How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Year's: And Other StoriesMurray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
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How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Year's: And Other Stories
Murray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
Fiction; Short stories
"Yer comin' be true to a minit," answered the trapper, glancing up at
the western mountain, the top of whose pines the lower edge of the sun
had just touched. "The meat be ready. We sartinly can't boast of the
bark or the dishes," he continued, "but the victuals be as good as
natur' allows, and yer welcome be hearty."
"We could ask no more," said the man, courteously, "and one might almost
think that the hand of woman had adorned the table."
"The posies be the boy's doin'," replied the trapper, glancing at
Herbert; "he has a likin' for their color and smell, and I never knowed
him to eat without a green sprig or a bunch of bright moss or some sech
thing on the bark."
"I am sure I do not like them any better than you do," answered Herbert,
smiling, and looking pleasantly into the old man's face.
"They be of the Lord's makin'," responded the trapper. "They be of the
Lord's makin', and it be fit thet mortals should love 'em, as I conceit.
I've lived a good deal alone," he continued, "but I've never lived in a
cabin yit that didn't have a few leetle flowers, or a tuft of grass, or
a speck of green somewhere about it. They sort of make company for a man
in the winter evenin's, and keep his thoughts in cheerful directions."
"Your sentiments do honor to your nature," responded the other, "and I
am glad to meet with one of your age, who, having lived among the
beauties of Nature, has not allowed them to become commonplace and
unworthy of notice. Many in the cities show less refinement."
"I conceit it is a good deal in the breedin'," answered the trapper.
"There be some that don't know good from evil in natur',--leastwise,
they don't seem to have any eyes to note the difference; and what isn't
born in a man or a dog you can't edicate into him. The breedin' settles
more p'ints that the missioners dream, as I jedge. But come, friends,
the victuals be coolin', and the mouth loves a warm morsel."
"I am certain," said the man, as they were partaking of the repast,
"that I never tasted a piece of venison so finely flavored before."
"I've cooked the meat for nigh on to sixty year," answered the trapper,
"and have larnt not to spoil the sweetness of natur' by overdoin' it.
It's a quick aim that brings the buck to the camp, and a quick fire that
puts the steak on to the plate ready for the mouth.--trust, lady, that
ye enjoy the victuals?"
"I do, indeed," answered the girl, "and if the cooking were less
perfect, I should count this as a feast."
"Yis, yis; I understand ye," answered the old man. "The sound of the
tumblin' water be pleasant, and the eye eats with the mouth," and he
glanced at the green woods that stretched away, and the brightly-colored
clouds that hung like fleece of gold in the western sky.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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