The $30,000 Bequest - Mark Twain (ebooks that read to you .txt) š
- Author: Mark Twain
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of grass and woods but the drowsy hum of insects; no glimpse
of man or beast; nothing to keep up your spirits and make you glad
to be alive. And so, at last, in the early part of the afternoon,
when I caught sight of a human creature, I felt a most grateful uplift.
This person was a man about forty-five years old, and he was
standing at the gate of one of those cozy little rose-clad cottages
of the sort already referred to. However, this one hadnāt
a deserted look; it had the look of being lived in and petted
and cared for and looked after; and so had its front yard,
which was a garden of flowers, abundant, gay, and flourishing.
I was invited in, of course, and required to make myself at homeā
it was the custom of the country.
It was delightful to be in such a place, after long weeks of daily
and nightly familiarity with minersā cabinsāwith all which this
implies of dirt floor, never-made beds, tin plates and cups,
bacon and beans and black coffee, and nothing of ornament but war
pictures from the Eastern illustrated papers tacked to the log walls.
That was all hard, cheerless, materialistic desolation, but here was a
nest which had aspects to rest the tired eye and refresh that something
in oneās nature which, after long fasting, recognizes, when confronted
by the belongings of art, howsoever cheap and modest they may be,
that it has unconsciously been famishing and now has found nourishment.
I could not have believed that a rag carpet could feast me so,
and so content me; or that there could be such solace to the soul
in wall-paper and framed lithographs, and bright-colored tidies
and lamp-mats, and Windsor chairs, and varnished what-nots, with
sea-shells and books and china vases on them, and the score of little
unclassifiable tricks and touches that a womanās hand distributes
about a home, which one sees without knowing he sees them, yet would
miss in a moment if they were taken away. The delight that was
in my heart showed in my face, and the man saw it and was pleased;
saw it so plainly that he answered it as if it had been spoken.
āAll her work,ā he said, caressingly; āshe did it all herselfā
every bit,ā and he took the room in with a glance which was full
of affectionate worship. One of those soft Japanese fabrics
with which women drape with careful negligence the upper part of a
picture-frame was out of adjustment. He noticed it, and rearranged
it with cautious pains, stepping back several times to gauge
the effect before he got it to suit him. Then he gave it a light
finishing pat or two with his hand, and said: āShe always does that.
You canāt tell just what it lacks, but it does lack something
until youāve done thatāyou can see it yourself after itās done,
but that is all you know; you canāt find out the law of it.
Itās like the finishing pats a mother gives the childās hair
after sheās got it combed and brushed, I reckon. Iāve seen her
fix all these things so much that I can do them all just her way,
though I donāt know the law of any of them. But she knows the law.
She knows the why and the how both; but I donāt know the why;
I only know the how.ā
He took me into a bedroom so that I might wash my hands; such a bedroom
as I had not seen for years: white counterpane, white pillows,
carpeted floor, papered walls, pictures, dressing-table, with mirror
and pin-cushion and dainty toilet things; and in the corner a wash-stand,
with real china-ware bowl and pitcher, and with soap in a china dish,
and on a rack more than a dozen towelsātowels too clean and white
for one out of practice to use without some vague sense of profanation.
So my face spoke again, and he answered with gratified words:
āAll her work; she did it all herselfāevery bit. Nothing here
that hasnāt felt the touch of her hand. Now you would thinkā
But I mustnāt talk so much.ā
By this time I was wiping my hands and glancing from detail to detail
of the roomās belongings, as one is apt to do when he is in a new place,
where everything he sees is a comfort to his eye and his spirit;
and I became conscious, in one of those unaccountable ways,
you know, that there was something there somewhere that the man
wanted me to discover for myself. I knew it perfectly, and I knew
he was trying to help me by furtive indications with his eye, so I
tried hard to get on the right track, being eager to gratify him.
I failed several times, as I could see out of the corner of my eye
without being told; but at last I knew I must be looking straight
at the thingāknew it from the pleasure issuing in invisible waves
from him. He broke into a happy laugh, and rubbed his hands together,
and cried out:
āThatās it! Youāve found it. I knew you would. Itās her picture.ā
I went to the little black-walnut bracket on the farther wall,
and did find there what I had not yet noticedāa daguerreotype-case.
It contained the sweetest girlish face, and the most beautiful,
as it seemed to me, that I had ever seen. The man drank the admiration
from my face, and was fully satisfied.
āNineteen her last birthday,ā he said, as he put the picture back;
āand that was the day we were married. When you see herāah, just wait
till you see her!ā
āWhere is she? When will she be in?ā
āOh, sheās away now. Sheās gone to see her people. They live
forty or fifty miles from here. Sheās been gone two weeks today.ā
āWhen do you expect her back?ā
āThis is Wednesday. Sheāll be back Saturday, in the eveningā
about nine oāclock, likely.ā
I felt a sharp sense of disappointment.
