Certainly it seemed to Job Parshall that this was the coldest morning he had ever known. It would be bad enough when daylight came, but the darkness of this early hour made it almost too much for flesh and blood to bear. There had been a stray star or two visible overhead when he first came out-of-doors at half-past four, but even these were missing now.
The crusted snow in the barnyard did throw up a wee, faint light of its own, for all the blackness of the sky, but Job carried, besides a bucket, a lantern to help him in his impending2 struggle with the pump. This ancient contrivance had been ice-bound every morning for a fortnight past, and one needn't be the son of a prophet to foresee that this morning it would be frozen as stiff as a rock.
It did not turn out to be so prolonged or so fierce a conflict as he had apprehended4. He had reasoned to himself the previous day that if the pump-handle were propped5 upright with a stick overnight, there would be less water remaining in the cylinder6 to freeze, and had made the experiment just before bedtime.
It worked fairly well. There was only a good deal of ice to be knocked off the spout8 with a sledge-stake, and then a disheartening amount of dry pumping to be done before the welcome drag of suction made itself felt in the well below, like the bite of a big fish in deep water.
Job filled his bucket and trudged9 back with it to the cow-barn, stamping his feet for warmth as he went.
By comparison with the numbing10 air outside, this place was a dream of coziness. Two long lines of cows, a score or more on a side, faced each other in double rows of stanchions. Their mere11 presence had filled the enclosure with a steaming warmth.
The ends of the barn and the loft12 above were packed close with hay, moreover, and half a dozen lantern lights were gleaming for the hired men to see by, in addition to a reflector lamp fastened against a post.
The men did not mind the cold. They had been briskly at work cleaning up the stable and getting down hay and fodder13, and the exercise kept their blood running and spirits light. They talked as they plied14 shovel15 and pitchfork, guessing how near the low-mercury mark of twenty below zero the temperature outside had really fallen, and chaffing one of their number who had started out to go through the winter without wearing an overcoat.
Their cheery voices, resounding16 through the half-gloom above the soft, crackling undertone of the kine munching18 their breakfast seemed to add to the warmth of the barn.
The boy Job had begun setting about a task which had no element of comfort in it. He got out a large sponge, took up the bucket he had brought from the well, and started at the end of one of the rows to wash clean the full udder of each of the forty-odd cows in turn. In a few minutes the milkers would be ready to begin, and to keep ahead of them he must have a clear start of a dozen cows.
When he had at last reached this point of vantage, the loud din3 of the streams against the sides of the milkers' tin pails had commenced behind him.
He rose, straightened his shoulders, and shook his red, dripping hands with a groan19 of pain. The icy water had well nigh frozen them.
It was a common thing for all about the barn to warm cold hands by thrusting them deep down into one of the barrels of brewers' grains which stood in a row beyond the oat-bin. The damp, crushed malt generates within its bulk so keen a heat that even when the top is frozen there will be steam within. Job went over and plunged20 his cold hands to the wrist in the smoking fodder. He held them there this morning for a luxurious21 extra minute, wondering idly as he did so how the cows sustained that merciless infliction22 of ice-water without any such comforting after-resource.
Suddenly he became conscious that his fingers, into which the blood was coming back with a stinging glow, had hit upon something of an unusual character in the barrel. He felt of it vaguely23 for a moment, then drew the object forth24, rubbed off the coating of malt, and took it over to the lamp.
It was a finger-ring carved out of a thick gutta-percha button, but with more skill than the schoolboys of those days used to possess; and in its outer rim7 had been set a little octagonal silver plate, bearing some roughly cut initials.
Job seemed to remember having seen the ring before, and jumped to the conclusion that some one of the hired men had unconsciously slipped it off while warming his hands in the grains. He went back with it to the milkers, and went from one to another, seeking an owner.
Each lifted his head from where it rested against the cows flank, glanced at the trinket, and making a negative sign bent25 down again to his work. The last one up the row volunteered the added comment:
"You better hustle26 ahead with your spongin' off; I'm just about through here!"
The boy put the circlet in his pocket—it was much too large for any of his fingers—and resumed his task. The water was as terribly cold as ever, and the sudden change seemed to scald his skin; but somehow he gave less thought to his physical discomfort27 than before.
