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Come Redeemin'. "
HE magnet of spicy cook
ing pervaded the large
kitchen of Mother Slus¬
ser, though no one In
I particular enough to was be drawn near
thither. Melinda, the cat,
slept tranquilly on the
rug opposite the wood
box, heedless of the un¬
wonted odors, but enjoying the heat
from the big cookstove.
Mother Slusser had the big, warm
room to herself. Also she had her
own meditations, chiefly retrospective,
however, rather than prospective, for
which reason her hands rested now
and again on the edge of the wooden
chopping bowl that amply covered her
lap.
“It can’t be beat,” she declared, her
eyes on the rough, pea-green paint
that covered the wall that just now
seemed glowing with pictures quite
Invisible and wholly intangible to the
ordinary sight, “it’s enough to drive
me crazy the way them precious ba¬
bies pester me. If the good Lord saw
lit to take ’em away, let him keep ’em
with him, I say, where it is warm and
safe. Instead o’ that, here they be,
cunnin’ and pert as ever, cornin’ and
vanishin’ and teasing. Now there,
shinin’ out at me in their white, fairy
dresses from the pea-green wall—
most blue, ’tis—now here near by.
Here they clutter and there they clut¬
ter, right under foot, or pressin’
against my knees, or else pullin’ with
angel hands at my sleeve, or at my
■heart-strings. Dear, dear. Four of
•tern, or five-—I forget which ’twas—
four, I guess—yes, four of ’em he took
away to heaven and one he left with
me. Four of ’em, my heart, do you
hear me? Four rascal babies to al¬
ways be slippin’ out from 'tother side
of the lovely pearly gates and slidin’
Into my kitchen -where I am, those
little, little babies. One by one he
took ’em, and there was not but just
•»tbe one of ’em big enough to walk or
Talk. Four blessed babies always
|iere and coaxin’ me to be hugged and
rocked and put to sleep, all teasin’ me
at once, Lord, they be’ and couldn’t
be better? For I’m that
busy about my work that I don’t know
what to do. And sometimes they do
put me to it, that’s a fact, so that I’m
reel flustered, and 1 do wish’t the
bigger angels would shut them gates
a leetle mite more as if they really
meant to keep the babies from crowd¬
in’ through. I do get so tired of hav¬
ing things go on in this way!"
Footsteps approached the door, the
weary, clumsy tread of a tired man,
and presently Silas Slusser entered, a
stooping, gray figure, the fringe of
hair on his chin just touching the blue
cotton shirt, and an air of thoughtful
discontent shadowing his usually hu¬
morous face and eyes.
Silas lifted his soft felt hat with
its gray band of faded ribbon and
rubbed his head with two stubby fin¬
gers.
“1 ain’t worryin’—that is, not much,
mother,” he said, “but just the same
the spring down to the barn has gone
dry, plumb dry today, it is, just as I
suspicloned it would do, for its ben
getting lower and scantier for a week
past, and there's no signs of its flush
ing up agane. There must have ben a
vein of water that's broke loose under
ground, soniewheres, that’s tapped
that spring dry. so I was tryin' to find
out where lu the dickens it could be."
He drew the witch hazel crotch from
his pocket and regarded it with a
•wholesome reproach. “It only inclined
once, ma, and that.” he announced,
“was about ten rod from the old
spring."
Mother paused. SThe was never dead
sure when Silas was joking or when
he was serious, but she looked at him
now in genuine sympathy, an attitude
sbe was prone to assume in his mo¬
ments of distress or doubt. She felt
safer in ber thoughts this way.
“Land. Silas,’’ she said, “don’t you
ever care for that I presume to say
that when I'm setting here thinking
about the children I don't ever pre
tend to be partial about ary one,
wheher it's Maurice, or Mary, or
John, or little Si. I'm that interested
in 'em all that I couldn’t be partial to
ary one of ’em if 1 wanted to. I think
of ’em as all livin' in heaven, all of
them together, a little band of angels.
mabbe playin' rieg-around tlie-rosy, or
else crowdin’ agaynat the big pearly
gates watchln’ a chance to slip
through. I can see ’em there through
the shiny pickets watchln’ their
chances, Silas. But I can’t seem to
see ’em separated, either up there or
down here whenever they chance to
come slipping into the kitchen here.”
