The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches. Riley James Whitcomb

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      Up out of the depths of that deadly caboose.

      IN THE HEART OF JUNE

      DREAMS

      There has always been an inclination, or desire, rather, on my part to believe in the mystic – even as far back as stretches the gum-elastic remembrance of my first "taffy-pullin'" given in honor of my fifth birthday; and the ghost-stories, served by way of ghastly dessert, by our hired girl. In fancy I again live over all the scenes of that eventful night: —

      The dingy kitchen, with its haunting odors of a thousand feasts and wash-days; the old bench-legged stove, with its happy family of skillets, stewpans and round-bellied kettles crooning and blubbering about it. And how we children clustered round the genial hearth, with the warm smiles dying from our faces just as the embers dimmed and died out in the open grate, as with bated breath we listened to how some one's grandmother had said that her first man went through a graveyard once, one stormy night, "jest to show the neighbors that he wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and how when he was just passing the grave of his first wife "something kind o' big and white-like, with great big eyes like fire, raised up from behind the headboard, and kind o' re'ched out for him"; and how he turned and fled, "with that air white thing after him as tight as it could jump, and a hollerin' 'wough-yough-yough!' till you could hear it furder'n you could a bullgine," and how, at last, just as the brave and daring intruder was clearing two graves and the fence at one despairing leap, the "white thing," had made a grab at him with its iron claws, and had nicked him so close his second wife was occasioned the onerous duty of affixing another patch in his pantaloons. And in conclusion, our hired girl went on to state that this blood-curdling incident had so wrought upon the feelings of "the man that wasn't afeard o' nothin'," and had given him such a distaste for that particular graveyard, that he never visited it again, and even entered a clause in his will to the effect that he would ever remain an unhappy corpse should his remains be interred in said graveyard.

      I forgot my pop-corn that night; I forgot my taffy; I forgot all earthly things; and I tossed about so feverishly in my little bed, and withal so restlessly, that more than once my father's admonition above the footboard of the big bed, of "Drat you! go to sleep, there!" foreshadowed my impending doom. And once he leaned over and made a vicious snatch at me, and holding me out at arm's length by one leg, demanded in thunder-tones, "what in the name o' flames and flashes I meant, anyhow!"

      I was afraid to stir a muscle from that on, in consequence of which I at length straggled off in fitful dreams – and heavens! what dreams! – A very long and lank, and slim and slender old woman in white knocked at the door of my vision, and I let her in. She patted me on the head – and oh! how cold her hands were! And they were very hard hands, too, and very heavy – and, horror of horrors! – they were not hands – they were claws! – they were iron! – they were like the things I had seen the hardware man yank nails out of a keg with. I quailed and shivered till the long and slim and slender old woman jerked my head up and snarled spitefully, "What's the matter with you, bub," and I said, "Nawthin'!" and she said, "Don't you dare to lie to me!" I moaned.

      "Don't you like me?" she asked.

      I hesitated.

      "And lie if you dare!" she said – "Don't you like me?"

      "Oomh-oomh!" said I.

      "Why?" said she.

      "Cos, you're too long – and slim – an'" —

      "Go on!" said she.

      " – And tall!" said I.

      "Ah, ha!" said she, – "and that's it, hey?"

      And then she began to grow shorter and thicker, and fatter and squattier.

      "And how do I suit you now?" she wheezed at length, when she had wilted down to about the size of a large loaf of bread.

      I shook more violently than ever at the fearful spectacle.

      "How do you like me now?" she yelped again, – "And don't you lie to me neither, or I'll swaller you whole!"

      I writhed and hid my face.

      "Do you like me?"

      "No-o-oh!" I moaned.

      She made another snatch at my hair. I felt her jagged claws sink into my very brain. I struggled and she laughed hideously.

      "You don't, hey?"

      "Yes, yes, I do. I love you!" said I.

      "You lie! You lie!" She shrieked derisively. "You know you lie!" and as I felt the iron talons sinking and gritting in my very brain, with one wild, despairing effort, I awoke.

      I saw the fire gleaming in the grate, and by the light it made I dimly saw the outline of the old mantelpiece that straddled it, holding the old clock high upon its shoulders. I was awake then, and the little squatty woman with her iron talons was a dream! I felt an oily gladness stealing over me, and yet I shuddered СКАЧАТЬ