It was very funny to have found a ring like that. It reminded him of a story he had read somewhere, and could not now recall, save for the detail that in that case the ring contained a priceless jewel, the proceeds of which enriched the finder for life. Clearly no such result was to be looked for here. It was doubtful if anybody would give even twenty-five cents for this poor, home-made ornament28. All the same it was a ring, and Job had a feeling that the manner of its discovery was romantic.
Working for a milkman does not open up so rich a field of romance that any hints of the curious or remarkable29 can be suffered to pass unnoticed. The boy pondered the mystery of how the ring got into the barrel. For a moment he dallied30 with the notion that it might belong to his employer, who owned the barn and almost all the land within sight, and a prosperous milk-route down in Octavius.
But no! Elisha Teachout was not a man given to rings; and even if he were, he assuredly would not have them of rubber. Besides, the grains had only been carted in from town two days before, and Mr. Teachout had been nursing his rheumatism31 indoors for fully32 a week.
It was more probable that some one down in the brewery33 at Octavius had lost the ring. When Job had been there for grains, he had noticed that the workers were cheerful and hearty34 fellows. No doubt they might be trusted to behave handsomely upon getting back a valued keepsake which had been given up as forever gone.
Perhaps—who could tell?—this humble35, whittled-out piece of gutta-percha might be prized beyond rubies36 on account of its family associations. Such things had happened before, according to the story-books; and forthwith the lad lost himself in a maze37 of brilliant day-dreams, rose-tinted by this possibility.
He could almost behold38 himself adopted by the owner of the brewery—the fat, red-faced Englishman with the big watch-chain, whom he had seen once walking majestically39 among his vats40. Perhaps, in truth, Job was a trifle drowsy41.
All at once he roused himself with a start, and began to listen with all his ears. The milkers behind him were talking about the ring. They had to shout to one another to overcome the fact of separation and the noise in their pails, and Job could hear every word.
"I tell you who had a ring like that—Mose Whipple," one of them called out. "Don't you remember? He made it with his jack-knife, that time he was laid up with the horse kickin' him in the knee."
"Seems's if I do," said another. "He was always whittlin' out somethin' or other—a peach-stone basket, or an ox-gad, or somethin'."
"Some one was tellin' me yesterday," put in a third, "that old man Whippf sick abed. Nobody ain't seen him around for up'ards of a fortnight. I guess this cold snap'll about see the last o' him. He's been poorly all the fall."
"He ain't never ben the same man since Mose 'listed," remarked the first speaker; "that is if you call it 'listin' when a man takes his three hundred dollars to go out as a substitute."
"Yes, and don't even git the money at that, but jest has it applied42 to the interest he owes on his mortgage. That's payin' for a dead horse, if anything is in this world!"
"Well, Mose is the sort o' chap that would be workin' to pay for some kind o' dead horse all his life, anyway. If it wasn't one it'd be another. Never knew a fellow in all my born days with so little git-up-and-git about him. He might as well be shoulderin' a musket43 as anything else, for all the profit he'd git out of it.
"A chip of the old block, if there ever was one. The old man always wanted to do a little berryin', an' a little fishin', an' a little huntin', an' keep a dozen traps or so in the woods, an' he'd throw up the best-payin' job in the deestrict to have a loafin' spell when the fit took him—an' Mose was like him as two peas in a pod.
"I remember one year, Mose an' me hired out in the middle o' March, an' we hadn't fairly begun early ploughin' before he said he wasn't feelin' right that spring, an' give up half his month's wages to go home, an' then what do we see next day but him an' his father down by the bridge with their fishpoles, before the snow-water'd begun to git out o' the creek44. What kin17 you do with men like that?"
"Make substitutes of 'em!" one of the milkers exclaimed, and at this there was a general laugh.
Every one on the farm, and for that matter on all the other farms for miles round, knew that Elisha Teachout had been drafted the previous summer, and had sent Moses Whipple to the front in his place. This relation between the rich man and the poor man was too common a thing in those war times to excite particular comment. But, as Mr. Teachout was not beloved by his hired men, they enjoyed a laugh whenever the subject came up.
