

'Well；　I'll　have　t'　hurry；'　said　he；　trying　feebly　to　rise。　'Man's　dyin'　over　…　'　he　hesitated　thoughtfully；　'on　the　Plains；'　he　added；　looking　around　at　us。

Grandma　Bisnette　brou