Even at that time, the road which once led past the house had fallen into disuse. I suppose that to-day it would be as hard to find the house under the briers as to trace the ancient highway beneath the carpet of grass and sorrel.
Even during the war, when human beings thought of it as a home, the Whipple place was a pretty poor sort of habitation. The lowliest of Elisha Teachout's live-stock were considerably9 better housed and better sheltered from the weather than old Asa and his son Mose.
The house, as I remember it, used to interest me because it was so obviously a remainder from the days when the district round about was still a veritable part of the Adirondacks. Whether Asa built it or inherited it from his father, a Revolutionary soldier who took up his land-patent in these primitive10 parts, I never knew. It looked old enough, though, to have been erected11 by Hendrik Hudson himself.
There must have been a sawmill on the creek12 at the time, however, for it was not a log house but a frame building, with broad planks13 nailed roughly to its sides, and the joinings of these covered over with weather-strips.
The frames of the door and the two front windows also came from this mill, wherever it was; the window on the north side was of rude construction, and was evidently the work of some person not greatly skilled in the use of carpenters' tools; perhaps it was made by old Asa himself.
There was a legend that the roof had once been shingled14; in my time it was made of flattened15 breadths of spruce bark, which must have leaked sadly in rainy seasons. There was no cellar under the house, but a rough lean-to woodshed at the back served to shelter any overflow16 of possessions which might trouble the Whipples. This lean-to was given over chiefly to traps, fishpoles, netting gear, and the like.
There was a barn, but it was roofless and long since disused.
I dare say the original Revolutionary Whipple aimed at being a farmer, like the rest of his neighbors. Like the others, he cleared his land, got in his crops, built a barn for his cattle and produce, and ran up rail fences. Perhaps he even prospered17 thus, as prosperity was measured in those lean, toilsome times.
But either in his day, or when his son Asa was a comparatively young man, the hand of fate was laid on the Whipple place. The black moss came!
Strong and intelligent farmers, with capital behind them, can successfully fight and chase off nowadays, they say, this sinister18 scourge19 of the thin-soiled northern farm lands on the forests edges. But forty years ago, and even much later, it was a common saying that when the moss came, the man must go.
Asa Whipple did not go. He let farming go instead. When the moss had seized upon pasture and meadow alike, nothing was simpler than to sell the cows, and allow the barn to fall to pieces. Much better than taking anxious thought about the farm, it suited Asa to turn to the woods—the kindly20, lazy, mysteriously tempting21 woods.
Here were no back-aching ploughs and scythes22, no laborious23 hoeing of corn and grubbing for roots, and painful wrestling with rain and drought and frost—and worst of all, the moss—for pitiful coppers24. Here instead were luscious25 trout26 for the hook, and otter27, mink28, and even an occasional beaver29 for the trap; here in the greenwood, to the trained hunter, was spread a never-ending banquet of rare and toothsome meats, from the game birds, the raccoon, and the squirrel, up to the fleet-heeled deer and the black bear, lounging his clumsy way through the undergrowth.
Like father, like son. Time came, indeed, when the woods were no longer what they had been, and when the influence of advancing civilization compelled Mose to eke30 out a scanty31 living for his father and himself by hiring out a week or two now and then during busy seasons on the farms roundabout.
He did this as seldom as he could, however, and he never pretended that he liked to do it at all.
Of their own land, the Whipples for years had cultivated only a garden-patch close about the house, and this in so luke-warm a fashion that the net results—some potatoes, a little sweet corn, a few pumpkins32, and so on—never by any chance saw them through the winter.
Why they did not sell this unproductive land to Elisha Teachout, who evidently wanted it, instead of borrowing money from him on it to pay taxes for it, I could never understand. Very likely they did not try to explain it to themselves.
But it was the fact, nevertheless, that in July of 1863 they owed Mr. Teachout something over three hundred dollars in accrued33 interest upon the mortgages he held, and that to prevent his foreclosing and evicting34 them from the house, Mose Whipple went to the war as Teachout's substitute.
This year of 1863 had still a week of life before it on the morning in question—when Mose returned from the war.
He had made across the stiff-crusted level wastes of snow from Teachout's straight as the bee's flight, even before the dawn began to break. He had heard the talk in the barn about the certainty of his capture, but it made little impression on his mind. It did not even occur to him that the matter concerned him. What had stirred him was Job Parshall's roundabout and reluctant admission that all was not right with the old man.