Job had gone over to the lamp, during the progress of this talk, and scrutinized45 the ring. Surely enough, the clumsily scratched initials on the little silver plate, obviously cut down from an old three-cent piece, were an M and a W.
This made it all the more difficult to puzzle out how the ring came in the barrel. The lad turned the problem over in his mind with increasing bewilderment.
He had known Mose Whipple all his life. His own father, who died some years ago, had accounted Mose among his intimate friends, and Job's earliest recollections were of seeing the two start off together of a spring morning with shot-guns on their shoulders and powder-flasks hung round their bodies.
They had both been poor men, and if they had not cared so much for hunting—at least if one of them had not—Job reflected that probably this very morning he himself would be sleeping in a warm bed, instead of freezing his hands in the hard employ of Elisha Teachout.
It was impossible not to associate Mose with these recriminatory thoughts; yet it was equally impossible to be angry with him long. The boy, indeed, found himself dwelling46 upon the amiable47 side of Mose's shiftless nature. He remembered how Mose used to come round to their poor little place, after Job's father's death, to see if he could help the widow and her brood in their struggle.
After Mrs. Parshall had married again, and gone West, leaving Job to earn his own living on the Teachout farm, Mose had always kept a kindly48 if intermittent49 eye on the boy. Only the previous Christmas he had managed, somehow, to obtain an old pair of skates as a present for Job, and when he had gone to the war in the following August, only the fact that he had to sell his shot-gun to pay a pressing debt prevented his giving that to the boy for his own.
The news that old Asa Whipple was ill forced its way to the top of Job's thoughts. He resolved that that very day, if he could squeeze in the time for it, he would cut across lots on the crust to the Whipple house, and see how the lonely old man was.
As the milkers said, old Asa had been "poorly" since his Mose went away. It was only too probable that he had been extremely poor as well.
Even when Mose was at home, theirs was the most poverty-stricken household in the township. Left to his own resources, and failing swiftly all at once in health, the father had tried to earn something by knitting mittens50 and stockings.
It had looked funny enough to see this big-framed, powerfully built old man fumbling51 at his needles like some grandmother in her rocking-chair by the stove.
It occurred to Job now that there was something besides humor in the picture. He had been told that people were making woollen mittens and stockings now, like everything else, by machinery52. Very likely old Asa couldn't sell his things after he had knit them; and that might mean starvation.
Yes, that very day, in spite of everything, he would go over and see.
He had finished his task now. The milkers had nearly finished theirs. Two of the hired men were taking the cloth strainers off the tops of all the cans but one, and fastening on the covers instead. He could hear the bells on the harness of the horses outside, waiting with the big sleigh to rush off to town with the milk. It was still very dark out-of-doors.
Job put away his water-bucket, warmed his hands once more in the grains-barrel, and set about getting down a fresh supply of hay for the cows. Six weeks of winter had pretty well worn away the nearest haymow, and the boy had to go further back toward the end of the barn, into a darkness which was only dimly penetrated53 by the rays of the lantern.
Working thus, guided rather by sense of touch than of sight, the boy suddenly felt himself stepping on something big and rounded, which had no business in a haymow. It rolled from under his feet, and threw him off his balance to his hands and knees. A muttered exclamation54 rose from just beside him, and then suddenly he was gripped bodily in the clutch of a strong man.
Frightened and vainly struggling, Job did not cry out, but twisted his head about in the effort to see who it was that he had thus strangely encountered. There was just light enough from the distant lantern to reveal in the face so menacingly close to his—of all unlooked-for faces in the world—that of Mose Whipple!
"Why, Mose!" he began, in bewilderment.
"Sh-h! Keep still!" came in a fierce whisper, "unless you want to see me hung higher than Haman!"
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1
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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2
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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3
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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4
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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8
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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9
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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10
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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11
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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12
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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13
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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14
plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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15
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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16
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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17
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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18
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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19
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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20
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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21
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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22
infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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23
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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24
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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25
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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26
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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27
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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28
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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29
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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30
dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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31
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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32
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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33
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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34
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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35
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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36
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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37
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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38
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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39
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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40
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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41
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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42
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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43
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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44
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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45
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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47
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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48
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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49
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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50
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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51
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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52
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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53
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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54
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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