the village watch-tower-第5章

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its　blue　fringes；　purple　asters　and　gay　Joe　Pye　waved　their

colors　by　the　roadside；　tall　primroses　put　their　yellow

bonnets　on；　and　peeped　over　the　brooks　to　see　themselves；

and　the　dusty　pods　of　the　milkweed　were　bursting　with

their　silky　fluffs；　the　spinning　of　the　long　summer。

Autumn　began　to　paint　the　maples　red　and　the　elms　yellow；

for　the　early　days　of　September　brought　a　frost。

Some　one　remarked　at　the　village　store　that　old　Blueb'ry　Tom

must　not　be　suffered　to　stay　on　the　plains　another　winter；

now　that　he　was　getting　so　feeble；not　if　the　〃_se_leckmen〃　had

to　root　him　out　and　take　him　to　the　poor…farm。　He　would　surely

starve　or　freeze；　and　his　death　would　be　laid　at　their　door。



Tom　was　interviewed。　　Persuasion；　logic；　sharp　words；　all　failed

to　move　him　one　jot　or　tittle。　　He　stood　in　his　castle　door；

with　the　ladder　behind　him；　smiling；　always　smiling

（none　but　the　fool　smiles　always；　nor　always　weeps）；　and　saying

to　all　visitors；　〃Tom　ain't　ter　hum；　Tom's　gone　to　Bonny　Eagle；

Tom　don'　want　to　go　to　the　poor…farm。〃



November　came　in　surly。



The　cheerful　stir　and　bustle　of　the　harvest　were　over；　the　corn

was　shocked；　the　apples　and　pumpkins　were　gathered　into　barns。

The　problem　of　Tom's　future　was　finally　laid　before　the　selectmen；

and　since　the　poor　fellow's　mild　obstinancy　had　defeated　all　attempts

to　conquer　it；　the　sheriff　took　the　matter　in　hand。



The　blueberry　plains　looked　bleak　and　bare　enough　now。　　It　had　rained

incessantly　for　days；　growing　ever　colder　and　colder　as　it　rained。

The　sun　came　out　at　last；　but　it　shone　in　a　wintry　sort　of　way；

like　a　duty　smile；as　if　light；　not　heat；　were　its　object。

A　keen　wind　blew　the　dead　leaves　hither　and　thither　in　a　wild　dance

that　had　no　merriment　in　it。　　A　blackbird　flew　under　an　old　barrel

by　the　wayside；　and；　ruffling　himself　into　a　ball；　remarked　despondently

that　feathers　were　no　sort　of　protection　in　this　kind　of　climate。

A　snowbird；　flying　by；　glanced　in　at　the　barrel；　and　observed　that

anybody　who　minded　a　little　breeze　like　that　had　better　join　the　woodcocks；

who　were　leaving　for　the　South　by　the　night　express。



The　blueberry　bushes　were　stripped　bare　of　green。　　The　stunted

pines　and　sombre　hemlocks　looked　in　tone　with　the　landscape　now；

where　all　was　dreary　they　did　not　seem　amiss。



〃Je…whilikins！〃　exclaimed　the　sheriff　as　he　drew　up　his　coat　collar。

〃A　madhouse　is　the　place　for　the　man　who　wants　to　live　ou'doors　in

the　winter　time；　the　poor…farm　is　too　good　for　him。〃



But　Tom　was　used　to　privation；　and　even　to　suffering。

〃Ou'doors〃　was　the　only　home　he　knew；　and　with　all　its　rigors　he　loved　it。

He　looked　over　the　barren　plains；　knowing；　in　a　dull　sort　of　way；

that　they　would　shortly　be　covered　with　snow；　but　he　had　three　coats；

two　of　them　with　sleeves；　and　the　crunch…crunch　of　the　snow

under　his　tread　was　music　to　his　ears。　　Then；　too；　there　were

a　few　hospitable　firesides　where　he　could　always　warm　himself；

and　the　winter　would　soon　be　over；　the　birds　would　come　again；

new　birds；　singing　the　old　songs；the　sap　would　mount　in　the　trees；

the　buds　swell　on　the　blueberry　bushes；　and　the　young　ivory

leaves　push　their　ruddy　tips　through　the　softening　ground。

The　plains　were　fatherland　and　mother…country；　home　and　kindred；　to　Tom。

He　loved　the　earth　that　nourished　him；　and　he　saw　through　all

the　seeming　death　in　nature　the　eternal　miracle　of　the　resurrection。

To　him　winter　was　never　cruel。　　He　looked　underneath　her　white　mantle；

saw　the　infant　spring　hidden　in　her　warm　bosom；　and　was　content　to　wait。

Content　to　wait？　　Content　to　starve；　content　to　freeze；　if　only

he　need　not　be　carried　into　captivity。



The　poor…farm　was　not　a　bad　place；　either；　if　only　Tom

had　been　a　reasonable　being。　　To　be　sure；　when　Hannah　Sophia

Palmer　asked　old　Mrs。　Pinkham　how　she　liked　it；　she　answered；

with　a　patient　sigh；　that　〃her　'n'　Mr。　Pinkham　hed　lived

there　goin'　on　nine　year；　workin'　their　fingers　to　the　bone

'most；　'n'　yet　they　hadn't　been　able　to　lay　up　a　cent！〃

If　this　peculiarity　of　administration　was　its　worst　feature；

it　was　certainly　one　that　would　have　had　no　terrors　for　Tom　o'