He had waited only a few minutes in the haymow after Job had gone to the farm-house before the temptation to be off again toward home mastered him. It was silly to linger here for food when the goal was so close at hand.
He took a couple of English turnips36 from one of the fodder37 bins38 to eat on the way, and let himself cautiously out by the rear door of the cow-barn.
It was still quite dark and bitterly cold, but he started briskly off. After he had left the barnyard an idea occurred to him. His father might be perishing of hunger! He turned and bent39 his steps back across the yard to the hen-house, opened the door, and crept in. A cackling murmur40 fell upon the darkened silence, rising all at once into a harsh and strident squawking, then ceasing abruptly41.
Mose emerged upon the instant, shut and hooked the door, and started to run, stuffing a big, limp and shapeless object into his coat pocket.
When he had rapped upon and rattled42 vigorously for a third time the window on the north side of the house he had journeyed so far and risked so much to return to, Mose was conscious of a heavy, sudden sinking of the heart. That was the bedroom window; how was it his father had not heard him?
He knocked once more, more loudly than before, and bent his head to listen. No answer came.
After a minute's waiting he walked around to the front of the house. In the broad daylight which had spread itself now over the white landscape, he noticed something he had missed before. There had been no path cut through from the house to the road. The frozen drifts lay packed as they had fallen upon the doorsill. There was no mark of footsteps save his own. The window-panes were opaque43 with frost.
Mose tried the latch44. It yielded readily, and he entered. The light inside was so dim, after the morning glow on the snow without, that it was hard at first to make out the room, familiar as it was to him. Apparently45 there was no one there.
A curious change of some sort there had been, though. Mose shut the door and walked across to the stove, instinctively46 holding his hands over it. So dull a semblance47 of warmth radiated up from the griddles that he put a finger on the metal. It was only blood-warm.
Some one had left a fire here an hour ago. Where was his father? What had happened?
Then Mose saw what it was that had at the outset vaguely48 puzzled him. The straw tick had been brought from the bed in the other room and spread there on the floor behind the stove. It was covered with bedding and old clothes, and under these—
In a flash Mose was on his knees beside the improvised49 bed, and had pushed away the coverings at the top. There was disclosed before him the head of a man asleep—a head which he scarcely recognized at first sight, so profuse50 and dishevelled were its masses of white hair and beard, so pinched to ghastliness the waxen features.
"He is dead!" Mose heard himself say aloud, in a voice that sounded not at all his own.
But no; there was warmth, and a feeble flicker51 of pulse at the shrunken wrist which he instinctively fumbled52 for under the bedclothes.
"Father! Father!" Mose called, bending till his lips touched the white hair. "Wake up! I've come back! it's me—Mose!"
The faintest stir of life passed over the corpse-like face, and old Asa opened his eyes. It did not seem as though he saw his son, or anything else. His whitened lips moved, emitting some husky, unintelligible53 sounds. Mose, stooping still lower, strained his ears to piece together these terrible words:—
"Starved—many days—don't tell Mose!"
With a cry of rage and horror Mose sprang to his feet. The things to be done mapped themselves, in the stress of this awful situation, with lightning swiftness before his brain. He strode to the woodshed door and opened it. Two sides of the old lean-to were gone, and the snow was drifted thick across the floor.
Mose realized that the shed had gone for fuel, and in another minute he had torn down half the roof, and was crushing the boards to splinters under his heels.
With the same fierce haste he started the fire blazing again; got out an old frying-pan from under the snow, and put it, filled with ice to be melted into water, on one of the open griddle holes; hacked54 the remaining turnip35 into slices, and then began at the fowl55, stripping the feathers off in handfuls, and dismembering it as fast as he cleared the skin from joint56 to joint, filling the rusty57 old pan to the brim.
Even as he worked thus, and after the water was steaming, and the rude stew58 under way, he kept an eager and apprehensive59 eye upon the bed behind the stove. No token of life was forthcoming.
He could not hear his father breathe, even when he bent over him; but no doubt that was on account of the prodigious60 spluttering and crackling which the fire kept up. Through the other griddle hole he continually thrust in fresh, dry kindlings to swell61 the blaze.
He had learned some new things about cooking in the army—among others the value of a pot-lid in hurrying forward the stew. He looked about for a cover for the frying-pan. There was no such thing in the house, but he found in the shed an old sheet-iron snow-shovel, and made the blade of this serve, with a nail-hole punched through it to let out the steam.
In his researches he was glad to run upon some salt, because it would help toward making the mess on the stove palatable62. But it would not be easy to tell with what emotions he discovered that there was absolutely not another eatable thing in the house.