Silas glanced furtively about as If
In quest of these invisible forms of
small people often mentioned before*
by Mother Slusser In affectionate ret¬
rospect.
“Well, Mother,” he said, failing to
find that any small folks were present
and keeping bis tones as even as he
could, “what in Moses’ name has that
got to do with me flndln’ a new spring
of water for the cattle to take the
place of the one that’s gone dry?”
“Why, Silas,” Mother said, going
over to him with the chopping bowl
in her hands, “diggln’ is dlggln’ ain’t
it? You don’t think much about what
’tis makes you dig, whether it’s water,
or iron, or oil—not while you’re dig
gin’, now, do you, Silas?”
“Well, well,” Silas replied, instantly
contrite, “mebbe you’re right, Ma,
mabbe you’re right. We won’t quar¬
rel about it seeln’ there’s only two of
us to the Slusser ’Btabllshment. We
got to be friends, Ma. So-o, so-o. Yes,
yes; as long as we live we got to be
friends, and diggln’ is diggln’, sure
enough. So, then, If you say the
word. 111 go at It first thing in the
morning, right where the stick point¬
ed for fair, and we’ll see what’s to
pay under. But 1 ain’t expecting any
grea^ shakes of a spring because the
test wa’n’t strong enough to hold. I’ll
warrant I’ll find the dirt all stained
up w'ith yellow spots of iron, or else
there'll be some other bunco of a
metal showing, that I ain’t calcilated
on. Beats all how a man'll get fooled
when he's working hard for something
he wants and the onexpected always
pops up. Ain’t that so, Ma?” he add¬
ed in his best coaxing manner.
Ills wife kept silence for a full min¬
ute, then replied irrelevantly.
“if Anson should happen to come
home, Pa, for the holidays, the work
would be lighter for you. it's real
is, whatever ’tis
you want to uncover, to have to do it
nil alone. I should presume to say
that if Anson was here-”
"Oh, 1 guess Anson ain’t thinkin' of
us, Ma,” Silas interrupted with a sud¬
den touch of bitterness, “he's given
himself over to them combine fel
lows. There he’s got cogs to catch
aholt of bint, and red tape to hold him,
and anchors to weight him, and yeller
tailed bull dogs, and horse collars,
and cat-o’-ntne-tails for to be tying,
and such.
“You are always too bard on Au
son, Silas,” his wife protested, reach¬
ing for a white bowl that stood oni
the table behind her, and pouring tho
chopped raisins and citron into it.
“Anson has sent us money regular
every Christmas fer five year, and
needed it pretty nigh , . every time , .
we’ve it
it came, too. But some way al
ways seems like dream money to me,
coming out of what appears to bq
Nowhere in particular. Anson seems*
that way, too—sort of myth-like andi
unreal, and misty, I ain’t blamin' him
for not coming home in seven years,
but his stopptn’ away sort of makes
him out like he was up yonder with
all the rest of the children, And I
can never count just aright, first-off,
whether there’s four or five of ’em
in heaven playin’ ring-around-tlie-rosy.
But when they come in here teasin’
and beggin' to be locked and nursed
there’s sucb a many I don’t even try
to count ’em. They’re that coaxin’
an( j misty and elusive and persistent
—and me never able to put my hands
on ’em!” Her voice broke at the last
in spite of her.
"Well, well. So-o, so-o!” almost
whispered Silas' soothing tones, then
he cleared the huskiness of his voice
away abruptly. “Well, ma. I presume
Anson's good and substantial as fur
as that goes, I reckon he’s good
j tallow and bones, all right, with
plenty of red blood coursin about and
i cutting up mischief the way it always
; did. He ain’t mist, or smoke, or
1 dream-stuff, not Anson, ma, I guess
! you’d find out if you could set eyes
i on him. But to go back to that pesky
j business of findin’ water for the cattle
so ’t 1 won't have to fetch and lug
their drink to 'em from the bouse
i rather think I'll go to diggin’ in
the morning, if the weather holds
good, and the ground ain’t too frosty,
and like as not i’ll discover what 'twas
that made this here witebhazel crotch
double over and point straight down
to-wards Chiny the way it did. It
plumb looks superstitious to me, Ma,
don’t it to you?"
