The Rosebud Wall-Paper

So you been peekin' int' th' winders o' th' old porch house to th' Four Corners,
Have ye?
Wall, I dunno as anybody wouldn't be puzzled
Not knowin' nothin' 'bout it, an' seein' it th' way 'tis.
I bet you had a time pushin' through them cat-briers
That's growed up all about it.
Terrible stiff bushes they be, an' th' scratchiest things goin'.
Oh, you needn't tell me!
Many's th' first-class tear I've got from 'em in my time.
Not those pertic'ler ones, I ain't no call to go shovin' through them,
An' what on earth you wanted to tackle 'em for beats me.
But, since you been ther',
It's just nater you should want to know.
A house all sagged down an' rotted, an' th' chimbley fell,
An' every room spick an' span with new wall-paper!
Sort o' creepy, was it?
I guess th' creeps is ther' all right,
But we figgered we'd smothered 'em with that rosebud paper.
Mrs. Pearson, th' doctor's wife, had th' choosin' of it.
She went to Boston a-purpose when th' town decided to put it on.
I al'ays thought 'twas kind o' gay for what they wanted it for, wanted it for,
But Mrs. Pearson said it had ought to be gay
An' she's a real tasty woman;

Nobody darsn't go agin her judgment in this town,

Least of all th' selectmen with th' doctor chairman o' th' board.

Well, Mr. Day, ther's a good long story to that wall-paper.

Th' beginnin's way back, all of thirty year, I guess.
Ther' was a storekeeper here at that time, name o"
Amos Sears.

He warn't a native o' th' place,

I've heerd he come from somewheres down Cape Cod way,

He just sort o' drifted here an' stuck.

His wife was dead, an' he had a son, young Amos,
Who used to play around with us boys.

You know what boys be, al'ays in an' out o' one another's pockets.
Young Amos was a fine, upstandin' chap.
We all favoured him, but he an' Luke Bartlett was like a plum an' its skin,
You couldn't peel 'em apart.

They beat th' band for mischief an' high jinks,
Th' rest of us just follered along an' caught th' lickin's.
'Bout th' time we was gittin' through school, old Amos died.
We thought, o' course, young Amos'd settle right down to th' shop,
But he wouldn't hear to it, said he couldn't rest quiet without he'd done a bit o' trapesin'
Afore he took root for keeps;
An' first thing we knew, he'd hired Tom Wetherbee to look after th' business
An' was off.
He wanted Luke should go with him,
But Luke was a real steady youngster, he'd 'prenticed himself to a stone-mason
An' wouldn't budge.
I guess now he wishes some he'd gone,
But I dunno, 'tain't easy seein' into other folks' minds.

I went studyin' surveyin' to Barre
An' warn't here when Amos left.
Luke heerd from him two or three times,
But pretty soon th' letters stopped.
Tom Wetherbee went on 'tendin' to th' shop
An' payin' his own wages out o' th' earnin's.
What he didn't need for repairin' an' to keep th' stock up, he put in th' bank for Amos,
But Amos never drawed any of it,
So it just piled up.
What Amos lived on, I dunno, he never told nobody to my knowledge.
But he lived somehow, an' after ten years
He come back with a wife.
Mrs. Amos was a fine figger of a woman,
With eyes like steel traps, an' a tongue like a mowin' machine.
She al'ays reminded me of a sumach when it's turned in th' Autumn,

Sort o' harsh an' bright. You couldn't see nothin' else
When she was around, but she warn't th' easy kind,

Her nerves was like a bundle o' fire-crackers,

An' it didn't take no slow-match to light 'em.