the　blueb'ry　plains。　　Terrors　of　some　sort；　nevertheless；

the　poor…farm　had　for　him；　and　when　the　sheriff's　party

turned　in　by　the　clump　of　white　birches　and　approached

the　cabin；　they　found　that　fear　had　made　the　simple　wise。

Tom　had　provished　the　little　upper　chamber；　and；　in　place

of　the　piece　of　sacking　that　usually　served　him　for　a　door

in　winter；　he　had　woven　a　defense　of　willow。　　In　fine；

he　had　taken　all　his　basket　stuff；　and；　treating　the　opening

through　which　he　entered　and　left　his　home　precisely　as

if　it　were　a　bottomless　chair；　he　had　filled　it　in　solidly；

weaving　to　and　fro；　by　night　as　well　as　by　day；　till　he　felt；

poor　fool；　as　safely　intrenched　as　if　he　were　in　the　heart

of　a　fortress。



The　sheriff　tied　his　horse　to　a　tree；　and　Rube　Hobson　and　Pitt　Packard

got　out　of　the　double　wagon。　　Two　men　laughed　when　they　saw　the　pathetic

defense；　but　the　other　shut　his　lips　together　and　caught　his　breath。

（He　had　been　born　on　a　poor…farm；　but　no　one　knew　it　at　Pleasant　River。）

They　called　Tom's　name　repeatedly；　but　no　other　sound　broke　the　silence

of　the　plains　save　the　rustling　of　the　wind　among　the　dead　leaves。



〃Numb…head！〃　muttered　the　sheriff；　pounding　on　the　side

of　the　cabin　with　his　whip…stock。　〃Come　out　and　show　yourself！

We　know　you're　in　there；　and　it's　no　use　hiding！〃



At　last　in　response　to　a　deafening　blow　from　Rube　Hobson's　hard　fist；

there　came　the　answering　note　of　a　weak　despairing　voice。



〃Tom　ain't　ter　hum；〃　it　said；　〃Tom's　gone　to　Bonny　Eagle。〃



〃That's　all　right！〃　guffawed　the　men；　〃but　you've　got　to　go　some　more；

and　go　a　diff'rent　way。　　It　ain't　no　use　fer　you　to　hold　back；　we've　got

a　ladder；　and　by　Jiminy！　you　go　with　us　this　time！〃



The　ladder　was　put　against　the　side　of　the　hut；　and　Pitt　Packard

climbed　up；　took　his　jack…knife；　slit　the　woven　door　from　top　to　bottom；

and　turned　back　the　flap。



The　men　could　see　the　inside　of　the　chamber　now。　　They　were　humorous

persons　who　could　strain　a　joke　to　the　snapping　point；　but　they　felt；

at　last；　that　there　was　nothing　especially　amusing　in　the　situation。

Tom　was　huddled　in　a　heap　on　the　straw　bed　in　the　far　corner。

The　vacant　smile　had　fled　from　his　face；　and　he　looked；　for　the　first

time　in　his　life；　quite　distraught。



〃Come　along；　Tom；〃　said　the　sheriff　　kindly；

〃we　're　going　to　take　you　where　you　can　sleep　in　a　bed；

and　have　three　meals　a　day。〃



〃I'd　much　d'ruth…er　walk　in　the　bloom…in'　gy…ar…ding；〃



sang　Tom　quaveringly；　as　he　hid　his　head　in　a　paroxysm　of　fear。



〃Well；　there　ain't　no　bloomin'　gardings　to　walk　in　jest　now；

so　come　along　and　be　peaceable。〃



〃Tom　don'　want　to　go　to　the　poor…farm；〃　he　wailed　piteously。



But　there　was　no　alternative。　　They　dragged　him　off　the　bed

and　down　the　ladder　as　gently　as　possible；　then　Rube　Hobson　held　him

on　the　back　seat　of　the　wagon；　while　the　sheriff　unhitched　the　horse。

As　they　were　on　the　point　of　starting；　the　captive　began　to　wail

and　struggle　more　than　ever；　the　burden　of　his　plaint　being　a　wild

and　tremulous　plea　for　his　pail　of　molasses。



〃Dry　up；　old　softy；　or　I'll　put　the　buggy　robe　over　your　head！〃

muttered　Rube　Hobson；　who　had　not　had　much　patience　when　he　started

on　the　trip；　and　had　lost　it　all　by　this　time。



〃By　thunder！　he　shall　hev　his　molasses；　if　he　thinks　he　wants　it！〃

said　Pitt　Packard；　and　he　ran　up　the　ladder　and　brought　it　down；

