Chapter XXXIV: Verdure Rising From the Ashes

The day following the frustrated attempt at suicide in the blacksmith shop Ratke relapsed into his accustomed reticence. He was too weak and lame for bodily labor and too much dejected to talk. "The senility of age is upon me," he said, when Manie had asked him to perfect the churn, the invention of which he had contemplated before the loss of his property.

It was not until the next morning that he regained anything like the cheerfulness which had been once his habitual mood. As he walked through the small enclosure which had served the blacksmith as a garden, he saw a maple tree, some of whose leaves the frosts of fall had dyed with red, "In the midst of certain evils," he mused, "the human family is like the leaves of that tree; the more prominent ones are first touched by the frost of misfortune. Phleet Takum, the Wallaces and my hired men are all proof against what I have suffered." The reflection, mournful as it was, consoled him greatly, for it proved that his habit of philosophical thought, which he had believed dead, had only slept. He remembered the prospect of which Manie had spoken, that he and she together could pursue the studies which he loved. He felt that his powers were returning to him, and that it would be a delight once more to apply them where Nature had amplified their scope.

He went slowly back to the house. The open door revealed the figure of a man who was sitting in a rocking-chair.

"John," said the major, cordially greeting his former hired man, "how did you come?" "I drove out with my team," replied John.

"I thought you had forgotten us since you met with your good fortune," said the major.

"No," replied John, "I have thought of you every day, Major. I have had a great deal of business to attend to, or I should have been here sooner. Would you like to take a ride with me? I mean all of you."

"I do not care for pleasure now," said the major sadly. "I shall never be myself again, John. Bitterness is my portion the remainder of my days. Still, I will go with you."

"I'd like a ride," said Mrs. Grippin. "I've had to foot it ever since we lived here. Where is your team?"

"Behind the blacksmith shop," replied John.

"What in the world!" exclaimed Mrs. Grippin, as they came around the corner of the shop.

Her exclamation was caused by a perfect model of the New Jerusalem, before which stood the major's favorite team, Taylor and Bill. The major said not a word. He eyed with admiration the New Jerusalem, its spotless paint, the make of its wheels and its superior ironing. One after another, he picked up the wheels and revolved them. A single noticeable attribute of the old vehicle was missing, the wailing squeak of the left hind wheel. The major went to the horses' heads. He patted alternately the noses of Taylor and Bill. He went back to the wagon, lifted the wheels, examined the irons and returned to the noses of the team. His actions were like those of a small boy who hardly knows on which of several attractions to bestow his notice.

"I beg of you to accept the team and wagon," said John. "I wish to make a slight present to the old friend who gave me the first social recognition I ever knew."

The major turned his back to the group and stood silent for a moment.

"Come, James," said Mrs. Grippin sharply, "we're waiting for a ride."

Ratke, clambering into the front box, at John's request took the lines.

"Where did you get this wagon?" asked Mrs. Grippin.

"I got the model of Phelps," replied John, "and had it made in Jackson."

"There's that patent-medicine man," said Mrs. Grippin, who had been prevented by her low position from sooner observing the pedestrian.

"You are just the man I want to see, Major," said Panicky as Ratke stopped. "No, drive right along, I'll climb in behind. Why, Lehmann," he exclaimed, seating himself on the end-board, "you're out here, are you? You can't tell who's who when you're ahead of this kind of a wagon. I never saw one like it before. What kind of a thing is it?"

"It is a wagon," said John, "a new kind."

"Gosh!" remarked Panicky, "I should think it was a new kind. Where did you get the concern?"

"Sir," said the major, turning suddenly around, "I am the inventor of this wagon."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," stammered Panicky. "It's a blamed nice thing and I know it. Anybody with half an eye can see that. Is your health pretty good, Mrs. Grippin?" he inquired at the end of an embarrassing lull in the conversation.

"Yes," said Mrs. Grippin, "I don't want to buy any medicine."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about that," Panicky protested. "It has been a very sickly time and my stock of medicine is almost out. I can't spare any except in extreme cases. There's fever and ague and summer-complaint and hay-fever, all running at once. It's, 'Dabney, I want some panacea,' 'Dabney, give me another bottle of that,' 'Dabney, my family's lost without the panacea.' Yesterday a man that had cut his thumb threatened to prosecute me. I told him there was others that needed it worse than he did."

"What's the use of lying so?" said Mrs. Grippin in disgust.