She could do anythin' she set her hand to,

But she made such a touse doin' it

You'd full as lives not have it done.
Amos found quite a bit o' money waitin' for him in th'
Wiltshire bank,
An' he found th' store in extra good shape,
So th' first thing he done was to buy a house.
Not th' one you see, that didn't come till later,
Th' third house from th' post-office was his."
Then he took Tom Wetherbee into partnership
An' moved into his new house, an' things begun.
They begun with a vengeance, but we didn't know nothin' for some time.
Th' house, maybe you noticed, stands quite a piece above th' road.
Did you see anythin' queer 'bout th' grass either side th' steps?
Well, that was 'cause Amos an' Mrs. couldn't come to no agreement 'bout fixin' up th' lawn.
He set by a straight slope an' she wanted terraces,
So they had a straight slope to one side an' terraces to th' other.
Amos made a joke of it, but Mrs. Amos she made a grievance;
She made most everythin' a grievance.
She was al'ays runnin' roun' an' tattlin' aginst Amos.
I expect she had one o' them tongues they say's hung in th' middle;
If one end got tired, all she had to do was let it be an' go right along with th' other.
When she warn't scoldin' Amos, she was scoldin' 'bout him.

But in th' end 'twarn't him as give, 'twas her.
She up an' runned away, boarded th' afternoon train to Boston
One day while he was mindin' th' shop.
When Amos found out she'd gone
He got Bill Rivers (Rivers kep' th' livery stable then) to hitch up his Morgan mare in a couple o' shakes
An' drive him over to th' junction, lickety split, to ketch th' night train from Fitchburg.
He ketched it all right, but 'twas nip an' tuck,
Th' conductor was hollerin' "All aboard!" when they come in sight o' th' depot.
I mind Rivers was some put out 'cause Amos didn't say a single word
All th' way over,
Didn't even think to thank him when he got him ther',
Amos was back in a little over a week,

But he didn't bring Mrs. Amos with him.
Luke went up to see him right away,
An' he told Luke Mrs. Amos had gone for a stewardess on a Halifax steamboat.
She had th' sea in her blood, he said,
An' he guessed she couldn't be happy livin' so far from it.
It seems she was a New Bedford woman,
An' all her folks had been whalers.
Everybody supposed as how Amos would sell his house an' shop
An' go an' settle somewheres his wife would like.
But he didn't do no such thing.
He just hung on, lookin' as gloomy as a rainy Fourth o July;
An' he kep' a-hangin', neither here nor ther' exactly,
He didn't seem fixed to stay, an' he didn't go.
Things went on like that for more'n a year,
An' then Amos bought that parcel o' land to th' Four

Corners, an' put up th' house you see.
When 'twas finished, he sold th' old house an' moved in.
He druv into town every day to th' store,
But folks didn't go out to see him.
He'd turned terr'ble glum an' pernickety
An' Luke was th' only man on real terms with him.
You couldn't git anythin' out o' Luke,
He was mum as a fish,
That's how we didn't come to hear 'bout Mrs. Richards bein' with Amos
Till she'd been ther' quite a spell.
I dunno's we'd ever have heerd but for Bill Rivers drivin' some Summer boarders
Up Hog Back one August afternoon.
One o' th' ladies had a faintin' fit or somethin',
An' Rivers stopped to Amos's to ask if she couldn't rest ther' while th' others went on.
He was took all aback when Mrs. Richards come out.

Rivers was a awful talker,
He'd twist a bit o' news under his tongue same as if
'twas a chaw o' tobaccer
An' I never see a man take such relish in spreadin' it.

So th' whole town knowed 'bout Mrs. Richards 'fore he'd been back an hour.

You know how folks be, once git a story started

An' it's off rampagin' like a forest fire.

Somebody said Luke'd know, an' two or three went up to Luke's

An' asked him.
But Luke just said "Why not? Amos had to have
some one to do for him,

An' Mrs. Richards was a respectable widow from Millbridge."

Ther' warn't no gainsayin' that, when Luke pointed it out,

But what folks don't say ain't al'ays a handle to what they thinks.

Luke was a real smart man, an' he wouldn't listen to a word aginst her an' Amos,

An' nobody darsn't say a thing to Amos himself nat'rally.