“I hope the weather does bold
good,’,’ she said, reverting to the pro¬
posed work in the pasture.
“That is as it may be,” Silas agreed.
He was greatly rested now, and al¬
ready felt confident of success, draw¬
ing both his comfort and his assur¬
ance from this brief chat in the kitch¬
en with Mother.
The weather was crisp but bright
the next morning when Silas, armed
with the witch-hazel crotch, and a
pick and spade, started for the pas¬
ture. The cattle had been.laboriously
watered from the well near the house
and Silas' shoulders still ached with
the strain of carrying the heavily.
laden buckets to the barnyard trough.
This was an excellent reason why he
should discover a new vein of water,
tor a spring, as speedily as possible.
Once more he took out the witch
hazel crotch, wound an end about a
thumb on each hand, and, holding the
stick carefully erect, paced off the
ground as he had done the day previ¬
ous. Intent as he was in a quest so
important, one needing to be com¬
pleted ere the winter set in in good
earnest, he was not likely to notice
that anything unusual was bearing
down in his direction.
“Hello, pard, what in Sam Hill ’re
up to, hey?’ came a voice so close
that Silas' hands fell with a Jerk and
the stick, thus bared to the force of
gravity, pointed shamelessly down¬
ward. Turning, he saw the bent and
shambling figure of a wayfarer, whose
grey-blue eyes were regarding him
with Jocose impertinence. A reddish
beard, somewhat matted and unkempt,
hid the lower part of his face and his
hat, of the Derby make, supporting
breaks in the crown, was
pulled well over his forehead.
Silas readjusted his crotch and con¬
tinued bis explorations. It was not
first time that a hobo had crossed
pasture land, which was a cross
Qj A MR
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“Land, Silas, What’s the Use of Your
Goin' About With Sich a Gloomy
Face7”
cut from the public highway to the
nearest railroad. He had a native
hatred for the class, yet he also hated
to show the man that his voice and
manner were an affront to good breed¬
ing.
But, ignorance or indifference being
much in evidence with the newcomer,
this gentle tolerance was not prop¬
erly appreciated.
“I reckon that’s the way you pious
fellers say prayers on Thahksgivin’
mornin’, ain’t it?” the tramp asked,
taking a firm stand as though he
might willingly become a piece of
pasture statuary.
“Try it on yourself,” Silas retorted
over his shoulder, “you look like you
needed some redeemin’.’’
The tramp emitted a husky chuckle,
but showed no signs of continuing his
journey. The sound irritated Silas
more than did the familiar manner
which the man exploited, but he re¬
sumed his work, keeping his eyes on
the crotch, which here began to teeter
and sway in a most promising man
ner. It slipped half way over, then
down, and down, until it pointed
straight to the close-cropped ground
at his feet.
“Good,” said the tramp observantly,
rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“after prayers, baptism; and we'll
need the water. I can jest about see
tbat water cornin’ up bubblin' for my
special benefit.”
Silas was all the more angry at
this token of irreverence for things
sacred. With an impatient hitch at
his trousers he paused, still with his
back to the visitor, and gave back
a caustic:
“You'll need a-plenty of soap, too.
to git the bugs off ye.”
At this the tramp subsided instant
ty. Silas bad no idea that his sharp
thrust would be so effective on what
was apparently calloused material
He turned in mild wonder only to see
the object of his scorn sitting flatly
on the cold turf, his old Derby fallen
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.
beside him, thus disclosing a beaJ
well trimmed; and that offending
chuckle was of such stuff that a guf
faw of instant growth came out of it
—a laugh that set the echoes to clap
ping from the various farm buildings
both near and remote, seeming to re¬
bound over and over the nearby hill¬
side, then to return from the strip
of forest beyond the bottomlands that
bordered the river, a balf mile or so
away—sounds that trailed to and fro
through the crisp air like the voice
of mocking gnome3.