There was a sound of rapid steps over the hard road which stretched toward the church, and Sparks, with his recovered Madge T., drove alongside the New Jerusalem. Without slackening his speed he looked at Ratke, wondering how in his poverty he could again drive his queer equipage.

"Bought 'em back, have you, Major?" he called, as he whisked triumphantly by.

"Charge!" cried the major.

The horses, remembering their education, instantly sprang forward. Ratke maintained his balance, Mrs. Grippin, Manie and John were thrown to the bottom of the respective boxes which they occupied, while Panicky was precipitated on his head in a puddle of water, with his heels pointing upward and his satchels following him in his descent. The gray Bill ran as usual, but Taylor after the first jump surprised Ratke by settling down to a trot which brought him steadily nearer the wheel of Sparks's sulky.

"By George!" cried the major, in great excitement, rising to his feet and with his whip extended, standing like a picture of an ancient warrior on a chariot brandishing a spear, "Look at him throw out his forefeet! Here's the race you wanted, Sparks. Look out, I'm going by!" he yelled as Madge T., seeing that she was losing ground, raised both her forefeet in the air at once. "Where's your fine-blooded Madge? What do you think of Wellington stock now, Sparks?"

Ratke was still erect and still swinging his whip. His hat had blown off, and his hair, which was several inches long, stood out horizontally in the rush of air occasioned by their speed. Madge's break hastened her defeat, which, had she maintained her practiced gait, she could not have avoided; and her nose was in a short time behind the rear box of Ratke's wagon.

"James," screamed Mrs. Grippin, clutching the box, "you act crazy. Quit your driving so fast!"

"All right, Maria. Shall I let him go by?" said Ratke, who knew that Mrs. Grippin would be as averse as he to the triumph of Sparks.

"Oh, do just as you want to," replied Mrs. Grippin in a resigned manner, "You will any way."

"Step along there, Taylor!" sang the major with another flourish of his whip. "Get down to it, boy! Steady now."

"Let us stop here," said John, as they neared Ratke's old homestead.

Sparks was walking his horse that he might not seem to be an unsuccessful contestant of the race. Panicky mudded and disconsolate, was with his satchels trudging along in the rear.

The owner of the farm evidently had a desire, to bring it as near as possible to its former aspect, for the buildings were constructed after the model of those which were burned. The three barns partly enclosed the same rectangle, which was completed by the connecting fence, but the cock on the central one was smaller, and his comb less prominent. No change was visible in the tool-house. Aside from the newness of its green paint, the club-house, which, surmounted by a cupola, was particularly neat, had sustained but one noticeable alteration, the ornamentation and protection by a triple-pointed, instead of a single-pointed, lightning-rod. The Gothic house with its three sharp gables was as of old, except that it looked as if it had been immersed in the fountain of youth, which had given it new shingles, new chimneys and door-knobs, had brightened the exterior of its walls and covered its paintless spots. The saddest and only irremediable injury which had been wrought was among the spruce trees, the shriveled and blackened branches of which were mournful reminders of the once thrifty grove. Those nearest the house were limbless. Those farther on had dusky, bare arms. Still nearer the road were the leaves which had been left and which varied in color from reddish-brown to green, according to their distance from the flames by which they had been scorched. Through the desolation the house showed with a distinctness, which brought vividly to the minds of those who had frequented the place the catastrophe so destructive to its luxuriant screen.

"Are you going into the yard?" asked Ratke.

"Yes," answered John, "we may as well look around."

In advance of the Ratkes, he went up the steps, unlocked the sitting-room door and opened it.

"I would not do that," protested the major. "Gower would not like it, if he knew it, I heard Durgenson had sold it to him."

"I have his permission to go through the house," said John.

The major hesitated no longer. "He has been in Jackson these dozen years. I hardly thought he would want to live here. Let us go into the parlor."

In the parlor were four bookcases closely resembling those the loss of which the major had sustained, and they, held many of the works which it had been his wont to study. He could not resist opening them and examining their contents.

"Here is a Tractacus de Veritate," he cried. "I never saw but two copies of it before. One of them your grandfather had," He busied himself with the book, while Mrs. Grippin was in another part of the house and John and Manie, sitting on the sofa, conversed in low tones.

"I can disprove that line of argument," he said, putting down the open volume, "Lord Herbert has made it very easy for his guard to be beaten, down in that passage."

"I have a paper for you to examine," said John, extending a document, which the major seized. The paper was the deed which Ratke had given Durgenson of his farm. The major read it, put it into his pocket and walked out of doors.

"How is that?" asked Mrs. Grippin, who had looked over her brother's shoulder. "How did you get that deed?"