So it went on. Amos had a hired housekeeper, said Luke;
Amos had somethin' he shouldn't have had, said others.
But that was only hearsay, an' Mrs. Richards' husband had been th' postmaster to Millbridge for years
Until he'd been took off by th' pneumony three years before,
An' left nothin'.
So his widow had to work," said Luke's friends.
Amos's friends didn't say nothin' seein' he didn't rightly have any,
Barrin' Luke, but that was enough.
Luke was a powerful perseverin' man, an' wouldn't stand no nonsense.
But, spite o' Luke, ther' was talk, heaps of it.
You can't keep women from enjoyin' a story like that,
Nor men neither, I guess.
A good few o' th' boys went out to Amos's
An' they telled how cozy 'twas out ther',
With white curtings to th' winders
An' th' chiny on th' dresser all set out elegant,
Nothin' out o' place an' a sort o' cheery look to everythin'.
Amos had planted apple-trees an' they was just come to bear.
Early sugar apples they was, you know th' kind,
Yaller streaked with red an' sweet as honey.
To hear th' talk you'd think no one else in th' town
Had apples. Boys will be boys, even when they ain't,
An' ther' was somethin' 'bout Mrs. Richards menfolk couldn't have enough of.

But Amos didn't turn a hair, he know'd his woman.:;
'Twas al'ays th' same -- apples, an' cookies, an' blackberry jam, an' a welcome.
Amos warn't like th' same man he was to th' store,
He'd laugh an' joke, for all th' world like he used to do
. in th' old days,
'Twas good to hear him.
Th' women didn't go, though I guess they was itchin' to,
But none on 'em darst begin.
Women is sticklers for custom,
An' all that whisperin' made a sort o' fence
They couldn't break through.
I've sometimes wondered if that ain't th' real use o' women,
To keep things goin' on even an' straight, with no bumps an' jumps to onsettle ye.
O' course ther's th' other kind o' women, th' Mrs.
Amos kind,

But, praise th' Lord, I ain't had much to do with them.
But, however stiddy they be, women is terr'ble cur 'ous critters,
They can't git along without a deal o' worritin' 'bout th' neighbours' concerns.
An' I do believe our Parson's wife was th' most cur'ous woman ever was.
She was at th' Parson from mornin' till night to go out to Amos's.
You see she wanted to know how things was at first hand,
But she know'd better'n to say so.
What she said was that his duty called him to go an' see if Amos was a errin' man;
If he kep' a scarlet woman to th' Corners, th' Parson ought to try an' git him away from her
An' save his soul.
'Twas a bitter strong argiment to use to a Parson,
An' she used it every day an' all day.

'Twas clear he wouldn't git no peace till he went,
An' Parson Eldridge loved peace.
He was a meek little man
An' didn't hold with pokin' in wher' 'twarn't agreeable,
But he had to go, an' he did.
Mrs. Eldridge must have been mortal disappointed,
For all he said when he come back was
That Amos didn't appear to be livin' in sin.
He didn't say he warn't, mind you,
But he 'lowed to his wife he couldn't see no openin' to start savin' his soul.
Th' Almighty works in his own ways," he said,
"An' Amos has had a heavy cross to bear."
He didn't name no names, but it set us all to thinkin' o'
Mrs. Amos
An' what a dance she'd led Amos.
It made us feel sorry for him,
An' after that we kind o' sidelooked his failin'
If so be as 'twas one,

An' th' tittle tattle an' speculatin' died down.
Also we was gittin' used to things, I guess.
Well, they kep' that way for a good fifteen year
An' then one night Amos called th' doctor on th' telephone.
His voice was gritty an' shakin', so th' doctor said afterwards,
An' he know'd at once somethin' had happened.
Mrs. Richards was real bad, Amos said,
Could th' doctor come right away.
So Dr. Pearson got out his flivver an' started for th'
Corners.
'Twas just commencin' to snow, but 'twarn't so deep th' car couldn't run,
Nor it warn't so light it didn't matter.
'Twas one o' them stingin' snow-storms,
With th' flakes so little you can't hardly see 'em
But drivin' with a awful force.
That kind o' snow don't seem to lay none at first,

But ther' ain't no melt to it, an' it goes on an' on,
Comin' every way to oncet, an' blowin' up into drifts which you can't make out wher' they be or ain't till you're on 'em.
One side th' road'll be swep' clear,
An' th' other all piled up with snow higher'n your head,
An' all th' time you're as good as blind
'Count o' th' flakes bein' so sharp an' sheddin' down so almighty fast.
Some men wouldn't have gone out,
Dr. Blake to Millbridge wouldn't, I know,
But Dr. Pearson went wher' he was needed;
Battle an' murder an' suddin death couldn't stop him if any one was sick.
It took him all of an hour to git to th' Corners,
An' he know'd when he got ther' he couldn't git back.
Amos met him at th' door,
"I mistake but you're too late, Doctor," says he.

