Howells, William Dean, 1837-1920 -- Childhood and youth
When I came back with that linen in my hand it was as if I were
accompanied by troops of sheeted dead, from whom that italic-footed
nightmare could not be persuaded to escape by any sawing of her mouth,
or any thumping of her sides with my bare heels.
I am astonished now that this terror should have been so transient. The
little ones were laid with their father and their brothers and sisters
in the unfenced graveyard on the top of our hill, where the pigs foraged
for acorns above their heads in the fall; and then my sun shone again.
So did the sun of the surviving B----s. The mother turned her household
goods into ready money, and with this and the wages due her husband
bought a changeable silk dress for herself and an oil-cloth cap for her
son, and equipped in these splendors the two set off up the road towards
the town of X----, gay, light-hearted in their destitution, and consoled
after the bereavement of a single week.
X
Our new house got on slowly. There were various delays and some
difficulties, but it was all intensely interesting, and we watched its
growth with eyes that hardly left it night or day. Life in the log-cabin
had not become pleasanter with the advance of the summer; we were all
impatient to be out of it. We looked forward to our occupation of the
new house with an eagerness which even in us boys must have had some
sense of present discomfort at the bottom of it. We were to have a
parlor, a dining-room, and a library; there were to be three chambers
for the family and a spare room; after six months in the log-cabin we
could hardly have imagined it, if we had not seen these divisions
actually made by the studding.
In that region there is no soft wood. The frame was of oak, and my
father decided to have the house weather-boarded and shingled with
black-walnut, which was so much cheaper than pine, and which, left in
its natural state, he thought would be agreeable in color. In this
neither the carpenter nor any of the neighbors could think with him; the
local ideal was brick for a house, and if not that, then white paint and
green blinds, and always two front doors; but my father had his way, and
our home was fashioned according to his plans.
It appeared to me a palace. I spent all the leisure I had from swimming
and Indian fighting and reading in watching the carpenter work, and
hearing him talk; his talk was not the wisest, but he thought very well
of it himself, and I had so far lapsed from civilization that I stood in
secret awe of him, because he came from town--from the pitiful little
village, namely, where I went to buy those shrouds.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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