The room had grown decently warm again, under the influence of the roaring fire, and now it began to be filled with what Mose believed to be a most delicious odor.
The conviction, though to any one else it might well have seemed unwarranted, was pardonable in Mose perhaps, for he himself had tasted his last warm meal nearly sixty hours before.
He munched63 the turnip peelings almost contentedly64 as he recalled this fact. Perhaps there would be some of the stew left, after the old man had eaten his fill. If not, there were parts of the fowl which could still be utilized65.
An absurd sort of fantasy—a kind of foolish day-dream—began all at once to rise before him. He seemed to see himself eating the whole of that glorious stew, lingering with all his soul over the luxury of each piping-hot mouthful, and giving his father none at all.
This visionary thing grew so upon him, so gripped and enthralled66 his mind, that it made him dizzy and faint to put it away from him. When, a few minutes later, the smell of burning warned him that the cooking was done, and he lifted the pan from the stove, this brutal67 temptation rushed savagely68 at him again. He set the pan on the table, and walked away, not daring to lift the cover.
There were two or three old plates on the shelf, and a tea-cup. Mose got them all down, and arrayed them on the table, with such cutlery and spoons as he could find. He made a motion then to take off the improvised lid from the frying-pan, but once more drew back. It was as if he could not trust himself.
He knelt by the bedside again, now, and putting his arm under his father's neck sought to raise him to a more upright posture69. Old Asa opened his eyes as before, and made an effort to whisper something, but he lay an almost inert70 weight in his son's arms.
Mose swung the tick round, propped71 the end of it up against the wall and raised his father into a half-sitting posture.
In this position the old man's face took on a sudden expression of interest and reviving intelligence. He had begun to smell the savor72 of the food.
Looking upon that pallid73, vacant, starved face, and wasted, helpless form, Mose, starving himself, felt strong enough to defy the most appetizing stew in the world. He took off the cover with decision, and dipped the tea-cup up half full of the smoking contents. It was too hot, evidently, to be given to the old man at once, and it was also very thick.
Mose took it out to the dismantled woodshed, and spooned in snow until it seemed of the right temperature and consistency74. He dipped a little finger into it to further satisfy himself, but he would not even lick that finger afterward75. It was too dangerous to think about.
Mose fed his father as a mother might a baby—watching solicitously76 to see that he did not eat too fast or choke himself. After the first cupful, he brought a chair to sit in, and held the tick against his knee while old Asa, leaning more lightly upon it, helped himself.
There was a little left at last for Mose, and he swallowed it gravely, with a portentous77 rush of sensations within, but keeping up as best he could an indifferent exterior78. It left him still hungry, but he had much more important things to dwell upon than that.
The meal worked wonders upon the old man. The combined influences of food and warmth seemed for a few minutes to send him off to sleep again.
Mose sat looking down upon him in silence, and noting that something like color was stealing back into his face.
All at once, however, Asa Whipple sat upright, lifted his hands to brush back the hair from his forehead, and, turning his face up to look at his son, smiled. There was no lack of comprehension in his gaze. He had regained79 his tongue as well. He patted Mose's knee as he spoke80.
"Mose," he said, in a voice strangely altered and aged81, but clear enough, "I'm kind o' 'shamed to tell it, but I'd laid down here just to go to sleep for good. I thought for quite a spell there, after you come in, that I was dreaming—sort o' out o' my head, you know."
"How did you come to let yourself down like this, dad?" was the only reply Mose had at hand.
"Rheumatiz," Asa explained. "It laid me up—I couldn't git around, an' nobody come near me. I ain't seen a soul since the big snowfall—up'ards of a fortnight. But—but it's all right now, ain't it, Mose? An' to think o' your comin' home here like this, right in the nick o' time. How did you come to git off, Mose?"
For answer there fell the crunching82 sound of footsteps on the crusted snow outside, then of a loud, peremptory83 knock on the door.
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1
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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3
microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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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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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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scythes
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| n.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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luscious
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| adj.美味的；芬芳的；肉感的，引与性欲的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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eke
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| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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pumpkins
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| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
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accrued
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| adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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evicting
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| v.（依法从房屋里或土地上）驱逐，赶出( evict的现在分词 ) | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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44
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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45
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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48
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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49
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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50
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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51
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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52
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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53
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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56
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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58
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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61
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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63
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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65
utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
enthralled
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| 迷住，吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 )； 使感到非常愉快 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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69
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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71
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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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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82
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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