Slippy McGee | Page 7

everybody else in Appleboro,
I love him. Of all the many goodnesses that God has shown me, I do
not count it least that this good and kind man was sent in our need, to
heal and befriend the broken and friendless waifs and strays who found
for a little space a resting place in our Guest Rooms.
And when I look back I know now that not lightly nor fortuitously was
I uprooted from my place and my people and sent hither to impinge
upon the lives of many who were to be dearer to me than all that had
gone before; I was not idly sent to know and love Westmoreland, and
Mary Virginia, and Laurence; and, above all, Slippy McGee, whom we
of Appleboro call the Butterfly Man.

CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF SLIPPY MCGEE
On a cold gray morning in December two members of my flock, Poles
who spoke but little English and that little very badly, were on their
way to their daily toil in the canning factory. It is a long walk from the
Poles' quarters to the factory, and the workpeople must start early, for
one is fined half an hour's time if one is five minutes late. The short-cut
is down the railroad tracks that run through the mill district--for which
cause we bury a yearly toll of the children of the poor.
Just beyond the freight sheds, signal tower, and water tank, is a grade
crossing where so many terrible things have happened that the colored
people call that place Dead Man's Crossin' and warn you not to go by
there of nights because the signal tower is haunted and Things lurk in
the rank growth behind the water tank, coming out to show themselves

after dark. If you must pass it then you would better turn your coat
inside out, pull down your sleeves over your hands, and be very careful
to keep three fingers twisted for a Sign. This is a specific against most
ha'nts, though by no means able to scare away all of them. Those at
Dead Man's Crossin' are peculiarly malignant and hard to scare. Maum
Jinkey Delette saw one there once, coming down the track faster than
an express train, bigger than a cow, and waving both his legs in his
hands. Poor old Maum Jinkey was so scared that she chattered her new
false teeth out of her mouth, and she never found those teeth to the day
of her death, but had to mumble along as best she could without them.
Hurrying by Dead Man's Crossin', the workmen stumbled over a man
lying beside the tracks; his clothing was torn to shreds, he was wet with
the heavy night dew and covered with dirt, cinders, and partly
congealed blood, for his right leg had been ground to pulp. Peering at
this horrible object in the wan dusk of the early morning, they thought
he was dead like most of the others found there.
For a moment the men hesitated, wondering whether it wouldn't be
better to leave him there to be found and removed by folks with more
time at their disposal. One doesn't like to lose time and be consequently
fined, on account of stopping to pick up a dead tramp; particularly
when Christmas is drawing near and money so much needed that every
penny counts.
The thing on the ground, regaining for a fraction of a second a glint of
half-consciousness, quivered, moaned feebly, and lay still again.
Humanity prevailing, the Poles looked about for help, but as yet the
place was quite deserted. Grumbling, they wrenched a shutter off the
Agent's window, lifted the mangled tramp upon it, and made straight
for the Parish House; when accidents such as this happened to men
such as this, weren't the victims incontinently turned over to the Parish
House people? Indeed, there wasn't any place else for them, unless one
excepted the rough room at the jail; and the average small town
jail--ours wasn't any exception to the rule--is a place where a decent
veterinary would scruple to put a sick cur. With him the Poles brought
his sole luggage, a package tied up in oilskin, which they had found

lying partly under him.
We had become accustomed to these sudden inroads of misfortune, so
he was carried upstairs to the front Guest Room, fortunately just then
empty. The Poles turned over to me the heavy package found with him,
stolidly requested a note to the Boss explaining their necessary
tardiness, and hurried away. They had done what they had to do, and
they had no further interest in him. Nobody had any interest in one of
the unknown tramps who got themselves killed or crippled at Dead
Man's Crossin'.
The fellow was shockingly