Silas regarded the tramp with
vague suspicion. A dread of insanity
obsessed him. Then a shrewd scrutiny
quickly commingled in his mind and
sight. With an inspiration both
strange and irresistible he strode over
to the spot, grasping the pick in both
hands. Goaded by the man’s ringing
laughter that respected neither the
dignity of religion nor of landed own¬
ership, he deftly caught the cold, thin
point of the pick in the man’s red¬
dish beard, which came away without
resistance, leaving a clean-shaven,
clean-cut face most painfully con¬
vulsed with laughter, in the place
of it.
“Anson, by Jericho!” Silas said,
himself beginning to shake with quick
emotion. The man, still bareheaded,
got to his feet, straightened himself
and his face, and held out both hands
as he knew a prodigal son properly
should do.
“Father, it was a poor Joke, but I
hope to be forgiven, for I trust I am
not as bad as I painted myself. How
is Mother?” he said, while they
gripped and looked soberly, almost
reverently, one at the other.
“She’s got the same old rascal of
a son that she had as many as twenty
year ago when he was a boy and first
went away from home,” he acclaimed.
“Can’t see as he’s improved a mite as
fur as behavior goes, or looks either,
by Jinks. Where’n the old grey cat
did you get yer make-up? Well, well,
so-o, so-o! Come along up’t the house
and we’ll see if Ma can recognize
such a scalawag as you are. What?
Another hat? Well, I’m blessed if
you don’t look pretty nigh respectable
in that one. Come right on up to the
house so’s not to keep Ma waitin’,
for I ain’t sure but some bird or
other’s let on to her you’re here.
Ma’s mighty keen on tracin’ up her
children I tell you.”
Anson" adjusted the hat that he un¬
folded after taking it from his pocket,
then paused to look around at the
familiar scenes of his boyhood. “Has
the old spring gone dry, father?” he
asked.
Silas gave a nonchalant assent, for
the spring was a matter that did not
now greatly concern him, having
found a greater miracle on his prem«
lses in the person of a renegade soi*
returned.
“Ma” he cried, stamping into tho
kitchen a few moments later. ”it doei
beat all who’s come—bet ye can tj
guess, Ma. Bet ye won’t know him
from Adam.”
“It’s Anson Slusser. Anson! An¬
son!" Mother half gasped, bending
forth from her cooking as If awed
by a sudden and hitherto undreamed
of revelation.
“Yep.” cut In ber husband with
youthful abandon “flesh-and-blood An!
son. Ma. so no heed o’ your classing
him with them celestials any more.
He’s a sight too bad. anyway, to git
in there with the rest of ’em. He
actually fooled his old pa, and talked
scandalus, too. Bet he wants some
pumpkin pie, though, and mebbe
that’ll clarify his sins ’nougb so’t we
can associate with him. Hope so.
Pie suits most tramps I guess, don’t
it, Anson?”
“Speaking seriously,” said Anson,
when the three had calmed down
somewhat, “there’s that dried-up
spring. The thought of it is enough
to spoil our holiday jubilee, for I
know you can never stand the work
of watering the stock from the house
well. father. So what do you say to
my putting in some modern machin¬
ery? I’ll have a man here to look
over the ground and find a site for a
windmill, a good big one, mind you,
and we’ll fix things up here in ship¬
shape style. We can pipe the house
for water as well as the barn and
light both places by the same power.
How does that suit you?”
“That,” said his father, greatly mys¬
tified, “is impossible.”
Anson laughed. “IT. show you,” he
said, and. while Mother, in a bewil¬
dering maze of happiness, hurried the
Thanksgiving dinner forward, the two
men studied newest methods and
plans for the future benefit of the old
farmstead
“And, Ma.” said Silas, when he be
gan' to understand something of the
main project, “it does beat all erea
tion how the onexpected is bound to
turn up. I went studyin’ and digging
fer water and what'd I find? I found
a hobo. And when I was fer pitchin’
into the hobo with my pick-axe to git
the wickedness out of him, I found
Anson, And now Anson's showin' us
more about water than your philoso
phy or my witch-cattery ever dreamed;
of. I can’t sense the mystery of the
onexpecteds, nohow, Ma."
Mother’s face beamed a benediction
on both of the men, who seemed mag
icaliy drawn to her for commendation
as well as for comfort,
“There, Silas, I wouldn’t try, if 1
was you,” was all she said.
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