a first family of tasajara-第4章

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room；　which　appeared　to　serve　occasionally　as　a　dining…room；　and

where　supper　was　already　laid　out。　　A　stout；　comfortable…looking

womanwho　had；　however；　a　singularly　permanent　expression　of

pained　sympathy　upon　her　facewelcomed　them　in　tones　of　gentle

commiseration。



〃Ah；　there　you　be；　you　two！　　Now　sit　ye　right　down；　dears；　DO。　　You

must　be　tired　out；　and　you；　Phemie；　love；　draw　up　by　your　poor

father。　　Therethat's　right。　　You'll　be　better　soon。〃



There　was　certainly　no　visible　sign　of　suffering　or　exhaustion　on

the　part　of　either　father　or　daughter；　nor　the　slightest　apparent

earthly　reason　why　they　should　be　expected　to　exhibit　any。　　But；

as　already　intimated；　it　was　part　of　Mrs。　Harkutt's　generous

idiosyncrasy　to　look　upon　all　humanity　as　suffering　and　toiling；　to

be　petted；　humored；　condoled　with；　and　fed。　　It　had；　in　the　course

of　years；　imparted　a　singularly　caressing　sadness　to　her　voice；　and

given　her　the　habit　of　ending　her　sentences　with　a　melancholy　cooing

and　an　unintelligible　murmur　of　agreement。　　It　was　undoubtedly

sincere　and　sympathetic；　but　at　times　inappropriate　and　distressing。

It　had　lost　her　the　friendship　of　the　one　humorist　of　Tasajara；

whose　best　jokes　she　had　received　with　such　heartfelt　commiseration

and　such　pained　appreciation　of　the　evident　labor　involved　as　to

reduce　him　to　silence。



Accustomed　as　Mr。　Harkutt　was　to　his　wife's　peculiarity；　he　was　not

above　assuming　a　certain　slightly　fatigued　attitude　befitting　it。

〃Yes；〃　he　said；　with　a　vague　sigh；　〃where's　Clemmie？〃



〃Lyin'　down　since　dinner；　she　reckoned　she　wouldn't　get　up　to

supper；〃　she　returned　soothingly。　　〃Phemie's　goin'　to　take　her　up

some　sass　and　tea。　　The　poor　dear　child　wants　a　change。〃



〃She　wants　to　go　to　'Frisco；　and　so　do　I；　pop；〃　said　Phemie；

leaning　her　elbow　half　over　her　father's　plate。　　〃Come；　pop；　say

do；just　for　a　week。〃



〃Only　for　a　week；〃　murmured　the　commiserating　Mrs。　Harkutt。



〃Perhaps；〃　responded　Harkutt；　with　gloomy　sarcasm；　〃ye　wouldn't

mind　tellin'　me　how　you're　goin'　to　get　there；　and　where　the

money's　comin'　from　to　take　you？　　There's　no　teamin'　over　Tasajara

till　the　rain　stops；　and　no　money　comin'　in　till　the　ranchmen　can

move　their　stuff。　　There　ain't　a　hundred　dollars　in　all　Tasajara；

at　least　there　ain't　been　the　first　red　cent　of　it　paid　across　my

counter　for　a　fortnit！　　Perhaps　if　you　do　go　you　wouldn't　mind

takin'　me　and　the　store　along　with　ye；　and　leavin'　us　there。〃



〃Yes；　dear；〃　said　Mrs。　Harkutt；　with　sympathetic　but　shameless

tergiversation。　　〃Don't　bother　your　poor　father；　Phemie；　love；

don't　you　see　he's　just　tired　out？　　And　you're　not　eatin'　anything；

dad。〃



As　Mr。　Harkutt　was　uneasily　conscious　that　he　had　been　eating

heartily　in　spite　of　his　financial　difficulties；　he　turned　the

subject　abruptly。　　〃Where's　John　Milton？〃



Mrs。　Harkutt　shaded　her　eyes　with　her　hand；　and　gazed　meditatively

on　the　floor　before　the　fire　and　in　the　chimney　corner　for　her　only

son；　baptized　under　that　historic　title。　　〃He　was　here　a　minit

ago；〃　she　said　doubtfully。　　〃I　really　can't　think　where　he's　gone。

But；〃　assuringly；　〃it　ain't　far。〃



〃He's　skipped　with　one　o'　those　story…books　he's　borrowed；〃　said

Phemie。　　〃He's　always　doin'　it。　　Like　as　not　he's　reading　with　a

candle　in　the　wood…shed。　　We'll　all　be　burnt　up　some　night。〃



〃But　he's　got　through　his　chores；〃　interposed　Mrs。　Harkutt

deprecatingly。



〃Yes；〃　continued　Harkutt；　aggrievedly；　〃but　instead　of　goin'　to

bed；　or　addin'　up　bills；　or　takin'　count　o'　stock；　or　even　doin'

