Harper's Young People, May 31, 1881 An Illustrated Weekly

TWO KINDS OF COURAGE.

BY M. E. W. S.

Old Slack Limestone had sat on the steps of the tavern in Dicksonville, and chewed tobacco and told stories until he had acquired the highest perfection in the doing of each. Neither of these roads to fortune is to be commended to youth; but as a proof that excellence is to be achieved by constant practice, Slack Limestone's example became a good one.

Now and then he would condescend to be useful for a few days. He had a specialty which was invaluable--he was good at laying turf. Perhaps anything that was destined to keep still for a number of years attracted Slack Limestone. That was what he would like to do. So when our lawn-tennis ground was being made, Slack agreed to leave the village door-steps to cool for a few days while he turfed the graded ground.

Horatio said that he was going to get Slack to tell him the story of little hunchbacked Philip while the turfing was going on, and we all sat round under the trees and listened. Slack spoke the purest Yankee. It was like the French of the Academy, the pure Tuscan of Florence; it was a language by itself.

"Wa'al," said Slack, pushing back the fringed edge of a lattice-work that had once been a straw hat (Slack had better hats, for he was not poor, but when he relapsed into usefulness he always put on this hat, as a soldier does his helmet when going into action; it was a token to him of the demoralizing influence of labor)--"wa'al, hunchbacked Phil's back's considerably straighter to me than most folks' backs, I tell you. When I comes to rekillect how an' where he got that 'ere back, it looks to me like a plumb-line. He's what I call real grit, anyhow."

"It was some act of bravery in the war, I believe," said Horatio, adroitly pretending to lay a piece of turf straight with his foot.

"No, it warn't," said Slack; "you're jest about as much out of your perpendicler there as that 'ere piece of green swad is out of line. I always calkilates to lay my green swad by water-level, and not to kick it 'round with my boot."

"Oh!" said Horatio, retiring gracefully, "I remember: it was at sea."

"Wa'al, naow, I guess you're pretty well mistaken, tu; 'twarn't neither. Philip he got that 'ere broken back up to Milliken's Mill a-doin' an act of duty, such as none of them lazy fellows that went from here to the war and got paid for layin' 'round and eatin' and kinder handlin' a muskit never did."

"Don't abuse the soldiers, Slack," said Horatio, taking off his hat. "Remember whose grave you turfed up in the cemetery."

"'Scuse me, sir," said Slack, rising and touching the lattice-work; "I ain't forgot Mr. Max, sir. Didn't I take him fishin', didn't I teach him to shoot? But there's soldiers and soldiers, and if Mr. Max, your brother, sir, went off to the war because he was a gentleman, there was some as went off because they hedn't no call to stay to hum, and they jest went to git the money. Naow poor little Phil he was too young to go to the war, but I tell you he fit a battle up there to his mill that was a good 'un."

Slack dallied with his "water-level" and his "green swad" for some seconds; like the adroit story-teller that he was, he did not disdain the art of delay.

"The machinery got too much for him, I suppose?" said Horatio, looking at the turf with one eye shut, as if he doubted the water-level.

"Wa'al, there I guess you're as much out of kilter as you were before, naow, for Phil he tended to that 'ere mill before he was seven years old. I remember him, the little shaver, as straight as a popple-tree; no hunch on to him then, naow, you better believe!"

"A child of seven tending that great wheel over that tremendous water-power?" said Horatio.

Slack never answered a question except by asking another, unless his emotions were aroused. He had, like most men of his queer class, a fund of good feeling behind his humor which sometimes betrayed him; but he preferred to be considered contrary and cross-grained.

"Don't you know nothin' about a saw-mill?" said he, cocking up a little gray eye at Horatio, with an enormous contempt hidden behind his pent-house eyebrow.

"Yes; I suppose I know that the water furnishes the power, and that the man shoves in the log," said Horatio, modestly.

"Wa'al, 'tain't that egzactly," said Slack, stamping down a piece of turf. "S'pose I couldn't make you understand ef you don't know nothin' about saw-mills." So, with a deep sigh at the gulf of ignorance that opened before him, he abandoned the idea of instruction, and plunged into his story.

"Ye see, Tim Thompson, Phil's father, he married Seth Jaquith's daughter down to Hardscrabble. She warn't a rugged woman, neither; pritty good-lookin', though, an' real lady in her manners. She kep' the deestrict school three winters, and I guess she hed some edication. Wa'al, Tim he was ambitious, an' he hed a tannery, and a saw-mill, an' a quarry for grave-stuns, and he hed I guess six or seven more irons in the fire; an' sometimes he was rich, and then agen guess he was pritty poor; an' his wife (Alice they called her) she was sick considerable spell, and this 'ere boy Phil was all the children they hed; but they lived up there to the saw-mill, and hed solid comfort when things were a-goin' right. Wa'al, Phil he was awful smart at learnin', so they sent him to the 'cademy winters, and let him tend mill in summer with the feller that helped Tim. What was his name? Wa'al, I forgit names. Jest naow I am a-gittin' old; we're all a-gittin' old all the time. An' Tim he used to tell us, there to the tavern, how smart his little shaver was. Spell! why, he could spell like a team o' horses before he could walk 'most; an' grammar and jography I guess didn't fetch him neither.

