the village watch-tower-第6章

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retreat　in　the　blueberry　plains。　　Whenever　he　approached　it；

after　a　long　day's　tramp；　when　he　caught　the　first　sight

of　the　white　birches　that　marked　the　gateway　to　his　estate

and　showed　him　where　to　turn　off　the　public　road　into　his　own

private　grounds；　he　smiled　a　broader　smile　than　usual；

and　broke　into　his　well…known　song：





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

An'　hear　the　whis…sle　of　the　jol…ly

swain。〃



Poor　Tom　could　never　catch　the　last　note。　　He　had　sung

the　song　for　more　than　forty　years；　but　the　memory　of　this

tone　was　so　blurred；　and　his　cherished　ideal　of　it　so　high

（or　so　low；　rather）；　that　he　never　managed　to　reach　it。



Oh；　if　only　summer　were　eternal！　　Who　could　wish　a　better

supper　than　ripe　berries　and　molasses？　　Nor　was　there　need

of　sleeping　under　roof　nor　of　lighting　candles　to　grope　his　way

to　pallet　of　straw；　when　he　might　have　the　blue　vault　of　heaven

arching　over　him；　and　all　God's　stars　for　lamps；　and　for　a　bed

a　horse　blanket　stretched　over　an　elastic　couch　of　pine　needles。

There　were　two　gaunt　pines　that　had　been　dropping　their　polished

spills　for　centuries；　perhaps　silently　adding；　year　by　year；

another　layer　of　aromatic　springiness　to　poor　Tom's　bed。

Flinging　his　tired　body　on　this　grateful　couch；　burying　his　head

in　the　crushed　sweet　fern　of　his　pillow　with　one　deep…drawn

sigh　of　pleasure；there；　haunted　by　no　past　and　harassed

by　no　future；　slept　God's　fool　as　sweetly　as　a　child。



Yes；　if　only　summer　were　eternal；　and　youth　as　well！



But　when　the　blueberries　had　ripened　summer　after　summer；

and　the　gaunt　pine…trees　had　gone　on　for　many　years　weaving　poor

Tom's　mattress；　there　came　a　change　in　the　aspect　of　things。

He　still　made　his　way　to　the　village；　seeking　chairs　to　mend；

but　he　was　even　more　unkempt　than　of　old；　his　tall　figure　was　bent；

and　his　fingers　trembled　as　he　wove　the　willow　strands　in　and　out；

and　over　and　under。



There　was　little　work　to　do；　moreover；　for　the　village　had　altogether

retired　from　business；　and　was　no　longer　in　competition　with　its　neighbors：

the　dam　was　torn　away；　the　sawmills　were　pulled　down；　husbands　and　fathers

were　laid　in　the　churchyard；　sons　and　brothers　and　lovers　had　gone　West；　and

mothers　and　widows　and　spinsters　stayed　on；　each　in　her　quiet　house　alone。

〃'T　ain't　no　hardship　when　you　get　used　to　it；〃　said　the　Widow　Buzzell。

〃Land　sakes！　a　lantern　's　's　good　's　a　man　any　time；　if　you　only　think　so；

'n'　't　ain't　half　so　much　trouble　to　keep　it　filled　up！〃



But　Tom　still　sold　a　basket　occasionally；　and　the　children

always　gathered　about　him　for　the　sake　of　hearing　him　repeat

his　well…worn　formula；Tom　allers　puts　two　handles　on　baskets：

one　to　take　'em　up　by；　one　to　set　'em　down　by。〃

This　was　said　with　a　beaming　smile　and　a　wise　shake　of　the　head；

as　if　he　were　announcing　a　great　discovery　to　an　expectant　world。

And　then　he　would　lay　down　his　burden　of　basket　stuff；

and；　sitting　under　an　apple…tree　in　somebody's　side　yard；

begin　his　task　of　willow…bottoming　an　old　chair。　　It　was　a　pretty

sight　enough；　if　one　could　keep　back　the　tears；the　kindly；

simple　fellow　with　the　circle　of　children　about　his　knees。

Never　a　village　fool　without　a　troop　of　babies　at　his　heels。

They　love　him；　too；　till　we　teach　them　to　mock。



When　he　was　younger；　he　would　sing；



〃Rock…a…by；　baby；　on　the　treetop；〃



and　dance　the　while；　swinging　his　unfinished　basket　to　and　fro　for　a　cradle。

He　was　too　stiff　in　the　joints　for　dancing　nowadays；　but　he　still　sang

the　〃bloomin'　gy…ar…ding〃　when　ever　they　asked　him；　particularly　if

some　apple…cheeked　little　maid　would　say；　〃Please；　Tom！〃

He　always　laughed　then；　and；　patting　the　child's　hand；　said；　〃Pooty　gal；

got　eyes！〃　　The　youngsters　dance　with　glee　at　this　meaningless　phrase；

just　as　their　mothers　had　danced　years　before　when　it　was　said　to　them。



Summer　waned。　　In　the　moist　places　the　gentian　uncurled

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