And so 'twas. Mrs. Richards was dead.
She'd had a heart attack, and died while th' doctor was on his way.
Th' doctor done what he could just to comfort Amos by doin' somethin',
But in th' end he had to tell him 'twas all over.
Then th' doctor was scared, Amos acted so queer.
He turned as white as marble, an' as stiff.
He stood ther', lookin' down at th' bed,
Lookin' with his eyes like stones o' fire,
Froze an' burnin' at th' same time.
He never moved 'em from th' dead face,
Just stared still as ice, as if he was all shelled in it,
But somethin' hot an' hard was scaldin' him inside.
Th' doctor tried to rouse him, but he didn't seem to hear.
Then th' doctor took his hand an' raised it up,
But when he let it go, it fell down by his side agin,
An' Amos didn't seem to notice that he'd took it an' dropped it.
Dr. Pearson couldn't leave him ther' alone,
An' he couldn't go anyway 'cause o' th' storm.
Th' snow kep' risin' higher an' higher on th' winders.
Th' door was clean blocked, an' when mornin' come
Th' doctor couldn't see his car, 'twas all buried in.
All night long Amos had stood just th' same way
Starin' at th' dead woman.
He might have been dead himself, or a moniment.
He didn't give a sign he was livin',
Only ther' was mist on a hand-glass th' doctor held to his mouth.
Th' doctor tried to force some coffee down his throat,
But his jaw was clinched an' he couldn't prize it open.
He tried to throw him over so's he could git him layin' down,
But he couldn't budge him no more'n if he'd been a granite boulder.

Seem's he had th' stren'th o' ten men
Just to keep standin' ther' lookin' at that dead body.
'Twas a Sunday night Amos called th' doctor,
An' 'twas Wednesday mornin' afore th' storm broke.
An' all that time Amos had stood ther' without movin' a muscle,
Only he'd sort o' shrunk together; not stoopin', I don't mean,
But collapsin' in sideways.
Th' doctor put it he looked brittle
Like you might snap him in two but couldn't overset him nohow.
Maybe 'twas th' sunlight done it. The sun shone straight in his eyes,
But he never even winked 'em, just kep' on lookin' an' lookin'.
Bout 'leven o'clock a sleigh come for th' doctor.
They'd been tryin' to git to him for two days
But couldn't, th' drifts was so high,

They'd had to shovel most o' th' way as 'twas.
When th' doctor let 'em in ('twas th' two Fowler boys an' Sam Gould)
Th' first thing he told 'em was to come upstairs an' help him with Ames.
But they hadn't hardly set foot in th' room
When Amos tumbled over on th' floor -- same as a tree, they said,
Stiff from head to foot, not limp like a man in a faint.
Th' boys picked him up an' laid him on th' bed in th' next room,
An' th' doctor worked over him; but 'twas hours 'fore he give a sign o' life, a
An' when he did, he went right out of his head with fever.
He warn't sensible for some days, an' by that time th' funeral was over an' done with.
They telled him how 'twas when they thought he could stand it,

