"No; I mean—mean, didn't you call him Adam?"
"Nobody knows. Now, William, a spare rib and a muffin is real nourishment4 after the nightingale's tongues and snails6 you've been living on for twenty-odd years, isn't it?" As he spoke7 Uncle Cradd beamed on father, who was eating with the first show of real pleasure in food since we had had to send Henri back to New York, after the crash, weeping with all his French-cook soul at leaving us after fifteen years' service.
"I have always enjoyed that essay of Charles Lamb's on roast pig, Cradd," answered father as he took a second muffin. "I know that Lamb used to bore you, Cradd, but honestly now, doesn't his materialism8 seem—"
"Oh, Uncle Cradd, please tell me about that Adam man before you and father disappear into the eighteenth century," I pleaded, as I handed two cups of steaming coffee to Rufus to pass my two elderly savants.
"There is nothing to tell, Nancy child," answered Uncle Cradd, with an indulgent smile as he peered at me over his glasses. "Upon my word, William, Nancy is the living image of mother when we first remember her, isn't she? You are very beautiful, my dear."
"I know it," I answered hurriedly and hardly aware of what I was saying; "but I want to know where he came from, please, Uncle Cradd."
"Well, as near as I can remember he came out of the woods a year ago and has been in and out helping10 about the farms here in Harpeth Valley ever since. He never eats or sleeps anywhere, and he's a kind of wizard with animals, they say. And, William, he does know his Horace. Just last week he appeared with a little leather-covered volume, and for four mortal hours we—"
"They says dat red-haided peckerwoods goes to the devil on Fridays, and Mas' Adam he cured my hawgs with nothing but a sack full of green cabbage heads in January, he did," said Rufus, as he rolled his big black eyes and mysteriously shook his old head with its white kinks. "No physic a-tall, jest cabbage and a few turnips11 mixed in the mash12. Yes, m'm, dey does go to the devil of a Friday, red-haided peckerwoods, dey does."
"By the way, Cradd, I want you to see a little volume of the Odes I picked up in London last year. The dealer13 was a robber, and my dealer didn't want me to buy, but I thought of that time you and I—"
"Not one of the Cantridge edition?"
"Yes, and I want you—"
During all the rest of supper I sat and communed with my own self while father and Uncle Cradd banqueted with the Immortals14.
Even after we went back into the low-ceilinged old living-room, which was now lighted by two candles placed close together on a wonderful old mahogany table before the fire, one of the dignified16 chairs drawn17 up on each side, with my low seat between, I was busily mapping out a course of action that was to begin with my dawn signal.
"I'd like to get into the—trunk as soon as possible. There is something I want to look up in my chicken book," I said before I seated myself in the midst of one of the battles that raged around Ilium.
"Nancy, my dear, you will find that Rufus has arranged your Grandmother Craddock's room for you, and Mary Beesley came over to see that all was in order," said Uncle Cradd, coming and taking my face into his long, lean old hands. "God bless you, my dear, and keep you in His care here in the home of your forefathers18. Good-night!" After an absent-minded kiss from father I was dismissed with a Sanskrit blessing19 from somewhere in the valley of the Euphrates up into my bedroom in the valley of Old Harpeth.
If I had discovered the shadow of tradition in the rest of the old house, I walked into the very depths of them as I entered the bedroom of my foremothers. Deep crimson20 coals of fire were in a squat22 fireplace, and a last smoldering23 log of some kind of fragrant24 wood broke into fragments and sent up a little gust25 of blue and gold flame as if in celebration of my arrival. There was the remnant of a candle burning on a small table beside a bed that was very near, if not quite, five feet high, beside which were steps for the purposes of ascension. All the rest of the room was in a blur26 of lavender-scented darkness, and I only saw that both side walls folded down and were lit with the deep old gables, through the open windows of which young moon rays were struggling to help light the situation for me. As I looked at that wide, puffy old bed, with a blur of soft colors in its quilt and the valance around its posts and tester, I suddenly became as utterly28 weary as a child who sees its mother's arms outstretched at retiring time. I don't know how I got out of my clothes and into my lace and ribbons, with only the flickering29 candle and the dying log to see by, but in less time than I ever could have dreamed might be consumed in the processes of going to bed I climbed the little steps and dived into the soft bosom30 of the old four-poster.