āIām sorry, because Iāll be gone then,ā I said, regretfully.
āGone? Noāwhy should you go? Donāt go. Sheāll be disappointed.ā
She would be disappointedāthat beautiful creature! If she had said
the words herself they could hardly have blessed me more. I was
feeling a deep, strong longing to see herāa longing so supplicating,
so insistent, that it made me afraid. I said to myself: āI will
go straight away from this place, for my peace of mindās sake.ā
āYou see, she likes to have people come and stop with usā
people who know things, and can talkāpeople like you. She delights
in it; for she knowsāoh, she knows nearly everything herself,
and can talk, oh, like a birdāand the books she reads, why, you would
be astonished. Donāt go; itās only a little while, you know,
and sheāll be so disappointed.ā
I heard the words, but hardly noticed them, I was so deep in my
thinkings and strugglings. He left me, but I didnāt know.
Presently he was back, with the picture case in his hand, and he
held it open before me and said:
āThere, now, tell her to her face you could have stayed to see her,
and you wouldnāt.ā
That second glimpse broke down my good resolution. I would stay
and take the risk. That night we smoked the tranquil pipe,
and talked till late about various things, but mainly about her;
and certainly I had had no such pleasant and restful time for many
a day. The Thursday followed and slipped comfortably away.
Toward twilight a big miner from three miles away cameāone of
the grizzled, stranded pioneersāand gave us warm salutation,
clothed in grave and sober speech. Then he said:
āI only just dropped over to ask about the little madam, and when
is she coming home. Any news from her?ā
āOh, yes, a letter. Would you like to hear it, Tom?ā
āWell, I should think I would, if you donāt mind, Henry!ā
Henry got the letter out of his wallet, and said he would skip
some of the private phrases, if we were willing; then he went
on and read the bulk of itāa loving, sedate, and altogether
charming and gracious piece of handiwork, with a postscript full
of affectionate regards and messages to Tom, and Joe, and Charley,
and other close friends and neighbors.
As the reader finished, he glanced at Tom, and cried out:
āOho, youāre at it again! Take your hands away, and let me see
your eyes. You always do that when I read a letter from her.
I will write and tell her.ā
āOh no, you mustnāt, Henry. Iām getting old, you know, and any
little disappointment makes me want to cry. I thought sheād
be here herself, and now youāve got only a letter.ā
āWell, now, what put that in your head? I thought everybody knew
she wasnāt coming till Saturday.ā
āSaturday! Why, come to think, I did know it. I wonder
whatās the matter with me lately? Certainly I knew it.
Aināt we all getting ready for her? Well, I must be going now.
But Iāll be on hand when she comes, old man!ā
Late Friday afternoon another gray veteran tramped over from his
cabin a mile or so away, and said the boys wanted to have a little
gaiety and a good time Saturday night, if Henry thought she wouldnāt
be too tired after her journey to be kept up.
āTired? She tired! Oh, hear the man! Joe, YOU know sheād sit up
six weeks to please any one of you!ā
When Joe heard that there was a letter, he asked to have it read,
and the loving messages in it for him broke the old fellow all up;
but he said he was such an old wreck that THAT would happen to him
if she only just mentioned his name. āLord, we miss her so!ā
he said.
Saturday afternoon I found I was taking out my watch pretty often.
Henry noticed it, and said, with a startled look:
āYou donāt think she ought to be here soon, do you?ā
I felt caught, and a little embarrassed; but I laughed, and said
it was a habit of mine when I was in a state of expenctancy.
But he didnāt seem quite satisfied; and from that time on he began
to show uneasiness. Four times he walked me up the road to a point
whence we could see a long distance; and there he would stand,
shading his eyes with his hand, and looking. Several times he said:
āIām getting worried, Iām getting right down worried. I know
sheās not due till about nine oāclock, and yet something seems
to be trying to warn me that somethingās happened. You donāt
think anything has happened, do you?ā
I began to get pretty thoroughly ashamed of him for his childishness;
and at last, when he repeated that imploring question still another time,
I lost my patience for the moment, and spoke pretty brutally to him.
It seemed to shrivel him up and cow him; and he looked so wounded
and so humble after that, that I detested myself for having done
the cruel and unnecessary thing. And so I was glad when Charley,
another veteran, arrived toward the edge of the evening, and nestled
up to Henry to hear the letter read, and talked over the preparations
for the welcome. Charley fetched out one hearty speech after another,
and did his best to drive away his friendās bodings and apprehensions.
āAnything HAPPENED to her? Henry, thatās pure nonsense. There isnāt
anything going to happen to her;
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