But he didn't seem to care,
I guess he'd buried her in his mind long before,
Durin' th' storm.
Folks was awful sorry for Amos,
But he didn't act to take much stock in that neither.
He got up an' went about,
But he didn't go to th' store no more,
An' he didn't take no steps to git a new housekeeper.
Mrs. Eldridge had a string o' middle-aged women to suggest for th' place,
But th' Parson kep' her off him somehow.
I al'ays had a likin' for th' Parson after that;
Maybe he'd sensed more'n we thought, all along.
He was a good man, too good to go interferin' with th'
Almighty's doin's,
An' that's what you can't say o' most parsons.
Come Spring, one afternoon when Luke Bartlett was workin' in his yard,
Tinkerin' at a funeral urn for Elder Townsend's moniment,
Who should come creepin' in but Amos Sears.
Luke was all took aback seein' him comin' in so quiet,
Almost stealin' in, you might say,
'Cause Amos had shown him pretty plain that he
didn't set nothin' by seein' him.
Luke was a sensitive man, an' Amos turnin' from him had hurt him dretful.
Amos crep' up to him, peerin' as if he couldn't see very well,
An' hangin' onto his stick like 'twas a third leg he couldn't do without.
"Luke," says he, "Luke, we been old friends, you an' me."
"We have, Amos," says Luke.
"Luke," says Amos agin, "I've had a sight to bear in my life."
"You have, Amos," says Luke.
''Tis you, Luke, an' you only can ease me now, if you will," says Amos, an' ther' was tears in his eyes.
Luke seen 'em an' they made him feel sick all over,
Amos warn't one to cry.
Now what do you s'pose it was he wanted Luke should do?
Why, make a gravestone for Mrs. Richards, an' that was all ther' was to it.
Everythin' went slick as paint till they come to th' inscription;
Amos had that all writ out nice on a piece of paper
An' he read it to Luke.
"Here lies th' body o' Mary Richards,

Beloved friend an' onlawful wife o' Amos Sears,

For seventeen years his sole comfort by th' grace o"
God.

Blessed be th' name of th' Lord whose ways are inscrutable.

Erected by her bereaved husband in th' sight o' Heaven wher' ther's no marriage nor givin' in marriage,
But joyful meetin' without end for ever an' ever.
Amen."

Luke took th' paper when Amos handed it to him,

But he couldn't git aholt o' no words quick enough to speak 'em.
. speak 'em.
Maybe he'd know'd al'ays, same as Parson Eldridge,
Maybe he'd thought what he said he did.
But anyways you look at it that inscription was a baffler.
Here was Amos givin' himself away to th' whole town.
He put it to him so, but Amos said he wouldn't keep it hid no more,
That 'twas like th' burnin' bush to him,
Th' love they'd bore each other.
Then Luke argid 'twas sacrilege to ask th' blessin' o' th' Lord for a onsanctified union.
"Who says 'twarn't sanctified," shouted Amos,
'She was th' Lord's givin' to lighten th' sorrow He'd set so heavy on me.
God's just, as I've heerd from th' pulpit many a time,
An' I don't cal'ate you're denyin' it,
An' He done th' square thing by me.
I'd be a limpin' coward if I didn't proclaim it to all an' sundry,
Witness as I be to His mercy an' comprehendin' kindness."
That was too much for Luke. He was a Godfearin' man,
An' he thought Amos had gone blasphemin' crazy.
But Amos hadn't, not then.
They went at it, hammer an' tongs,
Each talkin' nineteen to th' dozen.
Then th' pity of it come over Luke,
An' he said he'd try to see it Amos's way
An' tell him in a month when th' stone'd be near done.

An' Amos had to do with that for th' time bein'.
Luke made th' gravestone just as Amos said,
Of good black slate, with th' top poked up in a little round just big enough for a angel's head,
An' th' wings reachin' out right an' left underneath --
Luke had a won'erful knack with angels, he put on most all his stones --
But when it come to th' inscription, he couldn't stomach it.
So he just put "Here lies Mary Richards. God's will be done."
He'd worked it out that them words'd fit most anythin' an' they wouldn't shock nobody.
If Amos was right 'bout th' Almighty's designin's, they'd mean that,
An' if he warn't, they'd mean otherwise. They'd come in handy either way.
Then he went an' set it up himself,
I guess he was kind o' afeared Amos might break it or somethin'.
Well, th' month was up by then, an' he had to give his answer to Amos.
I dessay he didn't look forward to it any,
But Luke warn't th' man to shirk a duty,
An' that very evenin', soon's supper was over, he started for th' Corners.
Luke never telled what happened that night, but I know for a fact that him an' Amos never spoke agin.
Ther' warn't much time for speakin', as a matter o' fact,
For 'twas th' next Tuesday I went up to th' graveyard.
I don't mind now why, I hadn't buried none o' my folks for years,
But I did go up, an' wandered round for a spell,
An' all of a suddin I come on Mrs. Richards' grave.
I didn't know nothin' 'bout th' inscription,