"God bless me and keep me in His care here in my grandmother's bed," I murmured after the invocation of Uncle Cradd, and that is all I knew after the first delicious sink and soft huddling31 of my body between sheets that felt as if they must be rich silk and smelled of old lavender.
And then came a dream—a most lovely dream. I was at the opera in Gale5 Beacon's box, and Mr. G. Bird was out on the stage singing that glorious coo in the aria32 in Saint-Saëns' "Samson and Delilah," and I was trying to answer him. Suddenly I was wide awake sitting up in a billowed softness, while moonlight of a different color was sifting33 in through the gable windows and the most lovely calling notes were coming in on its beams. Without a moment's hesitation34 I answered in about six notes of that Delilah song which was the only sound ready in my mind. Then I listened and I am not sure that I heard a reedy laugh under my window as just the two notes succeeding the ones I had given forth35 came in on the dawn beams. Then all was as still and quiet as the hush36 of midnight.
In about two seconds I had vaulted37 forth from between the high posts, splashed into a funny old wooden tub bound together with brass38 rims21, whirled my black mop into a knot, slipped into the modish39 boots, corduroys, and a linen40 smock, and was running out into the peculiar41 moon-dawn with the swiftness of a boy.
But I was too late! The silver-moon sky was growing rosy42 over behind the barn as I peered about, and a mist was rolling away from between the trees, but not a soul in all the world was awake, and I was alone.
"Did he call me?" I asked of myself under my breath. And the answer I got was from the Golden Bird, who sent a long, triumphant43, eager "salutation to the dawn" from out the shadows of the barn.
Eagerly I flew to him, and the minute I entered the apartment of the Bird family I discovered that I had been only half dreaming about my early morning opera. Pan had come and gone. Upon the door was pinned a piece of torn brown wrapping-paper upon which I found these penciled words:
Give them about two quarts of warm meal mash, into which you put some ground turnips at noon. Better build about four nests in the dark under the bin44, and be sure to disinfect them by white-washing inside and out. Put in clean hay. Dust all the beauties on their heads and under their wings with wood ashes in which you put a little of the powder you'll find in a piece of this paper in the right-hand corner of the bin. They'll want a good feed of ground grain at three o'clock. Get copperas from Rufus to put in their water, and I'll let you know later what else to do. Salutations!
Adam
"I'm glad I got up so early if that's the day's program," I gasped45 to myself as I leaned against the bin from which the Golden Bird had already alighted and was commanding the Ladies Leghorn to descend—a command which they were obeying one at a time with outspread white wings that were handled with the height of awkwardness. "But I'll do it all if it kills me," I added, with my head up, as I began to scatter46 some of the big white grains that I knew to be corn and which, by lifting lids and peering into huge slanting47 top boxes set against the wall, I discovered along with a lot of other small brown seed stuff that I knew must be wheat. I was glad that I had remembered that Adam had called the room the feed-room so I had known where to look.
It was so perfectly48 exciting to see all those fluffy49 white members of my family fortune scratching and clucking about my feet that I prolonged the process of the feeding by scattering50 only a few grains at a time until great shafts51 of golden morning sun were thrusting themselves in through the dim dusk and cobweb-veiled windows.
"Morning, little Mis'! I axes yo' parding fer not having breakfast 'fore9 sun-up fer you, but they didn't never any Craddock ladies want theirn before nine o'clock before, they didn't," came Rufus's voice in solemn words of apology uttered in tones of serious reproof52. As he spoke he stood as far from the door of the feed-room as possible and eyed the scratching Bird family with the deepest disapproval53. "Feed-room ain't no place fer chickens; they oughter make they living on bugs54 and worms and sich."
"These chickens are—are different, Rufus, and—and so am I," I answered him with dignity. "Call me when the gentlemen are ready to breakfast with me."
"They talked until most daylight, and I knows 'em well enough to not cook fer 'em until after ten o'clock. They's gentlemen, they is." The tones of his voice were perfectly servile, though it was plain to see that his mental processes were not.
"All right, I'll eat mine now, Rufus, and then I want you to get me a—a hammer and some nails. Also a bucket of whitewash," I said as I closed the door upon the Birds and preceded him to the house.