"But there was a man named Hardwick up to the 'cademy, an' he was a whacker. The boys called him Hardwhack, and I guess that kinder described him. Seems though he tuk a great dislike to Phil, cos he outspelled and outrecited everybody. He give him some terrible lickings, and I tell you didn't Alice Thompson riz right out of a sick-bed, and go down to the 'cademy, and give it to Hardwhack jest, you bet, before the hull school, for licking them boys, and she tuk Phil away. Sez she, 'Mr. Hardwick, I have been a teacher, an' I know that cruelty is not necessary. I see amongst your pupils some of my former scholars, and although they were big boys when they attended my school, I never hed any difficulty with them. Is not that so, boys?' An', by George! if them boys didn't git up and give her three cheers. And Hardwick he turned as white as a turnip, and sez he, 'Miss Thompson,' sez he, 'you're severe; your son deserved chastisement.'

"Sez she, 'No words, Mr. Hardwick. I hope my son will return good for evil.'

"Wa'al, after that Hardwick he hedn't no show at all; the hull village riz agen him, and he was turned out; and next we heard of him he hed been a-sittin' of his own four-year-old onto a hot stove, and he licked his wife, and he was as cruel as a meat-axe, and they tarred and feathered him, and rid him on a rail out of town.

"That was the year old Stewart was murdered down to Crooked Forks, and the last man it was seen with him was Hardwick.

"Wa'al, the hull county turned out to find Hardwick, and he jest warn't to be found. Put yer finger onto a flea, and 'tain't there.

"Sez I to the Sheriff, sez I, 'Hardwick didn't do that murder; he hain't the courage. Takes a bigger-sized man,' sez I, 'to commit a murder than a man as whops boys and burns up children. He's a white-livered coward, sez I.'

"'Oh, yes, he did, Slack,' sez he. 'Circumstantial evidence,'sez he.

"Wa'al, naow here's where the story comes in," said Slack, laying down the water-level, and rising to the occasion. "Philip he got to be a good-sized lump of a boy, and he tended saw-mill fust rate. Timothy Thompson he hed to go off up to the quarry, and some days Phil was there all alone, and Alice she used to come out and sit in the sun. She was dreadful weakly all that year, but she and Phil hed solid comfort together. Wa'al, she'd jest gone in to get him a meal o' vittles one day, when there came out o' the woods the awfulest-looking man ye ever see. Why, this hat o' mine is a John Jacob Astor fust-class satin beaver compared to what he hed on, and he was all beard and whiskers, and dirt and rags. Oh, he looked awful.

"Sez he, 'Philip, save me!' And who was it but that Hardwhack, that hed licked him 'most to death!

"'Philip,' sez he, crouching jest like a hound, 'I hain't treated you well,' sez he, 'but as God is my witness, I didn't commit the murder. Hide me in the cock-loft of this 'ere mill till persecution's passed, and I tell you I'll be a better man.'

"Phil he give a great gulp, and jest then he heard his mother a-singing as she was gettin' his dinner. It seemed as though he couldn't help to save that mean lick-spittle that was a-kneelin' there, but Alice she kept on singing, and both on 'em heard her.

"'_Don't tell her! Don't tell her!_' sez Hardwick, a-tremblin' all over. Phil he thought a minnit, and then he made room for him to pass.

"'Climb up the ladder there, master,' sez he, 'and put a lot o' sawdust over ye. I'll go in and get ye something to eat.' Hardwick he climbed up behind the wheel mighty quick. So Phil he fixes the gearing, and goes in to dinner. I guess he looked pritty red, and the poor boy was a-cryin'.

"Sez Alice, 'Why, what's the matter, dear?'

"Sez he, 'Mother, don't you ask no questions. You can trust me, can't you?'

"'Yes, my boy,' sez Alice, as proud as could be.

"'Then give me a plate of dinner to carry to the mill, and ef I appear queer any time, you jest know that the time has come for paying good for evil.'

"Alice she looked at him a minnit, and then she cried too. She warn't one of the crying kind, but when she did go it, I tell you them sluiceways warn't nuthing to her, and so she kissed him, and give him the dinner. These two didn't need to talk; feelin's crept right out of their elbows towards one another. Somehow, I guess, they understood each other.

"'Twarn't an hour before the Sheriff and his posse they arrived to the mill. There Alice was a-sittin', sewin' as if butter would melt in her mouth, and Phil he was a-sawin' logs fit to kill.