Luke didn't say anythin' 'bout it till 'twas all over,
So 'twarn't that made me look at th' stone.
Then I couldn't scarcely b'lieve my eyes,
Th' stone was all writ over with red letters.
First I thought they was blood,
But then I see they was red chalk runnin' straight between th' lines Luke had cut.
Yes, Sir, you've guessed it. "'Twas Amos's inscription,
Fixed so's to read right along with Luke's;
An' Luke's letters was chalked too, it looked all of a piece a little ways off.
Thinks I, th' man who could do that must be goin' through blazes,
His grievin' must have plumb crazed him,
I guess 'twould be a Christian act to go an' see how he be.
I warn't anxious for goin', but I didn't see how any decent man
Could leave them letters an' just go off home.

I'll never forgit that drive to th' Corners, never.
Every tree I passed looked so's I'd never seen it till that minit,
They stuck out at me an' made me notice 'em,
I can almost tell you how many leaves ther' was to every branch.
An' ther' was th' Ford chuggin' away,
An' th' thrushes singin' their sunset songs,
An' th' sun goin' down behind Hog Back.
My! How black th' mountain was with th' sky turnin' all kinds o' colours behind it,
An' th' air comin' cool an' damp when we struck th' shadow o' th' mountain!
'Twas all shadow to Amos's, but back yonder t'other side o' th' valley was full o' sun,
It holds a good hour longer down ther'.
I jumped out o' th' car an' knocked on th' door,
But nobody answered.
Then I done th' same as you did, I peeked int' th' winders.
But I couldn't see if Amos was inside or not.
In th' end I just made bold an' opened th' door.
Red chalk, did I say?
Red, an' white, an' green, an' blue, an' purple chalk!
'Twas chalk, chalk, all roun' th' room!
An' 'twas ships done with chalk!
Ther' was a steamboat fightin' waves as tall as th' funnels,
Roarin' over her they was, with a noise like artil'ry,
I swear I heerd 'em, an' I sensed she'd be swamped in a minit.

'Twas a rackin' thing to watch her strugglin' to keep up

With no more chance than a fly under a pump-spout.

An' another steamboat (they was all steamboats)
runnin' on rocks, black rocks, with' red an'
green waves dashin' th' ship onto 'em.

Th' next was th' ship goin' to pieces,
An' th' waves was all full o' people clingin' to bits of wood.

Some was hangin' on a little longer, some was drownin' as you looked.

I can't describe how awful 'twas.

One ship was afire, with great tongues o' yaller flame bustin' through black smoke.
Not another vessel was near, just th' heavin' sea wal-lowin' in th' glitter o' th' flames.
Ther' was a steamer struck by a bolt o' lightnin',
Riv' clear down th' middle, an' th' crew was takin' to th' life-boats,
An' th' life-boats was over-loaded an' sinkin' as fast as they was launched.
I was cold all over with lookin' fore I come to th' last,
An' that was th' worst of all.
'Twas a dismasted hulk driftin' with th' run o' th' waves,

Only ther' warn't no waves, th' ocean was calm,
So calm it made you want to scream.
Dawn was comin', an' th' light was just showin' that ther' was a ocean at all,
But 'twarn't no good to see it for ther' warn't nothin' to see but it.
'Twas done pretty big, an' you could make out ther' was somebody on th' ship,
An' that 'twas a woman.
Somehow you know'd she was all th' folks ther' was,
An' th' hulk had drifted out o' th' way o' other ships,
An' that 'twas just goin' to float along like that with th' woman on it
Till th' food give out an' she died o' starvation.
By that time I was in a sweat all over.
There was a lonesomeness an' a downright nastiness
'bout them picters
I can't describe to ye,