"Oh, my Lawd-a-mussy!" he exclaimed as he dived into the refuge of the kitchen, completely routed, to appear with my breakfast upon his tray and with such dignity in his mien55 that it was pathetic. I was merciful while I consumed the meal which was an exact repetition of the supper of the ribs56 of the hog15 and muffins and coffee; then I threw another fit into him, to quote from Matthew at his worst in the way of diction.
"Please set a bucket of the wood ashes from the living-room fire out at the barn for me, Rufus," I commanded him with pleasant firmness.
"Yes, Madam," was the answer I got in a tone of cold despair. It was thus that the feud57 with my family traditions was established.
"Also, Rufus, please bring the saw with the hammer and the nails," was my last hand-grenade as I departed out the back door to the barn. From the old clock standing58 against the wall in the back hall I discovered the hour to be exactly seven-thirty, and I felt that I had what would seem like a week ahead of me before the setting of the sun. However, I was wrong in my judgment59, for time fairly fled from me, and it was nine o'clock by my platinum60 wrist-watch before I had more than got one very wobbly-looking box nailed together on the floor of the barn, and I was deep in both pride and exhaustion61.
"I knew I could do it, but I didn't believe it," I was remarking to myself in great congratulations when a shadow fell across the light from the door. I looked up and, behold62, Mrs. Silas Beesley loomed63 up against the sun and seemed to shine with equal refulgence64 to my delighted eyes! In her hand she held a plate covered with a snowy napkin, and her blue eyes danced with delighted astonishment65.
"Well, well, Nancy!" she exclaimed, as she seated herself upon a bench by the door and began to fan herself with a corner of a snowy kerchief that crossed her ample bosom. "Looks like you have begun sawing and nailing at the Craddock family estate pretty early in the action though it's none too soon, and mighty66 glad I am to see you do it while there is still a little odd lumber67 left. I've always said that it's women folks that prop68 a family and it will soon tumble without 'em. I am so glad you've come, honeybunch, that tears are laughing themselves out of the corner of my eyes." This time the white kerchief was dabbed69 over the keen blue eyes.
"Is it all—very—very bad, Mrs.—I mean, Aunt Mary?" I asked, as I laid down my dull-toothed instrument for the dissection70 of the plank71, and sank cross-legged on the barn floor in front of her.
"Oh, it might be worse," she answered as she smiled again with resolution. "Rufus has eleven nice hogs72 and feed enough for them until summer, thanks to the help of Adam in tending the ten-acre river-bottom field, which they made produce more than any one else in the river bend got off of fifty. Nobody can take the house, because it is hitched73 on to you with entailment74, and though the croppers have skimmed off all the cream of the land, the clay bottom of it is obliged to be yours. Now that you and William have come with a little money the fields can all be restored. Adam will help you like he did Hiram Wade75 down the road there. It only cost him about ten dollars to the acre.
"But—but father and I—that is, Aunt Mary, you know father has lost all his property and Uncle Cradd assured us that—that there was plenty for us all at Elmnest," I said in a faltering76 tone of voice as a feeling of descending77 tragedy struck into my heart.
"Cradd and Rufus have lived on hog, head, heels, and tail for over a year, with nothing else but the corn meal that Rufus trades meat with Silas for. I thought, honeybunch, when I saw you coming so stylish78 and beautiful with those none-such chickens that you must have been bringing a silk purse sewed with gold thread with you. I said to Silas as he put out the lamp last night, 'The good Lord may let His deliverance horses lag along the track, but He always drives them in on the home stretch for His own, of which Moseby Craddock is one.' 'Why, she's so fine she can't eat eggs outen chickens that costs less than maybe a hundred dollars the dozen,' answered Silas to me as he put out the cat."
"They cost eight hundred and fifty dollars and they are all I have got in the world. Father gave up everything, and I sold my clothes and the cars to buy back his library and—and the chickens," I said with the terror pressing still more heavily down upon me.
"Well, I shouldn't call them chickens spilled milk. Just listen at 'em!" And just as we had arrived at the point of desperation in our conversation a diversion occurred in the way of two loud cacklings from the feed-room and the most ringing and triumphant crow that I am sure ever issued from the throat of a thoroughbred cock. "'Tain't possible for 'em to have laid this quick after traveling," said Aunt Mary, but she was almost as fleet as I was in her progress to the feed-room door. And behold!