comforting　the　shivering　creature　thus；　for　he　lapsed　into　a　submissive

silence　that　lasted　until　the　unwelcome　journey　was　over。



Tom　remained　at　the　poorhouse　precisely　twelve　hours。

It　did　not　enter　the　minds　of　the　authorities　that　any　one　so　fortunate

as　to　be　admitted　into　that　happy　haven　would　decline　to　stay　there。

The　unwilling　guest　disappeared　early　on　the　morrow　of　his　arrival；　and；

after　some　search；　they　followed　him　to　the　old　spot。　　He　had　climbed

into　his　beloved　retreat；　and；　having　learned　nothing　from　experience；

had　mended　the　willow　door　as　best　he　could；　and　laid　him　down　in　peace。

They　dragged　him　out　again；　and　this　time　more　impatiently；

for　it　was　exasperating　to　see　a　man　（even　if　he　were　a　fool）

fight　against　a　bed　and　three　meals　a　day。



The　second　attempt　was　little　more　successful　than　the　first。

As　a　place　of　residence；　the　poor…farm　did　not　seem　any　more　desirable

or　attractive　on　near　acquaintance　than　it　did　at　long　range。

Tom　remained　a　week；　because　he　was　kept　in　close　confinement；

but　when　they　judged　that　he　was　weaned　from　his　old　home；

they　loosed　his　bonds；　andback　to　the　plains　he　sped；　like　an　arrow

shot　from　the　bow；　or　like　a　bit　of　iron　leaping　to　the　magnet。



What　should　be　done　with　him？



Public　opinion　was　divided。　　Some　people　declared　that

the　village　had　done　its　duty；　and　if　the　〃dog…goned　lunk…head〃

wanted　to　starve　and　freeze；　it　was　his　funeral；　not　theirs。

Others　thought　that　the　community　had　no　resource　but　to

bear　the　responsibility　of　its　irresponsible　children；

however　troublesome　they　might　be。　　There　was　entire

unanimity　of　view　so　far　as　the　main　issues　were　concerned。

It　was　agreed　that　nobody　at　the　poor…farm　had　leisure　to　stand

guard　over　Tom　night　and　day；　and　that　the　sheriff　could

not　be　expected　to　spend　his　time　forcing　him　out　of　his　hut

on　the　blueberry　plains。



There　was　but　one　more　expedient　to　be　tried；　a　very　simple

and　ingenious　but　radical　and　comprehensive　one；　which；　in　Rube

Hobson's　opinion；　would　strike　at　the　root　of　the　matter。



Tom　had　fled　from　captivity　for　the　third　time。



He　had　stolen　out　at　daybreak；　and；　by　an　unexpected　stroke

of　fortune；　the　molasses　pail　was　hanging　on　a　nail　by　the　shed　door。

The　remains　of　a　battered　old　bushel　basket　lay　on　the　wood…pile：　bottom

it　had　none；　nor　handles；　rotundity　of　side　had　long　since　disappeared；

and　none　but　its　maker　would　have　known　it　for　a　basket。　　Tom　caught　it

up　in　his　flight；　and；　seizing　the　first　crooked　stick　that　offered；

he　slung　the　dear　familiar　burden　over　his　shoulder　and　started　off

on　a　jog…trot。



Heaven；　how　happy　he　was！　　It　was　the　rosy　dawn　of　an　Indian　summer　day；

a　warm　jewel　of　a　day；　dropped　into　the　bleak　world　of　yesterday　without

a　hint　of　beneficent　intention；　one　of　those　enchanting　weather　surprises

with　which　Dame　Nature　reconciles　us　to　her　stern　New　England　rule。



The　joy　that　comes　of　freedom；　and　the　freedom

that　comes　of　joy；　unbent　the　old　man's　stiffened　joints。

He　renewed　his　youth　at　every　mile。　　He　ran　like　a　lapwing。

When　his　feet　first　struck　the　sandy　soil　of　the　plains；　he　broke

into　old　song　of　the　〃bloom…in'　gy…ar…ding〃　and　the　〃jolly　swain；〃

and　in　the　marvelous　mental　and　spiritual　exhilaration

born　of　the　supreme　moment　he　almost　grasped　that　i