But you'd have felt it too, if you'd seen 'em.
I'm glad you didn't, I wouldn't wish any one to be haunted by 'em same as I been.
I'd just finished an' was startin' all over agin 'cause I couldn't keep from it,
When Amos come in.
"You didn't know I could do nothin' like that, did you?" says Amos,
Beginnin' in th' middle, with not so much as a "How d'you do" to set things goin'.
"No," says I, "I didn't. Be these your doin'?"
"They be," says he. "I'm pretty smart at drawin' now.
I guess ther's more in a man than he knows till he tries."
I didn't answer, not findin' what to say,
But he didn't notice that.
"IT been at it all Winter," he says,
"Quick as I worked out a new way for th' sea to kill

I slapped it down on th' wall yonder.
I guess I ain't left out a single one; if I learn I have,
T"ll put it on th' ceilin'.
Curse that woman! One on 'em must strike!
Th' sea's so notional at killin' 'twon't leave her be much longer,
Stan's to reason she's nearin' her term.
Eighteen year she's been at it, temptin' it an' floutin' it
Same's she's flouted me.
Th' sea won't desert me th' way Luke done,
Th' sea'll be my friend.
Ain't I prayed to it every night an' mornin'
To git her quick.
I shall go mad 'fore long if somethin' don't happen.
Joshua" -- an' he grabbed my arm -- "you think
it'll git her pretty soon, don't ye?"
I was scared, Mr. Day, scared to hear him sayin' such things.
He was tremblin' from head to foot, an' his eyes had a mean, dry look in 'em
Id never see in nobody's.
"Amos," I says, "be you speakin' o' your wife?"
"You tarnation fool!" says he, droppin' my arm an' ragin' off roun' th' room,

"Of course I be. If I warn't a God damn coward, I'd kill her with my own hands.
But th' sea's my depity; I've appointed it in my place, an' I'm just waitin' for news.
An' I'll wait till Hog Back's a valley, an' don't you go doubtin' it."
I didn't doubt, I was beginnin' to know Amos,
But what he said riled me so, I couldn't keep from hollerin' out:
"God in Heaven, man, don't you know she was
drownded in a wreck two year ago!"
'Twarn't right to tell him like that, an' I was ashamed to th' marrer at what I'd done th' minit after,
For Amos went down as if he'd been shot.

You see, Mr. Day, he couldn't git a devorce
'Count o' havin' signed a paper agreein' to a separation when his wife left him,
An' that queered his case accordin' to law.
An' here he might ha' been married to Mrs. Richards for two years anyway, for two years anyway,
If he'd ha' know'd.
I can't think how he didn't, 'cept that 'twas in a Portland paper I read it
One time when I was down that way.
'Twas enough to upset any man comin' on him suddin like that,
But I warn't prepared for his way o' takin' it.
I hadn't had time to think o' th' half o' what I'm tellin' you
When he was up an' runnin' at me with a chair.

"Get out!" he screamed, "you get out or I'll smash you into hell."

Chair for chair, I was no match for him,

It was just dodge an' run for me.

When I got to the door I made a dash for it,
An' I'd just got my car goin' when he reached me,
But a motor on high ain't a thing to fool with
An' I got away.
I druv for all th' car was worth to Parson Eldridge's
An' telled him th' whole story.
He got a posse o' men together an' off we all went back to Amos's.
But we couldn't find him anywheres about th' place.
Parties searched th' woods, and th' ponds was dragged,
But we never come on a thing, not till this day.
Nobody knows if he's dead or livin'.
All th' towns for miles was notified,
But he warn't never found,
No one ain't ever see hair or hide of him since that day.
That was six Summers come next,
An' anybody you don't know's dead ain't lawfully such for I don't know how many years,
So nothin' couldn't be done with his effects.

Ther' stood th' house an' them fearsome picters

Any one could see em through th' winders if they was lookin' for 'em,

An' they was scary as I can't tell ye.

It got to be a dare with th' little fellers to go out an' peek,

An' some o' th' boys couldn't sleep nights for 'em.
After John Baxter's youngest screamed himself into fits,
Th' selectmen took it on themselves to order th' walls papered.

'Twouldn't injure his property none to put it on, they "lowed,

He could rip it off when he come back, if he'd a mind to.

Th' house must ha' been jerrybuilt to have fell away so in th' time,

But that was kind o' like Amos's life, warn't it?
'Twas jerrybuilt clear through, I guess.
Ua But you just thank your stars for them rosebuds, that's all.