sums　or　suthin'　useful；　he's　ruinin'　his　eyes　and　wastin'　his　time

over　trash。〃　　He　rose　and　walked　slowly　into　the　sitting…room；

followed　by　his　daughter　and　a　murmur　of　commiseration　from　his

wife。　　But　Mrs。　Harkutt's　ministration　for　the　present　did　not　pass

beyond　her　domain；　the　kitchen。



〃I　reckon　ye　ain't　expectin'　anybody　tonight；　Phemie？〃　said　Mr。

Harkutt；　sinking　into　a　chair；　and　placing　his　slippered　feet

against　the　wall。



〃No；〃　said　Phemie；　〃unless　something　possesses　that　sappy　little

Parmlee　to　make　one　of　his　visitations。　　John　Milton　says　that　out

on　the　road　it　blows　so　you　can't　stand　up。　　It's　just　like　that

idiot　Parmlee　to　be　blown　in　here；　and　not　have　strength　of　mind

enough　to　get　away　again。〃



Mr。　Harkutt　smiled。　　It　was　that　arch　yet　approving；　severe　yet

satisfied　smile　with　which　the　deceived　male　parent　usually

receives　any　depreciation　of　the　ordinary　young　man　by　his

daughters。　　Euphemia　was　no　giddy　thing　to　be　carried　away　by　young

men's　attentions；not　she！　　Sitting　back　comfortably　in　his

rocking…chair；　he　said；　〃Play　something。〃



The　young　girl　went　to　the　closet　and　took　from　the　top　shelf　an

excessively　ornamented　accordion；the　opulent　gift　of　a　reckless

admirer。　　It　was　so　inordinately　decorated；　so　gorgeous　in　the

blaze　of　papier　mache；　mother…of…pearl；　and　tortoise…shell　on　keys

and　keyboard；　and　so　ostentatiously　radiant　in　the　pink　silk　of　its

bellows　that　it　seemed　to　overawe　the　plainly　furnished　room　with

its　splendors。　　〃You　ought　to　keep　it　on　the　table　in　a　glass　vase；

Phemie；〃　said　her　father　admiringly。



〃And　have　HIM　think　I　worshiped　it！　　Not　me；　indeed！　　He's　conceited

enough　already；〃　she　returned；　saucily。



Mr。　Harkutt　again　smiled　his　approbation；　then　deliberately　closed

his　eyes　and　threw　his　head　back　in　comfortable　anticipation　of　the

coming　strains。



It　is　to　be　regretted　that　in　brilliancy；　finish；　and　even

cheerfulness　of　quality　they　were　not　up　to　the　suggestions　of　the

keys　and　keyboard。　　The　most　discreet　and　cautious　effort　on　the

part　of　the　young　performer　seemed　only　to　produce　startlingly

unexpected；　but　instantly　suppressed　complaints　from　the

instrument；　accompanied　by　impatient　interjections　of　〃No；　no；〃

from　the　girl　herself。　　Nevertheless；　with　her　pretty　eyebrows

knitted　in　some　charming　distress　of　memory；　her　little　mouth　half

open　between　an　apologetic　smile　and　the　exertion　of　working　the

bellows；　with　her　white；　rounded　arms　partly　lifted　up　and　waving

before　her；　she　was　pleasantly　distracting　to　the　eye。　　Gradually；

as　the　scattered　strains　were　marshaled　into　something　like　an　air；

she　began　to　sing　also；　glossing　over　the　instrumental　weaknesses；

filling　in　certain　dropped　notes　and　omissions；　and　otherwise

assisting　the　ineffectual　accordion　with　a　youthful　but　not

unmusical　voice。　　The　song　was　a　lugubrious　religious　chant；　under

its　influence　the　house　seemed　to　sink　into　greater　quiet；

permitting　in　the　intervals　the　murmur　of　the　swollen　creek　to

appear　more　distinct；　and　even　the　far　moaning　of　the　wind　on　the

plain　to　become　faintly　audible。　　At　last；　having　fairly　mastered

the　instrument；　Phemie　got　into　the　full　swing　of　the　chant。

Unconstrained　by　any　criticism；　carried　away　by　the　sound　of　her

own　voice；　and　perhaps　a　youthful　love　for　mere　uproar；　or　possibly

desirous　to　drown　her　father's　voice；　which　had　unexpectedly　joined

in　with　a　discomposing　bass；　the　conjoined　utterances　seemed　to

threaten　the　frail　structure　of　their　dwelling；　even　as　the　gale

had　distended　the　store　behind　them。　　When　they　ceased　at　last　it

was　in　an　accession　of　dripping　from　the　apparently　stirred　leaves

outside。　　And　then　a　voice；　evidently　from　the　moist　depths　of　the

abyss　below；　called　out；



〃Hullo；　there！〃



Phemie　put　down　the　accordion；　said；　〃Who's　that　now？〃　went　to　the

window；　lazily　leaned　her　elbows　on　the　sill；　and　peered　into　the

darkness。　　Nothing　was　to　be　seen；　the　open　space　of　dimly　outlined

landscape　had　that　blank；　uncommunicative　impenetrability　with

which　Nature　always　confronts　and　surprises　us　at　such　moments。　　It

seemed　to　Phemie　that　she　was　the　only　human　being　present。　　Yet

after　the　feeling　had　passed　she　fancied　she　heard　the　wash　of　the

current　against　some　object　in　the　stream；　half　stationary　and　half

resisting。



〃Is　any　one　down　there？