Episode 5

We heard no more of the voices. Uncle Eb had brought an armful of wood, and some water in the teapot, while I was sleeping. As soon as the rain had passed he stood listening awhile and shortly opened his knife and made a little clearing in the corn by cutting a few hills.

'We've got to do it,' he said, 'er we can't take any comfort, an' the man tol' me I could have all the corn I wanted.'

'Did you see him, Uncle Eb?' I remember asking.

'Yes,' he answered, whittling in the dark. 'I saw him when I went out for the water an' it was he tol' me they were after us.'

He took a look at the sky after a while, and, remarking that he guessed they couldn't see his smoke now, began to kindle the fire.

As it burned up he stuck two crotches and hung his teapot on a stick' that lay in them, so it took the heat of the flame, as I had seen him do in the morning. Our grotto, in the corn, was shortly as cheerful as any room in a palace, and our fire sent its light into the long aisles that opened opposite, and nobody could see the warm glow of it but ourselves.

'We'll hev our supper,' said Uncle Eb, as he opened a paper and spread out the eggs and bread and butter and crackers. 'We'll jest hev our supper an' by 'n by when everyone's abed we'll make tracks in the dirt, I can'tell ye.'

Our supper over, Uncle Eb let me look at his tobacco-box - a shiny thing of German silver that always seemed to snap out a quick farewell to me before it dove into his pocket. He was very cheerful and communicative, and joked a good deal as we lay there waiting in the firelight. I got some further acquaintance with the swift, learning among other things that it had no appetite for the pure in heart.

'Why not?' I enquired.

'Well,' said Uncle Eb, 'it's like this: the meaner the boy, the sweeter the meat.'

He sang an old song as he sat by the fire, with a whistled interlude between lines, and the swing of it, even now, carries me back to that far day in the fields. I lay with my head in his lap while he was singing.

Years after, when I could have carried him on my back' he wrote down for me the words of the old song. Here they are, about as he sang them, although there are evidences of repair, in certain lines, to supply the loss of phrases that had dropped out of his memory:

I was goin' to Salem one bright summer day, I met a young maiden a goin' my way;O, my fallow, faddeling fallow, faddel away.

An' many a time I had seen her before, But I never dare tell 'er the love thet I bore.

O, my fallow, etc.

'Oh, where are you goin' my purty fair maid?'

'O, sir, I am goin' t' Salem,' she said.

O, my fallow, etc.

'O, why are ye goin' so far in a day?

Fer warm is the weather and long is the way.'

O, my fallow, etc.

'O, sir I've forgorten, I hev, I declare, But it's nothin' to eat an' its nothin' to wear.'

O, my fallow, etc.

'Oho! then I hev it, ye purty young miss!

I'll bet it is only three words an' a kiss.'

O, my fallow, etc.

'Young woman, young woman, O how will it dew If I go see yer lover 'n bring 'em t' you?'

O, my fallow, etc.

''S a very long journey,' says she, 'I am told, An' before ye got back, they would surely be cold.'

O, my fallow, etc.

'I hev 'em right with me, I vum an' I vow, An' if you don't object I'll deliver 'em now.'

O, my fallow, etc.

She laid her fair head all on to my breast, An' ye wouldn't know more if I tol' ye the rest O, my fallow, etc.

I went asleep after awhile in spite of all, right in the middle of a story. The droning voice of Uncle Eb and the feel of his hand upon my forehead called me back, blinking, once or twice, but not for long. The fire was gone down to a few embers when Uncle Eb woke me and the grotto was lit only by a sprinkle of moonlight from above.

'Mos' twelve o'clock,' he whispered. 'Better be off.'

The basket was on his back and he was all ready. I followed him through the long aisle of corn, clinging to the tall of his coat. The golden lantern of the moon hung near the zenith and when we came out in the open we could see into the far fields. I climbed into my basket at the wall and as Uncle Eb carried me over the brook, stopping on a flat rock midway to take a drink, I could see the sky in the water, and it seemed as if a misstep would have tumbled me into the moon.

'Hear the crickets holler,' said Uncle Eb, as he followed the bank up into the open pasture.

'What makes 'em holler?' I asked.

'O, they're jes' filin' their saws an' thinktin'. Mebbe tellin' o' what's happened 'em. Been a hard day fer them little folks. Terrible flood in their country. Everyone on em hed t' git up a steeple quick 'she could er be drownded. They hev their troubles an' they talk 'bout 'em, too.'

'What do they file their saws for?' I enquired.

'Well, ye know,' said he, 'where they live the timber's thick an' they hev hard work clearin' t' mek a home.'

I was getting too sleepy for further talk. He made his way from field to field, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then at the sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane. I remember he let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smooth roadway. He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, and then the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim of his hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness. My eyes opened on a lovely scene at daylight Uncle Eb had laid me on a mossy knoll in a bit of timber and through an opening right in front of us I could see a broad level of shining water, and the great green mountain on the further shore seemed to be up to its belly in the sea.

'Hello there!' said Uncle Eb; 'here we are at Lake Champlain.'

I could hear the fire crackling and smell the odour of steeping tea.

'Ye flopped 'round like a fish in thet basket,' said Uncle Eb. ''Guess ye must a been drearnin' O' bears. Jumped so ye scairt me. Didn't know but I had a wil' cat on my shoulders.'

Uncle Eb had taken a fish-line out of his pocket and was tying it to a rude pole that he had cut and trinmed with his jack-knife.

'I've found some crawfish here,' he said, 'an' I'm goin' t' try fer a bite on the p'int O' rocks there.'

'Goin' t' git some fish, Uncle Eb?' I enquired.

'Wouldn't say't I was, er wouldn't say't I wasn't,' he answered. 'Jes goin' t' try.'

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