The Young Mountaineers | Page 4

took great
offense, more perhaps because the disrespect was offered to his son
rather than to himself.
"Jes' gin Jonas the word from me," said the young blacksmith, meaning
no harm and laughing good-naturedly, "ez I kin tell him percisely what
makes him see harnts; it air drinkin' so much o' this onhealthy whiskey,
what hain't got no tax paid onto it. I looks ter see him jes' a-staggerin'
the nex' time I comes up with him."
Old Daddy rose with affronted dignity.
"My son," he declared vehemently,--"my son ain't gin over ter drinkin'
whiskey, tax or no tax. An' he ain't got no call ter stagger--like some
folks!"
And despite all apology and protest, he left the house in a huff.
His old bones ached with the unwonted exercise, and were rudely
enough jarred by the rough roads and the awful gaits of his ancient
steed. The sun was hot, and so was his heart, and when he reached
home, infinitely fatigued and querulous, he gave his son a sorry
account of his reception at the store. As he concluded, saying that five
of the men had sent word that they would be at Jonas Creyshaw's house

at moon-rise "ter holp him see the harnt," his son's brow darkened, and
he strode heavily out of the room.
He usually exhibited in a high degree the hospitality characteristic of
these mountaineers, but now it had given way to a still stronger instinct.
"Si," he said, coming suddenly upon the boy, "put out right now fur
Bently's store at the settlemint, an' tell them sneaks ez hang round thar
ter sarch round thar own houses fur harnts, ef they hanker ter see enny
harnts. Ef they hev got the insurance ter kem hyar, they'll see wusser
sights 'n enny harnts. Tell 'em I ain't a-goin' ter 'low no man ter cross
my doorstep ez don't show Old Daddy the right medjure o' respec'.
They'd better keep out'n my way ginerally."
So with this bellicose message Si set out. But an unlucky idea occurred
to him as he went plodding along the sandy road.
"Whilst I'm a-goin' on this hyar harnt's yerrand"----The logical Si
brought up with a shiver.
"I went ter say--whilst I'm a-goin' on this hyar yerrand fur the
harnt"----This was as bad.
"Whilst," he qualified once more, "I'm a-goin' on this hyar yerrand
'bout'n the harnt, I mought ez well skeet off in them deep woods a piece
ter see ef enny wild cherries air ripe on that tree by the spring. I'll hev
plenty o' time."
But even Si could not persuade himself that the cherries were ripe, and
he stood for a moment under the tree, staring disconsolately at the
distant blue ridges shimmering through the heated air. The sunlight was
motionless, languid; it seemed asleep. The drowsy drone of insects
filled the forest. As Si threw himself down to rest on the rocky brink of
the mountain, a grasshopper sprang away suddenly, high into the air,
with an agility that suggested to him the chorus of a song, which he
began to sing in a loud and self-sufficient voice:--
"The grasshopper said--'Now, don't ye see Thar's mighty few dancers

sech ez me-- Sech ez me!--Sech ez ME!'"
This reminded Si of his own capabilities as a dancer. He rose and began
to caper nimbly, executing a series of steps that were singularly swift,
spry, and unexpected,--a good deal on the grasshopper's method. His
tattered black hat bobbed up and down on his tow head; his brown
jeans trousers, so loose on his lean legs, flapped about hilariously; his
bare heels flew out right and left; he snapped his fingers to mark the
time; now and then he stuck his arms akimbo, and cut what he called
the "widgeon-ping." But his freckled face was as grave as ever, and all
the time that he danced he sang:--
"In the middle o' the night the rain kem down, An' gin the corn a fraish
start out'n the ground, An' I thought nex' day ez I stood in the door,
That sassy bug mus' be drownded sure! But thar war Goggle-eyes, peart
an' gay, Twangin' an' a-tunin' up--'Now, dance away! Ye may sarch
night an' day ez a constancy An' ye won't find a fiddler sech ez me!
Sech ez me!--Sech ez ME!'"
As he sank back exhausted upon the ground, a new aspect of the scene
caught his attention.
Those blue mountains were purpling--there was an ever-deepening
flush in the west. It was close upon sunset, and while he had wasted the
time, the five men to whom his father had sent that stern message
forbidding them to come to his house were perhaps on their way thither,
with every expectation of a cordial welcome. There might be a
row--even