"Well, what do you think about that, right out of the crate79 just last night, no nests nor nothing!" she exclaimed as we both paused and gazed at two huge white eggs in hastily scratched nests beside the bin over which two of the very most lovely white Leghorn ladies were proudly standing and clucking, while between them Mr. G. Bird was crowing with such evident pride that I was afraid he would split his crimson throat. All the other white Birds were clucking excitedly as if issuing hen promissory notes upon their futures80.
"They're omens81 of good luck, bless the Lord, Honeybunch. Pick 'em right up!" exclaimed Mrs. Silas.
"Oh, they are warm!" I cried as I picked the two treasures up with reverent82 hands and cuddled them against the linen of the smock over my breast in which my heart was beating high with excitement. And as I held them there all threat of life vanished never to return, no matter through what vicissitudes83 the Golden Bird family and I were to pass.
"You can eat these, and next week you can begin to save for a setting as soon as you can get a hen ready. I'll lend you the first one of mine that broods," said Mrs. Silas as she took both the beautiful treasures into one of her large hands with what I thought was criminal carelessness, but didn't like to say so.
"I've ordered a three-hundred-egg incubator for them," I said proudly, as I gently took the warm treasures back into my hand. "Incubators are so much more sanitary84 and intelligent than hens," I added with all the surety of the advertisement for the mechanical hen which I had answered with thirty-five dollars obtained from the sale of the last fluffy petticoat I had hoped to retain, but which I gave up gladly after reading the advertisement. Two most lovely chemises had gone for the two brooders that were to accompany the incubator, and it seemed hard to think that I would have to wait ten days to receive the fruits of my feminine sacrifice from the slow shipping85 service of the railroad.
"Don't ever say that again, Nancy! Hens have more genuine wisdom growing at the roots of their pin feathers than most women display during the span of their entire lives, and they make very much better mothers," reproved Aunt Mary, with sweet firmness. "Just you wait and see which brings out your prize birds, the wooden box or the hen. When men invent something with a mother's heart, they had better name it angel and admit that the kingdom has come. Bless my soul; these biscuits I brought over for you-all's breakfast are stone-cold!"
"I've had my breakfast a half a day ago," I answered. "You go in and start father and Uncle Cradd off with the biscuits while I finish the nest and—and do some more things for my family fortune."
"Child, if you attempt to do the things that Adam wants you to do for and with live stock you may see miracles being hatched out and born, but you'll be too worn out to notice 'em. Trap nests indeed! I've got to have some time to make my water waves and offer daily prayer!" And with this ejaculation of good-natured indignation, evidently at the memory of sundry86 and various poultry87 prods88, Mrs. Silas betook herself to the house with a beautiful and serene89 dignity. As she went she stopped to break a sprig from a huge old lilac that was beginning to burst its brown buds and to put up half a yard of rambler that trailed across the path with its treacherous90 thorns.
A woman can experience no greater sensation of joy than that which she feels when she first realizes that she is the mistress of a lilac bush. Neither her début dance nor her first proposal of sentiment equals it. It is the same way about the first egg she gathers with her own hands; the sensation is indescribable.
"I'll do all the things he says do for you and the family, Mr. G. Bird, if it kills me, as it probably will," I said with resolution as I drove a last wobbly nail into the first nest, and took up the saw to again attack the odds91 and ends of old plank I had collected on the barn floor. "If I can make one nest in two hours, I can make two more in four more, and then I will have time for the rest of the things," I assured myself as I again looked at my wrist-watch, and began to saw with my knee holding the tough old plank in place across a rickety box.
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1
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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snails
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| n.蜗牛；迟钝的人；蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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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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materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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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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mash
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| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
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dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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immortals
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| 不朽的人物( immortal的名词复数 )； 永生不朽者 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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aria
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| n.独唱曲，咏叹调 | |
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sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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modish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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45
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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51
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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bugs
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| adj.疯狂的，发疯的n.窃听器( bug的名词复数 )；病菌；虫子；[计算机]（制作软件程序所产生的意料不到的）错误 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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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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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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refulgence
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| n.辉煌，光亮 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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dissection
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| n.分析；解剖 | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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entailment
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| n.需要 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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omens
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| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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poultry
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| n.家禽，禽肉 | |
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prods
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| n.刺，戳( prod的名词复数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳v.刺，戳( prod的第三人称单数 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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