"The major has not yet lost his place," replied John.

"The bond and deed were only a continuation of the mortgage. I paid Durgenson the indebtedness and he gave me the deed. He had made a verbal agreement with Mr. Gower to sell the place at the expiration of the year allowed by the law for redemption. But he could not give a deed until after the sheriff's sale of the property. I acquainted Mr. Gower with the circumstances, and I induced him to have these buildings erected at my expense. I was confident that the major would not prosecute me for trespass. The bond and deed are not commonly well understood. I consulted Fellows, the best lawyer in Lansing, and he told me that many a man who had given a deed and taken a bond had lost his property, because he did not understand that those legal instruments are but extensions of mortgages."

When the major returned, he was whittling some pieces of pine.

"I have the plan of it, Manie," he said, "a plan which must be successful."

"A plan of what?" asked Manie.

"Why, of the churn, to be sure," said Ratke, "What did you think I meant? You see the dasher is fixed so as to revolve. Loose as it is, it will turn, of course, in the direction which offers the least resistance; and the twisting shape of the paddles makes it incline downward and to one side when a downward stroke is given, and upward and to one side when an upward stroke is given. As it goes downward, the cream is whirled one way; as it goes upward, it is whirled the other way. This gives an alternate rotary motion, all the benefits of the swing churn without the tedious labor of working it. The quick change in the circular motion is of special advantage. The preservation of the butter grain and its speedy gathering is a combination of results which will make my chum ahead of anything yet invented."

After the delivery of this speech the major went into the front yard, proceeded to the rear of the house and directed his steps toward the grubs. At the left Daggett and Brown were husking corn with the utmost speed. Archer, apparently forsaken by his habit of laziness, was maintaining a still swifter gait. Steady Jack Sheppard, who never hurried, who never failed to do a good day's work, was throwing out the ears at a uniform rate without looking up, to the right, or to the left.

The major sought the seclusion of the grubs, where he sat on a decayed log, meditating on the recent change in his mood from suicidal despair to joyous serenity. In his possession were the two-and-one-half sections, the fields, woods and swamp which had been dear to him in the prime of manhood and were dearer yet in his old age. As he stepped from the grubs, how complete seemed the restoration of his fortunes. The view, save the min of the trees, was as it had been. In the swamp, much of which had been protected by standing water or the dampness of the ground, the course of the fire was plainly marked. Ratke looked with such satisfaction as he never had previously felt in the contemplation of his estate, on the brown woods, the shocked corn, and the new wheat, which was thick and promising. Jake was husking corn exactly as he had been when Ratke entered the grubs. Daggett and Brown were still energetically working. Archer's hands, however, were moving very slowly, and he was beginning a monotonous chant:

"Oh, horrible it is to relate, The tale I have to tell, About the cruel and hard fate. That a young maid befell."

A noisy barking and yelping fell on Ratke's ear. Philetus was dogging away from the vicinity of his house a herd of cattle, among which were surely several former tenants of the place.

"How natural that seems," thought the major. "He must stay, for it would not seem like the old farm without him."

The clanging of the upright saw, elicited by the vigorous hammering of Mrs. Grippin, announced that dinner was ready. Archer, Brown and Daggett came to the house together, Daggett joking in his usual way, while Jake followed them. At dinner it was plain to the major that two things to complete the restoration of the ancient state of affairs were lacking, the coarse repartee of the hands, who, as they entered the house, ceased their boisterous remarks, and the sharp criticism of Mrs. Grippin, who would not gratify him by a caustic speech. He wished that Daggett would anger her by a joke, or that Archer would fire her wrath by digging an ugly hollow in the butter, but neither hope was realized.

After dinner Ratke sauntered to the tool-house, where he found the New Jerusalem, his one-man saw and a large quantity of irons. He wondered where such a variety of old wheels, bars, pinions and cranks had been collected.

When he returned to the house and entered the parlor, John, who had been sitting on the sofa with Manie, moved suddenly away from her.

"It has been my misfortune," said the major, "to destroy one of Nature's forces."

"Is that so?" asked John, "How can you destroy a force in Nature?"

"I misspoke myself," said Ratke. "I merely changed its application."

"How did you change its application?" inquired John.

"Gravity decreases," said the major, "as the square of the distance increases. The absolute force of a center of attraction is the intensity of force of attraction at a point multiplied by the square of the distance, which equals L cube divided by T square. When I came into this room, you were so close to Manie that the distance between you was incalculable. Now you are at least a yard away from her."